Patricia Davids - Prodigal Daughter

“You’re up early.” Amy stood in the kitchen door. Her normally immaculate hair had run amok in the night and the pink terry cloth bathrobe over her pajamas had seen better days.

Melissa felt a stab of guilt. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, I have to go into the office early today. How are you feeling?”

“Better, I think. I couldn’t believe I was so tired, but I’m as hungry as a horse.”

“I’d offer to make breakfast, but I see you’ve helped yourself. Will you fix me a cup of tea while you’re at it?”

“I was just thinking about how we used to join Mom on the terrace for tea in the mornings. Dad would be bellowing from inside the house, ‘Nora, where’s my briefcase?’ Mom would smile and say, ‘It’s on the hall table. Right where you left it, Wallace.’ Then he would come out and give us all a kiss before he left for the office and tell us how pretty we were, but you knew he was really telling Mom how pretty she was.”

Amy slipped her arm around Melissa’s shoulders. “There will be plenty of good times with Mom and Dad again.”

“I hope so.”

“Have faith. I don’t believe the Lord is ready to take our dad. I think He has other plans for him.”

“I wish I shared your belief, but I don’t. Not anymore.”

“Is that because of Jennifer?”

Jennifer Wilson had been Melissa’s best friend since kindergarten. She had been witty and funny—always laughing and often getting them both into trouble. Then, the year Jenny turned sixteen, she died of cancer, and Melissa had been by her side.

Melissa nodded, the ache of grief suddenly sharper than it had been in a long time. “God doesn’t care how good someone is or how hard you pray. Dead is dead.”

“Oh, honey. You are so wrong about that. We can’t know what God has planned for any of us, but He loves us. And dead isn’t dead. Death is simply crossing over to a better place where we get to meet Jesus face-to-face.”

Melissa used the whistling kettle as an excuse to end the conversation. “Looks like the water is ready. Do you want cream or sugar in your tea?”

Amy hesitated, but seemed to understand that Melissa wanted to change the subject. “A little cream.”

The conversation lagged until the women were seated at the table. Melissa finished half her bagel before Amy spoke again.

“What are your plans, Melissa?”

“I plan to finish the rest of my breakfast.”

“I’m serious.”

“The funny part is, so am I. I can’t think beyond the next fifteen minutes, let alone make plans for my future.”

“You have someone else’s future to think about.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’m not mother material. I mean, look at me! I can’t take care of myself. I’m a college dropout. I’ve always lived at home. I’ve never had to take care of anyone. I don’t even have a job.” Melissa’s bagel suddenly lost its appeal. She laid it on her plate, then picked up her spoon and stirred the contents of her cup.

“You have a job.”

She glanced at Amy and raised one eyebrow. “I do?”

“Dad wouldn’t let Tim fill your position at the paper. Instead, he placed you on indefinite leave. You still have a job—one with benefits, like health insurance, which will come in very handy.”

“Do you see what I mean? I never even thought about insurance.”

Amy reached across the table and laid a hand on Melissa’s arm. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve had a lot on your mind. I know this can’t be easy for you.”

“I wish none of this had happened. I wish Dad wasn’t sick and I wish I’d never met Dean, or run off with him. I wish I could erase the past six months and go back to being a bored copy aide at the Dispatch, answering phones and compiling paperwork for the editors.”

“Oh, Melissa.”

“It’s not possible. I know, but I wish it were.”

“It’s going to be hard, but you have to start looking ahead.”

Melissa remembered Richard’s advice and nodded. “I need to take things one small step at a time.”

“That’s right.” Amy smiled and took a sip of her tea.

“I guess if I have a job, that’s a start.”

“That’s a good start, although a few things have changed at Hamilton Media that you should know about.”

“Like what? Besides Tim’s running the show now that Jeremy has left. You mentioned Ellen Manning was now the magazine’s ex-makeover expert. I never really liked her anyway. Don’t tell me the Gordons have retired?”

“I doubt you or I will live to see that day. No, Jeremy had to fire our accountant, Curtis Resnick.”

“You’re kidding. They’ve been friends for ages.”

“Curtis was embezzling from us. Because they had been such good friends, Jeremy fired him instead of turning him in to the police. That was really what sparked the dustup between Dad and Jeremy.”

“I see. Poor Jeremy. And poor Tim, to have to take over when things were in such an uproar. How is he handling things?”

“He was pretty tough on the staff, at first. They started calling him Typhoon Tim behind his back, but I have to admit he has found his stride. The business is doing well with him at the helm.”

“Anything else I need to know?”

Amy looked down at her teacup. “Not right at the moment.”

Melissa had the feeling there was more, but she didn’t want to pressure her sister.

Suddenly, Amy looked up and said, “Why don’t you move back home with Mom? The place is certainly big enough.”

The idea was tempting, but somehow Melissa knew that if she did, things were never going to change. She would let her well-meaning family take over more and more of her responsibilities instead of facing them herself. “I think I’d rather get a place of my own.”

“You’re welcome to stay here until you find something. I only have one bedroom, but you’re welcome to the sofa.”

“Thanks. I may have to stay for a little while.”

“Melissa, you haven’t said what you intend to do about the baby.”

“You noticed that?”

“Yes, I did.”

“I’ve been thinking about what I should do for months. I know I told you the baby belonged with me, but in my heart, I also know I’m not cut out to be a mother.”

“Have you thought about adoption?”

“I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“And?”

“I’m not sure. I mean—I may be the pits as a mother, but what if some weirdo gets her or him? You hear horror stories all the time.”

“There is someone at the paper you should talk to. She adopted a child not long ago. I think she might be able to put your mind at ease on that score. But there is something else you need to think about. Dean may be out of the picture as far as you’re concerned, but he has exactly the same rights to your baby as you do.”

“The guy is a jerk.”

“Granted, but jerk or not, he’s the baby’s father. He may have to surrender his rights the same way you will in order to place the child for adoption. Before you make any decisions you need to know where you stand legally. You need to talk to Richard McNeil.”

“Mr. McNeil can see you now, Miss Hamilton.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Woodrow.” Melissa rose from her chair in the reception area and followed Richard’s secretary down a mahogany-paneled hall to his office. Richard stood holding the door open and waiting for her.

“Hello again, Melissa. Come on in.” He indicated one of a pair of burgundy leather chairs that faced his desk. He was wearing another beautifully tailored suit, a dark blue pinstripe with a light blue dress shirt. This time a patterned tie completed the look. The outfit made his eyes seem darker, more intense. Perhaps it was only her imagination.