Firstborn

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “About six years, I think. They had it built a few years after they were married. Paula designed it herself.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  Erika seemed to consider her words before replying. “She’s younger than your father. Just thirty this year. Very attractive. Career driven. She worked her way up in her father’s real estate business. Not selling. Developing. She and Dallas like to travel a lot. Since they don’t have any children or pets, there isn’t much that ties them down except for their respective businesses.”

  Kirsten looked toward the large house again. “How long have they been married?”

  “Almost nine years.”

  The front door opened, and Dallas appeared.

  Erika waved at him.

  Kirsten held her breath, her nerves screeching.

  “Relax, honey. It’s going to be fine.” Erika opened her car door and got out.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Kirsten did the same.

  Dallas came down the curving walkway to meet them. Behind him, still standing in the doorway, partially hidden in shadows, was a woman.

  Dallas’s wife.

  Kirsten’s stepmother.

  Now that had an ominous ring.

  None of Kirsten’s research about finding and reuniting with birth parents had prepared her for the complexities of all these relationships. There’d been plenty of warnings, of course, but none had seemed to apply to her. She’d grown up with no one other than her adoptive mother—no father, no siblings, no grandparents or aunts or uncles. She’d rarely given any thought to what an extended family might mean.

  “Hi,” Dallas said as he drew closer. “Glad you could both come. Did you bring your swimsuits?”

  “Yes,” Erika answered.

  Dallas turned toward Kirsten. He gave her a brief but encouraging smile. “Come on. Paula’s eager to meet you.”

  Kirsten hoped that was true.

  Dallas cupped her elbow with his hand and gently propelled her toward the house. She went all aflutter inside, whether because she was about to meet her stepmother or because her father was holding her arm, she couldn’t be certain.

  Paula Hurst stepped through the doorway. She was a tiny slip of a thing with short red hair, green eyes, and a smattering of freckles. At first glance, pixie cute. At second glance, sophisticated and shrewd.

  Oh, man. She hates my guts.

  Paula smiled and extended her hand. “Kirsten, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Her voice was so sweet sugar wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

  The two women shook hands but not for long.

  “Erika,” Paula continued, “we’re glad you came, too.” She smiled at Dallas, then turned and led the way inside, tossing over her shoulder, “Sweetheart, why don’t you give Kirsten a quick tour? I’m sure she’s dying to see the house. Erika and I will wait by the pool.”

  The hair on the back of Kirsten’s neck stood on end.

  “Do you want to see the house now,” her father asked, “or wait until after you take a swim?”

  “Now, I guess.”

  “Great. Follow me.”

  Forty-five minutes later, after showing Kirsten every other room in the house, Dallas led the way into the home gym on the second floor. Kirsten didn’t say anything as she strolled around the large, brightly lit room, her fingers sliding over the exercise equipment—several weight machines, a stationary bike, and a treadmill. The wall facing the river was all glass, affording an inspiring view.

  “Paula and I both belong to private clubs,” her father said. “She likes to work with a personal trainer, and I like to play racquetball. But it’s nice to have this to use when we can’t make it out.”

  “Yeah, it must be.”

  She didn’t bother to tell him that her last apartment could have fit into this room. Better to keep that to herself. It would sound like sour grapes. And maybe that was what it was. It was hard not to compare this house and all it represented with the hand-to-mouth life she and her mom had while Kirsten was growing up.

  “Well, that’s the end of the tour,” Dallas said. “Why don’t you use the bathroom at the bottom of the stairs to change into your swimsuit? I’ll meet you by the pool.”

  “Okay.”

  Dallas turned, opened the glass door, then looked over his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here, Kirsten. I hope you’ll feel at home with us.”

  “You need to get right with God, Dad.”

  Steven sat in the upholstered chair with its coffee-stained fabric and sunken springs, staring at the worn shag carpet.

  “You need to get right with God, Dad.”

  He opened the drawer in the bedside stand and pulled out the Bible he’d placed there upon his arrival. He set it in his lap, unopened, and looked at its cover.

  In his years as a Christian, he’d read the Bible straight through a couple of times and had participated in many different studies. He believed this book contained the inspired word of God and that God could and did use it to speak to believers. But, he realized, he didn’t know the first thing about coming to the Word in a time of crisis.

  Maybe because there hadn’t been any real crises until now. Maybe because he’d never really been tested.

  Not knowing what else to do, he set the book on its spine and let it fall open: Matthew, chapter 19.

  He began to read at the top of the page.

  Someone came to Jesus with this question: “Teacher, what good things must I do to have eternal life?”

  “Why ask me about what is good?” Jesus replied. “Only God is good. But to answer your question, you can receive eternal life if you keep the commandments.”

  “Which ones?” the man asked.

  And Jesus replied: “‘Do not murder. Do not commit adultery. Do not steal. Do not testify falsely. Honor your father and mother. Love your neighbor as yourself.’”

  “I’ve obeyed all these commandments,” the young man replied. “What else must I do?”

  Jesus told him, “If you want to be perfect, go and sell all you have and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” But when the young man heard this, he went sadly away because he had many possessions.

