Mother would say she’d pray about it and then say no. Henry Metzler would say it was too high a risk. Jack would say no and think—too kind to say it—that this was proof Chloe was a helpless lamb in need of his shepherding.
Father would say find Christ in the question before you demand the answer.
How? Even Jesus felt like a straitjacket, not letting Chloe take a single breath without wondering if she would disappoint the people who loved her.
“Oh, God.” She buried her head under her arms. “God, help.”
She felt her sister’s arm around her waist, guiding her away from the table. “I have an idea,” Destiny whispered. “And it’s pretty cool.”
As she explained her idea, Chloe had to agree it was pretty out-of-the-box. The thought of taking off with her sister, finding an unplanned adventure—no matter where it led—was irresistible. And there was no way Jack could say no. Not to this.
This was her birthright.
She took a deep breath, felt something tear away inside and thought, This decision hurts and feels good at the same time. Like a boat being torn from its mooring and drifting toward a boundless horizon.
“She owes us knowing,” Destiny said. “Before we can decide about her son, she owes us this much.”
“Okay,” Chloe said. “Let’s tell her.”
They walked back arm-in-arm, just the right size for each other.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come back,” Julia said when they sat down.
“If we agree to be tested and one or both of us is compatible, will that put us under any obligation?” Chloe asked.
The eagerness in Julia’s eyes bordered on tragic. “No, of course not.”
“Okay. Just one thing.”
“Anything, just tell me.”
Chloe cleared her throat. “Just say it,” Destiny said.
“We will agree to the blood test. After you take us to meet our fathers.”
Monday, 12:18 p.m.
The jet was on stand-by for Boston—and Tom Bryant—after all these years.
“You never told me the name of Hope’s father,” Matt said. The lines in his face had deepened in the two days she’d been gone. “You said it needed to remain confidential.”
“It did.” Julia burrowed into the blanket like a child, iPad close to her face. The girls had gone back to Chloe’s apartment to pack for the trip. It would be a miracle if Chloe actually returned with Destiny—and they so needed a miracle now.
There was an eerie gallows humor in his FaceTiming from inside the pantry, discussing matters of life, death, and potential scandal while he was surrounded by boxes of oatmeal. They took their phone calls from Dr. Annie and other medical professionals here—it had the best Wi-Fi reception and was farthest from the family room where Dillon was curled up on the sofa.
“I respected your privacy,” he said. “Respected the work that God had done in your life.”
“Oh, Mattie,” she said, trying to choke her tears with the blanket. “I love you so much.”
She wanted to climb through the screen and into his arms, to feel his stubble on her cheeks and mingle her breath with his because they had been blessed with such life. Oh, God, such a perilous life because whatever you have created us to be must include Dillon, so please, please save him and please let Andy forgive what I’m about to do.
“And I love you so much, and even more,” he said. “But this . . . this going to see the men. They had no right to ask you this.”
“I’m asking them to do something outrageous,” Julia said. “They get to ask me for something outrageous in return.”
“No. We’ve disrupted Destiny’s life and the Deschene-Middlebrookses’ universe. Now you’re going to dig deeper into the past, bring more families into this? I’m not sure we have the right to go that far.”
“Dillon. He gives us the right. He’s their blood too. And if I’m asking them to consider that, then they have the right to ask me to give them the full story.”
Matt glanced away, stone-faced. “What if they want something from you?”
“Who?”
“Thomas Bryant. And the one you still haven’t named.”
“For goodness’ sake, Matt. It’s been over twenty years.”
“Do you blame me for being . . . concerned?”
“Of course not. I do blame you for letting some petty jealousy keep me from getting Dillon the help he needs.”
He stared into the screen, an iciness in his eyes that she rarely saw. “Back then, what you shared with each of them. That wasn’t petty for you. You would have chosen either one in a heartbeat. What if . . . seeing them brings up that old stuff?”
