Sophie had always believed in playing by the rules. Life had structure that way, made sense. She didn’t know how to be any other way, even with the most important part of her life at stake.
What choice did she have but to fight for her daughter within the parameters of the law? She had right on her side. If she clung to that, then maybe she could move them both through whatever they had to face until they came out on the other side.
She pulled the phone from her bag again, walked toward the ocean, stopping where she could still hear Grace if she woke up. She punched the phone directory, scrolled through and clicked on the fifth one down. The receptionist had barely said, “Just a minute, please,” before Irene came on the line.
“Sophie,” she said, her voice braided with relief and panic. “Where are you?”
“I wanted to show Grace the ocean,” she said, her voice soft. “It was something I’ve been meaning to do. Should we set up a meeting for when I get back?”
“They’ve asked for Friday morning,” Irene said carefully. “Is that all right?”
“Yes,” Sophie said. “I’ll be there.”
CHAPTER NINE
ON FRIDAY MORNING, Caleb pulled his truck into the parking lot outside the office of Quinn, Lewis, Day. Sophie Owens’s dark blue Volvo sat a couple of spaces over. The sight of it sent a wave of tangled emotion roiling through him. But he couldn’t let emotion sway him. Over the past couple of days, he’d given himself several different versions of this lecture. He was about to toss a hand grenade into the middle of someone’s life, it was true. And his regret for that was genuine, actually made his bones ache.
He wished that he did not have to walk into this office and do what he was about to do. He wished that three years ago he had left the hospital with the baby that belonged to his wife. That he had not given her away to become a part of someone else’s life only to arrive at this regretful day and ask for her back. But he didn’t have the slightest choice. To give his wife the peace she deserved, he had to get Laney’s child back.
Inside, the office was cool enough to raise chill bumps. The receptionist was a young woman with red hair and an angry-looking earring in the side of her nose. She had kind eyes, though, and he could see she already knew who he was. “I’ll let everyone else know you’re here,” she said, picking up the phone and announcing his arrival to the person on the other end.
She stood and said, “Follow me, sir.”
The hallway was long and narrow, lined with heavily framed prints of foxhunting scenes. They followed it to the end where she opened a door and said, “Right here, Mr. Tucker.”
“Thank you.”
Amanda Donovan sat alone in the room. Dressed in a stern pin-striped black suit with a white blouse, she fit the image of a no-nonsense attorney. She stood and said, “Caleb. Good morning.”
“Morning,” he said.
“Irene and Dr. Owens should be right in. Coffee?”
He shook his head. “I just want to get this over with.”
No sooner had he said the words than the door opened again, and Sophie Owens stepped into the room, followed by an older woman with soft gray hair secured in a loose knot on the top of her head.
“Good morning, Mr. Tucker,” she said with a polite nod. “I’m Irene Archer. You’ve met Dr. Owens, of course. Everyone, please sit down.”
Caleb nodded at Sophie. He’d intended to look away. But the look of barely concealed terror in her eyes made his stomach drop.
She wore a navy dress with a short strand of pearls at her throat, its very simplicity making her seem vulnerable compared to the dressed-to-intimidate attorneys in the room.
He waited for the three women to take their chairs, then pulled out his own and sat, settling his gaze on the yellow legal pad in front of him and his thoughts on what he had come here to accomplish.
The receptionist offered coffee. They all declined.
“Well,” Irene Archer said. “I think the purpose of this meeting is to simply get everything out on the table. Ms. Donovan?”
Amanda tapped a yellow pencil on the tabletop. She glanced at Caleb. “Clearly, the circumstances of this meeting are regrettable. My client has no desire to bring pain and suffering to Dr. Owens. He is also extremely grateful for her care of the child in question over these past three years. But after much painful consideration, Mr. Tucker is contesting the grounds of the adoption based on the extreme duress under which his decision to give up the child was made.”
A small sound came from Sophie Owens’s parted lips. Irene reached over and put a hand on top of hers.
Caleb’s gaze lifted to Sophie’s. The terror had been replaced with tears. He could see that she had expected the words, prepared herself for them, and yet how could a person prepare for being told someone wanted to take away her child?
Her child. He looked away.
“Mr. Tucker.” Irene cleared her throat. “I am aware of the circumstances surrounding your decision to give up Grace Owens. And I am deeply sorry for all the pain you have endured. But I must ask you, in pursuing this decision, are you aware of the devastation you will bring to Dr. Owens’s life and to the child in question, as well?”
Caleb met the attorney’s disapproving stare. “I can assure you, Ms. Archer, that none of this is what I would choose if I felt that I had a choice.”
“I have to tell you then that my client will take this to the highest court who will hear our case. It will be a very long, drawn-out and ugly dispute. Is that what you really want?”
“No, it’s not what I want,” he said. “But it’s something I have to do.”
“Very well, then. We had hoped you would have had a change of heart, Mr. Tucker. Since that doesn’t seem to be the case, we will see you in court.”
