“Just that you wanted to meet your birth mother and she . . . wasn’t willing. Is that right?”
“That’s about it.”
“Did you ever try again—to get in touch with her?”
“She pretty much didn’t leave that as an option.”
“I can understand why that was hard. And I’m not trying to make light of it, I’m really not, Dal, but can I just say, her loss.”
He swallowed hard. “Thanks, man. I appreciate that. It . . . was a long time ago.”
“I know. But it seems like maybe it still has a hold on you. I just think it’d be a shame if some woman’s mistake affected you to the point that”—he slowed his pace—“it kept you from getting to be a dad. Because I think you’ll make a great one.”
The sun was going down fast, and a light mist moved in off the Mississippi. The humidity made it harder to breathe. Or maybe it was the lump in his throat. When he could speak over it, he croaked, “Thanks for saying what you did, Drew. I don’t know if I’ll be a good dad or not. I’m still kind of figuring out how to be a good husband. I feel like I’m bending over backwards to keep Danae happy. She’s redecorated every room in the house. We’re paying through the nose for these fertility treatments. But nothing is ever enough.”
“She says that? Seriously? That everything you’ve made possible for her isn’t enough?” Anger tinged Drew’s voice.
“No, of course not. I don’t mean to make her sound like an ingrate. It’s not like that. She’s just so obsessed with having kids, having a baby, that she can’t see the forest for the trees right now. You know, we bought this huge house and filled it with furniture. She’s got two kids’ rooms set up, which seems a little ridiculous to me.”
Drew’s grimace said he agreed.
“She thinks she’s fooling me by calling them guest rooms, but it’s no coincidence that one’s pink and one’s blue. For a while it seemed to kind of settle her down to have the house to work on. And same with every time she finds a new doctor or hears about some new treatment. For a while it makes her happy.” He ran a hand through sweat-damp hair. “But even when she doesn’t say anything, I just get this feeling that it’s never enough. That I’m never enough.”
“That’s just crazy,” Drew said.
“Yeah. I know . . .”
But he didn’t know. And he could barely voice his worst fear to himself, let alone to his brother. What if they never had kids? Would Danae blame him? He’d had all the tests, and the doctors had assured them that the medical issues were Danae’s, but sometimes he got the feeling she didn’t quite believe them. He sometimes worried that she wondered if things would have been different if she’d married someone else.
And when he let himself think about it too hard, he worried too, that if they did have children, Danae would love them more than she loved him. He knew it was childish to think that way, but hadn’t Jesse and Chase joked about something to that effect just the other night, talking about how they were demoted to errand boys once the kids came along? We’re out of diapers, Chase. Can you take Simone to potty, Jesse? They’d laughed about it, sure, but there must be some truth to it.
Drew slowed down, breathing hard. “Danae isn’t like that, Dallas. She might be letting this make her a little . . . off-balance, but I think I know her well enough to know she’s committed to you. She’s not going to let this ruin what you guys have.”
“I know. You’re right. I’m letting it get to me. Sorry. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Listen, I know I said this before, but just because your birth mother had issues doesn’t mean—if you guys adopted—that your kid would have the same experience, whatever it was. I don’t know what exactly happened.” Drew shrugged. “Don’t need to know. But it’s not fair to let it mess with your decision about adopting.”
“It’s kind of hard not to.”
“I get that, but can’t you separate yourself from the emotional part? You’ve always been all about being practical.”
It was true. He prided himself on being pragmatic and no-
nonsense. Danae gave him grief for it too.
They came back around to the parking lot and Dallas bent and put his hands on his knees, catching his breath. But he looked up at his brother. “I’ll think about what you said, OK? I can’t promise anything, but . . . I’ll try.”
They went in opposite directions to their cars. Dallas climbed behind the wheel and adjusted the mirror. Meeting his own eyes there, he had to ask himself hard questions. Why couldn’t he get past the emotional angles with this issue? Why couldn’t he separate what happened to him from what might happen if he and Danae adopted?
Because what happened to him was a deep wound that had never quite healed. He didn’t know how to fix it. And he sure wasn’t going to set some kid up for the pain he’d suffered.
* * *
“If you’ll just fill this page out, then I can talk you through the other intake forms,” Danae said, sliding the paper across the desk to the young woman. She was surprised to see her own hands were shaking and pulled them back quickly, hoping the woman wouldn’t notice.
She still had several sessions to go before her training was complete, but because they were so shorthanded she was working as an official volunteer tonight. Of the three who had started in her training class, she was the only one who’d continued past the second week.
And there were three new women at the shelter tonight, counting the one sitting in front of her, reeking of stale cigarette smoke and recent garlic. An olive-skinned little boy sat on her lap, his mop of thick, dark hair the same color as his mother’s. Danae thought he looked about three—the same age as Simone. And if anyone had reason to be trembling, it was him. His right eyebrow sported a gauze patch secured with superhero Band-Aids.
The wound still oozed red, and the front of his shirt was splotched with not-quite-dried blood. He kept his head down and picked at the bandage with ragged fingernails.
