Child by Chance

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SHE WAS GOING to have to cancel the date. Talia knew it the second she agreed to go.

  She hadn’t meant to say yes. Couldn’t believe she had. But standing there, in his office, high on the fact that he wanted her to continue driving his son—and on something else she couldn’t define—she’d just jumped right in without thinking.

  She couldn’t go. There was no future for her in a relationship with Sherman Paulson.

  Or probably any other guy she’d want to make a family with. What decent man was going to want an ex-stripper as the mother of his children?

  One thing Talia had learned a long time ago was that she was not the type of girl one took home to Mom. Even before her blatant bad choices it had been that way. Before she’d ever understood what it meant to be considered a bad influence on the good and decent people of this world.

  The first time she could remember a mother refusing to let her daughter play at Talia’s house, she’d been six.

  “I want to meet him.” Tatum sat with her in the dark Thursday night, having ridden back with her from the Lemonade Stand. She’d joined their collage session that evening, at Sara’s behest.

  While Tatum was as young as some of the girls in Talia’s new afternoon collage class at the Stand, she was different, too. She wasn’t a child of a victim. She’d been a victim. And had recently been struggling with the idea of dating again.

  There was a boy in her school that she liked. Really liked. He’d asked her out. And Tatum, scared of giving up control of her mind and heart again, had said no.

  Talia didn’t have to ask who they were talking about as the two sisters sat together on Sedona’s back deck, sipping iced tea.

  “Did you call Tanner?” To let their brother know that she was spending the night and that Talia would take her to school in the morning.

  “Yeah, while you were in the bathroom. I want to meet him, Tal.”

  Tatum was the most stubborn of the Malone children. Thank God. She’d been too stubborn to just accept the treatment she’d received at the hands of her ex-boyfriend. As young and hurt and confused as she’d been, she’d escaped to the Lemonade Stand. And refused to leave. At all cost.

  She was Talia’s hero. Not that her younger sister would ever believe that.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said softly. Saying no to Tatum was not a feat she’d yet mastered. And probably wouldn’t, either, unless it was a matter of health or safety. “It’s killing me, Tay. And my heart’s practically stone.”

  “Your heart is not stone! Don’t say that.”

  She could feel Tatum’s gaze, but didn’t turn her head.

  “I know it’s hard,” Tatum continued. “But life’s hard, right? It’s hard as hell knowing he’s out there and that I can’t see him,” she said. “Besides, I don’t want to just run into him by myself at the Stand. I want him to know that I’m your sister. I want to be able to talk to him. I can only do that if you introduce me. Come on, Tal, he’s my nephew!”

  And Talia understood the significance of the comment. The Malone children, all but Tanner having been sired by different pimps and dealers, had absolutely no family but one another. No aunts or uncles or cousins. No grandparents. They’d always just had Tanner. And now Tanner had Sedona.

  “Kent can’t know he’s your nephew,” she said.

  “So? He doesn’t know anything else about us, either. That doesn’t make me care about him less. I just need to see him. To be able to picture him. To know what his voice sounds like.” Tatum took a deep breath, loud enough for Talia to hear, and she braced herself. “I need you to know that you aren’t alone, Tal. In the future, when you remember him, miss him, I want to be able to share the memory with you. For real.”

  Oh, God. What had she done to deserve this kid in her life? She couldn’t believe she’d ever deserted her. But she was here now. And...

  “If Tanner says it’s okay, I’ll take you with me when I pick him up from school tomorrow. I can swing by and get you first. You’ve got your regular session with Sara, anyway.”

  Tatum shot forward in her seat. “You mean it?”

  “Yeah. But only if it’s okay with Tanner. Talk to him,” Talia said, hating that she was pawning off the bad-guy routine on her older brother, but not knowing what else to do.

  “I did. He says it’s fine!”

  Shit. She hadn’t expected that. “You’ve already talked to him about it?”

  “Uh-huh. And Sedona, too. Last night. I’m worried about you.”

  “And they really agreed that you should meet him?”

  “I’m not made of eggshells, Tal.”

  “I know.”

  “But sometimes I get the idea you are, you know?”

  Yeah, well...

  “I’m not, so stop driving yourself nuts. I’m fine. I’ve always been fine. And I always will be fine.” If life had taught her nothing else, it had taught her that she was a survivor.

  “So tell me about his father...”

  “What?”

  “I saw the look on your face when Sara mentioned Sherman picking up Kent. And I’m sorry, but when I was coming out of the craft room tonight, I heard her telling you that she’d heard you agreed to go to the symphony with him next week, that Kent had told her about it because it’s, like, his dad’s first date since his wife died and that it was about time. He’d been worried that his dad wasn’t ever going to get over his mother’s death.”

  Oh, God. The mess just kept getting bigger. As soon as Sara—who had permission from Sherman to discuss Kent’s progress with her in case she had any input from what she’d read in his collage—had told her about Kent’s positive reaction to their date, she’d known she had to go.

  Kent wasn’t looking for a mother for himself. He needed to watch his father heal to know that all would be well in his world.

