Second Chance Mom

by EMILIE ROSE

  “Her solo?” Rachel parroted dumbly.

  “She didn’t tell you? She’s singing her first solo during the service today,” Carol said. “She’s been practicing like crazy at my house.”

  Chastity was even closer to the Johnstons than Rachel had suspected. Her birth family knew things about her that her own mother didn’t. “She hasn’t mentioned it.”

  “I’ll bet she wants to surprise you.”

  “That girl sings like an angel,” Bill added.

  She hadn’t inherited that talent from her birth mother.

  Carol snaked her arm through Rachel’s. “Sit with us.”

  Refusal raged within Rachel, but she couldn’t think of a polite way to escape. “Thanks.”

  Rather than make eye contact with the other congregants, she took in the stained-glass windows and the satiny wall hangings as she let Carol lead her down the center aisle. She noticed the organist was only a teenager. The closer they got to the altar, the more claustrophobic Rachel became. This beautiful, perfect building was a far cry from the primitive ones in which her parents had worked. Some of those hadn’t even had walls.

  Carol stopped and motioned Rachel into the third pew from the front. She wouldn’t be able to hide up here. Rachel sidestepped in. Then she dared to lift her gaze and came face-to-face with Matt. In the same pew. How could she sit beside him? Her fight-or-flight response kicked in, ordering her to retreat. But she couldn’t. Carol and Bill hemmed her in.

  Matt glanced up from the bulletin in his hand and did a double take. The polite smile froze on his face. His lips parted in surprise. Then he rose, nodding.

  “G’morning, Mom, Dad... Rachel. You came for Chastity’s solo?”

  Did everyone but her know about that?

  “I came because Chastity asked me to.” She sat, trying to keep her elbows tight to her side and her eyes forward. The Johnstons had left her little room for personal space. The sound of crumpling paper drew her attention to the bulletin she’d crushed in her fingers. She exhaled and counted heartbeats, trying to force herself to relax, but how could she when she was superconscious of the warm, delicious-smelling man beside her wearing crisply pleated navy pants and a baby blue shirt?

  Her palms were damp, her pulse racing and her mouth dry. She felt like a hypocrite under a spotlight.

  The music ended. Only then did Rachel notice the church had filled. A young man of approximately sixteen stepped to the pulpit and offered a decent, if wobbly, welcome speech, then said, “Let us pray.”

  Rachel mechanically bowed her head. Matt’s hand nudged hers. Startled, she glanced at his open palm. He wanted to hold hands? In church? With her? With people watching? Was he deranged?

  Then Carol clasped Rachel’s other hand. Rachel stiffened. Apparently, the Johnstons held hands when they prayed. And for her to refuse would only draw more attention—the last thing she wanted. Matt’s long fingers enfolded hers. His grasp was gentle. Warm. Firm. Familiar. And arousing. Heat seared her palm and traveled like a lava trail to her tummy. Memories swamped her. She and Matt had held hands often back then. He’d been the first and last person she’d enjoyed that simple touch with, and it had usually led to more. Much more. Naked.

  Piety was the farthest thing from her mind as she struggled to regulate her breathing so that Carol would not notice the quickening cadence. Lust in church. So wrong. So inappropriate. She could practically hear her father’s scolding tones.

  Then Carol released her, and Rachel realized the prayer was over, and she’d missed the whole message. The choir rose. Rachel searched the robe-garbed group and spotted Chastity. Then the young organist launched into a tune, and Chastity lifted a microphone. From the teen’s first pitch-perfect note, Rachel hung on to every beautifully sung word. Once Chastity’s initial nervousness faded from her expression and voice, the sheer joy on her face and confidence in her stance made Rachel’s eyes sting and her heart swell with pride.

  Why hadn’t Hope mentioned that the daughter they shared was musically gifted? Why had Chastity never once in all her emails or phone calls mentioned she loved to sing? How could Rachel not have known something this important about the child she’d birthed?