She stood then, put a hand on her client’s shoulder. Sophie got to her feet as well, her expression dazed and slightly unfocused. Caleb wanted to say something, but could think of nothing that seemed appropriate.
“Are you all right?” Amanda asked when the door had closed behind them.
Caleb nodded, got to his feet too quickly, his chair teetering behind him, then righting itself and hitting the floor with a loud thump. “Is that all for today?”
“Yes. I’ll have a word with Irene before I leave. I’ll be in touch, Caleb.”
He left the office then, went outside and stood for a moment on the brick walkway, letting the sun warm his chilled skin. But it did not reach the frozen knot that had lodged in his chest.
He headed for the truck, but came up short halfway across the parking lot. Sophie Owens sat in her car, one arm draped over the steering wheel. Her shoulders shook, and he could hear her sobs through the rolled-up window.
He stood frozen by her grief. Grief he had created. He told himself to leave her alone. That he was the cause of this. That he should walk away.
But conscience or empathy or something he wasn’t willing to put a label on urged him forward. He tapped on the glass with the back of his fingers, lightly enough so that if she didn’t hear him, he could tell himself he had tried.
She jerked her head up, her eyes wild with emotion she’d somehow managed to control in the attorney’s office just a few minutes before.
He made a motion for her to roll down the window.
She shook her head and waved him away.
He knocked again. “Please.”
She turned the key, pushed the window button and lowered it halfway.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said, her voice sounding as if its normally smooth edges had been abraded with sandpaper.
“You shouldn’t drive like this.”
“I’m fine,” she said again and began to raise the window.
He put his hand on top of the glass. She let off the button. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words quiet, inadequate. “I know you don’t deserve this.”
She looked up at him, fresh tears filling her eyes. “But that’s not going to stop
any of it, is it?”
The question filled the air between them, and he sensed her silent but palpable pleading for him to change his mind. To make all of this go away.
“I’m sorry,” he said. It was all he could find to say.
SOPHIE STOPPED AT A SANDWICH place a few blocks from the law office, went to the bathroom and washed her face with cold water, using a harsh brown paper towel to pat it dry. She stared at herself in the mirror. The last few days had taken their toll.
She looked as if she’d aged ten years since leaving the house this morning. Her lids were red and puffy. Dark circles had appeared beneath her eyes. She looked bruised and beaten. Felt as if her deepest layer of muscle had been pounded with a hammer. How foolish she had been to hope. And yet she had been hopeful. Prayed that Caleb Tucker’s heart would change, that he would decide against tearing Grace’s life to shreds.
But that was exactly what he was going to do.
She gripped the edges of the sink and bent forward, her hair slipping partially free from the pins securing it. The pain was like being immersed in liquid fire, and she was unable even to swim to the top and gasp for air. Sophie was Grace’s mother. Her mother. And she could do nothing to prevent what was going to happen to her child.
She straightened, seeing in the mirror the truth in her own eyes. Had she been able to turn back the clock, she would have given up her opportunity at motherhood to spare Grace this. But she possessed no such magic wand. She tossed the paper towel in the trash can. It was time to do what she should have already done.
CATHERINE HEARD THE KNOCK and considered not answering it.
She lay on the couch, the living room’s closed shades and drawn curtains blocking the sunlight. She turned over, pressed her face to the lavender-scented pillow she’d brought down from her bedroom. These past few nights, she’d slept here, unable to face sleeping alone in the bed she and Jeb had shared for more than half her life.
“Mom?”
At the sound of Caleb’s voice, Catherine jerked up from the sofa, fumbled with the switch on an end-table lamp. She blinked against the light and smoothed a hand across hair that hadn’t been brushed in days. She didn’t want him to see her like this. “Just a minute,” she called out.
“Where are you?”
She got to her feet, a wave of light-headedness washing over her. “In here,” she said.
Caleb appeared in the doorway, a worried look on his face. “Are you all right, Mom?”
“I— Yes,” she said, tightening the belt of her robe. “Just a little under the weather.”
He came into the room, his gaze taking in the closed curtains. “Have you been to the doctor?”
“No. It’s nothing like that. I’ll be all right in a day or two.”
“Where’s Dad?” he asked.
Catherine bit her lip and glanced down, considering how to answer. “I’m not sure.”
Caleb was silent for a moment, and then said, “What’s going on, Mom?”
She looked up at him, then sank back down onto the couch, all the energy suddenly draining from her. She pressed one hand to the pounding in her temple. “Your father… We’ve separated, Caleb,” she said finally, unable to find any way to soften it.
“What?” he asked, staring at her, as if he couldn’t quite process what she’d said.
“He moved out a few days ago.”
Caleb shook his head. “Why?”
“Oh, son. It’s complicated.”
“But the two of you…he’s crazy about you, Mom.”
“Things change. People change,” she said, the words little more than a whisper.
“There has to be a reason.”
“He’s been unhappy,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t press her for a more specific answer.
“Unhappy,” he said, the word now laced with anger. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Caleb—”
“Mom, this is ridiculous. He can’t just leave you.”
