After they’d dropped Darcy and Barrett at an ice-skating rink with the other young people from church, she begged Glenn to turn around and go home. When he refused, she pleaded, “Please don’t tell them.” She even cried. But he turned stubborn and said, “We need their support, Cyn. That’s what churches do for their members. They support them. I’m asking for prayer tonight and that’s that.”
So now she sat beside Glenn on their regular fifth-from-the-front, right-side-of-the-aisle pew. Her Bible lay open in her lap to one of her favorite passages in the book of James. She stared at the words, but they didn’t reach her the way they always had before. Her pulse thudded worse than a herd of stampeding cattle, drowning out the minister’s voice. Cold sweat formed on her back. Her muscles trembled. Glenn slid his arm across the back of the pew and draped his hand over her shoulder. A familiar gesture, one she’d always responded to by either twining her fingers through his or pressing more snugly beneath his arm. Tonight the light weight of his hand seemed cloying. She shrugged, and he moved it.
She glanced at her cell phone, which she’d placed on top of her purse on the pew beside her. She’d turned the volume off. No matter how eager she was to communicate with Mr. Mallory, she wouldn’t let it intrude on Bible study or prayer. But its glowing face showed the time. In a few more minutes the Bible study portion of the evening would end and the minister would ask about the prayer needs of the congregation. Her stomach writhed. What would her church family think of her once they heard Glenn’s request?
Years ago, as a newly married couple, they’d shared their testimonies with this congregation. Their stories were so similar—growing up in angry, dysfunctional homes, battling feelings of worthlessness, attending classes for relatives of alcoholics, and meeting a Savior who loved them and wanted to give them a better future. The church people had clapped, accepted them into membership, and afterward had come up and congratulated them for choosing not to follow in their parents’ footsteps.
Back then she hadn’t confessed to giving birth to an out-of-wedlock child. Not once had she mentioned it to her pastor, her Sunday school teacher, a deacon, or any of the friends they’d made. Only Glenn had known. But now—because Glenn insisted they needed their church family’s support—everyone would know. Would they clap and congratulate her, or would they gape at her in shock and disappointment?
system. Katie was three when she joined the family, and she’s twenty-one—no, twenty-two—now. Her birth mother, Erica, came looking for her shortly after she turned eighteen. At first we weren’t too sure if it would be a good idea for Katie to get to know her birth mom. After all, the state had taken Katie and her siblings away from Erica for good reasons. Plus, by then my sister had pretty much forgotten that Katie had ever been anybody’s daughter but hers, and she wasn’t at all happy about some other mom stepping on her toes.
“I won’t lie to you. It was tough for a while. Lots of tension and conflict. Especially between Terri and her husband, because they didn’t agree at all about what should be done. But it turned out to be a blessing. Katie got to know her birth brother and sister and their families. She and Erica became friends, and my sister is even friends with Erica now.” He paused, his brow crinkling. “Even though Katie’s still our family, she’s their family, too. It’s worked out all right.” He squeezed her shoulder, then lowered his hand. “I’ll pray it turns out all right for you, Glenn, your kids, and your daughter’s adopted family.”
Tears flooded Cynthia’s eyes. His kindness soothed her more than she could explain. “Thank you, Jim.”
He smiled and moved off. Two more church members approached and assured her of their intentions to pray for God’s will over her “situation.” Their choice of words made her stiffen, but she thanked the pair anyway, choosing to believe discomfort rather than disparagement colored their tone. She scanned the wide reception area for Glenn, eager to tell him what Jim had said. Apparently stress and tension were a normal part of these kinds of searches. Knowing that another family had survived it might encourage him.
He wasn’t at either end of the reception hallway, so she peeked into the sanctuary. She spotted him down front, sitting on one of the prayer benches with Brother Gary. Their backs were to the doors, and they both bent forward, their heads close together. Were they praying? If so, she wanted to join them. She and Glenn needed to pray together if they were going to weather these stormy seas.
Moving quietly so she wouldn’t disturb them, she made her way up the middle aisle and started to slip into the pew behind them. But she picked up on Glenn’s words, and they stopped her cold.
