Jax stopped when she got to the fenced dog paddock late in the afternoon, and ignored the yipping of the hungry dogs. She put the buckets of feed down and made her way cautiously along the fence line to the paddock at the side of the house, towards the rear.
Her heart was beating faster than it should. The fence had been mowed down.
This was the second issue in almost as many minutes. She’d found the door to the aviary open as soon as she’d stepped off the verandah.
Amazingly, none of the mallee fowl she’d rescued from a scrub fire a few weeks ago had got out. They were mostly ground dwellers but Jax had two trees in the large, walk-in aviary. The fowl were huddled on a limb now, up in the canopy. About the size of a chicken, they used their powerful feet to build huge egg-incubating mounds on the ground—not that any of these darlings would be nesting this year although she’d built up the sandy floor so they could attempt it, but had known it was a futile gesture. There were only five too, so one of them was without its mate.
There were feathers scattered on the base of the aviary. More than usual. These birds had been scared. They rarely flew, unless disturbed or frightened or roosting at night.
She’d padlocked the aviary door and put the key on her key ring, which was already full with house keys, café keys, shelter keys and car keys. If she ever needed a weapon, she had one with her bulging key ring.
And by the looks of things around the fenced paddock where she’d intended to house the bull, she might be needing a weapon. She’d have to find a reason to stop Frances taking a walk around the gardens and the paddocks on her own. Not that she’d shown any interest in either the animals or the scenery since they got back from the café that morning.
Problem was, she’d have to report this destruction to Jack. No—she’d call Donna over, and she’d do it when Donna was off duty. She might be wrong about the older Baxter boys being on her property and being responsible for this damage, as well the dug-up telephone wires she’d found yesterday, and she didn’t want to offend their parents. They were hardworking farmers; it wasn’t their fault their eldest sons were bad, nor was it their fault their youngest son had almost gone the same way as his brothers. It was a good job Solomon Jones had taken Billy on at his stables. Although everybody still kept a watch on Badass Billy, as the eighteen-year-old referred to himself.
That made her think about the bull again. They’d chosen to keep it at her place because of the strength of the fence: thick, solid planks of wood with sturdy posts, almost as tall as Jax.
Now, she’d have to get the fence fixed. She could erect a simple enclosure with star pickets and white wire, but she couldn’t do this one on her own. She doubted she’d even be able to pick up one of the posts.
She’d see if Mr Bernardo’s son, the local handyman, could spare the time to re-erect the wooden fence tomorrow. But who had done this? Idiot young men out joyriding? Or the Baxters?
She turned and headed back to the dogs, hoping the raucous yaps were nothing more than an irate indication that she was late in feeding them, and that she wasn’t about to find one of the dogs hurt or injured. She’d discovered the Baxter boys teasing them, which was the main reason she’d sacked them five days after hiring them.
Fifteen minutes later, with the dogs fed and all of them looking well, she made her way across the paddock and towards the house.
Who would want to hurt her or destroy her property? Or was it just young people messing about, bored senseless and having what they referred to as ‘fun’? That was a better thought. But it had to be the Baxters. They’d be upset with her for firing them and running them off her property. Neither had held down a full-time job in their lives. Both had more or less left the family farm for good a few months back, leaving Mr and Mrs Baxter to work it alone. Their grandfather, old Hugh, was no use to anyone either. He liked his bottle too much. How could Mrs Baxter bear it? Maybe Jax ought to drive out and speak to her. Mrs Baxter hardly ever came into town. Too busy labouring on the land and in the kitchen. Jax could bake a cake and take it out as a peace offering.
She halted, pulled a penknife from her back jeans pocket and cut off a small, low-hanging branch from a shady-green mulga tree and some light-grey stems from a bluebush acacia. She needed something pretty to look at, and if she picked some rosemary and lavender from her front garden, this desert-bouquet would look gorgeous in a giant glass jug, sitting on the coffee table in the living room.
She slipped the penknife into her back pocket and reminded herself that from now on she’d have to take her mobile with her everywhere she went. She hadn’t had much need to remember it before now because she was always at the café, and if someone rescued an animal and needed her, they knew where to find her. Mostly, if there were lost or injured animals, the animal welfare volunteers would take first charge. If for some reason a volunteer couldn’t keep the animal, or if it was a bird, then they’d bring it to the café. Everybody knew where to find Jax, and all the volunteers had keys to the caged area behind the café and to the shed where the feed and other equipment was stored. But with Frances living with her now, she wanted to be available for her daughter at a second’s notice.
