Sins of Innocence by Jean Stone

was good-looking in a stable kind of way. She loved the way his shirts were always heavily starched; she loved his soapy-clean, no-nonsense scent. He was gentle with her, but firm in the office. Bob had power quality. The kind that attracted P.J. like cat hair to a black skirt.
    “I’ve got a little problem that’s come up. It’s got nothing to do with you. With us.”
    “Come here,” he said.
    P.J. hesitated. She didn’t want to tell him about this, but she had to tell him she wouldn’t be in the office Monday.It was either that or call in sick. Call in sick! On the day she’d get the biggest promotion of her life? The irony of it made her weak. She walked back to the sofa and sat down.
    “What’s going on?” he asked. His voice was understanding, not accusing.
    “I …” she hesitated again. How much should she tell him? “I won’t be in the office Monday,” she said.
    Bob laughed. “Don’t tell me. Hansen and Hobart called and canned you.”
    “That’s not funny.”
    “And neither is this. What happened between lunch today and now? And why the hell won’t you be in the office on Monday?”
    P.J. tucked her feet underneath her and pulled her hair back on both sides. She wondered if Bob knew she’d been coloring her hair for the past few years, faking what had once been flawless auburn until the gray had begun.
    “I have an appointment I can’t cancel. And right now, that’s all I’d like to tell you.”
    Bob folded his hands and stared at the carpet. “What kind of appointment?”
    P.J. put a hand on Bob’s leg. “Please, Bob. Trust me. I’d rather not go into it now.”
    He looked at her. “Is everything okay?”
    She nodded, afraid to speak, afraid the tears would come.
    “P.J., I’m more than just someone you date. I’m more than a little involved with you. I care, you know.”
    She nodded again.
    “I’d like to know what’s going on.” He laughed. “Hell, that’s not right, I think I deserve to know. If you don’t tell me, my imagination will take over, and I’ll think all kinds of things. Bad things.”
    Suddenly a buzzer rang.
    “The doorman,” P.J. said, relief washing over her.
    “Expecting someone?” Bob asked. This time his voice was accusing.
    “No,” she said firmly, then stood up and went to the intercom.
    “At least you didn’t say, ‘Saved by the bell,’ ” Bob tried to joke.
    P.J. pushed the button on the wall. “Yes, Walter?”
    “Ms. Davies, a lady to see you.”
    “Who is it?”
    “Name’s Mrs. Randall. Jessica Randall.”
    P.J. scowled. She knew no one by that name.
    She heard murmuring on the other end of the intercom, then Walter returned.
    “Says you know her as Jessica Bates. From a place called Larchwood Hall.”
    P.J. froze. Her legs went numb as her mind flew backward in time. Jess Bates. Larchwood Hall. P.J. at twenty years old.
    Her mother.
    Her father. Her father’s tenderness, his long-ago smile.
    The baby. Oh, God, the baby.
    She leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath, her finger still pressed on the button. Bob was beside her, his arm across her back.
    “You okay?” he asked.
    She turned to him. “What?”
    “You screamed,” he said. “P.J., for godsake, what’s going on?”
    She shook her head and turned back to the speaker. “This is not a convenient time,” she said hoarsely. The speaker crackled.
    “P.J.?” The voice was a woman’s. “This will only take a minute. Please.”
    P.J. looked at Bob. Her thoughts raced. She touched the top of her breast. Why now? Why was this all happening? It was some kind of nightmare. It must be some kind of nightmare.
    Bob leaned over her and pressed the button. “Not now,” he said.
    P.J. felt faint. Jess Bates was here? After all these years? Maybe she was sick. No, no! she told herself,
I’m the onewho’s sick!
But maybe Jess needed her. P.J. felt a rush of love. They had shared the worst time … they had shared everything.
If
, P.J. thought,
if I still