“I should’ve thought it all the way through before I started this. Cyn’s…obsessed. If I could take back that Christmas gift, I would.”
He wasn’t praying. He was complaining. About her. A spear of betrayal pierced the center of her chest. The pain was so sharp she lost her grip on her Bible, and it fell to the carpeted floor with a muffled thud. Both men sat upright and looked at her. Glenn’s face reflected horror and Brother Gary’s showed great compassion.
The minister stood and extended his hand toward her. “Cynthia, come here. Let’s talk.”
She bent over clumsily and snatched up her Bible. Clutching it to her aching chest, she shook her head. “No. I don’t have anything to say.” She glared at Glenn. “How dare you? How dare you stand up in…in God’s house and ask for prayer for us like you’re my support and then turn around and say something like that? You’re a hypocrite, Glenn.”
He propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.
Brother Gary took a step toward Cynthia. “I understand it was hurtful to hear what Glenn just said. He was speaking privately to me. It wasn’t meant for your ears.”
She laughed. She’d never been rude to a minister—not even before she became a churchgoer—but if she didn’t laugh, she’d dissolve into tears that might never end. So she let the humorless laughter roll for several seconds and then growled out, “No, I’m sure it wasn’t. But I’m glad I heard it. I’m glad I know just how much he doesn’t want me to find my baby girl. It’s better for me to know the truth because now…now…” Now what? She didn’t know.
She turned and ran up the aisle, out of the sanctuary, and straight to the women’s rest room. She locked herself inside and removed her cell phone from her purse with shaky hands. She wouldn’t go home. Not with the man who had so callously deceived and betrayed her. But who could she call?
She scanned her list of contacts. Most of the people saved in her phone were mutual friends. If she called them, they’d be placed in the uncomfortable position of choosing sides. She didn’t want to be the cause of dissension between another husband and wife. Why would she want her friends to hurt the way she was hurting? She snapped the phone closed and pressed it to her forehead. Who did she know that had no connection to Glenn? A series of faces paraded behind her closed eyelids.
Relief burst through her. Lindsey. Her coworker at the library. Cynthia wouldn’t consider Lindsey a close friend. After all, the woman was half a dozen years younger, twice divorced, childless, and something of a party girl. But based on some of the comments she’d made about men and their inability to commit, she wouldn’t think twice about giving Cynthia temporary sanctuary from Glenn.
Locked in the bathroom stall, she pulled up Lindsey’s number and prayed the woman would answer. After only one ring Lindsey’s chirpy voice blasted Cynthia’s ear. “Hello! Start talking!” Loud music—rock or rap or something too fast and noisy—blared in the background.
Cynthia cringed. “Lindsey, this is Cynthia Allgood. You know, from the library?”
Her laughter rang. “Of course I know. What’s up?”
“Um, I…” What was she doing? Hadn’t she promised to be better than her mother, who flitted from one failed relationship to another, never committing to stand firm through the rough times? She and Glenn had vowed to weather every storm together, as a team.
Glenn’s
voice swooped through her mind. “If I could take back that Christmas gift, I would.”
Anger swelled, driven by a tide of deep hurt. “I hope you won’t think I’ve lost my mind, but I have a huge favor to ask…”
Indianapolis
Cynthia
Even though she didn’t ask her to, Lindsey stood guard at the head of the hallway while Cynthia packed enough clothes to last several days and gathered her essentials from the bathroom. Glenn and the kids sat in the front room, television off, quiet as a trio of foxes hiding from a hound. Apparently Lindsey had been correct when she said Glenn wouldn’t cause a fuss if there was a witness. Or maybe he was only trying to protect the kids from seeing their parents in a knock-down-drag-out fight. They’d always promised not to quarrel in front of Darcy and Barrett.
