If only they would consider meeting their brother.
Destiny. Chloe. Dillon. Three fathers, three lifetimes. Three heartbreaks, Tom and Andy of her own stupid doing but, Why Dillon, dear Lord? Why afflict him for all my mistakes?
Julia sank into the armchair Jack had indicated. She had no status here except as a supplicant. How would—or could—she ever say what needed to be said? I loved you enough to give you life. Now please, forgive me enough to share some of that life with my son.
Jack stopped his small talk midsentence. “Excuse me?”
Julia leaned to Destiny and whispered, “Did I say that out loud?”
“For the whole world to hear.”
“I didn’t quite catch that.” Jack stood up. “Could I ask you to repeat what you said?”
“Hey,” Destiny said. “Let’s chill. Get to know each other.”
“Mrs. Whittaker.” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”
“Jack. Please.” Chloe took his arm, tried to move him back to his chair.
Cold inched up Julia’s throat.
Patience.
Matt’s voice, because lately that was the only way she could hear God’s voice. Prayers in a dark closet, on the mountain top, in Matt’s car, in his arms, prayers in Jerusalem because, Lord, Your Son was born there and You let Him die so my son wouldn’t have to, so please hear me hear me hear me hear m—
“Come on,” Destiny said. “A little patience here.”
Jack kneeled next to Julia and took her hand. His was surprisingly large and warm. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Whittaker. We’re all a bit on edge. It’s such an . . . unexpected situation. May I get you a cup of tea?”
Suddenly Chloe was on her other side, slender fingers grasping Julia’s shoulder. “I’ll make you some coffee. Destiny says that’s what you like. Would that be okay? Or I could get you some orange juice or water.”
“Thank you,” Julia said. “I would like coffee.”
“I’ll help,” Destiny said and the two girls were off.
Jack sat back in his chair, making small talk with his lawyer with enough nods and glances at Julia to make sure she understood she could be part of the conversation if she cared to be.
She could barely breathe, let alone speak. She studied the room, tried to glean something of Chloe’s personality from the décor. Judging by the contemporary styling, either the girl was a professional designer—or a guest in her own home.
Susan Middlebrooks nodded at her. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Whittaker. You’ve been here ten minutes and I still haven’t thanked you.” Her voice was rich and confident, despite the tremble of her hands. “It must have been a difficult thing to do, to give my daughter up.”
Her daughter? Julia deserved that—she was the intruder here. These people must think that she was either a tramp or a fool to have gotten pregnant twice outside marriage and to have surrendered two children.
“I’m grateful,” Julia said. “For all you’ve done for Chloe.”
“Coffee’s ready.” Destiny stood in the doorway holding a tray of coffee mugs, sugar, and creamer. Chloe followed her into the room, coffee pot in hand. Jack and Mr. Metzler took cups, Mrs. Middlebrooks abstained. Chloe went back into the kitchen, returned with a glass of water for her mother.
Destiny poured for Julia, added three heaping teaspoons of sugar.
“No, thank you,” Julia said.
“Take it. You’re in full zombie mode,” she whispered. “So shut up, take it, and sharpen up.”
They drank in silence for a couple of minutes. Susan Middlebrooks took Chloe’s hand, lacing her fingers through her daughter’s.
Destiny tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. When her foot joined the rhythm, she put her mug on the coffee table and said, “Okay, people. I’ve got a flight to catch, a sweet private jet with leather seats and Wi-Fi. So maybe we could get the discussion going?”
That’s Tom coming through. Julia reminded herself that she was not the only one in the equation.
“Don’t everyone speak at once.” Destiny dinged her mug with a spoon. “What do you need to know about Julia that your cybercolonoscopy hasn’t told you?”
Jack shot her a dirty look. “We needed to make sure this is a fruitful meeting and not some sort of trap.”
“I understand,” Julia said. “Believe me—I understand.”
“This is counterproductive,” Chloe said. “It seems like it would be better for me to sit down with Julia by myself.” Without making eye contact, Jack shushed her with a touch of his hand.
