“Yeah, but you get to eat corn chips—and Krispy Kreme doughnuts.”
“Yeah, but Ma cooks you homemade doughnuts.”
“All right, you win. Ma’s doughnuts are pretty great. So what was your idea?”
“Okay, so I ask Daniel to take us on a picnic, and tell him that I want to see the old mill house. He’ll feel bad, right? Because I didn’t get to go with you on the four-wheeler. And so he’ll say yes and he’ll ask Mom.”
“And your mom will looove the idea of a picnic, so she’s in, and then...wait. You’ll be there.” Taylor frowned. “That sort of defeats the whole getting-them-alone part.”
“No, see, that’s the cool part. It’s too far to walk, right? Especially with the picnic basket. That’s why you said we needed to take the four-wheeler. So Mom will freak about me being on a four-wheeler, and I’ll back out, but then I’ll tell her she needs to go and tell me all about it.”
Taylor’s eyebrows skyrocketed. “You. Are. So. Devious. Don’t ever let me make you mad,” she commented admiringly.
Pleasure at the compliment surged through Marissa. She waggled her fingers toward her chest and preened. “What can I say? Mom is always telling me that I just have to look for the work-around solution. Who knew? Sometimes even Mom has the right idea.”
* * *
KIMBERLY SAW THE Indiana number flash up on her screen and grabbed the phone. “Hello?” The raucous noise from the kids in the pool made hearing almost impossible until she stuck a finger in her ear. Only then was she able to make out the voice on the other end.
“Hi, I’m trying to reach Kimberly Singleton. This is Martina Parrish, with Dr.—”
“Oh, yes! Thank you for calling me back so soon. I wasn’t expecting it.”
“Dr. Fischer is very interested in your daughter’s case. We, ah, were sort of expecting to hear from you sooner.”
“Well, yes...” Kimberly sank down on Ma’s back porch swing, grateful for the shade from the heat of the day—even after six, the sun showed no inclination to go down and it was still blisteringly hot and muggy. “Can you hear me okay? The kids are all in the pool, and I hate to leave them and go in where it’s quieter.”
“Not a problem. Yes, I can hear you. So about these medical records you faxed over to us... These are her neonatal records?”
“Yes, if you remember, I adopted her, and by then she’d been transferred from the hospital where she was born—”
“Yes, yes, I do remember that. Well, I have to tell you, these records don’t give us many more pieces of the puzzle. If we had the birth mom’s records... Because PAI-1 does seem to run in families. It has a definite genetic heritability, you know.”
Kimberly ground her teeth. “I’m working on that. It looks as though I’m going to have to file a court order to get them—and there’s no guarantee.”
“Hmm...” Kimberly heard the sound of something like a ballpoint pen being rapidly clicked. “So you have no contact with the birth mother? Is there any other option available? Maybe one of the birth mother’s relatives that could act as a go-between? Or a family friend?”
Daniel immediately came to mind, which made Kimberly want to gnash her teeth even more. “I’m pursuing that possibility, too.”
“Dr. Fischer is ready to work her into the schedule anytime this summer—but you know, as August approaches, we’ll have a lot less flexibility. In fact, the last two weeks are already booked solid. We have one of those awful early-start school dates here—I’m not sure about Georgia?”
Kimberly groaned in commiseration. “We do, too. First week of August—and that’s when students come back. I have to report for preplanning the last week of July.”
“Wow! That’s coming like a freight train, isn’t it?” Martina said. More clicking emanated over the line. “Dr. Fischer has jotted some notes down on the file...”
“Dr. Fischer herself has reviewed them?” A warm feeling of gratitude buzzed through Kimberly.
“Oh, yes. Like I said, she’s very interested in the case. She doesn’t want to horn in on another doctor’s patient, but your hem/onc has actually called her on this one.”
“I really appreciate your interest. And we are planning on coming out,” Kimberly assured her. “I had hoped to have more information.”
“More information is always better. I do wish that we could have gotten her in the study we did a few years ago—Dr. Fischer received funding to do DNA testing.”
“Oh! Any plans for any additional studies? I have scoured the web, but...”
