by Dana Corbit
“A series of articles might be nice.”
“Don’t push it.” But the sides of his mouth were already turning up. It was a good idea for some good news features. Jared liked to tell happy stories as much as the next reporter. He’d never bought into the newspaper credo that “if it bleeds, it leads,” but he couldn’t turn his back on important stories facing his readers, either.
“So, Jared, what do you say?”
He shrugged. “Get me a list of families who might agree to be profiled. It would be good if the families have adopted at different times throughout the agency’s existence. After that, I’ll see what I can do.”
She settled back in her chair, seeming satisfied.
“Okay, ready?”
She straightened, but nodded.
“Have there been any new developments in the arson investigation regarding the duplicate birth records?”
“Not since your last update from the police department.”
Kelly was no longer animated, but was stiff and robotic as she answered. He probably wouldn’t get a single decent quote from her for this article.
He tried again. “After the fire, police reported that only a few of the duplicate records had been recovered. Were there any additional records recovered during the cleanup?”
“No. Most were destroyed in the fire.”
How could she respond so calmly when, for some men and women given up for adoption more than thirty years ago, a last avenue for answers about their birth parents had been destroyed? What if it had happened to Luke and Chance? If they came to him with questions one day about their birth parents, could he tell them so dispassionately that their answers had gone up in smoke?
“What about your own adoption records?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Jared was sorry he’d asked the question that hadn’t even been on his written list. Trying to shock her out of her remoteness wasn’t a good enough reason.
She didn’t move. To an outsider, she still would have appeared to be the same unflappable businesswoman who’d weathered this crisis. But he knew her better than that, and he’d never seen her so pale.
Didn’t she realize he knew? Didn’t she realize that Florence Villi had filled him in on several bits of information that he hadn’t been able find a second source to confirm? Without a second source, he wouldn’t publish anything.
“Yes, my personal records were destroyed.” Again, she sounded distant.
“But it wouldn’t matter anyway. I have no interest in locating my birth parents. I am the child of Marcus and Carol Young, and that’s it. And that is most certainly on the record.” She met his gaze steadily as she put extra emphasis on the word “on.”
“Sorry about that. I had to ask.”
She nodded blandly, but she had to recognize just as he did that he hadn’t had to ask. He just had.
Whether she realized she’d just given him the second, confirming source to the information, she didn’t seem to care. Now he had to grapple with his conscience on whether to use what he could now confirm. Was it news-worthy? Did it add depth to the article, or was it just a painful personal aside to a story with no happy endings? A more rabid reporter would have asked the follow-up question—if Ben Cavanaugh’s records also had been destroyed—but Jared just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Most of the time he loved writing the news, being in the know, making sure everyone else got to be there with him. But then there were times when people got hurt because of some of the things he had to write, and on those days, he hated the job. This was one of those days.
Chapter Nine
Pilar couldn’t believe they’d been sitting there talking about nothing for the last two hours. She would never have guessed that much time had passed had the wall clock not announced the time with seven clear pings.
Their conversation had started when Zach had returned from the kitchen after he’d tried to hide how personally he was taking the case. Pilar had purposely not brought up the subject again. It wouldn’t have helped anyway. They’d already discussed all the same leads he’d been following and had hit all the same walls he’d hit.
Instead, she’d mentioned Reverend Fraser’s recent sermon on the story in the Book of Luke about the two thieves crucified alongside Jesus. Their conversation had taken off from there, and, aside from an occasional break to draw breath, they’d talked nonstop ever since.
She couldn’t help grinning as she remembered Zach’s confession that with his police background, he’d had problems with that gospel story. He’d really struggled with Jesus’ promise to one thief—Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.
“What are you smiling about?”
She chuckled at having been caught. “The thief thing.”
“That’s the last time I confess anything to you.”
He was probably joking, and yet she hoped it wouldn’t be the last time, either for silly things he would confide in her or time they would spend together, just talking.
She couldn’t remember having felt more at ease with anyone in a long time. Twice in the past two hours, she’d momentarily forgotten why they were there, but then she’d shifted positions, experienced the discomfort, and it had all come rushing back.
Pilar cleared her throat. “Do you really want to know?”
He turned his head back to her, twisting in his strange position in the overstuffed chair, with his legs dangling uncomfortably over one of the arms.
“Know what?”
She didn’t bother to reply, “You know what,” since they both knew what she was talking about.
“I only went in for an ultrasound this morning.”
She waited for shock or some other reaction to register on his face, but he only continued watching her. “Looks like you got more than you bargained for.”
His gaze lowered briefly to the light blanket he’d brought her earlier to lay across her lap, and then he met her gaze again. He was curious, sure, but never demanding.
The realization came upon her quickly, like a drizzle that transforms into a downpour, but Pilar suddenly wanted Zach to know about her. She needed someone to know, to understand what had been tearing her apart.
“It started with some unusual cramping.”
Zach nodded, apparently comfortable discussing the intricacies of a woman’s body.
