by Dori Lavelle
“Oh.” She smiles brightly, and lowers her gaze to the paper at the same time I do. She looks up at me. “We are his parents.”
“You’ll make an amazing mom.” I trace her cheek with a fingertip and give her a soft kiss on the lips, the first since the last time she asked me to walk out of her life.
When we pull back from our intimate celebration, I turn my attention back to Fred. “Where do we go from here, Fred? What are the next steps?”
“Well.” He takes another drink of water. “The next step is to meet your son. I’ve arranged everything.” He snaps his briefcase shut.
“You have?”
“Have I ever let you down?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Never.” I chuckle. “Tell us where to pick him up. We’ll leave now.”
“Just stay where you are. He’s coming to you. Someone from Child Protective Services should be here with him any moment.”
Brooke gasps and rushes to the window facing the driveway, like a child waiting for Santa. Ten minutes later, a white Toyota Corolla pulls into the driveway. Brooke’s hands fly to her mouth before dropping away as she starts to laugh and cry at the same time. We join her, even Fred who hardly ever laughs. She rushes to the door and we follow.
We come to a screeching halt at the top of the steps. The joyous laughter dies the moment a six-year-old with hair the exact same color as Brooke’s emerges from the car, holding on to a worn-out teddy. A woman with salt and pepper hair appears next to him. She whispers into his ear. He nods and takes her hand. Together, they move toward the steps.
Brooke hurries down the steps and she’s about to pull Jack into her arms but stops and puts them behind her body, probably realizing that, to him, she’s still a stranger.
“What’s your name?” he asks her as I join them at the bottom of the steps.
She lowers herself to his level. “I’m Brooke, your new mommy.” She sniffs. “You must be Jack.”
“Jack Neeson,” he corrects and wild grief rips through me. “I already have a mom but she’s in prison. She did something bad. I can stay with you until she comes back.”
Brooke is quiet for a moment, but she soon puts on a brave smile and stretches out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack Neeson. We’d love to have you. You can call me your second Mom.” She looks back at me, hurt evident in her eyes. I wink at her to promise her it’s only a matter of time before he accepts us as his parents. For now, we’ll take what we can get.
“Hi, Jack.” I ruffle his hair. “I’m your second dad. We’re so happy you came to live with us.” This morning, Brooke and I made a decision that if Jack is our son, we would move in together and grow together as a family.
“Okay.” He shakes my hand.
I place an arm around Brooke’s shoulders. We have a long road ahead of us, and Jack still needs time to get to know us, to trust us, to accept us as his real parents. And it will take time for the wounds to heal, but I’m never letting either of them go again.
“Jack, do you think we could give you a welcome hug?” Brooke asks cautiously.
She’s dying to hold him and I pray he doesn’t reject her. He nods his head and walks into our embrace.
“I love you,” Brooke whispers. I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or to Jack. But it doesn’t matter because we are one. If she loves him, she loves me.
Epilogue
Years Later
“Crystal, I’m happy you feel better. Remember to call me any time you feel the depression coming back.”
“I will. Thank you for seeing me without an appointment.” Crystal Lake is one of the Mother Care victims, one of the many unlucky women who were not reunited with their children.
Deena and everyone who was involved in the Mother Care business have been sent to prison for many years. But the wounds they inflicted remain in the hearts of many broken women. Women like Crystal.
Some wounds take a long time to heal. Others never heal at all. Losing a child is one wound that never goes away. Every time a woman looks down at her stomach, she remembers the baby she used to carry.
For many years, after Jack was returned to us, I felt guilty for being one of the lucky few. That’s one of the reasons why as soon as I opened my private practice, I offered many of the victims my professional help.
As soon as Crystal walks out the door—her shoulders still hunched from carrying the burden of pain—my personal assistant, Dawn, pokes her head around the door. “Brooke, your husband is here to see you.”
“Send him in. Please hold my calls for the next hour. And before you go to lunch, give June Smith a call to find out how she’s doing. She hasn’t been here in over a month.”
“Consider it done, boss.” Dawn gives me a salute.
When Derrick walks in, wearing jeans and a plain black T-shirt, a rush of pride and joy shoots through me. The idea that he’s my husband always takes my breath away. We got married three years ago on the LaClaire, his brother Bryant’s luxury cruise ship.
He crosses the room and gathers me into his arms. “Good afternoon, Doctor LaClaire,” he whispers into my ear, his stubble tickling my earlobe.
“Good afternoon, luckiest man alive. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
He stands back but keeps his hands on my arms. “Since it’s Friday, and I don’t have any urgent meetings, I picked Jack up early from school. I thought we could all go to lunch.”
“Where is he now?”
“Advising Dawn on what to get Marion for his birthday.”
“I see.”
Dawn’s son, Marion, is one year younger than Jack. They were inseparable from the day we introduced them. Jack would definitely know what Marion’s birthday present wishes are.
With a mischievous grin, Derrick returns to the door and locks it. “Since our boy will be occupied for at least five minutes, how about we do something about our little project? We have to be extra quick though.”
“You can’t wait to be a daddy again, can you?” Stifling a giggle, I unzip his jeans as we head for the couch.
“Wrong. I can’t wait to be a daddy to your babies.”
Before we can get started on the baby-making sex, a knock on the door causes us to jump apart. We listen to a soft squeak as the door handle is pulled down.
“Mom, Dad, are you in there?” Jack calls from the other side.
“Damn,” Derrick mouths.
Stumbling, we adjust our clothes quickly, like teenagers caught in the act.
“We are in here, honey.” I can’t stop giggling as I smooth down my skirt. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah. Can I sleep over at Marion’s tomorrow? Can I tell Dawn it’s okay?”
“Tell Dawn it’s okay.” Derrick sits down at a chair by my oak desk, pretending to not have any dirty thoughts running through his mind.
When I open the door to let Jack in, he’s already gone.
With a shrug and a smile, I return to my desk and pull out a drawer. “I have a present for you.” I hand Derrick a small, rectangular gift wrapped box with a silver ribbon.
“You spoil me.” He lifts the lid, then looks up at me. “Is this—” he breathes. “You’re not—”
“Four weeks, baby.” I lift the positive pregnancy test from the box, my insides vibrating with excitement. “Looks like you won’t have to wait much longer, Mr. LaClaire.”
He sweeps my feet off the floor and swings me around, laughter pouring out of him. “This is the best news I’ve heard all year.” He allows me to sink to the floor, and kisses every inch of my face. “But what a naughty girl you are for wanting to take advantage of me even though you already got what you want.”
“A girl has needs.” I kiss him full on the mouth. “And you did promise on our wedding day that you’ll meet them all.”
“That’s right. Every single one of them.” He pulls me against his body. “Now, let’s celebrate.”
THE END
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Also by Dori Lavelle
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