For the Girls' Sake - By Janice Kay Johnson Page 0,4

and frightened, as if an intruder had crept in and attacked her, as if she would never feel safe again.

Nobody must ever know. That was her only hope. Nobody. Ever.

Eventually the shaking passed, and she saw again her kitchen, tidy and spotlessly clean, however shabby, and on the refrigerator Shelly’s bright crayon drawings that were supposed to be sea stars or seals or horses, those inner imaginings that her short fingers were not yet capable of rendering. It was home: loving, safe, clean and ordered. What else mattered? Certainly not money.

Nor blood. She didn’t care whose ran through Shelly’s veins. She would never let it matter.

But first, she had to be sure.

The blue plastic clock on the wall said eight-thirty. Not too late to call Brian’s mother.

Ruth Schoening’s voice held caution, once she knew who was on the phone.

"Lynn. My, it’s late in the evening to be calling."

Not: Oh, gracious, Shelly is all right, isn’t she?

Lynn noticed the lack, and decided on honesty. "Brian’s told you he doesn’t think Shelly is his daughter, hasn’t he?"

The pause resonated with awkwardness. "He did say something."

"I would never..." The automatic denial caught in Lynn’s throat. She might someday have to claim she had. She took a breath. "You don’t believe that, do you?"

Really, she was begging, You know me. Please say that you have faith in me, that you love Shelly no matter what.

"It’s not really my business," her ex-husband’s mother said, the constraint in her voice obvious.

"She’s your granddaughter."

"Is she?"

She had begun to shake again, Lynn noticed with peculiar detachment. "This is so ridiculous," she exclaimed, trying to laugh and failing.

"I hope so," Ruth said. "But, you know, he’s right—Shelly doesn’t look like anybody in the family."

"When my grandmother was a little girl..."

"Brian said he’d looked through your family album, and Shelly doesn’t look like anybody on your side, either. She’s so...so dark, and with that pointy chin she makes me think of, oh, a pixie from a fairy tale. My children were round and sturdy and blond. Like little Swedes."

She always said that as if Swedish children were fairer than any other kind. She never addressed the fact that Schoening was a German name, not Scandinavian.

Obviously, there would be no assurances of unfailing love no matter what. Shelly would lose her grandparents, too, if it came to that.

"Well," Lynn said, "the reason I’m calling is that I’m considering having Shelly tested so we can lay this foolishness to rest. It makes me mad to have to subject her to needles and all that scariness, but I might do it. So what I wondered is, do you remember what Brian’s blood type is?"

"Oh, yes," his mother said promptly. "He’s O positive, just like me. What a good idea, Lynn! Doubts should always be laid to rest, don’t you think?"

Fury kindled in her breast. Now that she’d gotten what she wanted, she let anger have its rein, sharpening her voice. "What I think is that all this is incredibly insulting. I understand that Brian’s still angry about our divorce, but you know me better than to believe this...this hogwash. You claim to love Shelly. You always say I should bring her for visits more often, that she’s adorable, that I should send pictures so you can show all your friends, and now you talk about her as if she’s tainted and you’ve always known something was wrong with her. She’s...she’s a bright, beautiful child whose eyes don’t happen to be blue. Well, I’m not Swedish, and I don’t expect my daughter to look like she is!" Lynn ended with a snap. "That’s what I think."

She didn’t wait for a response. She hung up the telephone in a righteous rage that deserted her too quickly. How could she get mad, when Shelly wasn’t Brian’s daughter? Maybe she was the one who was blind! Maybe she should have realized immediately that something was wrong, that the baby the nurses handed her was a changeling.

But she hadn’t, oh, she hadn’t. Instead, the connection had been deep and instant, a mother’s love for this child and only this one.

Well, the fierceness of her love hadn’t diminished. She would tell Brian that she wasn’t going to get Shelly tested, and if he cut his daughter off, so be it. She would let him live with a creeping feeling of shame. It would serve him right.

She stood up, as wearily as if she’d just overcome a violent bout of flu, and turned off the kitchen light, using the glow