Janice Kay - A Mother's Claim

Now, watching the doctor and nurses work on Christian, he saw that they were finally having success. The strain gradually leached from his muscles.

Sure enough, by the time the unit of O-neg blood arrived, the doc waved it off. He did decide to keep Christian for the night to recover from the blood he’d lost.

Eventually, Nolan and his nephew were left alone while overnight arrangements were being made.

“It wasn’t Jason’s fault,” Christian said in a desperate voice. “Don’t blame him.”

“Safe to say, we’ll let you share the blame,” Nolan said drily. He felt sure Jason had already caught hell from his dad.

Christian seemed reassured. His eyelids sank, but he mumbled, “We were dumb, weren’t we?”

“Yep.” Now standing right beside the bed, smoothing the boy’s dark blond hair back from his forehead, Nolan said, “We’ll talk about it once you’re in fighting form again.”

Christian made a fist with one hand and managed to raise it a few inches.

Nolan chuckled. “Oh, I’m scared.”

The small smile on the boy’s face caused relief and something sharper to squeeze his heart. Nolan didn’t have much family: his sister, Marlee, and her son. And Marlee... He loved her, but she was a constant worry and aggravation he had inherited when their parents were killed by a drunk driver. Medication gave her stretches of stability, but more and more often she refused to take it, which meant her mental illness dominated all their lives. Nolan could deal with the ups and downs, but watching her put her son through so much enraged him.

After their parents’ deaths, he’d given up his military career to take care of his sister and her kid. When he came home to Lookout to stay, he told Marlee that, from here on out, Christian would be living with him. She was welcome, as well, or they’d arrange occasional overnights. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but the boy he loved had to come first. He’d made sure she knew that if she didn’t agree to his conditions, including her signature on papers giving him the right to make decisions for Christian, he’d challenge her in court for guardianship. Neither had any doubt he’d win.

So they’d made an uneasy peace, with her coming and going but Christian gaining in confidence now that he had a stable home and someone he could count on.

Thank God for that agreement. Today was typical. Nobody had been able to reach Marlee. Nolan hadn’t seen her in a couple of days. She might be holed up in the apartment she maintained with disability payments, or she might have hitchhiked to Portland or somewhere else. In the grip of her schizophrenia, she tended to wander. If she could get her hands on drugs, she took them. He knew she spent weeks and months at a time living on the streets in one city or another, vulnerable to predators. It was almost inevitable that someday she would disappear for good. His parents had tried to gain guardianship so that she could be committed to an institution when she was at her worst, but they had failed. Nolan wasn’t sure he loved that idea, anyway.

When an orderly appeared to take Christian upstairs, the boy was sound asleep.

Not liking his pallor, Nolan decided to stay behind and corner the doctor again. Maybe the boy should have received that unit of blood.

He hadn’t caught the doctor’s name but spotted him in the nurses’ station scrutinizing something on a computer monitor.

He looked up as Nolan approached. “Mr. Gregor. I’m glad you’re still here.”

Ice trickled down Nolan’s spine. “Something’s wrong.”

The doctor’s expression cleared. “Not with Christian’s condition. He should be fine. He’s going to hurt for a while, though.”

Relaxing a little, Nolan shook his head. “Hell of a lesson.” He glanced at the badge pinned to the other man’s scrub top. Dr. Karl Soderberg. “You must have a concern.”

“Not at all. Just wanted to let you know that Christian’s blood type is O positive.”

“Must have gotten that from his father,” Nolan said slowly, although something tugged at his memory.

“He might have. It does mean his mother isn’t AB, though.”

“What?” Nolan said, almost soundlessly.

“A parent with blood type AB can have children that are A, B or AB, but not O, even if the other parent has type O. It’s just not possible. You might want to ask your sister again for her blood type.”

Nolan was too stunned to speak. He’d taken leave and flown home after the car accident that killed their parents and left Marlee injured. He’d always known they had the same blood type as their mother, a fact confirmed when Marlee received a transfusion.

All he said was, “Thanks. Will you print that off so I can keep it with Christian’s vaccination records?”

“You bet.” A moment later, Soderberg handed over the piece of printer paper. Summoned by a nurse in the door of another cubicle, he walked away.

Nolan was left to stare at a couple of lines of basic information that carried the force of a grenade capable of wiping out his small family. He wanted to believe the lab had made a mistake, mixed up two samples of blood. He would, of course, take Christian to his own doctor for verification. But Marlee wasn’t your average, everyday mom. A part of him knew.

Christian could not be her biological son.

* * *

ONE MONTH LATER, almost to the day, Nolan buried his sister.

When their parents died two years ago, he had acted on intuition—or had it only been fear?—and purchased not two cemetery plots but three. Now he laid Marlee to rest beside her mother.

He’d seen too much death and devastation himself to gain any comfort from that—he’d ceased to believe in an afterlife or the rosy fiction that Mom had met Marlee with outstretched arms. But Christian seemed to find it some consolation, which was all that mattered.

Christian had insisted on staying to watch as earth was shoveled atop the casket. Only two cemetery workers in rain gear remained with them. Friends and the minister who’d said a few words over the grave had all given the man and boy kind, pitying glances and walked away, sheltered by black umbrellas. Nolan held the same kind of umbrella and kept Christian close to him with an arm around his shoulders. Cold rain dripped from the bare branches of the maples that lined the paved cemetery lane. The heap of soil beside the grave had been protected by a tarp.

As the first shovelful pattered down, Christian’s body jerked.

“That’s enough,” Nolan said harshly and turned him away.

To his relief, Christian didn’t protest.

They walked across the squishy ground to Nolan’s SUV, decorated on each side with the logo of his business and the name: Wind & Waves.

Shivers racked his nephew’s thin body. “I can’t believe...” he mumbled.

That his mother was dead? Nolan had no trouble believing that. What he struggled with was the knowledge of how she died. Marlee committed suicide after Nolan insisted she tell him the truth about Christian. He, who had vowed to care for her, had killed her.

When he first confronted her, she screamed, “That’s a lie! That’s a lie! That’s a lie!” and covered her ears with her hands. He had insisted she stay with them so she couldn’t run from questions she didn’t want to answer. He’d also figured that with Christian out of school recuperating, she could be there to help while Nolan was at work. Nolan had grown grimmer, Marlee more hysterical. He had become reluctantly convinced that she truly believed she had carried Christian for nine months and borne him with the help of a midwife rather than in a hospital.

Did that mean Christian had no birth certificate? Hadn’t Marlee or their parents needed one to enroll him in school?