Giftchild Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Everything's Fine

  Newsletter Signup

  Giftchild

  © 2014 Janci Patterson

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, printing, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author, except for use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons—living or dead—events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Kristina Kugler

  Cover by Melody Fender

  Cover image from istock.com/Photolyric

  Back cover footprint image by Melody Fender

  Author Photo by Michelle D. Argyle

  For my mother,

  Who always believed I could do this

  Even when I didn't.

  Chapter One

  Week One

  When Mom texted me to tell me that my baby sister was about to be born, I nearly dropped my camera out of a tree. I gripped it in one hand, using the other hand to let go of the branch I was braced on and reach for my phone. My foot was wedged against the trunk and a lower branch, which wobbled, showering raindrops onto my friend Rodney below.

  "Careful," he said. "Don't get your lens wet."

  I twisted my wrist around so the lens hood faced down. Trying to dry the lens in this tree would be like toweling off while still standing in a shower. Climbing the tree had been a bad idea in the first place, since it had only barely stopped raining, leaving the branches slippery and wet. Sap streaked down the sleeve of my windbreaker. Water seeped through my jeans and sweatshirt, and even through my tennis shoes. If I was at this much longer, I was going to have wet socks as well.

  Rodney had asked me three times if I was sure my shot was worth it. It had better be, or I was going to hear about it for days.

  Rodney stood below me, looking up through the branches. "Penny," he said. "Are you texting up there?"

  "No," I said. "Just checking. It's from my mom." Lily's in labor, the message said. I'm packing for the hospital now.

  "Right," Rodney said. "I think tree climbing is a non-texting activity. Like driving. Or making out."

  He was never going to let that go, even though it had been nearly six months. "You know, that time was also my mother. She's important, too."

  "Tell me about it," Rodney said. "Mood killer."

  I narrowed my eyes at him, but he grinned up at me.

  I turned my attention back to my phone, partly because Mom really was important, and partly because Rodney told me not to.

  Mom was packing? She'd only spent the last two weeks arranging and rearranging her hospital bag, like she was the one who might go into labor at any moment. She'd had a plan—mapped it all out, like an emergency evacuation. Lily would text Mom to let her know that she was at the hospital. If it happened during the day, Mom and Dad would both meet there, then Mom would stay with Lily through her labor, just like Lily asked her to. Dad would be on call to get Mom and Lily anything they needed. My older sister Athena would stay at her dorm and generally pretend that nothing was happening. And I would stay at home, without Rodney. Mom had reiterated that last point about six times, even though I told her she didn't need to. It wasn't like I'd be asking Rodney to spend the night.

  But, like all of Mom's plans to have a baby, this one seemed to have already gotten derailed. It didn't really matter—Mom was just worried about all the things she couldn't plan for, so she over-accounted for all the things that she could. She didn't know how long Lily's labor would be, and she wanted to be at the hospital as much as possible. And Lily wanted her there, unlike the other birth moms, who we'd barely known. Mom took it as an omen that this was the time that was going to work out. Her plan was a shield against the loss of this baby—the tragedy that always seemed to befall our family.

  I just hoped that her failure to follow the plan now wasn't a bad omen for the rest of the birth, and the signing of papers after.

  Rodney squinted up through the branches at me. "Are you seriously still messing with your phone?"

  I shoved it back in my pocket, jarring a branch with my elbow so drops rained down into Rodney's eyes. I smothered a smile. "I'm putting it away," I said. "Hang on." I obviously needed to get home soon to help Mom, but after making Rodney boost me up the tree, I couldn't climb down until I had my shot, mock-worthy or not.

  I lifted my camera, steadying my arm on the branch in front of me. The raindrops glistened on the pine needles, sparkling like bunches of bells strung on a green wreath. I wanted to get one particular bunch of needles in focus, against the backdrop of other branches behind. But one misshapen bunch poked up right in my way. I stretched my fingers out to pull it off the branch, but I couldn't quite reach.

  "I agreed to help you up there," Rodney said, "but I'm not going to catch you when you dive back down."

  "Fine," I said. "You're the one who's going to have to explain to the coroner why your best friend belly flopped onto the ground."

  "I'll tell him I've never met you," he said. "I just stopped to talk the lunatic out of the tree."

  "Shut up," I said. "You love me too much to let me die."

  Rodney was quiet for a moment, then he waded through the grass to the base of the tree. "Fine," he said. "I'm coming up."

  I smiled, but as Rodney hauled himself up by his arms, feet scraping against the bark, the branches rattled, bringing fat drops down on me. "Hey!" I said. "Careful! You'll spoil my shot."

  Rodney's body pressed against me from behind, his arms taut against the branches. "Nah," he said in my ear. "I'm just rearranging it a little."

  A shiver ran down my arms that had nothing to do with the cold. I held still. At least shivers were invisible. I didn't like letting him in on the effect he could have on me. He'd never let me live it down.

