Something else. And Destiny would know tomorrow when she met her biological father face-to-face. She’d know if Julia had really gotten him out of her system for good—when she got his daughter out of her body and out of her life.
“Chloe!”
Still no answer. Destiny would give her five more minutes and then she’d rip that laptop away. Before she realized it, she had grabbed her phone and speed-dialed.
Luke answered with what sounded like a smile. “Hey, Dez.”
“I suppose I should tell you where I am.”
“Tell me first how you are.”
How do you think? she wanted to snap. That would not be cool. How could he know if she refused to tell him?
“I’m running a little freaky right now,” she said.
“The birth mother thing?”
“Yeah. That, and more.”
“Dez, please don’t make me pull teeth. Tell me.”
“She showed up out of the blue, just as you . . .”
“Was that her? The tall one with the broken hand?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“It’s complicated. This is all I can tell you right now. We went to North Carolina to pick up my half-sister and now we’re in Boston—”
“Wait. What? You have a half-sister?”
“She’s also illegitimate.”
“Dez, don’t. Whatever the circumstances of your birth—and hers—God had some plan.”
She squealed through her teeth. “This was a mistake, calling you.”
“No, babe. Don’t. Don’t go. Just tell me what’s in Boston.”
“My birth father.”
“Whoa. That is weighty stuff. Are you all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Cross-country with all these strangers? Are you sure everyone is who they say they are?”
“I’m sure, Luke. I know who they are. I just don’t know who they are. Get it?”
“Got it. Maybe . . . I could fly out there, hang if you need me?”
Destiny pressed her lips to the phone. How could the way Luke loved her and the way she loved him be anything but a gift?
God, You’re not seeing this right. Not if You think what Luke and I have is wrong.
“Dez?”
“Thank you, babe. I mean it. Thank you. This is something I’ve got to sort out by myself.”
She heard his steady breathing, imagined his strong chest moving slowly up and down. For such a physical guy, he pondered things long and deep.
“You still there, Luke?”
“Always.”
“Yeah, okay. I gotta go, see what bio-sis is up to.”
“Will you call me tomorrow?”
“Maybe.”
“Please, Dez.”
“I called you tonight, didn’t I? Just leave it at that, okay?”
“Okay.”
She waited for a long breath—waiting for I love you, Dez—and when she waited a heartbeat longer than she could stand, she clicked off the call.
Monday, 7:26 p.m.
Chloe got up and shut the door. She didn’t need Destiny hearing this. Knowing her sister—for a whopping nine hours now—the girl would rip the phone out of her hand and threaten to flush it.
“Is this why Mother booked us a nice suite?” Chloe whispered into the phone. “So you would know where to find me?”
“Are you telling me you don’t want me to know where you are?”
“What I want is for you to let me have these couple days to myself, Jack. Please.”
“I want you to! It’s just that . . . Julia Whittaker reeks with desperation.” As does Jack’s voice. “What if she does something horrible?”
“Stolen kidneys are urban myth, Jack.”
“Really? What if she uses, like . . . the date rape drug or something and somehow coerces you into donating.”
“First of all, Rohypnol is not even sold in this country, and where it is prescribed in Europe, it’s now colored with a dye. The drug of choice for sexual coercion is Gamma-hydroxybutyrate. GHB. Or Ambien, I think.”
“Listen to yourself. You’re the scientist. I’m the numbers guy. We are who we are, Chloe. Running off on some wild-goose chase won’t change that. And there’s nothing wrong with us that needs to be fixed.”
“Really?”
“Don’t keep saying that. Is that woman putting ideas into your head?”
“That woman’s name is Julia.”
“Julia, Destiny. We don’t know either of these women, Chloe.”
“And that’s the point, Jack. I want to know them.”
