She refused to cry. “Thank you for letting me be here with you. If I hear anything from Kelsey, I’ll let you know.”
He took a small box from his pocket and held it out.
Her brow drew together, puzzled.
“Birthday present.”
More puzzled still. “Morgan, it’s not my birthday.”
“Belated.”
Her birthday was in four months.
“A few years late.”
Her throat tightened. “I don’t …”
“Just open it. I saved you all the tape and paper part.”
She lifted the lid of the box and took out a bracelet she had admired from the shop window on one of their Beauview walks over fifteen years ago. She remembered it by the delicate silver swans connected with wave-shaped links. She’d been in her swan phase and the bracelet was the most delicately beautiful thing she’d seen.
“Morgan …”
“I’d already gotten it.” Before she left him to go stay with her aunt. “I’m terrible with receipts.”
She looked into his face. He’d kept it all these years?
He smiled. “You’d better get into the security line. It’s filling up fast.”
She swallowed the tightness in her throat. “I don’t know what to say.”
He brushed her cheek with a kiss. “Good-bye.”
Tears washed in, in spite of her efforts. “Good-bye, Morgan.”
He turned and walked out, with hardly any limp at all. He might not be running the next few days, but he’d be fine.
She stood in the line, waited for her bag to be scanned and her body checked for bombs and weapons, then went to the gate. It was there she realized she held a first-class ticket and was boarded ahead of the coach passengers. Taking her seat in the relative luxury of the first class section, she slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, then fought tears the rest of the flight. By the time she landed, she was drained.
She had supposed she would have to take a taxi from Des Moines, but Shelly was waiting at the exit. “Shelly, how …?”
Shelly grabbed her into a hug. “Morgan called this morning. Dan wanted to come, but he was on shift.”
Thank God. She was not ready for an hour alone with him, not when the tears insisted on rising to the surface with each thought. Now, for instance, at the realization Morgan had covered even this detail.
“I would have fought him to come anyway. I know I won’t get the bald truth once you have time to think. So no matter how tired you are, you have to tell me everything.”
Jill settled into the seat of Shelly’s Miata. After Morgan’s cars, it didn’t seem so special.
Shelly tapped her hand on the steering wheel. “So what happened?”
Jill looked out at the highway flanked by cornfields, and all she could think of were glittering waves and soaring gulls. “The transplant went fine. Morgan is healing well, and Kelsey will, too.”
“I did not drive an hour and a half up here to settle for that. Details, sweetie.”
“I don’t know what to say.” But she described Morgan’s house and told about Denise and Consuela and Juan, recounting each one’s story as she knew it.
“He’s a nice guy.”
Jill nodded, fingering her bracelet. “Too nice. People take advantage of him.”
Shelly glanced over. “I like the swans. A little something to go with the Armani dress?”
Jill didn’t answer for a moment. “I didn’t keep the dress.”
Shelly waved a hand. “Yeah, who wants Armani?”
Jill dropped her chin, smiling.
“When are you going to see him again?”
Jill fought back the insistent tears. “I don’t think I will.”
“I’m making Hungarian goulash for dinner. You can have Rascal back after that.”
Jill leaned her head back, smiling again. Hungarian goulash was Shelly’s comfort food for every woe. “Sounds great.”
Goulash and, of course, corn on the cob boiling in the pot, the midwestern side dish for anything. But there was nothing so good as farm-fresh corn. Unless it was California strawberries and avocados and orange juice squeezed from the tree. She forced the thought away as she snuggled Rascal under her chin and let his purr rumble in her own throat, then looked up as Dan came through the front door with a bottle of wine.
“Welcome back.” His T-shirt was taut over his shoulders and chest, a slight dampness around the collar. His bike shorts were snug on his narrow hips and muscled thighs. He must have ridden over.
“Hey, hey.” Brett waved his tongs and continued pulling corn from the pot.