  With Rodney holding on to my shoulders, I snatched the wayward branch, peeling it back until it hung from the tree by a thread. I stretched out my camera, snapping photos of the sparkly needle bunch. Fresh drops strained at the bottom needles, catching glimmers of the other needles around them just before they fell. I snapped shots three, four, five at a time, until I had enough that one or two of them had to be perfectly in focus.

  I twisted around, holding onto Rodney's arm to stay balanced in the tree. Rodney's grip on the branches tightened. "Hey," he said. "You're not bringing me down with you."

  I inclined the camera screen so he could see. "Well?" I asked. "Worth it?"

  He squinted at my picture. "Worth it," he said.

  I poked him in the chest. "Are you only saying that to get us out of the tree?"

  He released a branch with one hand, which showered more drops down onto us. Rodney's hair stuck to his forehead, but instead of wiping it away, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders protectively. "Maybe," he said. "I'll tell you once we're down."

  I poked him harder, and he grinned. More drops rained down on us, and one of them hit me smack on the eye. My eyes squeezed shut. Rodney laughed,
but he steadied me as I reached up to wipe them off.

  When I opened them again, Rodney's face was inches away. I could feel his warm breath on my cheek, and I wondered for a moment if he was going to kiss me. When was the last time Rodney and I made out? A month ago, almost. We weren't officially together, so it wasn't like we did that all the time. A soaked, spiny, sap-covered tree wasn't exactly the most romantic of locations, but Rodney had kissed me in stranger spots. And I had to admit that I wanted him to, more than I probably should have. More than I had in a while, now that I thought about it.

  What had I been so distracted about?

  Mom.

  Who was at home, freaking out, right at this minute.

  Rodney's face inched closer, and his eyes dipped to my lips.

  "I'd really better get home," I said. Then I grinned. "Rain check?"

  Rodney groaned. "If I didn't have to be the one to talk to the coroner, I would seriously shove you out of this tree."

  "Come on," I said. "It was punny. Admit it."

  He jabbed me in the ribs, and I had to cling to his arm to keep from falling. Rodney took advantage of my grip to swing me closer to the ground, and I hung on until my feet were close enough to the ground to jump down. When he hit the ground beside me, he turned, arms out. "All right," he said. "Face the consequences for your punning."

  I wanted to believe he wouldn't tickle me to the ground on a cold, wet day, but I wasn't about to call his bluff. I turned and ran toward his car, both of us racing through the park. Our shoes pounded through a puddle, kicking water up all around us, so we both had to hide our cameras under our shirts to keep them dry. When I arrived at his car, my sides ached. Rodney slammed into the car next to me, and I turned to him.

  "Lily's in labor," I said.

  His smile faded. "Oh," he said. "Oh. Then you really do need to get home." He held open the car door for me and I climbed in, dripping sneakers and all.

  I made Rodney come into the house with me, even though he offered to leave. I probably should have let him, but to be honest, I didn't want to face my mother's mental state on my own. When I opened the front door, I found her running frantically around the house, scooping things up at random and dumping them into her bag. From the way it bulged, I gathered she'd been doing this for a while.

  "Mom?" I asked. "Did you hear anything else from Lily?"

  Mom charged down the stairs, waving her checkbook, and put her other hand to her forehead. "Didn't I text you?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said. "That's how I knew you heard anything at all."

  Mom let out a breath of relief. "Oh. Right. I must have remembered that earlier."

  Rodney hovered in the doorway, as if he wasn't sure he should be here. I motioned him into the living room. From the look of things, Mom would be gone in a minute anyway.

  I motioned to Mom's checkbook. "What are you doing with that?"

  Mom tossed it into her bag. "I just thought I might need it," she said. "You never know."

  "Mom," I said. "You're not buying the baby. And I think the hospital gift shop would take a card."

  But Mom was already in the kitchen, rifling through a drawer. "I think I forgot to pack a pen."

  I leaned against the door frame in the kitchen. My clothes were still damp, and my shoes were sinking wet footprints into the carpet, but Mom was too insane to notice. "I'm pretty sure they'll have pens at the hospital. Or in the gift shop. Or Dad could bring you one if you really need one."

  But Mom resurfaced with two pens, each with a mismatched cap. "Found one!" she said.

  I sighed, peering into Mom's bag. She obviously wasn't thinking clearly, so I tried to remember all the things she couldn't. The things she should actually be doing, instead of scrambling around for pens. "Where's Dad?" I asked. "Have you called him?"

  Mom nodded. "I'll meet him at the hospital."

  I looked at her trembling hands. When Mom made that plan before, it had sounded fine. But in this state, she might cruise through a stoplight and die. "Um . . ." I said. "Maybe he should pick you up?"

  Mom looked at me blankly. "Why?"

  Because, Mom. You're not fit to drive. "Because then you'll only have one car there," I said.

  Mom's eyebrows met. "Do you need one? I could leave you my car. But we can't put the car seat in Dad's truck. It's already installed in mine—"

  "Okay," I said. "So have Dad come here and drive you in your car."

