“My father was proud of the fact that he was Irish, and he used to tell me that the Irish are great storytellers. He certainly was,” she began. So far, so good. The crowd seemed to be buying it. She went on. “He loved to tell stories about students from the past, and the boys here today . . . like me . . . have all heard his stories so many times now, they’ve almost made them their own. Of course, you can assume that all those kids my father talked about and some of the things he said they did were greatly exaggerated. He meant his stories to be lessons so that the students would learn from mistakes others had made in the past . . . cautionary tales.”

Cordie wasn’t quite sure what she said after that. When she went back to her seat, she noticed that Alec and Jack weren’t smiling, but there was a definite sparkle in their eyes. They knew exactly what she had just done and why. Like her father, she was protecting the boys.

Somehow Cordie got through the rest of the day, though she couldn’t remember most of it. After the funeral and the burial, a large number of well-intentioned and caring people followed her to her home and stayed most of the afternoon. Gradually the guests began to thin out, and by evening most of them had said their good-byes, leaving only her close friends. With her house finally quiet again, she curled up in the corner of her sofa, her bare feet tucked under her. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep.

Spencer and Aiden were still there. They were in a deep conversation with Alec and Jack. The topic was a congressman named Mitchell Ray Chambers, and from the look on Aiden’s face, he wasn’t a fan. Up until now she had avoided looking at Aiden whenever possible. He was like a magnet, though, drawing her to him. She had had a crush on him for so many years—she refused to call it love—and she knew it would take time to break old habits. She’d been completely infatuated with him, but infatuation wasn’t love. She imagined most women who met him quickly became captivated. It wasn’t just his looks that drew women to him. Yes, he was one gorgeous man, the epitome of tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome, but it was the power that radiated from him that kept women begging for his attention. And until a couple of days ago, Cordie had been just like all those silly women under Aiden’s spell.

Her eyes were open now. Her father’s confession had opened them. She had never been in love with Aiden; it had been just a foolish crush. That was all. Fortunately for her, the man was clueless. As brilliant as he was in business matters, he was a neophyte where women were concerned. She knew for a fact that he didn’t have any idea how she felt—how she had felt—about him. If she weren’t his sister’s friend, she doubted he would have even given her a second glance. She certainly wasn’t his type. From all the women who had hung on his arm in the past, she knew he preferred tall, slightly anorexic blondes. Cordie was the complete opposite. Her hair wasn’t blond; it was as black as ink and looked even darker against her fair complexion. At five feet six inches she considered herself average height, though she was a smidge taller than Regan and Sophie. She supposed she was in good shape, but no matter how much she dieted, she couldn’t attain the flat-chested skinny-mannequin look. She was what men called curvaceous.

She realized she was staring at Aiden and quickly turned away. God, she had been such an idiot for such a long time.

Sophie nudged her. “Have you eaten anything today?”

The question jarred her. “What? I don’t know. Why?”

“Let me fix you something,” Regan suggested.

Cordie shook her head. “I’m not hungry, but thanks for offering.”

“You’re exhausted, aren’t you?” Sophie asked. She reached for her coat and put it on. “Come on, Regan. We should all go home and let her get some rest. It’s been a long, stressful day. Do you think you’ll be able to sleep tonight, Cordie?”

“Maybe one of us should stay over,” Regan suggested.

Cordie laughed. “No one is staying with me. I’m fine, really. I’m begging you, please go home. And take those men with you,” she added, waving her hand toward Jack, Alec, Spencer, and Aiden.

Hearing her, Aiden turned around. “Those men?” He grinned as he repeated her comment.

“I could be wrong, but I’m getting the feeling that Cordie might want us to leave,” Jack said.

Aiden reached for his suit jacket and slipped it on. He looked as though he were about to walk into a boardroom. His suit was a perfect fit, of course. Everything about the man was impeccable. After asking her if there was anything she needed, he and Spencer, insisting that she not walk them to the door, came over to give her a hug. Aiden smelled divine when he wrapped his arms around her, and she tried not to react. She pulled away as quickly as possible.