“There’s not a lot of interest in PAI-1 deficiency, is there?” Martina’s chuckle was kind but knowing. “It’s a really rare disease—especially outside of groups with close kinship, like the Amish here in Indiana. And as for studies, DNA testing is expensive, and we haven’t secured any additional funding yet. But never say never.”
“So I have, what, a couple of weeks, maybe three, before Dr. Fischer’s schedule gets crazy?” Kimberly asked, bringing the topic back to the calendar crunch.
“Yes, since Dr. Fischer won’t be leaving town for the Fourth. Or you could wait until September or October, later in the fall. But...”
Kimberly immediately picked up on Martina’s concern. “But what?”
“Well, it’s only that I see from the file that your daughter is nearly twelve. She’s going to hit puberty very soon, if she’s typical, in the next year or so. And puberty is a very, very dangerous time for PAI-1 deficient girls.”
A chill tingled its way down Kimberly’s spine. “I know. I’ve read a few medical journal reports on bleeding disorders in women. So you’re suggesting sooner rather than later?”
“Yes. If Dr. Fischer can come to a more definite conclusion about whether this is PAI-1—and keep in mind, she can’t really do that without family history or a genetic DNA study—we really need to get a plan in place for your daughter’s first period. I can’t stress the seriousness of this, Kimberly.”
“I should come now, then.” Kimberly had risen to her feet, unconsciously moving toward the door, her suitcases and a hasty departure.
“Well...” Martina hedged. “Can you get any more information before you come? The mother’s medical records from Marissa’s birth would be so helpful to Dr. Fischer.”
Kimberly dropped back down on the swing and put her head into her free hand. The shrieks of laughter from the pool echoed through the phone, but they seemed a million miles away from her current problem. Despite all the noise the kids were making, Martina’s message had come through loud and clear: dig, but dig faster.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
KIMBERLY ENDED THE conversation with a promise to fax any new information to the doctor and to set up an appointment as soon as possible. She laid the phone aside and rubbed her eyes in frustration.
The screen door to the kitchen banged shut. Kimberly looked up to see Ma coming back out with yet another pan of peas to shell.
“Well, now, you don’t look at all happy,” Ma remarked. She dragged a bucket for the hulls around to her favorite chair and sat down. “Bad news? Or none of my business?”
Ma’s eyes crinkled in a way that reminded Kimberly of Daniel’s when he lost some of his solemnity. Kimberly couldn’t help but smile back. “Not bad news, not exactly. Just...stressful.” She repeated her conversation with Martina.
Ma listened intently as Kimberly explained the situation. She paused before flicking a long purple pea shell into the bucket. “That does make things a mite complicated,” she observed. “Daniel can’t help you?”
Kimberly steepled her fingers. “He says not. He says that the law won’t allow him to.”
Ma’s fingers zipped through another pea, splitting the hull neatly. Kimberly watched as the peas dropped—thunk, thunk, thunk—into her aluminum dishpan. She wished that the solution to her problem would fall into her lap as easily as those peas.
Then Ma said something that surprised her. “You don’t believe that, though, do you?”
&nbs
p; “Well...I believe that Daniel believes that.” Kimberly tried to carefully frame her answer... After all, what woman would want to hear that someone thought her son guilty of bending the truth to suit his purposes?
And what was his purpose? What on earth could be so soul shattering that Daniel had to protect the identity of Marissa’s birth mother? To her annoyance, Kimberly found herself cracking her knuckles, a habit she thought she’d kicked.
It didn’t escape Ma’s notice, either. “Your hands need something to keep them busy so that your mind can think. Want to help me a spell with these peas? They’re easier than the butter beans.”
“Sure...but aren’t you fishing for more free labor?” Kimberly teased.
“I wouldn’t turn down that, no. But I have to admit, I’ve solved some mighty gnarly problems over a pan of peas.” Again, Ma’s face was warm with such gentle wisdom.
Kimberly didn’t argue. She made the trek to the laundry room and retrieved another dishpan. Back on the porch, she joined Ma in her shelling.
The peas were easier. And Ma had been right. She could think a lot more clearly as she went about the monotonous work. It helped, too, that Ma didn’t try to fix this problem for her, just let her attempt to work it out in her own way.