“Son, this is between your father and me. I don’t want you to—”
“It’s not just between you and him,” Caleb interrupted, slamming a palm against the door frame. “Damn him.”
“Don’t, Caleb,” she said, her eyes welling with tears.
“Where is he, Mom?”
She stared at her son for a few moments, too tired to deny him the answer. She knew him well enough to know he’d find out one way or another. “He left an address on the kitchen table.”
“Are you all right, Mom?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Really.”
Caleb backed up a step. “I’m going to see him.”
“Caleb, please. Don’t.”
“I’ll be back to check on you later,” he said, then left.
CALEB GRIPPED the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He didn’t believe this. His father had never been the kind of man who would even think about leaving his wife. What was going on?
He took route 29 into Charlottesville, then drove around for a few minutes looking for the apartment building on May Street. His father’s truck was parked outside, and he took the stairs to the second floor, knocking on the door marked 10.
He waited a minute or two, and when there was no answer, knocked again. He heard footsteps, and then the door opened. At the sight of his dad, Caleb blinked hard. Jeb’s face was drawn and haggard, his eyes red, from lack of sleep or crying, Caleb wasn’t sure.
“Hello, son,” Jeb said, his voice drained of its former energy.
“What’s going on, Dad?” Caleb asked, shaking his head.
Jeb stared at him for a moment, then said, “This is between me and your mama, son.”
“Yeah, that’s what she said. Both of you look absolutely miserable.”
Jeb glanced away, then met Caleb’s gaze again, not saying anything.
“I don’t understand how you can do this to her,” Caleb said, the anger he had tamped down on the way over rising to the surface again. “You love her.”
“Sometimes, that’s not enough, son.”
Caleb jerked a hand through his hair. “Do you have any idea what you’re throwing away? What you’re going to lose if you don’t turn this around?”
“I know exactly what I’m losing,” Jeb said, the response low and sad. “But the truth is I already lost it.”
“What are you talking about, Dad? I know Mom doesn’t want this.”
“Caleb.” Jeb glanced down at his hands. “Things aren’t like they used to be.”
“So you just throw away all those years you’ve had together?”
“It’s not what I want, son.”
“Then why are you doing it?” Caleb asked. “How can you be so selfish? Is there someone else? Are you screwing around on—”
“That’s enough,” Jeb said, the words out on a flash of heat. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” Caleb asked, his own voice thick with disgust. “Why else would you turn both your lives inside out?”
Jeb stared at him, then looked away.
“At least answer that.”
When Jeb remained silent, Caleb backed up. “I have no idea who you are,” he said.
Caleb had reached the stairs when his father’s voice rang out in the hallway. “I’m not the one who’s changed.”
Caleb waited.
“You know, son, I would have taken your suffering onto myself if I could have,” he said. “I’d give anything I have to prevent you from going through these past three years. But I can’t. I can’t take it away. Even if I could, you wouldn’t let me. You’re punishing yourself, Caleb. And I don’t think you’re ever going to stop. Watching you do this to yourself has just about done your mother in. I can’t stand by and watch her refuse to get help any longer.”
Caleb felt as if his father had hit him in the chest with a hammer. He stood there, disbelieving. “So everything that’s happening between the two of you is my fault?”
“That’s not what I said.”
/> “I think it’s exactly what you said,” he snapped. “And you know what, Dad? I’m not buying it.”
He took the stairs down two at a time, got in his truck and sped out of the parking lot, wishing he’d never come in the first place.
JEB STOOD AT THE APARTMENT door long after the sound of Caleb’s truck faded.
Had he said too much? Been unfair?
He ran a hand around the back of his neck. He couldn’t answer yes to either question. He loved his son. But he thought what he was doing was wrong. And he couldn’t pretend otherwise.
These past few days without Catherine had been the worst days of his life. Getting up in the morning just seemed like a waste of time, because without her there was no light.
A dozen times, he’d pulled his suitcase out of the bedroom closet, told himself he couldn’t take another moment away from her.
But then nothing had changed. As long as Catherine refused to get help, he couldn’t bring himself to go back and watch her slip further from his grasp.
A panicked urge to go after his son hit him dead center, but just as quickly dissolved.
Caleb had made up his mind. Nothing Jeb said was going to change it. And he couldn’t bring himself to resume his position on the sidelines where he could only bear witness to the wreckage.
CALEB DROVE HOME FASTER than he should have.
He rapped a thumb against the steering wheel in rapid staccato. So it was his fault. He was to blame for the problems in his parents’ marriage. He was the reason his father had moved out. He was the reason everything around him had fallen apart these past three years.
He wheeled the truck into his driveway, spewing dust behind him on the gravel road. At the house, he stomped the brake, skidded to a stop.
He opened the door, but didn’t get out. How the hell had he become the villain?
Anger coursed through him, and in its wake, a wash of refusal to take responsibility for this. His father’s decision to leave was his own. And if he chose to break his wife’s heart, then the choice was his. There was nothing Caleb could do to stop it.
Gift of Grace Page 9
