* * *
Most of the time, Candy could care less what people thought of her.
She had a roof over her head and a loaf of bread in the refrigerator. Couldn’t ask for more than that. The kids stayed with her mother most of the time, and when it was her turn, so what if they didn’t eat much? Big deal. A lot of kids had it worse.
Besides, she was never cut out to be a mother.
She was a druggie, a floozy, the sort of trash that never lived in one place more than a few months. But at least she wasn’t uppity like the couple in the van. At least she knew her place in life, and this late in the game she wasn’t looking to change, didn’t waste time on what-ifs and might-haves or a batch of regrets the way some of her friends did. If people didn’t like her then bully for them.
But as the car she was riding in sped out of the parking lot, she felt a nudge of remorse. Second thoughts, maybe, or a gasp of air from a conscience long dead. The plan was pretty nasty, could probably land them in jail if they weren’t careful.
Actually it wasn’t her plan; it was Dave’s. And it was a good one. Kids were nothing but brats and hard work. She’d learned that after she popped the first one out. The plan didn’t come about until she told Dave how much loot she’d raked in from the rich couple. All for having a kid and giving it away.
Dave’s eyes had grown narrow, and a thin smile had worked its way into his cheeks. “I think we just hit the jackpot, Candy.”
“The jackpot?” Candy wasn’t doing hard drugs, not since she found out about the kid. Just some bourbon and weed here and there. She took a drag from a joint and frowned at him. “What jackpot?”
“They want the kid, right?” He’d sat forward, his face registering the kind of excited look he usually got when they scored a dime bag.
“’Course they want the kid.” She’d exhaled a blue ribbon of smoke that curled toward the ceiling of their studio apartment. “They paid for it, didn’t they?”
“Not yet, they didn’t.” He’d chuckled and folded his hands on the table. Then he told her about the plan. Candy would meet with the couple, tell them she was a little low on cash. “Hint around, you know. Like if you don’t get the money you can’t think about giving up the kid.”
“Okay.” Candy rubbed her arms and gave a few slow nods of her head. “I think I’m seeing it.”
“Yeah, and then . . .” Dave had taken a drag from her joint and held the smoke several beats. He raised one eyebrow, slow and sarcastic-like. “If they cough up a few thousand, we wait a few days and tell ’em we need more.”
Candy had worried about that. Not because of her conscience but because it sounded almost illegal. “You don’t think the cops could get involved, do ya?”
“Nah, the cops got better things to do. Welfare’s just glad we’re getting rid of a kid this time.”
Candy had liked the way he said we, because as far as she knew Dave was the baby’s father. But she couldn’t be sure. Lots of crazy nights back before she got pregnant. But this ownership thing was new to Candy. A man happy to lay claim to one of her kids. Unless . . .
She twisted her expression. “You ain’t thinkin’ of keeping half the money, are you?”
Dave had cast her a look that defined disgust. “Of course!” He rattled off a few choice words. “I’m working for it, right?” He waved his hands at himself. “This is me sitting here, right?”
Candy had thought about that and figured it was okay. The idea was his, after all, and if he helped collect the money the least she could do was split it with him. “Okay.” She’d slapped her hand on the table. “I’m in.”
The memory died there as Candy stared out the windshield from the backseat of the speeding car. “Hey, Scary, slow down, will ya? I’m knocked up, remember?”
“Ah, shut up.” Scary was Larry Brown—Dave’s buddy from the penitentiary. He turned to Dave and laughed out loud. Funny stuff, telling a woman to shut up.
“Listen, Scary, I’m havin’ second thoughts.”
Dave glared at her over his shoulder. “Second thoughts? Look, Candy, we’re in this thing. You and me and Scary. No turning back now.”
When the money moved from a few thousand to maybe ten thousand or more, they’d brought Scary Larry in. Scary was a forger from the old days—documents, birth certificates, driver’s licenses. You name it; he could forge it. Scary had a plan that took the baby’s price tag to a place Candy hadn’t dreamed.
