Firstborn

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Lord, I don’t know what’s going on, but help us whatever it is…

  December 1979

  The Boise airport was packed, holiday travelers coming and going, the mood of most everyone cheerful and expectant.

  Most everyone but Erika James.

  She walked beside her grandmother, clutching a small carry-on bag in one hand, her gaze fastened on the floor a few strides in front of her. Her stomach rolled, and she wondered if she was going to throw up again.

  “My cousin Hattie will meet you at the Boston airport tonight,” Grams said. “She’ll be holding a placard with your name on it, but you won’t be able to miss her. She’s a very large woman.”

  Erika swallowed the lump in her throat.

  “I wish I could go with you, dearest.”

  “Me, too, Grams.”

  “I’ll call you every week.”

  Erika had never been on a plane before. She’d never traveled far from home. And now she was headed to the other side of the country.

  How did this happen to me? How?

  But she knew how.

  “Do you think Dad suspects anything?” Erika asked softly.

  “No. He’s angry with me for insisting on sending you and says a fancy boarding school’s a waste of money. But he believes I’m doing it because you’re depressed. That’s all.”

  Erika stopped abruptly. “Oh, Grams, I’m scared.”

  Her grandmother took hold of one of Erika’s hands. “I know you are, but it’s going to be all right. I’d give my right arm to have this not happen to you. You know that.” She squeezed Erika’s fingers. “But it did. God will see you through if you’ll let Him. He loves you, dearest.”

  Erika strongly doubted God wanted anything to do with an unwed, pregnant, teenage girl. After all, what she’d done was a sin, according to those televangelists her grandmother liked to watch. But she hoped God did care and would forgive her— because if her dad ever found out, he’d kill her and send her to heaven himself.

  Six

  Erika sat on the edge of the bathtub, her eyes tightly closed, her breathing shallow, her thoughts far, far away. In another place. In another time.

  She was a teenager again, pregnant with a child she wouldn’t—couldn’t—keep. Only her grandmother and their Massachusetts relatives who took Erika in, giving her a place to live for nearly seven months, knew she would soon give birth. Afterward, she would stay in Boston and live at a boarding school to finish her education. Thanks to her grandmother, no one back home would know about Erika’s rash mistake, about her betrayal of Steven, the person she loved most in all the world.

  She hadn’t known that the baby’s birth would leave a permanent, if invisible, scar upon her memories, a missing piece taken from her heart. She hadn’t known she would often wonder about that tiny girl, born so far from Erika’s hometown, left behind to be adopted while Erika went on with her life as if nothing had happened.

  And I’ve lived a lie ever since.

  At first, the lie had been because she was young, ashamed, selfish. Later, she’d convinced herself that telling the truth would have hurt too many others.

  Especially Steven.

  No, she’d thought, it was water under the bridge with nothing to be gained and too much to lose by revealing the secret.

  Only now the secret was revealing itself.

  O God, how do I explain it now?

  She opened her eyes and stared toward the locked bathroom door. She knew her husband was waiting for her to come out, to tell him what was wrong. She knew he was worried.

  But how could she tell the man she loved about the secret she’d kept from him all those years? What about Ethan? What about her father and grandmother? What about…?

  Help me, Lord.

  Drawing a deep breath, she finally looked at the letter again.

  Dear Mrs Welby,

  My name is Kirsten Lundquist. I was born in Boston on August 1, 1980, and I was adopted when I was three days old by Felix and Donna Lundquist. After months of research, I’ve come to believe I’m your daughter.

  I decided to search for the identity of my birth parents not because I’ve been unhappy with my life but because a friend of mine got sick and found out what she had was hereditary. So I came to believe that knowing my birth family’s medical history would be wise insurance, just in case something similar happened to me. But the longer I searched, the more curious I became to know more about you and my birth father.

  After learning your identity, I wasn’t sure whether or not I was ready to contact you. I couldn’t be sure you’d be ready to hear from me, either. I put everything away for a long time.

  But now the advertising company I work for has merged with another corporation, and the new headquarters is located in Boise. My transfer is effective on the first of July. I knew I couldn’t move there and not contact you. I guess it feels like fate stepped in. Maybe we’re destined to meet.

  I don’t know the complete circumstances surrounding my birth, but I know you were only seventeen when I was born. I’ve got to believe you did what you thought was best for me, given how young you were. I’ve got many questions because there were only a few nonidentifying details the adoption agency would tell me. I’d like to know the name of my father. I’d like to know if I have any brothers or sisters.

  I hope you’ll agree to meet with me. If so, you can call any of the numbers listed on the enclosed business card. My new mobile phone number is written on the back. I’m leaving Philadelphia on June 21.

  It’s taken me a long time to write this letter, and I know you might need more time to accept what’s in it. Even so, I’ll be eager to hear from you anytime.

  With warmest regards,

  Kirsten M. Lundquist

  Erika carefully closed the letter, creasing the fold between thumb and index finger again and again.

  “I can’t tell Steven,” she whispered. “I can’t. It would only hurt him. It can’t serve any good purpose. And Ethan. What will it do to Ethan?”

