Firstborn Page 9
She rolled onto her side, turning her back toward the window of the motel room.
Five more days of travel, two thousand and some miles, and she would be in Boise.
In recent weeks, Kirsten had spent hours on the Internet, studying the pages at www.cityofboise.org and other related sites. She’d looked at the photos of the mountains and the river, the city skyline by day and by night, the zoo and the parks. She’d studied the street maps, figuring out the best route from her apartment—arranged for, sight unseen, through a rental agency—to her new office.
Even with all her research, she knew her world would be turned upside down for a long time to come. Everything would feel strange because it wouldn’t be home, because she would be alone.
But if she could find her dad and if he could love her, even a little…
Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, dampening her pillow.
I want it so much. So very, very much.
Fourteen
“What’s going on?’’
Dallas glanced up from the sports page of the paper.
Paula gave him a disgusted look. “You didn’t hear a word I said at supper last night, and you’re doing the same thing this morning. What’s on your mind?”
Tell her about the girl, a small voice prompted.
Ironic, wasn’t it? He’d wondered if there was something wrong with him in the fatherhood department, and it turned out he’d been one for—what?—nearly twenty-two years. Of course, Steven would say it took more than impregnation to make a man a father.
Steven…
Frowning, Dallas rubbed his jaw.
“Are you listening to me?” Paula demanded.
“I’m sorry.” He folded the paper, then set it aside. “I was thinking about Steve… and Erika.”
“What about them?”
Tell her.
Yesterday, Steven had punched him in anger. That was probably nothing compared to what Paula would do when she found out about his fling with Erika all those years ago.
“Well?” Paula said.
“They… they’re having problems. I’m worried about them.”
“What kind of problems?” She sat down opposite him. “You mean in their marriage?”
“Yes.”
“So, spill the details, Dallas. Don’t leave me hanging.”
“I don’t know much.” That was a lie, but he didn’t care. He was telling her that his best friend’s marriage was in trouble, and all she wanted were the gory details. He could see it in her eyes. She wanted the gossip.
She gave him a knowing smile as she rose slowly from her chair and came around the table. Draping her arms around his neck, she whispered, “Ve have vays to make you talk.”
This was supposed to be the moment when he willingly rose from his chair and cradled his wife in his arms. This was supposed to be the moment when he told her whatever she wanted to hear. That was how it had worked before. But this time was different. This time her attempts to entice only served to irritate.
Did she really not care about their friends?
He lightly grasped her upper arms and held her away from him. “Not now, Paula.”
She stiffened, and the surprise in her green eyes was almost comical. Only he found no humor in it.
Paula’s surprise was followed by a glimmer of anger and then by something not so easily defined.
“Okay,” she said softly. “I understand.” She gave him a tender smile. “I can see you’re worried.” Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against his forehead. “Maybe I should share some good news.” She slipped off his lap, standing near his chair, the fingers of her right hand resting on his chest. “I called my gynecologist. They were able to squeeze me in next week. I told them I needed to begin fertility tests.”
He glanced up.
“I want a baby every bit as much as you do, Dallas. I’m sorry we’ve fought over this.”
Looking at her, he was reminded of the night they met. They’d been at a political fund-raiser, both of them with other dates. Paula had bumped into him on the dance floor. He’d taken one look at the petite, green-eyed, red-haired beauty—all of twenty years old at the time—and he’d known he was a goner.
They were a lot alike, he and his wife. They were ambitious, driven, success-oriented. Neither was afraid of hard work or long hours in order to get what they each wanted. And they had just about everything. They lived the good life. And yet Dallas felt somehow hollow. For a long time he’d thought the only thing they needed to make the picture perfect was a child.
But was that true?
Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure. Suddenly, he wondered whether that hollow feeling inside him could be filled even by a baby.
Ethan ate breakfast and left for his job at the hardware store. Steven announced that he had yard work to do before the day got too warm.
With both of her men out of the house and the radio tuned to an oldies station, Erika put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, then wiped down the kitchen counters. Next, she changed the sheets on the beds and put the dirty linens in the washing machine. It was a familiar Saturday morning routine, one Erika could probably do while sleepwalking.
She was on the way to retrieve the vacuum cleaner from the hall closet when her mind betrayed her.
Where’s Kirsten now? How far across the country did she come yesterday?
Erika stopped, then turned and walked into the living room. She gazed around, as if she’d never seen the room before, not certain what she’d come here for. Finally, she sat on the nearest chair.
It isn’t safe for a young woman to drive so far alone. Why didn’t I object?
Because she had no right to object. She’d given away that right when she’d put her baby up for adoption.
What could I have done differently?
She was tired of that question. She was tired of self-recriminations.
She rose again, restless, unsettled. She walked to the window and stared at the front lawn, a deep emerald green, still damp from the sprinklers.
Did Kirsten grow up in a house with a front yard? Or was her home an apartment in the city?
