For the Girls' Sake - By Janice Kay Johnson Page 0,32
a face. "I think I lost my appetite, too."
"And you didn’t eat the same things
Shel—" With a harrumph, he stopped. "Never mind. Rosebud, I’ll bet Lynn would like to say good-night, too."
Instantly feeling kindlier, Lynn said, "I’d love to."
"Sleep well, honey." He kissed his daughter tenderly, carefully tucked blankets around her, and quietly left the room.
Lynn asked, "Do you have a night-light?"
"Daddy forgot to turn it on." Rose sounded puzzled. "Daddy never forgets."
Daddy had left her something useful to do. Grateful, Lynn turned on the bright porcelain light and then sat on the edge of the bed. "Sleep tight," she said softly. "Don’t let the bedbugs bite."
A small giggle rewarded her. "’Kay."
Lynn let herself feel the intense pain and delight she usually denied, the bone-deep connection to this child. She hungrily looked, and saw herself as she never would in Shelly, who might be prettier and who she loved unshakably, but who did not look back sleepily with Brian’s eyes, whose forehead didn’t have a curve as familiar as the ache in her heart.
Am I as bad as Brian? Is passing on my genes so important to me? she wondered.
But, no, of course it wasn’t. She felt the same as she ever had about Shelly. What she had to accept was that she could so quickly also love a child she hadn’t known a month ago.
On a shaky breath, she bent and kissed her daughter’s forehead.
Rose accepted the kiss with equanimity. "Are you gonna sleep with Shelly?"
"Yep."
"Sometimes I sleep with Daddy," Rose confided.
"When Shelly gets scared, she sneaks into bed with me, too."
"Oh." Rose pondered. "Daddy says big girls sleep in their own beds."
"Well, I guess big girls do, but you’re not so big yet, are you? And even grown-ups get scared sometimes at night, if they hear a funny noise."
"Daddy doesn’t get scared."
Lynn knew for a fact that wasn’t true—the idea of losing his Rosebud was enough to scare Daddy to death. But she only smiled and said, "I wish I didn’t." Then she kissed Rose again, this time on that small freckled nose. "Now, you go to sleep. Maybe Shelly will feel better in the morning and you two can play."
Rose smiled, sweet and shy. "’Kay," she said again. "Night, Lynn."
Lynn’s heart swelled and her sinuses burned with the effort not to cry, but she kept smiling through them. "Good night," she murmured.
She left the door open six inches and the hall light on, relieved Adam wasn’t lurking outside the door. She needed a minute alone to wipe away the tears and convince herself that it could be worse: she might never have known, never have found Rose.
A peek in the guest room assured her that Shelly still slept, her face flushed but her breathing even. Then, nerving herself, Lynn went downstairs.
She found Adam in the kitchen. He glanced up, taking in far more than she wanted him to see with one sweep of his sharp gaze. But he only asked, "Shelly still asleep?"
She nodded.
"It’s getting a little late to start the dinner I’d intended. How would French toast grab you? Or an omelette?"
"Either would be good."
His brows stayed up and he waited.
"French toast." She didn’t care.
He’d already had the eggs out on the counter. She watched as he put a pan on to heat and started cracking eggs into a shallow bowl.
"Thank you for letting me tuck her in."
His jaw bunched. "Not much of a gift."
"You could have shooed me out."
"I hope I’m not that selfish."
He whisked the eggs efficiently but with latent violence. Wishing she could be whipped into an acceptable, smooth form as easily?
"Adam..."
"Do you like syrup?"
Frustration infused her voice. "Yes, but..."
"Let’s eat and then talk. Okay?"
Lynn let out a gusty sigh. "Yes. Fine."
Not at all to her surprise, the French toast was thick, golden brown and crusty. Butter—real butter—pooled like sunlight. He’d even sprinkled the top with powdered sugar.
They took their plates to the kitchen table set in an alcove surrounded by windows that looked out at the dark garden. It must be a perfect spot in the morning.
She took her first bite. "This is wonderful! Do you buy your bread at a bakery?"
"Bread machine."
Lynn murmured with pleasure again. She must have been starved, she realized. She’d gone to a sandwich shop for lunch only to give herself something to do, one more way to kill the hours while she was exiled, but the sandwich had been dry and the turkey the kind that tasted fake. She’d had only a few bites.