Child of Mine Page 11

  “How’s your family?” Kelly asked, and Melody obliged. It felt good to listen to her talk, to get a glimpse into her life again.

  Why’d I let her go? Kelly wondered.

  Melody rambled on about her husband, her father, her mother, her life as a housewife, but she didn’t mention her daughter, Carly, until Kelly inquired. Melody hesitated but Kelly insisted.

  “Are you sure?”

  Kelly smiled. “Absolutely. I want to hear about your life.”

  So Melody obliged again, and as much as it hurt, Kelly found solace in knowing that someone else’s life was intact.

  “I hope you know, I never stopped praying for you . . . for Emily to come home.” Melody smiled, dabbing at tears with her napkin.

  “Thanks,” Kelly whispered, swallowing hard. “I need all the prayer I can get.”

  While they enjoyed their meal, Kelly brought Melody up-to-date on her own life, her distant relationship with her mother—“mostly my fault”—her tiny apartment, and her job, the perfect situation for frequent traveling.

  Melody wiped her mouth with a napkin and suddenly looked very serious. She was about to speak when Kelly interrupted her. “I’m sorry for what happened between us.”

  Melody was shaking her head. “I understand, Kel—”

  “No. I really believed I was ruining your life with my mess. I mean, you had everything going for you: a loving husband, a new baby daughter.”

  “If you think my life has been perfect, please don’t. I just wish I could have been here for you all these years. And if you’ll have me as your friend, I’m here now. Okay?”

  “I’d like that.”

  Together, they had a little cry, both swiping at their eyes, and then Melody forged ahead. “I wasn’t going to say anything . . .”

  Kelly nodded. “I know, I know. People keep telling me I look like I’ve been through the ringer and back.”

  “You’re just a little thin,” Melody said, diplomatically, folding her hands on the table. “Frankly, I was surprised you were still working the night shift.”

  She’d never been a night person, and sleeping, under the best of circumstances, had never been that easy for her.

  “Not everyone can pull it off, Kel. I’ve read it can really mess up your system.” She paused, considering her next words. “I don’t want you to get mad at me—”

  Kelly patted her arm. “Say what you want. You were my best friend, you know.”

  “Am . . . your best friend.” Melody slid a business card across the table. “My dad always thought you walked on water—remember?”

  Studying the card, Kelly smiled at the memory.

  “He needs an office manager, someone who can also act as a receptionist. It’s entry level, but the job pays well, and eventually you could move up.” Melody placed a piece of paper on the table, a job description.

  Glancing at it, Kelly caught a few phrases: Deliver high-caliber client service and technical support, provide administrative support to CIO, utilize CRM system and Microsoft Office programs, maintain office filing system . . .

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Trust me.” Melody smiled. “I’ve already talked to Dad, and it took a split second for him to offer this.”

  Kelly shook her head. “I appreciate it—”

  “Don’t say no yet. Please, just think about it?”

  Kelly agreed but didn’t see how changing jobs could possibly work for her situation. They talked a bit more, until Melody insisted on paying.

  “I’m calling you, okay? And there’s this thing called texting! Remember?”

  Kelly laughed. “Got it.”

  “Think about the job?” Melody asked again, then hesitated. “I care about you, Kel.”

  They waved and Melody rushed off toward the parking lot, leaving Kelly suddenly alone again. Digging her car keys out of her purse, Kelly looked at the business card. She recalled Melody’s father bantering with her, wanting to hire her out of college, but since Bobby had been making such good money, she’d decided to be a stay-at-home wife. Is it time to finally put my degree to use?

  Kelly opened the door to her old beater, slammed the door shut, and considered the prospect of another sleepless day.

  Something’s got to change, she realized.

  Just as Kelly was settling into bed, Ernie’s secretary called, sounding frantic.

  “I don’t want to alarm you,” Cindy began, “but Ernie’s been admitted to the hospital for pneumonia.”

  “That bad?”

  Cindy assured her that he was getting excellent care. “I’m closing down the office until he’s back,” she said. “Without Ernie around, there’s not much to do, and I’ve got some vacation days to burn.” She gave Kelly the pertinent hospital information, including room number.

