by Robyn Carr
“How do you keep that from happening?” he asked.
“I have some ideas. Coming to Colorado to be with family gave me balance. Working in Rob’s bar gave me people. Then there’s you.” She leaned over and kissed him. “Now that I’ve been with you, I have a new perspective. A jackass like David could never catch me now.”
“Good to know,” he said.
“Cody, if I’m going to go to LA, I want to go now. I feel bad about abandoning you before Neely is rounded up and stopped, but you have your family to shore you up. And I’d only get in the way. Now that she knows we’re together, she’s getting more destructive. I’m going to fade out for a week or two...”
He laughed sarcastically. “It was a few days. Now it’s a week or two.”
“I’ll talk to you. Let’s see how long it takes Stan to do something about Neely.”
“I don’t want you to go,” he said. “I also don’t want you to be anywhere near her.”
“You went to Australia and walked for a month,” she said. “That was your way of letting go of the past. What I’m doing shouldn’t panic you. For me, this is like a good workout.”
He shook his head. “You are such a beautiful nerd.”
“It’ll go by fast.”
“When do you think you’ll leave?” he asked.
“I’m going home to look up flights,” she said. “The sooner I go, the sooner I’m back.”
“I just want to be sure you’re safe,” he said.
She laughed. “There’s so much security in and around that computer lab, it’s almost ridiculous.”
“Where will you stay?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’ll email Dr. Faraday’s assistant and ask her to set up something. Could be anything from a hotel to guest housing. It’ll be perfectly safe and comfortable.”
“If you want me to go with you—”
“God, you’d be bored out of your mind! You couldn’t get clearance into the lab and I’m sure I’ll be putting in long hours. No. Let me do this. It’s not as scary as you think. I’ll be back.”
“Convince me,” he said, reaching for her. “Kiss me like I have nothing to worry about.”
“My pleasure,” she said.
* * *
Sid was able to arrange a flight out on Monday and Dakota drove her the two hours to Denver to catch her flight. Then she generously loaned him the use of her car since his was going to be in the shop for quite a while. He had barely arrived back in Timberlake when his phone rang and he saw it was Stan.
“What’s up, Chief?” he asked.
“I wondered if you had time to stop by the office before close of business. I just want to give you a heads-up.”
“Can’t you just tell me on the phone?” Dakota asked.
“I can’t, sorry. You need to see something.”
“I’ll be right there,” he said. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
Dakota walked into the small, storefront police station to find Stan and Officer Cantor grinning as they looked at the computer screen. “Just so you’re ready, Dakota, tomorrow at midnight, this goes out on social media.”
There was the surveillance video of Neely pouring acid on his car, coupled with a sliver of the video from the alley. Her face was much more recognizable in the dark alley video when it was put together with the better, more clear camera video from Dakota’s cabin. “So?”
“We’ve formed a nice little collective of small towns in the area, including Vail and Aurora, who will launch this public service announcement, looking for this woman.”
Dakota was not impressed. “What good is that going to do?”
“You on Facebook or Twitter, Dakota?”
“I have a Facebook page but I never look at it. I keep up with people, though. Just not that way.”
“You are behind the times,” Stan said.
“Like over twelve years,” Paul Cantor said. “I thought military men used it all the time.”
“I guess most of them do,” he said. “So, what do you expect to happen?”
“Honestly? We expect to bring her in, that’s what. Her friends and neighbors are going to recognize her, share it. She might see it herself. Most police departments have active social media connections helping them alert the public about important issues, encourage people to call in suspicious criminal activity, keep the dialogue open. All the TV stations have social media—they want their audience to talk to them. A lot of them will pick up this request to identify this woman. It will probably make the news.”
“But we know who she is!” Dakota said.
Stan and Paul both chuckled. “We do, don’t we,” Stan said. “And pretty soon everyone will. We might be this little out of the way town but I expect at least seventy-five percent of the population has Facebook and Twitter. Hell, that’s our president’s favorite form of communication. Though you gotta ask yourself...” He cleared his throat. “Your stalker is going to be exposed.”
Dakota was silenced for a moment. “Aw, shit, she’s going to burn my house down,” he said.
“It’s on the Timberlake Police page, buddy. Just camp at Cal’s awhile longer till we hear from the lady. And I’d bet my retirement we’ll be hearing from her quick,” Stan said.
Dakota sighed. He wasn’t encouraged. “You guys are just a bunch of candy asses,” he said. “Wouldn’t it be a lot more effective to go cuff her and charge her?”
“I might do that eventually,” Stan said. “Right now I’m thinking long-term.”
“Oh, man,” Dakota said. “I’m truly fucked.”
When Dakota got back to his brother’s house, he helped himself to a cold beer. Cal emerged from his office, took note of Dakota’s beer and got one for himself.
“What’s the latest?” Cal asked.
“Stan’s planning to catch her with Facebook.”
Cal whistled. “Crafty,” he said, a facetious tone in his voice. “You think maybe Stan’s been police chief too long?”