  Carol’s elbow nudged hers. Rachel blinked and saw the tissue Carol offered. Only then did Rachel realize tears streaked her cheeks. Embarrassed, she blotted. Gulped. Breathed. As Matt’s dad had said, her daughter had the voice of an angel. That hadn’t come from her mother or maternal grandparents.

  And then Chastity sat down, a look of relief and elation on her face. Another teen girl took the pulpit, and the sermon continued. The beautiful moment was over, but the pride suffusing Rachel didn’t dissipate. She turned to Matt. A smile curved his lips. He nodded.

  Then the organist began the next tune, and the congregation rose. Rachel was a beat behind in doing the same. A rich baritone filled her left ear. Matt’s. Carol’s smooth alto did the same on her right.

  Chastity had been blessed with gifts from the Johnstons. Gifts Rachel could never match.

  Matt caught her hand once more and tugged, urging her to sit. She glanced side to side and realized the song had ended, and the congregation was already seated. Nothing like drawing attention to yourself, Rach. She abruptly sat. She had to pull it together. Hard to do with Matt beside her. She tugged free.

  Rachel’s parents’ devout commitment to spread their religion had taken so much from her. A normal childhood, the opportunity to form lasting friendships and, in the end, her parents’ lives. She’d sworn she’d never become a church member anywhere again.

  Her mind raced. She couldn’t deny Chastity the opportunity to do something at which she excelled nor the chance to share her gift with others. That meant Rachel needed to find a church for Chastity as soon as they relocated. But how could she send her daughter to church and not attend herself? She couldn’t.

  But she would never allow the church to consume her or Chastity as it had her parents. How would she ever find the perfect balance when she’d never experienced it in her life?

  She didn’t have a clue. But for Chastity’s sake she had to figure it out.

  * * *

  LATE MONDAY MORNING Rachel stared at the older man sitting across the desk from her and fought to conceal the panic nearly suffocating her.

  “I’m sorry to have to ask for clarification, but that initial visit on my first day back in Johnstonville is a blur. I read and signed so many forms, I can’t recall what we covered.” She’d been jet-lagged, numb with the news of Hope’s death, and terrified of failing her daughter. “We completed all the paperwork granting me guardianship of Chastity and to apply for adoption, didn’t we?”

  “We did.”

  “Pam Weaver said she and her husband were Chastity’s godparents. Can they contest my guardianship?”

  “Historically, the church has viewed godparenthood as an obligation to raise the child should something happen to the parents. Today, it merely means your sister chose them to support her in Chastity’s spiritual and moral upbringing. It is not a legally binding agreement. Unless you give the Weavers or Social Services reason to believe you’d be an unfit parent, it would be frivolous and costly for them to take action.”

  She tried to find comfort in his words. And failed.

  “But as far as the state is concerned, I’m okay?”

  “Yes, because you are her only blood relative.”

  No. She wasn’t. Matt and his entire family were blood relatives. And sadly, they were probably better suited to be Chastity’s guardians than Rachel. But they could never love her as much as Rachel did.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Miss Bishop, you told me you are gainfully employed and that you have a substantial amount of cash in reserves. Is that still true?”

  She’d invested most of her salary over the years becaus
e she refused to give away every dime like her parents had. She’d also vowed never to be anyone’s charity case again, totally dependent on others for food, shelter and clothing.

  “Yes. But I’m liquidating some of my investments to buy a house.”

  “Providing a stable environment for the child is good. I wouldn’t worry.”

  But how could she not? She knew more than he did. And if her secret got out and the Weavers or Matt decided to fight for Chastity, Rachel could lose every dime she’d saved in the resulting legal battle. Because she would not give up her child a second time.

  She nodded, her neck stiff. “What else do I need to do?”

  “Nothing except exercise patience until the paperwork goes through, and, of course, continue to prove you’re the most qualified candidate to care for the child. Speaking of papers, here are yours. I’ve kept copies.” He slid a manila envelope across the desk. Rachel put it in her purse.

