A Daughter's Trust / For the Love of Family: A Daughter's Trust / For the Love of Family

She was told the same thing. By her parents. Every time she talked to them.

They covered another mile, passing a couple of other bikers and a pair on in-line skates, and Twin Peaks came into view. Sue asked him if he’d ever been up there.

“Of course,” he said. “Hasn’t everyone who’s lived in San Francisco for more than a week?”

She chuckled.

“What’s going to happen to your grandma’s house?” Rick asked.

Sue stared at him before answering. Who was this man? Where had he come from? And why was he in her life right now? When she was most susceptible?

“Uncle Sam’s got it listed already. He and Mom already divvied up most of Grandma’s stuff, and movers are putting the things in storage bins.”

She’d heard the words. She’d processed facts. Period. Her life had revolved around that house in Twin Peaks. Around her grandparents.

Her life had been a lie.

“That’s quick.”

“Do you have any idea how much it would have meant to know that we were blood relatives while I was growing up?” she blurted. “Do you have any idea how many times I wished I was as much a grandchild to Grandma and Grandpa as Belle was?” Sue couldn’t believe she was saying this.

“You were! Come on, you more than anyone know that adopted kids are as loved, as valued, as important as biological children.”

“To the parents, that’s true. But just because adults have it all worked out doesn’t mean children do. We can explain, and love, but we can’t tell a child how to feel. Or an adult, either.”

“But you felt loved.”

“Yes, and now I feel incredibly betrayed. How could Grandpa never once look his daughter in the eye and tell her he’d fathered her? I just don’t get it.”

“At least he had her there to love.”

Sue pedaled harder as the questions pushed her on. She didn’t want to think about these things. Didn’t want to talk about them.

But they wouldn’t leave her alone.

“Still, it would have helped so much if we’d all known who we were. If Mom was truly adopted, unrelated by blood, then fine. That’s who she was. Instead, that’s only who she thought she was. And she has another full brother and a half brother…To know that your parents deliberately kept the knowledge from you…”

“I’m sure they had reasons.”

“That doesn’t mean they were right. Or that they made the best choices.” Sue’s thoughts raged on. “That’s one of the reasons I think Carrie being placed with your mother might be the best choice,” she said before she could think better of it. “As long as your mother adores her, and stays clean—and with her history, the state won’t give her two chances with this one—with her Carrie has a chance of growing up with a strong sense of self. And sometimes it’s only your sense of self that keeps you holding on…”

Her parents had given her that. And it had kept her alive at a time when she’d rather have been dead. When she’d prayed for death.

“Your mother knew Christy better than anyone,” she said, grasping the handlebars tighter. “She knew her likes and dislikes, her mannerisms and idiosyncrasies, how old she was when she took her first steps and what kinds of things made her laugh. She probably knows who Carrie’s father is, and she was around for Carrie’s birth. She’s the only one who can—”

“I disagree.”

His voice had changed.

“I know.”

And that was why she couldn’t start to count on this man’s friendship, no matter how much he engaged her. A baby’s life wasn’t something you could get around.

Or compromise on.

Chapter Ten

RICK TOLD HIMSELF to forget the woman pedaling beside him. After the way he’d been raised, he’d always wanted to have a family. A close family. That did everything together.

Sue’s goal was to remain single, detached. Alone.

Or so she’d said in more than one of their conversations.

And he knew with every fiber of his being that Carrie belonged with him. Whether Sue Bookman helped him get her or not.

If he got the baby, where would Sue fit into his life?

Where did he want her to fit?

She said something about turning back, and his thoughts skidded to a stop. What was he doing, thinking of this woman in terms of his future? He’d known her little more than a week.

“I will be a good father to Carrie,” he said aloud, as much to get himself back on track as anything.

“Rick, you don’t even know if you’ll get a chance. The court might go through with your mother’s adoption of her, regardless.”

He had to get the chance. That baby was not going to go to his mother by default. Fate wouldn’t be that cruel.

“Being a parent is so much more than changing diapers and giving baths,” she said. “It’s more than looking after younger kids in a foster home. It’s a lifetime commitment.”

They’d wheeled past a familiar road about a quarter of a mile back. He’d given it a brief mental acknowledgment and moved past. Now Rick turned back.

Sue followed without another word. Until he signaled the turnoff.

“Where are we going?”

He tried to tell her, but ended up saying, “Humor me.”

“Okay.”

He slowed, and she matched her pace to his. The road was quiet. And short.

“A cemetery?” she asked. “Are you sure we can ride in here?”

“Positive.”

He pedaled slower and slower until he pulled up in front of a headstone and stopped.

“Kraynick,” Sue said, reading the stone.

He nodded. Sort of. As always when he came here, he could barely move.

“Christy?” Sue asked softly. And then answered her own question. “It can’t be. The ground is too settled.”

But the grave site was still new enough that the edges were clearly delineated, the mound of dirt only partially covered with the spindly beginnings of grass.

There was a stone embedded in the ground at the grave’s head, and Rick expected her to get off her bike to read it, but she didn’t. She stayed with him.

And right now, Rick needed her. Needed her like he’d never needed anyone.

She stood between him and what he had to have. And yet, at the same time, she was part of what he had to have.

“I know exactly what it takes to be a father.”

Sue didn’t move, her gaze steady on the stone in front of them.

“Her name was Hannah.”

