The Would-Be Mommy

by Jacqueline Diamond

  Apparently, the McCoys wanted revenge. In a sense, she didn’t blame them. But life had taken its own revenge, long ago.

  Behind Ian loomed Mark, a few inches taller and considerably bulkier than the journalist. “Is this reporter harassing you?” the administrator asked.

  She appreciated her boss’s protectiveness. But she wondered how long that would last once the truth came out.

  “No. I have to explain something to him. Can I fill you in later?” To her embarrassment, Jennifer heard her voice quaver. She hoped Mark wouldn’t insist on sitting in during their interview. It might be more than she could bear.

  He didn’t argue. “I’ll trust your judgment.”

  When he was gone, Ian regarded her questioningly. “Where’s a good place?”

  “Not in the hospital.” Too many ears, and besides, the walls were closing in today. “There’s a park about a block away. How about that?”

  He agreed. As they walked to the elevators, Jennifer did her best to assume a casual air for the sake of any onlookers.

  But inside, she felt as if she were about to face a firing squad.

  IN THE PARK, IAN found a bench far from the busy playground. Such a serene setting, with a light fall breeze rustling through palm trees and half a dozen small children calling to one another as they played beneath their mothers’ watchful gazes.

  Then he saw the pain etched on Jennifer’s face. He’d never meant to bring anything like this down on top of her.

  Reluctantly he took out his digital recorder. As he’d half expected, Jennifer waved it away.

  “Just take notes, if you must,” she said.

  “Okay.” He didn’t plan to use audio, anyway, and he’d long ago developed his own form of shorthand.

  “How are they?” she asked.

  “Who?”

  “The McCoys.”

  She appeared genuinely concerned. If only they knew her, maybe they’d let go of their anger. But how likely was that, given what they’d suffered?

  “They were pretty badly injured.” The shattered bones, torn ligaments and other injuries had left an indelible imprint on their bodies. “Mrs. McCoy spent years learning to walk again, and her husband still has problems with his left arm. He had to give up house painting, although he’s landed a decent job managing an auto parts store.”

  Jennifer stared at a child running after an errant rubber ball. “I feel so awful about them.”

  “They said you were driving a getaway car. That you ran a red light and broadsided them.” He couldn’t reconcile the image of a criminally reckless teenager with the troubled woman before him, but they’d shown him a copy of the police report as well as old newspaper clippings.

  “That’s true, as far as it goes.” Jennifer’s fingers laced together in her lap. “You remember I told you about Frank, the guy I dated when I was seventeen?”

  “They said he robbed a liquor store.” Ian hadn’t let on to the McCoys that he recognized the name. He’d seen no reason to confide any more about his friendship with Jennifer than they’d already surmised from the tone of his last article.

  Her gaze grew faraway, as if she were peering back through time. “One night when he picked me up, he was acting strung out, jumpy. I knew he used drugs occasionally, but that’s the first time it occurred to me that he was addicted. I asked him to take me home.” A deep breath. “Instead, he stopped in front of a convenience store and told me to get behind the wheel.”

  Ian pictured a younger version of Jennifer, confused and apprehensive. “You had no idea what he was planning?”

  She shook her head. “He said he was out of cigarettes. I was actually glad Frank let me drive, because I didn’t think he was in any fit condition. Later I found out he was broke and in debt—the worst kind. He’d swiped drugs from a dealer he was staying with.”

  Across the park Ian caught curious glances from a couple of women sitting around a picnic table. He wondered if they recognized him or Jennifer, and was relieved that they made no attempt to approach.

  She continued talking, caught up in her story now. “If he didn’t pay for them fast, he’d have ended up in an alley, probably dead. The gun he used, he stole that from his roommate, too. He apparently had some fantasy about scoring a lot of money from the robbery, enough to repay the guy and take me to Mexico. Obviously he wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “So you moved behind the wheel. What happened next?”

