Firstborn Page 8

  Will you? Kirsten wondered.

  “I’ll call you in a few weeks,” Erika said. “That’s the best way, I think. For you to wait for me to call you after you’ve had a chance to get settled.”

  She didn’t think Erika Welby sounded too sure.

  “I won’t keep you any longer, Kirsten. I hope you have a… a safe trip.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  “Well… good-bye, then.”

  “Bye.”

  Click.

  Bzzzz.

  Kirsten listened to the dial tone for thirty seconds before hanging up.

  Steven stood in the hallway, hidden in the shadows, listening. Eavesdropping and hating himself for it.

  He stepped into the kitchen. Erika turned from the wall phone, as if sensing his presence.

  “You called her,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  Steven moved toward the table. “How’d she sound?”

  “Nervous. Same as me.”

  Her reply set his teeth on edge.

  “Steven?”

  “What?”

  “Maybe we should see a marriage counselor.”

  “We don’t need a counselor.” He stuffed his fingertips in the pockets of his jeans. “We need time. I need time.”

  “Ethan’s upset.”

  His heart sank. “You told him, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “We always have choices, Erika.”

  “He’s scared about what’s happening to us. He needed to—”

  “And that’s my fault? I’m not the one who slept around. My only child is legitimate.” His words were cruel, and their harshness took him as much by surprise as they did Erika.

  She grew visibly pale as she stared at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted.

  If he’d hated himself for eavesdropping, he despised himself even more for this. Yet he couldn’t take back the hateful words. They’d been spoken into existence, and he could never take them back.

  Erika clenched her hands together at her waist. “What is it you want from me, Steven?”

  What he wanted was to apologize. What he said was, “I don’t know.”

  Without a word, tears in her eyes, Erika left the kitchen.

  “What is it you want from me, Steven?”

  He sat down.

  “What is it you want?”

  “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I really don’t know.”

  Moving by instinct rather than design, Erika took Motley’s leash from the nail just inside the garage door, snapped it onto the dog’s collar, then left with him through the gate on the west side of the house.

  She tried to pray but her thoughts were too unfocused, her heart in too much pain. So she walked.

  The neighborhood was like an old friend to her, comfortable, familiar. The Welby family had lived on this street for the past fifteen years. Their subdivision had been built in the fifties, and their neighbors were made up of elderly retirees, young couples starting out, and every kind of home owner in between.

  Ethan had grown up here. He’d learned to ride his bike on these sidewalks. He’d broken his left ankle while trying to jump over Mrs. Freckleton’s hedge on a dare.

  As a stay-at-home mom, Erika had volunteered to help at her son’s schools, first elementary, then junior high, and finally high school. She’d liked those early years the most, of course. That was when she could walk to school, holding her son’s hand. Those days ended when Ethan entered the seventh grade. At that point, she’d been forbidden to kiss him in public and requested not to make a scene should their paths cross in the school hallways.

  She wondered if Kirsten’s adoptive mother had volunteered at her schools. Had Kirsten been a happy child? Had she learned to ride her bike on a street similar to this one? Had she broken a bone or cut her chin? Had an insensitive boy ever broken her schoolgirl’s heart?

  Erika felt a wave of sadness wash over her, a sense of all the moments she’d missed, all the memories she’d lost when she signed away her baby girl to be raised by strangers. But if she’d kept Kirsten, would she have lost Steven forever? Would Ethan have been born? Would Kirsten have suffered if Erika’s decision had been to keep her? Or had she suffered because Erika chose to give her away?

  She would never have answers to those questions. She couldn’t know what might have been any more than she could know the future.

  And oh, how she wished she knew the future.

  Most of all, she wished she could foresee Steven’s forgiveness.

  “I’m not the one who slept around. My only child is legitimate.”

  She winced as she recalled the venom in her husband’s voice. Steven had never spoken to her like that. He’d never been intentionally cruel. He was hurting. She understood that. He felt betrayed, and she couldn’t blame him. But would he be able to forgive her? If not today, tomorrow or the next day or the next? And if he didn’t, what was to become of them?

  Thirteen

  Steven couldn’t stand the accusing silence of the house. So he tossed his clubs into the trunk of his car and headed for the golf course. It was one of the advantages of his job, having more time off in the summer than the average working stiff. He wouldn’t have a problem getting a spur-of-the-moment tee time on a Friday morning.

  Clover Creek was an eighteen-hole public golf course. Nothing fancy, but it was well maintained and the people were friendly. In addition, the rates were reasonable, befitting the budget of an elementary school principal.

  Dallas preferred to play at the exclusive Desert Heights Country Club.

  Dallas.

  With his mood growing more foul by the second, Steven whipped into the Clover Creek parking lot. He slid into an open space and cut the engine. It only took him a few minutes to put on his golf shoes, grab his clubs from the trunk, and head inside to arrange for a tee time. Fortunately, they weren’t busy. Nobody tried to pair him up with another player. He was thankful for that. The last thing he wanted was to make idle conversation with a stranger.

