Boston
Thursday, Midday
Yesterday should have been the stuff that movies were made of. Julia had huddled under the covers with the two daughters she had given up at birth, eating junk food and talking about silly things. Every hour or so, one of them would jump out of bed, run in place for five or ten minutes, and then bring their body heat back under the covers to share.
A grace day with her daughters. A lost day for Dillon, another twenty-four hours whittled out of not long with no hope in sight. Julia sneaked into the bathroom to phone him several times, not wanting him to know that she was with his sisters. A bright kid, he’d put two and two together and come up with liver—the correct result but only if one of the girls was compatible and would donate. She kept the conversations light for his sake.
Matt had to tell her to stop calling because Dillon needed to rest.
So she climbed back under the covers with the girls and talked about everything except the two elephants in the room. Julia longed to tell Destiny and Chloe about their brother. How he laughed. How he was close friends with the quarterback of the football team, the head cheerleader, and the autistic girl he made sure to sit with sometimes at lunch.
The other topic that had been forbidden was the camcorder. Once Chloe was clear of the drugs—though horribly hungover—Destiny nagged and Julia gently prodded. Chloe had nothing more to say on the subject and screamed at them to let it be.
The roar of the snowplow came on Wednesday night like a trumpet blast from heaven. They bought the last shovel at the hardware store around the corner and dug out the Mercedes. Julia cringed at the damage from the highway spin-out until she saw Chloe’s rental.
A renegade road sign had smashed through the windshield, something that Destiny had somehow forgotten to tell them. Chloe’s phone was filled with messages from Jack and her mother, even though Destiny had texted them both to explain where they were and that they were safe. Chloe made arrangements for the rental to be towed and then drove back to Boston in the battered Mercedes with Julia and Destiny.
Covered in fresh snow, the city was like a dream. Christmas lights glittered everywhere. Shoppers crowded the sidewalks, volunteers rang the Salvation Army bells with good cheer. Snow banks were higher than Julia’s head. Boston’s rainstorm had yielded almost two feet of snow.
Julia heard a report about some poor soul who had been killed by a tree limb, and she trembled to think that could have been Destiny. Then she hated herself for wondering if the victim had a donor card and type-O blood.
Sally had brought the plane back from Dallas after the airports reopened. She called a half hour ago to say the flight plan was filed and they could be in Colorado by dinnertime.
Chloe refused to say anything more about Rob Jones. Maybe it’s for the best, Destiny said. Sleeping dogs, and all that.
Julia FaceTimed with Matt, asking his advice on what she should do to help Chloe.
“Nothing,” he said.
“I have to do something.”
“She’s twenty-two-years old. This was her mistake—her emotional adultery. You can’t fix it for her.”
“She’s like a wounded puppy,” Julia said. “She doesn’t know whether to turn left or right.”
“It sounds like that act is playing well with you, Julia. Did you stop to think that this is simply clever manipulation?”
“Don’t say that, Matt. You don’t know her.”
“Neither do you.”
“And that’s my sin.”
“Drop it, Julia. Your part in this is long over. Long ago addressed and forgiven.”
Oh, God, give me the words, she prayed. “Not completely. There’s the matter of Andy Hamlin ahead of us.”
“I thought . . .” Matt rubbed his head. “. . . this was just like the Tom situation.”
“I let you assume that.” Julia wanted to turn away so he couldn’t see the shame flush through her face. She forced herself to look him in the eye. “All these years I let you assume it was over and done and my repentance and reconciliation was complete.”
“Say it, Julia.” Matt’s voice hardened. “Just tell me.”
“I never told Andy about the pregnancy.”
“What? What! He doesn’t know he’s got a kid?”
“I was so humiliated when I realized I was just a summer fling, I couldn’t bear to look at him—or his wife—a moment longer than it took me to get out of that place. I came back to Boston and had the baby. Andy did not legally surrender Chloe because he didn’t know she existed.
“I knew I’d lose custody. The second kid in less than two years, no income, no stability, no sense of what was right. I felt like filth and I hated Andy and his pretty, sparkling wife for making me feel like that.
“For a day, maybe a couple of insane days, I thought about going to Tom and telling him he owed me this—to help me go to court and make sure Andy and his wife couldn’t take her from me. So I went to his office. I could see him through the glass, and he looked so tired and yet so happy at the same time that I thought . . . I thought I had to let him go, and let baby Destiny go. And I had to let the child under my skin grow and then let him or her go too.