His mother—Misty, according to the intake forms—slapped his hand away. “Don’t mess with it, Oz. You don’t want it to start bleeding again. And hold still. Mama has to fill out this paper.”
She would have been pretty—beautiful even—but her crystal blue eyes had a vacant quality that made Danae wonder if she was high on something. Of course, she’d been through a horrific ordeal tonight, escaping from an abusive husband who’d turned his venom on their child. Apparently the police had gotten involved, and a social worker had driven them here tonight from St. Louis. Danae shivered. She couldn’t even imagine what that must be like.
“We can put a clean bandage on that as soon as we get you settled in a room. Did it just happen tonight?” Danae guessed the answer, judging by the blood on the boy’s shirt. “Do you think it needs stitches?”
Misty didn’t quite meet Danae’s gaze. “It’s not deep. Just bled a lot. Head wounds do.” She said it like she knew.
“We’ll get him cleaned up and we can check then.”
Misty shook her head. “He never went this far before—his dad . . .” She angled her head toward her son, a sudden spark filling the vacancy in her eyes. “That’s it for me. No more. He’s not gonna mess with my baby and live to tell about it.”
“You did the right thing,” Danae said. “We’ll get you two settled in a room and find some toys for this guy to play with tomorrow.”
His dark eyes lit at the mention of toys.
“What’s your name?” Danae asked, smiling at him.
His thumb went into his mouth.
“It’s Austin,” Misty answered for him. “His dad calls him Oz for short. I’m not crazy about it, but it kinda stuck.”
“Austin’s a cool name. My husband’s name is Dallas. Texas cities must make good boy names.”
Misty made a wry face. “Don’t think I’ll be naming my next one San Antonio.”
Danae laughed. “How about Bug Tussel? Or Dripping Springs?”
Misty looked dubious. “Seriously?”
“Pinky swear. Those are real towns in Texas. My dad used to threaten to move us all to Dripping Springs when my brothers were little and wetting their beds almost every night. Except he called it Dripping Bedsprings.”
That earned her a wan smile.
She felt almost guilty about the excitement that went through her as she finished filling out entry forms for Misty and Austin. They were on a first-name-only basis here, though of course the locked records would have full names should they ever be needed.
Not that she was happy there were new women in the shelter, but she was elated that she was here to help. She was proud of the fact that she’d stuck it out, and Misty’s smile told her she was already making a small difference.
And what Dallas had said was true: it helped to get her mind off her own problems. In fact, she’d started her period this morning, and while she was disappointed, the dreaded sign she wasn’t pregnant hadn’t caused the emotional meltdown it usually did.
She was eager to tell Dallas about her evening. He was still on the fence about her volunteering, but he’d have to give her some credit about this victory. With each day she came to the shelter to work, she felt a little more confident, a little more invested. And a little less desperate about having a baby. Not that she wasn’t still praying with everything in her that God would answer her prayers. How could he not? She prayed so hard for that blessing that she almost understood how Jesus could have sweat blood—she edited her thought immediately.
It was a ridiculous comparison and she was immediately sorry. As her grandmother CeeCee often said, there were always people worse off than you. You just had to find the right people to compare yourself to.
Tonight, for the first time in a long time, she believed it. And felt grateful.
9
Danae checked the time on her phone. Almost eleven fifteen. She was supposed to get off at eleven, when the next volunteer came in. But no one had showed up to replace her yet.
“You go ahead and go home.” Berta Salmans waved the back of her hands across the table as if she were shooing a flock of chickens. The grandmotherly volunteer reminded Danae of a younger version of CeeCee, her dad’s mother. “Sherry said she was running a few minutes late. I’m sure she’ll be here any minute. I can handle things here.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t feel right about that. I don’t mind staying. Just let me call my husband again and let him know what’s going on.” She punched in Dallas’s number, hoping he hadn’t gone to bed.
“He worries about you, doesn’t he?”
“He does. I don’t know why he thinks I—”
“Danae? Where are you?” Dallas sounded irked.
She held up a hand to Berta and turned away. She kept her voice low. “Hey, babe. Were you sleeping?”
“No. I’m still up.”
“The next shift hasn’t come in yet, and I don’t want to leave Berta alone. It should only be a few more minutes.”
“I’m not going to bed until I know you’re home safe.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to. Drive careful, OK? Have you looked outside? It’s foggy out there, like zero visibility.”
“Oh. No, I hadn’t seen the weather. Maybe that’s why Sherry’s late.”
The phone on the office desk rang, and Berta answered before it could ring again. She listened to Berta’s end of the conversation, but couldn’t tell what was going on.
“Hang on a minute, Dallas. I’ll call you right back.”
Berta hung up, frowning. “That was Sherry’s husband. She got about two miles from home and went off the road. He said the fog’s so bad you can’t see ten feet in front of you. She’s back home now and not coming in tonight, and I don’t think you should try to go home either.”
Danae went to the window and parted dusty venetian blinds. A dense mist hung in the air, forming halos around the street lamps and porch lights. “Wow. It’s bad out there. When did that move in?” She turned to Berta. “Let me see what Dallas thinks.”
