“Is Luke there? I’d love to say hi.”
Destiny held her smile, felt the strain behind her ears. Her parents were fond of Luke but hated their living arrangements, so this rift would be no disappointment. “No, he’s working. Why?”
“I wanted to ask him to keep an eye on you.”
“He will. Now I have to go.”
“I love you and I’ll pray for you.”
“Love you too.”
Destiny gave her a wide smile, the one she had inherited from Thomas Bryant. She wants a piece of my liver, Mom. “Tell Dad and Sophie I said dittos on them.”
“You sure?”
“Sure that I love them?”
She wants me to save the kid she picked, Mom. The kid she chose instead of me.
“Sure you don’t want me to come out there, work this through?”
“Nothing to it. Now say bye-bye, Mom.”
Melanie blew a kiss at the screen. Destiny pretended to catch it and pin it to her cheek. Then she shut her laptop.
Mom praying for her every day. Luke would be impressed.
What was it that Julia said? Every day I wake up and say a prayer of thanks for—For Matt. For Dillon. For Destiny.
For hope. Or was it—for Hope?
Destiny found Julia’s cell number. When Julia answered, Destiny said, “Who is Hope?”
“Ah. Hope. Hmm.”
“Hmm what?”
“Hope—her name is Chloe now—is seventeen months younger than you.”
“You and Tom got back together?”
“No. She . . .” Julia exhaled. “There was a different guy.”
Why, you little tramp. “Where does Chloe live?”
“North Carolina.”
“Are you going to ask her for a liver too?”
“Not the whole thing, Destiny. Just a lobe.”
“Are you?”
“I wouldn’t be doing this if we had other options.”
“I’m sorry,” Destiny said.
“I’m sorry too. I know this is a terrible thing to do to you, and to Hope. If you could just think about it.”
“I will think about it. On one condition.”
“Anything,” Julia said. “Name it.”
“Take me with you. Take me to meet my sister.”
Three
North Carolina
Sunday, 11:14 p.m.
Chloe and Jack Deschene had a schedule, and he made sure they stuck to it.
“It’s the only way we can get things done,” he would say. “The curse of the overachievers.”
She would smile that he saw overachievement as a blessing and not a curse.
They had vigorous majors, Jack in economics and finance, and Chloe in premed. Their schedule decreed law school for him, medical school for her. He’d go for the doctorate while she did medical school, and he’d do his fellowship in applied economics while she did her residency.
By the time they were thirty, she would be a pediatrician and he would be assisting third-world nations in protecting their economies from corruption. By the time they were thirty-two, Jack and Chloe would have one house, two careers, and the first of two children.
“Will we have time to catch an occasional movie or go out to eat?” Chloe asked.
“Absolutely,” he said. “We’ll go to the theatre, volunteer at church, walk the dog—”
“We don’t have a dog,” Chloe said, tickling his chest. He was sensitive in the oddest places. “I bet you’ve got one picked out.”
Jack laughed. “Everyone knows golden retrievers make the best family dog. The shedding is an issue, however, so we may have to go Labrador. The only downside there is that they tend to be hyper.”
“And we’re not hyper?”
“Maybe a tad.” He nibbled her ear. She loved him and his schedules, and believed him when he promised they’d even break routine once in a while.
So she submitted to the schedule because if she didn’t, she would get lost in her machines and miss all the obligatory premed courses and the daily workout and the family devotions she and Jack shared while the pasta cooked for supper.
The schedule decreed bedtime by 11:00 p.m., no exceptions, because the demand on their minds and bodies were so heavy. She started her nightly routine at twenty minutes before the hour, brushing hair and teeth, plastering body lotion on her legs and arms and sometimes—rarely now—her husband would do that for her and they’d fall into a gentle lovemaking.
Because if another moment of Chloe’s life was scheduled, she’d scream.
