Finally a Mother

by Dana Corbit

  It was as if all of the oxygen had been pulled from the room, and all he could do was hold his breath and wait for her response to his story. He could already sense her judgment in the silence.

  “Oh, Mark. That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

  He blinked and then released his breath in tiny bursts. He didn’t want her to feel sorry for him, so it surprised him how relieved he felt that she hadn’t been quick to judge. He tried not to wonder whether she was wasting her compassion on someone who didn’t deserve it. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her after all. But it had been important to him that she understood the truth about him. He was no hero, even if he’d tried to be one for Blake’s sake...and hers.

  “I wasn’t driving the car,” he continued, “but that didn’t make a difference, particularly to my parents. They always saw me as the kid from the accident. Chris told me he forgave me, but how could anyone forgive a guy who was able to walk away from his mistakes when he could never walk again?”

  “That’s why you became a cop, isn’t it?” She held her hands wide. “To make up for some of the things you did.”

  He must not have done a good job at hiding his surprise because she laughed. “Come on, Mark. I had a teenage pregnancy, and I’ve spent the past five years working at a home for teen moms. I know a little about trying to make up for the past.”

  “I guess you do.”

  For a few minutes, they sat in silence, lost in their own memories and regrets, but then Shannon looked up at him.

  “Wait. You said ‘saw.’ Your parents. Are they...?”

  “They died in a car accident four years ago. Before—I don’t know—before I became what I could be.”

  She watched him for so long that he had to force himself not to squirm in his seat.

  “You’ve had a lot of loss in your life, even after your friend’s injury. Your parents. Your marriage.”

  He swallowed and sat up straighter. “Those two things aren’t the same at all. One was an accident, and the other... Well, you can’t accidentally cheat on someone.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “Kim was the one who introduced me to faith in God, and yet she had no problem violating the Ten Commandments. She actually blamed me for her cheating, saying I cared more about the police force than her. And then she left me for her trainer at the gym.” He waved away the story with a swipe of his hand, wishing it was as easy to brush away the feelings of betrayal and loss. “At least she made a health-conscious choice.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Guess not.”

  But it wasn’t okay either, for him to let her comfort him when he was supposed to be supporting her. How had they switched places? She’d probably asked all of those questions to prevent him from asking more about Blake’s father, but she hadn’t forced him to answer. Hadn’t insisted that he gut himself like a salmon and let his secrets drain out on the kitchen table. No, he’d done that all by himself. Now he wanted to drag his innards back in, step away from her and put his guard back up where it belonged. He pushed back from the table and stood.

  “Have you checked on Blake lately?” he asked.

  “He hasn’t come out even once.” She jerked her head, looking past him to the hallway leading to the stairs. “Wait. You don’t think...?”

  “No.” He shook his head for emphasis. “He wouldn’t have gone out that window. He knows he can’t afford to run again. Besides, it’s a straight drop to the driveway, and there weren’t enough sheets in there for him to tie up to make a prison break.”

  But just in case, he held his index finger out to indicate that she would wait, and he stealthily climbed the stairs. Flipping on the hall light, he stepped to the closed door and waited, listening for sounds coming from inside the room. Nothing. He tested the knob and found the door unlocked after all. When he pushed open the door, allowing light to flood the room, he found Blake just where he was supposed to be: in the bed pushed against the wall. He was lying on his side, his knees drawn up to his chest, with that old quilt from Mark’s parents’ home pulled up to just under his nose.

  More relieved than he cared to admit, he backed quietly out of the room and right into Shannon.

  “Ooomf,” she said, when his elbow made contact with her stomach.

  “I told you to wait,” he whispered. “What are you doing—”

  But she wasn’t listening. She was staring at her son, her eyes glistening in the soft light.

  “The last time I saw him sleeping...”

  Her whispered words trailed away then, but Mark had no doubt she could picture that last time when he would have been just a newborn, either in her arms or behind glass in the hospital nursery. He wanted to know which, wanted to be able to picture the story clearly himself, but her expression was so stark that he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Whichever image burned vividly in her memory right now, nearly fifteen years afterward, the boy slept on, oblivious to the light pouring in from the hall and the muffled voices outside the door.

  “He preferred to be in here, alone, all night, than to spend time...with me.”

  Her voice caught on the last, and her anguish was so palpable that he could feel the ache of it inside his heart.

  “Everything’s going to work out with him. You’ve got to believe that.”

  But she only shook her head, her eyes filling again. “I don’t deserve a second chance, do I?”

  “Wait.” Somehow he managed to keep his voice low as he pulled the door closed. “Of course you deserve a second chance. We all do.”

  He didn’t remember reaching for her hand as she braced it on the edge of the door frame, but it was suddenly there, his wide hand covering her tiny one so completely that it was shielded from view. As he squeezed her hand, it exuded warmth that seeped right into his skin. A tingle raced from his fingertips to his shoulder.

