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When he did find his own daughter, he’d find a way to make up for some of the mistakes of his past.
Maybe redeem himself.
“Are you finished?”
The pair had stopped talking and were staring at him. Oh, great. He was breathing hard and sweating, probably pale as paper.
“I’m done,” he said, handing her the plate and bowl. “Thank you.”
She carried them into the kitchen and he took the opportunity to study the child.
“How do you like it here?” he asked her.
“I like Bull,” she said, “but home is nicer.”
“Home with Mommy Fern?”
“Mama Fern. Yes.”
“I guess you miss your mommy.”
She looked at him. “Do you know her?”
He settled for “I don’t think so.” Because almost certainly, this wasn’t his own child, whose mother, Kath, he had indeed known quite well. Theirs had been a mistaken marriage, born of lust and bad judgment. Soon after the wedding, they’d started having serious problems. Her drinking and drugs and promiscuous behavior had led to them breaking up, not once, but twice.
What he hadn’t known was that the last time she’d kicked him out, he’d left her pregnant.
Fern walked back into the room and squatted down beside the child with a natural grace. “Half an hour till your bedtime, sweets. Want to have your snack in front of the TV? Finish your movie?”
“Yeah.” The little girl hugged Fern. “Thanks for letting me.”
“Fridays only. Let’s get you set up.”
Carlo’s head was spinning so badly with questions and fever that he had to stay seated, but he forced himself to keep his eyes open and take deep breaths. Not only was he sick, but he was dizzy with confusion.
Could God have arranged it that he’d meet his child this way, rather than wearing nice clothes in a social worker’s office?
Was that beautiful little girl his daughter?
Fern came back in. “She loves her princess movies,” she said apologetically. “I’m not real big on TV for little kids, but it comforts her.”
Carlo lifted his hands. “I’m not judging. Don’t most kids watch TV?”
“Yeah, but...I want to do better.”
She was a good, caring foster mom. And he had to find out the truth. “How old did you say she is?”
“She’s four, going on five.”
He nodded. “Now, did you name her Mercy or was that already her name?”
She looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “You can’t change a four-year-old’s name. She’s been Mercy all her life.”
Relief poured over him. He hadn’t messed up the all-important moment of meeting his own daughter. To be polite, he tried to keep the conversation going. “And you’re...hoping to adopt her?”
“I’m planning on it,” she said with satisfaction. “Everything’s looking great. As long as the birth father doesn’t show up, I’m golden.”
He cocked his head to one side. “You don’t want her father to find her?”
She shook her head impatiently. “It’s not like that. He’s shown no interest in her for four years, so it’s hardly likely he’ll show up now. Typical deadbeat dad, but we had to publish announcements for a few weeks to make sure he doesn’t want her.”
Carlo’s head spun at her casual dismissal. He wanted to argue that just because a dad wasn’t around, that didn’t mean he was a deadbeat. Some dads didn’t even know they had a child. But there was no need to argue with the woman who’d treated a stranger so kindly. “Mercy’s kind of an old-fashioned name,” he said instead.
She smiled. “Oh, that’s just what I call her sometimes. Her mom did, too. Her full name is actually Mercedes.”
The name slammed into his aching head with the force of a sledgehammer’s blow. He had indeed blundered into the home of his own child.
Chapter Two (#ulink_20ed3f63-5ac8-5325-8c43-60d640a7078a)
Fern frowned at the man on her couch. He was pale, his forehead covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Great, just great. The poor man was deathly ill.
Maybe he should go to the hospital. Didn’t the ER have to take everyone, regardless of their ability to pay? Although the nearest ER was quite a ways off...
She walked over to the window, flipped on an outdoor light and gasped. Huge snowflakes fell so thickly that it was hard to see anything, but she could make out thigh-high drifts next to the porch.
“What’s wrong?” She heard his slow footsteps as he came over to stand behind her.
His looming presence made her uncomfortable. “It’s getting worse out there.”