* * *
Sierra sat on the exam table in a paper gown. She swung her feet, midway between hysteria and euphoria. There was a light tap and the door opened. A lovely woman around her age walked in, reading the folder. She smiled. Dr. Culver’s name was embroidered on her white lab coat. “It appears you’ve explained the mysterious fatigue?” she said by way of a question.
“So the pregnancy stick says,” Sierra answered.
“Congratulations. How do you feel?”
“Nauseous in the morning, tired in the afternoon. And a bit worried.”
“About?”
“I was taking birth control pills,” Sierra said. “I looked it up on the internet—it says that’s nothing to worry about.”
“For once, the internet is correct. The worry comes a bit later, when you’re aware that at least that particular pill isn’t going to keep you from getting pregnant. You’ll have to try something stronger. Or different. Or maybe double up. But you can cross that bridge when you get to it. Right now I’d like to do a checkup.”
“To be sure I’m pregnant?” she asked.
“To be sure you don’t have anything else going on. I don’t have an ultrasound and I’m not set up for a pelvic, but I can get that ready fast. If you want me to have a look.”
“Would you know for sure? If you looked?”
“I trust those darn pregnancy tests, to tell the truth. But I can get some other bases covered—like rule out ovarian cysts, uterine tumors, et cetera. I just can’t tell you how far along without an ultrasound. I’ll get some routine bloodwork done, a urine test, and we can find you an obstetrician.”
“I’m very worried about hereditary disease,” Sierra said.
Dr. Culver put a blood pressure cuff around Sierra’s arm and it automatically pumped itself tight. “Anything in p
articular?” she asked.
“My father is mentally ill. He isn’t under the care of a doctor, but he has so many special friends it’s certainly schizophrenia.”
“Onset of that particular mental disorder isn’t usually until the early twenties. You have years before something like that might show up. Any other relatives with mental illness?”
“My sister has OCD and anxiety...”
“Not related to schizophrenia,” she said. “Your blood pressure is fine. Let me go get my bucket—I’ll draw your blood.”
“Bucket?”
“My supplies,” she said. “Be just a minute.” She exited and was back almost instantly. The doctor fixed the rubber band around Sierra’s upper arm, and while she looked for a vein, she chatted. “If you’re having a lot of worry about mental illness, we can certainly fix you up with a counselor. But the bottom line is there is a ninety-five percent chance your child is going to be in excellent health and live to a ripe old age, provided you take care of yourself. There is a three to five percent chance he or she could develop a medical problem or have an accident. He could get meningitis or Lyme disease from a tick or fall in a backyard pool. You’ll have to be on your toes, but you know that already. With you and Connie obsessing over the baby, I predict he or she will be strong and healthy and outlive you by many years. Of course, you could encounter something rare, something frightening.” She popped another tube on the needle. “A counselor could help you not be scared until you have some reason to be. And a counselor would also help you resist dreaming up shit. Oops, I apologize. Yes, the doctor has been known to swear. So sorry.”
Sierra was grinning. “I like when you swear.”
“I’m trying to quit. So, I’m going to make sure you’re not anemic—pregnant women suffer from that sometimes. And that you don’t have diabetes or blood in your urine. And if you’d like me to, I’ll measure your uterus and see if I can guess the sex of the baby.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Yes, I really do guess. But of course I have absolutely no way of knowing. Do you want me to peek and see if your cervix is blue and your uterus just slightly swollen?”
“Yes, please.”
“I’ll get a Pap done while I’m at it,” she said. “Let me grab a nurse or someone. Would you be upset if I had the janitor... Never mind,” she said, laughing. “Of course it will be a nurse.”
And then she was gone again. Sierra was in love with her.
Twenty minutes later, Dr. Culver said, “I’m guessing four to six weeks. Everything else in the pelvis is fine. And you can go ahead and stop taking those birth control pills.” She laughed happily at her joke.
“Did Connie tell you we’re in the adoption process?”
“No, he didn’t mention that,” she said. “On a waiting list?”
“No,” Sierra said. “We’re fostering a little boy, six months old. His mother was killed in a car accident and we’re adopting him with his maternal grandmother’s approval.”
“Six months?” Dr. Culver said. “Wow. You think you were tired before...”
“I know. Can you wave your magic wand and make this little surprise a girl?”
“I charge extra for that,” she said. Then the doctor leaned close, squeezed Sierra’s shoulder and said, “You’re going to have a wonderful family. Try not to worry. Try to enjoy all the enjoyable parts—there are many. And when you’re at the end of your rope, you can come in and complain to me for a dollar a minute.”
Sierra laughed.
“I can’t count the number of patients I’ve had who get pregnant just a few months into the adoption process. It’s amazing. I think holding a baby must make some women fire off eggs like rockets.”
“Is it really only three to five percent that things go terribly wrong?”
“Oh, sweetheart, I have no idea. I made that up. But I bet I’m close if not right on!”
Sierra went home feeling especially blessed. It looked like they had a healthy and beautiful baby boy and a perfectly blossoming pregnancy.
Two days later, the doorbell rang and her world crashed and burned.
Mrs. Jergens stood there with another woman, introduced as the social worker from the county. Mrs. Jergens was a little hunched from her arthritis, the knuckles on her hands swollen and some of her fingers bent. “I can’t do it,” she said. “I can’t give away my flesh and blood grandchild.”
