A Kingsbury Collection

  It was her; it had to be. The woman Amanda had been praying about for years. It was all coming back now, the frightened girl living with the Taylors, saying all the right words, making them believe she wanted nothing more than to give her baby up for adoption. Kathy remembered a scene from seven years ago and it hit her as strongly as if she’d been slapped in the face.

  The young mother had not wanted to let go of her baby.

  It had been at the hospital, the day Maggie delivered. She’d been sad, despondent even. Kathy choked back her tears and closed her eyes as the memory grew clearer. She could see the images clearly in her mind …

  Kathy had approached the girl and asked her if she was sure. “You don’t have to do this, Maggie,” she remembered saying. “Adoption isn’t for everyone.” But the girl had gritted her teeth with determination and promised that this was the choice she needed to make.

  Kathy’s tears fell freely now and she wondered why she hadn’t pushed the girl for more answers. Certainly if she interviewed a birth mother now and found her ambivalent, she would ask a host of questions. If only she’d had it to do over again, she would ask Maggie why she hadn’t felt up to keeping the baby herself.

  God, I’ve made a terrible mistake. Everything that’s happened to Amanda … all of it could have been avoided if only I’d been more aware, more thorough with her mother. A thick sob worked its way up from her heart and echoed against the particleboard in the archives room. What have I done, Lord? How different Amanda’s life would have been if only I’d talked her mother out of the adoption. And what of Maggie, Lord? Is she beyond caring? Does she even wonder about her little girl?

  Kathy remembered the well-dressed, clearly distraught man waiting in her office. They were childless, after all. Was he the baby’s father? If so, then Amanda was their only child. A child who had nearly died from abuse while waiting year after year for someone to give her a home.

  Trust with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.

  A rush of peace passed over Kathy, and she felt physically comforted by the Holy Spirit. Amanda’s life had been miserable, but maybe …

  Trust Me, daughter.

  Kathy exhaled. She wiped her eyes with her sweater sleeve and worked herself back to a sitting position. Closing out the computer screen, it was all she could do to stop the accusations that threatened to consume her. If only …

  Trust Me.

  Kathy closed her eyes. Lord, I want to trust You. Really, I do. But all these years. What if—

  Trust.

  Okay, give me wisdom then, God. Wisdom and strength to go back in there and face that man with the truth about Amanda Joy.

  Fifteen minutes had passed, and Ben was getting restless. Maybe it was a crazy idea. First Nancy Taylor, then the old man at the diner. How could they possibly know what God wanted from him? Here he sat, in some tiny social services office, wasting the time of an obviously busy woman over an adoption that was sealed from the public. Ms. Garrett had been clear on the matter: The records were not available.

  He scanned her desk for a piece of paper. He’d just write her a note, explain that he’d left town, and thank her for her help. He spotted a notepad, but as he reached out, she returned. The tearstained look on her face made Ben’s breath catch in his throat.

  “I found her, Mr. Stovall.”

  Ben’s heart pounded in his chest. What? She’d found her? The child? Maggie’s daughter?

  The social worker sat back in her desk chair and faced him squarely. She opened her mouth to say something but no words came out. She paused, then tried again. “She lives very near here.”

  Until that moment it had been easy for Ben to blame Maggie, to find fault with her for sleeping with John McFadden and giving a baby up for adoption without ever saying anything about it. Ben’s attention had been mainly on the way Maggie had betrayed him. But now … now there was a living, breathing child involved, and not just any child. This little girl was the daughter of the woman who still meant more to him than he could admit or understand. Maggie’s flesh and blood.

  His eyes were wet, and Ben hung his head, unable to speak.

  Maggie girl, you have a child. A daughter. After all these years … If only she were here beside him, holding his hand, hearing this news with him. I’ve found your little girl, Maggie … He closed his eyes for a moment. Dear God, what does it all mean?

  He swallowed, trying to squeeze words through a throat thick with emotion. “She’s … she’s okay, then? Adopted by a family somewhere nearby?”

