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Legitimate Lies

By Julie B. Cosgrove

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CHAPTER ONE


Did I really want this baby? Yes. Wait, no. Absolutely not.

I recognized her—and that wounded me deeper than I’d ever imagined.

The barricade of lies, which I’d droned into my head over the past few months, crumbled the moment little Josh Holder discovered her on the front steps of the Bonita Springs Public Library. She lay on the hard concrete, swaddled in a pink crocheted throw. Innocent eyes, tucked into chestnut skin, widened as they peered into mine. Thick, straight strands encircled her head in a coal-colored halo.

“Look Miz Williams. It was taped to her blanket.” Josh teetered on his eight-year old tiptoes to show me.

My business card—“Sheila Williams - Library Assistant.” What on earth? I tucked a fly-away strand of auburn hair behind my ear and flipped the card over. On the back a familiar handwriting scrawled, “She’s yours if you want her.”

Mine? If I want her? The card trembled between my fingers. A tumult of emotions swirled inside of me like a Dervish dancer. Anguish because she was my now-imprisoned husband, Robert’s, illegitimate child. Anticipation she could be what I’d secretly

desired—a baby of my own. Anger over the fact she existed at all. My nerves mimicked the twirling leaves on the sidewalk in front of the library, whipped by the tropical storm brewing above us.

Thunder rumbled. Or did my heartbeat thump a warning inside my eardrums? No one from my past in Texas had been told I now lived in Florida. Except for Becky, who’d help me settle into my new life. But she wouldn’t tell. Her federal job depended on secrecy. So, who dropped off this child?

I scanned the city block. Then, I spied him. Tom. The one man I’d almost trusted. A smile eased across my lips. So, he’d kept his promise to Robert after all. He’d made sure the baby lived. Now,

Robert’s hold on him was broken. The old Navy buddy debt paid. Oh, how I envied Tom’s freedom from my husband’s evil vice-

grip. My thumb rubbed the place where my wedding ring once sat on my finger. My faith told me I remained shackled to Robert—for better or for worse—even though the Feds had changed my identity and my marital status when I entered witness protection.

Tom tipped an imaginary Stetson in my direction. My mouth opened, but no words came out. There remained too much to say, and none of it mattered now. So, I returned the gesture with a slight nod, a heart to heart silent code I hoped he’d interpret as, I still love you.

Josh tugged on my sleeve. “Who’s that?” “Just a man saying, ‘Hi’, I guess.”

Tom had been so much more. My husband’s friend, turned Federal asset, had become my protector. My comforter. And a fellow victim of Robert’s manipulative schemes. As our feelings for each other developed, he represented the forbidden fruit—a constant reminder of the wrong choice I’d made with Robert before God and man at the altar five years ago amidst roses, white lace and taffeta. But, a vow remained a vow.

I wrapped my arms around my chest and watched Tom walk away, his hands tucked deep into the side pockets of his well-fitted Dockers. My feet yearned to follow him. My brain knew better than to respond to their request. Instead, I pushed the soles of my shoes against the concrete with locked knees. Any feelings for Tom, and his for me, rested in God’s hands. I’ll wait, Tom. I’ll always wait. Does your finding me again mean you will too?

With a deep sigh, I tapped the business card against my palm. My thoughts returned to the cooing bundle on the stoop. So he’d brought the infant to me. Great. Now what do I do? I crouched down to peer at her.

A chill zipped up my spine. How had Tom gotten one of my cards? Wait—how had he found me? Isn’t WITSEC supposed to keep my whereabouts a secret? Wasn’t that the whole point?

Even if my and Tom’s ties to Robert were severed, the federal agents forbade any connections with my past. Tom knew that. Did that also hold true for this tiny child at my feet? My eyes stung from the question. Oh, why on earth did Tom give you to me, little one? And where is your mother?

