With This Child.... Sally Carleen

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      Kyla bounced up beside her as they came around the car. “Dad was teaching me to catch pop flies, and that one got away. I’m really sorry.”

      “It’s okay,” Marcie said, the words coming out barely above a whisper. “I thought I hit you. I thought you were hurt.”

      “Nah. I ran into your car ’cause I wasn’t watching where I was going. Hardly anybody ever comes down that street, but Dad’s always yelling at me for running out.” She grinned at Sam. “Guess he’s right once in a while. I’ll go fix you some tea. You want sugar and lemon?”

      “Yes.” She smiled. “Yes, please. I’d like that.” She didn’t usually take sugar and lemon, but she’d have taken salt if her daughter offered it.

      Her baby was there, in person, real, alive.

      Kyla sprinted up the walk and into the house ahead of them, a happy, secure, obviously loved child, with no clue that she’d just met her mother.

      They reached the porch, and Sam indicated a scattering of wrought-iron chairs with faded green-and-white striped cushions. Marcie sank into the closest one, grateful that she was no longer dependent on her shaky legs to hold her up.

      “I’m Sam Woodward.” He offered his hand again, and she clasped it for the second time. His shake was firm and confident, and she was amazed at how much she liked him, in spite of everything.

      He was the personification of a high school football coach. His open, friendly smile—the same smile she’d seen in his pictures, but even more potent in person—promised carefree autumn evenings at football games and wiener roasts in the park.

      Sam looked at her oddly, and Marcie realized she hadn’t told him who she was. She smiled nervously. “I’m Marcie Turner. I, uh—” I’m Kyla’s mother? No, that probably wasn’t a good way to establish her identity.

      Sam took the chair beside her, looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to finish her sentence. She couldn’t think of anything to say except I’m Kyla’s mother. Every crevice in her mind was filled with that thought, leaving no room for coherency.

      “I’m an accountant,” she finally blurted, then wondered why she’d said it. An attempt to offer some sort of validation that she existed, that she had an identity and a life, that she wasn’t really as disconnected as she felt right now?

      “That must come in handy around April fifteenth,” Sam replied, as if their conversation were perfectly normal. And maybe it was. Right now, she had no idea of what was and wasn’t normal. “I’m the high school football coach,” he continued.

      “I know.”

      “Then you’re from McAlester,”

      “No. I live in Tulsa. I just meant you look like a football coach. All those muscles.” Oh, God! What on earth was she saying? “I don’t make a habit of running into...people.”

      “Relax. You didn’t. Kyla ran into you. First I bounced a softball off the hood of your car, then my kid plowed into you.”

      “Teenager,” Kyla corrected, pushing open the screen door with her hip and emerging carrying three large glasses of tea on a tray. “I’m almost a teenager, and Dad’s having a hard time accepting that I’m practically grown up.”

      Your mother’s having a hard time accepting that, too! Marcie wanted to shout.

      “That’s because you’re not practically grown up, missy,” Sam replied. “Not even close.”

      Marcie accepted a tall drink from Kyla, trying not to stare at her, to let her eyes feast only in short, hungry glances. Her teeth chattered against the rim of the glass, but she managed to swallow several large gulps of the cold liquid.

      Kyla sprawled in another chair. “Pretty soon I’ll be dating, and next thing you know, you’ll be a grandfather.”

      Marcie choked on her tea, and Sam leaned over to pat her on the back.

      “You okay?” he asked solicitously when she caught her breath.

      Marcie nodded and forced a smile. “That was, um, kind of shocking. I mean, I know you were teasing. It’s just that you’re so young, and...” Her voice trailed off, and she took another drink of her tea to cover her confusion.

      Sam chuckled. “My impertinent daughter is baiting me. It’s one of her favorite pastimes.”

      Kyla grinned mischievously. “Keeps him on his toes. It’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it, and I’m an only child. Are you married? Do you have any kids?”

      Marcie froze at the last question, but Sam saved her from having to figure out how to answer it.

      “Kyla!” he exclaimed, but he smiled as he looked at Marcie. “My kid may be totally tactless, but she has no manners.”

      “Oh, Dad,” Kyla groaned. “It’s a good thing you can coach football, ’cause you’d sure never make it as a comedian.”

      He leaned over and yanked on her blond ponytail, and burning, icy envy washed over Marcie.

      Being with her daughter was making her feel impossibly distant from her. Kyla and Sam shared a closeness she wanted desperately, but wasn’t sure she could ever have.

      Her daughter was happy and loved, that was obvious. Perhaps she should leave it at that, get up, set down her glass of tea, thank the two of them politely and walk away, out of Kyla’s life. Marcie had dealt with the pain of losing her once, and that pain had been diffused and pointless. Now, if she knew it was for Kyla’s benefit, surely she could do it again. Perhaps that would be the kindest, most loving thing she could do for her daughter.

      No.

      Her own mother had done what she thought best for Marcie, and it hadn’t been the best at all. Marcie should have had the right to make her own decisions.

      Now she would give her daughter that right. If Kyla should decide she wanted nothing to do with her real mother, then Marcie would have to somehow force herself to walk out of her life, to again learn to live with emptiness.

      Whatever the outcome, the decision belonged to Kyla.

      Marcie suddenly realized Sam and Kyla were staring at her curiously.

      She rose on shaky legs, setting her tea on the small wrought-iron table.

      “I, uh...” No, she couldn’t just blurt it out like that. “I’d better be going. Thank you for the tea.”

      “You sure you’re okay to drive?” Sam asked.

      She tried a confident smile, but knew it came out weak and uncertain. “I’m sure.”

      She moved numbly down the cracked sidewalk, with Sam on one side and Kyla on the other. At the end of the walk, her silver compact car reflected the sunlight in a painful glare as it lured and repelled at the same time—offering escape from this unknown, frightening situation, while taking her away from her daughter.

      Sam opened her car door for her, as if speeding her exit, СКАЧАТЬ