For as much as promises were worth these days…
She zipped the duffel bag closed, heaved it over her shoulder, and clomped up behind Lindsey. The woman shot her a look that asked, Ready? Cynthia nodded, and Lindsey moved toward the front door, her unsmiling gaze aimed at Glenn. Cynthia tried not to look at her husband or children, but some invisible cord pulled her attention in their direction anyway. Glenn remained stoic, no hint of emotion in his expression. However, confusion and hurt glistened in Barrett’s eyes. Darcy kept her back to her mother, but anger and hurt pulsated from her stiff form.
Cynthia paused.
Lindsey curled her hand over the doorknob. “Cynthia, you coming?”
Barrett knelt on the sofa, gripping the tall back and staring at his mother. His blue eyes begged her not to go.
Darcy shrugged out from beneath Cynthia’s hand and stormed to her bedroom. The slamming of the door rattled the walls.
Cynthia sighed. She smoothed Barrett’s hair. “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.”
Her son’s chin quivered. “No, it won’t.”
With her expression Cynthia silently begged Glenn to step in, offer assurances, form a united front, the way they always had. He held eye contact with her, but his lips remained pressed in a grim line. Shaking her head in both resignation and frustration, she closed her eyes for a moment and gathered her courage. Then she faced Barrett and forced her wobbly lips into a smile.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?”
Barrett—her eleven-year-old boy who had sworn off hugs—launched himself into her arms. “Don’t go, Mom. Please? Don’t go.”
She struggled to support his weight. She struggled to support the weight of her guilt. “Barrett, honey, I…” She gulped. Why didn’t Glenn say something? Apologize? Tell her he’d been wrong to want her to give up the search for her daughter?
She pressed kisses on Barrett’s tear-dampened cheek and rocked him from side to side. “I love you very much. I’m not leaving because of anything you or Darcy did. But I need…” Oh, her throat ached. Talking was torture. “I need a little time away to think. That’s all. Okay?”
Barrett’s grip loosened. He slid from her arms and stood for a moment, glaring up at her with such betrayal she thought she might wilt beneath his gaze. Then he flopped over the back of the sofa in a way she’d never allowed and buried his face in the cushions.
Glenn finally spoke. Quietly. With great restraint. A complete contrast to the fury glimmering in his eyes. “Are you sure this is what you want to do, Cyn?”
Want to do? Of course not. What she wanted was to have her family—all of her family—under one roof, happy together and loving each other. But she couldn’t have what she wanted. So she’d have to settle for second best.
“I have my cell if something comes up with the kids. Like I told them, I’ll take them back and forth to school so you won’t have to change your routine. I can even fix supper for you all when I drop them off if it will help.”
“It will. Otherwise all they’ll get is epicurean delight and golden deliciousness.”
She wanted to smile at his pet names for sliced hot dogs in beans and macaroni and cheese, the only two dishes Glenn knew how to fix. They’d always joked about his limited prowess in the kitchen, such a contrast to the wonderful dishes she concocted. But his voice was as emotionless as Owen Mallory’s, no hint of humor. She swallowed. “All right. Bye, then.”
She turned toward the hallway. Hope fluttered in her chest. She called, “Good-bye, Darcy. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She waited, but no reply came. So she reached over the sofa and ruffled her son’s hair. “Sleep well, Barrett. See you in the morning.”
He dug deeper into the cushions and didn’t say anything.
It hurt to breathe. She had to get out of there. Cynthia slung her purse over her shoulder, grabbed the duffel, and fisted her car keys so tightly the jagged edges dug into her palm. “I’m ready.” Liar. She followed Lindsey out the door.
Indianapolis
Alexa
Alexa followed Melissa up the winding staircase to the second floor. Ms. Reed had left to run errands—her usual Friday morning routine, Melissa said—and the cook, a grandmotherly woman named Eileen, granted permission for the two to visit in Melissa’s room, so they would have complete privacy. Alexa silently celebrated the turn of events. She hadn’t wanted to bring up Melissa’s intention to give away her baby girl in front of the others. Now she’d have a captive audience. And she intended to take full advantage of the situation.
The floorboards in the dim hallway creaked beneath the faded carpet runner. Doors lined both sides of the long hall, all of them open. Alexa couldn’t resist peeking inside. Every room was the same. White painted walls, simple curtains, bare wood floors, a pair of twin beds draped with navy-blue spreads, two dressers, and a desk. Impersonal. Utilitarian. The creative side of her longed to bring the rooms to life.