A clap of thunder shuddered against the library building. Quarter-sized raindrops polka-dotted the paved stoop—first a few, then more. The warm, moisture-laden Gulf wind spritzed my face, hiding the tears that welled in my eyes.

“We can’t just leave her here, Miz Williams. She’ll get soaked.”

Josh scrunched his third grade eyebrows together. It made him appear wiser than his years. Perhaps he was.

I blinked the emotions back into the dark crevices of my mind.

“Okay, Josh. Let’s take her inside the library.”

He dashed up the steps to open the door for us.

“But,” I raised the baby girl to my shoulder and whispered into her little ear, “I just can’t let you into my life. Not yet.”

Soon the newborn nestled safely in one of the overnight book-drop bins I wheeled to my desk. Josh tilted his head to examine her. His black-rimmed glasses slipped down his nose. With a push of his finger to readjust them, he nodded. “I think she likes you.”

I swiveled my chair closer, hands grasped to my knees. Her bright eyes and tiny fingers peeked out from the swaddling. She seemed fragile, helpless. Robert wanted her to be my responsibility? Why would he give me this baby now when he’d refused to let me have one five years ago?

Another tear threatened to trickle out of the corner of my eye. I squinted it back. Not here, not now. Keep up appearances. Leave the past in the past.

Yet, how could I when it stared me in the face? I breathed a silent prayer. Lord, give me strength. And a touch of your divine wisdom wouldn’t hurt either.

Josh edged in for a better glance. His hair smelled of little boy sweat and no-tears shampoo. I used my library-hushed voice. “Josh.

Why don’t you pick out a book to read? Your mother will be back from her errands in a while.”

“Yes’m.” He cocked his head to have one more glance at his discovery. “What’ll happen to her?”

“I don’t know. But she’ll be fine.” I made my lips form a smile. “Go on, then.”

With a shrug, he spun on one heel and dashed to the elementary school reading section where Indians in cupboards and mice on motorcycles waited to stir his imagination.

The infant’s expression creased into a frown.

“What is it? Are you hungry?” I hadn’t the foggiest idea what to feed her. Some fat-free half and half sat in the workroom fridge. Would that do? But, what to put it in?

Miniature feet moved inside the fluffy blanket in sync with a red-faced whimper.

“Please tell me you don’t you need changing.” I hated to admit it, but I didn’t know how to diaper a newborn. At thirty-two, many women are into babies. Not me. In fact, I usually avoided them. My being denied one of my own pierced too deeply. Robert knew that. Was this some sort of sick joke spawned from his twisted, criminal mind? Revenge for testifying against him?

Wait. Did Robert know I lived here now? My palms beaded with moisture. Don’t panic. Think. Maybe he’d left that detail up to Tom. I hoped so. Either way, my secret had been breached. That meant I’d have to call it in. My hand reached for my burner cell phone.

The infant’s lips quivered.

“Oh, no. Don’t cry. Everyone will hear you.”

My shoulder blades thrust into the back of the desk chair. Time to get a grip. Deal with the baby, and then deal with your situation.

“Okay. You can do this, Jen.”

Oh, my gosh. I gulped, hand clasped over my mouth. Why did I do that? I’d just called myself “Jen.” Stupid, stupid mistake. She didn’t exist anymore. Sheila. That’s my name now. I repeated it under my breath. Sheila. Sheila Williams.

Had anyone heard my slip-up? I scanned the library, and relaxed my shoulders. No one neared the checkout desk yet. Thank goodness for the sparse crowd this morning, probably due to the weather. All appeared quiet except for the pattering rain that danced on the roof in sync with the distant drum of thunder.

I ran my fingers over my face. How careless of me. Had discovering this baby muddled my brain that much? I’d tried so hard to cram the past into the remote corners of my mind, just as the federal marshals taught me. Night after night, I play-rehearsed the facts of my new life until it all felt real. I’d even begun to believe this do-over might actually work.

Until twenty minutes ago, that is.