Inside the kitchen, the house was quiet but all her senses told her there was another soul in her home. How could that sensory perception work so quickly? She’d only been with Frances a couple of days and already she was sensing the child’s presence in the house. It was Frances’s house now, too, she reminded herself. Of course the girl would make an impression and leave her scent between the walls. It was a strawberry scent, if Jax was correct. Frances must have been in the shower. Jax had bought her three kinds of shower gel and shampoo. She had been stunned for a moment when she’d had to choose the shampoo, because she hadn’t known if her daughter’s hair was fine and frizzy, or thick and dry. She’d chosen Normal, which is the one she used, and pushed to the back of her mind the knowledge that she was a mother who didn’t know.
She pulled off her Wellingtons, slipped her feet into her sandals then washed her hands and gathered the glass jug and the bouquet and headed for the living area.
Time to push the getting-acquainted button again. She was determined to get a relationship going with Frances, even if it was a bit low-key, or even if she continued to face belligerence; she was not giving up.
‘There’s a bull at the police station,’ she said as she walked into the living room, noting her daughter was sunk on the sofa, iPhone in hand.
‘No, really. There’s a bull at the police station.’
Frances looked up, her face set in a mask of boredom. She had her feet on the coffee table Jax had meticulously worked on, taking the shiny varnish off and leaving it bare, waxed pine. Not that she minded Frances having her feet on it; Jax was wont to put her feet on it in the evenings when she had a bit of time to relax and read. It’s just that she felt sure Frances was doing it on purpose—to show her disinterest. Or maybe she was waiting for a reaction. Jax wasn’t going to give her one.
‘Donna—my friend who’s a police officer—might show you around the station if you’re interested. They sometimes give a tour to the older kids in town.’
‘Not interested.’ Frances pulled her feet off the coffee table and curled them under her, flushing as she did it and not meeting Jax’s eye.
Maybe she was more aware of her behaviour than Jax had first thought. ‘What did you think of Rosie? She’s not the only character in town. We—’
‘I said I’m not interested.’
Jax halted, but only for a moment. Keep going. Keep pushing the boundary. ‘Well you’d better watch that attitude around Rosita. She won’t let you get away with it.’
‘Who cares?’
‘I do.’ Jax put the cut branches and plant stems onto the dining table. ‘Want a ham sandwich for afternoon tea? It’s roast beef tonight but it won’t be ready until about seven. Gets a bit busy around here in the afternoons, with all the animals.’
Frances shrugged. ‘Whatever you’re making. Don’t do it just for me. I can make my own food.’
‘Do you like cooking? Or baking?’
‘No.’
She’d paused momentarily before speaking and Jax thought that perhaps she did like cooking. Then wondered if it was a talent she’d inherited from Jax, or if Linda had been a good cook and Frances had learned the skill from her.
Jax shoved her fingertips into the pockets of her jeans. She was hanging around, trying to make something work, and it felt like she was pushing too hard. Or in the wrong manner. But what would Frances like to talk about?
She noticed her mobile on the table and picked it up.
‘Is that a good one?’ she asked, indicating Frances’s iPhone, which must be red hot since it was never out of her hands. As far as Jax could tell, she mostly played games on it or listened to music.
‘It’s not the latest. It’s the one before.’
‘I need a new mobile.’ Jax held hers out. ‘I’ve more or less killed the battery on this one.’ She’d need to replace it soon. ‘Do you think mine’s working too slowly? I’m sure it’s the battery.’
Frances took it off her and turned it in her hands as though looking at a fossil. ‘Have you had it since you had me?’
Jax couldn’t help a laugh. ‘Not quite that long.’
‘You can’t even get Facebook on this.’
‘I’m not on Facebook.’
‘Why not?’
‘No time.’
‘Not even the café?’
Jax shook her head. They were having a conversation! It made her heart soar. ‘I doubt anyone would follow it. Take my number down.’ She had to make sure Frances had her number. ‘And Rosita’s. And Rachel’s—take that too. They’re all there, in my contacts. Send them to yourself then you’ll have them on your phone.’ She wanted to give her Donna’s number too, and the direct number for the police station, plus the station’s mobile. But Frances would think it odd that she was plying her with so many numbers to begin with, let alone those of the law. ‘By the way, any number you might need for whatever reason—the vet, the police station, the café, the police mobile—are all on the blackboard in the kitchen. Did you notice the blackboard? It’s a proper schoolroom one from nearly seventy years ago. I got it from a junk shop in Kalgirri.’
