Man of His Word

by Cynthia Reese

  “No. No, I’m sure there’s more,” Kimberly insisted. “Like what she looked like, or how you remembered what sort of car she was driving, and maybe she told you something that would help us locate her? And her parents? I mean, she was sixteen, she had to have parents—” Kimberly’s throat, thick with emotion, closed up on her and she couldn’t go on.

  Daniel rubbed his mouth. He fingered the photo of him and Marissa as an infant. Kimberly could see him weigh a decision in his mind.

  “Kimberly—may I call you Kimberly?” When she nodded, he continued, “I realize the not knowing is probably tough on the both of you. But have you really thought through whether this is a good idea?”

  Now Kimberly’s alarm turned to anger. “A good idea? My daughter desperately needs to find out about her birth mother—and anything she can about her medical history. She has a—a—” Again she choked on her words. She worked through her emotions, trying not to be the stereotypical hysterical female that would be all too easy for Daniel to dismiss.

  Daniel sat back in his chair, his eyes focused on her with unwavering attention. Sounds of the firefighters working to restore equipment filtered into his office, but he said nothing while he waited on her to compose herself. She appreciated that. He didn’t rush her. She was sure he had loads to do, and this was his day off, after all, but she could sense no impatience on his part.

  “So...I take it,” he said finally, “this isn’t just idle curiosity, this reason you’re searching for Marissa’s birth mother? Because, I have to tell you, state law says her birth mother should remain anonymous. That’s the deal—healthy baby surrendered in a safe and approved way in exchange for anonymity and no child-endangerment charges.”

  Kimberly let out a breath. Did he need a good reason to give her the information? Well, she had a jam-up one.

  “No, it’s not just idle curiosity. Not at all,” she said. “Marissa has a life-threatening bleeding disorder, and her hem/onc—her hematologist-oncologist team in Atlanta—need to know everything they can. So please, please, any scrap you could give us, any way that we could track down her birth mother... It could mean the difference between life or death for Marissa.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DANIEL SUPPRESSED AN inward groan at Kimberly’s revelation. For a moment, he looked past her out the half pane of glass in his office door to the open back door and the yard beyond.

  There was Marissa, wrangling fire hoses with Bobbi. She looked strong and healthy and practically glowed with enthusiasm and energy.

  This kid’s sick?

  “You don’t mean... Like what? Leukemia or something?” he asked.

  Kimberly shook her head. “No, not a blood disorder. A bleeding disorder. Her blood doesn’t clot properly. Well, it doesn’t stay clotted properly.”

  He tried to work out what she was saying. “But I thought—call me a doofus—but I thought only boys could get hemophilia.”

  Kimberly rewarded him with a patient smile. “No, not at all. I mean—not to get too technical, but there’s more than one sort of bleeding disorder. Girls can get certain kinds, too. And Marissa is one of the unlucky ones.”

  He leaned back in his chair, considering this new information and how it impacted his promise to Miriam.

  Miriam.

  He was flooded with an image of her little finger winding around his over the white sheet of her hospital bed, after he’d refused to bust her out of the hospital so she could run away...

  “Daniel, you’ve got to promise,” she’d said. “Pinkie promise. You can’t tell anybody here who I am. Not anybody, because then he’ll find her, and he...he can’t.” The girl’s eyes had flooded with tears. “He just can’t. I want her safe, and away from him, and the only way is if they don’t know who I am. So...pinkie promise?”

  At the time, he’d thought it a sad testimony that a girl who’d given birth was still young enough to use the phrase pinkie promise and believe in its power. He’d been inclined to not make that promise...until she’d blurted out the whole story, and until he’d clapped eyes on Uriel Hostetler.

  And then he’d promised. Not a pinkie promise. A solemn oath...

  “Are you listening to a word I’m saying? You look as though you’re a million miles away!”

  Kimberly’s accusation hit the nail on the head. “I’m sorry. I was just... She looks so healthy.”