That would wake up Jack, wake up her mother who believed nothing bad could happen to her little girl, wake up all Chloe’s professors who said she had such promise. What good is a promise when you don’t get to unleash it?
She’d found another way of letting go.
Into bed at eleven tonight, like every night. She felt Jack’s muscles unwind without touching him and listened as his breathing simmered into the gentlest of whuffs.
He was asleep and it was time for her to come awake. Awake and so off-schedule.
Chloe trudged into the bathroom, waited to see if Jack stirred. She made a moderate show of washing her hands. If he turned in the bed that meant it was too early.
He stayed in his dreams, curled on his side, with his hands clenched under his chin.
She crept down the hall, stopped in the office to grab her computer, then scooted into the kitchen. They lived in a four-thousand-square-foot townhouse their parents had bought them. They lived in a gated community with twenty-four-hour security because Mother insisted.
Chloe sat at the island, her screen tilted so if Jack got up, he would think she was designing an experimental protocol.
Studying was his passion, and hers too. Not book work or design-of-experiment meetings. Whenever possible, she built things. There was something satisfying in understanding how something worked from the inside out. Though Jack said she should probably stop fussing with wires and pumps, she didn’t want to.
Her father had built powerful jet engines and sleek passenger planes. Chloe had inherited that passion—perhaps through osmosis since it couldn’t be genetic. She sometimes ached to get hands-on with life instead of seeing it filtered through textbooks and lab equipment and Jack’s plan.
That passion leaked into unexpected places, like a magma flow trapped under stone, needing to find a vent. Perhaps she’d been venting a little too often this semester. It had been a tough one. Jack had been consumed with writing his thesis while she struggled with scheduling her volunteer work, laboratory research, and med school interviews. They went to church on Wednesday night for Bible study and Sunday for worship, because that’s what the schedule said.
Chloe had her own schedule, one she enjoyed with a glass—or two—of white wine. She stashed it behind the gallon of olive oil and the oversized bottle of balsamic vinegar Jack had insisted on buying at the warehouse store because it was a good deal and we can make our own salad dressing.
Opening her computer, Chloe typed in the URL. She knew enough not to keep it as a favorite even though Jack was a measured gentleman who would never snoop.
www.talkatnight.com
Like opening a door. Opening a door and looking at the world outside her walls.
She typed in her username: Hands_On. She had meant it innocently because she loved protocols where she got to build an experiment with her hands. It quickly had been perceived as profane—something that absolutely disgusted her. She blocked everyone but the few who showed some soul and intelligence in their night talking.
Tonight she sought out one special user, found him in his virtual garden that bloomed as a background in her screen as soon as he accepted her invitation to chat.
WAVERUNNER: You’re late. Tough day?
She appreciated that he didn’t type in shorthand; that implied he also logged on from a laptop and was facile enough to keep up conversing like adults and not stupid kids.
HANDS _ ON: Only 2 minutes. You missed
me?
WAVERUNNER: Maybe.
HANDS _ ON: Just maybe?
WAVERUNNER: You might be a tad more interesting than my crewmates. Just a tad.
WaveRunner was the tech officer for a large commercial fishing vessel that sailed off the Grand Banks. He and Chloe had stumbled into an online friendship when they connected in a chat forum about mechanical engineering. She liked his life; the notion of keeping a large boat on course in dangerous waters appealed to her dueling sense of order and risk.
WAVERUNNER: What did you do today?
She launched into a detailed discussion—not about the disease model that she labored over in her research, but about taking apart the sampling machine and clearing the pump. WaveRunner actually listened, thought about what she said, and replied with intelligence and encouragement.
When she finished, he gave her an account of how he climbed inside a steering console and was stuck there for hours while he traced a faulty circuit. The alarms hadn’t rung to warn of a problem because a rat had chewed through a nest of cables. The backup to the backup hadn’t been programmed correctly and never kicked in.
WAVERUNNER: I worked flat on my back into the evening until I got it all replaced.
