Child of Mine (9 page)

“You're never in trouble, sweet pea.”

“Okay. Let's go with that.
”
Nattie propped her elbows on her knees, knuckles to her chin.

“I've been thinking about something, honey.”

Nattie frowned thoughtfully, matching his own serious expression.

“You know how much I loved your dad—my big brother, Danny. Well, when you became my little girl, I wanted to keep his memory alive for you. Didn't think it was right to take his place.”

“I only kinda remember my dad.”

“And that's partly why I think it's time. . . .” He hesitated, as Nattie's eyes drilled a hole in his face. Surrounded by vivid Disney posters, he swallowed hard, aware of Princess Ariel's eyes on him.

As usual, Nattie was two steps ahead of him, her face suddenly bright. “So . . . what if I called
you
Dad?”

“That's what I was thinking, actually.”

“Deal,” Nattie said, extending her hand for Jack to shake, which they did. Proper and legal. He kissed her cheek, and she frowned. “So now I have to go to sleep?”

“Yes, goof.”

“Aren't we going to celebrate?”

“How?”

She gave him a look of exasperation. “As if!”

“How 'bout a cookie instead?”

She agreed on the condition that the cookie be accompanied by ice cream, because to Nattie nothing was truly celebratory without the cold stuff.

When Nattie was tucked in for the second time, Jack headed back downstairs to turn off the lights.

He had just settled into his corner of the tan sectional when his cell phone rang. It was Diane, his next-door neighbor.

“Didn't mean to call so late, but I saw your light still on.”

He set her mind at ease. “It's fine.” He listened as she explained the reason for her call: Craig and Diane's upcoming anniversary.

“Congratulations,” he said, happy for them, surprised at how quickly a full year had passed.

“Which is why I'm calling,” she continued. “I have a special request, but please feel free to say no.”

She certainly had his attention.

“I just bought my husband a new dirt bike!”

“No kidding,” Jack said, hard-pressed to conceal the awe in his voice.

Diane lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And I need to hide it.”

Oh boy,
Jack thought.

After listening with growing fascination and, frankly, more than a little envy, they said good-bye just as he caught a flicker of movement in the hallway upstairs.

“Hey, Dad!” Nattie called down.

For a moment, he was taken aback.
Oh yeah, that's me.
“What's up, sweetie?”

“Nothing,” she said, grinning. “Just checking to see if it worked.”

H
aving gotten a miraculous five hours of sleep, Kelly was thrilled to hear from Ernie Meyers the following Wednesday afternoon. His thick gravelly voice rumbled over the phone, and she could almost smell his trademark Old Spice. She'd been up for an hour or so, twirling her hair and reading computer posts. Hearing his voice, she felt psyched. “Got something for me?”

“Ready to rock and roll?” He sounded a bit more hoarse than usual and admitted to struggling with a lingering case of bronchitis. “But I gotta make a livin', so here I be, sucking on throat lozenges and popping aspirin.”

“You shouldn't push it,” she cautioned.

“It takes more than a nasty bug to do me in.” He coughed and she heard the sound of shuffling papers.

Kelly went to the sink for some water, her anticipation building.

“So,” Ernie began, “I forgot to mention . . . this one's in-state.”

Kelly nearly dropped her glass. “
How
in-state?”

“Forty minutes to the southwest, tiny place called Wooster.”

She knew the town well. In fact, she'd gone there with Bobby on weekends when they were first married.

“You could whisk down there in your free time. Check it out. Work your magic.” Ernie paused, then chuckled wryly. “Oh, that's right. I forgot. We're ditching our tool kit of tricks.”

Kelly could only focus on one thought:
Forty minutes away?
How many times had she longed for . . . no,
prayed
for something this close? She looked at the wall clock, just above the corkboard she used for reminders. She could be in Wooster before six. Easy. Maybe even earlier.

“Girl's name is Natalie Livingston,” Ernie said.

Natalie.

“Cute little thing, too,” Ernie continued. “Smart cookie. They call her Nattie for short.”