  Kathy Garrett shook her head and brought her clasped hands up to her chin. “Her name is Amanda … she’s living with me, Mr. Stovall.”

  Ben’s thoughts were instantly jumbled. Amanda … Amanda … The name seemed to work its way into his heart. So it was true. Maggie’s daughter was alive and well and growing up. Her name was Amanda.

  “You mean, you adopted her? I thought … Nancy Taylor told me you were the social worker, not the adoptive—”

  “No.” The social worker closed her eyes, and Ben wondered if perhaps she were praying. “I’ve been Amanda’s social worker from the beginning.” She hesitated. “Mr. Stovall, normally it is not ethical to give out information about a private adoption. But I’ve prayed about this situation for years and I believe with all my heart that God would have me tell you about Amanda.”

  Ben sat up, suddenly alert. What was there to tell? Had something happened to the girl? Feelings of love—amazingly strong and protective—assaulted Ben until his heart seemed to lodge tightly in his throat. “What about her?”

  Ms. Garrett sighed. “It’s a long story. To begin with, Amanda was adopted by a childless couple—the Brownells. They were not well off, but they were kind and loving and good parents for Amanda.”

  Ben couldn’t stop himself. “Were? They were? Isn’t she with them anymore?”

  The sadness in Ms. Garrett’s eyes pierced Ben with deep concern. “They died, Mr. Stovall. When Amanda was five. It was an awful ice storm, and best we can tell they were headed to the school to find Amanda. A branch fell on their car moments after they left home.” She paused. “They were both killed.”

  Ben settled heavily back into his seat, his heart breaking for Maggie’s little girl. What an awful thing for her to have suffered through. The death of her adoptive parents, and at an age when they would have been everything in the world to her. He crossed his arms against the pit that had formed in his stomach. “Amanda went to live with you then, is that it?”

  “No.” Ms. Garrett’s expression grew dark. “The Brownells had no extended family. Amanda was made a ward of the state and put back into the Social Services system.”

  Ben frowned, trying to sort through it all. “But she’s with you now … ”

  Fresh tears filled Ms. Garrett’s eyes. “She’s lived with us off and on since her adoptive parents’ deaths. She’s been in several foster homes for the most part. The last one … ”

  Her voice trailed off and she covered her eyes with her fingers. As she did, panic rose in Ben. What happened to Amanda? “Was there trouble?” Maybe the girl was violent or given to tantrums. Or worse.

  Ben couldn’t bring himself to imagine anything worse. Please … no … Not Maggie’s little girl.

  The social worker lowered her fingers and the pain in her eyes was almost more than Ben could bear. “Amanda was beaten, Mr. Stovall. She nearly died.”

  The words hit his heart squarely, but that impact was nothing compared to the rage that suddenly pulsed through his body. The state had assigned Maggie’s seven-year-old daughter to a foster parent, to be cared for and nurtured, and that monster had nearly beaten the girl to death?

  Ms. Garrett sighed. “Amanda’s been with us since being released from the hospital.”

  No, God, it can’t be true. He hung his head and imagined a child so young and helpless hurt to the point of …

  In that heartbeat, Ben knew with every fiber in his being that he had to see this
child, had to hold her in his arms if only one time, and love her the way Maggie surely would have loved her if she’d ever had the chance. She was Maggie’s daughter.

  Maggie. The thought of his wife caused him to close his eyes. His feelings for her seemed to change daily. Before her breakdown—if that’s what it was—Ben had loved her in a way he thought was unconditional. Then he’d learned the truth and before this meeting with Kathy Garrett he knew he’d have willingly accepted a divorce from her. Now he wanted nothing more than to sit down beside her and hold her, rock away the pain and pretense and … and what? Ben wasn’t sure how to feel anymore.

  Was he supposed to forgive her and act like none of it had ever happened? Like she hadn’t spent their lifetime together lying to him? Like she hadn’t refused his calls and visits and threatened divorce from the moment she left their home?

  His heart was so heavy it nearly forced him to the floor. With his eyes still closed, Ben willed his racing heart to slow down. Whatever the future held for him and Maggie, dwelling on it would have to wait. There was something more important at hand now. “I’d like to meet her, Ms. Garrett. Is that possible?”

