With This Child...

It could only have fallen from her lap when she got out at Sam’s house.

Either her pictures were lying in the street, being run over by cars, or Sam and Kyla had noticed them and picked them up.

In that quiet neighborhood, the latter seemed more likely.

By now, Sam and Kyla probably knew the truth.

This wasn’t the way she’d wanted her daughter to find out.

Her mind whirling with black despair and chaos, she sank into the car and closed the door behind her.

With one stupid act, she’d made a terrible situation worse. She needed to get home as fast as possible.

But her fingers refused to turn the key.

She had to face the consequences of her actions. She couldn’t blame her mother or Dr. Franklin for this latest disaster.

In fact, maybe she had to take some of the blame for everything. Would things be different if she’d paid more attention when her baby was born, if she’d asked more questions about the death?

She’d been in shock, stunned by the loss, overwhelmed by guilt, convinced that the death was somehow her fault, because she’d been so stubborn, because she’d refused to consider her mother’s plan of adoption. So she’d allowed Dr. Franklin and her mother to take charge.

She’d asked to hold her child once before they took her away forever, to bury her in the cold, impersonal earth, but Dr. Franklin and her mother had persuaded her not to. She’d had only one look at her baby...Sam and Lisa’s baby...and that look had been blurred by tears.

If she’d done what she knew in her heart she should, if she’d insisted on holding the child, she’d have known immediately it wasn’t hers, wasn’t the baby she’d given birth to.

Now she had to somehow rectify the wrong. She had to take some control over her life, over Kyla’s life. She had to take charge of circumstances, instead of waiting and hoping for the best...trying to hide from the worst. She had to fight for the best. She had to go back to Sam’s house.

The safety of her condo, ninety minutes away, might as well have been on the moon.

She started her car and pulled away from the store in the direction from which she’d just come. Every movement was an effort, as in nightmares when, pursued by a horrible monster, she could move only in slow motion.

A hurricane roared in her ears as she approached the house.

Pushing the brake, stopping her car at the sidewalk, took every ounce of strength she possessed. Then she had to somehow find more to enable her to get out and walk up to the front door.

He met her there, stepping out onto the porch and standing in front of the door, denying her access to his home. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Who are you and what do you want?” He advanced on her, his brow furrowed, his face dark, and she backed away, stumbling against the side of one of the chairs she’d sat in earlier. He loomed over her. “If this is some kind of a joke, it’s not very damn funny. I’m warning you, Marcie Turner, or whoever the hell you are, if you continue to follow me or my daughter, or if you breathe one word of this nonsense to her, you’ll wish you’d never heard of either of us.”

Every angry word slammed painfully against her heart. She’d expected him to be upset, but she hadn’t been prepared for this furious disbelief. She hadn’t been prepared for so much venom from the smiling football coach.

A few feet away, off the porch, the sun still shone brightly. A woodpecker drummed in a nearby tree. A car drove by, releasing a burst of music from its radio. Only in the small area of Sam’s front porch had the world turned grim and ugly.

Her hands fluttered up to push him back, to allow her to regain her balance and defend herself. He jerked away before she could touch him.

A steel band wrapped around her chest, squeezing the breath from her. For Kyla. she reminded herself. For your daughter.

She forced herself to stand straight, to face him, to pull words from her throat. “I haven’t been following you. I came by your house for the first time today, because I had to see Kyla. I had to know for sure if the letter was true, if Kyla was my daughter.”

Sam glared at her, his eyebrows forming a straight, continuous line. “You need help. Psychiatric help. Believe me, you’re not my daughter’s mother.”

He was only lashing out at her because he was frightened of losing someone he loved. She shouldn’t blame him for that. He was fighting for Kyla, just as she was.

But his accusations hurt. She wasn’t accustomed to fighting. She wasn’t accustomed to having a nice person, someone she’d like under other circumstances, hating her, saying horrible things about her.

She reached behind her, clutching the cold, solid wrought iron of the chair back. “I know my own child. You and I need to tatk, to decide what to do, what’s the best thing for Kyla.”

Sam paced to the front of the porch, then back again to stand before her, his fists clenched at his sides. “The best thing for Kyla would be for you to drop off the face of the earth.”