  As if that wasn’t enough to tell him he’d made a mistake by touching her, when he looked away from their hands, his gaze only locked with hers. She stared at him with wide eyes. It was just a second, maybe a fraction of a second, and yet there was an awareness between them that hadn’t been there minutes before. Her light floral scent, her halted breathing, the slight rush of her pulse inundated his senses. Confused him.

  Terrified him.

  What was he doing? The ink wasn’t even dry on his divorce papers, and here he was not only thinking about a woman, but touching one. And not just any woman either, but one with a history of walking away from her own child. He’d just told her that she deserved a second chance, and as a Christian, he should be forgiving, but her track record still made him nervous.

  Clearing his throat, he pulled his hand away and stepped back. Shannon looked away for several seconds and then lowered her hand from the wall.

  “Um, I’d better be getting home.”

  “Okay. We’ll be over early tomorrow to work on those gutters.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Already she’d started down the stairs. Away from him. By the time Mark reached the landing, he’d done a pretty effective job at convincing himself that whatever had just passed between them was all in his head. And if it wasn’t, well, he’d better forget about it, anyway.

  He had to return to Hope Haven tomorrow, but he promised himself he would keep his distance from Shannon Lyndon by only doing outside jobs. No one had ever put Blake first. Mark was determined to be the one to do it. He would focus on teaching Blake new skills as they completed home repairs. He would help him prepare for classes at his new school next week, and he would encourage him to consider building a relationship with Shannon. Yes, he would put the boy first in everything he did this week, if he could only keep his thoughts away from Blake’s mother.

  Chapter Seven

  Holding her breath, Shannon slowly turned the key in the back doo
r lock, but the click pierced the rural silence like a gunshot. She jumped, managing not to fall off the back porch. The door creaked as she opened it, allowing in a sliver of light from the porch lamp. Even knowing the exact location of the squeaky floorboard didn’t help her to avoid stepping on it. Good thing Katie had remembered not to set the alarm tonight after she’d sent the girls to bed, or that would have been blaring, too.

  Why was she sneaking, anyway? She was an adult. She didn’t have a curfew. She had nothing to feel guilty about, either. Her girls were under Katie’s capable care and probably had been asleep for hours. Why was it so important to her that no one knew what time she returned home? Memories of other clandestine moments stole into her mind, but she closed her eyes, forcing them from view. Her thoughts had been confusing enough without her dredging more sludge from the past.

  What had just happened between her and Mark? She wasn’t sure, but one thing she did know was that there’d been so many sparks in that upstairs hallway that her hair should have caught on fire. His hand over hers had felt so warm, so strong, that she couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like if he drew her into his arms. Had he felt the electricity, too? She didn’t bother telling herself that she’d imagined it when she’d practically raced from the house to escape the energy of it. Even after fifteen minutes in time and traveling distance to her home, she remained a mass of disturbed nerve endings.

  Shivering, though she was still wearing her coat, she closed the door, flipped the lock and reached for the kitchen light switch. Fluorescent light flooded the room before she could touch the switch plate. Squealing, she jumped again, this time knocking her elbow against the countertop.

  “Sorry, Miss Shannon.” Brooke stood in the doorway, a robe tied over pajamas, fuzzy slippers on her feet. “You had a late night.”

  Shannon shrugged out of her coat and hung it on one of the hooks by the door. “I told you all that I would be staying with Blake sometimes until Mark—I mean, Trooper Shoffner—comes home from work.”

  “He works late.”

  The teen was probably just making an observation, yet it felt like an accusation. Shannon shouldn’t have stayed so late with Mark, even if he’d been sweet to offer her tea and a listening ear. “It won’t always be that late.”

  It wouldn’t have been so late this time if she hadn’t kept asking him more about his past. At first, she’d only posed the questions to avoid answering his, but then he’d started talking and she couldn’t get enough of his stories. She’d completely taken his side, too. Even before his trip to check on Blake, she’d already been wondering what kind of parents never forgave their son, and, worse yet, how any woman could have left a great guy like Mark.

  “How much did Blake love having a babysitter?”

  Shannon swallowed, caught ruminating over matters she’d had no business thinking about then...or remembering now. “About as much as you’d expect.” Maybe she was the one who’d needed a babysitter tonight.

  As Brooke stood leaning against the door frame, Shannon half expected the rest of the girls to crowd around her and pepper her with questions. The hallway behind Brooke, though, remained in shadow.

  “What are you doing up so late, anyway? The baby needs you to get your rest.”

  Brooke rubbed a hand near her collarbone and then allowed her arm to rest on the upper curve of her abdomen. “Heartburn. I haven’t been sleeping that well lately. My feet are swelling, too.”

  “Yeah, all of the fun side effects of pregnancy.” Shannon smiled, remembering. “Near the end, it was so hard to get comfortable enough to sleep.”

  Brooke smiled back at her. “I’m glad that you’re finally able to share your own experiences with us, but I understand that you had a right to keep your secret.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad, too.” She realized she was only responding to one of Brooke’s comments, but she’d cried enough for one day. Still, an enormous lump clogged her throat, refusing to budge.