“At what cost?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re on the ground now. So okay. But what about the next leg of the flight? What if it heads to Guatemala or someplace where you have no support, no help, and what if—”
Chloe laughed. “Imagination? From you, Jack? It’s kind of sexy.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Henry Metzler spoke to her son’s doctor. She’s reputable, published many articles, received accolades. You know that.”
“Then tell me this. Did you speak to her?”
“Dr. Rosado? No. Why would I?”
“You shouldn’t. There’s already too much pressure on you. I don’t need some medical professional explaining the glories of LDLT to you.”
“Oh wow. Someone’s been working the search engines.” Chloe waited for his don’t take that tone with me. Not that he ever had—but the deep breath he took seemed to warn of the marital equivalent.
“And you haven’t researched living donor liver transplantation?” Jack said.
“No.”
Of course she had, the instant Destiny dragged her away from the picnic table and launched her idea about meeting their fathers. Chloe did a quick search on her phone, scanned all the triumphant stories.
“Bleeding. Infection. Scarring. Blood clots. Does that sound like fun, Chloe?”
The poor outcomes were way down the list. She’d look at those later, though later pressed on her with an urgency that ached. Julia couldn’t wait too long for a decision on being tested. Despite Destiny’s protests, once the blood was taken, the die was cast.
Fathers. Blood tests. Surgery. What an odd road they were heading down.
“Letting my own brother die, when I could save him. Does that sound like fun, Jack?”
“Let Destiny do it. She’s got a more . . . flexible lifestyle.”
If it came to that, Destiny wouldn’t do it. She was a runner—had run away from college, and now had run away from this Luke guy. But Chloe had to admit, the girl wasn’t all about running away. She had run to a good career in her chosen field, had run to North Carolina to meet a sister.
Maybe running away meant running to something else. How could she know, when she was barely allowed to walk anywhere, let alone run.
“When, Chloe? When are you going to think about what you’ve done?”
“I haven’t done anything yet, Jack.”
“Please. Just let me come up there. I’ll . . . I’ll book a room across the city somewhere. So if you need me, I’ll be close by. Hands off, darling.”
Hands off . . . if he only knew. Chloe stared at her computer. She had just logged on to talkatnight.com when Jack called. How easy it would be to flick the keyboard and exit the site. Sometimes the connections at sea were spotty and it took awhile to connect. She needed someone to talk to, someone who wouldn’t lecture. Just listen.
“I’m twenty-two years old, Jack.”
“You’re my wife.” His voice cracked. “Isn’t this the type of thing we signed on to do together?”
That wasn’t his fault; that was all on her. She had told him on their second date—if a prep-school study session could be called a date—that she had been adopted. The Middlebrooks name carried a lot of weight in North Carolina and she needed him to know that she hadn’t been born into it. That she, despite whatever assurances F
ather had given, believed she must earn it.
Jack was the same way. He bore the Deschene fortune like a Sisyphean burden.
That they received the best education possible and lived in a very expensive home was something both families had pressed on them. She had agreed to living sparely at Jack’s urging. No vacations. Wearing clothing that was well-made but out of date.
His personal choices were to be lean and thus, in God’s eyes, clean.
“I love you,” Jack said. “You know that, right?”
Her finger hovered over the keyboard. “I know that. With all my heart, I know that. It’s just . . . you know how you stop by my lab and your eyes just glaze over?”
“I try, Chloe. The work you’re involved with is a benefit to so many.”
Classic Jack—attach a moral component to everything. “But it’s not your thing. That’s what this is. Not your thing.”
“Of course it’s not my thing. So why can’t it be our thing? I’d like it to be.”
Her laptop plunked. WaveRunner coming online. Chloe felt suspended over shifting realities. “I have to go.”
“I love you. Tell me you know that.”
“I just said I did.”
“Do you—”
“Stop it, Jack. Casting about for assurances of devotion is . . .” She settled on one of his favorites. “. . . unbecoming.”
Her laptop plunked again. The sailboat icon had come to life on her screen. Right-click the talkatnight icon, choose close window, and be done with that.