Get the couple to pay everything they could pay. Then turn at the last minute and sell the baby to someone else. Forge a paper that made it look like the couple had changed their minds about the baby. Move a few towns down the road, hook up with another lawyer, another rich couple, and make a flat-out killing when it was all said and done.
Twenty, maybe twenty-five thousand dollars total. Twice the money for a few easy meetings in the gravel lot of the local park. Scary only wanted five for his part, so that still left maybe ten thousand each for her and Dave.
Still . . .
Dave turned back toward the front and huffed. “Second thoughts! You’re crazy, woman, you know that? This is the best thing we’ve come across in a long time.”
Candy stared at her big belly and she could hear the lady. What was her name? Erin something? The lady had tears in her eyes when she talked about having a little girl, like having babies was some hard thing for her. That’s what the social worker had said, that being rich didn’t mean you could automatically have babies.
The lady in the van still deserved the kid, even if they could make a killing switching couples.
They were almost back to the apartment. Scary had the papers in the back of his car, the ones he’d forge so they could move to another town and find another couple. Dave and Scary acted like it was their baby, but it was hers. She could give it to whoever she wanted. The plan had sounded good at first, but now, well, what was the rush? She could always do the whole thing again. Have another baby, sell it, make five or ten thousand extra before the delivery.
By the time they got inside and sat down at the card table in the kitchen, Candy had her mind made up. As soon as the guys were sitting down she crossed her arms and gave a few shakes of her head. “I’m not doing it.”
Dave and Scary were talking, but when they heard what she said, they stopped at the same time and stared at her. Candy wasn’t afraid of Dave, even though he did have a temper. She’d been at the receiving end of it a time or two, but she always bounced back. Dave was just a little high-strung.
He shoved his chair back, jumped up, and came so close the toes of his shoes were touching hers. “What’re you mumbling over here?”
“I said . . .” She lifted her chin, looking him straight in the eyes. Dave hated when she did that; he liked it better when she showed a little “proper fear,” as he called it. Candy didn’t care. This was her baby. “I said, I’m not doing it.”
“Not doing what?” Dave straightened himself up and puffed out his chest. His tone told her he was serious.
“Get as much money as you can from that couple in the van—that’s fine.” She glanced at Scary. His eyes were as cold as a kitchen knife. “But that couple gets the kid. I told ’em they could have her, and I wanna keep my wo—”
His hand hit her before she could finish.
The blow knocked her to the floor, dizzy and angry and more sure of herself than ever. He’d done this before, but never so hard. This time, the windup had come from nowhere.
“That’s what you get for changing your mind.” He snarled at her and gave her shin a quick kick for good measure.
“Oh, yeah . . .” If he wanted to be a jerk she could play, too. She struggled to her feet and steadied herself. Her face stung, and a dull headache worked its way up from the back of her neck. She heaved herself at him, shoving her hands into his shoulders.
The jolt moved him back a step or two, but he was at her again as soon as he had his balance. This time he cocked back, and before she had a chance to turn around, h
e hit her square in the face, just above her left eye. The blow knocked the wind from her and left her sprawled across the floor, furious.
“Dave, what’re you doing?”
Candy heard Scary’s voice, felt the floor move as Scary took heavy steps toward them, but she couldn’t see anything. Her hands were over her eye, and the area above her eyebrow was warm and wet.
“It isn’t up to her!” Dave yelled the words.
Candy shuddered. He was breathless, still raging from the fight inside him, no doubt. Suddenly a new thought occurred to her. If Scary wasn’t here, how far would Dave go? Would he hit her again, even lying there on the ground? And something else . . .
What about the baby?
She pulled herself to the corner of the room and caught a glimpse of her white sweatshirt. It was covered with blood. From the corner of her good eye she saw Dave and Scary fighting, wrestling to the floor. They were shouting at each other, throwing punches, but the room was swaying. Worse than when she smoked dope all afternoon.
