Home Again

A daughter. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Madelaine had kept her from him, hidden his child away as if he had no right to even know of her existence. She knew he’d thought she had an abortion, and she’d let him go on thinking that, let him live his life without ever knowing he was a father. “You bitch,” he hissed. Anger was a black, bitter taste in his mouth, and he wanted to hurl curse words at her, wanted to make her feel as betrayed and hurt as he felt right now.

He was glad when she flinched. Then, wordlessly, she reached into her purse and pulled out a black leather wallet. Flipping it open, she withdrew a picture and handed it to him.

For a second his hands shook so hard, he couldn’t focus on the picture. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing, ignoring the stuttering misbeats of his ragged heart. Then, very slowly, he opened his eyes.

The girl who stared back at him was a mirror.

His daughter.

She looked young, with electric blue eyes and jet-black hair. The smile she wore was familiar—big and bright and mesmerizing. She was dressed in black, a man’s tuxedo vest over a T-shirt, and several black loops hanging from each ear. There was a cocky defiance in her gaze that made Angel feel as if he knew her.

He couldn’t release the picture. He held it, stroking the porous surface, as if by touching the photograph he could somehow get to know the girl. His daughter.

Slowly, the anger in him bled away, congealed into the cold hard rock of regret. Of course Madelaine had kept this secret from him—what else could she do? What choice had he given her?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I have no right…”

“No,” she said in a steely voice, “you don’t.”

“I thought…” He found he couldn’t say the words.

She nodded. “I know. You thought I had an abortion. My father couldn’t wait to tell me of your reaction.”

“Tell me what happened.”

She looked away from him, covering her mouth with one hand for a long time. He knew how much this moment was hurting her. He wished he could touch her, tell her it was okay, that he understood, but he couldn’t do it. He didn’t understand a damned thing.

“It was a long time ago,” Madelaine said at last. “After you left, Alex threw a fit.” She gave a tired laugh. “You will not have that greasy little wop’s child, do you understand me?” she said in a perfect imitation of Alex’s blustering voice. “He locked me in my room for three days. I waited for you….” She gave him a practiced smile. “When I saw the Harley, I knew what you’d done.”

“Mad—”

She pushed a nonexistent lock of hair from her forehead and went on without looking at him. “Alex decreed that I would have an abortion and there would be no more talk of this disgrace.” She drew in a shaking breath. “I agreed. What else could I do, where else could I go?”

She swallowed hard and stared at her own hands. “I got in the limousine and let the driver take me to the doctor’s office where Alex had set up the appointment. I was going to do what he asked, just let him decide what was best for me.” She shook her head. “I didn’t care about anything.”

He watched as she slumped forward, saying nothing for a long time. Then slowly she straightened, her chin came up. He knew that she was waging a painful battle and she was fighting the only way she knew, the way Alex had taught her.

After a few more seconds, she went on and her voice was flat. “Everything changed when I got to the clinic.” She shuddered, stared blankly at the gray wall. “That cold brick building … the yellow sofas filled with girls just like me. I remember when they called my name, I jumped. I followed the nurse to the examination room and took my clothes off. I put on that flimsy cotton hospital gown and climbed onto that paper-covered table.”

She shuddered again. “I stared at those stirrups and thought about what they were going to do to me, to my baby … to our baby, and I couldn’t do it.”

Her pain knifed through him, hurt like hell. “Jesus, Mad…”

“I got dressed and sneaked outside. The limo was waiting at the curb, but I knew there was no going back. Alex had made that very clear. I could only please him—the great, unpleasable Alexander Hillyard—by having the abortion. So I called the only person I could think of.”

Angel knew before she said it.

“Francis.” She smiled when she said his name. “You remember what he was like back then. Eighteen. Shy, bookish. He had just started at the seminary and he was on his way to becoming a priest. But he came for me that day, and the next day and the next. He saved us both.” She gave a breathy little laugh. “He didn’t ask any questions, didn’t say anything except Hey, Maddy-girl, you’re in the wrong part of town. He set me up in a halfway house for pregnant teenagers, and I loved it. I’d never known other kids my age, never had any friends except you, and I learned a lot. I’d already gotten my high school diploma, so I started college at sixteen. Thank God my mother left me a trust fund to cover expenses. I busted my ass to get through med school in a hurry.”

Angel closed his eyes. He could envision every moment of her life, the way Francis was always there to help out, a shelter from every storm. Not like Angel, who’d never stuck around for anything or anyone.

“Her name is Angelina Francesca Hillyard. I call her Lina.”

I call her Lina. Suddenly she was a person, this girl in the picture who had his face. Not some imaginary word or image, but a real live person. A daughter who would want something from her father. Want a lot of things.

Panic sneaked up on him, twisted him into knots. “Does she know about me?”