  Why had she agreed to cheerleading camp? If she hadn’t, she could have been safely out of Johnstonville in just over two weeks. Could she revoke her promise without damaging hers and Chastity’s relationship? No. And if Chastity’s behavior reverted to rebellion, then the Weavers might well question Rachel’s ability to parent.

  That meant she had seven more torturous weeks to get through. Seven weeks of trying not to screw up, of trying to keep Chastity from screwing up, of trying to keep the truth dead and buried. Almost two more months of worrying before she and her daughter would be free of Johnstonville and the past forever.

  She’d have to convince Chastity to move after they closed on their house, then they would come back only for camp. That would keep the promise but limit the threat of exposure.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  PROVE YOU’RE THE most qualified candidate to parent the child.

  The lawyer’s advice was the only reason Rachel had allowed herself to be conned—convinced—to take Pam’s place working a Meals on Wheels lunch shift with Carol Johnston on Tuesday. Rachel believed in donating her time to good causes but was leery of entering the homes of people who might remember her less than fondly and even more wary of spending two hours with Matt’s mother.

  “All of these folks are homebound,” Carol said as she maneuvered the church van through the center of downtown. “Some have no visitors except us. Most are incapable of preparing meals for themselves. We’ll deliver three meals today—a hot lunch, something simple like a sandwich for dinner and a sausage biscuit or muffin for breakfast. Tomorrow’s crew will do the same.”

  “What happens when you can’t deliver?”

  The sadness on Carol’s face was unmistakable. “We try to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “But if it does, does each recipient have a supply of nonperishables on hand? I’m sorry,” Rachel hastened to add when Carol’s eyebrows rose. “I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, but if weather or illness prevents a visit, then a supply of nonperishables could be beneficial.”

  Carol nodded. “You raise a good point. I’ll present it to the auxiliary. This virus has taken out a good portion of us volunteers. And Pam’s had her hands full with the kids getting sick. I insisted she stay away from our clients rather than risk spreading the illness.”

  “I’m sorry Pam’s having a tough time.” But illness in the Weaver home meant Rachel would get more time with Chastity. Selfish of her? Definitely.

  “Families should look out for each other. It’s a shame that our clients don’t have that support.”

  Rachel looked out the window to hide any guilt on her face. She was robbing Chastity of exactly that support system.

  “You don’t have to travel to third world countries to find those in need, Rachel.”

  “I know. That’s why I live where I do and volunteer at the inner-city clinic.”

  Carol studied her. “Chastity mentioned you feeding those homeless men when you took her to Atlanta. Hope never mentioned that you volunteered locally. Only that you lived in the slums and traveled to areas too dangerous for them to join you on your vacations.”

  The injustice of Carol’s comment took her aback. Why had Hope painted her in a bad light? “I didn’t start volunteering abroad until after Hope and Chastity stopped vacationing with me.”

  That earned her a long, searching look. “Did Hope give you a reason why she ended the visits?”

  “She said Chastity preferred traveling with her best friend’s family.”

  Carol’s frown deepened. She rode for a moment in silence. “Hope vacationed with Pam’s brood once three years ago. I can’t blame her for not repeating the experience. As much as I love my grandchildren, trying to rest and relax around them is impossible. They’re high energy, always in search of excitement.” Her fingers flexed on the wheel, then she shifted in her seat. “Do you think Hope might have been a bit jealous of you?”

  Caught off guard, Rachel blurted, “Jealous? Of me? She had everything. Everything that mattered.”

  “Your life is full of travel and adventure. You’re the one Chastity talked about. Every time you called or sent a package, your niece gushed to Jessica and anyone who’d listen for weeks. I doubt Hope enjoyed that.”

  Saint Hope, jealous? That seemed unlikely. But it was something to think about.

