Fallen

Dr. Woodrow slapped his knees lightly, smiled, and stood. “I understand. I used to be shy when I was a kid too. Now what brings you into my office today?”

Once the appointment was over and Scarlett had buckled Haddie into her seat, she pulled out of the lot, glancing at Haddie in the rearview mirror. “You didn’t seem to care for Dr. Woodrow much,” she said, trying to keep her tone conversational. Dr. Woodrow had only stayed in the room long enough to get Haddie’s history, and take down Scarlett’s concerns about the one-time loss of bladder control. The nurse had come in and performed the rest of the tests after that, and Haddie had seemed markedly more comfortable with the young woman.

Haddie shook her head, but didn’t elaborate. Scarlett’s eyes lingered on her daughter for a moment before she looked back at the road. “Any particular reason?”

Haddie seemed to think about it but then shook her head again. “He doesn’t feel good,” she finally said. Haddie had said similar things about other people before. Based on what? Scarlett wanted to yell. But she didn’t think Haddie knew. Again, one of those Haddie-isms Scarlett had to accept, while simultaneously hoping she’d outgrow it or learn to verbalize it. He doesn’t feel good. Worry twisted through her when she thought back to the magazine article and the fact that Haddie’s birth father had a self-professed mental illness.

Do you hear voices, Haddie? Is that why you always seem so far away? Are you too busy listening to them to focus on me? And if so, what do they tell you, sweetheart? Do they scare you?

Unfortunately, the article about Royce hadn’t spoken of his specific diagnosis. That might have helped. As it was, she had nothing more to go on. As it was, she could only wonder if it was something that might be hereditary, something that Royce Reynolds had passed on to his unacknowledged child.

Haddie’s immediate medical test results hadn’t helped shed light on the loss of bladder control or the strange behavior. She didn’t have an infection, or a fever, or bloodwork that showed anything even remotely concerning. As far as her physical assessment went, her girl was as healthy as a horse.

Scarlett thought of that small snippet of the downtown LA hotel she’d spotted and wondered if that was where he was staying while he filmed.

Do you dare?

Did she dare go to the hotel and hope to spot a member of his security detail who might remember her and pass a message to Royce? The prideful part of her shriveled at the idea. Not only had she signed a contract that promised she wouldn’t contact him, but he’d been distant and dismissive toward her when she’d called to tell him she was pregnant . . . scared and alone.

But it’d been enough of a task just to get a message to Royce the first time she’d contacted him. She couldn’t do that this time, not only because it’d be unlikely that he’d call her back, but because she couldn’t leave the “paper trail.” She chewed at her lip. It would be a risk to break the contract in person too. It could mean being sued . . . losing Lilith House . . . her dream . . . the life she’d planned for the two of them.

But didn’t this new information change things?

Didn’t she owe it to her daughter to mother her in the best way she could? And didn’t that mean operating under all possible information? Didn’t it mean doing whatever it took to make sure she had all relevant details of Haddie’s genetic makeup? God, she wished she’d made that part of the original deal. She’d still sign on the dotted line, but she would have insisted on a file of Royce’s medical records.

Maybe though . . . maybe there was still a chance she could get them.

If she changed her mind . . . well, she had renovation shopping she could do in LA too.

She tilted the mirror so she could see Haddie better. “Hey, how do you feel about a visit to Gram this weekend?”

Haddie’s smile was bright and instantaneous. And that settled that.CHAPTER TWENTY-NINEThirteen Years AgoThe girls filed in, their hands steepled together in front of them in prayer, heads bowed. The air was drenched in the scent of frankincense and myrrh, a smell that Kandace knew would forevermore bring to mind fear and the desperation to be free.

She followed Sydney as she turned at their assigned pew, shuffling sideways, and then going down on her knees on the red velvet prayer bench.

The lights were dimmed, candlelight sparkling from the altar as Ms. Carroll played the piano softly from the left front of the room, a piece of worship music that sounded melancholy and full of foreshadow.