“The doctor said there were cysts on my ovaries. Both. But one was larger. The ultrasound was to confirm her theory that I might have this condition that sometimes leaves women…infertile.”
She stopped, the last word tasting of bile as she’d finally spoken it aloud. Glancing at Zach, she waited. What was she waiting for him to do, run away in shock? He didn’t. He only continued resting with his head turned her way and waiting for her to tell him more.
Could she, when the story started at the bottom and only got worse from there? She gripped her hands together and forced the words from her mouth. “This morning the cramping became worse. Something wasn’t right. I knew it wasn’t right, but I wanted to believe it was only anxiety.”
She knew she should slow down, but once the dam opened, she couldn’t stop the story from pouring out. “The ultrasound showed the cyst had ruptured, so they rushed me into surgery. When I awoke, they told me my ovary had twisted and died. It’s…gone.”
The last came out as a sob that sounded as if it had come from someone else. When had she started crying? She couldn’t recall a single tear, and yet her face was wet. And when had Zach moved from the chair to the edge of the couch by her? She didn’t know that, either, but there he was, pulling the whole crying mess of her into his arms.
She didn’t care that his movement brought sharp pains to the tiny incisions that marked a void inside her. She just let him wrap her in that cocoon of warmth and let all of the weight she’d been carrying fall where it would.
“I would have told…somebody…but I didn’t…know…for sure,” she managed to get out in an unsteady breath.
“Of
course not,” Zach crooned as he lowered her to the pillow and brushed damp strands of hair away from her face. His fingertips were cool against her hot skin.
“I just didn’t want to…” Pilar let her words fall away, no longer certain what she’d wanted or why she’d thought it made sense. Nothing made sense now except Zach’s comforting touch as he stroked her hair. Her hands gripped the sides of his shirt, and she couldn’t let go.
“You didn’t want to worry anybody.”
Zach didn’t even say it as a question as he finished for her. Did he really understand? How could he understand, when the secret she’d kept had ultimately left her alone on the worst morning of her life?
But she wasn’t alone now, hadn’t been since the moment he’d walked into the waiting room and had given her a no-strings offer of friendship. She felt undeserving of his offer, and yet she couldn’t let him go now.
“I may never be able to have babies.”
Zach’s breath hitched in his throat. He inhaled slowly to calm himself, but all he wanted to do was curl up on the couch and cry with her, mourn with her. He knew what loss felt like. He could easily share that with her. But she didn’t need his tears right now; she needed his strength. Leaning down and drawing her carefully into his arms again, he winced at her hiss of pain.
“I know. I know.” But he didn’t know, really, what she was going through, wondering if her dreams had slipped away while she’d been under anesthesia. He rocked her, wanting her to understand that though he didn’t know, he still cared.
He pulled away and looked into her red-rimmed eyes. “How long have you been carrying this around inside you?”
“I went to the doctor Tuesday afternoon.”
And found Gabriel Wednesday morning, his subconscious filled in for him. It all made sense now. Pilar had connected to this baby, not because of something she knew about him or his mother but because of the upheaval in her own life.
Timing had made the difference. A baby had arrived, like a heavenly gift, just as Pilar had been hit with the possibility that she would never have any. No wonder she’d been reluctant to help him locate Gabriel’s mother.
“It’s funny,” Pilar said, though her voice held no laughter. “It doesn’t matter whether the doctor’s diagnosis was correct or not. I only have one ovary left, and it’s already got a cyst on it.”
Her voice sounded as if she’d already given up hope, and he hated seeing her without it. He wanted to tell her that though he was no expert, even he was pretty sure that women with one ovary could still conceive. She probably wasn’t ready to hear that. Maybe she needed to accept the worst-case scenario first before she could find her way back to hope again.
Strange, when she’d first mentioned the ultrasound, he’d immediately guessed she was pregnant. He didn’t even want to think about how jealous the thought had made him. And Pilar probably wouldn’t find the irony of his assumption all that amusing.
Pilar ineffectually wiped her tears and wouldn’t meet his gaze, as if she’d only now realized all she’d told him and was sorry she had. He didn’t want her to be sorry.
“Your secret is safe with me.” Unable to resist, he brushed a glistening droplet from her cheek. She didn’t turn away from his touch but pressed her cheek against his palm.
“Thanks. I don’t know what I’m going to do about it.”
“Praying would be a good start.”
Her chest heaved as if she was about to start sobbing again, but she only stared at the floor. “How can I ask Him for help now, when I wasn’t relying on Him all along?”
“What do you mean?”
When she looked up at him, a sad smile covered her lips. “Until this week, I’d never questioned God’s will before, and for the last week I’ve done nothing but question.”
He chuckled, and her eyes went wide. “Then you’re a better Christian than I am. I question all the time.” He shrugged and grinned. “But sooner or later He brings me around.”
When Pilar nodded, Zach figured the Father would have a far easier time bringing her back to His will than He’d had with him. Though she was questioning, he wished he had even a small portion of her faith. But Jesus had promised that someone with faith the size of a mustard seed could move mountains. So even guys like Zach had a chance of being used for His will.