  “He came running out with the clerk in pursuit. I thought at first he’d swiped a six-pack. When he jumped in the car, I told him I’d pay for it. Then I saw the gun.”

  “He aimed it at you?” The McCoys had doubted the threat was real. “You honestly believe he’d have shot you?”

  “He wasn’t rational,” she insisted. “I had no idea what he’d do. He kept yelling at me to hit the gas, and I just obeyed on instinct.”

  “The cops picked up your trail.” The clerk had hit a silent alarm, according to the police report, and a patrol car had responded from a mere block away.

  “They got there fast.” Jennifer shuddered. “I wanted to pull over. I knew we couldn’t escape. But when Frank pressed that gun to my temple, I panicked.”

  “How fast were you going?”

  “I’m still not sure. There were sirens screaming everywhere. It felt surreal. I just wanted it to end, so I stepped on the gas, harder than I intended. I didn’t even see the red light. The car seemed to come out of nowhere. I jerked the wheel, but Frank fell against me, and I lost control. The next thing I knew, I was in the hospital.”

  He recalled her telling him about a crash, that morning a little more than a week ago when they’d first made love. “You were five months pregnant. You lost the baby.”

  She swallowed. “At the hospital I was numb. I couldn’t take it in. My little boy was gone. A detective came in and told me about the couple I’d hit, that the woman was in critical condition. He kept emphasizing how even if she survived, she might never walk again. It was horrible.”

  “You agreed to testify against Frank in return for immunity?” The McCoys had been especially bitter about that part.

  Tears glimmered in her eyes. “I think the detective was out for blood, but later, the district attorney determined they didn’t have a case. I had no criminal record, there were no drugs or alcohol in my system and thank goodness the clerk had seen Frank point the gun at me. I’d have testified anyway. He deserved to go to prison.”

  “Is he still there?”

  She nodded. “He got a long sentence. Turned out he’d had a prior conviction.”

  Another matter occurred to Ian. “What about your miscarriage? Frank could have been charged with causing your baby’s death.”

  “With me driving? I doubt a jury would have gone for that, and I guess the D.A drew the same conclusion.” Her shoulders trembled. “Besides, I didn’t want my personal grief splashed across the newspapers. I tried my best to keep it quiet.”

  “So the McCoys never knew about him?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  Perhaps it might have helped them understand that Jennifer hadn’t escaped scot-free, after all. “I’d like to arrange a meeting between you and them. To give them all the facts. Maybe this can be a story about reconciliation instead of payback.”

  “I doubt they could ever forgive me, after what they’ve endured.” Her forehead furrowed. “They had two children, didn’t they? Thank goodness they weren’t in the car. How are they?”

  That had been the positive part of the interview. “Both doing well. Their daughter’s a senior in high school with excellent grades, and their son’s attending a private college on scholarship. They had to grow up fast, but they learned to take responsibility, their parents said.”

  The assurance didn’t seem to cheer Jennifer. “They were robbed of their childhood. If you want me to meet with the McCoys, that’s fine. Not to make excuses, but to apologize.”

  “May I tell them about the miscarriage?” />
  “That would sound like I’m trying to manipulate them into forgiving me. If we meet and it comes out, fine. But otherwise, no.”

  Ian understood her sense of guilt. He’d experienced that with Judge Wycliff, even though he hadn’t caused the judge’s death. Still, he wished he had something to offer the McCoys, who didn’t strike him as inclined to extend the olive branch.

  Well, he’d do his best. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and went to make the call.

  DESPITE THE ACTIVITY surging around her—children running and calling to one another, moms sharing a laugh—Jennifer felt drained. Being forced to relive those agonizing events hadn’t provided any release. Instead, it had stirred emotions she’d prefer to keep under wraps.

  But while they might have been buried, they certainly hadn’t died.