  Kimberly craned her head around in the direction he’d been staring and caught sight of Marissa. Her anger at him crumpled—he could see it in the way her eyes welled up with tears, which she blinked back.

  “She does, doesn’t she?” Kimberly whispered. “You’ve got to help us.”

  Daniel stood, stared out his office window at the cars going past. Listened for a moment to the cheerful ribbing between the firefighters.

  It was that ribbing that made him decide. All that protected those men was their training and their promises to each other. After all was said and done, that was what a man was: his promise.

  Daniel turned back to face her. She deserved that, at least. “Look...I want to.”

  “I hear a but.”

  He nodded. “You hear right. I’m in a jam. Legally, I can’t. Like I said, it’s a violation of the law for me to tell you anything that could identify her. Not just the laws that protect patient privacy—but the safe-haven law, too. The birth mother has to waive that right.”

  Whatever softness had been in Kimberly’s face hardened with frustration. “But that’s the point! I’m sure she would if she knew we needed her help. I’m not asking for anything else, only her medical history.”

  But so fast that he almost missed it, he saw Kimberly slide her middle finger across her index finger. He gave her a pointed look. “Really? Because somehow I don’t believe that.”

  Kimberly’s face pinked. He found himself liking the way she found it difficult to lie. “It’s all I want. I can’t say the same for Marissa. I’m not sure what she would want to know about her birth mother.”

  Daniel rubbed his jaw. The weariness of the day was catching up with him. Tomorrow he’d be back on schedule, back to figuring out exactly what being chief meant after his sudden promotion. He didn’t think he had the energy to sort out the ethical conundrum of Kimberly’s request. He’d made a promise, and besides that, the law said he couldn’t give her the answers she wanted.

  “Isn’t there some other way to find out the information that you need? I mean, this is the age of genetic testing, where they can do anything in the lab. What could her family history tell you that the tests can’t?”

  “That’s just it—that genetic testing.” Kimberly scooched up to the edge of the chair, eager to plead her case. “This bleeding disorder is a mystery. It’s so rare, Daniel. The doctors don’t know for sure what it is. They’ve run almost every test there is out there, and there’s...well, nothing. Apart from one other test—one level of her blood. It’s called a PAI-1 test—”

  “Pie? Like an apple pie?” He couldn’t stop the chuckle that sprang to his lips. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh—”

  She grinned back at him, and Daniel realized how much sunshine her smile brought into the room. It was a beautiful smile.

  “No, I said the exact same thing when I first heard it. It stands for plasminogen activator inhibitor—P-A-I. It’s a... Well, okay—” Now Kimberly stood, too, her body restless as she began to pace in front of his desk. “Your blood is like a jigsaw puzzle. It’s got lots of different pieces that have to fall into place if it’s going to clot—and stay clotted. If one of those pieces is missing or doesn’t work right, well...”

  “And Marissa is missing this PAI-1?”

  “They don’t know. Her hem/onc says the test isn’t conclusive, but it’s his best guess. The only way that they can conclusively diagnose it is through a DNA test or through a family history.”

  “So you can do a DNA test, then.” A huge wave of relief swept over Daniel. He had an out.

  “Oh, we could.” Kimberly�
�s mouth twisted. “But the only labs that can do the DNA testing are in Europe...and our insurance won’t cover it. I’ve begged them...and they refuse.”

  The relief turned sour in his stomach. “That’s...that’s too bad.”

  “Besides that, her doctors say that inherited bleeding disorders are variable. Some are severe, some not so much. But if there’s a family history...well, you can predict the course of it better. You know, like how she’d respond to surgery or trauma. I— Her doctors don’t know.”

  She was fighting like all get-out not to cry, and he was impressed by that. Her grief and worry skewered Daniel, much as his mother’s had in the days following his father’s injury and death. And he understood then how Kimberly had known to worry about that car accident on the interstate. She’d imagined the worst a thousand times already.

  But he’d given away his promise. And it had been for a very good reason, or at least he’d thought so at the time.