Frances shrugged, but Jax had watched her and was happy that Frances had sent the contact numbers from Jax’s phone to her own.
‘I don’t actually like Facebook,’ Frances said. ‘I’ve just got nothing to do out here.’
Jax returned to the cut branches and the glass jug and plopped the branches into the water, then added the lavender and rosemary, arranging them in a natural-looking way, but her thoughts were on something Rosie had said—that Frances only had nineteen Facebook friends. Maybe it was time to broach the schooling thing, and maybe find out why her daughter didn’t have many social media friends. Not that Jax believed in going overboard with this stuff, but it was worrying, as though perhaps Frances had kept herself apart on purpose. Or worse, that her friends had deserted her because of what Michael had done.
The social worker had said Frances had definitely become a bit reclusive, removing herself from school activity groups she’d previously appeared to enjoy and been good at. She’d apparently cut off her two best friends too, not wanting to keep in touch with them after officials had taken her out of Linda’s house a week before she’d been driven up to Mt Maria. Poor darling Frances—thrown out of her home without a backwards glance from either of her parents. Michael had run off, leaving his wife and daughter at the first whiff of scandal against him, and Linda hadn’t been able to cope. The first thing she’d done was to turn on Frances, saying she was making her life hell. Damn Michael forever. But in this instance—damn Linda. How could anyone take it out on a child?
‘How’d you get stuff like this out here, anyway?’ Frances asked, staring at Jax’s prehistoric mobile.
She didn’t remove the frown from her face, let alone look up, but it had been Frances who had kept the conversation going—and it really warmed Jax’s heart. She was getting it right. Just keep talking. ‘Online. Or I drive to Kalgirri sometimes.’
‘The place I had to stay overnight before Wendy drove me out here?’
Jax nodded. ‘It’s a good city. You can get everything you need. We can go to Kalgirri if you’d like to. I might even buy you the latest iPhone when I buy mine.’ She’d be creating a Facebook profile, and a Twitter account and the Instagram thing too. That way she could monitor Rosie and Frances—and maybe have a bit of fun. Perhaps she would open a Facebook page for the café.
‘No thanks,’ Frances said sulkily. ‘I saved up my pocket money for nearly a year to buy this one. I’d prefer to do things for myself.’
Jax didn’t know whether to linger over the pride she felt that her daughter was prepared to do all this for herself—much like Jax had done at her age—or whether she ought to remind her that Jax was now paying all the bills, including the monthly mobile bill. Best not say anything. It might make her feel like she was being reminded that she had little choice in any matter these days.
But it was time to broach the subject of school. The counsellors had agreed to let Jax inform Frances but had said she must do it soon.
‘Frances, I’d like to tell you about how you’ll be doing high school.’
‘Doing?’ Frances asked, her maudlin frown turning puzzled.
Jax placed a smile on her face. ‘It’s a bit different out here. It’ll be quite exciting though, and a challenge for both of us to begin with, but we’ll work it out.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Frances asked, sinking back into the sofa in trepidation, as though Jax had pulled a gun on her.
Jax headed in. She had to ensure Frances had a clear idea of what was happening, and why. ‘I’ve enrolled you in SIDE—School of Isolated and Distance Education.’
‘You’ve done what?’
‘It sounds long-winded but you’ve been enrolled because of geographical isolation.’ It sounded harsh, not long-winded. It sounded as though it was a punishment. Guilt rose fast. Rosie had finished Year 10 just before they moved to Mt Maria and had refused outright to do any more schooling, so Jax had no experience of handling remote education. Maybe she ought to have taken those lottery winnings and moved them back to Victoria after all. It would have been so much easier for Frances. ‘It’s all the stuff you’re already used to doing. You can learn a language—and I haven’t chosen for you,’ she added.
‘No!’ She said it harshly, distress creasing her face.
Jax ploughed on. ‘We’ll have to determine how to do the health and physical fitness elements, but you’re not alone in being schooled this way, Frances, I promise, and I’ll be helping, coaching, whatever it takes—I’ll help you.’
‘You’re joking!’ She jumped from the sofa, dropping her mobile phone onto the seat as she stood. ‘I’ve got to do it here—in this house—with you?’
Jax nodded, fear creeping up her spine in case this got out of hand. ‘It’s not unusual—’
‘There’s a school here. I saw it when you drove into town this morning.’
There was desperation in her eyes and Jax’s heart smarted for her. ‘It’s a primary school, Frances. You’re heading into Year 7. We have no high school here.’
‘There’s got to be one somewhere!’
