Baby in His Arms (9 page)

With his father piercing him with a worried look, he was reluctant to bring up the delicate topic. He loved his parents and would rather stab a fork in his eye than hurt either of them. They’d given him what someone else was unwilling or unable to give—a happy, loving family. They’d given him his faith and stability, indulged his dream of flying and loved him through a bumpy adolescence. But they didn’t share his blood. They didn’t share his DNA and the genetic code that could predispose him to diabetes or other hereditary issues. Someone else did. A stranger.

The microwave beeped and dishes clattered. Customers came and went in the snack shop. Some slung a leg over a counter stool. Others grabbed one of the handful of tables. Still others took orders to go. And above it all, Uncle Digger Parsons’s drawling humor made them welcome. Creed’s mind cataloged all those things, though he didn’t focus on any one thing.

“Dad, did you ever question God?”

“A few times.”

The admission surprised Creed. He’d never known a man as steadfast in his faith as Larry Carter. “But you’ve never said a word.”

His dad winked, the curl of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “I said plenty to God.”

“When?” He probably shouldn’t ask, but his curiosity got the better of him.

The angular face, a bone structure shared by his uncles and cousins, but not by Creed, grew pensive. “I think you know this, at least in part. The worst time was before you came along. Your mother was devastated when she couldn’t conceive. I was, too, for a while. Here we were, a couple serving God with everything we had, unable to bear children while we saw others having kids they didn’t take care of or didn’t particularly want. It shook us. Why had God denied us that basic right? We questioned. We hurt. But God had a different plan. You. Best thing that ever happened to us.”

“Don’t you ever wonder what if? What if you’d had kids of your own?”

“You
are
our own.”

“You know what I mean, Dad. Birth children. Kids who look like you, who can pass on your DNA.”

“No. Never. Mom and I have you. We’re happy with God’s choice.” His father pushed the glass to one side to rest his arms on the table, leaning forward. He spread his long, bony hands wide. “Where’s this coming from, Creed? You’ve never seemed troubled about your adoption before.”

“I’m not exactly troubled, Dad. It’s just...well, I was wondering...”

Creed couldn’t get the words out. What if he hurt the two people he loved most on the planet, the two people who adored him as their son? Asking wouldn’t fix anything. Even if he knew about his birth family, what he was inside wouldn’t change.

His dad sat back and fixed him with a long, thoughtful stare. “Is this about your birth parents? Do you want to find them? Is that what’s eating at you?”

One beat passed and then two. He’d opened the can of worms. Might as well examine them.

“In a way, I guess it is.” Creed twisted his hands on the glass, felt the cold moisture dripping down his palm and onto his wrist. “You and Mom have always been straight with my questions, but we’ve never exactly talked about them. My birth family.”

“Why do I have a feeling there’s a lot more going on here than curiosity about your biology?”

“Because there is.” He took a deep breath and said, “I saw Dr. Ron today.”

His dad frowned, leaning forward again. “What’s wrong?”

Annalisa brought their order and effectively silenced the conversation for a couple of minutes. The frown on Dad’s face didn’t disappear. He was worried, as he’d been every other time in the past thirty-four years when Creed was sick.

In a quick flash of memory, he recalled his dad’s anxious face as he gently spooned broth between Creed’s eight-year-old lips, and his mother’s cool hands and lotion scent when she slept beside him, one hand on his chest all night long, during a dozen childhood illnesses.

As soon as Annalisa departed, Creed picked up his fork and said, “Doc’s running some tests. Nothing to worry about.”

“Then why are you worried?”

Creed huffed softly, a self-mocking sound. Dad saw through him. Always. He stabbed a chunk of tomato. “He’s checking me for diabetes.”

Dad had been lifting the bread to peek inside his sandwich, a behavior as familiar to Creed as sunrise. He replaced the bread and looked up. “You’ve been having symptoms?”

“Just the past few days. A couple of dizzy spells, headache. Nothing specific, but—” He put down his fork, hesitant to voice his biggest fear.

Dad lifted the sandwich to his mouth. “You’re concerned about flying.”

“Yeah.” Creed took up the fork again, rotated it in his fingers. “I’m a commercial pilot, Dad. If I can’t pass a physical exam, I don’t fly. Even if I could, I wouldn’t take a chance with my passengers. What if I got dizzy and passed out at the controls?”