  He walked around the desk and let himself be bold enough to give her the briefest touch on her upper arm. The contact felt more intimate than he’d meant it to, maybe because the warm silkiness of her skin tempted his fingertips to linger.

  But she didn’t protest. She stared up at him, her lips parted in an unspoken plea.

  “I am sorry,” Daniel told her. “I can’t.”

  Kimberly whirled away from him and was halfway to the door before she accused over her shoulder, “You mean, you won’t.”

  With that, she yanked open the door, intent on leaving.

  Then she paused. Took a deep breath that he could see move through her slim body. Stared at him with those pleading eyes again.

  “We’re staying at the La Quinta near the interstate. Room 209. If you change your mind.”

  Then she was out the door and across the firehouse to retrieve Marissa.

  Marissa, the baby he’d already said goodbye to once before.

  Daniel collapsed into the office chair in front of his desk and picked up the photo of him and Marissa. In his mind’s eye, he could see the bruises flowering against her pale baby skin, and he knew those memories gave credence to what Kimberly had told him.

  With fingers that shook ever so slightly, he slid the photo out of the frame and watched as a slip of paper fluttered onto his lap.

  The handwriting in the ballpoint ink was shaky, but still held a sixteen-year-old’s flourishes, the hearts over the i’s, the loopy M.

  Miriam Graber—born on September 19, 1986.

  She’d added a phone number and an address, but Daniel had discovered that both were bogus when he’d called to check on her. So maybe the birth date was, too.

  Still.

  A quick online search would probably turn up a short list of possible Miriams. And if she’d gone back to her family—who’d been bent on returning to the Indiana Amish community where they’d come from—it couldn’t be that hard to find her. There had to be some roll or register or paperwork somewhere. Census records, maybe? And now that she was an adult, maybe even voter registration lists?

  He could do it.

  Daniel stared from the paper to his computer. Considered.

  Then he folded the paper and put it back behind the photo and the photo back in the frame.

  Because there was nothing that said he had to do it right now.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  KIMBERLY’S HEAD ACHED as the hotel room’s television blared out canned laughter from cartoon reruns that Marissa had watched a thousand times before. Yeah, it would be great if our problems could be solved in a half hour minus commercials.

  She stared down at the list she was trying to make and attempted to focus on it.

  People who might know something:

  EMTs who responded

  Police who responded

  Emergency room staff

  Newspaper reporter

  Former fire chief

  The person who took the picture of Daniel and Marissa

  Daniel. He knew something. He was hiding some key piece of information.

  The laughter blared out again. Marissa slurped loudly from the fast-food drink she still had from lunch and completely demolished whatever little focus Kimberly had managed to muster.

  Kimberly whipped her head around, ready to snap at her daughter to turn the television down and throw the cup away already when she took in Marissa’s expression as the girl seemed to gaze at some point in the distance.

  Marissa was stretched out, belly flat on the turned-back duvet, her chin propped on one hand and the empty cup in her other. Her eyes were wistful. Sad. She wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to the TV.

  Kimberly pushed her chair back from the unsteady laminate table and crossed the room to switch off the television. Marissa didn’t even complain.

  When she sat down beside her, Marissa jumped slightly. “Oh, sorry!” she mumbled. “I was thinking.”

  “I can see that. What’s on your mind?”

  “I just... Well, I just thought I’d know by now. You know. Why.”

  The whole search for a family medical history had been a Pandora’s box, as far as Kimberly could see it. She’d waited as long as she could, fought the insurance company on appeal after appeal. But when that didn’t pan out, she knew she had to try to find another way to get that diagnosis.

  Finding that diagnosis meant finding the girl who had given up Marissa. The prospect had filled Marissa with all sorts of conflicting emotions that Kimberly wished she could spare her daughter.

  She squeezed Marissa’s arm gently. “I know, honey. I thought so, too.”

  “We’re never gonna find her, are we?” Marissa flopped over and stared up at the ceiling. “And the doctors are just gonna keep poking me and doing test after test after test and you’re never gonna know what’s wrong with me. And...I’m never gonna know why.”

