The Homecoming Baby (7 page)

Ten long, hard years. Julian's violent side hadn't begun to spiral out of control until Patrick's mother was too sick with her final cancer to intervene. Patrick had been about five. And it hadn't ended until, at sixteen, Patrick had finally been big enough to shove back. Julian was a coward, of course—all bullies were, weren't they? He hadn't been quite as eager to pick on someone his own size.

At the time, that helpless decade had seemed endless. Also in the file were a few of Patrick's own Polaroids of some of the cuts, burns and bruises that hadn't received medical attention. How naive he had been, hiding there in his room, fighting back tears while he photographed his own arms. He'd actually believed that, with enough proof, a ten-year-old boy could make Julian pay for his cruelty.

Julian Torrance never had paid—unless you counted all the money he spent to keep the story quiet, to keep the doctors from going to the authorities. No, Julian hadn't paid. But maybe, if Patrick could get Trish Linden to reveal her sister's location, the infamous Angelina Linden would.

 

C
ELIA HAD RECENTLY BEGUN
spending late Tuesday afternoons volunteering at the Teen Drop-in Center.
Several of the kids there were her patients, and it helped to interact with them in such an informal setting.

If you watched carefully, you could learn more about what bothered a kid from playing basketball with him, or helping him with his homework, or sharing a bag of popcorn, than you could ever learn sitting across a desk from that same kid for fifty minutes of formal “session.”

Besides, it was fun. She was getting pretty good at basketball, and the center had the best popcorn in town. It was the highlight of her week.

But that day she was having a little trouble concentrating.

Her mind kept drifting back to last night. To the kiss that hadn't quite happened. And to the meeting with Trish, which most definitely had.

So…Celia's initial reaction to Patrick hadn't been purely her imagination after all. He
did
look like Tee Ellis. He looked so much like Tee, in fact, that both Lydia and Trish had done rather dramatic double-takes the first time they saw him.

But was it just a coincidence? People resembled other people all the time, without the similarity having any significance. The world was riddled with Elvis and Marilyn lookalikes. The bio-pic movie industry depended on it. Heck, there was a girl working down at Slim Jim's Diner who, if she had the money for implants, would be a dead ringer for Britney Spears. That didn't mean they were related.

“Hey, Miss Brice! Heads up!”

Celia looked up a nanosecond too late. The basketball hit her on the head. “Ouch!” She tried to catch it, but her feet tangled. She fumbled with the ball, stumbled and fell on her bottom with a bang.

Dylan Carson, one of the kids who helped out at the teen center, came loping over. “Oh, man, I'm sorry, Miss Brice. I thought you knew what play we were running.”

She rubbed her forehead, which was burning so much she knew she was going to have a nice big red circle there. Dylan looked so concerned. What a darling boy he was! Hard to remember how recently he'd been sour and difficult and eager to leave Enchantment.

“I
did
know, Dylan,” she said. Laughing, she put out her hand to let him help her up. “I just zoned out. I'm sorry. I'm really not much use today, am I?”

Nolan McKinnon, the editor of Enchantment's local newspaper, and one of the Center's strongest supporters, came over, too.

“What can I tell you, Celia? You play like a girl.” Nolan pushed back her hair to check her forehead. “Better go in and put some ice on that.”

She stuck out her tongue at him and wrinkled her nose. The two of them had become good friends over the past few months, while she'd been counseling his niece, Sammy. Sammy had lost both parents at the beginning of the year, and Nolan had been woefully unprepared to take over guardianship.

And yet Sammy had come through magnificently—partly because Sammy was a brave little soldier, and
partly because Nolan McKinnon had been smart enough to fall in love with Kim Sherman. Kim surprised everyone by turning out to be the perfect woman to create an integrated family out of the pitiful, heartbroken pair. They were going to be married this summer.

“In fact,” Nolan said, “maybe you should just go on home? It's almost six, and I hear your love life has been heating up lately. I wouldn't want you to miss a big date.”

Dylan and a couple of the other boys made teasing “hoo-hoo” sounds. Celia rolled her eyes at all of them. “And maybe you guys should mind your own business. Do I interfere in
your
love lives?”

