A Gift of Grace

by Cooper, Inglath

  But then nothing had changed. As long as Catherine refused to get help, he couldn’t bring himself to go back and watch her slip further from his grasp.

  A panicked urge to go after his son hit him dead center, but just as quickly dissolved.

  Caleb had made up his mind. Nothing Jeb said was going to change it. And he couldn’t bring himself to resume his position on the sidelines where he could only bear witness to the wreckage.

  CALEB DROVE HOME FASTER than he should have.

  He rapped a thumb against the steering wheel in rapid staccato. So it was his fault. He was to blame for the problems in his parents’ marriage. He was the reason his father had moved out. He was the reason everything around him had fallen apart these past three years.

  He wheeled the truck into his driveway, spewing dust behind him on the gravel road. At the house, he stomped the brake, skidded to a stop.

  He opened the door, but didn’t get out. How the hell had he become the villain?

  Anger coursed through him, and in its wake, a wash of refusal to take responsibility for this. His father’s decision to leave was his own. And if he chose to break his wife’s heart, then the choice was his. There was nothing Caleb could do to stop it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THAT NIGHT AFTER FINISHING Grace’s bath, Sophie tucked her daughter into bed, then sat down beside her, smoothing the back of her fingers across the child’s silky blond bangs. She smelled sweetly of Johnson’s baby shampoo.

  Lily lay at the foot of the bed, already curled up asleep.

  “Aren’t you going to read to me tonight, Mama?”

  “I thought we might talk for a little bit instead. There’s something I need to explain to you, honey.”

  Grace reached for Blanky and pulled it up beside her. “What, Mama?”

  Sophie tipped Grace’s chin up to look deep into her eyes. “This is not something that will be easy for you to understand, but you know how much I love you, don’t you?”

  “As much as the sky is wide,” Grace said, repeating one of the answers Sophie always gave whenever her daughter asked her that question.

  “That’s right. And that will never, ever change.” Sophie bit her lip. “You didn’t come into my life the way some babies do.”

  Grace frowned. “I didn’t come out of your tummy like Jenny’s new baby brother?”

  Sophie shook her head. “No. You came from a very special place. A family who decided when you were born that another mommy could take better care of you than they could. And so they gave you to me because I wanted you so much.”

  Grace looked down at her yellow blanket, rubbing her thumb across its ragged silk edge. “You needed me?”

  “Yes, sweetie. More than I could ever say.”

  “Was my other mama sad?”

  Sophie’s throat tightened, and she swallowed deeply. “I’m sure she was very sad.”

  “Does this mean I’m adopted like Alina?”

  “Yes, baby, it does.” Alina was in Grace’s play-group. She had been adopted from Russia as an infant, and her parents had been open with her about it from the beginning. Sophie wished now that she had done the same with Grace. She wondered what it was that had held her back, some sense of unease she could not even explain.

  “Will I ever see my other mama?”

  “No, baby.” Sophie hesitated, and then forced herself to say the words. “But she had other family who have decided they want to know you.”

  Grace rubbed the edge of the blanket again, and Sophie could see her measuring her thoughts. “So I’ll meet them?”

  “I think so,” Sophie said, swallowing past the knot of despair inside her throat.

  “Will you be with me?”

  “There will be a judge involved who will tell us all how that’s going to work. We’ll have to wait and see what the judge says.”

  Grace frowned, her lower lip quivering. “Mommy, I’m scared.”

  The grief inside Sophie broke free then, and tears wet her face. She pulled back the covers, got in bed beside her daughter and pulled her into the circle of her arms. “I know. But we’ll get through all of this together. Everything is going to be all right.”

  “Promise?” Grace asked, her voice small.

  Sophie closed her eyes, knowing she had no way of seeing into the future, of defining what “all right” would be. “I promise,” she said. Because somehow, some way, it just had to be.

