The next day was Sunday. The sun came up high and bright against a clear blue sky, and as Michelle sat at the kitchen table in Yasmine’s apartment, drinking a cup of warm Ovaltine and listening to the frigid February wind whistling sharply outside, she tried to analyze her feelings.
She’d gotten the call last night.
The man formerly known as her father was found dead in his cell. Apparently, he’d been suffering from cirrhosis, and last night his liver finally shut down on him. Well, he was a drunk, had been all her life, and even before that according to Robert and people who knew him back in Virginia.
Michelle was surprised he’d lasted that long, but grateful, nonetheless. If he’d died any sooner, she and Robert might never have found out that he wasn’t their father, but a homeless impostor by the name of Timmy Gleason who’d killed and stolen their real father’s identity.
While she’d been hiding out in South Carolina, Robert had found a note in the box of their mother’s stuff stored in his home. The note was from a woman in Virginia addressed to Dwight Carter at the apartment on Pine Street where they used to live, but on the inside she’d called him Timmy. It was postmarked twenty-six years ago, shortly after her mother arrived in Manchester, and months before Michelle was born. The note merely stated that the man he’d stabbed had died and he shouldn’t come back to Virginia.
Robert had straightway hired a private investigator to track the woman down, only to find that she’d been dead for years. After further digging, they’d discovered that Timmy Gleason had also been dead for twenty-six years. From there on, it was easy to solve the rest of the puzzle. Timmy Gleason had stabbed their father, for what reason, they’ll never know. He’d stolen his identity, kidnapped her pregnant mother and Robert, and fled to New Hampshire. Michelle was sure he’d threatened to hurt her babies if she ever talked. It was the only way to keep her quiet.
Michelle couldn’t even fathom the blanket of fear her mother must have lived under day after day and night after night. Her husband was dead—or did she even know that? And his killer was threatening the lives of her children. Her mother had to keep Timmy Gleason’s secret to protect her and Robert. Michelle knew she would have done the same if she’d been in a similar situation. Yesterday, she’d felt she could strangle Bridget for even suggesting that she and Erik could take her child away from her.
She had no feelings about Timmy Gleason’s death, but she was overwhelmed with questions, curiosity, and love for the father she would never know. Since Dwight Carter grew up in foster care, tracing their family line had become much more difficult than she and Robert initially anticipated. They weren’t giving up, but she had to face the fact that Dwight Carter might forever remain a mystery to her. One more thing Timmy Gleason had robbed her of.
Michelle pushed herself out of the chair. She needed to get out of the house.
She walked the short distance to Yasmine’s bedroom and knocked on the door. Yasmine grumbled something unintelligible. Michelle opened the door and walked over to the side of the bed. The shades were drawn, making it impossible for her to see much of anything. Michelle knew Yasmine was bone-tired from working overtime all week, and she felt terrible disturbing her sleep. But she was in need of some spiritual comfort for the turmoil in her soul.
“Yasmine?” she said to the long lump completely submerged from head to toe under the blankets.
“Hmm?”
“Can I borrow your car? Do you have any plans today?”
“I just want to sleep, if you let me.”
“Thanks.” Michelle bent down and kissed what she thought was Yasmine’s forehead.
“You don’t have to kiss my ass, Michelle. You’re my girl. I’ll do anything for you.”
Stifling a giggle, Michelle tiptoed out of the room.
Pastor Dixon had just commenced his Sunday sermon when she got to the little church where she and her brother used to attend services, occasionally, when they were children. She slid quietly and unnoticed in the very last pew.
Michelle listened intently as Pastor Dixon talked about Faith, Hope, and Charity, the three spiritual gifts, and how Charity was the greatest and most blessed of the three. He called Charity Love, and explained how it conquered all, overcame any problem, moved mountains.
Michelle had never considered herself religious, but as she listened to the comforting words of wisdom, she thought of Erik and Precious, and how much she loved them. She wanted to be with them, especially now that she knew she had no blood ties to the man responsible for their pain. She wanted to tell Erik about his child growing inside her, that it was not related to the man who’d killed his wife. She wanted her family back.
Timmy Gleason had robbed her of her own father. She was not going to let him rob her child of his, or hers.