Dylan bounced the basketball against the concrete. “Heck, yeah, you do,” he said, grinning. “Except you call it counseling.”

She had to laugh at that. “Okay, I'm leaving! You wore me out anyhow.” She picked up her towel and wiped her arms, which were damp from the exertion. Enchantment was going through a pretty severe drought—so though the spring days were blue and beautiful, the afternoons could be relentlessly hot.

She'd be glad to get inside. Besides, Nolan had been right, in a way. She was hoping Patrick might call tonight. That kiss last night would have been something special. Little electrical sparks had been flashing all over the place, hinting at the big explosion to come.

It had been difficult to accept the interruption
gracefully. She only hoped Patrick was as eager as she was to give it another try.

“Oh, Celia, by the way,” Nolan said, following after her as she headed through the center's back door. “Is there any chance you're stopping by The Birth Place on your way home? I have some papers for Kim—and I thought you might be willing to drop them off.”

She snapped her towel at him. “I knew you had your own agenda for sending me away. I knew you weren't just worried about my love life.”

He looked sheepish. “Okay, you caught me. But…can you do it?”

God, he was shameless. But he wasn't the only one brought low by love. She'd seen it a hundred times, beginning with her own mother, who was always walking in her father's shadow, acting grateful for the chance to shelter there.

Celia looked at Nolan's handsome face, with that goofy, dreamy look on it. And she thought about the transformation she'd seen in Kim Sherman. Wow. When you thought about it, true love was so powerful it was actually kind of scary.

Maybe Trish was right. Maybe Celia did pick men she was in absolutely no danger of falling in love with. Maybe this
total surrender
thing plain terrified her. Maybe she felt more comfortable when she was in control.

But that wasn't a very attractive quality, was it? She frowned. Surely that couldn't be completely true…

“Fine, I'll stop by The Birth Place.” She held out her hand. “But it had better be some pretty darn important papers.”

Nolan's sheepish look deepened, and he dug in the pocket of the bomber jacket he had hung by the back door on his way out to play ball. He retrieved two sheets of wide-ruled elementary school paper.

Celia stared at them, disbelieving. They were letters to Kim from Sammy, probably written at school today and decorated with large red crayon hearts.

She looked up. “You've got to be kidding.”

He twisted his mouth. “Darn it, you were going by there anyhow. And Sammy wanted her to see them right away.”

She shook her head, laughing, and took the papers. “Love,” she said. “It's made mush-meat of you, Mr. McKinnon.”

Nolan kissed her cheek. “Yeah,” he said. “Ain't it great?”

 

A
S SHE PULLED INTO THE NEARLY
empty parking lot of The Birth Place at about six-thirty, Celia had an idea.

Trish's car was already gone. This might be the perfect time to talk to Lydia privately about Patrick.

It was a little awkward. When she'd met Patrick, Lydia had obviously found his looks surprising, but she hadn't ever mentioned it to Celia. In fact, after the first odd expression of shock, Lydia had acted quite normal—if perhaps a little cool—toward him.

But now, after Trish's reaction, Celia felt that it
was important to find out more. After leaving them in the courtyard, Trish had sequestered herself in her apartment and hadn't answered either the door or the phone. Clearly if she had any thoughts about Patrick and Tee Ellis, she didn't feel like discussing them with Celia.

Celia could respect that. To Trish, Tee Ellis represented her sister's shame at the least—and at the worst he might even somehow be responsible for her sister's disappearance. If Patrick resembled Tee just out of coincidence, it was amazing but ultimately unimportant.

But if Patrick resembled Tee because he really was Angelina's abandoned son…

Well, obviously the emotional ramifications of that were enormous.

So perhaps the better place to start asking questions was Lydia, whose connection was far less complicated.

Lydia had been responsible for The Homecoming Baby until the police investigation could be completed, and a new home found for the infant. If anyone around here knew the name of The Homecoming Baby's adopted parents, it would be Lydia.