  Kelly hung up, worried about the health of her crotchety PI. Silently, she turned her worries into prayer.

  Too wound up to sleep, she padded to the kitchen, where she heard a subtle scratching at her door. She smiled. Feed a cat once, and you’ll have to feed ’em for life.

  She opened the door and Felix strolled right in. Kelly poured a bowl with special cat milk and watched the hungry feline lap away, wondering how to fill her time if Ernie’s hospital stay was longer than a few days.

  How selfish is that? Ernie’s health was more important than what he could do for her. She looked again at the business card Melody had given her. Melody was right; the third shift was grueling. She was getting less sleep than ever. Despite that, a new job made her nervous. She’d leave behind a flexible boss, as well as flexible hours. But she would still have the weekends. Couldn’t she fly all over the U.S. in two days’ time?

  Still, it felt like quitting.

  I can’t, she thought. Regardless of how ethically challenged Ernie’s methods might be, and no matter how out of sorts she was with her crazy shift, Kelly could not throw in the towel.

  She sighed and dropped the card in the trash under the sink, and when Felix was finished, she set him outside. Felix meowed his thanks, glanced up at her as if to say, “I’ll be back tomorrow,” and wandered down the steps.

  Kelly returned to bed, sliding beneath the covers and adjusting her room-darkening mask. Melody’s offer kept playing over in her mind. “Please, just think about it?”

  The next afternoon, Kelly went to the hospital, took the elevator to the third floor, and found Ernie’s room at the end of the hallway. Passing the nurses’ station, she peeked around the corner, knocking softly, and found Penny, Ernie’s red-haired wife, dozing in a recliner near the window. Penny opened her eyes and smiled, then glanced at the bed. “Hey, cranky pants, you have a visitor.”

  Ernie looked much worse than she’d anticipated, with an IV in his arm and an oxygen tube in his nose. His hair looked shabby and he looked pale and thin—thinner than Kelly remembered.

  She was stunned and tears sprang to her eyes. Kelly stepped closer to the bed and gave him a what happened to you? grin.

  Ernie rolled his eyes. “They forced me to come here.”

  “Well, wonderful.”

  Ernie practically growled. “I hate hospitals. I hate doctors, and I hate the smells of this blasted place.”

  Kelly caught Penny’s eyes, and they shared a knowing smile. Sick or not, Ernie remained ornery and unruly.

  She pulled up a chair and sat down, wanting to be a comfort somehow.

  “Hey, what happened with that one kid?” Ernie muttered. “What was her name?”

  “Nattie, but we’re not going to talk shop. Okay? You need to get well.”

  He sighed. “Now they’re saying somethin’s wrong with my plumbing.”

  Penny whispered, “Bypass.”

  Kelly felt sorry to hear it. “You better do what they say here, so you can get out. Okay?”

  Ernie merely grunted.

  They chatted for a few minutes, and Penny showed off recent photos of their four grandkids. Before leaving, Kelly kissed his forehead and Ernie spu
ttered, “At least something good comes of all this—I get kissed by a pretty girl.”

  Kelly patted his chest like a dutiful daughter. She promised to visit later in the week and left Ernie in Penny’s care.

  Down the hall, she took the elevator and whispered a prayer for poor Ernie. Recalling how decrepit he’d looked, she had to face the facts. Ernie wasn’t going home anytime soon.

  Pushing open the glass front doors, Kelly hurried to her car and got in. She sat there a moment, feeling helpless, and oddly enough, thinking of Melody’s dad once more.

  It’s time, she realized. She texted a message to Melody: Is that offer still good?

  Minutes later, Melody texted back: I just now talked to Dad. You can start Monday!

  Kelly smiled away the butterflies in her stomach.

  Thank You.

  Back home, Kelly called her boss and gave her notice, thanking him for his years of generosity. Joe was happy for her. “They don’t make ’em like you anymore,” he said softly. “If anything changes, or that job don’t work out, you let me know, eh?”

  Moved by his compliment, Kelly agreed and thanked him again.