  TWO WEEKS LATER, Sophie parked her car in the lot next to the courthouse and sat for a moment, reaching for courage, calm, but finding little of either within grasp.

  Grace had not brought up the subject of being adopted since the night Sophie had tried to explain everything to her. Selfish though she knew it to be, she was glad because it allowed her to close that door in her own mind, except for the times when she was alone and the terror roared over her, deafening, numbing.

  Inside the courthouse, Sophie took the elevator to the fourth floor, followed the numbers to the end of the hall. A window looked out onto a side lawn. An older woman stood just outside the door. Caleb’s mother. Their resemblance clear. She looked to be in her midfifties, pretty still in a way few women were at that age. Her gaze met Sophie’s. The compassion in the woman’s eyes sent a knife of pain through Sophie’s side, and she ducked into the courtroom.

  Irene waited for her up front. On the other side of the aisle sat Caleb Tucker and his attorney. He looked up, met Sophie’s gaze, and maybe it was only her imagination, but she thought he looked as sorry to be here as she was. But then he had instigated the proceeding, and it was fully within his power to stop it.

  Irene put a hand on Sophie’s shoulder as she let her take the seat farthest from the aisle. “Good morning,” she said. “How are you?”

  “Okay,” Sophie said.

  The courtroom door opened, and she glanced back to see the woman from outside take a seat. Sophie faced forward, clasping her hands in her lap.

  Irene leaned over. “Ida Hartley is the judge assigned to our case. We could have done worse.”

  Judge Hartley entered the chamber then, taking her seat behind the enormous podium at the front of the room. Streaks of gray threaded her dark brown hair. Rectangular glasses sat perched on the end of her nose. She glanced at a folder in front of her, then said, “Would counsel please approach the bench?”

  Both attorneys stood and walked over. The judge spoke quietly with them for a minute or two, nodding once, then frowning before they returned to their seats.

  “Good morning, Mr. Tucker. Dr. Owens.” Judge Hartley gave a polite nod to them both. “Am I to understand then that Mr. Tucker desires to disrupt the adoption of Grace Owens, the three-year-old girl adopted by Dr. Owens?”

  Amanda Donovan stood. “That is correct, Your Honor,” she said, her voice quietly respectful.

  Judge Hartley said nothing for several moments. “I will be honest with all of you,” she finally said. “I am saddened by the nature of this request. As much as it goes against my own personal feeling that once finalized, an adoption should be exactly that, I will hear your arguments with the clear and unbiased application of our laws as my guide in deciding on this matter. If I might ask a question or two of you first, Mr. Tucker?”

  Caleb stood and said, “Yes, Your Honor?”

  Sophie looked at him then, unable to keep her gaze from straying to the grim lines of his face. His jaw was set, his hands anchored on the edge of the table in front of him.

  “I am aware of the very unfortunate circumstances influencing your decision to give up your late wife’s child three years ago,” Judge Hartley said. “What has happened to change your mind about the wisdom of that decision?”

  Sophie turned her gaze to the judge, forcing herself not to look at Caleb.

  He cleared his throat. “I have no words to explain my grief over my wife’s death. I’m not even sure how I lived through it. But I do know that I was in no state of mind to make the decision I made. And I realize now that it is not what
my wife would have wanted. I am only asking that the court give that consideration.”

  “I assume, Mr. Tucker,” Judge Hartley said, “you understand the gravity of what you are about to do.”

  He didn’t answer right away, the silence in the room thick and expectant. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  The judge’s nod was grave. “Very well then. Dr. Owens.”

  Sophie stood.

  “I have reviewed the social worker’s reports of each of her visits to your home since the adoption. It is clear you’ve met every expectation for an adoptive parent and then some. And that, in my eyes, makes this situation all the more regrettable.”

  Sophie pressed her lips together and laced her fingers together tightly.

  “Do you understand then that Mr. Tucker will be asking this court to reverse the adoption? To remove Grace Owens from your home and place her in his?”