“I should go.” He turned, swayed and grabbed the back of a chair with one hand and her shoulder with another. “Whoa. Sorry.”
Compassion warred with worry in her heart. “Why don’t you at least take a little nap? You’re not looking so good.”
“I... Maybe I will. Don’t know if I can make it to my truck.”
She helped him to the couch, even though having his arm draped over her shoulder felt strange. The few guys she’d dated had been closer to her own small size, not like this hulking giant, and they tended not to snuggle up. Something about her demeanor didn’t invite that.
She helped him down onto the couch and noticed he was shivering. Finding a quilt, she brought it over and spread it out across his body. Located a more comfortable pillow and helped him lift his head to slide it underneath.
His hair felt soft, and he smelled clean, like soap.
“Thanks, I really appreciate...this.” His blue eyes drifted shut.
Fern watched him for a few minutes to make sure he was really out. Then she watched the end of the princess movie cuddling with Mercedes, and then carried her up to bed on her back, cautioning her to be quiet because of the man sleeping in the living room.
“Who is he, Mama Fern?”
“He’s our friend Angelica’s brother. You know Xavier? This man is his uncle.”
“I like Xavier,” Mercedes said with a little hero worship in her voice. “He’s in first grade.”
“That’s right.”
Fern read two picture books and then, firmly denying the request for a third, turned off the light.
She grabbed a novel and sat down on the floor outside the child’s bedroom.
Sometimes nights were hard for Mercedes. She still missed her mom.
But tonight was a good night. Within minutes, Mercedes had drifted off and was breathing the heavy, steady breath of a child in sleep.
Fern went back downstairs quietly, picked up her phone and headed to the kitchen where her sleeping housemates couldn’t hear her.
This time, the call went through and a couple of minutes later, she was talking to her yawning friend Angelica. “What? Carlo’s there?”
“He’s asleep on the couch even as we speak.”
“Let me go out in the hall so I don’t wake my boys. I can’t believe this!” Angelica’s voice proved that she’d come wide-awake. “I haven’t seen him for a couple of years, except for a few minutes at our wedding. Why’d he have to show up now, instead of last week?”
“He didn’t even stay for the whole wedding?”
“No, he stayed. And at our house after for a night, but I was with my husband.” Her voice went rich and happy.
Sudden hot jealousy flashed through Fern. Why couldn’t she ever feel that joy that seemed to come so readily to other fortunate women?
She got a grip on herself. What was wrong with her? She was truly happy for her friend. She explained about Carlo’s fever. “He’s pretty sick, and he said that’s why he hadn’t called first. I just wanted to touch base with you because...well, he’s a stranger and I don’t know if it’s safe to have him here. I mean, I know you and I’d trust you with my life, and Mercedes’s, but...”
“I totally understand.” Angelica paused, obviously thinking. “I wonder who he could stay with. We could call Troy’s brother, Sam, and see if he could stay out there. Or Gramps. He could bunk down at the Senior Towers. They have a new rule about no guests staying overnight, but maybe they’ll bend it for Carlo, at least for one night.” She sounded doubtful.
“I hate to make him go,” Fern said. “It’s snowing something awful.”
“Carlo’s been in much worse places. He’s very tough. He can handle a little drive in the snow.”
“I don’t know. He’s pretty shaky.”
“Let me make a few calls,” Angelica said with a huge yawn. “I’m sure I can get hold of somebody who’ll take him in, if this phone doesn’t glitch again.”
“It’s okay, you go back to sleep. I can call Sam or your grandpa.” Fern’s shy side cringed at the notion of talking to men she barely knew, but it would be worth it to get the disconcerting Carlo out of her house.
“Oh, could you? That would be so wonderful. We had a long day, and Xavier didn’t want to go to sleep, and...”
“And you’re frazzled. Go back to bed. I’ll deal with Carlo.”