Left-click the sailboat and . . . who knew. It could be a night of physics or mechanical engineering or flirtation.
She clicked off the call, tossed the phone on the bed, and turned her attention to the laptop. This was all a game, right? Role-playing. A way to shrug off stress and certainly, if anyone had stress, it was Chloe.
She left-clicked and the text window came alive.
Monday, 8:02 p.m.
“You did it right.” Julia scanned the photos of Jeanne’s daughters. So lovely and confident. So happy. So healthy. “Three beautiful girls.”
“Jules, it wasn’t about doing anything right. Patrick and I have been blessed . . .” Jeanne twisted her hair with her left hand, an old habit. Her right hand usually held a paintbrush or her prayer beads.
Jeanne Potts should have been a mystic. Instead, she had married Patrick Donegan, become a middle-school art teacher, raised three daughters, grew a garden, and had remained steadfast in friendship and faith.
Her life stacked against Julia’s was like a rose in a briar.
Having hungry sex and pretending it was passionate love. Two daughters born out of wedlock, surrendered to strangers. What had Julia’s sins brought on her girls, one with an aversion to depending on anyone and the other with an affinity to depending on almost everyone?
And then there was Dillon.
If she had been washed clean in the blood of the Lamb, as that Spirit who entwined around her soul promised, why wouldn’t God wash Dillon’s blood clean?
A new liver would fix everything. But with that new liver came the antirejection drugs to prevent a body from going to war against what it considered to be a dangerous invader. Though Julia had been transplanted with the heart of Christ, guilt and doubt battled like gladiators to reject that gift.
Jeanne had volunteered for testing. She had type-O blood and would have donated in a second but she was excluded because of lingering Epstein-Barr.
“I’m glad Matt called to tell me you were coming.” Jeanne tapped the back of Julia’s cast. “You should have called me.”
“Pottsie, it’s been insane. I didn’t even know until lunchtime. This whole trip is pure desperation. It’s nice . . . nice to just sit.” Julia slumped into the chair, lulled by the fire. This shop on Newbury Street specialized in ambience and ten-dollar coffee, a sanctuary for the well-to-do shopper that they used to mock in college.
“So what are they like?” Jeanne asked.
Julia dug her iPad out of her bag. She had taken a photo—over Destiny’s protests—on the plane. “Can you tell which girl is Tom’s?”
“Wow. I can tell they’re both yours. The eyes, and this one,” she said, pointing at Destiny, “has some of your facial features. The other one has your hair, though much lighter. She’s dressed so Brooks Brothers that I’m tempted to say she’s from the Bryant line. But the one with your cheekbones, she’s got a give-me-your-best-shot posture. So I’m guessing she belongs to Tom.”
Julia laughed. “That’s Destiny. And yes, she’s got a big portion of his bravado.”
“Destiny and Hope. What are their adoptive names?”
“Destiny’s parents kept her name. Her father is the chief of staff for Senator Dave Dawson. And Mom is Melanie Connors.”
“Melanie . . . that name’s familiar.”
“She runs the Lord’s Heritage ministry.”
“No kidding? Melanie Connors is on the front line of the prolife fight, among many other worthy battles. She takes a lot of flak from the pro-do-whatever-you-want groups.”
“I expect raising Destiny prepared her for it.”
Jeanne smiled. “I take it she was brought up in the church?”
“Brought up, for sure. Happy about it? Not so much. She doesn’t seem fond of the concept of being God’s kid.”
“She’s young.”
“And thinks she knows everything,” Julia said.
“Tom’s kid, all right. And Hope?”
“Her name is Chloe now.”
“She looks more like an Ann or maybe a Sarah.” Jeanne munched on an anisette biscuit. “What are you going to do when it’s time to visit her father?”
