A Mother's Secret by Janice Kay Johnson

weekends and longer if he didn’t, couldn’t, really love her son.
    She’d justified this talk by telling herself that it might be time for her to hire an attorney. Probably she should have done that at the beginning, when he’d come to her house and demanded parental rights. Instead she’d been conciliatory out of guilt and…oh, face it…the fact that, on some level, she’d never quit loving him. And by letting him into her home and life, she’d put not just Malcolm but her heart at peril. Yes, she had to give him parental rights. But she could have done that by keeping herself at a much safer distance and by defining from the beginning where his rights ended.
    While she stood hesitating outside the restaurant door, a man with a long, gray beard shuffled up to her. “Spare a dollar, miss?”
    Rebecca had been asked for money three or four times a block since she left her car. She shouldn’t be surprised, as much time as she had spent in the city, but this area not far from Union Square was home to such contrasts: designer boutiques, luxury hotels and law firms, while the sidewalks were populated with the homeless. Even now, as she reached into her purse, a pair of men in expensive suits brushed by her, followed closely by a woman with wild hair and dazed eyes who wore a pink chenille bathrobe and fluffy slippers.
    Rebecca gave the beggar a dollar and then went into the restaurant.
    Wearing a charcoal-gray suit as elegant as the two she’d seen outside, Daniel waited for her.
    “Sucker.”
    She made a face at him, embarrassed to realize he’d been watching through the glass while she froze in panic on the sidewalk. “I always have been.”
    “You know the guy probably clears more than you make, and he doesn’t pay any tax on it.”
    “Maybe. But what if he really is hungry?”
    “Or wants his next drink.”
    “You never succumb?”
    “That guy looked able-bodied to me. He should get a job.” With a glance, Daniel brought the maître d’ hurrying to them.
    “You’re ready to be seated now? Certainly. This way.”
    Daniel waved for her to follow the maître d’.
    She’d forgotten how effortlessly Daniel commandedservice. Waiters never neglected him; taxicabs had a way of whipping to the curb whenever he wanted one, as if the force of his personality drew them from blocks away. Back then, whenever he’d exasperated her, she would close her eyes and imagine him stuck at the curb like normal people, a cold, slanting rain soaking his beautiful suit while fleets of cabs passed, impervious to his raised hand.
    Rebecca rolled her eyes as she was led to the table by the window. Of course it had been held for Daniel.
    The waiter handed them menus and went to get their drinks. She scanned hers and looked up to find Daniel had already set his menu aside and was watching her, his expression inscrutable.
    “Do you have a favorite here?” she asked.
    “I thought I’d go for one of the specials on the board.”
    All she’d seen was him when she walked in. Forget a board with specials. She wasn’t going to admit that.
    “So what’s this about?” he asked brusquely.
    “Why don’t we wait until we’ve ordered?”
    He slanted a look at her, then summoned the waiter. “We’re ready.”
    Giving their orders took about thirty seconds. The moment the waiter walked away, Daniel sat back, contemplating her. “Well?”
    “I want to find out what you have in mind,” she said.
    “Are you asking whether I intend to contest custody? Or which weekends in the month will be mine to have Malcolm?”
    Low and furious, she said, “Just try to take Malcolm away from me…”
    A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Do you really think I’d do that?”
    “I…” She was shaking and had to hide her hands on her lap. “I don’t know. I don’t know you!”
    Now he leaned forward, his eyes vivid with some intense emotion. “Then why were you so sure I’d make a lousy father?”
    She stared down at the place settings, her