HANDS _ ON: Are you ok?
WAVERUNNER: Yeah
HANDS _ ON: Really? You’re not a gymnast, you know.
WAVERUNNER: OK, so maybe my neck is a little stiff. A lot stiff actually.
Chloe paused, like she always did in this moment. She had to be true to herself, didn’t she? Before she could please Jack and Jesus and everyone else, she had to have this little amusement in her life. Or she’d go nuts.
Her fingers tingled as she typed.
HANDS _ ON: If I were there, I could rub out the knots.
WAVERUNNER: What an awesome thought. If you were here . . . I would show you the stars like you’d never seen them. Hold your hand, if that would be ok with you.
WaveRunner’s hands would be calloused and strong, with clean nails and maybe a smudge of grease on the back on his right hand. As Father aged, his hands softened—he was a CEO who had forgotten how to build the jet engines that had made his family fabulously wealthy.
Someday, he used to say. Someday I’ll get my hands dirty again.
Jack’s hand was the first she’d ever held and his kiss the first she’d ever tasted. She liked his steadiness, his respect, his dreams, his schedule. But magma flowed beneath the surface, and that foundation trembled.
HANDS _ ON: I think that would be more than ok.
WAVERUNNER: It’s icy out there tonight. I would have to be a gentleman, hold you close so you’d be warm. Share my coat.
HANDS _ ON: I wouldn’t say no to that either.
What would she say no to? Chloe had never had the freedom to find out. In her mother’s, and then Jack’s, scheduling of her time and talents, they had programmed in goodness and steadfastness because there was no time for fervor or risk.
When they finally signed off, she climbed into bed and snaked her arms around Jack’s chest. She roused him to a half sleep and tried to imagine making love under the stars.
Stars weren’t on the schedule tonight.
Los Angeles
Sunday, 9:35 p.m.
Julia paced the private terminal and FaceTimed with Matt. “God forgive me,” she said. “I don’t think I like her very much.”
“You must have made some connection. She agreed to come with you.”
Matt slouched in an orange chair in the hospital’s waiting room. His eyes were puffy and, as trim as he was, he seemed to have grown jowls overnight. Even with all the stress, he had managed to book her a suite at the Hilton in Durham. He knew she would need time and space to decompress once they got to North Carolina.
Bless him for his attention to detail. Except when it came to his own well-being. “I don’t like the way you look,” she said.
He gave her the closest thing to a leer she knew he could manage. “I love the way you look. From head to toe to—”
“Don’t change the subject. Has anyone checked your blood pressure?”
“This isn’t the time to be worrying about me,” he said. “And yes, Dr. Annie took it because she thought I looked like a baked potato. It was 130 over 85.”
“High.”
“Normal for a guy my age.”
“What was Dillon’s last pressure?”
“Since two minutes ago when you asked me? Why don’t I ask the IT guy to stream his numbers online for you?”
“Could you?” She meant it as a joke. The desperation was unplanned, a near constant.
“Julia!”
She paced to the windows and back to the check-in desk. “I can’t bear being away, Matt.”
“I know, Julia. I know.”
She pressed her forehead to the screen, wishing God would open up time and space—just for a minute—so she could step into Dillon’s hospital room and hug him until he yelled, “Uck, Mom! Will you stop already?”
The early morning flight from Dallas to Burbank had been a blur. She thanked God that the jet they rented was available this week. At least she hadn’t had to battle through checking luggage and boarding.
“I don’t know what to make of her,” she said. “She’s edged with attitude and wears rebellion like some women wear those Louboutins.”
Matt raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like a snapshot of one Julia McCord.”
“You got it.” Julia laughed. “Not that I could tell her that. I suspect no one can tell her anything.”
“You’re worried about her not giving you a chance, not getting to know you. Remember that you need to know her too.”
