Dad By Choice. Marie Ferrarella
that time, even on the first day. “With luck, six.”
Kyle nodded. That worked out perfectly. His last meeting was at four. Barring something unforeseen occurring, he should be finished around five-thirty. Even given the traffic at that hour, he could probably make it back here before she had a chance to escape. He had a feeling that consultations with her patients’ older brothers were not a high priority with the woman.
“Fine, I can be here by six-thirty. That should give you a little time to catch your breath.”
His phrasing seemed to amuse her. Despite her hurry, she paused at the door. “Will I be needing to catch my breath?”
He ignored the strange sensation that ran through him as he watched a quirky smile lift the corners of her generous mouth. At a loss as to how to answer her, he plowed ahead as if she hadn’t asked. “There’s something I need to discuss with you.”
After getting off the table with some difficulty, Marcie combed her fingers through her flattened hair. “He’s going to try to get you on his side.”
“Side?” For Marcie’s sake, Abby gave no indication that she knew anything about the ongoing argument between the girl and her brother. She had a feeling that Kyle McDermott didn’t take kindly to people being privy to what went on in his home behind closed doors. She looked at Kyle now, pretending to wait for enlightenment. “As in a debate?”
“As in railroading,” Marcie muttered resentfully. Obviously frustrated, she tried to jam her swollen feet into her shoes. The dark flats slid to the side, foiling her efforts.
Kyle bent down, captured her shoes and helped her on with them, Abby noted. He seemed to do it without conscious thought, as if helping Marcie was automatic.
Watching, Abby changed her mind about the refusal that was on the tip of her tongue. At least the man had some redeeming qualities. “Six-thirty it is. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
She was gone before Kyle could say anything more.
“GOT ONE FOR YOU, Daisy.”
The matronly-looking woman glanced up from her desk at the police officer ushering the young waif into Serenity Shelter’s tiny office.
The older woman’s face was lined, but her soft brown eyes were kind and she smiled in response to the policeman’s words as she rose from behind her desk. “So, where did you find this one, Rick?”
Rick hooked his thumbs onto his belt as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. “In an alley. She was wandering around, dazed.”
Daisy sighed, nodding her head. She peered closer, drawn by the bruises that were just beginning to form. “What’s your name, lamb?”
The policeman answered for her. “She doesn’t know her name.”
Daisy’s eyebrows puckered closer together over a remarkably thin nose. She lowered her voice. “Something wrong with her?”
Rick shrugged, the helpless feeling growing. The young woman he’d found turned to look at him without saying a word. She’d been quiet all the way over here. Quiet on the way to the police station, as well. He supposed losing her memory didn’t leave her with a whole lot to say.
“There’s a bump on her forehead, just where her hair falls over it.” He nodded vaguely in her general direction. “Maybe that did it.” He sucked air in through his teeth. “She says she can’t remember anything.”
“I can’t,” she said softly.
Daisy believed her. The young woman looked as if the sound of her own voice surprised her. Daisy had never had any children of her own. Everyone who passed through the doors of Serenity Shelter was her child. Compassion filled her as she slipped a wide arm around the young woman’s small shoulders.
“Don’t you worry none—it’ll come back to you. But for now, you need a name.” Cocking her head, Daisy looked at her, trying to see beyond the bruises. Trying not to judge whoever had given them to her. That wasn’t her job. “You look a little like my niece, Sara. How about I call you Sara? Would that be all right with you?”
Newly christened Sara nodded her consent.
That settled, there was more. “Has she been seen by a doctor?”
Rick shook his head. “When I checked her for priors and came up empty, I was going to send her to the clinic.” He hesitated. This went beyond duty, but sometimes you had to. “But I thought, in view of the circumstances, maybe you’d want to take her there yourself.”
Daisy snorted. “Checked her for priors, indeed. A sweet-faced little thing like this? Anyone with eyes can see how innocent she is.” And then she nodded. “Yeah, I guess I’ve got time to take her to the clinic. In between my pedicure and my massage.” The sound emitting from her lips was more of a crackle than a chuckle. “Let’s get you checked out, honey, and then we’ll see where we can fit you in.”
Nowhere, Sara thought. I fit in nowhere. She looked at them. They meant well, these people, but they had no idea how it felt to have nothing to think about, nothing to remember.
Daisy reached for her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk, then paused. She saw the look in Sara’s eyes. “It’ll come back to you. Whatever brought you here, it’ll come back.” She nodded at Rick, who then took his leave. “You don’t know how lucky you are, not remembering. Some of the stories I could tell you…”
Sara didn’t feel very lucky. The only feeling she had was a vague sense that something was missing. Something vital. Because there was nothing else, she clung to that as she allowed herself to be ushered out into a world she didn’t recognize.
DRAINED, ABBY DROPPED into her chair. The last patient had finally left several minutes ago. She heard the front door close, telling her that Lisa was hurrying home to her twin boys. They’d packed a lot of work into one day. It was 6:19, and they had seen their full load, plus two unexpected patients who’d pleaded emergencies in order to see her. And Mrs. Calvert had had her triplets two weeks early, to add to the excitement of the day.
Abby wondered if it was poor form just to curl up on one of her examination tables and go to sleep.
“You’re not getting enough vitamins, Abby-girl,” she murmured to herself, trying to summon enough strength to get back on her feet again.
She needn’t have bothered. At 6:20, the telephone rang. The flashing red light told her it was coming in on her personal line. Abby pulled the last remaining pin from her hair, and it came tumbling down her back as she reached for the receiver. At least it wouldn’t be a prospective father calling her to frantically proclaim, “It’s time.” Given her druthers, she really didn’t want to have to face another woman in the throes of labor tonight.
Taking a deep breath, she brought the receiver to her ear. “Abby.”
“Abby, it’s Mother. Put on that little television set you have in your office and turn to channel eight.”
Her mother rarely called her at work, and when she did, it wasn’t to tell her to watch something on television. This wasn’t going to be good.
Opening her side drawer to retrieve the remote control, Abby braced herself. “I take it by your tone, I’m not about to be entertained.” She aimed the remote at the set and pressed the power button.
“Only if your sense of humor has suddenly turned bizarre.”
From the sound of it, her mother was struggling to keep a tight rein on her emotions. Concern took a firmer hold on Abby.
The color on the set came into focus. Flipping quickly, she found Channel 8 and the program that had prompted her mother to call her.
“Son of a gun.”
There, smiling up into the camera, was Chelsea Markum—the reporter Abby had taken the baby from this morning. Along the bottom of the screen scrolled the teaser: