Page 85 of Playing With Fire

Ricky’s voice was matter-of-fact but Jodi could sense his tension. “It’s what most runaways do,” he said tightly. “Straight back to the parent or parents who abused them.”

Anger, hot and heavy, rushed through Jodi. She found her voice again.

“I don’t believe that,” she said crisply. “Those boys were happy with the Beechams. I know it. And Silas, he said that they were afraid of their father, that they didn’t want to go back!”

She could almost hear Ricky’s shrug. “I agree with you, not that it makes any difference. But Chief Browning has already spoken with the police chief and the foster authorities, and everyone agrees that the boys must have fled because they were guilty and that they’ll turn up in one of their old haunts in some condemned building in the city.”

Another call buzzed on Jodi’s phone. Hattie, of course. Then Dougie. She stabbed at her phone to put them on hold.

“I’m coming with you.” The words popped out from nowhere. There was silence.

“Coming with me where?” asked Ricky in a careful voice.

“To find Josh and Judah of course. Because I know that you don’t believe that they’ve run back to New York. They are still in Temple Mountain.”

***

“Mr. Sharp?” The voice on the other end was both pleasant and professional. “Harriet Worth here, responding to your email last week.”

There is rarely a good time to be interrupted on a Monday. Especially when all hell is breaking loose at work and when what is laughably referred to as one’s private life has just become public. Even more so when the caller is a lawyer.

(The only exception would be, for example, a call informing you that a distant relative who has achieved more than his or her allotment of four score plus years has left yours truly a generous endowment which can be enjoyed guilt-free. This was not such a call.)

Ricky was parked outside the rectory, waiting as agreed for Jodi to fly through her chores and meet him before going inside together.

The adoption lawyer had been quick getting back to him, but Ricky had no idea if this was a good or a bad sign.

It suddenly felt unbearably stuffy inside the car. He climbed out, zipping his coat one-handed. He strolled towards the copse of trees between the rectory and the soaring beauty of the old wooden church. The fecund odor of damp foliage hung in the air.

Ms. Worth’s voice was clear, precise.

“It sounds as though you have done your research on adoption law and establishing paternity, Mr. Sharp. You do understand that you are what we call, to put it bluntly, a father without rights in an adoption? In other words, the mother of the child chose to exercise her New York State Constitutional privacy right not to identify the birth father.”

Ricky grunted understanding. The numbness in his mind seemed to be spreading to his limbs. He stamped his feet into the soft mulch and began walking backwards and forwards like an anxious parent watching the curfew slip past.

Tick tock.

Time was running out. For the twins, wherever they were, and for any hope of finding his child.

The voice continued, dispassionately delivering the next blow.

“By law, if the birth father was not married to the birth mother, the birth father must take all steps possible, such as file for paternity or custody, and provide support for the birth mother and child, in order to be considered a consent father. And even if you had filed for paternity, you could not prevent an adoption because you effectively abandoned your child.”

“What?” barked Ricky. “I had no knowledge of the child’s existence! I would have been there, paid support, done everything I could...and I would have applied for custody in a heartbeat if I’d known Chrissie didn’t want the kid!”

His speed increased until he was striding back and forth along the path, trampling the leaves into the wet soil. The mud sucked at his leather boots, pushing them further towards ruination.

God, he thought bleakly. He ran his fingers through his hair, distracted and bewildered, even though the lawyer wasn’t telling him anything he did not already know.

He didn’t belong here. Not anymore. Best to chuck this whole mess, and the balls-up he had made of the firebug investigation, and head back to the city.

“I understand that, Mr. Sharp,” said the lawyer patiently. She was clearly used to emotional parents blurting out their rage and pain.

“Now, we can go to court, sure. But I wouldn’t be doing the right thing if I didn’t warn you that this is a costly and ultimately pointless path. The blunt truth is that if an unwed father is not listed on the birth certificate, he has no legal rights to the child. And getting your name on that certificate is no guarantee—”

Ricky stopped in front of a huge maple. The bare limbs reached out to the grey sky like a prayer. He placed a bare hand on the trunk, felt the rough bark under his skin.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I understand,” he whispered. Cleared his throat and tried again. “Send your invoice—”

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