  “Don’t get me wrong. Hope was a sweet girl. She tried very hard with Chastity. But personality-wise, they are very different. Hope was so cautious, a homebody, and Chastity...” Carol’s smile radiated love. “Your niece has an adventurous soul.”

  Like her momma. “Yes. She does. I always rode the roller coasters with her at amusement parks while Hope guarded our things.”

  “That’s a perfect metaphor for their temperaments.” Carol turned down a road lined with small, square mill houses and huge oak trees dripping with Spanish moss. “Was Hope happy with Chastity’s father?”

  Shock dried Rachel’s mouth. She wanted out of the vehicle. “I don’t know. I wasn’t around much to see their interactions.”

  Not a lie. She had no idea how Matt and Hope had been together.

  “I’d like to believe she was happy for the short time she had Adam. That maybe she...unwound a little. Like Matt did with you.”

  A familiar vise banded Rachel’s chest. She knew she should say something, but she couldn’t find the words.

  “I’m not asking for details, Rachel, but Matt was different when he dated you. Happier. More relaxed. He talked about something besides football. Like a college boy is supposed to. Even though he was hurt when it didn’t work out, I was happy he had that time with you.”

  Carol had no idea how wrong she was to be grateful. “We...um... We had fun.”

  “I hope you’ll find someone special. Not just for your sake, but for Chastity’s, too. I hope Matt will, too. Someone who’ll be a good mayor’s wife.”

  Another shock of alarm bolted through her. “Mayor’s wife?”

  Carol rolled one shoulder. “The Johnstons founded this town. One or the other of them has been mayor on and off since the incorporation. And being a mayor’s wife has...well, certain pressures and expectations. When Bill retires Matt will likely follow in his father’s political footsteps. Between work and the kids, Jake and Pam are too busy.”

  Horrified, Rachel glanced at the woman beside her, then quickly out the windshield. She’d known Bill was the mayor, but she’d never considered Matt as a future candidate.

  Yet another reason to keep her secret. If word got out that Matt had slept with a seventeen-year-old all those years ago, his political ambitions could be ruined. No one would care that Rachel had lied about her age. People would only see the four-year age gap and the baby they’d created—the one Matt hadn’t claimed through no fault of his own.

  “Any chance that someone will be you?” Carol prompted.

  “No. No
chance at all,” Rachel replied a little too quickly. It shouldn’t hurt to say it, but the weight on her chest was undeniable. “I’m not mayor’s wife material.”

  “Please don’t hurt him again. He thinks I don’t know how badly your breakup affected him. But a mother always knows. Just as I knew he and Hope weren’t meant to be. They just didn’t have that spark.”

  Once again, Rachel was speechless. No way was that relief coursing through her.

  Carol stopped the van in front of a small house. “Chastity says you work twenty-four hour shifts. Have you thought about who’ll watch her while you work? She’s not old enough to stay alone yet—especially somewhere she doesn’t know anyone.”

  Prickles of uneasiness worked along Rachel’s extremities. “My boss lives in our new neighborhood. Marcia has a son and daughter close to Chastity’s age, and she’s promised to help me find child care. She’s one of the nicest, most dependable people I know. Chastity will always have someone nearby she can trust.”

  “Promise me you won’t leave her home alone.”

  The genuine concern in Carol’s expression touched Rachel. “I won’t.”

  “Pam says you miss your job. If you’d like to go back to work, or need to, before the end of school, Chastity could stay with us. And you could hammer out the details of her care while you’re there.”

  And risk being accused of abandoning her child? “That’s a generous offer, but I’ve taken family leave from work, so I can stay with Chastity and help her transition.”

  “The offer’s on the table if you change your mind.”

  “Thanks.” But she wouldn’t change her mind. She couldn’t afford to.

  * * *

  “AUNT RACHEL, WHERE are you?” Chastity shouted as she blasted through the door after school.

  Rachel dropped the shirt she’d been folding and raced from the laundry room, certain something disastrous had happened. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “Of course. Do you have a bathing suit?”