“If he thinks anything other than you need to stay here till that lifts, then let me talk some sense into the man.”
She smiled, but Berta didn’t return the favor. “I’m serious, girl. There’s no sense taking a chance when we have beds here. You can go home first thing in the morning. Tell your man you’ll be home in time to cook him breakfast.”
“Yeah . . . you’re probably right.” She sighed and dialed Dallas again.
“No probably about it,” Berta said. She scooted back her chair and went to the linen closet where fresh sheets and blankets were stacked. “You want the bed in here?” She motioned to a daybed in the corner of the office. “Or one of the guest rooms?”
“You choose. It doesn’t matter to—” Hearing the connection going through, she held up a hand. “Hey, Dallas.”
“Have you left yet?”
She turned away again. “No, not yet. And Berta doesn’t think I should. Sherry, the girl who was coming on after me, slid off the road. I guess the fog is pretty bad. I wouldn’t feel right leaving Berta here alone anyway.”
A heavy sigh. “OK. I understand.”
But she could tell he didn’t like it.
“So when do you think you’ll be home?”
She glanced up at the clock. “The next shift comes in at seven in the morning. I’ll leave as soon as they get here and we do report.”
“OK. Sleep tight. Or will you get any sleep?”
“Oh, sure. They’ve got beds here for us. Things are pretty quiet tonight. I’ll be fine.”
“I know.” His tone softened. “I love you.”
“I love you too, babe. See you in the morning.”
She hung up and tucked her phone in her purse, feeling Berta’s eyes on her.
“See?” Berta gave her a smug grin. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
“He does worry about me. He wasn’t crazy about me doing this in the first place, so—”
A noise near the office door made them both look up.
Berta started to push her chair back, but Danae waved her off. “I’ll get it.”
“Check the peephole first,” Berta reminded her.
She did and looked down to see the top of little Austin’s head. She opened the door and knelt to his eye level. “Hey, buddy.”
He stood there in the same blood-stained clothes he’d arrived in. “Where’s my mama?”
Danae threw a questioning glance back at Berta. “Isn’t she in your room?”
He shook his head and rubbed sleepy eyes, looking like he wanted to cry.
“Come with me, and we’ll find her.” She grabbed a flashlight from the shelf near the door.
Berta followed her from the office, locking the door behind them.
“Shh.” Danae put a finger over her lips, then took the barefoot boy’s hand, wondering why he was still fully dressed. Even though Misty had fled her apartment with only the clothes on their backs, Berta had found pajamas for both of them in the supply room, and Misty had been coaxing him to change when she and Berta left the room after helping them get settled. “Everyone is sleeping, so we need to be very quiet, OK?”
She cautiously opened the door to Misty’s room and shined the light on the bed. It was empty.
She flipped on the light switch beside the door. No sign of Misty.
Berta reached for the flashlight. “You stay here with him, and I’ll go check the dayroom.”
“Is my daddy gonna come and find us?” Austin looked up at her with eyes that were far too hollow with sadness for so short a life. He picked at the soggy bandage over his brow.
She knelt beside him again. “Don’t mess with that, buddy. Here, let me see if I can make it stick better.”
He flinched, but let her lift the bandage. She was glad to see that the wound had quit bleeding and wasn’t overly red or puffy. But he’d probably have a little scar there.
“It’s looking pretty good under there.�
� She gently pressed the adhesive back in place. “We’ll need to put a clean Band-Aid on before you go back to bed.”
“I don’t wanna go to bed. Is he gonna come and find us?” the boy asked again.
She started to reassure him that he was safe from the man who’d inflicted the wounds on the boy’s head and face, but remembering what she’d learned in the training, she changed her reply to a question. “It might be a while before you see your daddy again. Do you want to see him?” She would never understand how a child could continue to adore a parent who’d violated them, and yet statistics bore out the fact that it happened far too often.
She couldn’t read Austin’s expression. His thumb went to his mouth and he lowered his eyelids, a fringe of long, dark lashes resting on the curve of his cheeks.
She went to her knees and set him on the floor, then knelt beside him and placed her hands on his shoulders. “You’re safe here, buddy. We won’t let anything happen to you. You won’t have to see your daddy until he learns how to be nice to you and your mommy, OK?” She hoped she could keep that promise. She’d heard too many horror stories about women who went back to their abusive relationships like a dog to its vomit.
“Let’s get you back in your jammies, OK?”
He dropped his head and backed away. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“They’re wet.”
“Oh. Well, let’s go find some clean ones. How does a nice warm bath sound?”
“Am I gonna get a spankin’?”
“Of course not. Why would you get a spanking?”
“ ’Cause I wetted the bed.”
“Hey, I know it was an accident. Nobody is going to spank you.”
“Uh-huh. My daddy is.” He shrank into himself.
“No, he’s not. Your daddy isn’t here, and he doesn’t know where you and Mommy are. Nobody is going to spank you.” Again, she worried she was making a promise the boy’s mother might break. But she took his hand. “Let’s go run some bathwater, OK? Then I’ll have your mom tuck you in.”
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