“Mattie, I don’t mind if Andy and his wife hate me when I tell them he has a daughter. But I can’t bear the thought of them hating her.”
“Then don’t put them through this,” Matt said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean—these girls initiated a joyride through your past and look at the mess it is already. Why drag two more people into this? I want you to come home.”
“I can’t. I promised I’d bring them to their fathers, and they promised to get tested. I can’t stop now. And Chloe’s in such a mess—”
“Chloe?” Matt jutted out his jaw. “The rich girl with a perfectly healthy liver has a mess of her own making to clean up. Boo-hoo. You’re not there to play social worker, Julia. Come home before you do any more damage.”
“Before I do damage? Is that how you see me—like a one-woman wrecking crew?”
He drew a long breath. “I see you as a loving, desperate mother. We took a risk, having you meet the daughters. It’s not panning out. God must have something else planned . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Tom had a choice to parent or surrender. I never gave Andy that choice. I carried his daughter and then I carried this secret until right now. It’s nearly unforgiveable. And Dillon. Our son’s illness, our inability to find him a liver . . . all of it is on me.
“Maybe,” Julia said. “Maybe if I lay my sin out to Andy, give him his due after all these years, maybe God will redeem this for Chloe, redeem something for Dillon.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“The decision isn’t yours or mine anymore. It’s Chloe’s. And if she says Colorado, we are going to Colorado.”
“But, Julia—”
“I’ll call you from Colorado,” Julia said and ended the call.
Thursday, Midday
“A video camera? That sounds kind of dodgy,” Luke said.
“Tell me about it,” Destiny whispered, hoping her voice wouldn’t reverberate on the marble walls of the bathroom.
“So, no cops?”
“We don’t know if a crime was committed. She claims there was no sex, and without all that forensic stuff and blood work, we can’t even prove she was drugged. This guy would probably say she was fantabulously drunk.”
“I guess you sail with it awhile, then.”
“I guess.”
Luke, I talked to my brother. Words she should say were caught in her throat. I met my brother and he needs part of my liver and I’m so scared.
“How . . . ,” she began and then tried to stop, but the words had their way. “. . . how do you recognize a miracle?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I just want to know.”
“All we’ve seen, baby. The ocean and coastline, the desert blazing into sunset, the Cascade mountains ripping into the sky, the coyotes screeching at night, and the birds proclaiming the dawn. Open your eyes and you’re looking at a miracle.”
“I’m looking at a toilet right now, Luke. I’m talking theologically. How do you recognize a miracle?”
“Ah, I’m no expert. Maybe ask your mother?”
Destiny laughed. “I’ve got two of them, remember? And I don’t think I’ll get a straight answer from either one.”
She heard the fake clearing of his throat and the huff, huff of air through his fist as he tried not to laugh.
“Okay,” he finally said. “Dictionary definition: ‘an event attributed to a supernatural cause or as a manifestation of a work of God.’”
“What if it’s a negative thing? Something kept from happening because God somehow intervened.”
“I can’t read your mind, Dez.”
“Actually, you can,” she said with a smile. “But here’s the theoretical—let’s say an old lady is sitting in a rocking chair in her living room and she has this sudden urge to get up to get a glass of water. A split second later a car crashes through her house. It would have killed her if she hadn’t gotten up. Is that a miracle?”
“Not for whoever is driving the car. Did something happen to you?”
Destiny stared at herself in the mirror. For their differences in style and personality, she and Chloe looked like sisters. But when she looked at herself, it was Dillon she saw.
If she had been killed by carbon monoxide and Julia had found her soon enough, her liver would probably still have been usable. She was dying from carbon monoxide poisoning when out of the storm, a road sign slams through the window and brings the breath of life. A foot or two closer and that would have killed her as well. Head injury—perfect scenario for an organ donation.
The one thing that could have killed Destiny saved her from what was killing her. And she never knew. So why did she survive? Was that some curse on Dillon? Or some mind-bending trick of God to get her attention when even Luke couldn’t?
“Dez, did something happen?”
“Of course not,” she said. “We were stranded in that room for over a day. We had some whacked-out conversations. I just wondered what you thought.”