Shelly hadn’t mentioned that Dan was coming, an innocent oversight, of course. He placed the wine on the counter and turned. “No suntan? I thought you’d come back bronzed like a California girl.”
No, she was, after all, an Iowa farm girl. “I hardly had time for that.”
“But you’re back.” He smiled again as though he had no control over it. “That’s a good thing.”
With time she might see it that way. She let Rascal down, and he scooted under the table.
Dan uncorked the wine and set it to breathe. “How was your trip?”
Mr. Talkative, wasn’t he? “It was fine. The marrow harvest went without a hitch.” She glanced at Shelly. “Kelsey called Morgan the night before to thank him.” She tried not to visualize Morgan overwhelmed by his daughter’s voice and the comfort she’d offered. That had been such a tender and hopeful night. She trapped a sigh and said, “Now we can only pray.”
Dan actually nodded.
Brett carried the bowl of goulash to the table. “Pull up a chair and prepare to gustate.”
“I don’t think that’s a verb.” Shelly set the bowl of corn beside the goulash.
“Gustation, the act of tasting. If you can taste, you can gustate.” Brett untied his apron and tossed it over the counter. “Don’t argue with the man, wench.”
“I’ll wench you.” Shelly bumped him with a hip.
“Where are my handcuffs when I need them? Got yours, Dan?” Dan clicked his fingers.
Shelly glared. “You wouldn’t dare. Sit down, Jill, before my he-man beats his chest.”
Jill laughed. Brett was a man’s man but certainly never beat his chest. Since Dan didn’t think of it, she pulled out her own chair and sat down, trying not to miss the feel of Morgan’s hand across her shoulders. So many things to miss. But she would not think of that now. These were her friends, welcoming her home. She had kept it light on the drive with Shelly, in spite of her friend’s contention that exhaustion would gain her the bald truth. She could do the same now.
Shelly took her place beside Brett and looked across at Jill. “Dig in.”
Silently Jill offered her thanks as Dan and Brett filled their plates. She took her own servings of comfort food and swallowed her first bite. “Shelly, as always, it’s great.”
Dan said, “I forgot the caviar. You’ll have to wean yourself off it.”
“Caviar?”
He shrugged. “Now that you’re back with the peons.”
So it was a stab at Morgan. “No caviar, I’m afraid. But Morgan’s housekeeper is a wonderful Mexican cook. Tamales no American could make.”
“Nothing like foreign servants. Where does the guy live?”
“Santa Barbara.”
“No hovel, I guess, if he needs servants.” Dan made it sound like a weakness in Morgan rather than the blessing it was to Consuela. “No hovel.” Jill described the lovely gated property overlooking the Pacific. “I saw dolphins and a whale. So many birds, and the sound of the waves was so peaceful. Oranges right off the tree to squeeze for juice. Very exotic.” Dan deserved that for his caviar comment. “And they have a private beach at the base of the cliffs.”
“Very posh.” Dan sipped his wine.
Jill tried not to picture Morgan with his tumbler of bourbon, drowning the hurt she had caused. “I drove both his retro Thunderbird and his Corvette. Now that’s posh
.”
Dan set the wine down. “A Vette, huh? Don’t suppose he has a bike.”
“I didn’t see one.” She met his eyes. How far would he push it?
“No one to pedal it for him?”
Jill iced him with her gaze. “He had difficulty even walking after multiple bone punctures.”
Dan’s face reddened. “Sorry.”
She held his eyes without answering. She might have questioned Morgan’s need for all his things, but Dan had no right to disparage him personally. He had no concept of Morgan’s sacrifice, his hopes for their daughter, his pain, his emptiness in spite of all the things Dan envied.
“So … any movement in the Marvin case?” Brett tossed his balled napkin at Dan’s head.
Dan turned. “Actually, yes. I’d be surprised if we don’t get a confession tomorrow.”
