The Prodigal Cousin

“My family’s? How can I accept them? How can I even accept that you’ve hidden Sam’s existence?”

“Try to understand. I’ve missed Sam every day of his life, but I could never tell anyone.” Her eyes filled with tears. “You admired me because I came up here to the middle of nowhere to teach. You thought I was someone better than I’ve ever felt. How could I tell you?”

Her fear brought life back to Patrick’s eyes, but not forgiveness.

“I won’t speak for Molly.” Standing abruptly, he threw money on the table. “But I can’t fall in with this little change you’re making in our lives. You’re not the woman I married.”

“Where are you going?”

“You have no right to ask.” His cold gaze pronounced her guilty. “You never trusted me.”

Patrick rushed to the door of the café, stumbling against a table edge, bumping a rack of property rental magazines. Her heart broke. She pressed both hands to her chest as if she could catch the pieces.

Cast off again.

It hadn’t happened in such a long time, she didn’t know what to do. Cry or run after Patrick? Go to her son?

She couldn’t do either. She had to talk to Molly. The world spun crazily. How could she face disillusionment in her daughter’s eyes?

THE BALLOONS LAY in pieces on the floor. Molly swept them up, spreading a cloud of dust that smelled of wet children and dirty shoes and musty books.

A big splash of green balloon reminded her of Nina. The children in her class had written the letters they knew on their balloons. Earlier that morning Nina had written her name, and Sam’s and Tamsin’s with only a little help. She’d added Molly’s name, remembering it well enough to write it again after Molly had spelled it for her only once.

Moments like that reminded Molly why she loved to teach. Children who were eager to learn made the mind-dulling business sessions and the fight for funding, even in such a small school, worthwhile.

Her thoughts returned to Sam’s girls. Nina’s curiosity charmed the daylights out of her, but Tamsin’s Goth clothing and makeup alarmed her. In Nina’s big sister, Molly sensed the quiet desperation that had once been her constant companion.

Molly often wondered if her colleagues worried about their students’ home lives, but she never asked. Asking would expose one of those traits she wasn’t sure every woman shared. Where “normal” people assumed their friends, their families, even the children they taught lived in safety, Molly prepared herself for…not the worst, but not the best, either.

Eliza and Patrick had taken her into foster care after Eliza discovered that the dirty-haired, unkempt girl who’d once inhabited a corner of her classroom was “living” in an empty house on the edge of town. Molly had been alone for seven months by the time Eliza realized her so-called parents had abandoned her to live their separate lives in Knoxville.

After several inconvenient visits from Child Protective Services, Bonnie, Molly’s birth mother, and Mitch, her father, had been more than willing to give up their daughter. Eliza had made Molly feel special when the girl had wanted to hide in humiliation.

Molly had assumed no one could love her. Patrick and Eliza Calvert’s home had been paradise—a most unreliable situation so far in Molly’s short life. She’d tested her foster parents with behavior that horrified her in retrospect. But they’d kept loving her.

After the miscarriage, Patrick and Eliza had adopted her. In return for their kindness—and as penance for her own unforgivable mistakes— Molly had finally learned to consider every possible consequence before she made a move.

“Molly?”

She straightened, immediately alarmed. Tears had marked her mother’s cheeks. “Mom.” Aware only of an urge to fix whatever was bothering her mom, she crossed the room, taking her hands. “You’re crying.”

Eliza touched a lace hanky to one eye, smearing mascara. “A little. May I come in?”

“Why would you ask?” She forced a smile, but the floor seemed to tilt. She hated anything that hurt her mother.

Eliza floated into the classroom. She was still wearing the soft green dress she’d worn at breakfast, but a grease stain formed a circle just above her belted waist. Molly frowned. Her mom believed in the Southern tradition of chiffon and pearls for outside the house. She never wore grease.

“What’s wrong?”

Eliza sniffed the air, showing a sweet profile that only became more lovable to Molly with each passing day. “No more chalk dust. I miss it.”

Molly pointed at the long, shiny surface that had taken the chalkboard’s place. “Whiteboard. Smell the markers?”

“Not the same,” she declared, avoiding the real subject she’d come to talk about. She was starting to shake.

Molly negotiated a path through the wooden desks and helped her to a chair. “I’ll get you some water. What have you been doing?”

“I hardly know. I’ve walked and thought, and now I need to talk. I don’t want water.” With a sudden return of strength, Eliza pushed her into the closest seat. “Let me tell you about myself.”

“What?” Adrenaline lifted Molly’s voice several decibels. Something bad was coming. She gripped her mom’s hands again, reminding herself not to crush the delicate bones. “You’re scaring me.”

“Your father’s furious.”

“Daddy?” She was eight years old again. In the way. Totally expendable. “What’s happened?” For some reason, she thought of Sophie’s mother. Aunt Nita’s affair had nearly destroyed Sophie and Uncle Ethan, but Molly’s mother would never have an affair. Not this mother, anyway. The one who’d cut all ties with her would have considered an affair small potatoes.

“It’s Sam,” her mom said. “And me—and something I did when I was a young girl.”

“Sam?” Molly’s mind went blank. “What does Sam have to do with you?

“I’ve kept the truth from you and your father.” She licked her dry lips. Molly wanted to get her that water, but she couldn’t make her feet move.

“What did you ever do that you’d have to hide?” Suddenly, Sam’s eyes, dark, watchful and worried looking, swam in Molly’s mind. He’d reminded her of her mom. That fast, Molly knew. She’d also been pregnant too young. If any woman on earth had lived a life that prepared her to accept her mother’s confession, Molly had.

But her image of Eliza left no room for such a mistake, and shock blunted her good intentions. “I can’t…I can’t believe you, of all people—”

“He’s my son.” Despair filled her mother’s voice instead of joy.

To Molly, Eliza had been the fairy godmother who’d spirited her out of life’s wreckage. Eliza Calvert had abandoned a child? Never.

A hint of distaste must have shown on Molly’s face, but she’d been an abandoned child herself. She couldn’t contain her feelings or stop herself from showing them.

Even as her mother pushed back from her, Molly found restraint. Whatever Eliza had done, Molly owed her for the only happiness she’d ever known. She had to let her mother explain.

Eliza’s cold hands felt devoid of life. Molly chafed them, dropping to her knees. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“You looked as if you hated me.”

Molly swallowed tears. “I’m scared.” Who knew what came next?

“I didn’t want to give him up. He’s my child—just as you are. But I didn’t know how to give him a life. Please understand.”

“I do.” She couldn’t imagine being able to make the same decision, but this was her turn to give back a little of the support she counted on from her mom. “But why are you sad? I’d give anything to have a second chance with the child I lost.”

Hope entered her mother’s eyes as Molly fought the innate dread of what Sam’s prodigal homecoming meant for her. He was her mom’s real son, born of her body. Her natural child, as Molly never could be. And he’d brought her Tamsin and Nina. Molly would never give her parents grandchildren.

“Can you forgive me this easily?” With a quiver in her voice, Eliza sounded as frightened as Molly had ever been. “Or are you turning yourself into the family protector again?”

“Do you know what I owe you?” Molly continued rubbing her mom’s hands. “I carry my past like a lead weight. I’ll never have anything to forgive you for.”