  At least according to Sara.

  But there was a part of Talia that still wanted to cancel. If she went, she helped Kent.

  But to go was suicide.

  “You like him, don’t you?”

  “Who, Kent? He’s my kid, Tay, of course I like him.”

  “I mean his father.”

  “There’s no point to that.”

  “I didn’t ask if there was a point. You like him.”

  “He’s a nice guy.”

  “You like him like him.”

  “I like how much he loves Kent. He’s the father we all dreamed about having when we were kids.” At least she had.

  “Tanner was a pretty cool stand-in,” Tatum said slowly, and Talia envied Tatum the fact that she’d realized the support and love they’d had from their older brother far sooner than Talia had.

  Of course, Tanner had cut his parenting teeth on Talia. And they’d been sharp.

  “So, say he like likes you, too,” Tatum said softly.

  “There’s no future in it, Tay, so don’t get started.”

  “I don’t see why not. Even if you were to get married and had to tell him that you’d given up a baby for adoption, there’s no way he’d ever know that Kent was that baby...”

  “Unless Kent wants to find me someday.” She used to dream about the idea. Until she’d mucked up that reunion by being duplicitous now.

  And it was just as well. What kid wanted to look up his birth mother only to find out she’d been a pole dancer on some of the most elite stages in Vegas? Or that she’d married a somewhat elderly Las Vegas wannabe kingpin who’d sold her off to his friends?

  If not for Tanner coming to find her, if not for his intervention, she’d have been dead from that choice.

  “By then they’d both love you so much that, while there’d be some rough waters, they’d understand and forgive you. And when th
e shock was over, think how happy Kent would be to know that the woman he loves like a mom is his real mom?”

  “Brooke Paulson was his real mom.” She couldn’t forget that. Or let Tatum, with her head in the romantic clouds of youth, forget it, either.

  And Sherman? How would he feel if he ever found out that Talia was Kent’s biological mother? She’d have had a chance gaining his sympathy if she’d contacted them through the adoption agency.

  But then he’d have known about her past. He’d never have been as open to her collage reading. Or her advice. And Kent would probably be permanently expelled from fourth grade at Santa Raquel Elementary by now. At least if you listened to what Sherman had to say about his son’s behavior.

  “Just do me a favor, will you?” Tatum asked.

  Talia’s stomach cramped. “What?”

  “Just let yourself have fun for one night. Go out with him. If you like being with him, like it. And don’t worry about anything. Just for one night?”

  “What good would that do?”

  “It would show you what it feels like to be happy, Tal. I’m afraid you never knew, or that you’ve forgotten.”

  Talia turned her head then, in spite of, or maybe because of, the moisture clouding her gaze. “When did you grow into such a wise young woman?” she asked. But she knew.

  It had been while Talia was away.

  * * *

  NOT LONG AFTER Kent went to bed Thursday night, Sherman was on his computer, doing his habitual searches for anything having to do with Brooke’s accident. Somewhere, someplace, there had to be a mention of someone who’d been affected by that night.

  As always he typed in the date. Tonight he opened his search to all of California. In the past, he’d narrowed it to a one-mile radius of the crash, to just Santa Raquel, to every other city on the route between Brooke’s dinner meeting and home, and broadened it as far as the entire continental United States.

  Someone had run from the car that had killed his wife. He or she had to have been hurt.

  He read through messages, chat room archives and boards for victims. It was more a form of therapy for him now; he didn’t hold out much hope that he was actually going to solve his wife’s death anymore.

  It could have been something as simple and tragic as someone having fallen asleep at the wheel.

  Except that the car was stolen.

  And the driver had disappeared.

  Two crimes to pay for right there. And that was before you considered the woman who’d died all alone on the road that night.

  And then there was that piece. The car that had hit Brooke had come from out of nowhere. There’d been no skid marks. No tire tracks on any shoulders in the road. Brooke had had no time to react. To swerve or slam on the brakes.

  It baffled even the most experienced investigators.

  Tonight Sherman was on the computer not just out of habit, but out of guilt, too. He’d failed Brooke somehow. Not by not finding her killer. But before the accident. He and his wife had somehow lost their way.

  She’d told him a year before the accident that she didn’t feel any sexual attraction for him anymore. He might have been poleaxed by the announcement if he hadn’t been suffering from the same lack of desire. Frankly, he’d become more pumped by votes on a leader board than his wife’s naked body.

  Maybe if he’d been hungry for her body, she’d have felt desirable, too. Maybe she’d still have wanted to make love if he’d given her any reason to want him as a lover.

  All water under the bridge, except that he was sitting there alone, completely on fire for a woman in a way he’d never been hungry for Brooke. Not even close.

  Hence, the guilt.

  Would his wife have been as eager to keep an appointment that went against their principles if she’d felt as if her husband really valued her at home?

  He and Brooke had come together over similar mind-sets, plans, beliefs. They’d not only wanted the same things out of life, they’d wanted to get there the same way. Their ideas about the way to live day to day had been identical. They’d made a perfect pair. Everyone had said so.