They shelled in companionable silence as the evening finally began to cool and the kids’ shrieks gentled to tired laughs, the water making lapping noises against the side of the pool. Kimberly’s mind turned this way and that as she considered one approach and then another.
When she’d first adopted Marissa, she’d been selfishly glad that the adoption was a “closed” one. It meant that Kimberly didn’t have to risk Marissa’s birth mother coming back and saying, “I changed my mind.”
As the years had passed, though, she desperately wished that she could hand Marissa, when she was older and ready, a piece of paper with her birth mother’s name and contact information on it.
Kimberly hadn’t simply wanted the information for Marissa’s medical needs—she’d wanted it for Marissa’s peace of mind. She, of all people, knew what it was to feel as if she was in the way, as if she was a ball and chain hooked to her mother’s ankle, dragging her down.
She recalled what her mother had said when she had shared her plans of being a foster parent and eventually adopting. “Oh, sugar. You don’t want to do that. Kids are noisy and messy and expensive, and they tie you down.”
Kimberly had stared at her mother in shock. “Well, gee, Mom. I wish I had the money to pay you back for every mouthful I ate, or a trip around the world to pay you back for all the times I kept you at home.”
“Well...” Her mother had drawn her brows together, considering. “You could keep the trip around the world, but I’d sure take the money.”
And she hadn’t been joking.
Why couldn’t Mom be more like Ma? Kimberly cast a sidelong glance in the older woman’s direction. She was everything her own mother wasn’t: kind, gentle, patient.
But wishing for that was like Marissa wishing to be free of her bleeding disorder—a complete waste of time and mental energy.
Wet feet and giggles approached them. Kimberly paused in her shelling to see Marissa and Taylor trekking across the deck, swimsuits dripping, no towels in sight.
“I hope you don’t think you’re going in the house that wet,” Kimberly told Marissa.
“No, we’re going to walk around, dry off outside.”
“I can’t believe you two are giving up the pool to everyone else. I figured you’d be the last ones out.”
Taylor shook her head. “They can have it. I’m all pruny. Stick a fork in me. I am done.”
Ma laughed. “I’ve got supper in the oven. Is your mom planning on staying when she comes in from work? I made enough for her.”
“Ma, you always make enough for Pharaoh’s army. I’ll eat, even if she doesn’t. You cook better than her.”
“Much to my despair. I tried to teach that child how to cook when she was your age. All she had her mind set on was brownies and the rest she swore she could get at McDonald’s.”
Taylor did a fair impression of Ma as she clucked her tongue. “Didn’t figure on having a kid with food allergies, now, did she?”
Ma swatted at Taylor’s bare leg with a pea shell. “No, ma’am, and that’s why you should show a little interest in the kitchen, too, young lady.”
But the rebuke was without sting, and Taylor let it slide off her. “Can we go for a few minutes, then? And I promise, after we get back from the tree house, I’ll set the table and I’ll—”
“Tree house?” Kimberly’s gaze snapped up from the pan where she’d been searching for errant unshelled peas. “What tree house?”
Marissa couldn’t hold back a groan. “Now you’ve done it,” she muttered and glowered in Taylor’s direction.
Taylor had the grace to look shamefaced. “Uh, you know—the, uh—” She stumbled to a stop.
“You said tree house.” Kimberly set her pan aside on the swing. She hated the way her voice had taken on a steely edge.
Ma spoke up. “It’s a tree house the boys and their dad built when the kids were young—about Taylor and Marissa’s age, I’d guess. You didn’t want Marissa going up the tree house?” She tapped her cheek with her open palm and answered her own question. “You’re worried about her being safe, what with her bleeding disorder. I should have thought of that and asked you. Land sakes. I do apologize.”
“Marissa, you know better than to climb a tree—” Kimberly began.
Taylor interrupted. “No, ma’am, we’ve got a rope ladder and everything, and it’s real safe, not even very high off the ground—and Uncle Daniel checked it out and took Marissa up first. Made sure the rope wasn’t rotten or the railing loose.”