Family not only need to consist of merely those whom we share blood, but also for those
whom we’d give blood.
—CHARLES DICKENS
17
SIERRA GRABBED HER CHEST. She tried to keep her head even though her heart was hammering. “Come in,” Sierra said. “Let’s talk about this.”
“I’m not going to change my mind,” the older woman said.
The social worker introduced herself. “I’m Jeanne Blasette,” she said. And then she looked down.
“I didn’t say come in and change your mind. Just please come in. Sam’s having a nap but he won’t be asleep long. Please,” Sierra said, holding the door open. She thanked God the house was perfect. She’d thought about leaving the clean laundry on the sofa to fold, all the shoes scattered, dishes in the sink. But she’d had a spurt of energy and knew she’d better make use of it. There were even vacuum cleaner tracks on the carpet.
Molly sauntered into the room, and when she saw they had company, her back end began to wag and wiggle ferociously. “Molly, sit,” Sierra commanded. Molly must have heard the panic in her voice because she instantly sat with no argument.
“Can I get you something to drink? At least a water?”
“I’ll have a water,” Mrs. Jergens said, leaning on that cane with two hands.
“Please, sit down. I’ll get you both water.”
When she got to the kitchen, she grabbed her phone off the counter and texted Connie. Can you come home? They’re taking Sam from us! I’ll text Cal. And to Cal she texted, Help! Sam’s grandmother is here to take him away from us! Can you come?
Then she grabbed two bottled waters from the fridge and two glasses, taking them back to the living room. “I texted my husband, Mrs. Jergens. I’m sure if he’s not out on a call, he’ll be here soon. Can you tell me what happened?”
“I just couldn’t sleep over it,” she said, tears coming to her eyes. “I should at least try to take care of Sam. He’s mine, after all.”
“I know it must have been a very difficult decision, but we won’t take him away from you. You’ll be a part of our family.” When she said the word family, she hiccuped a little.
“My cousin’s girl, Sandy—she said she’d stay with me and help with the baby. That should make it easier.”
“But what if you get sick?” Sierra asked. “Or have a particularly bad day and just can’t lift him? Or hold him? He’s already a hefty little guy.”
“I know you’re disappointed but I can’t take a chance that I’d have terrible regrets! I had to make a decision before the adoption is final. Once it’s final... You wouldn’t want me to wait until then. Then we’d have to go to court and I don’t know that I’d do so well, with the arthritis and all.”
“Mrs. Jergens, you did a very brave thing, letting us apply to adopt him. I know you wouldn’t have done that if you weren’t suffering from medical issues. You wouldn’t have had to, I know that. But where will you be in five years? I don’t know too much about rheumatoid arthritis—is it likely you can get stronger? Or weaker? Will Sam have to be given up then because of health reasons?”
“Well, there’s the thing. If Sandy works out, maybe Sam will stay in the family!”
“Do you have a lot of confidence of that?” Sierra asked nervously. “How old is Sandy?”
“She’s nineteen,” Mrs. Jergens said. “My daughter was twenty!”
“Tell me about Sandy,” Sierr
a asked. “Please?”
“My cousin’s daughter,” Mrs. Jergens said. “I’ve known her since she was born.”
“But I thought you didn’t have much contact with your extended family,” Sierra said. “You said there were cousins, but they lived far away and you hadn’t had much contact.”
“Sandy’s people live in Nashville. She’s looking for a chance to get away, make something of herself, get out of Tennessee. She’ll like it here.”
“But what will happen in a year or two years when Sandy doesn’t want to be a babysitter and caregiver? What will you do? At two, Sam is still going to need so much tending.” Sierra turned her watering eyes toward the social worker. “Ms. Blasette? Have you talked with Mrs. Jergens about all the possibilities?”
Jeanne Blasette sat forward on the sofa. “We’ve talked at length. She wants to try to raise Sam. She wants to honor the memory of her daughter. I’ve suggested she leave Sam in foster care in that case. You both could agree not to finalize the adoption, her cousin’s daughter could come and help around the house, you could bring Sam to her for visits and if all is well and it looks like it could work out with her cousin’s daughter, then she could claim her grandson permanently.”
“Yes,” Sierra said. “Leave things as they are awhile longer, let’s see how—”
“But that’s not what I want,” Mrs. Jergens said. “I spent about five hours on the phone with Sandy and her mother. We’re all straight on what we’ll need. If I have a baby to tend, my grandson, there will be added disability to help with the cost of having another member of the household. We’ve been working this out for a week. She’s getting to my house today. She just called from Colorado Springs and said she’s almost here.”
“Please think this over,” Sierra begged. “I’m afraid that even with help, Sam could be too much for you. He’s a lot of baby. He’s the best baby in the world, really, but even the best baby—”
“I’ve made plans,” the woman said.
“Do you have furniture and supplies for him?” Sierra asked.
“I’d like to have back what I gave you,” she said. “My neighbor loaned a crib. Jeanne brought a car seat for him. We’ll need formula and—”