“It’s just that everything’s different now,” she explained. “I was waiting patiently for God’s time, but I always knew in my heart I would be a wife and mother someday. But now… How can I tell my future husband that maybe I can’t…?” She let her words trail off as if they overwhelmed her too much to speak them aloud.
“You don’t even know for sure you can’t have children. It shouldn’t matter anyway.”
She just shook her head. “Already, I’m twenty-eight years old. Now I’m quite possibly infertile. Not the best recommendation.”
What was she saying? While Pilar didn’t say anything more, Zach suddenly had so many thoughts that he couldn’t decide which to put into words first. Did she worry that no one would want her? That she was damaged goods? He couldn’t bear thinking she thought of herself as substandard, for this or any other reason, for a man to choose her as his wife.
Didn’t she know how beautiful she was? How clever? How kind? Didn’t she realize that her goodness, her faith, gave everyone around her hope that they would find their way, as well?
“Some man is going to thank God for His blessings when he finds you.”
Zach jerked, surprised that he’d spoken the words aloud. What had happened to his control over his emotions and his reactions? When he met her gaze, Pilar looked back at him with wide eyes.
He tilted his head to the side. “You know what I mean. Nothing else will matter then.”
Her skeptical expression showed she disagreed with his conclusion, but she didn’t call him on it. “Thanks for saying that.” She paused and watched her gripped hands once more. “And thanks for today. You’ve been a good friend to me.”
He smiled. Friends. Is that what they were now? So why did a seed of disappointment sprout inside him even though he’d convinced himself his heart was inhospitable soil? It was just another confirmation that he should never have taken this case in the first place. His good sense had plummeted the moment he’d told Sergeant Hollowell he could handle the case, and it only had gone downhill from there.
But this wasn’t about what he needed. It was about Pilar. And no matter what it had cost him, he was glad he’d been able to be there for her.
“It wasn’t a huge trial, I guess.” He chuckled for a few seconds and then steadied himself for what he needed to say next. What had to be said. “I’ve told you I won’t tell anyone about your surgery, and I won’t. But don’t you think it’s about time you did?”
Pilar winced. “I know I should, but—”
“At least your parents. Not that I know too much about close parent-child relationships, but don’t you think they’ll be sad they couldn’t help their little girl when she was hurting?”
He was pouring it on thick, and he knew it. He’d done an awful lot of hurting without his folks around and had turned out just fine, thank you. But Pilar’s family was different. They really seemed to care about each other. He could tell his comment had reached its mark the moment Pilar’s lip started to quiver.
“Mami will never understand why I couldn’t tell her.”
“Maybe not, but Rita will still want to know now. She’ll want to help.” He cleared his throat, awkwardness filling it. “Besides, it’s getting late. One of us really shouldn’t be left alone tonight, and the other one…” he paused as he watched her fidgeting “…well, he wouldn’t be a good choice to stay.”
The minute she went from near tears to a grin of embarrassment, he knew he’d won. But he couldn’t revel in his victory when she’d given up so much. Without saying more, he grabbed the portable phone from the kitchen wall and handed it to her. She didn’t look at him as she dialed.
“Mam
i,” she said into the receiver with a quavery voice. She spoke in a rush of Spanish then, sounding so different from the woman he’d come to know. From his high school Spanish, he recognized the words “lo siento”—“I’m sorry”—though he would have guessed her meaning from her anguished expression anyway.
He felt like an uninvited observer behind an interrogation room’s two-way glass, so he gave Pilar as much privacy as he could in tight quarters, heading into the bathroom and closing the door. No matter what was being said between the two women, he felt certain Pilar was in good hands now.
He was surprised, though, by his reluctance to turn over the job of caring for her to anyone else. Even her mother. He’d liked being the one she relied on. He’d liked being needed.
His reasons for staying were the same ones that shouted he should go. He was starting to care about Pilar too much. And caring before had only hurt him.
He needed to step away, take a breath, get some perspective. Tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow he would be back to his normal dispassionate self, and all would be well. It would even be all right, no more than neighborly really, for him to check back in on Pilar tomorrow. He would have the distance by then to be the friend she needed. At least that was what he wanted to believe. He had a sinking suspicion, though, that nothing could help him distance himself from Pilar Estes.
Pilar stepped gingerly through her apartment’s open slider to her balcony, and into Wednesday’s late afternoon sun. More than twenty-four hours since her surgery, she was still sore, but she hadn’t felt any sharp pains in at least an hour. That was progress.
The sun’s warmth dancing on her skin and the deck’s roughened wood beneath her feet made her smile. That tiny balcony that peeked out at Walnut Street had been her apartment’s best selling point, probably its only selling point, when she’d moved in four years before, just after a February snowstorm. Yet she’d seen potential in the tight space, at the time buried beneath a snowdrift, just as she’d been able to envision a home inside the cramped rooms of the apartment itself.