“I’m a different woman. You said that you respected the work God had done in my life. The work you helped walk me through.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m happy about you digging into that old mess.”
“Mess? Is that what you think I was before you saved me?”
“I didn’t save you, Julia. I never said I did.”
“But you take pride in being the stable one.”
“This is not the time, Julia.”
“You made it the time.”
“I’m just bringing up a concern about two more families you and those girls will disrupt.”
“Those girls? Those girls are a part of me.”
“You think I don’t know that? When I had the investigator doing all that work, tracking through documents and your mother’s journals and talking to people at the churches. It took six months, Julia. Six months of digging into your past love—”
“Stop it, Matt.”
“—tracking down the flesh-and-blood reminders that you had two lovers who consumed you so much that—”
“Now stop it right there, Matthew Whittaker. You were not a virgin when we met.”
She tried to curl her right hand into a fist. Agony shot through her broken fingers. There was a reason the surgeon wrapped her hand in a heavy cast—to protect her from herself.
There were reasons to let the past stay shrouded. And yet, sometimes wounds need to be opened to heal properly.
Matt closed his eyes, shook his head. “It wasn’t the same.”
“Why?”
“I was a loose kid . . . doing what loose kids do.”
“And that’s better?”
“They were easier . . . ,” he said, blinking back tears.
“To walk away from?”
He nodded. “Shameful. But that’s over. I repented, remedied the best I could, and let Jesus walk me forward.”
“I’m sorry, Matt. I don’t mean to hurt you. They’re the past.”
“Then why won’t you tell me who Chloe’s father is?”
Julia burst into tears.
“Oh, Julia.”
“There’s shame still on me for this one.”
“Julia. It’s okay. Whoever he is, we’ll work through it.”
She swiped at her tears, did her best to look her husband in the eyes. “Hope’s father—Chloe Deschene’s biological father—is Andrew Hamlin.”
“Andrew . . .” Matt squinted. “You mean . . . the Andrew Hamlin?”
“Yes, I’m afraid I do.”
Monday, 12:19 p.m.
Why did Destiny let Chloe go back home by herself? The power trio probably barricaded her in the bathroom. She could see them plying her with honey and castor oil, trying to drive out the devil that was her birthright.
Destiny’s phone binged. Luke, texting yet again. For the two years they were together, she had loved his persistence. Depended on it. Now it only annoyed her.
LA: I know where u r.
Don’t answer, she told herself but her fingers had already done the work.
DC: Not unless u r stalking me.
LA: I spoke to Melanie.
Destiny laughed. He was faking and knew full well she wouldn’t fall for it. Melanie Connors would be on the front lines if she knew about this, fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with Chloe’s mother and the
other two. Like the Soup Nazi on Seinfeld: “No liver for you!”
The irony was that Luke would tell her to have the surgery. Yes, he could knock back beers or race in the desert or swan dive off cliffs. But when things got real, he listened carefully and found ways to help. His pockets were perpetually empty from tossing cash to anyone who had a good story and sad eyes.
Empty pockets, full heart, he used to say.
Destiny closed out the text, dialed his number. “Hey.”
“Hey.” His voice was deep and warm.
“What did Mom tell you?”
“That your birth mother showed up after all these years. Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Dez. Come on. It’s like . . . a life event.”
“Only if I let it be.”
“So where are you?”
“Why, Luke? Why do you want to know?”
“I love you and want to make sure you’re okay. Is that a sin?”
She laughed, her voice like brittle sugar. “You said it was.”
“You need to let me explain. When do you get back from . . . ?”
“Nice try, man.”
“Destiny.” He whuffed into the phone. A patient man, blowing out air through his beard was usually the limit of his exasperation. “I don’t want you to be alone . . . in whatever you’re going through. I want to be there with you.”
There is getting a little crowded. “I’ll call you, Luke. I’ll call you if I need you.”
“What if I need you, babe?”