After they were gone, Sophie and Jack, along with Regan and Alec, prepared to follow, but just as Sophie reached the door, she suddenly stopped, causing Regan to bump into her. Sophie turned to Cordie. “I can’t believe I forgot to ask you . . . what was the surprise?”

“There’s a surprise?” Jack asked.

“Yes, her father told her something surprising,” Regan remembered.

“She promised to tell us tonight,” Sophie explained. “So what was it?”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to share it just yet,” Jack suggested, being diplomatic, but Sophie was already back in the living room waiting for an answer.

Cordie stretched her legs out, then swung her feet down to the floor and sat up. Looking around at the curious faces of her four closest friends, she decided there was no easy way to say it other than to just simply state the facts. “My mother . . . Natalie Kane . . . didn’t die in a car crash. She—”

“What?” Sophie exclaimed. “If not in an accident, then how?”

“According to my father, she’s not dead,” Cordie said.

Sophie pulled her coat off and handed it to Jack as she rushed back to Cordie. Regan dropped her purse on her way across the room.

“Where is she? What happened to her?” Sophie demanded.

“I don’t know,” Cordie replied.

“Do you think she just up and left you and your father?” Regan asked.

Cordie shrugged. “From what my father said just before he died, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what she did.”

“How could any mother . . .” Regan couldn’t go on. She was so angry her face turned red.

Her friends had a hundred questions, and Cordie couldn’t answer any of them. No, her father didn’t give her any other details, and no, she didn’t know why he had gone to such lengths to keep the truth from her, especially after she became an adult.

“Are you going to try to find her?” Sophie asked.

“Would you?” Cordie replied.

Sophie started to nod, then stopped. “I don’t know. I’d be curious.”

“Alec and Jack could locate her for you,” Regan offered.

“Of course,” Sophie agreed. “They could use their resources at the FBI.”

“No, thanks,” Cordie said, shaking her head. “I’m not interested in finding her.”

“Don’t you want to know why she left?” Regan asked.

“No.”

Alec walked over to the ottoman and sat facing Cordie. “What do you know about her?” he asked.

“Her name was Natalie Ann Smith, and she was born in Sydney, Australia.”

“What else did your father tell you about her?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell me anything. I found out her full name and where she was born when I got a copy of my birth certificate so I could get my driver’s license.”

“He didn’t tell you anything about her?” Alec asked.

“He told me she died when I was a baby, and I now know that was a lie, but I’m assuming that’s when she left. My father didn’t like to talk about her. Every time I mentioned her, he would become upset. After a while I knew not to ask questions.”

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to find her?” Sophie asked again.

“I’m certain.”

“But there could be extenuating circumstances—” Sophie began.

Cordie cut her off. “I don’t care. She broke my father’s heart. I want nothing to do with her.”

Cordie left no doubt that the subject was closed and that she was resolute in her decision to let it go, but after she read the letter her mother had left for her father and all the letters he had written that were returned, her attitude drastically changed. She not only wanted to locate the woman who broke her father’s heart, she wanted an answer to the question that was gnawing at her: Did Natalie get the life she wanted or—if there was any justice—the life she deserved?

FIVE

Andrew,

This is a difficult letter for me to write. What I have to say is going to upset and perhaps shock you, and I’m sorry about that. You’ve been working such long hours you haven’t had time to notice how unhappy I am. I’m not going to sugarcoat how I feel, though, no matter how much it hurts you.

This marriage was a mistake. I never should have let you talk me into keeping the baby. We both know I wouldn’t have married you if I weren’t pregnant. Marrying a mechanic was an act of rebellion and terribly foolish. If my family ever found out, they would disown me.

I can’t do this anymore. I hate being poor, and as selfish as this seems, I believe I deserve more out of life. You and I are so different. I want adventure, and I want to see the world. I know you love me, Andrew, but it isn’t enough.

I want to go home. I’m going to pretend this marriage never happened and start over. I’m going to put all of this behind me, and I don’t want any reminders. My home is a continent away, so there should never be any chance encounters.

