Janice Kay - A Mother's Claim

It was the mother who was supposed to call any minute. Nolan had no idea what to say to her. He remembered his promise to Christian.

I’ll fight dirty to keep you, if it ever comes to that. And if there’s one thing I learned at Fort Bragg and overseas, it’s how to fight dirty.

But panic stalked him. How was he supposed to fight a woman who’d done nothing wrong? Who only wanted her little boy back?

His phone rang.

He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering himself, before answering. No sound came from upstairs. No eager or even reluctant feet thudded down the staircase.

“Nolan here.”

There was a small silence. Then a soft woman’s voice said, “Mr. Gregor?”

“That’s right.” It wasn’t in him to help her.

“I’m Dana Stewart. Gabriel’s mother.”

“He’s been Christian for a long time, Mrs. Stewart.”

“Ms.,” she said, almost sharply. “I’ve been divorced for a long time, too.”

“Why did you keep your husband’s name, then?” He threw it out, a challenge.

“Because it’s Gabriel’s.”

The simple truth in a tremulous voice made his head bow, his face twist.

“I understand.”

“Will you tell me more?” She sounded humble. “I mean, about how you ended up with my son?”

He couldn’t deny her this much.

“I’m former military. I was overseas when my sister emailed to let me know she was pregnant and expecting anytime. She was living in Denver.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “My parents and I weren’t thrilled. Marlee was mentally ill. At the time, she seemed stable. She responded well to medication but wouldn’t always stay on it.” He paused. “She returned to the West Coast about the same time I came home on leave, her little boy eight months old.”

“She planned to steal a baby.” This voice wasn’t tremulous. It was lent resonance by rage.

“It...would appear so. When I confronted her after finding out Christian’s blood type, though, she denied anything like that. I think she really believed that Christian was hers. That she’d gone through a pregnancy and had him the usual way. She told me how many hours she’d been in labor.”

“She lied.”

“Her truths weren’t the same as most people’s.”

“You’re excusing her.”

Suddenly angry, he said, “I’m explaining her. Do you want to hear it or not?”

In the silence that followed, he felt her grabbing for calm. He wondered what she looked like. Had Christian’s blond hair come from her or his father? Christian was a strikingly handsome boy, embarrassed because girls liked him. Did his looks come from her? His height?

“You’re right,” she said, with what he suspected was hard-won poise. “I know this can’t be easy for you. She’s your sister.”

“She was my sister. Marlee died a month ago.”

“Oh,” she whispered.

“Christian has lived with me for a couple of years anyway, and I spent as much time as possible with him before that.” He might as well lay it all out there, he decided. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s my son.”

“And yet he’s not.”

“He’s a good kid. He loves me.”

“That doesn’t make him yours.”

The fear of losing Christian would crush him if he let it. “He’s not your baby anymore, Ms. Stewart. You have to understand. He’s five foot six. Doing advanced math. Summers, he teaches windsailing and kayaking classes. He’s damn near a teenager.”

“Why did you put his DNA online if you feel this way?”

The question rocked him. Because it was the right thing to do.

“Because I understood that you might be out there, clinging to hope, fearing he was dead. I couldn’t let you keep hurting.”

“Thank you.” The softness was back, the undertone that spoke of devastation, of an unexpected miracle. “You can’t imagine what it felt like to get that call.”

As an opponent, she’d be hard to knock down. She had too much on her side.

“Have you let Christian’s father know?”

“Yes.” Constraint could be heard. “He’s as thrilled as I am. Needless to say, he’s eager to see Gabriel, too.”

“I assume you want to talk to Christian,” Nolan said abruptly.

“Yes. Oh, yes. Please.”

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

“Hold on.” He went to the foot of the stairs, covered the phone and called for Christian.

After a minute, a door opened and the boy appeared. He took the stairs slowly, shoulders hunched, expression mulish but his eyes showing how scared he was.

“Your mother,” Nolan said, and held out the phone.

* * *

DANA WAITED, ALL of her focused, hungry, listening for a voice she’d feared never to hear.

“Uh...hi.” The uh was deep, the hi a squeak. Damn near a teenager.

Her breath came faster. He wasn’t her baby, hadn’t been for a long time. He was almost twelve years old. How could that be?

“Hello—” she made herself say it “—Christian. I’m your mother.”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled.

“Accepting what you do know can be hard.”

His “I have a mom!” sounded angry, almost violent. Then he went quiet for a moment before saying more softly, “Had a mom.”

“I have missed you every day since you were taken.”

“Mom wouldn’t have done that.”

“Somebody did.” Dana knew she’d said it too sharply, but how could she not let him know how angry she was. “You were asleep in your crib in your bedroom. It was spring. The weather was nice. Your window had a screen, so I...left it open.” Craig had never let her forget that by doing so, she had left their child vulnerable. He didn’t quite say, It was your fault, but he didn’t have to. “You’d had a restless night, so I took a nap, too. When I woke up and went into your bedroom, your crib was empty and the screen on the window had been removed.”

Not only removed: stomped on, twisted. In unwary moments, she still saw the window screen lying mangled on the lawn. It had epitomized the worst of her fears. What kind of person had taken the time to destroy the window screen only because it had briefly gotten in the way?

Gabriel didn’t say anything. Even in her turmoil, she knew how torn his loyalties had to be. How could he accept that the woman he’d believed was his mother had committed a crime so awful?

“May I speak to Mr. Gregor again?” she said politely.

Her son didn’t even say goodbye. He probably felt a rush of relief as he handed off the phone.

The slow, rumbly voice was back. “If you’ll give me your email address, I’ll send you some pictures.”

She trembled. To see his face!

“If you would—” more that was hard to say “—I’d be grateful.” She gave him her email address.

“Consider it done.”

His kindness was reluctant but real, she thought.

She steeled herself. “Mr. Gregor, I have already bought an airline ticket. I will be arriving tomorrow. Can you recommend a place to stay?”

“Don’t you think you should give this longer before you get pushy?”

“I can’t read him when we’re on the phone.”

“Our computer has a camera. You could Skype.”

Anger punched through all the other emotions. “If you were me, would that satisfy you?”

Silence. He didn’t want to say no. Admitting as much would give the advantage to her.

“The Lookout Inn,” he said abruptly. “It’s a nice place. With this being out of season, you shouldn’t have any trouble getting a room.”

“Thank you,” she said. She didn’t care if she had a nice place. Eleven years of longing had coalesced into one driving need: to see Gabriel. “Then you can expect me tomorrow.”

“Doesn’t sound like we have any choice,” he said.