  The words echoed within her like rifle shots. She nodded. “Yes, Your Honor. If I might add something?”

  Judge Hartley gave a single nod of permission.

  “While it’s true that my own world is being turned upside down, my concern is for my daughter. I’ve tried to explain to her a little of what is happening, but she’s only three. How can she possibly understand this? I’m the only mother she has ever known.”

  The judge picked up the papers in front of her and restacked them with a quick motion. “This is a most undesirable situation in which to put a child, and I would advise both parties,” she said, looking from Sophie to Caleb, “to keep this little girl’s well-being first and foremost in whatever requests are made of this court.

  “We will adjourn then and reconvene—” she paused to glance at her calendar “—two weeks from today. Same time. Is that acceptable with counsel?”

  Both attorneys agreed by saying, “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Judge Hartley stood then and left the courtroom.

  Irene squeezed Sophie’s arm. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” Sophie said. “But I really need to get out of here.”

  “Go. I’ll be in touch,” Irene said.

  Sophie pushed her chair back and followed the center aisle out of the courtroom without glancing again in Caleb Tucker’s direction. Even so, she felt his gaze on her back, and it was all she could do to stop herself from begging him not to do this.

  Outside the courtroom, she pushed the button for the elevator, willing it to hurry. The courtroom door swished open again.

  “Excuse me.”

  Sophie turned.

  The woman Sophie had seen here in the hall earlier stood with her hands clasped in front of her. “I’m Catherine Tucker,” she said, her voice not quite steady. “Caleb’s mother.”

  Sophie drew in a half breath, caught off guard by the woman’s directness. “Yes.”

  “I just wanted to say—” She stopped, rubbed her right hand against the fabric of her navy blazer. “I really have no idea what to say. I just wanted you to know that my son doesn’t wish to bring you deliberate pain.”

  “I’m afraid it’s already too late for that.”

  “I expect it is.”

  Sophie considered the words and then said, “I understand what your family has been through. And I am more sorry than I can say. But a decision was made three years ago that was thought to be in the best interest of my daughter. I can’t see how tearing her away from the only life she knows now can be in her best interest.”

  “My son…Caleb…he can’t seem to let go of what happened. It’s as if it has a grip on his soul, and to be honest, there are times when I think it will pull him under completely. He thinks he wronged Laney by giving up the child. He has horrible dreams—” She stopped then, as if she thought she’d said too much. She glanced down, sighed heavily, and then looked at Sophie. “I just wanted you to know there’s no malice toward you in any of this.”

  The older woman turned to go back into the courtroom.

  “Mrs. Tucker?” Sophie called after her.

  She looked back. “Yes?”

  “I have no intention of giving her up.”

  Catherine Tucker was quiet for a moment, and then said, “You don’t appear to me to be the kind of woman who would.”

  The elevator dinged. Sophie stepped inside, the doors closing behind her.

  CALEB FELT LIKE HELL and looked worse.

  For the past few days he’d had a migraine headache that had kept him locked in a dark room for thirty-six hours. Only by Friday morning had it softened to a dull roar.

  He forced himself out of the house behind a pair of dark sunglasses, his bloodstream struggling to process a maximum dosage of Advil.

  Since the meeting in front of Judge Hartley, Caleb had tried to go about his normal life, forcing his thoughts away from the course of events he had set into motion.

  But it was as if someone had tied a two-hundred-pound weight to his ankle, and he struggled for every inch of forward movement.

  The whole thing had been far worse than he’d ever imagined. Or maybe that was just it. He’d never thought it would feel as if he were personally leading Sophie Owens to her own execution.

  And then the day after the hearing, the reporters had started calling. He’d deflected three of them so far, but he knew how they worked. If he refused to play, they’d write what they wanted to write anyway.

  Caleb drove to the store with a cup of coffee in one hand, Noah on the other side of the seat with his head out the window.