Odd, how Erika had been able to keep thoughts of this child—her firstborn—from her mind through the years, and now she could think of little else.
What if I don’t like her? What if she doesn’t like me?
Dreadful possibilities, but possibilities all the same.
She closed her eyes and remembered Ethan as a baby, as a toddler, as a five-year-old learning to ride his bike, as a young boy going off to school for the first time.
So many memories of her son, and not even one of her daughter. Erika hadn’t held Kirsten after giving birth. She’d been emptied of the life she’d carried within her teenaged body, and then she’d sent the baby away.
O God, what a mess we make of things when we don’t live godly lives, when we make sinful choices.
The ringing of the telephone yanked her from her thoughts. She went to answer it. “Hello?” Erika said.
“Morning, Erika.”
Her throat narrowed. “Hi, Paula.”
“How are you?” Her voice sounded unusually kind.
Did Paula know? Had Dallas told her?
“Fine, thanks,” Erika answered with fake calm. “And you?”
“I’m terrific. Listen, I was wondering if you and Steven could come over for supper tonight. We’ll barbecue, then relax by the pool.”
Erika’s grip tightened around the handset. Dallas hasn’t told her.
“What do you say? Nothing fancy, and you don’t have to bring a thing but your swimsuits and yourselves.”
“I’ll have to check with Steven before I say yes or no. Can I call you back in about an hour?”
“Of course. I’ve got a few errands to run this morning, so if I’m not here, leave a message.”
“All right.”
“Bye.”
Erika placed the phone in its cradle, noticing the slight unsteadiness of her
own hand.
O God, how do You redeem a mess like this?
A scene from Gone With the Wind popped into her head, the one when Scarlett walked into a party unescorted, wearing a dress as scarlet as her name, a party where everyone was whispering about her, judging her, condemning her.
“I know exactly how she felt.”
Kirsten stopped for a late lunch at a truck stop outside of South Bend, Indiana.
“You look beat, sweetie pie,” the waitress said as Kirsten slid into a booth. She was a plump woman, probably in her sixties, with hair dyed carrot red and a pair of fluorescent-framed glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Her name badge identified her as Mildred. “How ’bout some coffee? This stuff’s strong enough to remove rust from the underside of a semi. It’ll open those eyes of yours.” She didn’t wait for an answer before filling the white mug on the table.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” She popped her gum as she dropped a menu in front of Kirsten. “I’ll be back in a jiff for your order.”
Kirsten stared at the choices listed on the plastic-covered menu. The food was reasonably priced and, no doubt, trucker-sized in portions. Kirsten felt hungry enough to eat a side of beef, but she knew too big a meal would make her want to nap. She was plenty tired without that.
“You decide?” Mildred asked when she returned a few minutes later.
“Yes. I’d like the BLT on toast, please, and a cup of your soup of the day.”
“Anything besides coffee to drink?”
“Just water.”
Mildred took the menu. “I’ll have it right out to you, hon.”
Kirsten offered a weak smile. “Which way to the rest room?”
The waitress motioned with her head. “Over that away.”
“Thanks.”
When Mildred was gone, Kirsten pushed herself out of the booth. The truck stop was large—part restaurant, part convenience store, part video arcade. Kirsten wound her way through several aisles, looking at the shelves of food, first-aid items, and cheap bric-a-brac in the touristy section of the store.
It reminded her of her mom. Donna Lundquist had a taste for kitsch. Their apartment had been filled with trinkets and knicknacks that served no purpose except to gather dust.
For some reason, as Kirsten stared at a dashboard hula girl, she remembered the time her mom had bought a kite and they’d gone to the park to fly it. It had been one of those picture-perfect days when the sky was powder blue with a few tufts of white clouds added for texture. The trees had been thick with green leaves, their branches stirring in a gentle but steady breeze. It had taken the two of them forever to get that kite airborne. They’d been silly with giggles, the both of them, before they’d succeeded.
Homesickness washed over her. If Kirsten could have seen her mom right then, she’d gladly buy her every kitschy item in this place.
Steven listened as Erika relayed Paula’s invitation, then said, “We’re not going. Make up some excuse.”
“I don’t think Dallas has told her.”
“Can’t say as I blame him.” He turned toward the lawn mower, wiped perspiration from his brow with his forearm, and leaned down to pull the starter.
“Steven?”
He cast an impatient glance over his shoulder without letting go of the cord.
She gave her head a slight shake. “Never mind.” She turned and walked toward the house.
Steven ground his teeth in frustration. What did she want from him? All he needed was some time to work this through. Was that so much to ask?
He pulled the starter, and the mower’s engine roared to life.
Maybe. Maybe not.
He was rotten through and through, Steven realized. No denying it. He couldn’t make himself do right, even when he wanted to, and when he tried not to do wrong, he did it anyway.
“God, I don’t understand why You’ve let this happen to us,” he muttered.
Fifteen
I never should’ve done this. I must be nuts.
