Ten Brides for Ten Hot Guys

by Donna Fasano

  Apprehensive, shyly noncommittal, in case she had a mother who still didn’t want her, Tee requested the situation be kept under wraps. She’d explained this to Angelina and Grandma. Henceforth, a private meeting was arranged in Angelina’s office for her to hear the outcome of the investigation.

  Angelina stood at the door with her hand on the knob, reluctant to leave the trembling teen alone to face the results. She’d heard the catch in Tee’s voice and saw the pulse throbbing in her throat, and the sight brought tears to her eyes. She’s so beautiful in her youth and yearning. “Tee, I understand you want to do this on your own, but you know I’m here if you need me, right?”

  “Sure, Angelina, but I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” Tee stiffened her shoulders and then patted Angelina’s fidgeting hands.

  Poor little grown-up baby! Careening emotions raged in Angelina’s vulnerable soul. “Come here, brat.” Angelina’s tender South American heart insisted on the embrace. For her, the moment demanded a loving gesture. When she left the room—worry followed her. The hard part was trying to hide it from other probing eyes.

  Sometime later, the investigator opened the door of the office and stepped out, closing it behind him. All eyes turned to him, and they waited. He said nothing as he made his hesitant way to Coralee’s desk, and checked her happy-face nameplate, which was sitting at the edge by her coffee mug. He leaned over, whispered a few words, straightened and turned to walk back from where he’d come. He waved a thumbs-up signal toward Angelina. Then he disappeared in her office once again. Okay! Now what? She disentangled her cold hands and flexed their nerveless fingers.

  Head angled in a questioning way, hands held out like she was receiving an offering, Coralee stopped next to Angelina, who stood by the filing cabinets.

  Shaking her head negatively, Angelina pointed her towards the closed doorway as if to say; don’t ask me, I have no idea. Profoundly confused but obviously willing to help Tee, Coralee shrugged and disappeared.

  “What’s going on, Angelina?” Johnnie stopped in front of her, worry etched on his features.

  “I have no idea,” she said, shaking her head back and forth, baffled. “All I know is that Tee had a few things she needed to settle, and Adam promised to help her.”

  “I wonder why Coralee was called in?”

  Lifting her water bottle in the air, Angelina frowned before taking a sip. “Beats me, Johnnie. I wished I knew. Gotta admit, though, that I’m worried.” Tightness in her throat made it difficult to swallow, and the water she drank never did settle the nauseating tingling in her fluttery stomach.

  ~*~

  Tee, shaken to her core, didn’t have the guts to face the impending interview alone. Using the necessity of factual information, and Adam’s research knowledge as her bargaining chip, she coerced the private investigator to stay in the room while she revealed the outcome of his search.

  He must have seen through her persuasion and the begging quality of her request. “I’ll stay, Tee. And help you through the interview. I like spunk, and you’re one heck of a spunky kid. In fact, I’m touched that you respect me and want my support.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Small. I’m still so twisted over what you told me that I don’t think I could get through this alone.”

  “No problem. Just remember… You’re innocent in this situation. As is your mother. She was tricked by a despicable woman. If we can put things right today, then I’ll walk away feeling better than I have in a long, long time.”

  Tee nodded and continued to chew her nail, gnawing and tearing, wishing the nightmare of the next few minutes over and behind her.

  “It’s going to be fine,” he told her. “Quit worrying.”

  “Easy for you to say! What if she doesn’t want anything to do with a brand new dysfunctional family member?” Without her being aware, her finger slowly rose to her mouth again, offering solace.

  Chapter 65

  At the moment when the tension peaked unbearably, the door opened. Coralee popped her head in. Her gamin features broke into a welcome smile when she spotted Tee.

  “Hey, kiddo, what’s up?” She nodded questioningly at the man in the badly-tailored, wrinkled brown suit who stood at her entrance. He was the same investigator Angelina had hired weeks before. She looked him over closely and saw a slim, muscled individual with a crooked, loosened tie, a head of messy hair badly in need of scissors, and picked up on the fact that he was standing too close to the girl for her liking.

  She bristled with attitude until she interpreted the straight, proud look in his level stare. She felt herself relax, but knew there was something in the air which filled her once more with trepidation. She closed the door and, instinctively protective, sidled over to Tee. Supportively, she gently pushed Tee’s fingers away from her ravaging teeth, laid her hand on the girl’s shoulder and rubbed unconsciously.

  When Adam Small witnessed this shielding maneuver, he smiled.

  Masking her confusion, Coralee faced him and repeated, “What’s up?”

  Tee gestured toward the man, waving her hand weakly and announced, “Coralee, meet Adam Small. He’s a private investigator with the same firm that Angelina used to trace the owners of the gold. I hired him to help me trace my family.” At this point, her voice cracked and shakiness forced her to stop and swallow. Seconds later, she pointed at Coralee and choked out, “Adam, this is Coralee Becker… my fr-friend.” There was a noticeable faltering as she used the word friend, and it made Coralee glance at the girl as she automatically held her hand towards the investigator.

  His grip held until her eyes narrowed. His calculating glance stripped away her politeness and delved past her barriers. Then he let her go and she saw him relax.

  Silence enfolded them and intensified as Tee gazed beseechingly at Adam. Her hand lifted and then dropped.

  Taking pity on the youngster, Adam cleared his throat and pulled out the second visitor’s chair for Coralee next to Tee’s and waited for her to be seated. He propped himself on the desk in front and shuffled his papers.

  “Miss Becker, my client Tee gave me very few facts to start a search with. She knew from information in her possession that she was born in the Royal Jubilee Hospital sixteen years ago on the fifteenth of last month. From what I could find out through the hospital records, her mother was a female called Brenda Corley”

  What? Coralee’s gasp sounded loud and harsh. Instinctively, she flinched in recoil at the sound of the name. Her heartbeat ramped up viciously to where she had trouble breathing, thinking—believing.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Tee, watching her reaction and then popping her nail back into her mouth to continue gnawing.

  Ignoring her shock, Adam continued. His voice took on a clipped tone like that of a schoolteacher reviewing a lesson of dry historical facts.

  “I traced the evidence to where this baby was taken from her mother, kept in an incubator for weeks, and then placed with an adoptive family. She was with them until two years of age. At that time, the couple were killed in a freak motor vehicle accident while leaving the baby home alone. I talked to some of the neighbors who are still living in the old apartment building. They told me the death of the parents might have been a blessing in disguise. Turns out, the police had to be called on a number of occasions because of numerous complaints of disturbance, and towards the end, child neglect.” He glanced up to see Coralee with her head cupped in her shaking hands, disbelief written all over her face.

  He continued. “None of the immediate family members were willing to take the baby, and so she was placed with Child Welfare. Over the next several years, the child circulated through our imperfect, over-worked system until she ran away six months ago. Because of her age, a desultory trace was put on her, but being one of thousands of kids in her predicament, she was filed and forgotten.”

  Coralee felt him studying her but she couldn’t move. The pain from his report had rendered her frozen in disbelief and horror.

  After
a few moments, he continued. “Since Brenda turned out to be just a child herself, only two months shy of sixteen, I followed the trail to her only relative, Agnes Corlee, her mother. And I use the term lightly. This woman didn’t have a motherly bone in her body. How could she, since the witch made a tidy bundle selling her granddaughter?”

  “No! Good God! Stop!” Coralee broke at this point. It’s not possible! Her head, feeling wobbly and unattached, swiveled to Tee and she saw pain deeply etched into the girl’s pale features.

  “I am Brenda Corley but I’m not your mother,” she moaned. “Though God knows how much I wished it were true.” Coralee, who’d stopped crying years before, broke and the agonizing release of her control was shattering. She hugged her arms around her stomach trying to stop the pain from seeping out the pores in her skin. “It’s not possible. My baby was born that day... true. But she died. My baby died. I never got to hold her or tell her how much I loved her. She was all alone. To my dying day, I’ll be sorry for that.” Suddenly her chair fell back with a startling crash as she shot up and hobbled towards the door feeling like a sick, old lady.