  “I assume you’re her biological father? Is that right?”

  Here it was. The question of the hour. How many more times in his life would he have to address the fact that his wife had gotten pregnant by another man the year before they were married? He sighed and tugged on his chin, running his thumb and forefinger over his day-old beard. “No. I didn’t know about the baby until recently.”

  There was a pause. “I thought—”

  “She … Maggie saw someone else before we got engaged.”

  The woman’s eyes widened a fraction, and she seemed at a loss for words. Ben inhaled deeply. He no longer cared what Maggie had done or about any of the lies she’d told. He cared only for this little girl, battered and without a home, the daughter of his wife.

  And of a man who nearly killed you …

  He shook his head. Even that didn’t matter. He could hardly contain the sudden, inexplicable love he felt for the child, love that had no reason except that it was. “Does it matter? Can I see her anyway, for a few minutes?”

  The woman’s eyes twinkled. “If you only knew her, Mr. Stovall; she’s the sweetest child I’ve ever worked with.”

  Again his heart swelled. “Well, then … ”

  Ms. Garrett shifted uneasily in her chair and her face fell. “I don’t think it’s possible, not legally anyway. Now, if you were a licensed foster parent interested in an interview so that—”

  “Wait a minute!” Ben’s heart was instantly light in a way it hadn’t been since he’d found Maggie’s note in their bedroom. “I am a licensed foster parent. Since we couldn’t have our own kids, Maggie and I have been taking in foster kids for the past two years.”

  “In Ohio?”

  “Yes, in Cleveland.” Maybe he would get to meet the girl after all. And then maybe … He forced his thoughts not to race ahead. This wasn’t the time to be planning the girl’s future. She might not even want to meet him or care to know the whereabouts of her real mother. It was all so overwhelming, yet the thought of meeting her—holding her the way he had dreamed of holding his own children one day—filled him with hope. Kathy Garrett’s grin worked its way across her entire face. “Are you serious?”

  “Check the computer.” He pulled out his wallet, ripped his driver’s license from inside, and tossed it to the social worker. As he did so he remembered the old guy at the breakfast bar an hour earlier. “Make every moment count … every moment …”

  He was trying. God help him, he was trying.

  Another smile flashed across Kathy’s face. “You’re in!”

  Hope washed over Ben. Not that it made any sense. Not that the situation with Maggie was any less real or true or devastating now. But he welcomed the hope all the same. “Well?”

  Ms. Garrett rested her forearms on her desk and turned to face him with a mock businesslike expression. “All right then, Mr. Stovall … about that foster child you’d like to meet.” She grinned again. “How about this afternoon?”

  25

  Less than two hours after Ben Stovall walked into the Cincinnati County Courthouse, the phone rang in John McFadden’s suburban, middle-class home.

  “He’s here, just like you said.”

  It was Alfie; John recognized his buddy’s voice immediately and felt a surge of vengeful relief. He could always count on the boys; anytime he needed a favor they came through.

  “You sure it’s him?”

  “You bet, boss. Everything lines up. Signed his name on the information request form and everything.”

  So, Stovall wanted the kid after all. John chuckled softly; his plan was taking shape nicely. “Who talked? The curvaceous redhead?”

  Alfie chuckled long and hard. “Is that what Mikey told you?” His laugh grew until he sounded like an excited donkey. “She was curvaceous all right. Sixty extra pounds curvaceous.”

  John enjoyed these lighter moments with the boys. Dealing was so tense sometimes, what with worrying about authorities, guarding the stash so no one took more than the right amount along the way, making sure the goods were as pure as promised. Too many details. But this was more enjoyable than John had expected. “What’d you do, promise her a date?”

  “Nah, Mike went in a few days ago and flashed a hundred. Dame about wet her pants. Got all secretive, looking both ways, making sure no one was watching. Mikey slipped her his cell phone number, told her to call if a Ben Stovall came to the courthouse for any reason at all.” Alfie stopped laughing and struggled to catch his breath. “I think she liked the attention, boss, know what I mean? I bet she’da done it for ten bucks, you know?”