Jeanne was the only person alive—apart from Matt now—who knew Andrew Hamlin’s identity. She had been a mainstay throughout that pregnancy. Jeanne had bought a sofa bed for her tiny apartment so Julia wouldn’t have to go home to Oklahoma for those long months of pregnancy. She had harassed Julia into returning to school, had been there for Hope’s delivery, and had held Julia tight when it was time to hand the baby off to the lawyer who had arranged the adoption.
When Jeanne and Patrick decided to elope because they couldn’t afford a wedding, Julia planned one for them on a shoestring budget. She was astounded when a guest asked for her help in planning her daughter’s wedding. And thus, Myrrh slowly came into being, one rose petal at a time.
“I can’t think about Andy,” Julia said. “I have to get through Tom Bryant first.”
“I haven’t seen him in years. I expect he’s grown up.”
“Do people really change, Pottsie?”
“Did you?”
Julia sipped at her hot chocolate, the sugar rushing to her brain. “Yes. Of course.”
Her friends, employees, and church family considered her a rock. The bridal industry and her clients called her a visionary. Matt promised she was the best wife God could give a guy. Dillon knew her as the mom who nagged and pleaded and disciplined and held him tight when he hurt.
She didn’t realize she was crying until Jeanne squeezed into the booth next to her. “Jules. It’s okay.” She dabbed at Julia’s face with a linen napkin. “Hush now, it’s okay.”
“I’m so scared,” she said, clutching Jeanne’s sleeve. “I’m so scared that God is punishing Dillon for what I did.”
“You know that is not true.”
“How can I believe that? There should have been a liver available by now. We had so many people volunteer, so why was every single one with type O disqualified? Statistically, that shouldn’t have happened. And where is God’s plan for Dillon, when even his parents are incompatible?”
“It’s crazy. But maybe . . . I don’t know. What if you needed to meet these girls?”
“How is that a blessing? Chloe’s family is utterly freaked out and Destiny snarls most of the time. And, Pottsie, think of Matt having to deal with me going to the men I slept with. Think of the families whose lives I’m disrupting. Think about the regard people
have for Andy—I could ruin everything he’s worked for.”
“Sex takes two people. It’s not like you raped him.”
“No,” Julia said. “But in my desire for affirmation and—forgive me, Lord—for a warm body against my skin, I played my part in the seduction. A very big part.”
“It’s over.” Jeanne hugged her. “Give it up. It’s in the past.”
“Really? I have two adult daughters I did give up and now they’re the present. And here’s what I’m really afraid of—that if I persuade one or both to be tested and they decide they would be willing to help and what if after all of that—they’re as incompatible as I am? Or what if this trip is for nothing and I’ve lost these days with Dillon?”
Jeanne wrapped strong arms around her. “I’m taking your jet tonight to Dallas. If you can’t be with Dillon, I will be.”
Julia jammed her fists into her eyes, trying to stop the tears. “Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do for my godchild. The jet will be back tomorrow night so you and the girls can head to wherever Andrew is these days.”
“Promise me one thing,” Julia said.
“Anything.”
“I need you to tell me if it’s time to come home. Matt will hope against hope and if the girls still haven’t decided . . . I need you to tell me to come say good-bye.”
“Jules, in a second. But we’re praying it doesn’t come to that.”
Julia leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder. Weariness seeped through her bones. “My hands are slipping, Pottsie.”
“Mine won’t, Jules. I promise you—mine won’t.”
Seven
Boston
Tuesday, 6:46 p.m.
Destiny finally abandoned her attempts at sibling bonding over a bottle of Chardonnay and decided to take a long bath. As soon as she heard the water running, Chloe logged onto talkatnight.com.
She double-clicked and the text window came alive.
WAVERUNNER: So have you thought about taking a quick trip?
HANDS _ ON: I already did.
WAVERUNNER: Where are you?
HANDS _ ON: Boston.
WAVERUNNER: Wow. This is meant to be.
HANDS _ ON: What?
To Know You (9781401688684) Page 12