  Steven stopped, then read the verses a second time. It didn’t seem like a passage that had anything to do with his problems. And yet…

  But when the young man heard this, he went sadly away…

  The young man in the story went sadly away because he had many possessions and didn’t want to let go of them. But Steven didn’t have lots of possessions. So why did he seem stuck on that line?

  Would you go away sadly?

  Steven closed his eyes. I don’t understand, Lord.

  Don’t I see every sparrow fall? Don’t I number the hairs on your head?

  Yes. Of course. But…

  Isn’t My grace sufficient for you?

  Erika felt relieved when she saw Dallas come out of the house. The wait had been excruciating, primarily because all Paula had talked about was Steven and the gloomy future his leaving meant for Erika. Erika had escaped into the pool a couple of times, but that hadn’t dissuaded Paula for long.

  “Where’s Kirsten?” Erika asked as Dallas drew near.

  “She’s changing into her suit.”

  Paula rose from her lounger, kissed her husband’s cheek, then said, “I’d better check on things in the kitchen. Be right back.”

  Dallas sat on the vacated lounge chair. Glancing at Erika, he gave her a sheepish grin. “I can’t believe how nervous I’ve been about tonight.”

  “Kirsten’s nervous, too.”

  “I didn’t know I’d care so much so quick. You know what I mean? What Kirsten thinks of me, if she’ll like me, if she and Paula will get along.”

  Erika nodded in understanding.

  “I never expected to feel like this about her.”

  Softly, she asked, “Like what, Dallas?”

  “I don’t know. Possessive, maybe. Proud to be her father.” He ch
uckled and shook his head. “Dumb, huh?”

  “No, not dumb. Normal.”

  Dallas stared into the distance. “Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but it’s like you gave me a gift. Who knows if Paula and I will have kids of our own? So Kirsten… well, she may be the only daughter I ever have.” He looked at Erika. “I feel guilty for being happy about it. I mean, with what’s happened between you and Steve, I don’t—”

  “That isn’t your fault, Dallas. Steven made his own choice, the same way we did.”

  He reached out and took hold of her hand. “I’m sorry all the same. If there’s something I can do, anything at all, you just need to ask.”

  Erika nodded.

  Dallas released her hand. “Sometimes I’d like to hit Steve for hurting you this way.”

  “Sometimes I’d like you to hit him, too.” She smiled sadly.

  “You know, I made fun of the way you two were, your religion and all, but I always admired your marriage. I always wanted to have mine be as strong, to be the same kind of husband to Paula as Steve was to you. This just doesn’t make any sense to me, the way he’s been acting.”

  “Me, either,” she whispered, dangerously close to losing the battle against tears. So she stood, walked to the water’s edge, and dived in before Dallas could say anything else.

  She swam the length of the pool, her thoughts churning faster than her arms.

  It isn’t fair, what Steven’s done, and I’m angry. I’m alone and I’m scared. Right now, I don’t even know if I want him to come home.

  She reached the opposite end of the pool and clung to the side as she weighed the truth of her thoughts. How was it possible to want Steven to return with every breath she took and not want him to return at the same time?

  Forget Dallas hitting him. If Steven chose to return, maybe she’d hit him herself.

  Kirsten stared at herself in the bathroom mirror.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Kirsten. I hope you’ll feel at home with us.” Her father’s words had repeated in her mind since he’d spoken them. They made her almost giddy with joy.

  All her dreams—everything she’d hoped for—were coming true.

  “I’ve got a dad,” she told her reflection. “He likes me. He’s glad I’m here.”

  Grinning, she grabbed her towel, then turned and opened the door.

  Paula Hurst was waiting in the hall.

  Kirsten felt her smile evaporate.

  “That’s right,” Paula said softly. “Let’s not bother to pretend.”

  “Paula, I—”

  “Let’s get something straight, you and I. There’s no place for you here, no matter what Dallas tells you. So enjoy this day while you can. You’re going to be old news soon enough.”

  Kirsten tilted her chin, pretending a calm she didn’t feel.

  Paula leaned closer. “I’m his wife, and I’m not about to have my way of life threatened by the likes of you. You don’t stand a chance.”

  “I’m not threatening anything. All I want is to know my dad.”

  “He isn’t your dad. He’s just a guy who did something stupid when he was drunk. He’ll forget you as soon as he tires of the novelty of the situation. You realize that, don’t you?”

  Kirsten’s knees felt rubbery. She wanted to escape. She wanted to retreat into the bathroom and slam the door.

  Paula smiled victoriously. “I think I’ve made my point. If you tell Dallas what I said, I’ll deny it. I’ll have him believing you’re a liar in no time at all.” She turned. “Don’t underestimate me, Miss Lundquist. Don’t ever underestimate me.”

  Thirty-three

  Dallas awakened early the next morning, early enough that moonlight still filtered through the slats in the mini-blinds, striping the floor and the bed.

  He rolled onto his side to gaze upon his sleeping wife.