Melissa’s room was the last on the left, and she moved back to let Alexa go in first. As she stepped over the threshold, a small burst of color captured her attention. She crossed directly to the dresser and gingerly fingered the crumpled, rainbow-patterned tissue she’d put in Melissa’s gift bag. The paper bouquet, jammed into a yellow paper cup and centered proudly on the dresser’s scarred top, made her want to cry.
Melissa came up behind her, one hand curved protectively beneath her tummy’s swell. Her pink T-shirt stretched taut over the round shape. With the little pucker of her belly button poking out, her shirt resembled an inflated balloon. She smiled shyly and nodded at the bouquet. “Kinda silly, huh?”
Alexa sniffed hard and fluffed the paper, expanding the makeshift bloom. “No. Not really.” She sent a glance around the room. “It’s the nicest decoration in here.”
Melissa laughed softly and eased onto one of the beds, still holding her stomach. “They don’t encourage us to decorate the rooms. I guess they don’t want us to feel too much at home since our time is limited.”
Alexa retrieved the wooden chair from the desk, dragged it over, and sat close to Melissa. “How much longer ’til your baby comes?”
“She’s due February 25, but the midwife thinks I might go early. I’m already starting to dilate.”
Unease tiptoed up Alexa’s spine. “Doesn’t it make you kind of nervous, having your baby here with only a midwife instead of being in a hospital?”
Melissa laughed, a light trickle of self-conscious amusement. “I don’t think it would matter where I had her. I’d still be nervous.” Her hands rubbed slightly up and down on the fullest part of her belly, the movement seemingly reflexive rather than intentional. “Just the thought of having a baby scares me.” She sighed. “I’ll be glad when it’s all over.”
Alexa leaped on her comment. “Are you sure?”
Melissa’s fine reddish-gold brows pulled into a frown. “What do you mean?”
“Are you sure you’re ready to be done? With pregnancy. Because once she’s born, you won’t be able to do what you’re doing anymore.”
“What am I doing?”
Alexa pointed. “Melissa, you’re constantly caressing your stomach.”
Melissa’s h
ands froze. Her startled gaze dropped to her stomach and then met Alexa’s again.
“Why do you do that?”
Very slowly Melissa rubbed her tummy again. “I don’t really know. It’s just…”
“Natural?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Alexa leaned forward, bracing her hands on her knees. The thick corduroy of her skirt felt scratchy under her palms. Probably a lot different than Melissa’s T-shirt. “Want to know why I think you do it?”
Melissa shrugged, her expression wary.
“I think you’re really caressing your baby. Because you love her.”
Tears flooded the girl’s eyes. She ducked her head.
Alexa moved to sit beside her. “Melissa, I know you love your baby. I can tell by the way you constantly hold your hands around her. I see it when you say ‘her’ and ‘she’ instead of ‘it,’ the way a lot of people talk about unborn babies. I bet you’ve even picked out a name that you call her in your head, haven’t you?”
A tear slid down Melissa’s cheek and plopped on her T-shirt next to her belly-button bump. “Kind of.”
“What is it?”
“Evelyn. After my mom.”
“It’s a beautiful name.”
“It’s kind of old-fashioned, but I’ve always liked it. My grandma called her Evvie. I always liked that, too.”
“Evvie…” Alexa sampled it. She nodded. “I can see why you like it.” Hesitantly she touched Melissa’s arm. “So if you love Evvie, why are you giving her away?”
Melissa angled an anguished look at Alexa. “It’s because I love her that I’m giving her away.”
Alexa frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”
Melissa pushed upright and moved behind the chair. She clutched the slatted top on the backrest and glared at Alexa. “Yes, it does. When you really, really love someone, you can’t be selfish and do what you want. You have to do what’s best.” She thumped her fist on the chair’s thick slat with the emphasized words, as if pounding nails in a coffin. “What’s best for them, not for you. Don’t you see?”
When Love Returns Page 20