“Did he?” Kimberly replied grimly. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Yes, ma’am, he did, and he even showed her how to climb the ladder so she’d be safer—”
“Taylor!” Marissa protested. “You are not helping.”
“Oh, no. I disagree,” Kimberly responded tartly. “She’s being way more cooperative than you. I am extremely disappointed in you, Marissa. You knew how I’d feel about this, and you still did it. And us three—”
“Hours away from Atlanta and my stupid doctors! You won’t let me ride a four-wheeler, you won’t let me ride even the gentlest old nag and now you’re saying you don’t want me to climb any higher than a blade of grass!”
Taylor skulked backward, looking extremely uncomfortable and guilty. “It’s real safe, Ms. Kimberly—Uncle Daniel wouldn’t let us go up if weren’t completely safe—”
Ma interjected with a calm smoothness. “Taylor, honey. Ms. Kimberly has the right to tell Marissa what she can and cannot do. And if she doesn’t want Marissa up in the tree house, then I expect you girls can find somewhere else to play.”
“We’re not playing!” Taylor exploded. “We’re almost twelve! We don’t play anymore.”
Ma shot a warning glance at her granddaughter, and instantly Taylor’s face softened. “I’m sorry, Ma. I didn’t mean to— What do you call it? Bow up at you?”
“Like a rattlesnake, you did. Thank you for the apology. Now extend the same courtesy to Ms. Kimberly.”
Taylor shuffled her feet. “I’m sorry, Ms. Kimberly. I didn’t know it would get Marissa in trouble.”
“But Marissa did.” Kimberly shot a pointed look at her daughter, who showed none of the softening that Taylor had.
Just then, the sound of Daniel’s truck door slammed, and Kimberly realized with a start that she could pick that sound out from any other vehicle that pulled up at Ma’s. In less than a minute, he was taking the porch steps two at a time, his face split with a broad smile.
It nearly undid her anger. But she held on to it. He was a responsible grown-up who had seen dozens, if not hundreds, of serious accidents to people who didn’t have anything wrong with them. He, of all people, should have known better.
She
would not let whatever she felt for him interfere with giving him a piece of her mind.
His grin faltered. “Something wrong?” he asked, his eyes going around the somber circle.
“My mom’s wigging out over the tree house now,” Marissa said in a nearly inaudible tone.
“I’m surprised at you, Daniel,” Kimberly said. “I thought you’d see the potential for injury and steer Marissa away from places as unsafe as a tree house.”
Daniel burst out laughing. “Unsafe? Six kids and almost a dozen grandkids have played in that tree house, and what’s the worst that’s happened? A broken arm? Yeah, Rob double-dog-dared me to jump out when I was ten, and I broke my arm and my collarbone.” He flexed his arm. “See? Good as new.”
“Yes, but you didn’t have a bleeding disorder,” Kimberly pointed out. She was proud of the way she hadn’t lost her cool, even if her words carried a sharp edge.
Daniel’s face blanched. “I—I didn’t think about that. She just needed a place to think. And that’s the Monroe kids’ thinking tree.”
“I want that ladder taken down,” Kimberly persisted. “And, Marissa, you are not, under any circumstances, to use that tree house again. Am I clear?”
Now Taylor and Marissa let out near howls of anguish. Marissa was the first to put her protest in intelligible words. “It’s not fair to keep the other kids from it, Mom! They’ll hate me!”
Ma made another one of her dips into the conversation. “Now, Marissa, they won’t hate you. And there’s plenty of other places on the farm to play...uh, to hang out. Isn’t that what you kids say when you’re nearly all grown-up?” She winked, and Kimberly saw Marissa’s face sink into resignation.
“Can I be excused?” Marissa asked. “I swear. I won’t go in the tree house or climb higher than a blamed blade of grass.”
Kimberly decided to cut her losses. “Go on.”
With that, Marissa dashed off, with Taylor in hot pursuit. Kimberly sighed. “Marissa’s right—she was using it as a leverage point, hoping I’d cave, but she was right. It’s not fair for me to demand the ladder be taken down. We should leave and get our hotel room in town. Although—” and here she glowered at Daniel “—you could have just as easily broken your fool neck as your good as new arm and collarbone.”
Man of His Word Page 14