“I think you’re a miracle,” he said.
“Luke.”
“I want you to know that—”
“Destiny!” Chloe pounded on the door. “Destiny!”
“I have to go, Luke. The errant sibling demands my presence.”
“Let’s talk again, Dez. Soon. Promise?”
“Promise. I gotta run.”
And she had been running her whole life. Maybe the miracle was that she finally understood that.
Thursday, Midday
What a fool she had been. An absolute fool.
Chloe didn’t know which hurt worse—her head or her heart. If she hadn’t danced. If she hadn’t drunk the orange juice. If she hadn’t gone to the motel. If she hadn’t had all those drinks. If she hadn’t gone to Gloucester, if she hadn’t met Rob Jones, if she hadn’t gone looking for something that wasn’t her right to have.
If she hadn’t thought she needed more than Jack could give.
And now he called and called, despite her texts from the motel, and now from the Westin, to reassure him. Chloe couldn’t speak to him—he’d hear it in her voice. Instead, she had texted him an hour ago.
JD: Call me.
CMD: Can’t. I’m in a hurry to pack.
JD: Can’t we talk?
CMD: Nothing to say. I’m fine, will call when there’s something.
JD: Come home.
I can’t. Not until something washes away the filth on me.
CMD: No. I need to meet my father.
JD: Why? You had a father. One you loved. One you respected.
CMD: I need to go.
JD: Where to?
CMD: Mother has already told you, I’m sure.
JD: Where in the Springs?
CMD: Don’t know exactly. I have to go.
Andrew Hamlin’s ministry was based in Colorado Springs, but he might be at his home, address unknown, or at some conference. Julia said they’d have to get through his security staff before they got to him.
She closed the window before he could finish his plea.
Now Destiny knocked at her bedroom door. When Chloe opened it, her sister shoved her phone at her.
“Your husband is calling me. Why is he calling me?”
Chloe smothered the phone with her hand. “Answer it and tell him I’m fine.”
“You’re about three light-years from being fine. Talk to him. You’ll have to deal with him sometime.”
“Not now.” And not ever. Julia had found a way to keep Andrew Hamlin’s paternity secret for all these years. Maybe the WaveRunner episode would be just something dirty in the bottom of her spiritual hamper that would eventually get pressed down and long forgotten.
“Please, Dez. Not now.”
Destiny gave her a dirty look, then answered the phone. “Whassup, birth-bro?”
She listened, rolled her eyes, and said, “Yeah, we’re packing to get out of here. Not answering her phone? Maybe because she doesn’t want—”
Chloe pressed her hand to her sister’s mouth. “No.”
“She doesn’t want to delay us any further. She’s downstairs, buying . . . ah . . . what was it she said? Shampoo.”
Chloe watched with dark fascination as Destiny spun out a bizarre story.
“Yes, Jack. I suppose she brought some with her, but who knows where it went. Maybe the maid took it. Yes, the Westin provides shampoo in its suites . . .” She shook her fist at Chloe. “She said something about taking those to a food pantry Julia told her about, a couple blocks over.” More glaring. “Yes, this is in a beautiful part of the city. I don’t know, you moron. I’m sure she’d love to tell you.”
Destiny pushed the phone at Chloe. She waved her hands no no no. She wouldn’t stand up under another round of Jack’s questions. Time and distance were needed to pave this over.
Her sister gave her another eye roll—ridiculously exaggerated—and then put the phone back to her ear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’ll tell her you called and I’m sure she’ll call back if she has time before we leave, and if not, when we arrive.”
Destiny knocked on the bathroom door. “Oh, I have to run. Someone’s knocking. No, not Chloe. It’s Julia. Hold on.”
Destiny put the phone against her chest and said in a theatrical voice, “Is Chloe back yet?” She paused, then said, “Oh, Jack’s been calling,” and then said into the phone, “Julia says she’s already downstairs. We’ve got to run. Hey, Jack? I just wanted you to know”—Destiny stared at Chloe—“that we’ll take good care of her. Bye now.”
She clicked off the call and handed the phone to Chloe.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t make me do your dirty work again.”
“Destiny . . .” Chloe grabbed her arm.
Her sister shook her off. “Grow up,” she said and stormed out of the room.