‘There is. In Lake Laura, but that’s a hundred and twenty kilometres away.’
‘So I’ll go live there. I’ll do the boarding school thing. Or send me to Perth or somewhere.’ She blinked hard and fast and her thin shoulders were now hunched around her ears as though she was trying to protect herself, physically and mentally.
Jax crossed the room. ‘Franca—Frances—it’s going to be okay. I promise.’
‘No it’s not! You hate me. Everybody hates me.’
‘That’s not true—I love you.’
‘How can you? You didn’t care.’
‘I did. I always cared and I do now—more than ever.’
‘So why give me up? Why didn’t you keep me?’
Had this question always been in her young head? Had it tormented her? ‘Because I was young and I was under pressure from my mother …’ It sounded pathetic. It sounded like an excuse. ‘I didn’t want to give you up but your father suggested it. He told Linda about—’ What had Michael told his wife? Not the truth. ‘He told Linda about the—’ Affair wasn’t the right word.
‘About the night you had sex with him. It’s disgusting. You’re disgusting. Just like the other one.’
Jax had a flash of understanding. This was the issue. It wasn’t only about being turfed out of her own home by her step-mother, it wasn’t even about having to live with Jax or about being home schooled. It was about what happened with the other girl.
‘Please sit down,’ she said, indicating the sofa Franca had jumped up from a minute ago.
‘No.’
‘Sit down.’ She didn’t use any confrontation in her tone. She waited out the glare Franca gave her. Then Franca threw herself onto the sofa, arms crossed, making such a deep imprint in the seat cushion that a few feathers flew out of the seam where the zip on the cover hadn’t been done up properly.
Jax sat on the edge of the armchair opposite. ‘We should talk about Linda. We should talk about everything that’s happened to you.’
The child crossed her arms and turned her head to one side.
‘She’s hurt you,’ Jax continued. ‘Your father has hurt you too—more than Linda.’
Jax held her breath and waited out the bitter silence. Perhaps she ought to simply head straight in, the way Rosie would. But Jax didn’t have the same relationship with Franca that her sister had—a bit unconventional though that aunt–niece relationship was at the moment. Rosie would be more of an older friend or sister to Franca. Jax would always be her mother. Even though the roles were completely new to both of them. It was always going to be a difficult conversation, but Jax persisted, knowing it was the right time.
‘It’s possible that the parents of the young woman will continue to investigate, or at least keep asking questions of the authorities.’
‘He didn’t do what they’re saying,’ Frances said at last, eyes down, features taut. ‘He was just being kind to that girl.’
‘She’s sixteen, and your father is forty-nine.’ He’d been grooming her; it’s what he’d done to Jax.
‘The police aren’t accusing him,’ Jax said. They couldn’t press charges because there wasn’t enough evidence. But it wasn’t the first time he’d done it. Jax wasn’t sure it was only the second time he’d done it—who knew what he’d been hiding over the years?
There was no pregnancy. Not even sex. Unlike with Jax. But there would have been, if the girl’s parents hadn’t stepped in to query Michael about his interest in their daughter.
‘Her parents are lying,’ Franca said sullenly.
‘After they found the text messages from your father, of course they were concerned. Any parent would be.’ Oh, he’d done it. Enticed his way into the girl’s life by being a helpful boss, a friend she could turn to. It would have just been a matter of time before things got sexual, and Michael knew how to persuade. He knew how to wait.
‘But they were just ordinary work messages.’
It looked that way, but Michael was clever. The text messages were ambiguous; a kind word about the girl’s work ethics, another about how welcoming her smile was each morning. A few words of encouragement about how the company liked to reward committed employees. But he shouldn’t have been texting her at all. He held what the police said was a supervisory role as one of the managers in the accounting firm.
Jax knew the messages were only the start. Given time, Michael would have suggested a coffee catch-up outside of work hours. By the end of the morning, he’d be holding her arm as he walked her to the train station or the bus stop. Then he’d suggest another meet-up. A different café. After a few more seemingly innocuous meetings outside work, he’d suggest they have lunch one weekend. Eventually, he’d play his trump card. He’d advise her, sadly, that it might be best if they didn’t meet up again, knowing that the girl would resist, saying it wasn’t fair, saying she was old enough to make her own decisions …
‘Her parents have got it wrong,’ Frances proclaimed, with a look in her eye that said she was praying they’d got it wrong.