Henry Metzler leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other. “Mrs. Whittaker, I apologize for what must look like a united front. Please understand, we have been approached more than once by people—claiming a family tie—who wanted to profit from the circumstances of Mrs. Deschene’s parents and her husband.”
Chloe swiveled to face her husband. “We have? Why didn’t you tell me? I would have wanted to know.”
Jack shrugged. “There was nothing for you to know. They were all scam artists. Criminals. Why would we expose you to any of that?”
“Because I’m your wife, Jack.”
He stared at her for a long moment before turning to Julia. “Mrs. Whittaker, we’re taking up time that should be devoted to you. What would help us get to know you better before you explain why you’ve made this trip?”
Julia fumbled in her bag for her iPad. “You’ve all had the pleasure of meeting Chloe’s sister. I’ve known Destiny for two days now—the day of her birth and yesterday. And I’ve been blessed.”
Destiny gave her a quick smile that faded as quickly as it had come. She knew why Julia was here and had studiously avoided the subject as they flew cross-country. Her silence on the matter was ominous.
“Chloe, you also have a brother. Dillon.”
“Your son with your husband,” Mrs. Middlebrooks said.
“Yes.” Julia handed her the iPad. “That’s Dillon—Chloe’s and Destiny’s half-brother—taken last month.”
Chloe peered over her mother’s shoulder, then glanced at Destiny. “He’s got our eyes.”
Destiny smirked. “Genetic manifest destiny, forgive the pun.”
“He looks like a nice boy,” Mrs. Middlebrooks said.
Julia launched into the spiel that felt more like a college essay than a mother preparing to plead for her son’s life. How creative Dillon was. The volunteer work at the hospital. The left-handedness and big feet that made him a constant visitor to the emergency room, stitches on his forehead, a broken wrist, and battered knees. And too many other visits to the clinics and ERs and how do I find mercy from all these people who assembled to guard Chloe from me?
Henry Metzler took the iPad. “What is the point of this, Mrs. Whittaker? What kind of help does Dillon need?”
“We’re all people of faith—”
Destiny folded her arms and whispered. “Do not speak globally on that.”
Something’s there, Julia realized. Something that needed tending, but Julia could only focus on one child at a time. The legitimate child—what a cruel term. Destiny and Chloe being born out of wedlock didn’t make them any less of God’s children, or her own.
And yet, the two girls had lifetimes ahead of them. Dillon—How long how long? Dear God, please make the sun stand still and make “not long” enough time.
“Dillon has had liver disease since he was born—”
Jack shot from his chair. “No.”
“—and he desperately needs a liver transplant—”
He crossed the room in a flash. “Get out.”
Chloe jumped up after him, pulled at his sleeve. “Jack, don’t.”
“Don’t you understand what she wants from you?”
“What is she saying?” Susan Middlebrooks looked at Henry Metzler, who gave Julia a stern look.
“Mrs. Whittaker,” he said. “This is extremely inappropriate.”
“—and we can’t find a compatible donor, and please unde
rstand, time is so short—”
Jack stood over Julia, fists clenched. “I said, get out.”
Destiny got between them. “And this is why I’m not a fan of you Christians. Because you’re all gooey-lovey when it looks good but when someone asks you to dig deep—”
“Dig deep? She wants my wife to donate part of her liver. Why not you, Destiny? You’re one of her bastards. Let her harvest you.”
“Jack! Stop it.” Chloe pushed into the mix and it all became a blur. Jack trying to get to Julia, Destiny pushing back at him, Chloe holding on to both, Mr. Metzler standing to the side as if ready to catch someone if they tumbled.
“Please.” Julia wanted to stand but she was blocked by the tangle. “Let me explain, please someone just let me explain.”
“Stop it.” Mrs. Middlebrooks stood, a dainty woman with a suddenly large voice. “All of you, sit down!”
Destiny backed away, hands up.