  And in bed they’d done fine. She’d only been his second lover. His second time at love, actually, having pretty much crashed and burned the first time his senior year in high school. He’d met Brooke a few months later, his freshman year at Cal State, and had been faithful to her ever since.

  He’d just trained his passion—his focus—on other things. Winning elections. And Kent.

  In the bedroom-turned-office where the computer was, he sat at the desk scrolling. Lit only by a small lamp on the desk that had been Brooke’s, the room was quiet. Peaceful. He’d already turned off the rest of the lights in the house and made sure the house was secure.

  Tomorrow was the anniversary of the car accident. Of Brooke’s death. He and Kent had talked about it at dinner. Sherman had thought he should pick up Kent after school so they could visit the cemetery before dark. It was an hour’s drive away. Kent hadn’t wanted to miss his session with his friends at the Stand.

  And Sherman had given in without any fuss at all. Because he hadn’t wanted to go. He’d been glad to see another sign that his son was moving on.

  Was that wrong? He didn’t want Kent to forget Brooke. Would never want that. But the boy was alive with an entire lifetime of opportunity before him if he could get to the other side of the issues that had been plaguing him.

  He stopped. Moved the curser to reverse scroll on the page he’d been halfheartedly perusing.

  A date. That and the words stolen car jumped out at him. He clicked and the link brought up a blog belonging to a woman named Tricia. A quick glance showed him that she blogged fairly regularly about a number of topics, but he didn’t take the time to know why. Or who she was. What he did was read the post that she had just published.

  Today is the anniversary of the last time I saw him.

  I wouldn’t give him the keys to my car. It was almost nine and I could tell he’d been smoking pot. He’d promised to meet someone in LA. He wouldn’t tell me who. And when I hid the keys, he stormed out. He was so angry, as he had been so much of the time. But only for those last couple of years. Since the courts gave him to me and wouldn’t let his father see him. He didn’t understand it was for the best. Didn’t know what his dad was into.

  He had a good heart. In spite of the trouble he was in. I hope and pray every day that he straightened up his life. That he is out there somewhere, maybe with a wife, a little baby, and working. He’d have made a great teacher if he’d only stayed in college. Maybe he went back to college. As long as he’s happy, I can live with the fact that he’s still angry with me. Still refusing to come home.

  I fear for him every day. And I remember how much he loved to surf. I pray for you, Eddie. I picture you surfing the waves with a grin on your face. If you ever need me, I am here for you.

  Sherman couldn’t leave the page. Her son had left on the exact date that Brooke had been killed. At night. It was as if this mother’s pain was his own.

  He scrolled down and found out that she’d been writing these blogs to her son Eddie for the two years he’d been gone. Just little things. Mostly telling him how and what she was doing. Every bit of it innocuous. Nothing personal. Until tonight’s post. She was hurting beyond her ability to cope. He could feel it.

  And then he saw where she was from. Santa Barbara. And he started to shake as his mind flew down a crazy path.

  The kid had been desperate to get to LA on the night Brooke had been killed. After dark. Desperate enough to steal a car?

  He’d been high.

  Could he have been speeding down the road toward LA at the same time Brooke was heading back up that road to Santa Raquel just one exit down the freeway from Santa Barbara?

  There’d been no tire tra
cks crossing the median, but the collision had been head-on. Which only left the paved turnaround cutting through the median. Could someone have been waiting out there in the dark in a stolen car, hoping to meet someone? The car had come from somewhere. It wasn’t up to him to know where and how. He just needed to find who.

  And if it was Eddie?

  He looked at the picture Tricia had posted of herself at the top of her blog. Dark-haired. Pretty. Somewhere in her late forties. And alone.

  What would it do to her if her Eddie turned out to be Brooke’s killer?

  He wouldn’t. Sherman was definitely just overreacting. Not taking the time to think, to choose his response.

  But he picked up the phone anyway before he changed his mind and called the Santa Raquel precinct to leave a message for the detective he’d been told to talk to if he ever remembered anything else pertaining to the last time he’d talked to Brooke.

  They’d never said so, but Sherman knew that they suspected foul play. Cars didn’t just come from out of nowhere and kill a woman before she had a chance to even put on the brakes. The coroner had said that Brooke had been awake at the time of the crash. She should have responded.

  The police thought Brooke had been a victim in the wrong place at the wrong time. Caught in the middle of something that had nothing to do with her.

  And Sherman wondered if maybe this Eddie knew what that something was. If nothing else the detective could make a call to Tricia and find out if her son might have had any reason to be in the area where the car that had killed Brooke had been stolen.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  TALIA’S PALMS WERE sweating again as she drove her old car into the strip mall parking lot. It looked innocuous enough. A hearing-aid shop. A hairdresser. A tax preparer.

  And an adoption agency.

  The Talbot Company, a private group that specialized in the placement of infants born to unwed teenage mothers. They not only found homes for the babies, but had counselors on staff who were assigned to each and every teenage mother, ensuring that she was ready and willing to give up her child. The agency was as much about the mother as about the baby.