“I see.” Dad bit into his chicken salad and chewed, thoughtful. After swallowing, he sipped at his water then said, “Diabetes can be hereditary. Is that what you’re asking?”

Appetite as distant as Mars, Creed pushed a piece of romaine lettuce around his plate. “Dr. Ron asked about family history. I felt weird not being able to tell him anything. Not one thing, Dad. There’s so much I don’t know.”

For all Creed knew, someone in his lineage could be a genius or a musician or even a psychopath. He didn’t know if he was predisposed to diabetes or Alzheimer’s or if his blood carried some catastrophic illness that could someday damage his own children. He simply didn’t know. None of that had ever mattered before. Suddenly, it did.

He thought of baby Rose again. Would she someday face the same blank wall?

“We adopted you in a closed adoption, Creed. No information at all and we didn’t question it. We wanted you, and nothing else mattered. You were you. That’s all we cared about.”

“I know. You and Mom are the best.” The squeeze of guilt returned. “I’m sorry, Dad. I never want you to think I’m not happy to be your son. I am.”

“We understand.”

Creed let out a sigh of relief. “Don’t mention this to Mom, okay? I don’t want to upset her.”

“I have to tell her about your health.” He crunched down on a potato chip, his face lighting up when Annalisa came his direction with the pie and ice cream. Unlike the son, Creed’s tall angular father had never worried one moment about his weight.

“Not yet. Let me get the test results from Doc first, okay? Mom will worry.”

“Yes, and she’ll hole up in your apartment with a thermometer, Vicks VapoRub and her ‘Dr. Mom kit.’”

They both grinned fondly. Mom treated all ailments with prayer, medicine and her own special remedies.

“I wouldn’t mind some of her potato soup.”

“You can get that anytime. How about Friday night? Dinner and a few games of pool. The old man can still beat you.”

Creed laughed. “You’re on.”

“Your mom will be thrilled. She’ll knock herself out cooking for an army. Nothing she likes better than feeding her men.”

Dad was right. She would. “Don’t say anything about the health scare, okay?”

“I won’t. Not until you’re ready.”

“And don’t mention the questions about...you know.”

Concern appeared in his dad’s hazel eyes. “Whatever you think, son. But I could do some investigating if you’d like. Your birth parents may be looking for you.”

Creed could see the lingering worry, the slightest bit of sorrow, the questions his dad wasn’t asking—all the reasons Creed had been reluctant to bring up the adoption topic.

“I’m not interested in finding them, Dad. You’re my father. Kathy Carter is my mother. My birth parents missed their chance.”

“Tragically for them, but a blessing for us. However, if you should be interested, Mom and I would never stand in your way.”

“Thanks, Dad.” He reached across the table and pressed the top of his father’s hand, a hand weathered by time and age, a good, strong man’s hand that had guided him all the days of his life. How could he ever want any father but this one? “I’m not sure what I want to do, if anything. I just wondered if you had any medical data.”

“Times have changed since your adoption. We can probably get more information now, especially about medical histories.”

“I want to fly, Dad. What if I can’t fly? What if something inside me is damaged or sick and I can’t fly anymore?”

That was the crux of the situation. Not birth parents, not adoption. Only flying.

Dad sat quietly for a moment, contemplating. It was a posture Creed had found both confounding and comforting as a boy. Dad would think things through before he answered. To a teenager wanting to take the car for a night out, the delay had been exasperating. But today, Creed found comfort in his father’s wisdom.

“You love flying. The desire was in you from the time you were big enough to don a superhero cape and leap off a kitchen chair.” Dad’s eyes softened at the memory. “God knows your passion. He put it there. But if a time comes that you can’t fly, God will be in that, too. He’ll be there.”

The answer wasn’t what he’d hoped for. “I can’t believe God would allow me to lose something this important. Flying is what I do. I live to fly. It’s who I am.”

His dad was shaking his head before Creed finished. “No, son. You’re much more than that. Trust in God’s plan for your life. Whether your work is in the air or doing something entirely different, God’s plan is better than anything you can think up.”

Creed wasn’t comforted. The turmoil continued inside his belly until he gave up and pushed the salad away.

Where was his faith when he needed it most?