Jack glared at Julia. “Get—”
“Jackson Isaac Deschene, I won’t ask you again.” Mrs. Middlebrooks pointed to the sofa as if he were a child.
He is a child. All three of them were and she was asking them to do something that would be impossible for anyone—to honor blood ties that she had severed when she surrendered them to the Connors and to the Middlebrooks.
Chloe gave her a pained look and sat on the arm of Destiny’s chair. Jack seemed stranded in the middle of the room.
“I’m so sorry,” Julia said. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t such . . .” Her throat closed. The pain of going back to Dillon and Matt with no hope was impossible to bear.
“Tell me,” Chloe said. “Tell me and my sister what this means.”
“No,” Jack said. “We’re not listening to this.”
“You’re right. You are not listening to this.” Chloe stood. “I am. We’re going out. Destiny and Julia and I. And no one is coming with us.”
She gave Jack such a dark stare. Something’s there. Something that needed tending but first—
First, Dillon.
Monday, 11:13 a.m.
Chloe hadn’t splashed in a puddle in twelve years.
She used to jump with both feet, howl with laughter when she made the water fly. That made Father chuckle. Mother would wrinkle her brow and tell her to come inside and change those wet pants before she caught a devil of a cold.
When Chloe heard in church that the devil prowled like a hungry lion, she clung to her father and swore she’d never get her pants wet again.
It took him fifteen minutes to figure out what the fuss was about, another five to explain that a devil of a whatever was merely an unfortunate expression. He bought Chloe fisherman boots and a red rain slicker that was more watertight than a submarine. She had grown out of the boots years ago but she had kept them, cherished them as deeply as Mother cherished Father’s wedding ring.
This was a devil of a mess and a devil of a decision.
Chloe sat at a table in the park with Destiny and Julia, shivering under her ski jacket. She knew her own psychology, understood that she had been as protected as an orchid in the Arctic, and she had submitted willingly. The thing with WaveRunner was a diversion, just a form of entertainment. A place where she could go and pretend to be herself—whoever that was.
The appearance of Julia Whittaker had made her dual realities totter. And now her birth mother asked her to go into a dark unknown where there would be no pretending.
“So how much do they take?” Destiny said.
“A lobe.” Julia’s voice wavered. “Maybe a third of your liver.”
“It’ll grow back,” Chloe said. “The liver is one of the few organs that regenerates.”
Destiny poked her arm. “So you’re making her case for her?”
“I’m just giving the facts. What is the mortality rate, Mrs. Whittaker?”
“Please. Just call me Julia. This is hard enough.”
“So you’re the victim here?” Destiny said. “That’s a ha-and-a-half.”
“This is hard enough on all of us,” Chloe said. “Let’s just get the facts out and then we can discuss.”
“Do either of you know your blood type?” Julia said. “If you’re not type O, the discussion is irrelevant.”
“So we’re only relevant if we’ve got the right blood?” Destiny said.
“Stop it. She’s only trying to make it easier on us,” Chloe said.
“That’s her history. Get knocked up, pop out the kid, and sayonara until she needs a body part.” Destiny turned to Chloe. “How old were you when they told you that you were adopted?”
“Four or so,” Chloe said. Father had taken her for ice cream after church, told her so matter-of-factly that it rolled off her like rain. “Someone had adopted a little girl from China and my parents explained . . . the usual spiel. We chose you because you were special, la-di-dah and all that.”
Destiny leaned across the table, stare locked on Julia. “I was eleven because my mother didn’t have the guts to tell me before then. Or maybe she didn’t think I was special enough.”
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” Chloe said.
“I just want her to know that she’s not the only one who paid a price. We did too.”
Was that really true? Chloe wondered. She recognized the profound privilege the Middlebrooks name and money conferred on her, and she valued the deep love that her parents had showed her. Yet there was a void in not understanding why her birth mother had asked for a closed adoption—as if Chloe were something she needed to put behind her like she never happened.
Julia wrapped her hand over Chloe’s. “I’m sorry. This is so sudden. So bizarre.”