“I’m afraid I already do. That’s what scares me.” Yesterday Julia had seen Destiny’s anger, a shade of her own. Destiny had been wild in the womb, Hope—no, she was Chloe now—Chloe had been quiet, as if not wanting to be noticed. It had been the second daughter—the second heartbreak—that opened the door to God.
From the moment Julia had said yes to Jesus, she had prayed for her daughters’ adoptive parents. Now she knew their names and a bit of their history. Google gave up its secrets in seconds.
Melanie and William Connors. Both semipublic personas, well-regarded in their circles, active in their church. Destiny had a sister named Sophie, whose name appeared in regional gymnastic meets. Destiny had many film credits as crew and some precious ones in design.
Susan and John Middlebrooks. He had been owner and president of Middlebrooks Avionics until he died a decade ago. Mrs. Middlebrooks was active in charities and ministries. Chloe had received many academic honors, as did her husband. She had no siblings.
Perhaps she’d take kindly to meeting an older birth-sibling.
God couldn’t have found better families for her babies. Stable, accomplished parents. And yet—
“If only . . . ,” Julia said.
“What? Talk to me.”
“If only we could have had more children.”
“Sweetheart, don’t start. We have the family God gave us.”
How could she help but blame herself? Julia had waited too long after enduring all the drama around Dillon’s birth. And when she was finally ready to bear Matt a second child, endometriosis made her uterus inhospitable.
“If only you had been their father.”
Matt leaned in to his screen so his lips were just a whisper away. “God’s will, not mine. You did right by them.”
“Does she know that?” Julia wandered to the window overlooking the parking lot. Nothing stirred outside except a shiver of palm leaves. “Matt, what if she doesn’t come?”
“She’ll come.”
“How do you know?”
“She left home two months after she graduated high school and apparently never looked back.”
“Which proves she’s independent.”
“Or . . . she’s looking for something.”
“I just don’t—” Julia’s breath caught as a single headlight flashed in her peripheral v
ision. “She’s here, gotta go.”
“Wait, wait! Show me. All I’ve seen is the license photo.”
Julia turned the phone to the parking lot. Hopefully Destiny wouldn’t catch the camera action. “That’s her, getting off the motorcycle. With the bright-red helmet.”
“She’s got an eye for color,” Matt said.
Destiny took off her helmet, locked it into a box on the back of the bike. She shook out her rich, black hair and headed for the terminal.
“Wow,” Matt said. “She looks a lot like you. And yet, nothing like you. That’s weird.”
“I have to go. Hug our boy for me.”
“Tight as he’ll let me.”
As Destiny neared the door, she spotted Julia and gave her a nod. And then a frown.
“Matt?”
“Yeah?”
“God help me,” Julia said, trying not to wilt under her daughter’s gaze. “I don’t think she likes me much either.”
“I expected a puddle jumper,” Destiny said as the security guard escorted them to the jet. “A Falcon 900 is a sweet ride.”
“You’re up on private planes?” Julia said.
Destiny laughed. “It’s Los Angeles. I’m up on everything excessive and expensive.”
Julia checked her watch. Even if they caught a tail wind, they’d arrive in North Carolina in the middle of the night. Matt had begged her to let him call, see if he could set up some sort of meeting for the following day. Julia had absolutely refused. That left too much room for the girl to decline.
If she lost Chloe, Destiny would back out of the trip.
A surprise visit would at least give Julia a chance to see her. Maybe Destiny’s presence would be incentive for both girls to be patient and get to know each other.
If they knew Julia better, maybe they’d trust her enough to at least get tested. One step at a time—if only she didn’t need to be quick-stepping this.
Their pilot appeared from the front of the plane. Sally Jeffries was a veteran of American Airlines and a member of the church where the Whittakers worshipped. Matt had asked specifically for her. Her presence on the trip would be a comfort.
Julia gave her a quick hug, then settled back in her seat. She ached to her marrow, absolutely had to get some sleep before meeting Chloe.
To Know You (9781401688684) Page 5