Chapter 2

That very night, Sheila made her choice. Although not the first secret of her young life, it was by far the largest. Nine months later, once she’d given birth to a happy, healthy baby boy, it became the most problematic.

He had his father’s eyes. Not her husband’s muddy green. No, they were gorgeous, soul-devouring silvery-blue pools. Already filled with an intensity that had her trembling as she fed him. From the same overfull, achy breasts his laughing father had pawed and crushed.

“Hmm, who does he resemble?” Stanley said later, while rocking the little bundle swaddled in soft navy and white stripes.

Again, the internal debate raged. The same one that’d been battering her since she first realized a baby grew within her. So many times, she’d been on the verge of telling him.

“Oh, Uncle Amos.” She flashed him a taut grin. “He was big like that, according to mom. Similar eyes, I think.”

Made up on the spot, the lie had slipped from her with ease. Too much ease and her pulse staggered.

Was it right? No. Another low point, but she chewed her lips and remained silent.

Besides, what could she say? What had actually happened, anyway? Over and over, the fading memories tumbled. Had that one night—less than an hour—even been a rape? While she hadn’t asked for it, neither had she stopped it.

Plus, another secret lurked; not every image from that night had faded. The dark stranger became her favorite fantasy while enjoying personal time. With the aromas of new car leather and male musk flooding her mind, searing flames would roar deep within her. Some nights, when Stanley was away on business, she’d drive herself into a screaming frenzy in the tub. Amidst scented candles and soft jazz, frothy water would slosh across the tile floor as she shuddered.

Nope, not a rape.

No, but what had happened had ruined her for any other man. Oh, once home from the bar—and the backseat—she’d almost confessed. Almost. Instead, after tossing the dress close enough to the laundry hamper, she leaped into the shower. After scouring herself, Sheila had ridden her wide-eyed husband like a crazed banshee. He’d been left panting and moaning as his seed drained from her.

Soon enough she became Mrs. Sheila Henderson, respectable minus one little flaw, and life marched onwards. His job became busier. She grew larger and rounder—everywhere. For a while, she’d even convinced herself it was his child she was carrying. Well, part of her had hoped. For nine months, as she clung to that falsehood, everything had been fine.

But there he was, evidence of that night so long ago, in her husband’s swaying arms.

Amid the swirl of madness tugging at her, she peeked into the hale, thick-limbed baby’s shining eyes. The strangest sensation slithered through her. Alongside the expected deep maternal link, a twinge appeared. It faded almost as quickly when she glanced at Stanley. Expression one of wonder, and smile locked on the baby, he was in heaven. The unusual sensation dulled until it was nothing but a sliver oozing into the darkest niche of her mind. At last, she’d cleared her throat.

“What should we call him, dear?” she asked as he caressed the tiny cheek with a fingertip.

“Donal,” he murmured while gazing into the baby’s bright eyes.

“Donal?”

“Yes, it’s old English.” He chuckled as the baby pressed into his finger. “Means ‘ruler of the world.’”

As her pulse raced, she nodded. Back then, if she’d only realized, would she have protested? No. If anything, the future proved that the name fit him.

A year later, his younger brother was born. Edward was the spitting image of Stanley. With a wave of relief sweeping over her, she’d exhaled as he’d been placed into her arms that first time. Frailer, but with the intelligent gaze of his father, their youngest watched everyone. Saw everything.

After her husband’s continued success, it wasn’t long before they left their cramped apartment for a house in the suburbs. On a quiet, tree-lined cul-de-sac in a good school district, the spacious two-story home featured an expansive manicured lawn and tall, leafy oaks. Lined by a tall hedge, not only did the backyard sport an outdoor pool, which made her nervous for the boys, it also housed a pergola-covered hot tub. Whenever Stanley had them, it became her pulsing, tropical island of jet-pummeled sanity.

With time marching onward, she’d plugged into the local mommy scene and her life eased into normalcy. Rather than return to work, she stayed at home raising the children. Her world revolved around play dates, birthday parties, holiday get-togethers, and the odd barbecue.

Somehow, she managed to stay fit. At first walking, then jogging as she pushed the double-stroller. The pool also helped, and she swam endless laps. From his glances, her husband admired the effort. That placed a self-satisfied grin on her face. As did the occasional appreciative looks from others.

But after that fateful night, she stayed true. Whenever possible, she and Stanley carved time for each other, sneaking quick tumbles into the sheets. The hurried love-making wasn’t perfect, not that it had ever been. While the intimacy was comforting, he never lasted long, and she rarely got satisfaction. However, every once in a while, they’d manage a slower, more playful snuggling while the boys were distracted or asleep. It was never more than a slow rubbing that provided a few muted tremors. Although she’d occasionally take him into her mouth, he still wouldn’t reciprocate.

The fantasies, though faded, filled the gap. With little else to complain about, she smiled more often. Life meandered onwards. Like weeds, the brothers were shooting skywards almost daily.

Smart as a whip, Edward had become even more contemplative. Much quieter, Donal leaned on his younger brother’s knowledge. Also, incisive from an early age, the elder boy had an eerie understanding of others. Borderline manipulative, he convinced many a babysitter to let them stay up late. Not to mention, he convinced teachers to let him or his little brother have extra chances at tests or gain more time to complete homework.

Despite bulking up and growing ever taller, Donal also had a mysterious ability to hide in plain sight. How could he move so swiftly and yet so silently for his size? One second, she stood in a room alone, the next he was beside her. Innocent enough, he’d simply play or smile up at her.

As the boys aged and her idyllic life continued, the images of that fateful night’s primal encounter faded. But never disappeared. Sometimes she caught Donal’s sidelong glances. Those eyes, so like his father’s, sent shivers along her spine. While still dormant, the sliver in the dark recesses of her brain could occasionally send her pulse staggering.