“You don’t need me. You’ve got Jesus to keep you warm at night.”
“Destiny, don’t—”
Destiny pressed the power button on her phone. She needed a minute alone. No Luke playing I-want-you-but-I-can’t-have-you games. No Chloe calling to say Mummy and Jackie wouldn’t let her go out to play. No Julia crying that she was sorry, so sorry.
No anyone wanting to know if she was all right.
Destiny Connors was all right. She made sure of that and she didn’t need her family or lover or God in heaven to make sure of that for her.
Monday, 12:42 p.m.
Mother sniffled. Jack ranted. Mr. Metzler calmly protested. It ran off Chloe like rain.
“. . . a restraining order . . .” Jack waved his arms as if pulling her strings. A female Pinocchio was all she was. Crafted, not born as a Middlebrooks, adopted without flesh-and-blood as a Deschene.
My name is really Hope McCord, she wanted to say. I don’t know my father, but my birth mother promises I will, and that’s enough for me.
Nothing could be heard amid the tears and fear of those who claimed to love her. And clearly they did love her—as long as she was Chloe Middlebrooks Deschene and not some college student who had never been anywhere without a passport, a first-aid kid, and three pairs of clean underpants.
“Chloe, you’re getting caught up in the moment,” Jack said. “You need to dial it back. So you can think.”
“I’m sick of thinking.” The sound of her own voice startled her. Chloe didn’t recognize herself with the volume turned up.
“Jack is correct, dear.” Mother dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Monogrammed with her family’s initials, it was a relic of ages long past. She and Father had lived under glass, public personas in a climate-controlled biosphere. Always generous, always careful. “You could be walking into human trafficking for all we know.”
“Mr. Metzler spoke with the company that hires out the private jet. Tell them,” Chloe said. “You know Julia is for real, that she has carte blanche for traveling wherever she wants.”
The lawyer pulled at his bottom lip, remained silent.
“Tell them!”
“Yes,” he said. “I don’t think there’s any physical danger to Chloe in this trip. I confirmed that the plane was reliable, the pilot trustworthy.”
“See.” Chloe stared at her mother, then turned to Jack. “See?”
“However . . .” Henry Metzler held up his hand. “. . . emotionally or otherwise, Mrs. Deschene, I must strongly urge caution.”
“That’s me.” Chloe zippered her suitcase. “One strongly urged caution.”
“Chloe, I beg you.” Jack grasped her hands. His felt dry—as if she had wrung something out of him. “Don’t do this.”
“I told you I needed a vacation. You should have listened.”
“I’m listening now.” Tears puddled in his eyes. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? Look around you, Jack. It’s three against one here. It’s never just you and me.”
“How can you say that? We got married so it would be us.”
“Us.” Chloe pressed her hand against his chest so he couldn’t embrace her. “There is no us. There is only you—and what you decide we should do.”
“Chloe, my dear,” her mother said.
“Don’t you see? I went from you to him—with no me in between?”
“Tell me,” Jack said. “Tell me what you need to be you.”
“I shouldn’t have to,” Chloe said. “You should know.”
Chloe grabbed her suitcase, wheeled it down the hall with the three of them following.
“Chloe.” Jack followed her into his office. “Whatever you think you need, you won’t find it . . . doing this.”
The sharp edge to his tone made her stop, stare at him. “Doing what, Jack? What do you think I’m about to do?”
He stared back, his jaw tight. “Wherever you go or whatever you do, remember that I love you.”
She grabbed the laptop and the power cord and shoved them into her bag. She pushed past him without another glance.
Destiny’s father worked in Boston. They’d be there well before nightfall.
A storm was coming to the Northeast, WaveRunner had said.
One might never know what—or who—would wash ashore.
Six
Boston
Monday, 7:04 p.m.
Livin’ the life.
