Blood & Soul

Blood & Soul by Deborah O'Toole (aka Deidre Dalton) is Book #3 in the Bloodline Trilogy.

Emma Beckett is adopted into a loving home as an infant, never knowing the true circumstances of her birth. As a child, she discovers she has unique powers of healing but eventually realizes her abilities could be an instrument of evil, begotten by a bloodthirsty monster.

From Chapter Six: Foray into Truth

KATE LESTER GRIPPED the cell phone to her ear, her knuckles turning white. She was silent as she listened to her mother speak in quick tones, relaying information she had never thought to receive. Her mouth went dry as her mother continued to talk.

When it finally came her turn to speak, Kate's voice came crackled and unsteady. "Let me talk to Kirk, Mom. I'll see what he has to say about it. If he's agreeable, then I suppose we need to arrange a meeting."

Noel hesitated on the other end of the line. "Are you okay with this?"

"I'm a bit stunned," Kate admitted. "But we all knew this day might come. And here it is."

"You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with," Noel insisted. "But I, for one, would love to meet Emma."

"Emma," Kate whispered. "The baby was a girl."

"Yes, darling. I've seen her pictures. She's stunning, really. I see a lot of Kirk in her."

Kate swallowed. "Let me talk to Kirk and I'll get back to you," she finally replied, anxious to end the call.

"Take your time, darling," Noel said with a hint of sympathy. "This is a momentous decision any way you slice it."

"I'll call you back in a little bit." Kate disconnected the line, setting the phone on the kitchen counter in front of her. Her head was swimming with glee mixed with a dread reluctance, her breath coming in short rasps. Her daughter wanted to meet her. After all the years of guilt and wondering, the child was nearly a woman and curious about her background, which was only natural, but was she ready to accept it? Was Kirk?

"Only way to find out is to ask him," Kate muttered to herself darkly as she made her way to the back door of the kitchen. He was out in the garden, reading and writing poetry, and smoking endless cigarettes. It was his favorite pastime when he wasn't at work. Since Kate was busy doing her own thing, she could not begrudge him, even though their relationship had grown steadily distant in recent years. It wasn't as if they had fallen out of love, but rather the familiarity between them had reached a comfortable stage that neither of them was unhappy with.

The day had not yet become warm, although shade from the weeping cedar trees kept the garden area temperate for the most part. The cobblestone flooring on the porch was red brick, edged by green grass and various rose bushes. A view of the Charles River was just beyond the tree line, it's coolness conveyed by a light breeze. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and she knew she was just about to spoil it for him.

Kirk's decade in prison had aged him prematurely, creating lines and creases around his eyes, cheeks and mouth. His once wheat-colored hair now had more grey than golden, but despite the encroaching signs of maturity, he was still breathtakingly handsome. He looked up when she came into the garden, his dark eyes showing slight annoyance at being interrupted.

"We need to talk," she told him quickly. "It's important."

With a sigh, he placed the book on the black wrought-iron table in front of him. Kate glanced down and saw he'd been browsing through The Flowers of Evil by Charles Baudelaire, one of his favorite poets. He also enjoyed Dante Alighieri, Matsuo Basho, Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Frost, Phyllis Wheatley and Sir Thomas Wyatt, often reading snippets aloud to her when they went to bed at night.

Kate sat across from him, placing her hands on the table. "My mother just called," she said, watching his face. "Our daughter initiated contact with her, and wants to meet us."

Kirk gasped audibly, returning his wife's stare with a stunned expression.

"I realize it comes as a shock," Kate continued. "But we knew this day might come eventually." She leaned back in her chair. "How do you feel about it?"

"Our daughter," he said slowly as he took a drag from his cigarette. "Our daughter."

"Yes," Kate responded with a touch of impatience. "Our daughter."

He flashed a sheepish look at her. "Sorry, Katie. I'm a bit stunned, really. Just trying to take it in. I never knew if we had a boy or a girl before now." He crushed out his cigarette in a silver ashtray resting on the table. "What does your gut tell you? Do you want to meet her? Or do you want to leave things as they are?"