Celia turned off her engine and marched into The Birth Place, her mind made up. Kim was away from her desk, perhaps upstairs going through some of the files kept in storage, so Celia dropped Sammy's letters on the desk. That would make a sweet surprise when Kim returned. Then she moved across to Lydia's office.

The door was shut—unusual for Lydia. Celia knocked twice. She heard a rustling noise, so she knew someone was in there.

“Lydia? It's Celia. Do you have a minute?”

Lydia's voice responded, but it was muffled and weak, and Celia wasn't sure what she'd said. Suddenly worried, she opened the door.

Lydia was kneeling by her filing cabinet. At first Celia thought she was just looking for something, but then she noticed that Lydia's arm was draped across the open drawer. Her head was resting on her arm, her face turned toward the floor.

And then she saw the broken vase on the floor. Lydia's Native American pottery collection was beautiful—and always treated gently, like the valuable art it was.

What had happened in here?

Celia hurried over and knelt beside the older woman. “Lydia! Are you all right?”

Lydia raised her head. Celia was shocked at how gray her skin looked, how gaunt her strong-boned face. Her eyes seemed to be set deep in dark circles, their normally intense, piercing gaze foggy and slightly unfocused.

“I'm fine,” Lydia said. “Just a momentary dizziness. Can you help me up?”

Celia reached out, and with some effort Lydia climbed to her feet, leaning heavily on Celia's shoulder.

Lydia stood a moment, breathing deeply. And then, still holding Celia's hand, she took small steps toward
the large leather sofa at one end of the office. She let go of Celia's hand as she sank onto the thick, comfortable cushions with a ragged exhale.

Lydia's eyes were shut now, as if she didn't quite have the energy to hold them open. Celia went over to the massive oak desk and put her hand on the telephone.

“I'm going to call 911.”

Lydia shook her head. “I'm fine,” she repeated. She opened her eyes and gave Celia a small smile. “Trish has been warning me I'm working too hard. I thought she was just being Trish, you know. But it appears she was right.”

Celia wasn't convinced. Lydia always worked hard. It wasn't in her nature to live any other way. And even though she was seventy-three years old, age was something you rarely considered when you were around Lydia. She was always the most impressive, powerful life force in any group of people, whatever their sex, age or physical condition.

She was looking a little better now, though. Her color was returning to her face, and her eyes were more focused. Still, Celia was troubled.

Something had caused Lydia's dizziness. Was she ill? Could it be emotional stress? Celia had seen many unhappy patients fret themselves into a physical decline. But though Lydia had been through a lot lately, with the clinic's financial crisis and the surprise arrival of Kim Sherman, who turned out to be the granddaughter she'd never known.

She was still clearly on the outs with Devon, her
other granddaughter. And Celia knew that hurt Lydia deeply. But surely it was not enough to bring this amazing lioness literally to her knees.

“Do stop wringing your hands, Celia,” Lydia said. “If you'd like to be helpful, please pick up the pieces of that vase. I promise you I'm not planning to keel over on this sofa and die in the next few minutes.”

Celia had to chuckle. Lydia's tart voice was getting back to normal, too.

“No, I can see you're not,” Celia said, squatting down to pick up the broken vase. “But what did happen? Did you fall?”

“Not quite. I felt a little dizzy, that's all. But when I tried to catch myself, I knocked over the vase.” Lydia shrugged. “Not a good trade-off, I fear. That vase is more valuable than I am—and considerably more aesthetically pleasing, too.”

Celia put the broken pieces on the end table. Then she sat next to Lydia.

“I'm sure you're fine,” she said. “But you really should see a doctor, just in case. To see what brought on the dizzy spell. Don't you want me to call someone?”

“What I want is to go home and get a good night's sleep.” Lydia patted Celia's hand. “I appreciate your concern. But I'm just tired. Really.”

“Lydia. You can't just—”

Lydia stood. “Heavens, I hope the worry-wart mentality isn't catching. You're starting to sound exactly like Trish.”

Celia folded her arms. “Didn't you just admit that
Trish was right about how you've been working too hard? Well, I'm right about needing to get a doctor to check you out.”