TWENTY-EIGHT
Fallon
“Mmm, mornin’, sunshine.”
She was sitting atop a picnic table, bathed in beautiful morning light, notebook spread in her lap.
“Mornin’, Gentry.” She flicked her eyes up, shining with somethin’ so brilliant I couldn’t help but be a little blinded.
“Looks like someone had a good night.” I plopped myself on the warm wood beside her, enjoying the way being in the sun and her presence made somethin’ deep inside me warm from the core out.
Augusta Belle had a light so bright, not even life’s darkest days could dim her.
Hell, maybe that’s the thing I loved about her most.
Or more likely, it was just one in a long line of things that made me hers.
I might pretend to be six foot five and bulletproof, but the woman I’d found tryin’ to leap off the Whiskey River Bridge that day so many years ago could bring me to my knees with just a look.
“I actually had the best night ever, thanks to this growly Southern rocker guy I know.”
I barked a laugh, hauling her into my lap and letting the notebook fall onto the table between us. She worked her hips against mine, lips locking as her teeth caught my flesh and dragged. “He’s the moodiest, sweetest, kindest soul I know, and I just have to make peace with the fact that he’s way cooler than I am.”
“Don’t forget most talented,” I offered, locking a hand in her hair and pulling her against my lips in a deeper kiss. “Never lettin’ you go again, Augusta Belle. Not over my dead body.”
“Good,” she whispered, voice clogged with vulnerable emotion. “Because I don’t think I could stand it again.”
I swallowed, lifting her in my arms and carrying her right back through the French doors and into that king bed to show her how much I loved her all over again. Somethin’ I’d never get sick of doin’ for as long as I walked this earth.
Lovin’ Augusta Belle came easier than breathin‘.
* * *
By the time her tummy was rumbling a few hours later, we were both freshly showered and changed, prepared to drop off a load of clothes with the dry cleaner, my preferred method of doing laundry since the day I started livin’ out of my truck, and then we had plans to visit the address printed on that envelope.
Lucedale Court.
Augusta Belle had searched for a phone number, but after half a dozen failed calls and countless no-answers, we decided the only other option we had was to knock on doors.
Augusta Belle’s hand gripped mine after we’d slid out of the truck, eyes peering up at the big house ahead of us. “You think this is it?”
“Tire swing in the yard, baseball bat…” I mused, eyes taking in the otherwise tidy front lawn. “Looks like a boy lives here.”
“The neighborhood is great,” she murmured, both of our gazes taking in the elegant colonials that lined the quiet neighborhood street. “Maybe we should just leave this. Look, it may not even be him, and what could we possibly say to make any sort of sense of what happened?” She looked up, eyes terrified and trained on mine.
I squeezed her hand, trying to lend her the small sense of calm I had at this moment. “We’ll do our best.”
Our gazes held, a dozen years of history shrouding our shoulders as we stepped up the sidewalk, headed to the stately front doors, hearts in our throats.
She gnawed on her bottom lip when I tried the knocker and waited.
Nothing.
Silence.
Stifling silence.
I was about to lift a hand to the doorbell when the soft click of a lock sounded and the door cracked open.
“‘Allo?”
“Hi, my name is Augusta Belle Branson. Do you by chance know anyone by the name of Victoria Hill?”
I watched, riveted. The gentleman standing behind the door was slim, a sort of worried look crossing his features.
“She doesn’t live here anymore,” he muttered, closing the door.
“Wait!” Augusta Belle pressed both her hands to the worn wood, eyes wild as she tried to peek into the window that decorated the top.
I knocked again, calling calmly, “We’d just like to ask a quick question. We’re not even sure if she’s who we’re looking for, but if you could just hear us out for a minute—”
The door cracked open again, haunted, dark eyes lingering on us before he opened the door a little farther, stretching to his full height and taking a deep breath. “Victoria Hill was my wife. She’s gone now.” He swallowed, and I sensed something painful had hit this family. “An accident last year.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I offered. “I guess there’s no easy way to say this, but Augusta Belle here found a folder with some important information, your wife’s name the only thing pointing us in this direction.”
“What is it you’re lookin’ for, exactly?” He crossed his arms, patience seeming to wear thin already.
Augusta Belle stepped forward, straightening her own spine before locking eyes with the man. “I had a baby at a place named Our Lady of Sacred Heart, and that baby was adopted. That was nine years ago.”
The instant the word was out of her mouth, his eyes fell, turning to a look of defeat before his shoulders slumped and he stepped aside, door opening up to a simple entryway beyond. “I knew this day would come.”
“Oh my God,” Augusta Belle murmured, stepping into the entry to see a framed school photo of a little boy, his smile subtle, eyes twinkling with mischief, and a spray of freckles across his cheeks.
He was gorgeous.
“Is this him?” she asked, fingertips hovering just above the glass of the photo, tears welling in her eyes.
The man nodded. “Jack Christopher. He’s at school now, but…” His eyes were trained on mine. “Maybe later we could arrange a meeting?”
“A meeting?” my girl whispered.