  Sam’s next words stopped her. “Your baby didn’t die, Brenda.” Kindness floated through his words. “She lived! Your mother lied to you. She lied to you and sold your child. The nurses were ordered not to talk to you about the baby. They were told that you’d suffered enough grief from having to give her up. And if they spoke about her, it would only torture you. They followed your mother’s orders. Not because they were trying to hide anything from you, but because they all respected your wish to give her a good home, and they understood you needed time to accept your choice. The adoptive parents were wealthy, you see; wealthy and stood to inherit a trust fund on the birth, or adoption, of their first baby. According to her sister, your adoptive mother didn’t want the pain of childbirth and so it was necessary for them to buy a child. And that baby was Tee!”

  No one in the room moved. Coralee’s hand clasped the brass doorknob; her shoulder leaned against the white paint with her head resting on her arm. Sick to her stomach, her mind churned pathetically.

  Reels of memories unwound. Being in the hospital unreachable, uncommunicative, sobbing her heart out. The little nurse, who was new on the ward, trying to comfort her, “Don’t be going on this way, me lovie,” soothed the Irish lass. “It’s for the best, you’ll see. Your baby will be in a wonderful place. God helps us to accept these choices in his own way, and he’ll help you if you let him. Make this experience into a life lesson and learn from it. Grow strong. Decide that today is the first day of the rest of your life and make each one count.”

  Lord, but those words had lifted her and given her something to cling to at one of the darkest moments of her life. Using the advice, not at first but ultimately, she’d dedicated her future to her dead child. She’d gotten herself together and tried to move on. Wherever she went, the steadfast glow in her heart, which was the love for her daughter, went with her. When she weakened, she drew strength from that light and she never, ever felt alone.

  Adam had stopped talking, likely to give her time to accept his staggering revelation. Since she hadn’t moved, he continued.

  “How your mother could live with herself neither I, nor the nurses I talked to who still remembered you, could fathom. They described your grief as being unconceivable, especially a small Irish nurse. She told me about a young girl who, many years ago, suffered the demons of hell for giving away her baby. She remembered you as being inconsolable for days before she was able to reach you. It seems that during your baby’s delivery you had pneumonia and were terribly sick. By the time you’d regained consciousness, she said that the baby was gone and everyone believed it was a miracle you’d pulled through.”

  “But I had to. I had to live for my baby.” Coralee fell to her knees, crumpling like a frozen cloth brought into the warmth. She turned as two people rushed toward her. Her eyes closed, because the scorching anger and murderous hatred she felt was too evil to share. Her hands came up like shields, warding off another blow. It stopped them as much as the only word she could get out.

  “Why?” She wailed from behind her shaking fingers. “Christ, why?”

  “Money,” Adam softly uttered. “Your mother walked away with a bundle, left you broken and used the money to destroy the rest of her short, useless life.”

  A whimper was the only answer she had, that and a sob. Both Adam and Tee helped her to her feet and supported her frailness while leading her to a small leather sofa Angelina had placed by her favorite stained-glass window. Sliding a sheaf of papers into his briefcase, Adam stopped at the door before leaving them alone together. His last words were spoken softly. “I’m so sorry.”

  Chapter 66

  During the six months that she was aware of her pregnancy, Coralee had loved her child immeasurably, powerfully—overwhelmingly. Nurturing her little one—those were the only memories she’d cherished from her early life. Loneliness had faded while her baby grew inside her. She had the precious unborn child to talk to, sing to, read to and make future plans for.

  While she waited to meet her baby, she’d lived in a fog of happiness, working as a cook at a diner, saving her money by hanging with her mom, who, as usual, was never around and floating through life in a bubble of joyful anticipation.