Jill took a bite of goulash. Brett might break up the fight, but their police chatter did nothing to still the defensive anger Dan had churned. At the earliest chance, she stood and loaded her plate into the dishwasher. “Thank you so much for dinner, Shell. I better get Rascal home.”
“I’ll walk you over.” Dan stood up.
Inevitable. She nodded with a forced smile and scooped Rascal into her arms.
Outside, he said, “I was a jerk.”
Jill didn’t argue, just started across the lawn between the patios.
He shook his head. “The green monster’s eaten me the whole time you were gone.”
“I’m sorry.” Rascal trembled in her arms, fearful once again of the great outdoors.
“Don’t apologize. That makes it worse.”
She looked into his face. “I shouldn’t have rubbed it in.”
“Are you in love with him?” His face was firm, yet vulnerable.
She owed him the truth. “I always have been.”
He nodded. “But you didn’t stay.” He was fishing.
“I would have.”
Dan stood a long minute, his brows pressed together. “I could learn to be second best.”
“Please don’t do that, Dan. You deserve to be best.”
He brought his chin up and nodded, hands clutching his hips. “Good night, Jill.” He crossed back to Shelly and Brett’s, where she knew he would receive consolation and understanding.
She went inside with Rascal, set him on the floor and watched him run to a place where he could regain his dignity. Then her icy façade melted. She pressed her hands to her face as all the memories and emotions rushed in.
CHAPTER
27
Bern Gershwin looked as though he’d put on a pound or two since the last time they’d played. He sweated and huffed but took full advantage of Morgan’s relative immobility, smacking the ball hard and low in the echo chamber court. Morgan just managed the return and Bern put it away with a shot low and wide, then pulled off his goggles and toweled his face. Morgan set his racquet down and removed his goggles.
With only a slight gloat, Bern said, “Not too slow on your feet, considering.”
“Slow enough to give you advantage.”
Bern laughed. “Like I need it.”
Morgan wiped the sweat from his head and neck. “I talked to my daughter.”
“You did?” Bern hung the towel across his neck and checked the clock. Reflex.
“She initiated it, called me the night before the harvest.”
Bern pulled the two edges of his towel taut across his neck. “Then you don’t need what I got for you.”
Morgan shrugged. “The thing is, I could make contact. E-mail. Phone calls. She has that much with Jill by permission, though for some reason the Bensons won’t extend the same to me.”
“But the girl called you.”
“She called Jill and used the opportunity to thank me.”
Bern rubbed his face. “But she didn’t have permission.”
Morgan shook his head. “And if I pursue it that way, it pits her against her parents’ wishes.” He’d learned that much from Todd and Stan. He ducked through the half door of the court.
Bern followed him out. “And you’ve spoken with the parents.”
“Not directly. They communicated right at the start through the doctors that it would be handled according to donation protocol. It’s part of the agreement in the donor program not to make contact within a year’s time.” Morgan started down the hall toward the locker room. “But that doesn’t apply to relatives.” He paused in the doorway. “So am I?”
Bern frowned. “Legally?”
“I know reality. Now walk me through your world.”
Bern passed by into the locker room. “First off, you don’t have much to go on. Since you weren’t married, Jill had sole custody of the child at birth.”
No surprise there, though it rankled. “Shouldn’t I at least have known?”
Bern tossed his towel on the bench. “Prior to petition for termination of the parent-child relationship, all putative fathers must be notified by publication in a newspaper.”
“Wait a minute. What do you mean, all putative fathers?” Morgan spun the combination lock.
“She listed you as unknown.”
He digested that. As though there’d been any confusion.
“If the father is unknown or his whereabouts unknown, due process requires notification in a publication most likely to inform all potential fathers.”
“I never saw anything.” Morgan scowled as he tugged the locker door open.
“Did she know where you were?”
“She knew my plans. Full scholarship to Wharton in Pennsylvania.”
“She posted in Des Moines, Kelsey’s birthplace.”
“Why would I see it there?”