If what the minister said was true, that Love conquered all things, no matter how dismal the circumstances, she would just have to have faith, and hope that she and Erik find their way back to each other.
Michelle turned her head as someone sat down next to her. A smile brightened her face, and she reached out and clasped the large warm hand.
Her dear, sweet, big brother smiled back at her. He was hurting, too. Timmy Gleason had scarred her brother just as deeply as he had her. When Michelle hurt, Robert hurt, too. It had always been like that. It would always be like that.
They slid quietly outside before the benediction.
Robert put his arms around her without saying a word.
“Thanks for coming,” Michelle mumbled against his chest. She’d called him this morning to let him know where she would be. They would spend the day together, comforting each other, asking questions neither one of them knew the answers to, right now, but which they hoped they’d find in time. “I lost Erik and Precious because of that homeless bastard. I may have lost my mother too because of him. I feel so alone.”
“You’re never alone, Mich, darling. You know I’ll always be here for you. I asked you to come stay with me, but I understand you need to stay in Manchester for the kids at the center.” He paused. “Do you want me to talk to Erik? Pound some sense into his thick head?”
“Oh, Robert.” Michelle sighed and gazed into his face. “You’re always picking up the broken pieces of my life and putting them back together. I’m not a little girl, anymore. I can’t expect you to keep fighting my battles. I’m a woman now, and soon to be a mother. I destroyed my relationship with Erik, all by myself. I have to fix it, all by myself.”
“You have grown up so much in the last few months, Little Sis. You’ve been broken, but you’re a whole lot stronger than you were before. I hear it in your voice, see it in your eyes.”
“I have to be strong for my child,” Michelle said, as her brother walked her to the car. “As strong as our mother was for us.”
***
After pondering the words of the minister all day, Michelle decided to give it one last shot, and at midnight, she made her call.
“Hello.” A woman’s voice, groggy from sleep, drifted through the wires into Michelle’s ears.
A sharp gasp escaped her as the shock of reality flew to her brain. She placed a trembling hand over her heart as anxiety spurted through her.
“Who’s there? I know someone’s there. I can hear you breathing.”
With a slow unsteady motion, Michelle pushed the end button on the receiver. She fell onto the sofa and stuck her knuckles into her mouth so Yasmine wouldn’t hear her gasping.
Then she felt it coming, hard and strong, like a whirling tornado rushing through her system. She barely made it to the bathroom in time. She fell to the floor and grabbed the sides of the toilet and emptied her stomach into the bowl.
***
July finally dragged around again. And with it came sweltering heat and suffocating humidity.
It was a little over a year ago that Michelle walked up the driveway of 204 Jefferson Drive, and into Erik LaCrosse’s life. One year ago, she had found love, and eight and a half months ago she had lost it, due to a terrible twist of fate.
She sat in the living room of her rented condo, arms folded over her enormous stomach, watching as rain formed puddles in the parking lot outside her window.
Her first book was sold, and would go to print within six months. In addition to that elated feeling of success, she had been fortunate to obtain a contract with the publishing house for a three-book series about ‘The Littlest Dreamers’.
She was expecting a sizable advance any day now, which she would use to buy a decent car to replace the piece of junk that spent more time in the garage than it did on the road. She’d started freelancing in an effort to provide for her child. With Ryan photographing for her, she was doing pretty well. He loved to take pictures of her, too, she thought, glancing around at the many photographs in the room—some with her alone, some with the kids at the center, and an enlarged one of her and Ryan on the wall—his hand resting on her stomach as if he were the father of her child.
He’d given her that photo for Mother’s Day, and had asked her to marry him again. Said he wanted to take care of her and her baby. And again, she’d turned him down. He deserved a woman who could love him for the wonderful caring man he’d morphed into. She couldn’t. Not him. Not any other man. Ever. Perhaps if there was no Erik…
A slow smile twisted Michelle’s lips as her baby kicked in her womb. She patted her stomach, love flooding her heart. She would have to love this child enough to make up for its father and sister—the family it would never meet.