Kelly stood near the open window overlooking the tree-lined neighborhood. Bright sunlight twinkled off the glass. She could hear kids shrieking and dogs barking, a car door slamming and a husband and wife having a pleasant conversation. There she stood with her heart in her throat. “Does this child look like me, Ernie?”

“There's a strong resemblance,” he replied. “Especially with our aged-progression of Emily.” He began coughing harder now until he had to cover the receiver. When he finally came on again, he apologized. “There's something you need to know, Kelly. This little girl's adoptive parents, Danny and Darla Livingston, were killed in a car crash four years after her adoption.”

Kelly shuddered.
Poor kid.
Then she realized:
Maybe
my
kid.

“Nattie's guardian is her uncle, Jack Livingston. He never married, but he does employ an Amish nanny.”

“No mother?”

“Nope.”

Another long pause. Kelly listened to the soft whirring of the ceiling fan, an attempt to cool the place without turning on the AC, trying to save money on the utility bill.

“Wooster,” she said finally.
Incredible
.

“Charming little town,” Ernie said.

Kelly asked politely about his wife, Penny, and in turn, Ernie asked about Kelly's mom.

“She's busy as ever,” Kelly replied. “Still belongs to about twenty different social clubs.”

Ernie made a grunt but didn't speak.

She had to smile. Ernie called things as he saw them, but if he couldn't say anything nice, he usually said nothing.

“I think my mom still blames herself,” Kelly added in her mother's defense.

“What? For introducing you to that sociopath?”

Yeah,
she thought.
Sociopath pretty much covers it.

“I have to take the blame too, Ernie,” she admitted. “And I've made so many mistakes since.”

“You did what any mother would have done under similar circumstances,” Ernie assured her. “You did your best.”

Kelly was encouraged by his loyalty. She thought of Wooster again, eager to drive there. At the kitchen counter Kelly fumbled with her faux leather purse, removing a pen and lined notepad. “Okay. I'm ready for the address whenever you are.”

She wrote it down quickly, and before hanging up, she encouraged Ernie to take it easy. “You really should be in bed,” she urged. “Get some rest. You need it.”

He seemed to dismiss her concern. “I'll attach Natalie's photo to an email right away.” He heaved and coughed raggedly, sounding worse by the minute.

She thanked him, heart racing. Disconnecting, Kelly stared at the address with a renewed sense of optimism.
Every failure brings me closer,
she thought.
Thank
you, Lord.

While she couldn't manipulate a chance meeting this time—having promised Chet and Eloise not to “steal” another girl's DNA—there were even greater difficulties with a direct approach.

Pursing her lips, she imagined ringing the bell, picturing Nattie's uncle at the door, and giving him the spiel:
“Nearly nine years ago, my baby
daughter was taken from me and sold into the black
adoption
market. I have reason to suspect your Nattie might
be my own precious Emily.”

But such a bold approach had never worked in the past. In fact, Kelly had wasted years having doors slammed in her face, enduring months of legal wrangling before adoptive parents coughed up court-ordered DNA testing—the reason she'd eventually changed her methods.

You know where my little girl is, Lord. Guide me
there.
Smiling, she grabbed her car keys and dashed out the door.

Laura was grating cheese for their evening meal when Jack walked in with the mail, a collection of the usual junk and little else.

Her face was flushed, glowing with perspiration. “Nattie's out playing in the backyard with Marina, that nice little girl from down the block,” she told him.

Ah, friend number four on the current
list
, he recalled with a smile.

“By the way, how do you like the terraced garden, Jack?” she asked, eyes bright.

Distracted with the mail, he hadn't even noticed and felt chagrined. “I'll take a look right now.” Promptly, he headed for the front door to inspect Laura's handiwork. There, he surveyed the perfectly spaced rows of pink petunias; deep purple pansies blooming along the perimeter; red, purple, and pink starry-shaped asters; and the narrow silver-gray leaves of snow-in-summer filling in the borders.

