Second Time's the Charm

“Yeah.” He nodded, focused on her ceramic tile.

“I was taken away from her at birth by the child welfare people, with the caveat that I would be returned to her as soon as she was clean.”

“And that didn’t happen.”

He shook his head. “But she never gave up hoping, apparently, because she wouldn’t release me for adoption, either.”

Lillie knew how that worked. A lot of her patients during her rotation in the neonatal intensive care unit at the children’s hospital in Phoenix had been drug babies. The ones who didn’t make it to term in their mothers’ wombs. “You grew up in foster care?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you ever meet her?”

“Nope. Not that I remember, at any rate.” He didn’t sound sorry. Or even sad.

Her heart broke for him, anyway.

“Did you suffer any residual effects from the drugs?”

“No. Incredibly, she managed to stay clean during the majority of her pregnancy. I came out completely healthy. She’d just started using again right before I was born. And from what I heard, she never stopped.”

“Do you know if she’s still alive?”

“Nope.”

He could have checked. If he’d wanted to know. Surely he’d know that.

“What about your father?” Lillie hated to ask, but figured they might as well get it all over with at once.

“I have no idea who he is. She listed ‘unknown’ on my birth certificate.”

“What about her family?”

“Again, I have no idea. Just that they weren’t in the picture. No one stepped forward to take me when it was time for me to be released from the hospital. That much I know.”

And, obviously, they hadn’t stepped forward since, either, or he wouldn’t have grown up in foster care.

Jon looked tired. Far more tired than a day’s worth of hard work merited. Lillie had a feeling she was witnessing a side of him few people ever saw.

“You have no reason to be ashamed,” she said softly, wishing she had the nerve to reach over and run her fingers along his neck—to massage away the tension of a lifetime of having to be tough.

She understood so much more now. And was drawn to him more than ever. A dangerous combination.

“I’m not ashamed,” Jon said after a long moment.

But as he stood, gathered his things and wished her good-night, his shame hung between them.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

AT WORK ON Saturday, Jon got a call from Mark. A floating shift supervisor, Mark worked different areas as needed.

“Cooker seven is down,” Mark said without preamble.

“On my way.” Already jumping on his cart to head toward the area where the 500 gallon tank would be filled with raw juice squeezed from the prickly pear cactus fruit and heated to a boiling point of 221 degrees, Jon pictured the tubular, gas-fired cylinders beneath the vat.

If one of them was out, a safety valve would shut off the gas supply to the entire vat. And if allowed to cool, not only would 500 gallons of product be lost, the vat would be contaminated and have to be shut down for cleaning, which would take the entire line out of production—and cost the company more money than Jon could afford to contemplate.

“I cleared the premises,” Mark said, meeting Jon as he entered the area in the middle of the several acre plant. “Temp’s down to 219,” he said. “Larry called me as soon as he noticed the drop.”