I inhaled courage, and then blew out a long sigh to ease the tightness in my chest. With a wipe of my hands against my pencil skirt, I cupped them under her squiggly form and drew her to me.

“Okay. Let’s see.”

The small body wriggled in response to my touch. Afraid I’d drop her on her head, I balanced the infant on my lap as I checked to see if her diaper had become wet. A weight lifted off my chest with a sigh. Dry.

I cocked my head to peer into her face. The spitting image of her mother, Marisol—a Hispanic teenager tricked into trafficking like so many illegally immigrated girls. When we’d met that night in the shack, something had bonded us despite our language barriers and age differences. Neither of us knew why at the time.

I experienced the same link as I gazed into her baby girl’s eyes and rocked her on my knees. Except that now I knew the reason for the instant connection. My voice cracked in a soft whisper. “You’re really my stepdaughter, aren’t you?”

Her olive-colored eyes and Mediterranean nose, the spitting image of my husband Robert’s, blared that fact. “You’re his, but you’re not mine, sweetie. I’m not your mother. Robert, your daddy, never wanted me to be a mom.”

Hearing the words from my own mouth burned the back of my eyes. It wasn’t fair. Not at all. He chose an illegal teen to bear his child instead of me, his wife? The man didn’t make sense. I’d never forgive him. My molars clamped together as my fingernails dug into my palms. I hate him. Hate him. Oh, why did I marry him?

Deep breath. Don’t revisit that hurt. Not now. I blinked the guilt away one more time and swallowed it back into the crevices of my soul. My gaze returned to the newborn. I stroked her head. “I know it’s not your fault, but I can’t help it. A large part of me just wishes you didn’t even exist, wee one.”

The infant cooed. Little bubbles formed in her mouth—so cute. How could I hate this product of his lust? I scooped her from the makeshift hammock of my skirt.

As I peered into the baby’s face, I shared Marisol’s sorrow. She should be holding this child, not me. Had Marisol chosen to give this sweet thing up? Or had she been snatched moments after birth?

I didn’t want to know. I ached inside—for this baby, for her mother, and for me. All naive victims tossed in the treacherous waves of deceit generated in the wake of my husband’s ambition and cruelty.

I drew her to me. “Oh, why on earth did your daddy have Tom bring you to me?”

The infant’s soft eyes blinked the answer straight into my soul. This little girl needed love, no matter how she came into this world. All babies deserved that much. But, was I the one to give that to her?

My little finger stroked her chubby cheek as I cradled her. The scents of baby powder and formula filled my nose. Her shiny eyes twinkled unabashed trust as they focused upon my face.

Some innate motherhood gene awoke from deep inside me. A tingly, warm sensation spread from my chest to my eye ducts. My heart had double-knotted with hers.

A grin crept across to my cheeks as I gently swayed her in my arms. She seemed so innocent. No one had hurt her yet. No one had stomped on her feelings, or lied to her face, or cheated on her. And now, in this new life the government had given me, I had to pretend that none of that had happened to me either.

Maybe, this baby symbolized my fresh start. I’d protect her. Ensure she had a normal, safe life. No one would be the wiser, right? Surely lots of kids grow up in WITSEC protection.

But would I be able to keep all the hurt she’d dredged up hidden? What if somehow, someday, she discovered her past…and mine? Could we love each other, then? Oh, how I hated living a lie.

With a swallow of my now-cold cup of Earl Grey tea, I washed down the tightness in my throat. I traced her forehead with my little finger. The impact of her presence tangled the words in my throat. I swallowed hard to release the question from my vocal chords. It came out louder than I wanted. “What do I do with you?”

“I guess what anyone should do under the circumstances, Mrs.

Williams.”

I looked up to see the Bonita Springs’ deputy sheriff, Jorge Hernandez, gaze down at me and the newborn. “Josh told me you two found her on the steps outside. So, that means you have no idea who she belongs to, right?”

One of his thick black eyebrows raised in a tight arch. I gulped.

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