The journey between Grand Island, Nebraska, and Laramie, Wyoming, yesterday had seemed long and tedious. But today had been ten times worse.
Kirsten had left all visible signs of civilization behind a thousand miles ago. The last “city” she’d passed through was Omaha. She’d even begun to long for the sight of cornfields and a silo or two, things she’d found herself cursing after several hours in Iowa. But cornfields and silos, in her humble opinion, were vastly superior to endless miles of sagebrush and nothing else.
It was day number five of her journey west, and she was two thousand twenty-nine miles from home. She missed Van and wondered if she should have convinced him to propose; they could have married, settled down, started a family of their own. She missed her mom and wished she could tell her so in person. She missed her cramped apartment with the bathroom faucet that leaked and the paper-thin walls that let her hear her neighbors when they quarreled. She missed her coworkers at Maguire & Son, including—well, almost—the smarmy maintenance guy who lurked around outside the ladies’ rest room, hoping to get a date. She even missed the rush-hour traffic of Philadelphia, as hard as that was to believe.
What in the name of heaven had made her think that finding her father would be worth living in country like this?
Oh, please, don’t let Boise be like this!
Kirsten’s one consolation was knowing she could legally drive seventy-five miles per hour through this godforsaken wilderness. She would have gone faster, but her car’s four-cylinder engine wasn’t cut out for more speed.
She filled the gas tank at Little America, Wyoming, along with about thirty truckers. In the restaurant, she bolted down a greasy hamburger, some thick French fries smothered in ketchup, and a root beer while studying the road map. She wanted to reach a place called Burley before calling it a night, but that was still nearly three hundred and fifty miles away.
She made some quick calculations. Four and a half hours of driving. With luck and no head wind to buck, she’d be there by seven-thirty.
She groaned softly. I’ve made an awful mistake.
“Bill,” Dallas said into the telephone handset, “the world you and I grew up in is dead. We either move our companies into the future using every means at our disposal or we die, too.”
On the other end of the line, Bill Cannon concurred. A few moments later, the conversation drew to a close.
Dallas had barely set the phone in its cradle when his secretary buzzed him.
“Mr. Welby’s here to see you,” Karla announced.
Dallas felt the muscles in his neck and shoulders tense. He considered telling Karla he couldn’t be disturbed, but curiosity won out. “Send him in.”
He stood with his back to the large plate-glass windows that lined the eastern wall of his office, the morning sunshine streaming into the room.
The door opened, and Steven entered.
“Steve.”
“Dallas.” Steven closed the door behind him, then stepped to the center of the office. “Sorry for showing up without calling first.”
Dallas shrugged.
“I… owe you an apology.” Steven touched his jaw, then motioned toward Dallas. “For hitting you. I shouldn’t have done it. There’s never a good reason for violence.”
He cleared his throat. “I should’ve turned the other cheek. Like you said.”
Steven glanced from Dallas to the window as if searching for what he wanted to say next. Dallas didn’t rush him. As a businessman, he’d learned the art of appearing patient, even when he wasn’t.
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still angry at you,” Steven continued at last. “And with Erika.” His eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze returned to Dallas. “You should have told me a long time ago what happened between the two of you.”
“Your anger’s understandable.” Dallas figured he could be magnanimous now that Steven had apologized. “If I were in your shoes, I’d want to bust a few heads myself.”
“Do you want to sit down?” Dallas asked.
“No. I’ve said what I came to say.”
“But—”
Steven raised a hand to stop his objection. “This isn’t over, Dallas, and it’s not going to be solved with an ‘I’m sorry’ or two. Trust’s been broken.” He took his raised hand and rubbed the palm over his face. “And like it or not, your daughter’s arriving in Boise soon. We’re all going to have to deal with the situation… and with her… for the rest of our lives.”
Dallas couldn’t say he cared for the sound of that. The girl was a stranger. What right had she to complicate his life this way? If she’d never written that letter…
Dallas turned to stare out the window. “Will you and Erika make it through this?” he asked.
“I hope so. With God’s help.”
Dallas thought of Paula. It didn’t take an Einstein to figure out what her reaction would be when he worked up the nerve to tell her. “Maybe I could use a bit of that help myself.”
“You probably could,” Steven answered. A few moments later, he left without bothering to say good-bye.
“With God’s help…”
Dallas had always believed in helping himself. If he wanted something done and done right, he did it. That was how he’d gotten where he was today.
And where exactly was that? he wondered. Afraid to tell his wife about some girl who claimed to be his daughter?
He grunted. He didn’t see how any god could help him with Paula. She had a temper to match her fiery red hair.
And what about Steven and Erika? Was their God going to help them salvage their marriage?
He frowned, suddenly wondering if his friend had ever cheated on Erika in the years they’d been married. No, probably not. Since they’d gotten mixed up with that church a decade or so ago, they’d walked the straight and narrow. Steven didn’t cuss, drink, or smoke, let alone play around on his wife.