‘I think they know their daughter, and were worried for her and that’s why they stepped in. It’s possible she was being coerced into a relationship,’ Jax explained, as patiently and gently as she could. ‘I’m so sorry this has happened, Frances. I understand how hurt and shocked you must be.’ She had to be careful what she said because she didn’t know what might happen next. As it stood, the police couldn’t do anything, due to the uncertain nature of the text messages. The young girl herself was refusing to say anything derogatory about Michael, possibly because of fear of what she’d nearly done. Jax hadn’t known Michael was married, she hadn’t a clue, but this young girl knew and she was probably feeling ashamed. Plus, she was only sixteen and no matter that she was at the age of legal consent, what knowledge of the real world did she have? Thank God her parents had stepped in. Their daughter wouldn’t have enough worldliness to deter a predator with an air of dejection about him; a man who was so obviously put-upon at home, and whose whole world got rosier and lighter of heart when he sat and talked with a young girl who seemed to understand him.
As there had only been a few text messages when the girl’s parents discovered what was going on, and no contact outside of the workplace, there was confusion around the whole issue. The police couldn’t press charges for a few innocuous text messages. Michael had spoken to the police, and had been cooperative and astounded that his care of a young employee had been taken this way. The police couldn’t do anything more, but Jax hoped Michael was on their radar.
‘How do you know so much, anyway?’ Frances said, raising her face to glare at Jax.
‘I had to know. I wanted you here, with me. I would never have taken you away from Linda if she hadn’t done what she’d done.’
‘She doesn’t want the reminder,’ a counsellor had told Jax, attempting to explain the reasons for Linda’s sudden abandonment of Frances, which followed so quickly on the heels of Michael leaving them both.
Jax hadn’t been able to comprehend it. ‘But it’s her child!’
‘Not biologically.’
‘She took her. Frances has Michael’s name; she’s legally his child.’
The counsellor had shaken her head sadly. ‘People do the most extraordinary things when they’re under pressure.’
Under pressure? What about Frances?
Linda was a monster. No matter how hurt or demoralised she’d been due to her husband’s behaviour, why take it out on a child? Why do that? Only monsters did that.
She’d taken out her woes about life and how badly she’d been treated on Frances and had literally told the authorities to take the child away. Given Linda’s unstable emotional temperament about the whole issue, Jax could only imagine what might have happened to Frances after Michael left them, and she was left alone in the house with Linda.
After Jax told Michael she was pregnant, he’d admitted he was married and that this was a tricky situation for him because Linda couldn’t have children. Linda had longed for a baby, he’d said, and had been trying to coax him into adopting. He’d refused, and they were almost at the point of splitting up. Because Jax’s mother also stepped in and spoke to Michael, he’d had little choice but to tell his wife that a young woman had forced her attentions on him, and in a moment of lack of control, he’d accepted her advances. Accepted her advances. At that point, even Jax’s mother had known that wasn’t true. But Michael used his secret weapon: his charm. He knew what type of woman Jax’s mother was—self-absorbed and morally uptight—and he put his case forward. He shared his thoughts with her about his sadness over his almost broken marriage, his wish to make his wife feel loved again, his endeavours at the accounting firm where he was overworked, and, most of all, his wish to make it right for the baby. What he really meant was that he didn’t want to be found out and face public humiliation.
But he convinced Jax’s mother, quietly and confidently.
He must have used similar tactics on Linda, persuading his wife that he’d done the wrong thing, and that it meant nothing, it was a mistake, but that it was now their chance to have a baby. Just what she’d wanted.
Jax could practically hear him speak the words.
He’d assured Jax, during one of only three or four excruciatingly awkward visits to her home, that Linda desperately wanted this baby, and that it was best for Jax if he, Michael, took control of the situation, as she had her whole life ahead of her.
It had been best for Michael, and for Jax’s mother. Not for Jax. And maybe not for Linda either. But Jax had given up her baby.
‘I didn’t want to be given to you,’ Franca said as she furiously blinked away the tears that were gathering in her blue eyes. ‘I didn’t want to come here.’
‘I know, and I understand. But I’m your next of kin now.’ And there’d been nowhere else for Frances to go. ‘If it makes you feel better, I had to undergo rigorous counselling before they agreed you could live with me.’ Frances knew Linda wasn’t her real mother. According to the counsellors, Linda had told her when she was seven or eight. ‘They needed to make sure I wasn’t going to hurt you in any way.’
‘Like beat me up, or something?’
‘Not that; they weren’t concerned I’d do anything like that. They were worried about whether I’d be able to handle it all—because I need to be the one who handles it for you, Frances.’
‘I wish they’d never got in touch with you,’ she mumbled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.
