The Good Daughter (40 page)

“Why did this happen? Why did any of this happen?” she asked Jude. “I don’t understand it. Howard appears in my life, and thrusts Delilah into my life, and it’s chaotic and violent and scary—” Her voice broke. “And then they’re gone. For what? What was the purpose of this?”

Jude leaned against the doorjamb. “My mom thinks God used you to help save Delilah.”

“I didn’t help her if her mother left her!”

He reached for her, his hand closing around her wrist, and tugged her toward him. “Delilah’s a strong little girl. She’s going to be all right.”

Kit leaned against him, needing him. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because there are a lot of people who care about her. You, me, my mom, this Shey in Mineral Wells. We all care about her, and we all want what’s best for her.”

Voices and footsteps sounded on the stairs, and more voices came from the hall. Jude lifted his head, listened. “Sounds like your brother has summoned a lynch mob.”

Kit sniffled, then looked up and saw her father and a half-dozen other men on the stairs. “That’s just the family. My dad. My brother. All the uncles.”

The corner of Jude’s mouth quirked. “That’s all?”

“Feel like being introduced?”

“Sure.” Jude shrugged, planted his feet wide, and channeled his bad-boy-biker swagger. “Why not?”

“Ha-ha,” Kit muttered as her dad stepped forward, looking like a bulldog. “It’s about to get crazy.”

Jude laughed softly. “You know I love crazy.”

S
hey Darcy sat at the big oak kitchen table that dominated the spacious kitchen of the Texas limestone ranch house she shared with her husband, former bull-riding champion Dane Kelly, and their four kids, and watched Delilah Hartnel fold and unfold the letter her mother had written to her just before she left her.

Delilah had read the letter probably fifty times since arriving at Shey’s house two days ago but so far hadn’t shared its contents with her.

“I don’t need to read it, Delilah,” Shey said gently. “It’s personal. Between you and your mama—”

“I just don’t get it.” Delilah kept her gaze fixed to the table. “I don’t get how she could pick him over me. How can she do that?”

Shey shook her head. “I don’t know. But it couldn’t have been easy for her.”

“She was supposed to love me! She was supposed to want me!”

“I’m sure she did. I’m sure she thought she was helping you…protecting you—”

“Bullshit.”

Normally Shey would have reproved her, but today she let it slide. Delilah had been through a lot. She had a right to be angry, and she needed to vent.

Delilah looked up at Shey, her blue gaze stony. “Would you leave your kids, Shey? Would you leave them for a man?”

Shey searched for the right answer. The police and child protective services had filled her in on what had happened since Delilah’s mother married Howard Dempsey, and it was horrific. The violence was horrific. She couldn’t imagine enduring months of such abuse. “No, but, Delilah, your mom was in a difficult situation. She was caught between a rock and a hard place—”

“He was a loser from the start. I knew it. I could tell. But Mama couldn’t. She was sure he was Prince Charming in a fancy gray car.” Abruptly Delilah shoved the letter toward Shey. “Read it.” She softened her voice. “Please.”

Shey searched Delilah’s pale face. “You’re sure?”

Delilah nodded and Shey carefully unfolded the letter and spread it open on the table in front of her.

Shey’s eyes burned as she finished the letter. “Your mother loves you,” she said huskily, carefully refolding the letter and passing it back to Delilah. “You have to know she loves you.”

“She should have gone with me, not him,” Delilah whispered, cupping the letter in her hands.

Shey reached out and slowly, gently, pushed back a lock of Delilah’s pale hair. “I don’t think she stays with him out of love, honey. I think she stays with him out of fear. And she probably doesn’t even know the difference between the two anymore.”

Delilah’s eyes filled with tears. “I hate him.”

“I know you do. And you have every right to. But don’t give up on your mama. She needs your love. She needs your love more now than ever before.”

The tears were falling so fast Delilah couldn’t catch them. “How do you know?”

“Because I’m a mother, too, and I don’t think I could survive if I didn’t have my children to love me.”

