With This Child.... Sally Carleen

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СКАЧАТЬ she’d almost forgotten assailed her—freshly cut grass, honeysuckle, roses, and all the other fragrances that never reached her fifth-floor condo in Tulsa.

      A small boy in a blue sunsuit pedaled his tricycle across the street in front of her.

      A young couple diligently painted a house they appeared to be restoring.

      An elderly woman puttered in her flower beds.

      A tiny Yorkie darted to the end of a sidewalk to bark frantically as Marcie drove past.

      Saturday morning in a small town.

      Several cars were parked in the street—a common problem with houses too old to have garages—but other than that, the area seemed well cared-for. The detective had told her that much; had assured her that while Sam Woodward might not be getting rich working as a high school football coach, he appeared to be providing well for his daughter. Her daughter.

      There was absolutely nothing in this well-kept, comfortable neighborhood to send nervous chills down Marcie’s spine, to cause her palms to sweat, her hands to tremble as they clutched the steering wheel.

      Nothing except the two-story white house that seemed to be approaching her, rather than vice versa.

      Seeing the picture of the house hadn’t prepared her for the sense of isolation the actual structure made her feel, the sense of total separation from everything inside it.

      From Sam and Kyla Woodward.

      She drove past, her gaze skimming over the detached garage to scan the front porch, the open windows and doors, searching for a glimpse of the blond girl in the pictures.

      She turned the corner to go around the side of the house—

      And a baseball slammed onto the hood of her car, followed by a young girl and then a dull thud. Marcie swerved to the side of the road, crushing the brake to the floor, while adrenaline exploded through her body.

      Oh, God! She’d just run down her daughter!

      Her breath caught in her chest as she shifted into park. The trees and houses and everything else around her blurred as mat moment in time locked on itself, filling her vision with the sight of the girl slamming against her car.

      “I’m sorry, lady!”

      Marcie jumped at the sound of the words coming from the passenger window.

      The beautiful child from the pictures, now distressed instead of laughing, peered at her from wide blue eyes.

      From the same blue eyes Marcie saw in the mirror every morning.

      In that instant, she knew, and in spite of the black fear that hovered around the edges of her soul, happiness burst over Marcie like sunrise after a night filled with terrors.

      Her baby wasn’t dead. She was alive, breathing, speaking.

      A thousand words and a thousand emotions lumped in Marcie’s throat, and she had to blink back sudden tears as she gazed at her child in the flesh only a few feet away. She wanted to fly across the distance, grab her and hold her in her arms, tightly enough to make up for all the years she hadn’t been able to hold her. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to live the thirteen years separating them in one burst... to reclaim her baby.

      Instead, she sat behind the wheel of her car, paralyzed, unable even to speak.

      And the child she’d carried inside her body, given birth to, shared the same hair and eyes with, that child looked at her as if she were a stranger.

      Which she was.

      Cold darkness pressed against her, throwing a shadow over her joy.

      “Don’t cry, ma’am. We’ll pay to have your car fixed.” The girl inclined her head toward the hood. “It didn’t make much of a dent, anyway. You hardly notice it.” She smiled tentatively. “And I didn’t even make a dent at all when I ran into you.”

      A tall, muscular man wearing cut-offs and a T-shirt jogged over from the yard and put an arm possessively about her daughter’s shoulders.

      Sam Woodward.

      The man who’d raised her baby and given her the laughter she’d seen in the photographs her detective took.

      The man she was grateful to and resentful of. The man she envied and feared beyond all reason.

      He leaned over and peered in the window, his face beside her daughter’s. “Are you all right?”

      She forced herself to nod, though she was as far from all right as it was possible to be.

      He went around to the hood of the car, peered closely at a spot and traced a small circle with one finger of a large hand, a hand big enough to catch footballs.

      She didn’t want to look at him. She wanted to focus on her daughter, to never let her out of her sight again, to never risk losing her again.

      But her gaze involuntarily followed him, her mind racing, as she tried to think of what she should say.

      With a scowl, he walked around to the driver’s side window. He had a kind face, tanned, with laugh lines like sunbursts accenting his clear hazel eyes. Unruly brown hair tumbled over his forehead, imbuing him with a rakish innocence.

      “My daughter’s right,” he said. “The ball didn’t leave a very big dent at all. I have a friend who works on cars. He can probably pop it out for you today without even hurting the paint.”

      My daughter?

      No! she wanted to scream. She’s my daughter! You can’t have her!

      She lifted a shaky hand to her forehead.

      “Of course, you can take your car wherever you want and get it fixed, and I’ll pay for it,” Sam continued, apparently mistaking the reason for her confusion.

      She had to say something, she had to tell them.

      “Why don’t you get out and come sit on the porch for a few minutes?” Sam asked in a concerned voice. “You seem kind of shaken up. Kyla—that’s my daughter—she’ll fix you a glass of iced tea and you can catch your breath.”

      Kyla.

      Not Jenny, but Kyla.

      She hadn’t even been able to choose her daughter’s name. She’d given her baby’s name to Sam and Lisa Woodward’s baby. She’d buried their child with her daughter’s name.

      Sam opened her car door and extended his hand to help her, as if she were an invalid.

      It was an accurate assumption. Her brain and body had shut down, ceased to function. She had no idea what to say, and wasn’t sure she’d be able to speak if she did know.

      She shut off the engine and accepted Sam’s hand. It was big and competent and gave her a protected feeling. As she slid from the car and stood, he placed his other hand at the small of her back, steadying her, as if she were fragile СКАЧАТЬ