“Help me . . .” Her voice didn’t sound very loud, so she tried again. “Help!”
A sick feeling came over her. She grabbed at a breath, but it wouldn’t come. Not all the way, and she suddenly remembered what to do. Press on the cut; that would stop the bleeding. She’d done that one other time when Dave got in a fight at the bar and some guy lay gushing blood all over the floor. Someone shouted something about pressure on the cut, and Candy had gotten on all fours to help the guy.
She shoved her fist against her eye, but the pain made the sick feeling worse. “I said . . .” Her head hung down until her chin touched her chest. “Help . . .”
Someone started moving toward her, and she lifted her face just enough to see it was Dave. His expression was frightening, madder than ever before. He was coming closer . . . closer . . . closer. . . .
And then there was nothing but darkness.
* * *
There was only one place Erin wanted to be.
The moment they got home, she set her purse down in the kitchen and turned to Sam. “I think I’ll go rest for a while.” She angled her head and said nothing about the nursery. But she didn’t need to. His eyes told her he knew exactly where she was going, and something else, too.
He was okay with it.
“Whatever happens, Erin, I love you.” He crossed the kitchen, kissed her lightly on the lips, and picked up a stack of papers. “I’ll be in the office.”
The nursery was the first bedroom on the left. Erin slipped inside and shut the door. She scanned the room, the pink-and-white wallpaper, the crib overflowing with pink bedding and quilted pillows, the delicate lamp and pretty furniture. Her favorite was the oak rocker—a piece her mother had given her before they moved.
“I figured you’d give it to Kari or Brooke.” Erin had been surprised, almost overwhelmed, at the idea that the family rocker might be hers.
Her mother had run her fingers lightly over the top edge of the chair. “I rocked every one of you kids in this chair.” She lifted her eyes to Erin. “Kari and Brooke have recliners, and Ashley doesn’t have room. Besides, I want you to have it, Erin. You’ll need it one day; I believe that with all my heart.”
The memory faded. They’d tried so long to have a baby. There were times she wondered whether her mother was right, whether she’d ever use the rocking chair for her own baby. But since learning about Candy, since making the decision to adopt and finding out that the baby was a girl, Erin had been sure that everything was going to work out. She’d have a baby after all, and the chair where each of the Baxter kids had been rocked would now be used to rock her own precious little one.
She crossed the room and eased herself into the old chair.
Always the nursery could bring Erin comfort. When she worried about the adoption process or whether Candy was taking care of herself, she had only to step into the nursery to feel God’s peace and serenity surround her. Everything would be all right. The baby would be fine and Candy wouldn’t change her mind.
In the nursery she was sure about it all.
But now the setting sun cast strange shadows across the carpet, and anxiety wouldn’t leave the room. How could it, when the facts stood like a block wall between her and the baby she so desperately wanted? She blinked and tried to convince herself it was all a nightmare, that they hadn’t really just sold their new car for half of what it was worth and handed every dime over to a man who clearly had a drug problem.
How did they know he was really the birth father, anyway? And what about his flip comment, something about contacting them next week?
Erin closed her eyes and set the rocker in motion. Her arms came together around her middle, and for the first time in a long time she actually felt it. An aching in her arms, an emptiness that only a baby could fill.
God . . . I’ve already connected with that child. She’s mine even though I’ve never held her, never loved her. Tears stung her eyes and she sniffed. She wouldn’t cry now, wouldn’t believe it was all really falling apart. But still . . .
Another ache came over Erin. She closed her eyes and rocked a little more, back and forth, back and forth. And she realized what it was. She missed her mom. Every time they’d talked recently Erin hadn’t been honest, hadn’t told her exactly how strange things had gotten.
If only her mom were here, she’d say something positive, help find a light in what was becoming a dark, dismal tunnel. At the very least her mom would hold her. Erin sniffed again. That way she could break down the way she wanted to. Her mom understood how important this baby was, how special all babies were, however they came into the world.