  On Sunday, Kelly would have the opportunity to attend church for the first time in months. In the meantime, she planned to continue searching the Internet and monitoring her website. I’ll pray more, she thought. Without falling asleep!

  Most of those in her support group, the online group she rarely visited, didn’t believe in prayer. Sure, the easy prayers: Help me find my keys, God . . . help me find a parking spot, help me sleep tonight, but not the difficult ones: Heal my cancer, fix our marriage, help me locate my lost baby daughter.

  She went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Yes, her cheeks were still pale, her eyes dull, and she looked too thin. But that’ll change, she realized, once I get on a regular schedule.

  Eventually no one would say, “Oh dear, are you eating enough? Would you like a candy bar? You can’t find Emily if you don’t keep up your strength.”

  Pushing aside a hairbrush, Kelly braced her hands on the tile, leaning closer. She studied her complexion in the mirror, mentally trying to filter out the lines around the eyes and mouth.

  Am I pretty? she asked, thinking of the Bernstein and Sondheim song “I Feel Pretty.” She decided optimistically, I’ll look pretty with a few more pounds and a tad more blush and mascara.

  But pretty for whom, she couldn’t imagine. Besides, the idea of dating made her queasy. Pretty for me, then.

  Back in the kitchen, Kelly pulled out a piece of paper and made a To-Do list. At the top she wrote, Find a job, just for the fun of crossing it off. Next she wrote, Eat more!

  She thought of her favorite foods and made another list of what to buy at the grocery store. And suddenly, the thought of taking a breather was starting to take traction in her mind. She needed a rest, a short reprieve, a momentary pause to regain her health. She could pitch everything if it didn’t feel right. She could get right back on the roller coaster if she missed it so much. Melody’s dad would understand. Besides, she could always beg Joe for her third shift back.

  It’s just a breather, she told herself again.

  Chapter 13

  On Saturday morning, an hour or so before Laura was scheduled to arrive, Jack and Nattie took the truck to the local car wash, a five-stall do-it-yourself operation. The sky was clear, the sun bright, and the wind subtle.

  Jack sprayed sudsy water on the tires while Nattie crouched on the opposite side, scrubbing each one with a sponge, her tongue sticking out in concentration. Wearing a red-striped shirt, her blue jeans rolled up past her ankles, Nattie thoroughly enjoyed washing Billy Bob, her name for Jack’s blue truck, and she was fascinated with its eventual transformation from dusty and grimy to clean and shiny.

  Soaked to the bone, Nattie stood up at last, putting her hands on her hips, appraising her progress. Jack wandered over to inspect and whistled affirmatively. “Better’n I could do.”

  Nattie beamed. “We should add some bling,” she told him. “Lots of chrome, beads, and stuff. Maybe a pinstripe down the side with some glitter.”

  “But isn’t Billy Bob a boy?”

  “Guys wear earrings, too,” Nattie protested. “I’ve seen ’em.”

  “Not in my house, they don’t. Well . . . my garage.”

  Jack mussed her hair and Nattie ducked, giggling. When they finished rinsing and did the final wipe down with specialty towels, they headed home. Nattie leaned on the open window, soaking up the breeze while Jack fretted, unsure how to break the news that Karen Jones, Nattie’s school counselor, was coming over for dinner.

  The afternoon coffee date with Karen had gone surprisingly well. He’d met her near the front door of Starbucks. She was wearing a pretty white sundress, while he’d managed San-approved attire—jeans and a button-down shirt. Right away, Karen told him she’d snagged a table in the back.

  They’d made small talk in the order line, and initially Jack felt awkward, considering this was his first date in ten years. But once they were settled at the table with a hot chai tea latte for Karen and an espresso for Jack, their conversation progressed smoothly.

  Karen sliced her blueberry muffin down the middle and gave half to Jack. Buttering it, she took delicate bites and recited her academic history, how she’d chosen her college. She also casually mentioned having married during her second year, “We were too young to make such a hasty decision,” she added. “The marriage lasted scarcely a year.”