  Things had gone well the previous evening. While there had been a little tension between Paula and Kirsten, he thought his wife had done her utmost to make his daughter feel welcome. He was grateful for the effort.

  And Kirsten? The way he felt about her continued to surprise and amaze him. He was just beginning to know her, but already he’d discovered he loved her. He wanted to be a good father, belated though his attempts might be.

  Would she have turned out half as well if I’d been around when she was growing up?

  He would never know for sure, but he liked to think so. Of course, when he looked back over his life, he had plenty of regrets. Plenty of them. He’d do it a lot differently if he had it to do over again. He would have tried to do it God’s way a whole lot sooner.

  Paula sighed in her sleep, then rolled onto her side, facing him. She looked adorable with her hair all mussed and her face serene in sleep.

  Dallas was tempted to awaken her with kisses, but he decided the more loving thing to do would be to let her sleep. He rolled over and got out of bed. He’d go for his run now, and maybe by the time he was back, she’d be awake.

  An hour later, he reentered the bedroom, sweaty from his run. Paula was still sleeping, so he quietly closed the bathroom door and proceeded to take his shower.

  It was when he was drying off that he discovered the blister on his right heel. He searched for some ointment and a Band-Aid, looking in all the usual places, but he came up empty. So he checked Paula’s side of the bathroom, including her makeup drawer.

  Funny, how that blister became more painful just because he couldn’t find what he wanted. There had to be a Band-Aid somewhere!

  He pulled a gold-and-silver pouch from the drawer and tossed it onto the counter, not noticing until it was too late that the zipper wasn’t closed. Several small packets fell to the floor.

  Irritated, he reached to pick them up, reading the prescription label out of habit more than curiosity.

  Paula Hurst… Desogen… 28 tablets…

  It took him a moment, but finally he realized that these were packets of birth control pills. Only Paula hadn’t been on the pill for several years.

  Dr. Ulster, Barbara…

  Paula’s gynecologist.

  2 Refills Remaining… Date Filled: June 28…

  The date, just two weeks ago, flashed at him like a neon sign.

  June 28…

  He stared at the year. It was this year. He wasn’t wrong about that.

  June 28…

  Something hard and cold, like the long blade of a hunting knife, twisted in his gut.

  He glanced at the other two packets, still sealed shut. Same date, same prescription number. He opened the first packet, hoping…

  There were ten pills missing.

  He pictured Paula whispering that she wanted to have his baby, that she’d seen the doctor, had taken some tests, and been told there was no reason she couldn’t get pregnant, that if they were patient…

  He closed his eyes, at the same time closing his hand around the packet and squeezing hard, as if he could crush that plastic container and make the pills go away.

  “Dallas, are you done in the—”

  He spun toward the door. Paula was there, staring at him, wearing a horrified expression.

  After several dreadful moments, she asked, “What were you doing in my things?”

  “You’ve been on birth control. All this time. All this time while I was wondering if there was something wrong with me or with you. You’ve been taking the pill.”

  “It isn’t what it looks like.”

  He could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she searched for an explanation. And he knew, whatever she came up with, it would be a lie.

  “It was only for a while,” she said. “To help my system regulate.”

  Dallas stepped toward her, took her hand, and pressed the packet onto her palm, then closed her fingers around it. “That isn’t the truth, and we both know it.” He walked by her, needing some distance.

  “How dare you call me a liar!”

  “How dare I?” He turned around. The ice in his belly turned to fire.
“How dare I?”

  “You had no right getting into my things. I would’ve told you when the time was right.”

  “It still would’ve been a lie.”

  She threw the packet at him. Her aim was true. It struck him on the chest, above his heart. Next, she hurled a vile name in his direction. That one hit its mark, too.

  He felt anger. He felt anguish. He felt like somebody’s fool. He turned and strode away a second time.

  Paula followed him through the bedroom and out into the hall. “Don’t you walk away, Dallas Hurst. Don’t you act all high-and-mighty. You’re no saint, and I don’t care how much religion you get. You’re no better than me.”

  He kept walking.

  She kept following.

  “I’ll take you to the cleaners in a divorce,” she shouted. “Remember that. I’ll hire a private detective and find out about your affairs. See how lily white you are.”

  That, at last, stopped his forward motion. He turned slowly to face her. He stared hard into her eyes. “I’ve never cheated on you, Paula. Maybe I was tempted, but I never did. No private detective’s going to find otherwise. Search all you want.”

  Something awful flickered across her beautiful face, something she hadn’t meant for him to see.

  That was when he understood another ugly truth.

  He was somebody’s fool.

  Paula’s.

  When Kirsten spoke with her mother that morning, she didn’t repeat what Paula Hurst had said, partly because she didn’t want her mother to worry, partly because she didn’t want to think about it herself. So she talked at length about her father’s beautiful home and how nice he’d been to her and what a delicious supper they’d had.

  When Kirsten finally paused, Donna said, “I’m glad for your sake that it’s turning out so well. I was worried you’d get your hopes up, only to get hurt. I know how much you’ve longed to have a father in your life. Sometimes that hunger in your eyes liked to have broke my heart.”

  “You knew?”