Her eyes misted as she thought of Precious. She hadn’t seen her since that day at the mall. Mrs. Hayes had told her that Erik had put the house on the market and was planning to return to Granite Falls. Felicia had already moved back there with Philippe. There was nothing keeping Erik in Amherst. She might never see him or Precious again.
Michelle’s heart still ached with a raw pain for that child. She wondered if she remembered her, and if she still thought of her. She may as well face facts. Children forget quickly. Precious had Bridget to fill the void in her little life.
Her baby kicked again. “Just two more weeks,” she said to it. Just two more weeks, then she would hold her baby, Erik’s baby, in her arms. It was all she had left of the love they’d shared. And she would cherish, adore, and protect it with her life.
She thought about the upcoming opening for the new center. She should be there. She’d done most of the work to raise funds and find sponsors, but she didn’t dare. Erik was the keynote guest speaker.
She couldn’t risk Erik knowing about her child, not after what Bridget Ashley had said. She would lose any custody battle with him. And so to avoid running into him, or the local press, she’d moved out of Manchester, months ago when she really began showing, into a town close to the Massachusetts border where nobody knew her.
Trembling fingers stroked her stomach as she tried to connect to the child inside her. This was her only reason for living, her only hope for survival. Nobody was taking it away from her.
She was sorry it might never know its father. It would be just like many of the kids in her neighborhood—fatherless. Michelle was sorry, so very sorry for a whole lot of things. A permanent sorrow seemed to weigh her down.
***
“…And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the true meaning of neighborhood. When we pull together as a community and help our brothers and sisters less fortunate that we are, there is no greater joy, no deeper pleasure or satisfaction than in knowing we have helped one small soul, made one tiny dream come true, kept hope alive in one tender, little heart.”
Erik nodded and smiled at the resounding round of applause coming from the crowd of donors, sponsors, and grateful parents for the new Youth Neighborhood Center.
He cast an anxious glance once more toward the door before he stepped from the podium and took his seat with the other speakers on the makeshift stage. He listened halfheartedly to the vote of thanks and closing remarks by Rose Marlon the president of the organization.
Where was Michelle?
He couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t be here. It was her hard work that had made all this possible. Her love and devotion had moved people to give generously to these needy children.
“Great speech, Dr. LaCrosse.” A petite woman who looked as if life had been hard on her came up to Erik and shook his hand. “Thanks for all the help you’ve given to our community and our children. My Jessica has benefited so much from hanging out at the center instead of idling on the streets after school. Michelle is a good influence on her, on all the kids.”
Erik’s heart danced as pleasant memories stirred deep inside him. He knew all those wonderful things about Michelle, and so much more than any of these people in this building realized. She was his sweet angel of mercy. He took a deep breath. “Speaking of Ms. Carter, why isn’t she here tonight? Is she ill?”
“You mean you don’t know?” The woman seemed deeply puzzled.
“Know what?”
“That she’s—”
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, darling.”
Erik clenched his jaws as Bridget glided up to him and looped a possessive arm through his. He forced a bland smile.
“It was nice talking to you, Dr. LaCrosse. Thanks again for all your help. You should come by the center sometime. I’m sure Michelle would be happy to see you.” The woman threw Bridget a cynical stare then took off as if she’d brought the plague with her.
“What was that about?” Bridget walked beside Erik as he moved over to a table laden with goodies.
He picked up a carrot stick and chewed on it, absentmindedly. “She was about to tell me something about Michelle, but you scared her off.” He noticed that Bridget’s false lashes came down to shade her eyes from him. “Do you know something I don’t?” he asked.
“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “Whatever she was going to say was probably insignificant. You know how these people like to make something out of nothing.”
He didn’t like her tone or the connotation in her words. Michelle was one of these people and he still loved her with all his heart. He needed to see her. He needed to talk with her one last time before he moved to Granite Falls. She hadn’t responded to his letter, and he’d taken her silence to mean that it was over. He couldn’t leave it like that. He had to hear her tell him that she didn’t love him to his face. That she couldn’t forgive him for shutting her out of his life.
“I asked her to forgive me,” he said out loud. “I guess she can’t.”
A frown furrowed Bridget’s brow. “What did you do to her, Erik? It was her father who killed Cassie. Why would you be asking her forgiveness?”