  By the eighth hole, he’d lost six balls, two in the neighboring cornfields and four in the course’s ponds and streams. Adding insult to injury, he was ten strokes over par. Maybe playing golf wasn’t the best way to improve his mood.

  He thought things couldn’t get worse.

  He was wrong.

  Dallas was waiting for him at the tenth hole.

  “What are you doing here?” Steven asked when he realized who it was standing near the tee box.

  “I stopped by your house. Erika said you’d left while she was out and your clubs were gone.” Dallas shrugged. “Two and two made four.”

  Steven said nothing.

  “What’s going on, Steve? You missed our lunch, and you haven’t returned any of my calls.”

  Steven yanked his driver from the bag. “I came here to golf, not talk.”

  “Fair enough.” Dallas tossed a golf ball into the air, caught it, then said, “I’ll play the back nine with you.”

  “I’d rather play alone.” He jammed the tee into the earth. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Well, yeah, I guess I do mind. I paid my fee already.”

  Steven gripped the driver with both hands. “Suit yourself.” He positioned himself, peered toward the flag above the tenth hole, then pulled back the club and swung for all he was worth. The ball sailed through the air, straight toward the green.

  Dallas let out a low whistle. “You’ve been practicing, buddy.”

  It was all Steven could do not to swing his driver at Dallas’s head. Instead, he shoved the club into the bag and took off down the blacktop path, not waiting to watch Dallas tee off, not even caring at this point if he got nailed by a flying golf ball.

  Dallas allowed Steven his silence for three holes before making another attempt at conversation, just as they reached the thirteenth green.

  “Steve, this is crazy. You’re mad about something. It would help if I knew what, so spit it out.”
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br />   “Let it go, Dallas.”

  “I don’t think so. Erika looks like she’s been dragged through a knothole backwards.”

  Steven strode up to Dallas, almost nose to nose. “What my wife looks like is my business. It’s not any of yours.”

  “Hey!” Dallas raised his hands in a sign of surrender. “Cool off. I’m just trying to help.”

  “Help?” Steven took a swing at him with his fist but missed.

  “Whoa, buddy. What the—”

  Steven swung again, this time clipping Dallas’s chin before he could get out of the way.

  Dallas stared at him, his face flushed, his eyes angry, while he rubbed his jaw.

  Steven glared back, hating his friend, hating himself.

  “I don’t know what I did to deserve that, but I guess I did something.”

  “Oh, you did,” Steven said. “Trust me, you did plenty.”

  “All I can say is, it’s a good thing I’m not a Christian. I’d have to turn the other cheek, and I’m not sure I could do that.” He reached for his golf bag. “Guess golf wasn’t a good idea after all. Call me when you’re ready to talk.”

  Steven took a step backward. “I suggest you talk to Erika.” He grabbed his own golf bag and strode away.

  Dallas’s words followed him, ringing in his ears: “Good thing I’m not a Christian.” The indictment was well deserved. Steven’s behavior had been anything but Christlike. Not toward Dallas and certainly not toward Erika.

  But right this minute, he didn’t care.

  Dallas decided to take Steven’s advice. He drove to the Welby home to talk to Erika.

  He got out of his car and walked to the front door with determined steps. He rang the bell, then waited impatiently for it to be answered.

  Erika opened the door. For an instant, he caught a glimpse of hope in her eyes. Then it disappeared.

  Man, something was really wrong here, and whatever it was, Dallas meant to get to the bottom of it.

  “I saw Steven at the golf course,” he said. “He told me you and I need to talk.”

  She stared at him a moment or two, then nodded, a look of resignation on her face as she let him in. He walked past her, stopped, turned, and waited.

  “O God,” she whispered, “please.”

  He felt a sudden irritation. “Come on, Erika. Is this so bad you’ve got to pray first?”

  “Yes.” She looked at him. “It is.” She led the way into the living room.

  Unnerved by her reply, Dallas took a seat.

  Erika gave her head a slight shake. “You’re the third person I’ve had to tell this story to. You’d think it would get easier, but it doesn’t.” Her voice dropped slightly. “In fact, I think it gets harder.”

  He wondered if Erika and Steven were getting a divorce. They would be the last couple he’d expect it from, but stranger things happened. As crazy as Steven had acted today, he figured it was a possibility.

  “Dallas, do you remember your first year in college?”

  He raised an eyebrow, thinking it an odd question in the middle of a serious discussion. “For the most part,” he answered.

  “Do you remember what happened… between us?”

  He stiffened. It wasn’t a memory he cared to dredge up.

  “There’s something I’ve kept from you,” Erika continued. “I… I got pregnant.”

  “You what?” He was on his feet.

  “I gave her up for adoption at birth.”

  “Her?”

  There were tears in Erika’s eyes. “Your… daughter.”

  My daughter? He got up, turned his back, then walked to the opposite side of the room, trying to make sense of it. A chill shot through him as he rubbed the sore spot on his jaw. He turned slowly to face her. “You told Steve?”

  She nodded. “I had to.”

  “But why?”

  “She wrote to me.” Erika wiped the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips. “She’s coming to Boise to live. She wants to meet me.” She paused a heartbeat, then said, “And she’ll want to meet you, too.”