  Mom squinted at the air in front of her, like she was trying to solve an impossible puzzle. "You can't drive your dad's work truck."

  "I know," I said.

  She dashed upstairs again, this time returning with an extra pair of socks. She'd already packed four. "So we'll take two cars. Stick to the plan. It'll be fine." She unzipped and rezipped the pocket on her purse without putting anything into it.

  Wrong answer, Mom.

  I searched for a reason for Dad to come here, instead of meeting her at the hospital. An answer that would not involve telling my mother that she was clearly losing her mind. I didn't want to say that to her now; however crazy she might be for the next few days, it was nothing compared to the depression she'd sink into if this adoption fell through like the others.

  Finally, lightning struck. I put a hand on Mom's arm. "If you both go in your car, you'll be able to both drive home with the baby, you know? You'll want to be together for that." Dad was technically my step-dad, or he had been before he adopted Athena and me. He'd never had an infant before, and I knew he didn't want to miss a single moment. And Mom didn't want to miss a single moment of it with him.

  Mom nodded. "You're right. Of course you're right. Thank you for thinking of that." She pulled out her phone to text Dad.

  That's what I'm here for, I thought. Then I dug my phone out of my pocket. "I'll do it. You finish packing."

  Mom ran up the stairs again to grab who-knows-what while I sent a message to Dad. Mom's nervous. Shouldn't drive. Come pick her up?

  I got a message back a second later. On my way.

  I nodded. That was just what I wanted to hear.

  Rodney leaned into the living room doorway. "Should I leave?"

  "No," I said. "Mom will be gone in a few minutes, and then it will be quiet." Too quiet. I didn't want to be left alone in the quiet.

  I was hoping that with Rodney out of sight in the living room and Mom halfway out of her mind, she'd forget that Rodney and I weren't allowed to be in the house alone. But she reappeared at the top of the stairs right then, a blank baby book in her hand. As if this child was going to begin to have milestones that she had to write down before they even got home from the hospital.

  "Mom," I said. "I think you can leave that here."

  She balanced the book on the corner of the banister at the top of the stairs, and put her hands on her hips. Rodney had disappeared back into the living room again, and Mom lowered her voice, even though I was sure he could still hear.

  "What are you two going to do?" she asked. "Your father will be here any minute."

  "We'll go grab food somewhere," I told her.

  She raised her eyebrows. "What if it rains again?"

  I sighed. "It was raining when we left school. Rodney can drive just fine in the rain."

  She nodded. "And what will you do after that?"

  I leaned against the wall. Mom could be really paranoid about leaving me alone with Rodney. I'd told her a million times that we weren't really together—high school relationships didn't last, and I didn't want to waste what Rodney and I had on some fleeting fling. I'd explained that to Mom, but she still worried. And I got that. She'd married and divorced her high school sweetheart—my birth father—before she was even twenty. Everything went better at home if I just didn't do anything with Rodney to make her worry. Which is why she didn't need to know about how often we made out, just-friends or not. I could tell her we'd go to Rodney's house, where we would be equally alone, but that sure wasn't what she wanted to hear.

  "After that he can drop
me off at Athena's," I said. "And she can bring me to the hospital after the baby is born, so I can take pictures for you, okay? Like you planned?"

  Mom nodded. "Okay," she said. She picked the baby book up again, brought it downstairs, and shoved it absentmindedly into her purse.

  I hoped she remembered that arrangement and didn't call me in five minutes worried about where I was. A few minutes later my dad swept in the door, hefted Mom's bags and her worries, and directed her into her car.

  I waved goodbye to them on the porch. When I went back into the house, I sank onto the couch beside Rodney and let my breath slide out of me. I loved my mother, but I couldn't help but feel a little bit glad that she'd gone, and taken her hurricane of stress and worry with her. A tiny pocket of it remained, though, swirling in my stomach. This time was going to be different. This one was going to last.

  It had to.

  Rodney rubbed my shoulder. "You'll be fine," he said. "Are you ready to go get something to eat?"

  I shook my head. "I just told her that so she wouldn't worry. I don't think I could eat anything." To tell the truth, I was only slightly less nervous than she was. "Do you want to go home?" I asked. "My head is noisy today. I'll probably be crappy company."

  Rodney rested an arm around my shoulders. "My house is too quiet," he said. "I like the noise."

  I smiled and leaned into his shoulder, and, ironically, we were both quiet. I got what he was saying, though; there was a difference between the quiet of an empty house—Rodney's parents both worked crazy hours—and the quiet of sitting in comfortable silence with someone who wanted you around. This was the good kind of quiet—the kind Rodney and I made together. That kind always made me feel better, no matter what.

  And since adoption day was coming, that might be the only kind of quiet I could find for a while.

  Mom didn't call that night, though Dad did send me a steady stream of update texts. Through the night and the next day at school, I checked my phone obsessively. Lily was at a three, a five, a seven. They were giving her an epidural. She was pushing. The baby was born. Mom got to hold her. Mom was already calling her Anna—the name she and my dad had picked.