A
t Kit’s house in Oakland, Jude was stretched out on the couch next to Kit, watching the foreign film
Biutiful
starring Javier Bardem and trying not to look bored. One day he’d have to tell Kit he did not enjoy foreign films. They weren’t his thing. Not even if they’d been nominated for, or won, an Academy Award. But he’d save that conversation for later. Kit had been emotional
all evening, ever since speaking to Shey Darcy, the woman Delilah had gone to live with in Texas.

Delilah still wouldn’t speak to Kit, continuing to blame her for her mother’s desertion, and Jude had done his best to comfort Kit, reminding her that it hadn’t even been a week since the big blowup with Howard.

“It’s still so new for her,” he had told her after she hung up the phone. “She’s still so raw. One day she’ll forgive you, she will. It’s going to take time.”

Kit nodded but it was obvious she was hurt, and grieving. This whole thing with Delilah couldn’t have come at a worse time. Marilyn didn’t have much time left. A day or two at the most. No wonder Kit was so emotional. Jude couldn’t even imagine how he’d cope with losing his mom.

“You never told me how the interview with the adoption agency went,” he said, dipping his head to kiss the top of hers. “How was it? Were they cool? Do you think they liked you?”

“It went good,” she said in a small voice.

“Yeah?”

She nodded and turned her head to look up at him. “They liked that I was open to adopting an older child, or even siblings. Those kids are always harder to place.”

“You don’t mind not having a baby?”

She thought about it a moment and then shook her head. “I don’t have to have a baby to be a mom. And that’s the point of all of this. Becoming a family. Having a family.”

Jude stared down into her eyes a long moment. “You’re beautiful, Kit Brennan. Beautiful inside and out.”

She opened her mouth to protest. He could see it in her eyes. And then she shut her mouth and managed a small smile. “Thank you.”

“I love you, Kit. You know that, don’t you?”

She nodded.

He stroked her cheek, savoring the warmth of her skin. “Would you ever want to adopt or have a baby together?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“I just…I don’t know…but I kind of think I want to have a family with you.”

She pushed against his chest and sat upright, facing him. “But you don’t do commitments. You won’t marry. You aren’t boyfriend material—”

“When my case wraps up, I want to be transferred to a desk job. I’m ready for regular hours and a safe, sane job.”

“Why?”

He cupped her chin, kissed her mouth. “Because I want you. And I want to come home to you. And I want to be a father to all the kids we adopt, or choose to make together.”

Kit stared up into his eyes in disbelief. “That sounds an awful lot like a commitment, Officer Knight.”

“Maybe it’s because I consider myself committed, Kit Kat. Hope you’re okay with that.”

“What happened to my tough bad-boy biker dude who just wanted hot, hard, sweaty—”

“Don’t worry, he’s still here. The tough bad-boy biker dude will always be around to protect you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me. I just need you to love me.”

“Sorry, angel, I’m here to do both.”

And after a moment’s reflection, Katherine Elizabeth Brennan nodded. Cool. She was good with that.

S
arah sat on the kitchen island barstool, watching her brother-in-law, Jack Roberts, at the old farmhouse-style sink, carefully wipe down the glazed white surface with a pale pink sponge. He’d just spent more than an hour washing and drying dishes, putting away the platters and silver that belonged to the Brennan family, and stacking the dozens of dishes—Pyrex, ceramic and wooden salad bowls—that had been brought by neighbors and friends for the reception following her mom’s funeral service at St. Cecilia’s in San Francisco this morning.

Jack’s commitment to the kitchen and dishes put a lump in Sarah’s throat, and she squeezed the glazed mug between her hands, needing the mug’s warmth. Jack had refused her help, but he’d made her a cup of tea, and told her to sit, and then he went back to work, washing and drying those mountains of dishes.

Sarah didn’t know why she was so touched by Jack’s dedication to the dishes. Boone, her husband, did dishes. If Boone hadn’t
needed to jump on a plane and rush back to Florida for the end of spring training, he would be the one at the sink, soaking and scrubbing and toweling dry.