  John smiled. If Ben Stovall intended to shut down his operation, the bribe was money well spent. He’d reimburse the boys with cash from the next shipment. “She took the money?”

  “Right. Mikey promised another hundred if she delivered the information. We got the call just after noon today.”

  “Nice work. Tell Mikey there’ll be two loads for him, free, in the next shipment and—”

  Alfie hooted loudly. “Two loads, boss? Free? Hey, Mike’ll like that. We thought we was doin’ this just for the—”

  “I’m not finished.” John paused. He liked the boys, but sometimes they tested his patience—especially Alfie, who had never been the sharpest knife in the drawer. “I was about to say all I need from you boys is a little surveillance work. Grab a pen and write this down.”

  “Surveillance?” Alfie’s tone went blank.

  “Yeah, you know, follow the social worker—Kathy Garrett’s her name. Find out who she is; watch the parking lot and follow her home. And look out for Ben Stovall. You writing this down, Alfie?”

  “Sure boss, yeah. I’m writing. How’m I gonna know what Stovall looks like?”

  “He’s dark-haired, tall, good build, I guess. Looks like Mr. Corporate America. Clean cut, harmless face. My guess is he’ll be with the social worker.”

  “Social worker … ” Alfie hesitated. “Oh, right. Kathy Garrett. Okay, I got it.”

  “Pass the information on to Mikey, will ya?”

  “Sure, boss, we’re on it.”

  McFadden’s heart pounded as he calculated how little time he had to face the judge and make a plea as the child’s long-lost father. “Call me when you find Stovall and then update me every time they go anywhere.”

  “Like driving, you mean?”

  John sighed. “Right, Alfie. In the car, on foot. Anytime they go anywhere let me know.” His mind raced ahead. “Oh, and one more thing. They might have a little girl with them. Seven or eight years old, something like that.”

  There was a pause, but Alfie didn’t ask for any details. That was one of the things John liked best about Alfie and Mike: They never asked questions when they shouldn’t. “Okay, boss. A little girl. What’s she look like?”

  John thought a moment and again a chuckl
e sifted up from his gut. “Like me, Alfie, okay? Watch for a kid that looks like me.”

  Alfie thought that was even funnier than the bit about the redhead. He guffawed so loudly John had to move the receiver away from his ear.

  “Hey, boss. Really, now. What’s she look like?”

  “She looks like a little girl, Alfie. Never mind. Just call me, will ya?”

  “Cell phone, right?”

  “Right. I’m leaving in an hour, and I’ll check into a room somewhere in town when I get there.”

  John moved to open the suitcase on his bed and began tossing in socks and underwear and T-shirts. Enough to last a week, at least. If it took longer than that, something definitely would have gone wrong. In that case, he didn’t want to think about what clothes he’d be wearing, since they’d probably be issued by the local jail.

  “Understand?”

  “Right o, boss. Got it all down on paper right in front of me. Uh, hey boss … two loads? You sure about that?”

  “Absolutely. You and Mike just make sure you get hold of Kathy Garrett before she takes off early and we miss her altogether. I want her followed today, got it?” Got it.

  McFadden hung up the phone and made a mental list of the things he would need. At least one nice pair of pants and a dressy shirt—one of the silk deals he’d picked up in Vegas last year would work. Just right for showing the judge he was the fatherly type.

  He’d get to town, request an emergency hearing, and explain the situation to the judge. The suitcase already held the results of a quick but pricey DNA test done the previous week. Of course, the results would match those on the adoption papers— there was no doubt he was the kid’s father. He’d present the test and give the court a teary-eyed report on how he’d looked high and low for the girl with no luck until now.

  Oh, yeah, and that he’d absolutely begged Maggie Johnson to keep the child, but Maggie had tricked him, moved to another part of the state and handed off the baby without his having any say in the matter. All he’d ever wanted was to claim his rightful spot as the baby’s father.