“Thanks so much! And, Fern, he’s a totally trustworthy guy, okay? A real hero. He took incredible care of me when I was a kid. He managed everything when our parents couldn’t, and got Gramps to take me in. Plus, he’s done all kinds of top-secret military stuff. Has a security clearance that’s a mile high. And he’s served as a missionary in all kinds of super-dangerous places. So you’re safe with him, whatever happens.”
They said their goodbyes and Fern stared at the man on the couch. A military hero, huh? And a missionary to boot.
But as she studied him, another thought crossed her mind: What if he wasn’t Carlo? What if he was a criminal who’d just assumed that name and identity? Sure, Bull had acted friendly, but maybe the guy had a pocket full of good-smelling dog treats.
How could she verify that this guy on her couch was in fact Carlo, Angelica’s brother, the war hero?
She walked around the house, looking at the photo groupings, but she didn’t see any that included Angelica’s brother. Of course, he hadn’t been around lately, but you’d think she would have old pictures of him...
Except that the two of them had grown up in chaos, and Angelica had struggled, really, right up until she’d reconnected with Troy. So there were no pictures of Xavier and his uncle Carlo; Angelica probably hadn’t even had a phone.
She saw a khaki-colored duffel bag by the door, next to his jacket, and an idea crossed her mind.
She looked back at the stranger, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Then she walked over toward his things. Surely he’d have identification there, or at least something to verify his identity. To put her mind at ease. Searching the man’s belongings wasn’t the most ethical thing to do, but she had a child to protect.
And if she was going to search, she needed to do it now, while he slept.
A quick check of his jacket pockets revealed nothing, so she undid the knots that tied the duffel shut, moving slowly and carefully. Given how he’d jumped up and grabbed her, he was obviously pretty sensitive to noise. She had to be utterly silent.
She eased the bag open and then tensed as his breathing changed. He shifted over to his side while she sat, frozen, watching him.
As soon as he breathed steadily again, she parted the edges of the bag.
The first thing she saw was an eight-inch hunting-type knife, in an old-looking leather case that would go on a belt.
Well, okay, then. He hadn’t taken that through airport security, no way.
She picked it up with the tips of two fingers, pulled it out of the duffel, and set it beside her on the floor.
Digging on through, she found some trail mix, a thriller paperback and a Bible that had seen hard use. She took the risk of flipping through it and saw underlining, highlighting, turned-down pages.
Wow. He took his faith seriously. What would that be like? Since being saved, Fern attended church most Sundays and read a devotional book every night before she went to sleep, but she’d never gone so far as to study the Bible on her own.
He certainly didn’t fit the stereotype of a Bible scholar, but Angelica had said he was a missionary. And anyway, who was she to judge? The fact that he had books, especially a Bible, was a point in his favor. Not quite enough to counteract that deadly looking knife, though.
Next, she found a vest. Camo colored, made of heavy nylon, with pouches that held hard plates. She pulled it out a little, making a slight clatter, and her heart pounded as she went still, turning her gaze to the man on the couch.
He shifted but didn’t open his eyes.
Whew. He was really out. She studied the vest more closely. A bulletproof, military-style vest? But why?
She put the vest down, thinking through the few facts she knew about Angelica’s brother. He’d been a good uncle to Xavier, a male influence who’d gotten him into sports when he was little. He’d been in the military, and right before Xavier became sick, Carlo had gotten the call to the missionary field. Come to think of it, she didn’t know whether the call was from a person or from God. Why hadn’t she listened more closely?
And if he’d gone into the missionary field more than two years ago, why were a bulletproof vest and hunting knife in the top of his overnight bag?
She rummaged underneath the vest and pulled out a photo in a metal frame, of Carlo squatting down in the midst of a group of ragged, dark-skinned boys. In the background was jungle-type vegetation and a leaf-covered hut. All of them, Carlo and the boys, were smiling broadly. The younger ones were pressed close to Carlo and he had his arms around them.
So he liked kids. Reassuring.
She wasn’t finding the ID she wanted, but she was finding evidence of a man with a complicated life.
She fumbled further and found a piece of notebook paper, folded over twice and much crumpled. She opened it up.