But he wasn’t here. He was gone. Just as he was almost always gone.

Maybe that’s why she was so appreciative of the time Jack spent in the kitchen tonight, transferring leftovers to Tupperware, putting things in order, making things better. Time was special. And it was the one thing she couldn’t get enough of from Boone, who always seemed to be packing or unpacking his suitcase, which was always out, always on the bench at the foot of their bed.

But it wouldn’t be long before he retired. He’d turned thirty-nine in November. He was ancient in baseball. Grandpa, the rookies called him. The rookies weren’t far off. There weren’t many players Boone’s age in the majors who could still hit the ball like Boone. But then, Boone was special. He always had been.

She glanced down at the phone on the counter, checking to see if Boone had texted her yet. He should be landing anytime now.

“They had a late departure. He’ll be landing soon,” Jack said, squeezing the sponge dry.

She jumped guiltily, unaware that Jack had been watching her. “I can’t relax when he’s in the air.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

Sarah turned the phone over, pushed it away. “I still get nervous.”

“You have to be positive.”

“I try.”

“It was good to see him,” Jack added, opening a cupboard above the refrigerator where Mom stored her oversized platters and serving bowls and carefully sliding two platters into the stack. “Heard he’s hitting well.”

“He had a great spring training.”

“JJ said he had three home runs last week.”

She nodded, trying not to be nervous, trying not to worry. “He hasn’t hit like this in awhile,” she said, aware that she always worried during baseball season. There was so much to worry about. Team politics, trades, injuries, Boone’s performance at plate, the fickle fans, the groupies.

Sarah shuddered, not wanting to think about the girls and groupies tonight. They were part of baseball, and a fact of life, but she wouldn’t let them get to her, not when there were so many other more important things to think about.

Really important things like today’s funeral Mass at St. Cecilia’s, and the graveside service after. The church itself was packed, and almost everyone followed to the cemetery. Dad was such a rock during both services. His eyes had teared up, but he didn’t break down, at least, not until the casket was lowered at the end of the graveside service. That’s when he went down on one knee and bent his head, and cried.

Those who’d remained left for the house then, everybody moving on to the reception, except for Boone and Tommy Jr., who stayed behind with Dad. Eventually, they accompanied him back to the house for the reception, and then Sarah had just enough time to give Boone a quick hug and kiss before he jumped in a cab and took off for the airport.

Now, at nine o’clock, everyone was gone. The guests. The strangers. The friends and neighbors. Only the immediate family remained—Jack and Meg, Kit and Jude, Brianna, Tommy and Cass, and the kids. Meg and Jack’s three, and her two, Brennan and Ella.

Jack reached for a damp dishtowel, dried his hands one final time before crossing the floor to toss the wet towel into a white plastic basket in the laundry room next door. “I think that’s it,” he said.

“You deserve a medal of valor,” Sarah said, sliding off the stool and stretching.

“It was the least I could do. And it felt good to do something. I haven’t been much use to anyone lately—”

“You’ve been there for Meg, and that’s what counts.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do. Meg told me how amazing you’ve been. You’ve cancelled your trips to DC, and you’ve been managing the kids so Meg could be with Mom as much as possible. That’s pretty cool.”

He managed a tight smile. “It’s tough, seeing her go. Your mom was a great lady.”

Sarah’s eyes burned all over again. She’d cried more this week than she’d cried in her entire life put together. No, not true. She’d cried for weeks when she first found out about Boone and that Atlanta woman. Jesus. That had nearly killed her. “I can’t imagine life without her,” Sarah said. “And Easter’s coming up—”

Then she was crying in earnest and somehow she found herself in Jack’s arms, sobbing against his chest as he awkwardly patted her back, trying to comfort her, but all she could see was Dad on one knee at the cemetery, his big shoulders shaking, and Ella, scared to see Grandpa crying, pressing herself into Sarah’s legs, while Brennan stood stoic at her side, which was rare, when he was usually so out of control with his ADHD.