  She tried to imagine what it would mean for her now that the McCoys insisted on going public. Under ordinary circumstances, such an old case probably wouldn’t hold much interest for the public. But thanks to Ian—unintentionally, of course—Jennifer had become news again. People all over the world had read about her and Rosalie. She’d been cheered as a Good Samaritan, and now she was about to be revealed as practically a criminal.

  The press loved stories like that. Tearing down idols. Not that she’d ever considered herself a role model for anyone.

  The downcast expression on Ian’s face as he returned revealed the bad news before he spoke. “They refused. The very idea stressed Mrs. McCoy. They even started threatening to go elsewhere with their story. It was quite a job calming them down.”

  The last, faint hope for avoiding catastrophe withered inside Jennifer. “I’d rather you wrote the article than anyone else. I’m sure you’ll tell the story fairly.”

  He conceded the point. “At least let me give a complete picture. Jennifer, I want to put in the part about your miscarriage.”

  As a publicist, she realized that would paint her in a more positive light. But she didn’t want this to become a battle between her and the McCoys for the public’s sympathy. “They deserve their day in the sun. Coming forward must have been painful for them, and I refuse to make it harder than it needs to be.”

  “This could get nasty,” Ian warned.

  He didn’t have to tell her that she might lose her job, her home, her friends…. Jennifer struggled to stay calm. Take this one moment at a time.

  “What about the baby?” he said. “What if Sunny changes her mind?”

  Her stomach constricted. She hadn’t considered that. “I think she’ll understand.”

  “So do I. As I mentioned, she told me she thought you’d been wounded, like her.”

  What an amazing young woman. “She called that one right. And now, if we’re done, I’d better get back to work.” Jennifer stood, only to discover her knees were almost too shaky to hold her.

  Ian caught her arm. “I never meant to stir up this kind of trouble.”

  “I know. Besides, I always figured something like this would happen sooner or later.” She shrugged weakly. “I hope it’ll give the McCoys some comfort, at least.”

  He kept his hand on the small of her back, supporting her as they set out. “Here’s a bit of positive news. Mrs. Wycliff called to say that the day before he died, the judge apologized to his daughter.”

  “Feel better?” she asked him.

  “I did, until the McCoys showed up.”

  She longed to snuggle against him, to lean on his strength in more ways than one. But Jennifer had to stand on her own two feet, now and always. “Ian, don’t worry about the impact on me. It’s your job to write this story. I hope the publicity helps you get your promotion.”

  He groaned. “Don’t even mention it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve always figured my work would make the world a better place. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “It’ll work out.” She tried to hold on to that thought as they reached the hospital parking lot and separated with a hug.

  Despite his obvious regret, she could tell Ian’s mind was racing ahead to his article. As for her, she’d promised to fill Mark in.

  That meant dredging up the whole sorry tale all over again. But she intended to keep her obligations, no matter the cost.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The firestorm broke Monday night. Ian’s story, with photos of the McCoys—they’d declined to appear on video—hit the Web around dinnertime and made the news nationwide.

  He’d expected a big response, but nothing like the flood of phone calls and e-mails, or the swell of blogs and Web postings cited by Flash News/Global’s monitoring service. And not only did hordes of reporters descend on the hospital, they also showed up at the McCoys’ home.

  “It never occurred to me that they’d come here,” Andrea McCoy told Ian on the phone. “What should I do?”

  “What do you want to do?” He tilted his chair back onto two legs. Flash News/Global really ought to buy swivel chairs for its employees, considering the long hours they put in, he mused.

  “Ignore them,” she responded ruefully. “My husband tried talking to them, but they kept pushing him to say nasty things about Jennifer Serra. That she ought to be put in prison, or have her baby taken away. We never meant for this to become a vendetta. I suppose I really didn’t think it through. My children were angry, and somehow I imagined that telling the truth would make things better. I certainly don’t want to deprive her little baby of a home.”

  Ian considered proposing again that they meet with Jennifer, but decided to wait for the McCoys themselves to suggest it. “She won’t lose Rosalie. The birth mother’s sticking by her.” He’d talked to Jennifer earlier and been pleased to hear of Sunny’s support.