This took a lot of work
, he thought, marveling at Laura's accomplishment, and in a single day, too.

Moments later, Nattie came running from the back of the house to the front porch with Marina in tow, her blond hair flying, blue eyes streaked with tears.

“Marina's got a sliver,” Nattie said calmly, exerting her confident leadership. Marina nodded, dramatically holding her right hand up, gripping it tightly with her left.

Nattie handed Jack a pair of tweezers like a nurse supplying a scalpel to the surgeon. “I told Marina you're the expert on slivers.” Nattie shrugged, smiling. “Laura says so, too.”

Sitting on his haunches, Jack met Marina's worried gaze. “I
am
the sliver extractor. And don't you forget it.”

Marina swallowed hopefully, blinking up her courage.

Just then Laura called for Nattie to come inside, and Nattie left Jack in charge of Marina's “surgery.”

Gently positioning Marina to take best advantage of the sunlight, Jack gripped the tweezers and examined the wound. “It might hurt just a little, but it'll be over quick, I promise.”

“Don't dig!” Marina exclaimed, her arms trembling.

“I won't, sweetie.” Holding Marina's finger, Jack took a closer look but was distracted by an older model gray Toyota Corolla with darkly tinted windows pulling up in front of their spinster neighbor's house, a few doors away. Mrs. Madison was a disagreeable soul who kept to herself, who turned off her porch light on Halloween, and who was known to lecture skateboarders from her front lawn.

Jack turned back to the task at hand—saving Marina from the giant wooden plank in her finger. “Hold still now,” he murmured while Marina held her breath, her cheeks puffing out. Jack took aim, and in one fell swoop removed the sliver.

“Ta-da!” he exclaimed, holding up the offending speck.

Marina's mouth fell open. She examined the sliver, then her finger, and broke into a wide smile, smothering Jack with a hug. “Thank you, Mr. Livingston!”

Dramatically, Marina held up her arm and marched back into the house, yelling, “Nattie! Nattie! Your uncle—I mean
dad—
is a genius!”

Jack smiled. Fewer joys on earth exceeded the rescuing of a damsel in distress.

He could hear Nattie from the kitchen. “I told you!” Followed by Laura's, “Hold still, young lady.” He wondered why Nattie
was being asked to hold still, although it might explain why Nattie hadn't hung around to observe his supposed life-saving procedure.

Casually, he glanced down the street again before heading inside, noting that the driver still had yet to emerge from the Toyota. Making a mental note to check on it later, he headed back inside the house.

Kelly felt heartsick as she watched the obviously caring man with the blond girl on the front steps.
Something's wrong, though.
She checked her email only to find that Ernie hadn't sent the picture of Natalie Livingston yet.

Instead of getting out of the car, Kelly screwed the telephoto lens onto her expensive Olympus camera. Comfortably hidden behind the tinted glass, she honed in on the front porch, getting a closer look and snapping a couple of shots. Again, she was moved by the exceptionally tender scene but frustrated by what appeared to be another wild-goose chase.

When the child hugged her dad and ran inside the house, it only confirmed Kelly's fears. Blue-eyed and blond, with an angular face, sharp chin, and a slightly pointy nose, the girl nicknamed Nattie looked nothing like Kelly or her late husband.

“Strong resemblance,”
Ernie had adamantly said.

Big mistake,
she thought,
unless it's the
wrong address. Could that be?

She rechecked the email again. Still no photo. This wasn't like Ernie. He'd promised to send it immediately. Then again, Ernie hadn't been himself, struggling with bronchitis and a vicious cough.

She paused for a moment, reconsidering what she'd just observed. At her first meeting with Ernie, he'd placed two rows of photos in front of her on the table. He had explained that the top row contained photos of five parents, and below them, eight
photos of their birth children, unmatched, scattered randomly.
“See if you can match
'em up,”
he'd said.

After a few tries, she'd managed to get 50 percent right. Some of the matches were obvious, but some weren't. Some kids strongly resembled their parents, and some clearly did not.