Bern shook his head. “You wouldn’t. That’s the one scrap from the table. Due process requires her to post notice in the county most likely to reach you. Because the termination order was entered without full due process, you could request a court order for revocation of release of custody.”
“What does that mean?” Morgan shoved his racquet into the long narrow space.
“It attacks Jill’s custodial release. However, before your eyes start gleaming, let me say you must show good cause to vacate the termination order.”
Morgan hung the goggles with the racquet. “What constitutes good cause?”
“Fraud, coercion, misrepresentation …”
“Coercion? As in her parents forcing her?”
“In the case of a minor they probably had responsibility in her decision. At least both parties could argue that.”
Morgan pressed a hand to the fresh ache in his traumatized hips. “Was it fraudulent to claim she didn’t know who the father was?”
“Fraud would be claiming rape, statutory in your case. You’re lucky it didn’t go that way.”
Morgan jerked his head to stare at Bern. “Rape?”
“You could possibly make a case for misrepresentation if you could prove she did know it was you and there were no other possibilities.” Bern stripped his T-shirt off over his head. Definite extra poundage, but that hadn’t immobilized him anywhere near the pain Morgan was feeling just now.
He focused on the point of this exercise. “So if there’s misrepresentation, then what?”
“You could request the vacation of the termination order.”
“That means I’d have a right to see her?” Morgan stripped off his own sweaty shirt.
Bern pursed his lips. “You want reality?”
That didn’t sound good. Morgan gripped the edge of the locker door and slacked a hip. “Go ahead.”
Bern raised his index finger. “First, you can’t prove you were the only possible father, even if the DNA shows you actually are. If Jill claims there was another putative in Des Moines, then she followed due process.”
A putative father in Des Moines? Hardly. It must have humiliated Jill to claim “father unknown.” It was bad enough to be in that position with the only person she’d slept with, but to make it seem as though s
he’d slept around and couldn’t name the possibilities … Yet at the moment he didn’t feel too sorry for her.
Bern raised his next finger. “Second, in the state of Iowa, age fourteen is when the child is consulted in the matter of custody. You’d be asking Kelsey to give up all she’s known, and especially to deny Roger Benson as her father.”
“Wait a minute. I’m not talking about changing custody.”
Bern’s thumb stuck out. “Third, the judge will consider the best interest of the child, including avoidance of disruption in relation-ships. So basically, you don’t have a chance.”
Morgan dropped his chin. “So I have absolutely no right to see my daughter.”
“Under the law she isn’t your daughter. She can only have one legal father at a time.”
He swallowed. “Can’t we do anything?”
Bern drew his brows together. “I could draw up a letter to the effect that you intend to challenge the termination. We both know you haven’t a chance, but it might give you room to talk about settling the matter directly with the Bensons.”
“It could give me some leverage?”
Bern shrugged. “It might get you in the door.”
He’d just donated marrow to their daughter, covered their medical bills. But he’d have to threaten legal action to get through the door. What was wrong with that picture? He jammed his fingers through his hair. “Write the letter, but don’t send it. I’ll hold on to it just in case.”
With the hot water dribbling down his chest, Morgan scrubbed his skin. Why couldn’t the club get any decent water pressure through the showerhead? And would it have been so much to give a guy elbow-room in the stall? He shut the water off and stepped out, grabbed his towel, and scrubbed himself again. Bern had gone to steam himself in the sauna. Morgan just wanted to get home.
Pain stabbed Kelsey, totally unrelated to any physical cause as she read the question from her Hope Page. How can you claim Jesus loves me when He let this happen to me? I’m a freak and everyone hates me and stares at me and says there goes that kid with cancer. It’s a stinking lie that Jesus loves me and you are the big liar. Darren
Kelsey closed her eyes. Yes, kids were cruel. They couldn’t help it. They didn’t know how to be around someone who was dying, whose hair had fallen out, who tired easily, bled easily, cried easily.
The Still of Night Page 34