  Her boss had stood by her also. But should this flood of negative publicity continue, she’d said, she wasn’t sure how the hospital’s corporate owners would react. If the stern Ms. Yashimoto was a fair representation of management, and he suspected so, that didn’t bode well.

  Nothing he could do about that. Unfortunately.

  “You did a fine job with the article,” Andrea was saying.

  “Thanks.”

  “The thing is, even though you quoted us accurately, I don’t like the way we came across.”

  That baffled him. “How do you mean?”

  “We sounded bitter,” she conceded.

  “I’m sure the public understands.” Ian righted his chair abruptly as a student intern rushed past, nearly toppling him. The girl waved an apology before hurrying on between neighboring desks.

  She ought to go home at this ridiculous hour. Nearly eleven o’clock. And so should he, except that a solitary motel room hardly qualified as home.

  Ian’s thoughts flew to a certain cheerful kitchen, and upstairs to the baby’s room, and down the hall to the bedroom filled with Jennifer’s essence even when she wasn’t there. But she would be there, surely, at this hour.

  He shook away the thought. That was all the press needed, to spot him sneaking into Jennifer’s condo in the middle of the night. Not that she’d mentioned any reporters showing up at her address, but it might happen. And that would reflect badly on them both.

  If only I didn’t miss her so damn much.

  “I guess most people sympathize with us,” Andrea muttered. “But I got a phone call earlier from a woman I know from church. She said I should let go of my anger, for my soul’s sake. How do you like that?”

  Sounded good to him, but it wasn’t Ian’s place to say that. “Would you like to do a follow-up interview?”

  After a pause, she declined. “I think we’ve said more than enough already. Still, if we decide to talk to anyone, it will be you. I just hope this is over soon.”

  “So do I.”

  After saying goodbye, he checked his e-mail one last time for the night and found a message from Viktor.

  Great work, between Judge Wycliff and this baby business. You’ve outdone yourself, his brother-in-law wrote. Anni and I will be f
lying to New York on Thursday for a week of business and pleasure. We’d like you to join us. You can charge the ticket to the company.

  Ian’s fingers froze on the keypad. If Viktor simply wanted a personal reunion, he wouldn’t offer to pay for the ticket. That left the matter of the “From the Fire” column. Was the company going to offer it to Ian, or let him down easy?

  He’d better be prepared, either way.

  ON TUESDAY MORNING, with Mark’s approval, Jennifer issued a statement that repeated the basic facts of the case from twelve years ago and expressed sympathy for the McCoys. She let Willa release it to the swarms of press in the lobby.

  May Chong, the administration secretary, screened reporters’ calls to Jennifer’s office. Much as she disliked asking staff to cover for her, Jennifer considered it best to stay out of public view.

  There’d been no comment from corporate headquarters in Louisville. Perhaps if matters blew over quickly, the whole thing could be ignored.

  Still, media reports, which she monitored on the Internet, gave the impression that she’d escaped all the consequences of her actions and gone blithely on her way. Unlike Ian’s article, many of the truncated stories glossed over key details, such as saying she “claimed” to have been “under duress” without mentioning that Frank had held her at gunpoint.

  At lunchtime she ducked into the day-care center to see Rosalie. The baby burbled happily as Jennifer fed her a bottle. Thank heaven for precious moments like this.

  You’re her mother now, Sunny had said on the phone yesterday. I admire the way you’ve risen above everything you went through. It gives me hope for myself.

  That helped offset some of the cruel e-mails Jennifer had received this morning. People had accused her of everything from getting away with murder—apparently they hadn’t read the story very closely—to using her position at the hospital to adopt a baby that should have gone to an infertile couple.

  After restoring Rosalie to her crib, she considered skipping lunch, but she was hungry. Besides, she wasn’t going to avoid her friends, even though neither of them had contacted her this morning. They’d be expecting to meet her at lunch.