“Maybe,” she admitted, the single word coming out a croak. She cleared her throat, lifted her chin and tried again. “Maybe. But that’s Kyla’s decision. She’s entitled to know the truth, then she can choose how to act on it. If she wants me to leave her alone, I will.”

“No. It’s not her decision. I’m her father. That makes it my decision, and I intend to see to it that she never hears a word of this garbage. I’m going to give you one chance to stop whatever you think you’re doing and disappear quietly before I have to call the police.”

She flinched at his classification of her as a criminal, someone who needed to be dealt with by the police. But he hadn’t called them yet. He must know, deep inside, that she was telling the truth. He must.

She retaliated with her own legal threat. “I talked to a lawyer, and he said I could file a petition with the court requesting genetic testing.” Her own hands clenched into fists, the fingernails digging into her palms painfully, as she watched the anger swell on Sam’s face. “I don’t want to do that,” she added. “I thought we could work something out.”

“Do you really expect me to give serious consideration to a letter you probably typed yourself, and to your ridiculous threat of going to court?” He flung one arm outward. “Go on. Give it your best shot. File all the petitions you want. See if you can find a judge who’ll listen to this trash. But in the meantime—” he leaned closer, jabbing a finger toward her “—you stay away from Kyla.”

“I can,” she whispered, then raised her voice, determined that no one was going to take her child from her a second time. “I can find a judge who’ll listen. I’ve spoken to my mother and Dr. Franklin’s nurse, and they’re both willing to testify. I don’t want to do it that way, but I will. I don’t want to disrupt Kyla’s life. I don’t want to force myself on her.”

“Then don’t. Stay out of her life. Kyla’s not your daughter. She’s my daughter, and believe me, lady, you and I have never made a child together. My wife gave birth to Kyla. I carried her home from the hospital.” He stepped back, shook his head and raked a hand distractedly through his hair. “Why are you doing this? What do you want?”

“I’m doing this because Kyla is my child. I want to be part of her life.”

“You want to take her from a father she loves, from her home?” His words were quieter than before, and she saw the glimmerings of doubt and fear in his eyes.

“No, of course not. I want her to be happy. I know she loves you. I have no intention of taking her from you.” In spite of her efforts to be strong, she knew that her voice had lost its certainty, that Sam would sense her weakness and take advantage of it. “I just want to be a part of her life. I want her to know I’m her mother.”

He sighed and looked away from her. “If you really did have a baby, and that baby died, I’m sorry. But if you think you’re going to take Kyla, you better think again.” He turned back to her, his hazel eyes blazing. “I want this insanity ended right now. I don’t want Kyla to ever find out about you. But if you think for one minute that’s going to stop me from calling the police and having you thrown in jail, you’re dead wrong. And I’m keeping those pictures and that letter as evidence.” He moved closer, so close she could see the tiny lines around his eyes, where a smile used to live. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my daughter from you.”

He whirled away, strode into the house and slammed the door behind him.

Marcie walked stiffly back to her car, away from her daughter’s home, where she wasn’t welcome, from Sam’s cold threat, his assertion that her baby needed to be protected from her.

She’d made a mistake, coming to McAlester and looking them up. She should have made firm, sensible plans. The lawyer she consulted had suggested she let him call first. That was what she should have done. She should never have given in to her impulse and driven by the house.

Her only excuse was that she’d wanted to be certain Kyla really was her daughter before she did anything. But having an excuse didn’t change the situation. Her mother had a roomful of excuses for what she’d done, and they didn’t change a thing.

She’d taken a step in the wrong direction, and life gave no opportunities for U-turns. The road chosen, whether by deliberation, impulse or accident, had to be traveled. She’d learned that years ago.

The drive home was going to be a long one. And she doubted that even when she got there she was going to feel safe. Her carefully constructed world was crumbling.

When Marcie finally walked into her condo, exhausted to the point of collapse, the light of the answering machine sitting on the kitchen bar seemed to blink a brighter red than she remembered, an ominous, threatening shade of red.

She hesitated for a moment, wanting only to go to bed. If she pressed that button, would she hear more cruel accusations from Sam? Or had he talked to the police and they were calling to warn her away from Kyla?

She made herself cross the room to the answering machine and press the button. Every muscle in her body tensed as she waited for it to rewind and begin to play.