He averted his eyes and walked from the crowd, out the door, into the dark July night, around to the back of the building. He leaned against the wall. The smell of recently fallen rain on the lush grass beneath his feet was pleasant in the air.
It was a night, just like this one, hot and humid, with fever racing through his veins that he’d kissed Michelle for the first time. His lips still tingled from the memory of that first intimate touch, and all the sweet moments of loving that followed. She had yielded, so softly and deliciously in his arms. He wasn’t aware that Bridget had followed him until she spoke.
“What did you do to her, Erik?”
His eyes burned with pain. His heart numbed with shame. He was grateful for the blanket of blackness. “I punished her. The night I found out that it was her father who’d killed Cassie, I went home, raging with a taste for revenge. Michelle was there. She was the perfect target. I wanted somebody to hurt as much as I was hurting. So I allowed my pain to blind me, and I unleashed it on the one person available, the one person I…”
“Love.” Bridget quietly finished when he hung his head in silence. Michelle was right. He did love her. He had been grieving for her all this time. This was a suffering far worse than death. At least he knew he could never have Cassie back. But Michelle? As long as Michelle was alive, he would never be over her.
Bridget finally understood what Michelle tried to tell her that day at the mall. As much as she wanted Erik, she could not settle to be second best to any woman. She deserved much more. What woman wanted to be with a man who could leave her some day? And she knew that someday would come when Erik discovered that Michelle had given birth to his child.
“Erik, Michelle is pregnant,” she said before she gave herself time to renege from doing the right thing. “She may have already given birth—I don’t know. I think that’s what that woman wanted to tell you.”
His head came up in slow motion, an acute pain in his chest. “What did you just say, Bridget?”
“I saw Michelle about five months ago. She was pregnant, Erik.”
He gripped her by the shoulders, a tormented, haggard expression in his eyes. “And you never told me?”
“She forbade me to tell you. She had her reasons. I was jealous of what the two of you shared and I said some nasty things to her,” Bridget added in a regretful tone.
“Like what?” He shook her. “What did you say to her?”
“I called her a ghetto rat, and told her she couldn’t offer the child anything. That she should let you and me raise it.” Bridget sighed with shame over her behavior. “She called the house the following night, but when she heard my voice, she hung up.”
“How do you know it was her?”
“Her girlfriend, um… Yasmine’s number showed up on Caller I.D.”
“God!” Erik clutched at his face as though he were in excruciating pain. It must have happened on that horrible night. Michelle… His child… He’d turned his back on them. God, how Bridget’s nasty words must have driven the cruel nails deeper into her coffin of despair.
He pushed away from the side of the building. “I have to find her.” He sprinted across the parking lot toward his Mercedes.
“How am I to get home, Erik?” Bridget asked in a panic.
“Whistle for a cab, Bridget.”
“I’ll give you a ride, Doll,” Erik heard a man’s voice say behind him. He didn’t care who it was. He didn’t look back. His future was ahead of him.
***
Within minutes, Erik was banging on Yasmine’s door. He pushed past her when she opened it.
“Michelle! Michelle!” He raced through the apartment, flinging doors open and searching inside the rooms.
“Where is she?” He finally came back to the living room where Yasmine waited patiently with folded arms at the open door, right where he’d left her.
“If you’d asked me that before you barged in here like Shaka Zulu on the war path, I could have saved you the trouble.”
“I don’t have time for your smart mouth, Yasmine. Where’s Michelle?”
“She isn’t here,” Yasmine said with a stiff face, jutting her chin at him.
“I can see that. Look, I know she’s pregnant. That’s my child she’s carrying.”
Yasmine raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really now? And how do you know that, Dr.?”
“Are you going to tell me, or must I choke it out of you? And I will, Yasmine. Where… is… Michelle?” He spaced the last three words out evenly through clenched teeth as he leaned in toward her, a menacing look etched on his face.
Yasmine backed away, her hands raised to ward him off. “Calm down, Erik. There’s no need to resort to violence.” She rattled off Michelle’s address and gave him quick directions.
The minute the door closed, Yasmine jumped on the phone.