“If you say you’re sorry one more time,” Destiny said, “I’m taking Chloe and we’re leaving.”
“Don’t speak globally on that,” Chloe said, drawing a laugh from her sister. “I don’t know my blood type, Mrs. Whi—Julia. I’ve never had surgery. And I’m ashamed to say I never seem to have time to donate blood.”
“And you’re going to have time to donate part of your liver?” Destiny said. “How long will we miss work if we do this? And remember—this is not a discussion about donating. This is merely us considering whether we’ll even have a blood test. Right, Chloe?”
“We’re still in the discovery phase.” Chloe wrapped her fingers around her sister’s arm. So strange, so wonderful to have a sister. Especially one who said what she thought, even when it’s contrary.
It was the silence at home that drove her to seek friends elsewhere. She had been taught to be always polite and forward-looking. Didn’t Jack ever feel compelled to move beyond the boundaries? That was what marriage should be—a growing out of yourselves, two halves becoming a new and wonderful whole.
Too often it felt like Jack had adopted Chloe rather than married her.
“I gave blood once,” Destiny said. “A friend was in a terrible accident on the 405. He was in surgery forever. A crew of us went down to the Red Cross because we didn’t know anything else we could do. I was so freaked, it never occurred to me to ask what my type was. We thought that giving our blood would somehow shift fate into his favor.”
“What happened?” Julia said.
“What do you think? The whole blood thing was stupid. He died.”
“So what is the mortality rate?” Chloe asked.
Julia dropped her gaze. “It’s zero point five percent.”
“And that means . . . ?” Destiny said.
Chloe did the math. “Five people out of a thousand die.”
“The odds are much better when the donor is younger,” Julia said. “And you would be given a comprehensive checkup before.”
“And what about after,” Destiny said. “How long will we be out of work? Or in Einstein’s case here, school?”
“One to two months. Matt and I understand it would be a hardship for any donor. Legally, we can’t compensate for donation, but we can provide living expenses.”
“It’s not about the money,” Destiny said. “I have a career. Missing a couple months . . . people will slide into my place and I might not get back in the stack.”
Two months. That might as well be two lifetimes in terms of Jack’s plan. If Chloe missed the next semester, she could kiss her scheduled start of medical school good-bye.
And would that be a bad thing? Perhaps she would give a portion of her liver just to get some breathing space. What a ghastly thought. How could Jack or Mother—or God—forgive such persistent ingratitude?
“Two months of your life,” Julia said. “Two months gives Dillon a chance to go to college. He’s bright, Chloe, like you. Two months gives Dillon a chance to have a career. Someday, Destiny, someday the two of you could make films together. He’s like you. So creative, so full of life. Two months gives your brother a lifetime.”
Destiny cursed, shot to her feet, and stomped away. The bushes in the park were barren, the grass a hazy brown. The white Christmas lights that had seemed so cheerful a few hours ago now seemed futile.
Without their help, Dillon Whittaker could be dead before the dogwood trees bloomed in the spring. If he was as sick as Julia described, he must be high on the transplant list. Maybe today would be the day that someone with type-O blood died.
Maybe that death, that sacrifice, would spare Destiny and Chloe from having to make a decision. This was an impossible situation. Even the most merciful heart would balk at this request.
Destiny circled back to the table. “If we say no . . . we’re the worst kind of sludge.”
“If you would just consider being tested today,” Julia said. “We can see if any of the pain of taking the next step is even necessary.”
“And no one you know has qualified?” Chloe said. “How is that possible?”
“You think I’m not asking that question?” Julia slapped her hand on the table. “You think I’m not shouting at God that this is just so totally wrong and cruel? Neither Matt nor I have type-O blood, and our friends and family members who volunteered and do have type O have unusual complications—too many tattoos, a history of cancer, a surprise pregnancy.”
“Ah, the fateful surprise pregnancy,” Destiny said.
To Know You (9781401688684) Page 10