‘They didn’t,’ Jax said, remembering the moment she’d heard about what Michael Fellows had done and how her first and instinctive gut reaction and worry had been for Frances. ‘I got in touch with them.’
The woman who’d been her mother’s cleaner, whom Jax kept in touch with once or twice a year, had called her. She still lived in the area, and although she’d said it was just gossip she’d overheard, Jax’s instincts had taken a kicking. The woman had known about Jax’s pregnancy, and Jax had always suspected her mother had confided in the woman about the father. Her supposition had been correct. By a strange twist of fate, the woman cleaned for one of Linda’s friends.
The next day, Jax got in touch with the Department of Child Protection. She’d tossed and turned all night, trying to figure out what was the best thing to do. The best thing for Frances, because Linda had taken Jax’s baby, apparently wanting the child, and at the first sign of humiliation to herself, she’d given her away. Like a puppy who’d grown too big and was no longer wanted.
Frances rubbed her knuckles over her eyes, then pushed her hair back and held it away from her face.
Jax saw the tiny scar, a thin pink line a centimetre long on her hairline.
When all this first came out, before Michael left, Frances had witnessed a fight between her father and some man who’d been shouting abuse at him, telling him to pack up his family and get lost. Frances had tried to stop it and she’d been hurt, but Jax had no idea how to lead into that conversation. The one she was having was hard enough.
After that, Michael moved to Queensland, leaving his daughter with Linda. And now the child was abandoned, and hurting. There was no easy fix; Jax had to take it minute by minute, and somehow make her child’s world a better place, without humiliation, without shame. Frances needed stability and love.
If the investigation against Michael went further, Jax had to make up her mind about what she’d do if she was contacted by the police. Step up, come forward and advise the police that she’d had the same treatment thirteen years ago? Or stay quiet, for Frances’s sake.
Instinctively, she wanted to speak up. Intuitively, she knew she wouldn’t. For Frances. For the baby she’d held for an hour. For the three-year-old who’d had a birthday party at a park. For the child who’d happily skipped into Kindergarten on her first day of school.
She’d seen Frances four times before she turned five and nobody knew this. One day, she’d like to tell her, but that day was not today. Possibly even not this year or the next.
She never got in touch with Michael after he took the baby, and after her mother had persuaded her that it wasn’t wise to attempt to get visitation rights. She hadn’t wanted to disturb her little girl’s life. But she’d stalked the Fellows family in the first years, and that was wrong. She hadn’t told the counsellors this part of her story; she was too scared to, in case they suddenly decided it wasn’t a good thing for Jax to have care of Frances. It was her dark secret, and one she treasured. As though she’d stolen a pretty trinket and had to keep it hidden and only took it out into the sunlight so she could polish the mental images of her little girl and keep them close.
The Fellows hadn’t moved from the house they’d always lived in. They hadn’t thought for a second that the mother of the baby might drive past sometimes. Or sit in her car, a good distance away, watching them unload their shopping or mow the front lawn. Or follow them as they put the baby into the car seat and took her for a drive.
The last time she’d seen Frances was when she’d driven to their suburb and parked opposite the local school. Frances’s first day at school. Jax had worked it out. It was easy. School term times and dates were available for everyone and she’d guessed that Michael and Linda would place Frances in the local Kindergarten.
Linda hadn’t picked Frances up, or even given her a hug, that first day of school.
How Jax had longed to be the one holding the little girl’s hand. She’d squeeze it and then she’d scoop the child up and hug her hard, planting big soft kisses on her cheeks.
She’d stayed parked for almost forty minutes after Linda had driven off, her thoughts a maze she couldn’t find her way out of. Regret that she’d given up her child—even though the pressure to do so had been enormous—had swamped her. That day in the hospital, after handing over her baby because she’d been told by her mother and by Michael that’s what she was going to do, she became mentally tougher. But strangely, the day she grew up was that day she watched Franca go to school for the first time. Sitting in that car outside the school, she’d wrangled with all her hopes and wishes and had ultimately decided that this was her goodbye.
But she shouldn’t have pushed the memories of her baby away so messily. She should have kept them neatly tied up in her head. Unexamined but there if the situation required her to untie them and make another review of what she’d done and why.
Now, she’d have to bring up all those questions again, and this time she’d need to find the perfect, best answers, while also staying well away from the truth.
She wasn’t going to let Frances get hurt anymore. From this moment on, everything she did would be for the benefit and wellbeing of Frances.
Nobody needed to know what had really happened.