She sighed. "She has reached out, Kirk. We can't very well turn her away. She's probably already discovered the sorted history that makes up her ancestry. She likely googled it." A look of pain came into her eyes. "As I said, we knew this day might come. Yet, how do we explain giving up our own child to the child herself? Lay out the truth of the situation at the time, sure, but will she accept them as valid enough reasons to give her away?"

"She is almost eighteen years old," Kirk pointed out. "Nearly an adult. Surely she will listen to reason."

Kate sighed again. "What do you want to do? Should we agree to a meeting?"

He stared at her sadly. "You know how guilty I felt for not being there when you gave birth, but it couldn't be helped at the time."

"I know," she spoke softly with a slight smile. "Don't worry about that chapter of our lives. It's all water under the bridge."

Even when she smiled, there was an infinite air of sadness about Kate, a heaviness of heart always present. It had lessened somewhat in time, yet Kirk could still feel it. He had learned to live with the poignancy a long time ago, but had been ridden with guilt because of it. He was the root cause of her heartache. If it hadn't been for him and Ken Lester, Kate could have kept their child in the first place.

Kirk pursed his lips, keeping eye contact with his wife. She watched him closely in return, trying to gauge his frame of mind, but was unable to. "If Mom was here, she could tell me exactly what he was thinking," Kate thought briefly.

Kirk spoke at length. "Let's do it, Katie. Let's meet our daughter. What real harm can it do?"

"No telling at this point," she murmured.

"I'll do it if you're game. Don't you want to see how our child turned out?"

"Yes," Kate replied thoughtfully. "But not at the expense of the life we've made for ourselves. I'd rather not invite drama and resentment, even from our own child."

"How did she find out she was adopted?"

"Mom said Darcy told her she sought her birth certificate to get a passport for a school trip to France."

Kirk nodded. "Makes sense. Being your daughter, she's probably as smart as a whip."

Kate felt her mood lighten. "And if she looks like you, she's got to be model gorgeous."

Coal dark eyes met blue ones. The couple smiled warmly at each other, each of them infused with a jolt of unconditional love.

She knew the decision had been made.

* * *

KIRK WATCHED HIS wife as she made her way back into the house, while he remained seated at the table in the garden. He admired the graceful swing of Kate's hips, and the  movement of her blonde curls as the breeze gently wafted them across the span of her lower back. She was coming up to her thirty-seventh birthday in a few months time,  but the years had been extremely kind to her. Her allure seemed to increase rather than decline as she matured. Her face was perhaps thinner, but the sharpened angles of her cheekbones merely added to her eye-catching beauty.

He lit another cigarette, his gaze going to the book of poetry on the table as Kate disappeared from his view. While it had been his intention to make reparation to his wife for the horrors of their early life together and his subsequent imprisonment, he understood  with an agonizing veracity that he had continued to fail her. His decade-long stint as an inmate had seen to that. He had been repeatedly raped while in prison, abused by larger and stronger men.  By the time he was released into the real world again, the years of abuse had taken their toll. He found himself to be impotent, and no amount of doctor or specialist consultations or medications had rectified the condition. It deeply pained him, causing a great amount of guilt and misery that he did well to hide from Kate. He had a feeling she knew the depths of his despair nonetheless, although she never spoke of it. For all intents and purposes, theirs was a marriage in name only. They were the best of friends in a sense. The love they shared continued to burn between them, but it was doomed to remain unfulfilled.

To that end, Kirk was desperate to give Kate anything else she desired. He had no real interest in meeting their only child after all these years. Deep in his heart, he felt it best to leave the situation alone, to keep the emotional wounds closed. Yet he knew Kate needed to meet the child, her own guilt for giving her away having tormented her since the day the deed was done.

A daughter. They had a daughter. And she wanted to meet them.

Kirk sighed as he crushed out his cigarette in the ashtray. He reached for The Flowers of Evil and returned to his reading spot in the book. The birds chirped and the breeze washed over him as he once again lost himself in the works of Baudelaire.