A Mother's Secret by Janice Kay Johnson

as Malcolm continued to share his thoughts about Aunt Nomi and any number of other adults he knew. Daniel did manage to interject that his name was Daniel Kane, and that Malcolm could call him Mr. Kane if he preferred. Malcolm thought Kane was a great name.
    “A really good name,” he said with unmistakable satisfaction.
    Rebecca winced.
    Daniel was uncharitable enough to savor her discomfiture. The boy’s name should have been Kane. Would have been Kane, if she hadn’t decided to cut Daniel out.
    “This place okay?” he asked, slowing by a pizza parlor he’d spotted the other day.
    “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “We like this place, don’t we, Mal?”
    “Yeah!” The boy bounced. “We like pizza!”
    Once he’d parked and they were walking in, she said, “I’m not really quite as much of a prig as he makes me sound. I just figure if I can influence him into thinking seat belts are important at this age, it might stick.”
    “You’re not a pig, Mom.” Her son, clutching her hand, looked up at her in astonishment. “Why’d you say you’re a pig?”
    Amused, Daniel listened as she valiantly attempted to explain the difference between pig and prig . Clearly, she’d failed, because she was still trying when Malcolm interrupted her and said, “We won’t get a pizza with mushrooms. Right?”
    “He doesn’t like mushrooms,” she murmured to Daniel.
    He felt an odd bump in his chest. Looking down at the boy, Daniel said, “He’s not the only one who doesn’t like mushrooms. There definitely won’t be any on our pizza.”
    “I’d forgotten,” Rebecca said in a funny voice. “You don’t like Brussels sprouts, either, do you? Or spinach. He doesn’t, either.”
    He smiled at Malcolm. “We must have the same tastes, buddy.”
    “Brussels sprouts are gross ,” he was assured. “They stink!”
    “Yes, they do,” Daniel agreed.
    Rebecca rolled her eyes. “You’re a big help.”
    “Well, he’s right.”
    “Mom always says I’ll like stuff like that when I’m growed up. But I’m never going to eat food that stinks!” Malcolm chortled.
    They established that he would also prefer pizza without pepperoni, sausage, Canadian bacon, onion or green pepper. He kinda liked pineapple, though. Daniel suggested that they ask for one quarter of their pizza to be plain cheese with pineapple. Then he said, “Veggie with no mushroom?” to Rebecca, and she nodded, looked startled, then blushed.
    Daniel was surprised himself to realize how many of her preferences he remembered. Not just tastes in food, he thought, watching as she led the four-year-old to the bathroom. How much about her he remembered.
    Like her scent. The entire time he knew her, she’d used the same shampoo. An organic, not-tested-on-animals, hard-to-find one that smelled of apricots and green tea. Even now, four years later, a whiff of that distinctive scent would have stopped him dead in a crowd as he turned to look for her.
    The tiny, choked sound she made when she was trying to suppress a laugh. He remembered that, too. Yeah, and the throaty purr when she was enjoying his touch.
    And those flecks of gold in her eyes that seemed to brighten when she was mad or excited or aroused. He vividly remembered the moment when he’d thought, I could spend the rest of my life looking into her eyes .
    They hadn’t even been having sex. No, they’d been chatting over breakfast. She was laughing at him as she snatched the front page of the Chronicle out of his hand.
    Back then, the thought had no sooner slipped into his mind than he had ridiculed it. She had pretty eyes; so what? No glint of gold in chocolate depths was going to seduce him into making promises he wouldn’t want to keep. It wasn’t long thereafter that he’d started letting days pass between calling her.
    The rest of my life . For the first time, Daniel identified the tight sensation he’d felt in his chest at the idea.
    Panic. He’d been scared to death.
    He was still