To K n o w Y o u
She scooped up the clothes. She’d wash them before boxing them up. Her legs ached as she climbed the forty steps. Waiting up all night to toss Luke out on the street had sapped her strength. Julia was just a sprinkle of salt in her open wound, as faded now as the names on that birth certificate. Destiny shoved the clothes into the washing machine, added fabric softener to ease the guilt. She went to the kitchen, juiced carrots and strawberries, mixed in some honey and protein powder. She gulped it down, took a deep breath, and found her mother on Skype. Sunday afternoon in Tennessee. Working, Destiny thought. Always working, except for Saturday when she took what she called her sabbath rest. That meant attending Sophie’s gymnastic meets, having dinner out with Dad, going to church Sunday morning. He would fly back to DC, Sophie would hang with her youth group, and Mom would get on the computer. “Hey. My baby girl.” Melanie Connors smiled warmly. She was a small woman with shy eyes. “How are things?” “My birth mother appeared in my driveway this morning.” “What?” Destiny held up the birth certificate, trying to steady her hands so the image would be legible. “Infant daughter of Julia McCord and Thomas Bryant. Born in Boston. Is this right?” “I can’t confirm that,” Melanie said. “It was a closed adoption.” “Come on, Mom. Tell me Daddy didn’t have them checked out.” Will Connors was the chief of staff to a United States senator. With resources and access, nothing slipped by him. Her mother rubbed her temples. “What did she want?” If Destiny told her, Mom would be on the first plane to the coast, standing at the gate to Destiny’s house with a baseball bat. She was, indeed, a woman with shy eyes—and a spine of steel. 39
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