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He pulled a chair away from the wall. “Do you want to
sit?”
Since her knees were shaking, she should have said yes.
Instead, she said, “No, this shouldn’t take too long.”
He, too, remained standing. The height difference,
which just days ago had made her feel secure, now made
her anxious. She should have sat. “I’ve come to offer you
a proposition, a way to learn something about your son.”
His eyes narrowed. “You have?”
“I’ve recently had a conversation with our son’s…the
baby’s adoptive father.”
His features registered his shock. “You know him?”
“I didn’t tell you that before, but…” She eyed the chair
as a wave of dizziness swamped her. “I’ve changed my
mind. I’d like to sit.”
He took her elbow, led her to the sturdy metal office chair.
“Anyway,” she said after a moment, “you should know
something else. I’ve kept up on the progress of our child.
I have a few photos—school pictures, mostly. And…” She
CYNTHIA THOMASON
189
admitted the truth that she hadn’t even told her mother.
“I’ve seen him on two occasions.”
Reese leaned against his desk. “When? Does he know
who you are?”
“No, he doesn’t. I’ve never met him. Remaining out of
his life was a condition of the adoption agreement I signed.
But as I said, I’ve kept track of him. Contact with his
parents through a third party is in accordance with the
agreement. Personal contact with him is not.”
A muscle clenched in Reese’s jaw. “His parents?” Bit-
terness tainted the two words. “And you’re prepared to let
me in on this now?”
“Yes. But with certain conditions.”
His face reflected skepticism, but his attention didn’t
waver. “What conditions?”
“First of all, you have to understand what my relation-
ship has been to the family. I met and interviewed the po-
tential parents as part of the adoption process. What it
really amounts to is I chose them. When I signed over…”
She stopped, breathed. This seemed so callous. “In our
contract, the adoptive parents agreed to send me periodic
pictures and letters. And I agreed not to contact them on a
personal level with either phone calls or visits.”
“But you have? Contacted them, I mean.”
“Yes. Several years ago.”
“How did they react?”
“They were alarmed at first. Worried. Defensive. But I
assured them I had no intention of violating the adoption
terms by insinuating myself in the boy’s life. I said I just
wanted to meet with them again. I wanted them to know
me.”
“And so you got together?”
190
CHRISTMAS IN KEY WEST
She nodded. “When Jamie—that’s his name—was
eight years old, I had a short face-to-face meeting with
his parents in a restaurant.”
Reese repeated the name softly. “Jamie. It’s nice.”
She tried to smile past a lump in her throat. “That was
four years ago. Since then I’ve seen him twice. Both times
I told the adoptive parents.”
Reese pushed away from the desk and came toward her.
“Where did this happen?”
“I watched him play in a Little League game. And two
years later I saw him in a school presentation. The audi-
torium was crowded. I was merely one of the audience.”
“He plays baseball?”
“Yes.” Abby remembered that Reese had been on the
Fighting Conchs baseball team in high school. That fact made
her ache for him now. “I wanted to see more of him, but, well,
you can imagine how strange…” She couldn’t continue, so
inhaled a deep breath and waited for Reese to react.
He took another step toward her. “And Jamie’s adoptive
parents—they were okay with this?”
“They were cautious. They still are. But I promised
them I wouldn’t interfere in Jamie’s life in any way. I ex-
plained the circumstances that had prompted me to give
him up, and that I just needed to see him.”
“They must be understanding people.”
“They are. They’re terrific.” After blinking tears from
her eyes, Abby continued. “They trust me, Reese. I told
them I would never violate that trust, and I meant it. They [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]