The guy shrugged. “Jack’s been askin’ about his birth parents for a while. We just didn’t have a way of finding anything out about…” He paused, watching Augusta Belle as she moved down the hallway, devouring more photos of the little boy she’d loved and lost. “Met the kid’s grandpa the night we picked up Jack. We asked him for anything he could tell us about the family, but he was so mum. Left us with an address to send updates, and we did, a few times, but never heard back. Figured the family wanted to move on…”
Augusta Belle’s silent tears left trails of salt down her cheeks as she lingered at the same photo she’d found in her dad’s attic—same chubby thighs and bright smile, only a larger version. “He looked like a happy baby.”
“I’m sorry, guess I should introduce myself. I’m Calvin Hill.” He thrust a hand out to me, and I shook it. “Jack was such a happy baby. We tried for so long to have a baby, and then when he came along…” He glanced at Augusta Belle then back to me. “Well, he was so much more than we ever could have dreamed for.” He swallowed, eyes landing on a family photo of the three of them, Jack a few years younger than he was now, smiling gleefully in his mother’s arms. “Losing his mom was hard on him. He’s struggled at school, just hasn’t been quite the same. I’ve got some family that helps out when they can, but nothing can replace a mother’s love.” He halted, as if he’d said the wrong thing, when Augusta Belle’s gaze trained on him.
“I can’t believe it was so easy. That all this time, he was right here…” She covered her face, and I pulled her into my arms, rubbing her back and trying to soothe away the long-buried ache.
“We offered, well, welcomed your dad and the whole family to come down and get to know Jack Christopher. Sacred Heart offered a closed adoption, but we were so happy that any baby was…available at all… Well, we woulda taken anything, I think.”
Her eyes watered as she looked up at the man. “That night… You said my dad was there?”
He nodded. “We picked Jack up at Sacred Heart when he was three days old. Your father is the one who passed him into my arms.”
“That’s impossible. It must have been someone else. Dad never came to see me, never even mentioned the pregnancy. No one talked to me while I was there…”
The old guy shrugged. “Just a second.” He held up a finger then disappeared into a hall closet, pulling out a folder of discolored papers. “I have something that may clear this up. Ah, there it is.” He pulled out a Polaroid, handing it to me. And sure enough, there stood Augusta Belle’s father, an infant in his arms wrapped in a little blue blanket, a tortured look in his eyes.
Jesus. Augusta Belle didn’t even grab for the picture, just stared at it, eyes roaming over every inch before she buried her head in my arm and let out a fresh batch of tears.
“That’s him.” I handed the photo back.
“And you’re the, ah, biological father?” he asked cautiously.
I nodded, holding back my own emotion.
I’d missed out on so much—the baseball games, the first day of school, swimming lessons, first steps, and giggles.
“Augusta, well, she’s been dealing with a lot of the things that happened while she was at that place. She was taken against her will, as you can imagine. But beyond that, it seems…well, that school didn’t have her sign anything about adopting her baby. She thought she was going to take him home to Tennessee and raise him herself…”
The man’s eyes widened. “But I’ve got the paperwork right here, clearly has the signature of the mother listed.” He pulled out another piece of paper, my eyes scanning it for Augusta Bell’s flowery signature.
It was there, all right, but it certainly wasn’t hers.
In fact, it looked like the signature of a sixty-year-old woman, controlled and precise. Augusta Belle’s had always been all large loops and youthful feeling.
“You didn’t sign that, did you, Augusta?” the older man finally asked, her eyes clear enough to see the signature that so obviously wasn’t hers on Jack Christopher’s birth certificate.
“No.”
He nodded, pushing a hand into his hair. “Look, I won’t lie and say things since my wife passed have been great. Jack and I have had a lot of painful moments, but putting him through a legal battle now—”
“Oh my God, no. I would never.” She was clutching at the stranger’s hand now, the very stranger who’d raised our son. “We don’t want to change his life at all. I guess I just needed… I guess I just needed to know that he was all right, taken care of, loved.” She looked around the house, focusing on the pictures mostly. “And he is. I can tell he’s gotten so much more here with you than I ever could have given him—”
“That’s not true.” Jack’s dad looked from me to her. “Maybe at one time, we had it all. But I can’t raise Jack alone and do it well.” He pressed his lips together, assessing his next words. “He needs a mother, and I just can’t be that for him.” He looked up at me. “Don’t know how long you planned on stayin’ in town for, but while you’re here, I’d love if you could spend time with him. I think he would love it. He’s such a brilliant little guy, so advanced and beyond his age, asking the questions he’s always asked. I think…I think talking to you would help him.”
Augusta Belle’s hand clutched at mine, hope springing into her eyes for the first time since we’d walked up. “Really?”
“Absolutely.” He nodded, setting the folder down on the table. “He won’t be off the bus for a few hours yet. Whaddya say we sit down and chat a little more?”
She nodded, kicking off her shoes and following him down the long hallway before I could even think twice.
I followed suit, kicking off my own dirty boots and taking off down the tile hallway after them, visions of my boy’s beautiful face wallpapering every surface as I went.
Augusta Belle had found our boy.
The son we hadn’t even realized we had.
Evidence of the night that’d changed both of us.
The night we created him.