I’ll leave it to you to file for divorce. I don’t want anything from you but my freedom. You and Cordelia are part of my past now. I don’t want to share custody. You can have her.

Please accept my decision and don’t come after me.

Natalie

Cordie’s heart ached for her father. She couldn’t imagine what he must have felt when he read the letter. It was so cold, brutal, unfeeling. It had to have devastated him, and yet he mourned her on his deathbed.

He’d treated the letter as though it was a treasure. He’d wrapped it in tissue, then sealed it in a plastic bag and tucked it in the bottom of the box with his other important papers. His letters to Natalie were there as well. There were four of them, and all had been returned unopened with Return to Sender stamped on the front. The address showed her father had sent them to a post office box in Chicago.

If her father hadn’t wanted Cordie to read the letters he’d written, he would have destroyed them, she decided. She sat in the middle of her bed, spread the envelopes in front of her, and one by one opened them.

In the first two letters he pleaded with Natalie to come home. He told her he loved her, that he would always love her, and that he was lost without her. In the third letter, sent two years after she’d left him, he notified her he had filed for divorce and had requested full custody of their daughter, Cordelia. He added that, even though he was taking legal action, he still loved her and wanted her to come back to him. He promised to wait because she would always be the love of his life. The fourth letter was verification that the divorce was final.

At first Cordie wanted to find the woman, to look her in the eyes and tell her what she probably already knew, that she was a horrible person for causing her father so much pain, but as therapeutic as it would be, Cordie knew she would never confront her. What would be the point? She gave up on the idea of having a conversation with the woman. She still wanted to find her, though. There were a few questions that needed answers. Had Natalie’s life changed for the better or the worse? Had her ridiculous dream of pretending she’d never been married and starting all over worked? Was she being pampered? Cordie most wanted to know if she had any regrets.

There were two other documents in the box with the letters: the marriage certificate and the divorce decree. The marriage certificate showed that Natalie Smith married Andrew Kane in Las Vegas, Nevada. It was dated four months before Cordie was born. The divorce decree was a very basic notice dissolving the marriage. She read them both and then carefully put everything back in the box and closed the lid.

It was after midnight when she finally got into bed. She tossed and turned for another hour before her mind calmed. She kept thinking about her father and how he had thrown his life away waiting. He could have remarried and had a wonderful life if he’d only been open to the idea. Did his love for Natalie become an obsession? Or did he feel, once married, always married?

She didn’t have any answers. She couldn’t understand how he could continue to love Natalie after reading that terrible letter. You can have her. Those were the last words that drifted into Cordie’s thoughts before sleep claimed her.

         • • •

Sunday afternoon was spent grading papers, and Sunday evening was spent falling apart. She had been melancholy all day, but she kept busy so that she wouldn’t have time to feel sorry for herself. Not wanting to talk to anyone in her present frame of mind, she let the phone calls go to voice mail and tried to focus on getting organized for school. She was fine, she told herself again and again. She was just feeling a little stressed, nothing more, and certainly nothing to worry about.

But she wasn’t fine. She had lost her dad, her only family, the one person who had loved her unconditionally, like a good parent should, and then she’d read that horrible letter from the woman who had to be talked into giving Cordie life and then couldn’t wait to be rid of her. You can have her. Those words were branded in her mind. And there were her father’s desperate pleas in his letters for the love of his life to come back to him. How could her father have loved someone like that?

It was getting late. Cordie collected her papers and books for the next day and slipped them into her satchel, then stood and stretched. The strain of the last few days had taken its toll. The tension in her muscles was working its way upward, and now her head was beginning to throb. Rubbing her temples, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. A long, hot shower was exactly what she needed.

She let the soothing water flow over her tight muscles, and by the time she stepped out of the shower, the tension had eased and her headache was gone. She washed and dried her hair, then put on a short silk nightgown. She was beginning to feel much better and was proud of herself because she had kept it together all evening. She’d done enough of that in the past few days.