  Kimberly’s throat closed up. She could barely breathe, much less swallow past the lump that had formed there.

  Be the parent. Be the grown-up.

  “Chin up,” she told Marissa in what she hoped was a brighter voice than she felt. “We’re not out of hope yet. I’m making a list of everybody who might know something.”

  Marissa giggled, her nose wrinkling and her eyes crinkling up. “You and your lists.”

  “Don’t poke fun. They work.”

  “So let’s get started, then. Go bang on some doors. Anything is better than being holed up in this dump.” Marissa exploded off the bed and started a search for her shoes. A loud dull thunk resounded from the bed’s wooden toe-kick. “Ow! I stubbed my toe!”

  “What? Is it—” Kimberly forced herself to stay calm. “Are you hurt?” She tried to ask this casually, as if she was a normal mom with a normal kid.

  “Yes, I’m hurt! It hurts really bad—” Marissa hopped on one leg back to the bed, where she examined her toe. Kimberly could see no sign of injury.

  The bruise would come later. And it would tell the story.

  “Relax, Mom. It’s okay. Nobody ever died from a stubbed toe, it just hurts. Normal kid hurt, okay? No need to get all worked up. Why do they put that under there anyway?”

  “To make it easier to clean up—if it’s blocked off, nobody can put anything under the bed,” Kimberly told her. She rose. “I don’t know if we can find anyone—”

  “You mean, like a body? That would be creepy, wouldn’t it? Finding a body under the bed?” She shuddered dramatically.

  Kimberly succumbed to the temptation of a heavenward gaze and shook her head. “I think they had in mind something more like dust bunnies or an absentminded eleven-year-old’s flip-flops. Like I was saying, it’s almost five o’clock, so I’m not sure what we can get accomplished today. Are you ready for some dinner somewhere?”

  “I so can’t believe I’m asking this.” Marissa shook her head in doleful disbelief. “And if you put this on Facebook, I will deny it to my dying day. But can we go somewhere that’s not fast food? I miss real food. I miss you making me eat my vegetab
les. Can we go somewhere with some broccoli or something so that I can eat it and gag, and then enjoy a hamburger again?”

  Marissa’s crooked little grin warmed Kimberly.

  “Sure. Open that drawer there and hand me the phone book—”

  But her request was interrupted by a knock on the door. They exchanged glances. Marissa held up her hands and in playful mock seriousness pronounced, “I didn’t do nothin’.”

  Kimberly stepped to the door and stared through the peephole.

  Daniel.

  With shaking fingers, she unbolted the security lock and swung the door wide to allow the fire chief entry. “Daniel! I—I honestly wasn’t expecting you. Uh, come in!”

  He didn’t budge from the threshold. Instead, he rested one hand on the doorjamb and shuffled a work-boot-clad foot before he said, “Actually...I just came by to— Uh, I was wondering. Would you two care for some supper?”

  Kimberly was gobsmacked by the invitation. Was this his way of gearing up to tell them who Marissa’s birth mother was? Her thoughts were so weighed down with a blur of questions and pulsating hope that she couldn’t even give him an answer.

  “Is it fast food?” Marissa blurted into the silence.

  Regret etched his features. His rangy frame began turning away, as if they’d said no. “Uh, no. I wasn’t thinking of something quick. Sorry, I guess I didn’t consider what a kid might like to eat. I’ll leave you two to your—”

  “I’m in!” Marissa bounced off the bed, the total antithesis of the pensive child she’d been a few minutes before. “Mom? You need your purse?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  FOR THE FIRST few minutes in the truck, silence reigned. Yes, Daniel had switched off the radio as it blared a staticky sports talk show when they’d driven out of the parking lot, but after that, he didn’t offer much in the way of small talk.

  The way he drove, his strong hands lightly gripping the steering wheel at precisely ten o’clock and two o’clock, his eyes flicking between the rearview mirror and the road ahead, the speedometer never straying above the posted speed limit, didn’t encourage Kimberly to attempt any conversation.