  After the birth, when she’d eventually regained consciousness, her mother revealed that the baby had passed on. She also told her no one especially cared. The nurses and doctors were busy with other patients, and no one wanted to listen to the tears of a delinquent crying over her deceased, illegitimate brat... pure manipulation to keep her quiet. Her mother led her to believe that it had been the pneumonia which she’d passed on to the baby that had killed her. Therefore, it was her own fault the baby had died.

  Following her mother’s rotten advice, Coralee had refused to talk about the child. She just prayed that the pneumonia would kill her also, only it didn’t. She’d pulled through.

  It had taken a few years for her to give a damn, straighten out and make something of her future. But every single day, first thing in the morning and last thing at night, she said a prayer in honor of her little girl and repeated a promise that they would find each other again, wherever predestined souls met.

  Suddenly, a stifled sob broke into her reminiscences and brought her back to earth. She spotted Tee still pacing, back and forth, her nails chomped to bleeding stumps, tears streaming. Instantly, her trancelike state shattered. Happiness, like a huge aftershock from an earthquake, shook her very foundations. This beautiful young lady with the pink hair, fake tattoos, tight working jeans and chip on her shoulder was her baby, her very own child.

  Tee finally spewed. “I’m not here to sabotage your life, Coralee.” Words blurted out, unstoppable. Emotionally distraught, she prowled back and forth. “I exonerate you right now from any responsibility for me.” As she stalked and plotted, her voice rose. With each turn at the end of the enclosed space, her volume increased until, with horror, she seemed to realize that she was actually yelling. Speaking her final words more softly, she said, “I can take care of myself. I always have.”

  “Not anymore, my girl.” Coralee came back at her, firmness obvious in her tone.

  Despair, the foremost emotion in Coralee’s heart whenever her lost child came into her thoughts, faded completely and allowed joy to replace her pain. It was so overwhelming, that dizziness and elation fought a battle. The end result was pure bliss never before experienced.

  Desolation and shame, which she had nourished all her life, melted like butter in a sizzling frying pan.

  “Don’t spaz on me ‘cause I hired an investigator to help me find my real mom,” Tee demanded, white-faced. “I had no idea what he would find in his investigation.” Unintended accusations rang in her voice.

  Coralee stood, wobbly, her arms extended, hands trembling. Voice caught in emotion, unworkable.

  With her arms crossed, Tee stared out the window. “So? You�
��re denying me? You can, you know. I don’t really care. It’s no biggie. Aw, shit! Never mind. I’m outta here,” She stomped to the door and stopped with her back still turned, her hand on the knob. She didn’t see Coralee’s flash of panic and the hand reaching out. “It’s just that I’ve always had this crazy notion that if I could only find you... you’d care.”

  Voice broken, Coralee had to work hard so that her words would make sense. “Baby girl, I’ve loved you every moment since I knew you existed. Every single… solitary… eternal… second.” Her voice rose as the words started slowly, then sped up.

  Tee stood with her hand still wrapped around the door handle, holding on, listening to the soft, love-filled voice of the woman who spoke.

  “The happiest time in my life was when we were one and I carried you with me, inside me—safe and warm. When my mother told me you’d passed on, something in me died also. I’ve prayed every day for your soul’s journey. Prayed you were a happy little angel. I can’t tell you how many times I cried my heart out, because the bitch took off after she’d informed me you were gone, and she never told me where you were buried. I had nothing left of you except the emptiness and memories.”

  Tee’s shoulders were shaking, her back still turned.

  “Please come back and sit here with me again, Tee,” Coralee called softly to the frozen girl.

  Tee turned and swayed over to the sofa where Coralee waited. Her regular strut was now more like a delaying shuffle. With her head lowered into a bizarre symbolic, self-effacing slump—so unnatural for her confident self, she approached.

  “Tell me about you, Tee. I want—no—need to know everything.”

  Sliding down on the cushion, Tee admitted. “After those first weirdoes, no one ever adopted me. I wasn’t a very happy kid. Not much liked, never mind loved. But somehow, it didn’t matter. I always, always sensed deep inside—not true—I absolutely knew that once I had been loved. Hugely! It had to have been you, because there was no one else.”