  Dallas’s silence seemed worse than anything he could say.

  Why aren’t you with me, Steven? Why aren’t we telling Dallas together?

  Throughout her adult life, her husband had been beside her in times of crisis. But not this time. This time, he’d left her to face everything alone.

  Will he ever be beside me again?

  “When?” Dallas asked.

  Erika blinked, surprised by the sound of his voice. “When what?”

  “When is the girl coming to Boise?”

  She drew a shaky breath. “She’s on her way now, I think.”

  He rubbed his forehead with the fingers of one hand. “Not much warning.”

  “No.”

  “What if I don’t want anything to do with her?”

  “That’ll be up to you. She doesn’t know your name.”

  He turned toward the window. “Paula isn’t going to like this news.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t do anything about that.”

  “Look, I… I’d better go. I need to figure this out.”

  “Of course.” She stood. “I understand.”

  She didn’t bother to follow him to the door. Instead, she sank listlessly onto the sofa.

  Time passed, but she had no concept of how much or how little it was before she heard the garage door open.

  She tensed. Each minute dragged by as she waited to hear her husband enter the house. When Steven stepped into the living-room entry, Erika felt a sharp pain in her chest. He looked beaten, defeated, and it made her want to cry again. Steven had always been strong, but he didn’t look strong now.

  Their gazes locked. She held her breath, waiting.

  At last, he said, “Dallas came to the golf course.”

  “I know.” She swallowed hard. “He came here after seeing you.”

  “Did he tell you what happened?”

  “He said you told him to talk to me.”

  Steven stepped into the room, glancing at his right hand. “I hit him,” he said softly as he formed a fist.

  So, her lie had brought him to this. Her vision blurred, but she kept the tears from falling. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Steven.”

  Wordlessly, he sat in the chair.

  She wondered if the friendship between the two men was irrevocably broken. She longed to go to him but she didn’t move.

  “I’ve never felt that kind of rage before,” Steven said, more to himself than to her.

  “It’s understandable.”

  “Is it?” He shook his head.

  O God, what do I say to him? What can I do to make things better? She said the only thing she could: “I love you, Steven.”

  He rubbed his knuckles. “I don’t know where to go from here, what to do next.” He stared at the floor, midway between where he sat and where she sat.

  Tell me you love me, Steven. That’s where we should begin. Hold me. Take my hand or put your arm around my shoulders. Touch me in some way. Any way.

  But Steven couldn’t hear her thoughts, and he didn’t come to hold her as she desired.

  Kirsten dropped onto the bed in the small motel in North Olmstead, Ohio.

  Four hundred and forty miles down. Two thousand thirty miles to go.

  The motel wasn’t exactly a four-star establishment. Even a three would be generous. But it looked clean, and it was a good distance from the interstate so the constant noise of semis on the freeway wouldn’t keep her awake. Most importantly, it fit her budget.

  Kirsten groaned, then made herself rise and go into the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth and washed her face. She undressed, tossing her clothes across a chair before slipping into a nightshirt. Minutes later, she returned to the bed, this time pulling back the spread, blanket, and top sheet and climbing in.

  But she didn’t fall instantly asleep as she’d expected she would. Instead, her thoughts flitted from one thing to another.
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  Four hundred and forty miles from Philly. That was farther from home than she’d ever traveled.

  Although she was born in Boston, the Lundquist family had moved to Philadelphia before Kirsten’s second birthday, and that was where she and her mother had stayed after the death of Felix Lundquist. Kirsten’s mother had struggled to make ends meet, week to week, month to month, year to year. There hadn’t been money for trips to Disney World or other vacation spots. Kirsten hadn’t even made it to New York City until she graduated from high school, and then it had happened only with the help of her closest girlfriends.

  Now she was moving clear across the country. She was driving alone in an older model Toyota to a state she knew little about.

  I must be insane.

  But if she didn’t go, she wouldn’t meet Erika Welby. And if she didn’t meet Erika, she would never learn the facts of her birth or discover who her father was.

  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine him. He hadn’t been identified on her original birth certificate, he remained nameless. Perhaps Erika didn’t know where he was. Or even who he was.

  Kirsten didn’t like to entertain that notion. She wanted her dad to be someone special. How often had she looked in the mirror and tried to envision him? Was his hair black and curly like hers? Did he have the same olive complexion or the same dimples? Were his eyes brown like hers?

  Whatever he looked like, Kirsten was certain he must be kind and caring. He must be.

  It was foolish, of course, to romanticize the stranger who’d sired her, but she couldn’t help it. Sometimes she imagined he’d been searching for her all these years. When she was little, she liked to pretend he would arrive one day at her school and whisk her away to a castle somewhere.

  “Princess Kirsten,” she whispered, mocking herself.

  Lights flashed against the curtains as a vehicle pulled into the parking space outside her room. Car doors opened, then slammed closed. A young boy’s voice rose in complaint. A father’s rebuke silenced him. A mother’s softer words offered comfort.

  Strangers, traveling the freeway, the same as Kirsten. Only they were a family. A real family. Where were they going? As far as she? No, probably not that far.