Funny, too. Early in the process Erin had wondered whether she and her mother would connect over the adoption experience. Her social worker had suggested a mentor, a woman who had adopted children before, someone she could bond with through the process.
But no mentor had materialized.
Her mother knew nothing about giving up a child, nothing about what Candy was going through, or the frightening thoughts Erin battled when she worried Candy might change her mind.
But her mother understood love.
And a child was about love, whether she grew beneath a mother’s heart or in it. Over the months Erin and her mom had shared dozens of conversations about the baby Candy was carrying, and always Erin was grateful for her mother, wishing their houses were blocks apart the way they’d been back in Bloomington.
Erin opened her eyes and stared at the empty crib.
She and her mother had sometimes dreamed for hours on the phone about names and ballet lessons and the joy of raising a little girl. Other times Elizabeth had convinced Erin not to fear the future—even if Candy seemed unstable. Over the months, her mom had become a best friend, the ultimate sounding board and encourager. Because she was the perfect mentor.
Even if she knew nothing about adoption at all.
Chapter Four
Ashley’s hands were shaking and she was only halfway to the doctor’s office.
She’d called him as soon as she opened the test results envelope Friday morning, but he was booked for the day. He had Saturday calls at the hospital so he’d suggested the afternoon meeting time. Ashley would’ve met him on the moon if she had to. Whatever it took to have him explain the results face-to-face. So she understood them completely. Otherwise she couldn’t possibly take the news to her family, not after all they’d been through.
She turned left on Main Street and focused on the road ahead of her. “God . . . go with me when I get there. Please . . .” She said the words out loud, the way she often prayed. It helped her remember that no matter how alone she felt, the Lord was with her, sitting beside her.
So much was riding on this day, on the meeting she was about to have with the doctor. Her mouth was dry, and she ran her tongue along her lower lip. Without taking her eyes off the road, she found a piece of gum in the front pocket of her purse, slipped off the wrapper, and popped it between her lips.
She hadn’t been this nervous since the day a month ago when she and Landon gathered her family together and announced their engagement. The moment came alive again, and Ashley smiled. They had called her parents from the cemetery, where Landon had met her just after her friend Irvel’s graveside service.
“Mom, it’s me.” Ashley sat beside Landon on a bench in the park adjacent to the cemetery. “Is Cole taking a nap?”
“He’s awake.” She hesitated, her voice lower than before. “We’ve been talking about death. He still has questions about Irvel’s dying.”
“Okay, well . . . hey, guess what?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Landon met me here.”
“Landon came?” Her mother’s tone brightened. “How wonderful, honey. Why don’t you bring him over?”
“Actually—” she looked at Landon and grinned—“Landon and I have something to tell you. Something important. An announcement, I guess.” She giggled. “We’re going to drop my car off at my house and be right over, okay?”
By the time they had arrived at the Baxter house, her parents and Cole were gathered around the table with Kari, Ryan, Brooke, Peter, and the kids. It wasn’t mealtime, so the moment Ashley and Landon walked into the house and across the dining room, all faces turned their way. Ashley found her mother and saw a knowing bit of emotion in her eyes.
“Wow.” Ashley stopped, her eyes wide. “You’re all here.” Her throat grew too thick to speak, and she gave a few quick shakes of her head, her eyes downcast. She didn’t want to cry, but her heart couldn’t take more emotion than she’d already felt that day. Irvel dying, then this. In all her life she had never thought she’d have this moment, the chance to stand before her family and tell them the greatest news of her life. At first because of her own determination to avoid Landon, and later because of her affliction with HIV. But now . . .
Landon had taken her hand. He looked from Ashley’s dad to her mom and at the other faces at the table. “Cole . . .”
Her son—not quite six years old—gave Landon a little wave. “Grandma says you have a ’nouncement.”
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