  What choice do you have?

  She pressed her hands against her ears. “I’m not ready. It’s too late. I did the right thing.”

  Like a drowning person, scenes from her life flashed in her mind: The day Steven called to ask her out after he returned from college. The night he proposed. Their cold and snowy wedding day. The joyous morning she realized she was pregnant with Ethan. The night of their son’s birth. Their fifth anniversary. Their tenth anniversary. Their fifteenth.

  It was all there. All the struggles and triumphs, joys and sorrows. Her life.

  And this girl had no part in it. No part.

  She crumpled the letter.

  “I won’t tell him. I won’t answer her. Let her think she’s mistaken.”

  She’s your daughter.

  “No.” She shook her head. “She’s someone else’s daughter. She’s the daughter of the woman who raised her. Not mine.” She looked upward. “You wouldn’t ask me to do this. You couldn’t possibly want me to do this. Not when my family could be at risk. I won’t hurt them this way. I won’t.”

  She stood, then went to the sink and splashed water on her face, hoping to remove all traces of tears.

  It seemed an eternity to Steven before Erika emerged. Her face was pale, her eyes puffy from crying. She moved carefully, as if a wrong step would cause her to shatter.

  When Ethan was born, they’d come close to losing Erika. She’d hemorrhaged, and for a time, her life had hung precariously in the balance. Steven had been scared to death, knowing he couldn’t make it without her.

  He felt that same fear now as he watched his wife move toward him.

  “Where’s Ethan?” she asked softly. “Is he in his room?”

  Steven shook his head. “I told him to go on to church. Cammi was waiting for him and—”

  “We should go, too.”

  He stood. “Don’t you think you’d better tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.”
<
br />   “Erika—”

  “Nothing is wrong, Steven.”

  The edge in her voice, the look in her eyes, said Back off. They’d been married too long for him not to recognize it. Yet this was different. This time she was lying to him. Something was wrong. He knew it in his gut.

  He took a step toward her. “What was in the letter?”

  She met his gaze. “I can’t tell you. It… it would betray a confidence.”

  “Who is K. Lundquist?” he pressed.

  She lowered her eyes. “Someone I knew many years ago.”

  “Bad news, I take it. About your friend?”

  She nodded.

  “How does it concern you?” he asked.

  She turned away. “We’re going to be late to church.”

  Steven tried to reassure himself. Erika had always been an open book with him. If she said she was keeping a confidence, then she was. Perhaps someone was dying or in trouble with the law. Whatever it was, this Lundquist in Pennsylvania had asked Erika to keep it private.

  Okay, if she said she couldn’t tell him, then she couldn’t tell him.

  He grabbed the Tyvek envelope from the table and tossed it into the trash can.

  Seven

  As if she were sixteen again, Erika laid her cheek upon her grandmother’s knee and wept while Louisa Scott stroked her hair and murmured soft words of encouragement. It seemed forever before Erika’s tears ran dry and her sobs turned to tiny hiccups.

  “You’ll come through this,” Grams said with a note of confidence. “You’ll see. All will be well.”

  Erika lifted her head and met her grandmother’s gaze. “I lied to Steven, Grams. All these years, I’ve lied to him by my silence, and now I’ve looked him in the eye and lied to him all over again.”

  “Yes, you did. But your husband’s a good man. He’ll find it in his heart to forgive you.”

  “I’m not so sure. If he finds out—”

  Grams cupped Erika’s chin with a gnarled hand. “He mustn’t just find out, dearest. You must tell him.”

  Erika nodded.

  “You must tell Ethan, too.”

  Erika felt a fresh wave of tears welling inside her. She got to her feet and paced the length of the room, ending at a cluttered bookcase.

  “You don’t have a choice,” her grandmother said. “The cat’s out of the bag or about to be.”

  “Ethan will be so ashamed of me.”

  “Balderdash! That boy couldn’t be ashamed of you, no matter what you did.”

  “Oh yes, he could.” Erika turned. “And I couldn’t blame him. I’ve lived a lie before him, Grams. I’ve let him think I was a virgin when his father and I married. I’ve stressed the importance of him staying pure until he gets married. I’ve let him—” The words were cut short by a sob.

  “Erika—” Grams pointed at her with an arthritic finger, then at a nearby chair—“come over here and sit down.”

  She obeyed.

  Her grandmother went on in a stern voice. “Now, you listen to me. You’ve got a lot of things to think about. I know it seems as if the world’s spinning in the wrong direction, but it isn’t. God’s in control of His universe.” She narrowed her eyes. “Do you believe that?”

  “Yes,” Erika whispered, fearing she didn’t really believe.

  Grams sighed as she leaned back in her chair. “We can’t undo the past, you nor I, but we can trust God with the future.”

  Erika swallowed hard.

  “I’m not saying either one of us always made the right decisions,” her grandmother continued. “But we did the best we knew how at the time. Your father can be a hard man, Erika. We both know it. I don’t see that we had another choice but to send you away back then, considering everything.” She shook her head slowly, her voice dropping. “Maybe your father would’ve been different if your mother’d lived. I don’t know. He just is who he is.”