Chapter Nine

“I
tried to call you. Don’t you read your texts?”

Haley, Rose Petal in arms, stood at Creed’s front door.

“I fell asleep.” The flyboy scrubbed at spiky strands of bed head. Rather than detracting from his good looks, the messy short hair was very attractive. Same with the wrinkles in his T-shirt and the droopy look of his eyes. Muss up her flyboy a tad and he looked even more delicious.

“I can see that. Are you all right? I expected you to call.” Ugh. Had she really said that? She sounded pathetic, like a lovesick woman chasing a reluctant man. Clarification was in order. “I mean, about the doctor’s visit this morning.”

“Oh, yeah.” He rubbed at his chest again and stepped back from the entrance. “Want to come in? Let me wake up? Make some coffee?”

“It’s seven o’clock.”

He spun around. “In the morning? No way! I slept that long?”

“At night, silly. A little late for coffee.”

“I must have been tired.” He pulled a hand down his face.

“Didn’t you have flights scheduled?” Haley couldn’t believe she was asking that question. Humans should stay out of the sky.

“I finished up early, maybe three o’clock, and headed home.”

“And zonked out?” She deposited Rose Petal and her handy travel gym on Creed’s sand-colored carpet. Rose stared up, bicycling her arms and legs, excited by the colorful toys hanging over her head. Haley patted a chubby leg.

“I guess so.” He padded barefoot into the kitchen, divided from the living room by a curving brown granite bar, and pulled out a coffeepot. “Want some?”

“No, thanks. No coffee this late.”

“Too bad, I have your favorite.” When she frowned in question, he smiled. “Ground dandelion root.”

Maybe his joking meant he wasn’t sick. After the bizarre dizzy spell and headache, she’d worried about him all day. “You look better. What did Doc say?”

“He’s running some tests. No big deal.” The clatter of cabinets and cans and coffee carafe interrupted the conversation for a moment. “Where’s Thomas? Another visit with his mother?”

“Yes. Overnight. If this goes well, she’ll take him home next week.” Her voice didn’t give away anything, but she couldn’t help but worry. “Maybe this time things will work out for her.”

Creed came around the end of the bar, his expression grim. “And Thomas.”

“Yes.” Because the subject poked at her like a sticker in a gardening glove, Haley rounded into the kitchen and took over the coffee. “You should eat some dinner.”

“Our leftover steaks are in the trash. Want to dig them out?”

“Ha-ha. Not funny.” He’d scared her silly. “You need a dog.”

“Seriously, have you eaten?” He stood at her elbow, sleep and warmth radiating off him in lazy, comfortable waves. He was altogether too appealing, too likable. Whatever happened to arrogant?

“I have. You haven’t. Eat something.”

“You sound like my mom.”

Without waiting for an invitation, she opened his refrigerator. Unlike most guys she knew, he was surprisingly well-supplied. “Want a turkey and Swiss?”

“Not right now. I’ll eat later. How’s my grandma?”

“This morning we drove out to the old farm and dug up a few bushes. She made cuttings of others. She really knows her roses.”

“How’s her knee?”

“Cranky, as she calls it. She said you’re trying to talk her into having a replacement.”

“She’s afraid of being in the big city that long.”

“Think about it, Creed. She’s been off this mountain only one time in her life.”

“Yeah, I know. The trip is a dilemma for her.”

The coffee sent up a strong, bold smell as the pot gurgled to a finish. Creed poured a cup, lifting an eyebrow in her direction. “You sure?”

“Positive. Now stop avoiding the subject.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your doctor’s appointment, silly.”

“Oh.” Creed took his time stirring sugar substitute into a black Carter’s Charters mug. Artificial sweetener?
Really?
“Not much to tell. He’s running some tests.”

“For what?”

He sipped his coffee. “You aren’t going to leave this alone, are you?”

“What do you think?” She followed him into the living room and sat on his couch, a chocolate-colored microfiber that needed some bright throw pillows. His apartment was great, tidy to a fault, but the tones were all in browns and white. The man needed some color in his life. And a few potted plants.

“This is probably nothing, but he wants to do a fasting blood chemistry next week. No food after midnight and I have to run by his office before work to have my blood drawn.” He rolled his eyes. “Wilma stabbed me twice today and still, Doc orders more blood.”

“That’s what doctors do,” she said.