  It was early still, not quite seven, but Macy was already at the counter putting cash in the register when he walked through the door.

  “Morning,” he said.

  She looked up at him, then quickly dropped her gaze. “Good morning.”

  “Something wrong?”

  Macy sighed once, reached beneath the counter and pulled out a newspaper, handing it to him. “Sorry, Caleb.”

  He glanced at the front page and read the headline. Adoption Contested.

  His stomach dropped.

  Without glancing at it further, he went upstairs to his office, closed the door and sat down at his desk.

  The words glared out at him. And suddenly, he was in the middle of it all again. Saw the lights of Sheriff Overby’s car swing into his driveway when he’d been expecting Laney. Heard the sorrow in the older man’s voice when he took off his hat and said he had some bad news to deliver.

  He forced himself to read the article start to finish. It was like immersing himself in acid, peeling back skin and sinew until there was nothing left to eat into but bone.

  Noah came up the stairs, nudged the door open, crossed the office with wagging tail and put his head on Caleb’s knee. He made a short whining sound, his dark eyes questioning.

  Noah had always had a sixth sense for detecting distress. Whenever Laney had been upset about something, the world wasn’t right for Noah until he felt she was okay.

  Caleb rubbed the top of the dog’s head, pierced by a knife of loneliness that cut so deep he thought he could never possibly be whole again. “It’ll be all right,” he said, wishing he could believe it.

  SOPHIE DROPPED GRACE OFF at preschool and then came home to find the headline shouting from the front page of the Observer. The phone had been ringing nearly nonstop for the past hour while she sat at the kitchen table, unable to make herself get up and continue the day.

  The doorbell brought her out of her daze. She considered ignoring it, too, but pulled herself out of her chair and walked to the living room, spotting Darcy’s minivan in the driveway. She opened the door knowing that she could no longer hide what was happening.

  Darcy stood with the paper in her hand. “My God, Sophie. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Sophie shook her head, bit her lip. “I kept thinking it couldn’t come to this. That if I didn’t talk about it, it would go away.”

  Darcy stepped inside, closed the door, then pulled Sophie into her arms. “Oh, Sophie. I’m so sorry.”

  A sob broke free from Sophie’s thr
oat. They stood that way for a long time, embracing one another, neither of them holding back their tears. Sophie finally stepped away and said, “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell you, Darc. I just couldn’t.”

  Darcy smoothed a hand over Sophie’s hair. “I’m your friend. I will be here for you in whatever way you need me to be. Starting now.”

  Sophie nodded once and squeezed Darcy’s hand. “Thank you,” she said. “I think I’m going to need you.”

  ON MONDAY MORNING, Sophie’s attorney called and asked her to come by that afternoon to go over a list of questions. The weekend had been a somber one with Sophie trying to pretend everything was normal, amid concerned phone calls from fellow professors and teachers at Grace’s preschool.

  That afternoon, Sophie drove downtown to Irene’s office. The receptionist sent her right in, Irene herself barely visible behind the mound of files on her desk.

  “Could I get you anything?” she asked, standing up, her assessing gaze sweeping Sophie’s face as if looking for evidence of how she was holding up.

  “No, thanks. And I’m okay, Irene. I’m not going to fall apart.”

  “No one would blame you if you did,” Irene said, sitting down again in her black leather chair. “It’s going to be all right, Sophie. We’ve just got to come up with our game plan and then follow it to the letter.”

  Sophie sat up straighter. “So what is the plan?”

  “Show the judge what an incredible parent you are. What an incredible life Grace has. And how absolutely unthinkable it would be to take that away from her when it is all she knows.”

  Sophie nodded, reassured somewhat by the quiet conviction in Irene’s voice.

  “We’ll start with pictures of the house,” Irene went on, “Grace’s room, play area, her dog, her day school. We need a visual representation of the life you two lead. I want to lay it all out for the judge to see.”

  “Will my being a single parent be a negative in her eyes?”