  Erika closed her eyes, trying to ignore the cruel twist in her belly.

  “You’ll have to tell all of them, dearest. Even your father.”

  “Not if I don’t choose to meet the girl.”

  “Oh, Erika.” Grams clucked her tongue. “You won’t be able to refuse her request.”

  “I’m not so sure."

  “Aren’t you? I am. She’ll be living in Boise. Knowing that, yet not knowing her, would drive you crazy.” Her grandmother sighed again. “How often I’ve wondered about her through the years. How often I’ve prayed that she was loved and cared for and happy.”

  Erika looked at her grandmother. “You have? I never knew that, Grams.”

  “You’ve wondered about her and prayed for her, too.”

  She didn’t want to admit that it was true, but the words escaped her. “Yes, I have.”

  It wasn’t possible, she supposed, for a woman to carry a life inside her for nine months and not remember it through all the years that followed. She’d been too young and scared, alone and ashamed, to raise a child. Still, there had been moments when she’d felt her baby move inside her swollen belly that she’d wished she could keep her. And there had been times in the years since when she’d wondered what would have happened if she’d made a different choice.

  My dad would’ve killed me. That’s what would’ve happened.

  And Steven? What would Steven have done if he’d known?

  “You should call Kirsten soon.”

  Erika stood. “I’ll have to think about it.” She leaned down and kissed her grandmother’s wrinkled cheek, then straightened. “Thanks for listening.”

  Louisa Scott’s gaze was tender, her smile patient. “I’m here whenever you need me.”

  “You always have been here for me, Grams.”

  August 1983

  A full moon bathed the foothills in a blanket of white light as Steven drove his Chevy along Highway 21. Erika didn’t have to ask to know where he was taking her.

  She cast a surreptitious glance to her left.

  She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Steven had grown even more handsome in the years they’d been apart. Four years. Four long and difficult years.

  He’d written to her once while she’d been living in Boston. Her grandmother had forwarded his letter. She hadn’t answered. She couldn’t have answered.

  Then there was only silence. She hadn’t expected to ever hear from Steven again. Even after Erika returned to Boise two years earlier, she hadn’t run into him or any of his family or friends. It was as if some invisible wall had gone up, protecting her from difficult memories.

  Or so she’d tried to tell herself.

  Then suddenly, three weeks ago, he’d called her. Right out of the blue. Nothing could have surprised her more than the sound of his voice on the other end of the telephone line.

  “How’ve you been?” he’d asked.

  “Fine, Steven. How about you?”

  “Great. I guess you know I graduated in May. It looks like I’ll have a teaching job this fall.”

  “Where?”

  “Here in town.” He’d cleared his throat. “Hey, listen. I was wondering. Would you like to go out with me on Friday? If you’re not seeing somebody, that is.”

  “No, I’m not seeing anybody.”

  “So, will you? Go out with me, I mean.”

  She hesitated, wondering what she should do. But, of course, she really had no other choice. Her heart made certain of that. “Yes, I’ll go out with you.”

  Strange, how quickly she’d realized that she hadn’t stopped loving him. She loved him more than ever before. He filled her waking thoughts and her dreams. She’d never forgotten the taste of his kiss, the smell of his skin, the sound of his laughter, the twinkle in his eyes.

  Steven pulled off the highway and drove to their favorite spot by the reservoir; then he cut the engine. Silence enveloped the car. Moonlight danced across the water’s surface, a magical glitter.

  “Erika.” He twisted on the seat toward her but made no move to draw her into his embrace. “I… there
’s something important I need to say to you.”

  She felt her pulse quicken, not sure if it was fear or expectation.

  “I love you.”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  “These last three weeks… well, they’ve made me realize how much you always meant to me. I guess I didn’t have the brains to realize it back in high school, but I realize it now.”

  She could scarcely breathe.

  “Erika, will you marry me?”

  “Oh, Steven,” she whispered.

  This was it. This was the moment. She needed to tell him. She needed to tell him what had happened after he left for Eugene. She needed to tell him about the awful mistake she’d made and about the baby girl who’d been born to a frightened teenager back East. She needed to tell him everything and then ask his forgiveness.

  “I love you, Erika. I’ll take care of you and cherish you. I promise you won’t be sorry if you marry me.

  She couldn’t risk losing him. She knew that then. Nothing was worth the risk of losing him. If he didn’t know what had happened to her by now, he didn’t ever need to know.

  “Yes, Steven,” she said, her heart in her throat. “I’ll marry you. I love you, too.”

  Eight

  Every Monday morning during the summer months, Steven Welby volunteered to work with kids at the homeless shelter. Most of them didn’t have fathers or, if they did, didn’t know where their fathers were. Poverty was stamped on their faces. Hardship stared back at the volunteers from eyes that had seen far too much for their years.

  It just about broke Steven’s heart.

  Today, he and Chad Snyder—one of the elders at Harvest Fellowship—had brought six boys and four girls, ages six through eleven, to the park for a game of softball.

  “Frank,” Steven said to one of the boys, “help Lori with her shoelaces, will you?”