“Yeah.” Seated across from her in another brown chair, he stared into his coffee as if the mug held the mysteries of life.

“You’re worried, aren’t you? Might as well tell me. I’ll nag until you do.”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “I feel out of control as it is. Don’t nag.”

As Haley listened and watched Rose Petal, Creed told her about the possibility of diabetes, about the fear of losing his pilot’s license.

“How can that be possible? You’re in such great shape and you eat right. Except for that sweetener. Seriously, you’re healthy and active. You can’t have diabetes.”

“Sometimes those things don’t matter. Diabetes can be hereditary.”

She considered the possibility. “One of your parents has diabetes?”

“I don’t know.” He set his coffee mug on the table with a thump. “I’m adopted.”

“Oh.” The flyboy with the perfect life was adopted? Interesting. “Don’t you have any birth parent information?”

“Nothing.” He splayed his fingers through his hair. “This has really messed with my head, Haley. I know it sounds stupid, but I never wanted to know about my birth parents. Mom and Dad—my adoptive Mom and Dad—are all I ever wanted. I grew up pretending that I was born to them. I feel as if I was. Now I can’t stop thinking about two strangers who share my biology.”

Suddenly, a piece of mental puzzle clinked into place for Haley. “That’s why you couldn’t let go of Rose Petal. That’s why you connected with her at the church and can’t stop seeing her.”

Here she’d begun thinking his interest was in her. She’d have laughed but the realization cut too deep.

Creed pushed up from the chair, suddenly agitated. “Being the one to find Rose was a fluke. Any decent man would have done what I did, Haley. Taking care of her had nothing to do with being adopted.”

“I wonder.”

“Well, don’t.” He strode to Rose Petal’s play pad and scooped her up, dark hands made darker against the baby’s delicate coloring. “Look at this face. Anyone would love her at first sight. She’s special.”

“Is that why you’re so mad at her mother? Because you think yours dumped you, for whatever reason, the same as Rose’s did?”

“Rose deserves better. She deserves a stable home and a mother who’ll fight for her, not abandon her.”

Haley was no psychologist but she understood human nature. The more Creed denied the connection between his birth and Rose’s abandonment, the more she saw it. She also saw the tenderness in him, the way he gazed down at Rose with affection. He was a man who knew how to love deeply. His parents—the Carters—had given him that and so much more.

“I agree.”

He let out a deep breath as though he’d expected an argument. “Okay. Good. Come here.”

“What?” She moved toward the man and child with a half grin. “Does she need changing?”

He pretended offense. “You think I’m a wimp who can’t change a diaper?”

No, she thought he was awesome.

The old ache of longing returned with a vengeance. The desire for the impossible. That sneaky, insidious hope that life could be more than the sum total of bad experiences.

Creed’s life might not be as perfect as she’d first thought. Nor was he a shallow, heartless flyboy without a care in the world. But she was still rootless Haley Blanchard and he was still out of her league. And she was very afraid her heart didn’t care about either.

* * *

The social worker came for Thomas Monday morning. Haley helped him collect his belongings which were many. Nine months was a long time to live in one spot. Poor little man, he was growing up the way she had, with no one place to call his own.

“Can I take my helicopter?” he asked, eyes worried behind the thick glasses.

“Creed gave it to you forever. The chopper is yours.”

“Yeah.” With near reverence he held the red wasp in his small hands. “Creed’s nice. Can I call him and say goodbye?”

Haley forced a smile. She would miss this little boy, miss his eager helpfulness, his ten-year-old aversion to soap and water, his bookish personality. “He’d like that. Let me get my cell.”

She left the bedroom she’d begun to think of as Thomas’s. Soon, another child would live here. She had to keep that in mind, rather than fretting over the ones who never stayed. This was her job. She’d get through today as she had a dozen other goodbyes.

From her bedroom Rose cried out. Haley hurried in to pick her up. As if she, too, felt the ache of losing Thomas, Rose Petal wailed. Haley wanted to do the same.

With Rose on her shoulder and the cell phone in her hand, she returned to Thomas. He was standing in the center of the room, staring at nothing.

“Hey, bud. You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Things will work out for you and your mom this time.”

“I like it here, Haley.”

“I know, honey. Me, too.” Stop before I start bawling. “Here’s my phone.”