  Holding his espresso like a prop, Jack shared his passion for flying and addressed his brother’s fatal accident and Jack’s subsequent guardianship of Nattie.

  “I officially adopted her a year later,” he’d told her, and Karen seemed curious that he, not San, had ended up as the appointed parent.

  “I’ll tell you all about it over dinner at my house,” he said coyly, and Karen smiled suspiciously.

  “It’s a deal, but you have to dish. I’m a curious woman, and I won’t be denied.”

  “How about Saturday?” Jack suggested, wondering if Karen might think it a little short notice, but she seemed pleased.

  She went on to ask if Nattie would be joining them for dinner. Jack demurred and Karen smiled agreeably enough but seemed a tad disappointed. As it was, Nattie still had no clue of his plan to date anyone, let alone her school counselor.

  Nothing like a little procrastination to improve my chances, he’d thought grimly.

  Later that afternoon, Diane had presented Craig with his new set of wheels, and Jack got to witness firsthand a man on the verge of tears. It was a moving experience, not just for Craig, but for Jack, as well. He was going to miss that bike stored in his garage.

  Following a supper of soup and sandwiches, he’d called Laura to give her a heads-up about his Saturday evening plans, and she’d agreed to prepare the evening meal. But no word was said about the other night, and she’d seemed eager to get off the phone.

  Finally, that night, he’d sprung San’s news about moving. Nattie seemed to take it better than expected, especially when he had suggested they might still see her favorite auntie every couple of weeks. San had said as much, but he figured after a period of time San would become too engrossed in her work and new friends. Left to her own devices, Jack and Nattie would be lucky to see San once a month. Hopefully, by then, Nattie would be more accustomed to her aunt’s absence.

  Of course, they could always visit San on her turf, and Jack floated that idea in the hope of building some excitement for San’s move. Nattie had never been to the Big Apple, and Jack knew she’d love it. Madison Avenue, Broadway, and carriage rides through Central Park, for a start.

  And today, as Nattie and Jack arrived home from the car wash, Jack spied Laura’s old beater on the street. Charlie, his mechanic, had completed the repair work in record time.

  In the house, Nattie yelped hello to Laura, who was humming in the laundry room, ironing Jack’s work shirts.

  Jack stood in the door
way for a moment, impressed by Laura’s efficiency as she pushed the iron over the collar, the sleeves, pressing the button holes down the front, all in an even and continuous motion.

  He knocked lightly on the doorjamb, hoping not to frighten her, but she jumped anyway. “Whew!” she exclaimed, patting her chest.

  “Sorry,” he said. “You okay?”

  Fanning her face with her hand, she smiled her relief.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “You haven’t had a raise in years.”

  Still holding the iron, her pretty face flushed, Laura broke into a curious grin. “Well, I have to say that’s a wunnerbaar way to greet someone.”

  “Then it’s settled,” he said, thinking she might yet be inclined to continue their conversation from the other night.

  Instead, she thanked him for fixing her car. “You have to let me pay you back.”

  Jack refused. “Consider it part of your compensation package.”

  Laura laughed. “You’re spoiling me.”

  They went silent for a moment as Jack paused, still curious if Laura would finish Wednesday’s conversation, but she only gazed at him.

  “I’m afraid I might have hurt your feelings,” Jack began, but Laura waved it off.

  “Oh, mercy sakes, Jack. I understand.”

  He felt silly but forged ahead anyway. “And I can’t help wondering what you were going to tell me. . . .”

  A flash of remembrance crossed Laura’s features. “Oh yes . . . it was silly, really.” She set down the iron and clasped her hands. “That is . . .” She cleared her throat and pinched at her black apron, holding it, then letting it go. “You know how Nattie’s been bugging me for years?” She inched back toward the dryer. “I just didn’t want to . . . well, shock you. That is, one of these days, ya never know, I might just show up fancy, if only to give Nattie a fright.”

  Jack was taken aback, not only by her nervous behavior, but because the notion of Laura Mast dressing like an Englisher was difficult to wrap his brain around. “Well, I’m sure Nattie would get a kick out of it,” he finally offered.