  When she followed the teen through the door into the dining area, she noticed the plate, glass of milk and box of graham crackers Brooke had already placed on one of the tables there.

  Shannon indicated the snacks with a wave of her hand. “I doubt those are going to help your heartburn.”

  “Yeah, but Parasite here was hungry again.” She pointed to her stomach and then slowly lowered herself into a chair.

  Shannon nodded. In a group like this, it was common for the girls to nickname their babies, but she’d never been a fan of that particular moniker. “Well, clean up after yourself, and try to get back to bed. You’ll be exhausted for your class work tomorrow. Weren’t you studying for a chemistry midterm?”

  The girl only rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom.”

  “Well, good night. I have to set the alarm.” Shannon started toward the hall.

  “Miss Shannon,” Brooke called after her.

  She glanced back to find the teen sitting with her arms crossed over her stomach, her expression giving nothing away. The snack and milk in front of her remained untouched.

  “Were you sorry you did it?”

  Shannon turned to face her. There was more to the girl’s late-night-snack mission after all. “You mean the adoption?”

  She nodded.

  Because this conversation was going to take a while and because she needed time to decide how to answer, Shannon joined her at the table. Still not eating, the girl sat staring at her hands.

  “We’ve talked about how each situation is different,” Shannon began. “Each young mother must decide what is right for her, her baby and her family.”

  She paused, waiting for the girl to say something, but when she didn’t look up, Shannon tried again. “And I’ve told you what a wonderful, unselfish choice you’ve made in placing your baby with a loving family. Your baby will be a gift from God for a couple who’ve been praying for a child to love.”

  This time Brooke met her gaze and shook her head. “I’m not talking about our choices. I’m asking about yours.”

  Shannon swallowed, though it shouldn’t have surprised her that one of the girls had asked. What should have surprised her more was that it had taken one of them this long to do it.

  “I didn’t want to place my baby for adoption, but I didn’t feel as if I had a choice,” she said finally. “My parents insisted on adoption, and I let them convince me that it was the right thing to do... I mean, the right thing for me.”

  She cringed, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. The last thing she wanted to do was to make Brooke or any of the girls question their decisions based on hers. But she’d dug this hole, so she started backfilling. “I want you to know that the whole thing about Blake’s adoptive parents losing parental rights, that was... Well, an anomaly. About as likely as prospective adoptive parents deciding they didn’t want a baby after all.”

  To her surprise, Brooke chuckled.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Shannon. I still believe that people should live in houses, even though sometimes houses are hit by tornadoes. They should drive cars, even though sometimes they hit brick walls.” She finally took a bite of her graham cracker and washed it down with a swallow of milk. “Parasite’s folks will be great.”

  “I’m sure they will be.” Shannon pushed up from the table. “Anyway, I need to get to bed. And I know you need to.”

  This time Brooke stood with her and collected her dishes and the box of crackers.

  “Well, good night.” She drew the girl in for a hug.

  “Thanks for telling me some of your story. I’d wondered why it was so important to you that we each had the chance to decide for ourselves whether we wanted to keep our babies or place them for adoption.” Brooke smiled. “Now I know.”

  The conversation followed her as Shannon moved to the entry and set the house alarm. She’d admitted that the choice regard
ing Blake’s adoption hadn’t really been hers, but she had a choice now, and she was choosing to be a mother to him, if he would only let her. Blake was the sole reason that she and Mark were collaborating. She couldn’t lose sight of that by allowing herself to develop romantic notions about Blake’s foster dad, no matter how generous and kind he seemed to be. Mark was only there for Blake’s sake, and she needed to remember that. Otherwise, she risked failing to connect with her son the way she needed to, and when he was placed elsewhere, she would again be that thing she dreaded most. Alone.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you’ll be able to finish this by Wednesday? We’ll need this room for Thursday.”

  Shannon indicated the paneled walls of the basement recreation room, the area that she’d been planning to paint for two years. Since none of the girls could help because they shouldn’t be exposed to the paint fumes, she’d never found the time to do it.

  Mark didn’t even look back from the wall, where he was using filling compound to repair nail holes. “Well, it’s inside instead of out there in the rain, so at least we have a chance of finishing something this week.”

  As tightly as she was wound today, she wouldn’t accomplish much herself no matter where she was. She’d told herself to steer clear of Mark, but her warnings had no effect now that he was here in the flesh rather than in theory. Even her suspicion that she’d imagined that whole moment between them last night didn’t help. If one of the girls sneaked up behind her and tapped her shoulder, she would probably go pop, her limbs shooting every which way in an unfortunate gymnastics feat.

  “I know you wanted to work on the gutters, but...”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Mark said with a sigh. “But if it doesn’t stop raining soon, your guests will have to paddle to Thanksgiving dinner in canoes.”

  “You’re positive you can have it finished?”

  Blake turned back to her, still holding the scraper he was using to remove loose paint. “We probably could do that without so many interruptions.”