No Regrets

“How can anyone know about genetics, really?” the man had asked. “What if one of the girls harbors some impulse that might cause her to violently explode with rage? As her father did?”

“That’s highly unlikely,” the nun had assured him.

“Unlikely perhaps. But you can’t guarantee it’s not a possibility.”

“There are no guarantees in life, Mr. Howard,” the nun had tried again. “Even if the Lord were to bless you with your own children—”

“That’s just it. They’d be our own. And believe me, Sister, there are no murderous alcoholics in either my wife’s or my family. No.” Molly, who was standing with her ear against the door, had heard a deep sigh. “I’m afraid it’s just not worth the risk.”

Over the years the faces in that office had changed. But the argument had remained the same. Molly and Lena McBride were damaged goods.

“Benny has a lot of strikes working against him when it comes to adoption,” Molly murmured, thinking back on those lonely, frustrating days when she and Lena had been forced to watch other children leave the orphanage with their new families.

“That’s sure true. But you know Dr. Moore?”

“In pediatrics?”

“That’s him. He and his wife have been trying to have kids for ages with no luck. I overheard him talking to the social worker about getting the paperwork started.”

“Oh, that is good news.” Sometimes God did answer prayers. “Is Benny still downstairs?”

Yolanda’s sharp look revealed that she knew Molly all too well. “Yes, but you’re not—”

“I promise not to do any work. I just want to keep a little boy company for a while.”

“Reece will kill me.”

“Reece is too much of a sweetheart to kill anyone. Especially these days.”

“You noticed that the doc’s been floating up somewhere on cloud nine, too?”

Molly returned Yolanda’s grin with one of her own. “You’d have to be blind not to notice.”

“He’s got the look of a man who’s getting laid regular. And your sister’s looking like a kitten who discovered a saucer of cream. I swear, if I hadn’t sworn off marriage after my third divorce, I’d almost be willing to give it a try again.”

Molly laughed. She didn’t know what had happened between Lena and Reece. But whatever it was, she was definitely more than a little relieved at the change.

“If you could just get me some scrubs,” Molly coaxed, returning to their previous subject.

Yolanda folded her arms across her ample breasts. “If you tell anyone where you got them…”

“I won’t say a word. Cross my heart.”

Muttering to herself, Yolanda left the room, but returned a few minutes later with a pair of green surgical scrubs. “I didn’t see a thing,” she said. Then left again.

Molly found Benny in one of the waiting rooms, seated at a small table. Someone had given him a box of crayons and a coloring book, but he hadn’t touched them, and sat staring out into space. Molly didn’t want to know what the child was seeing. What he’d already seen. She also hoped that Dr. Moore and his wife had an immense store of patience.

“Hi, Benny,” she said cheerily.

He looked up, his expression flat until he saw her bruises. “Somebody hit you, too, Sister?”

“I’m afraid so, Benny.”

He thought about that for a minute. “People aren’t supposed to hit nuns.”

“People aren’t supposed to hit children, either. But sometimes people do.”

“Yeah.” He looked down at the backs of his small hands, which had circular scars that could only have been made from cigarette burns.

“Have you had lunch yet?”

“Yeah. One of the nurses brought me a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich from the cafeteria. And some chocolate milk.”

“That was nice.”

“I like chocolate milk.” Despite his words, his eyes had gone flat again.

“How about popcorn?”

He shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess. I only ever had it once. When the lady at one of the places I was staying took a bunch of us to see An American Tail.”

“That was a cool movie.”

Another shrug.

“I was sitting upstairs feeling a little sorry for myself when I decided popcorn might cheer me up.” Molly decided a white lie in this case was definitely one of the more venial sins she’d committed. “But I hate snacking alone and can’t eat the entire bag anyway. So, I was kind of hoping you’d help me out.”

She watched the flicker of interest in the depths of his dark eyes.

“I guess that’d be okay. Since I have to hang around here, anyway, until the social worker shows up.”

“Thanks, Benny. I really appreciate your helping me out.”

She took him into the nurses’ lounge, retrieved a bag of popcorn from her secret hiding place and put it in the microwave.

Five minutes later, they were working their way through the plump white kernels.

“I heard the nurses talking,” Benny volunteered. “One of them said that Dr. Moore wants to be my dad.”

“How do you feel about that?” Molly asked, popping the top on a soft drink can and handing it to him.

“I guess that’d be okay. I never had a dad.”

“I lost mine when I was little, too,” Molly volunteered.

He gave her a long look, but didn’t ask any questions. Molly knew all too well how children from violent homes learned the importance of keeping secrets.

“Johnny Brown has a dad. He hits him. A lot.”