Chloe’s mother—the one with the Middlebrooks bucks—had reserved rooms for them at the Westin in Copley Plaza. Not just rooms. A suite. As Destiny washed her face in a marble bathroom, she thought Luke would laugh and say that she was living like a star.
The joke was on Julia. Mummy had booked her in an elegant but single room on a different floor. Julia hadn’t wanted to take Middlebrooks largesse. Chloe also balked, until Destiny reminded them they all looked like garbage and maybe they should rest up before tracking down Thomas Nathan Bryant, Esq.
Julia was a bundle of nerves and Chloe was wide-eyed and tight-lipped. It was bizarro world and Destiny had set them on this course. No way, she would not back down now, even if her stomach was churning. She had every right to face the man who had spermed and spurned her.
If he freaked, good. That was the real measure of a man. Once she stared him down, she could check him off, check Julia off, and no more questions.
Except Chloe. So straight, such a yawn. Somehow, though—somehow Chloe was hers in a way Mom and Dad couldn’t be, and certainly in a way Julia McCord and Thomas Bryant would never be. Destiny had a day to get to know her because she didn’t put long odds on Chloe actually going through with meeting her sperm donor.
And she put very short odds on Jackie-boy making his way north and dragging his wife home. What was wrong with that man?
“Hey,” Destiny yelled as she blotted her face with a plush, white towel. “Mrs. D!”
Chloe gave no indication of hearing her. She had had her face in that laptop since three seconds after they checked in. Destiny shook her hair out of its clip, reapplied her eyeliner and lip color, and went to find her sister.
Sister.
Sophie had inhabited that word for the last fourteen years. Destiny had been ten when her mother got pregnant, an event that seemed to take both her and Dad by massive surprise. She remembered feeling relief because when the baby came, Mom’s always-hefty attention was divided. Sophie had Dad’s eyes and Mom’s di
mples and didn’t look—or act—like Destiny.
She never used the adoption card against Sophie, not like she did against her parents. When she was a teen, it was a mighty weapon, especially in those times when Dad hadn’t made it home for a couple weeks, or months. The longer her father’s absence, the more Destiny aggravated and manipulated her mother.
Mom and Dad would love Chloe—the ready-for-prime-time version. There was something there, though. Something that drew Destiny to her and scared the spit out of Mr. Jack Deschene and Mrs. Susan Middlebrooks.
Something real. Real wasn’t too much to ask, was it? That’s what she had had with Luke. They knew where they stood at all times. No stunts from him, no sleight-of-hands from her. Both out there on that cliché of a limb and still loving each other.
Why did he go looking elsewhere?
If he had wanted a woman, there were thousands around. She could have forgiven him that because he was a man’s man and his shaggy strength drew people to him. But she had given up trying to contend with almighty God years ago. She could not be the upstanding citizen Dad was or the holy warrior Mom was or the sweet-tempered good girl that Sophie was.
She couldn’t be the virgin-in-Christ that Luke wanted.
Maybe she had more in common with her birth mother than she dared admit. A better brand of birth control, for sure. But that wild streak had to have run through Julia. How else would she have rushed into bed with not one but two guys who were so wrong?
Being impetuous was a good thing. Beauty erupted in the sudden and unexpected.
Being stupid was an entirely other matter. And wasn’t that what was so hard to forgive in Julia, that she had borne Destiny to a guy who couldn’t stick?
Hi, Tom. I’m the kid you couldn’t even look at. You just signed the papers, dumped me off, and went on to do whatever you pleased. Oh, and have a nice day.
Jerk.
At least Luke tried, despite being totally off the cliff with his faith thing. Destiny had to believe he’d come to his senses. What would he think of this crazy trip to Boston? What would he say about Thomas N. Bryant, attorney-at-law?
Julia’s eyes sparked when she spoke about him. A lot of that was anger. That was clear from the clenching of her left hand. But not all, though. Julia would rub her hand against that horrible cast and her wedding ring would slide up and down.
To Know You (9781401688684) Page 11
