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Forgiven Again

By Gina Holder

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Twenty-Five Years Ago

Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Seventeen-year-old Annie Staten pressed the phone’s receiver to her ear. The long, curly cord tethered her to Dad’s massive desk in the study. She dialed the familiar number. It rang twice.
“Hello.”
Ryan’s deep voice sent shivers down her spine. They hadn’t spoken all summer. How would he take her news? “Ryan. It’s Annie.” Her voice trembled. The knot in her stomach grew worse.
“Annie. Wow! How are you?”
“I’m fine.” She pinned the receiver against her shoulder with her chin, then twisted the hair scrunchie around her wrist. “Can we meet somewhere and talk? There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Sure, Annie—”
The line went dead. Annie’s heart skipped a beat. “Ryan? Ryan?” Her words took on a hint of panic. What happened? She lowered the receiver and spun on her heel.
Dad stood, legs spread, behind her. His meaty finger held down the hook. He wore a scowl. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Annie swallowed. “Calling Ryan.” She chewed her lip.
He let go of the button and crossed thick arms over his barreled chest. “The preacher’s boy? I thought he was in Texas with his grandparents?”
“Ryan got home last night. I decided to tell him about the baby.”
“Why?”
“He has a right to know.”
“Why?”
Was he really going to make her say it out loud? Her cheeks warmed. “He’s the father.”
“So?” Was that a snort? He certainly wasn’t making this easy. “While you were in labor, he was sipping sweet tea and watching prairie grass in the wind.”
“He didn’t know.” Because I lied to him. I should have told him months ago.
“He’s never going to know.”
“But Daddy?”
Dad’s eyes narrowed. Annie cleared her throat. I can do this. If she were going to prove she could raise her child, she had to act like an adult. “I want to keep her. If Ryan wants to. We can get married and raise our baby together. Like a real family.”
Dad snorted again. “What do two teenagers know about raising a child?”
Not much. Not anything. The very thought terrified Annie. “We could—”
With a sigh, Dad took the receiver from her hand and returned it to the cradle, then stepped closer and clasped onto her stooped shoulders. His scowl softened to a sad smile. “I thought we talked about this.”
“We did, but—”
“There’s no ‘but,’ Annie. You can’t keep the baby. I won’t let you throw your life away. You’ve been accepted to Stanford, and you have a bright future ahead of you. You’re smart, and you’re passionate. Keep your eyes on the prize. Don’t let anyone distract you from your dream.”
Only Richard Staten could compliment and scold in the same breath. “But Daddy…” The high-pitched whine slipped out again.
The grip on her shoulder tightened. “This isn’t open for discussion.”
Annie swallowed against the lump forming in her throat and blinked back her tears. She wouldn’t cry. Not in front of her father. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. He was right, of course, but she had never known a pain like this. It was even worse than the physical discomfort of giving birth. How can I give her up?
A beep broke the silence. Dad released her shoulders and removed the pager from his waistband. He frowned at the number on the screen.
“What is it, Daddy?”
“Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Is it about the election?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he checked his wristwatch. A throat cleared in the open doorway. Matilda, the housekeeper, held a baby carrier. “She’s ready, sir.”
Annie’s eyes widened. She choked, trying to speak. “You’re leaving now?” No. Stop. Don’t take my baby.
“Yes.” Dad took the car seat from the housekeeper.
“I haven’t said goodbye.” Please. Don’t go.
He rotated the carrier so she couldn’t see inside. “It’s better this way.”
“Wait!” Annie rushed to her bedroom. She threw open the door, snatched her Bible from off her nightstand, then grabbed a pen. While she walked, she scribbled inside the front cover: To my baby girl. I love you. I’m sorry. Annie.
Dad was already leaving through the front door when she closed the book and held it toward him. “Please. Give this to her new family.”
Dad took the Bible, then, without another word, shut the door between them. The sound echoed through the house and slammed like a prison gate in her heart. In the parlor, she pressed her nose to the glass window, watching as he buckled the car seat into the back of the vehicle.
Moments later, he drove around the circular driveway and out of sight. Annie charged up the stairs to her bedroom, gulping back sobs. What have I done?

***

In the dark of night, Richard squinted, trying to distinguish the steel crossbeams of the bridge through the thick fog that had descended over the city of Portland. As he walked, the bundle in his arms grew heavier with each step. A rattle sounded behind him. He paused. Listened. Nothing. Maybe he was just paranoid.
He couldn’t let his daughter’s mistake haunt them both for the rest of their lives. It has to be done. It’s better this way. Maybe if he repeated those words, he’d eventually believe them. Guilt smothered him until he could barely breathe.
His eyes cut to the Bible under his arm. Why did Annie hand that to him? Now, he had to dispose of it, too. He didn’t know much about the Bible, but he was aware it contained the words: Thou shalt not kill.
Was he any better than King Herod or the Egyptian Pharaoh who’d murdered all those babies so they could stay in power? How was this any different?
I lied to my daughter. This little one is my own grandchild. He shoved the convicting voice from his thoughts, stopped at the metal railing, and peeled back the soft blanket. A tiny face stared back at him. Awake. The baby blinked and yawned. Their eyes met.
At that moment, his stony heart crumbled. How could he destroy this beautiful child? He lifted his head, leaned forward, and gazed at the rushing water far below. The severity of what he had been contemplating shook his being. He shoved his hand into his pants pocket and fingered the crinkled piece of paper it held. He’d memorized every threatening word meant to intimidate him and bend him to the blackmailer’s will.
But, he couldn’t go through with it. He wouldn’t add murder to his list of sins.
While thinking through his next move, he continued on foot with no destination in mind. The city streets blurred through his tears. What am I going to do? What am I looking for?
The thick fog parted. A brick building materialized on the street corner. The streetlight slanted across the space.
Fire Station #9. In the window, a sticker depicted a baby.
He scanned his surroundings and spotted an empty apple crate next to the dumpster in the alley. He fetched the container and placed the Bible in the bottom, hoping to make a more comfortable base. Then, he laid the newborn on top, still wrapped in her warm blanket.
He jogged up the steps and deposited the crate with its precious cargo at the front door. Shame stabbed at his chest, but he reasoned it away. It’s a balmy night. She’ll be fine.

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