She sat down on his bed, the way she’d done so many times to read to him, and rocked the fussy baby.

“Do you think Rose Petal will miss me?” Thomas offered his finger to Rose’s grip. She grabbed on.

“I’m sure she will. Aren’t you going to call Creed?”

He took her telephone, a cheap model with prepaid minutes from a discount store. A temporary phone. Temporary children. A lifestyle that had always been enough suddenly wasn’t fulfilling anymore.

She listened as Thomas spoke into the mouthpiece. The conversation was brief and he hung up in less than a minute.

“That was short.”

“He’s coming over. He has a present for me.”

Oh, no. She was barely hanging on to her emotions as it was.

“Very nice. Do you have everything packed? I made some sandwiches for you to take along in case you get hungry.” In case your mother forgets to feed you. “And some juice boxes and other goodies.”

“Okay.”

Staying upbeat wasn’t easy. Her heart clenched into a tight hot knot that choked off her oxygen. Thomas didn’t need her emotions. He needed her strength. He wanted to go home to his mother and she wanted that for him. Truly she did.

When Creed knocked at the door, Thomas let him in, suddenly excited again.

Haley’s hurting heart leaped with eagerness, too. Did the man have that effect on everyone?

“So you’re heading home today?” Creed stepped through the door carrying a gift bag decorated with colorful airplanes. Naturally.

“Mama has a new place to live. I talked to her on the phone last night. She’s really excited. She can’t wait for me to get there and see our new house.”

Creed offered a high five. “Awesome.” He held out the gift sack. “Here’s a little something to take with you.”

Inside were a black, kid-size Carter’s Charters T-shirt and a set of model airplanes.

“Can I put this on, Haley? I want to wear it home to show Mama.”

“Sure.” She helped him exchange one shirt for the other and carefully folded the castoff back into the bag. His warm, little boy smell rose from the soft cotton.

Energized now, his eyes alight and his droopy attitude gone, he ripped into the box of models. “These are so cool.”

“World War II models,” Creed said, his voice almost as excited as Thomas’s. “See? The instruction book explains what each one is, where the decals go and what they represent. There’s glue in here and everything you need to start a collection.”

“These are awesome.” Metal and plastic rattled as Thomas threw his arms around the flyboy and held on.

Over the blond head, Creed looked at her with the same helpless grief she was feeling. Haley whirled away from the sight and began gathering up Thomas’s things. “The social worker will be here soon. We need to be ready.”

She heard the shift of movement at her back, the crinkle of tissue paper and gift bag and knew the two males were doing as she’d asked.

Fighting back the overwhelming surge of emotion, she busied herself with resetting the timer on Rose Petal’s swing. The rhythmic, tinkling melody soothed the baby but Haley found no respite there.

Behind her, Creed spoke to Thomas, his masculine timbre a contrast to Thomas’s squeaky little-boy voice. “You got any more stuff in your room to carry out?”

“No, this is all.”

“One more thing,” Haley said and then hustled out of the living room. She returned with a birdhouse she’d created for this occasion. “You helped with this one, Thomas. I thought you might want your very own birdhouse as a homecoming gift for your mother.”

“For real?” Thomas’s eyes widened as he reached for the gift. “Mama likes green.”

“And butterflies?” She’d painted the gourd in varying shades of green with purple blooming lilacs and golden-orange monarch butterflies.

“Yeah, she loves butterflies. I colored one for her on Mother’s Day and you mailed it to her. Remember?”

“I do.” Oh, yes, she remembered. She remembered every detail of the past nine months with another woman’s child.

Emotion, only a breath away today, squeezed at her lungs. She wouldn’t cry. For Thomas’s sake, she couldn’t. He needed an enthusiastic send-off, not a teary-eyed, whining ordeal.

The dreaded knock sounded at the door. Thomas dashed to answer, letting in the professionally dressed social worker, Melissa Plymouth.

The young woman smiled. “All ready?” And then noting Creed’s presence, she said, “Don’t I know you?”

The way she spoke was anything but professional. As long as she’d worked with Melissa, Haley had never seen the woman sparkle. When she held out her slender, well-groomed fingers to Creed, the social worker lit up like the Las Vegas Strip. Creed smiled his charming, deadly flyboy smile and said, “Rose.”