“What happened?”

“She died.” Stick to the facts, man. They’re only facts.

“I’m so sorry.” The tenderness in her voice—a woman who was a virtual stranger to him yet didn’t feel like a stranger at all—soothed the rawness chaffing a wound that would never go away. “How long ago?”

He’d started this. “Six months.”

“Oh, my God. Oh, Rick. I am so sorry.” Her eyes widened as she gave him a quick glance. And then her gaze returned to the stone. “How old was she?”

“Six. She’d be seven now.”

See, facts aren ‘t that hard. As long as you stick to them.

“Was she sick?” Sue turned on her bike, facing him directly. The look she gave him held a depth he couldn’t describe. She spoke without words. Which made no sense.

None of this made sense. Him with someone. Sharing Hannah.

“She was on the playground at school. A teenager high on acid lost control of his new Mustang convertible, drove through the fence and hit her.”

Yes, that was what the newspapers said. Mark had told him. The police hadn’t been as forthcoming. Rick had tried to read the clippings. Hadn’t succeeded yet.

He ‘d yet to make it through the boxes of cards that had come to the house. Darla had packed them up for him, left them in the spare bedroom. They were there somewhere.

“How awful. I’m…I don’t know what to say…”

Rick pedaled on.

The tragedy had nothing to do with them.

The past couldn’t be changed.

SHE STILL HAD AN HOUR before Barb’s daughter, Lisa, would be expecting her home. An hour before it was time for baths and bed for her three charges.

And she was with a man who’d disappeared into a private hell she couldn’t seem to penetrate. It was as though she’d been riding with a stranger, not the man who’d touched her so deeply in such a short space of time.

He lifted her bike into the van, and then loaded his into his SUV before turning back to her, keys in hand.

“I saw where Hannah is buried.” Sue said. “Can I see where she lived?” She was pushing. Requesting entrance into his personal space. Maybe it wasn’t wise, but it felt right.

Rick studied her, eyes narrowed, then turned away. “You want to follow me?” he asked over his shoulder as he opened the driver’s door on his Nitro.

Nodding, Sue got into the van quickly, buckling her belt and turning on the ignition at the same time. She wasn’t going to give him time to change his mind.

Looking around Rick’s living room ten minutes later, honing in particularly on all of the pictures of Hannah—of him and Hannah—Sue blinked back tears.

His daughter’s eyes were green, like her father’s. But her hair was darker than his by a couple of shades.

Sue didn’t mean to stare, but the little girl had been what child models were made of. Oozing happiness and confidence. She compelled you to look at her.

Glancing up, she saw Rick watching her. His eyes were glistening.

“I can’t imagine your loss,” she whispered.

“Neither can I. No matter how many months go by.”

He’d shown her only this room. The dark brown leather couches, coffee and end tables, home theater system. The room was nice. And there was nothing that spoke of anyone living there—no shoes left by the door, no opened mail or remote control on the table. No briefcase or keys or knickknacks. Nothing but the pictures.

“Can I get you something to eat? I was going to do grilled shrimp and onions.”

“Sounds wonderful. But I’ve only got another forty-five minutes or so. I promised Lisa I’d be back before bath time.”

“The shrimp’s already marinated,” Rick said, heading to the kitchen. Sue followed and fell into place beside him, slicing celery and cutting up broccoli, sharing the space easily. Naturally.

The refrigerator was covered with photos of Hannah and Rick. On bikes. On snowshoes. In swimsuits. There was one where their faces were painted gold and red—San Francisco Giants’ colors.

“The pictures, they’re all just of the two of you.”

“Yeah.”

Rick had said he’d never been married. “So you lived alone with her at the time of her accident?”

“We lived alone from the moment I brought her home from the hospital.”

Shocked, Sue stared at him. “Her mother died in childbirth?”

“Her mother didn’t want her,” he said, tipping the pan of shrimp to fill their plates. “Or me.”

“What do you mean, she didn’t want her?”

Rick brought silverware, napkins and iced tea to the table. Sue followed with their plates.

“I met Sheila shortly after I graduated from college,” he said a couple of silent minutes into the meal. Sue had been eating the shrimp. And waiting. “I’d taken a job at Globe High School. As math teacher and basketball coach.”

In the district where he was now assistant superintendent.

“Sheila was the varsity cheerleading coach—an after-school, mostly volunteer position. In her day job she was a model.”

Sitting there in her bike clothes, sweaty and with her hair in a ponytail, Sue wished she’d had a chance to shower. At least.

Rick’s lover had been a model?

“For a boy who’d grown up virtually on his own, never being in one place long enough to form any kind of lasting relationship, having Sheila around took some getting used to. But in a good way. She changed everything for me.”

He took a bite of shrimp, his gaze faraway. “She taught me about love. Taught me how to love.”

Keeping her eyes on her plate, Sue asked, “How does one teach someone to love? Either you feel the feelings or you don’t.”

“Love is action, Sheila always said.” He paused, and Sue looked up at him, then couldn’t look away. “According to her, when you do things for people, you are loving them. When you spoil them, you are loving them in a big way.”

The twinge Sue felt was simply because she was hungry. The bike ride and all…

“So did she?” she asked quietly, reminding herself there was no reason to feel jealous. Rick was with her. He’d cooked dinner for her. Pursued her.

And it wasn’t like she wanted anything permanent, anyway.

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