Page 227 of Fury

Lenore took in a deep gulp of air, eyes blazing. “Zoë needed heart surgery her first month, and she got it with Steve and Gail. Yes, you and I had love, so much love, but we didn’t have stability and consistency, and those were the two things she needed that we would never have to offer her. And with you in jail for years, when would we ever be together to try and give her what she needed?

“What I did have then was determination to do the best for her. That’s what I used to fuel a solution, I focused on that and made the decisions I had to make.” She clenched her jaw. “It hurt. It burned. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Harder than anything Med ever did to me. Worse than being separated from you, worse than having to let you go.” Her voice caught, her head swayed to the side. “I had to let you go after giving her away. I couldn’t be with you and lie. So I did it and tried to make peace with myself.” She scoffed. “At least, I tried.”

My eyes jammed shut. She’d closed the door on us to open a new door for our baby, our helpless, innocent child.

“The only thing I was sorry for was you thinking I’d turned my back on you,” she said, her voice hoarse. “When I was pregnant with Beck and I saw you at that concert, the hate in your eyes—”

“But you didn’t stay with your husband.”

“I tried to love him, but I didn’t have it in me. I wasn’t good at being his wife. Giving up Zoë and turning my back on you were too difficult to get over. And when Beck was born, everything came back up again. You and Zoë twisted in my mangled heart as Beck filled it up.” She took in a deep breath. “I figured you must have moved on and had a wife and your own kids. So I tried to get on with life, focus on my work, my son.

“Beck was a gift. But it was hard. Zoë was growing up far away, and every time Beck hit a milestone, I’d ask myself, when did Zoë start walking? What was her first word? What did her voice sound like? What was her favorite food? Her favorite bedtime story? What colors did she look good in? What did her first drawings look like?”

My throat constricted. “She’s my only child. I want to know her. I want—” My heart veered like an eighteen wheel truck packed with heavy freight, out of control on an icy highway with a cliff up ahead. I had a child out in the world. A child who would never know that I was her father. My flesh and blood. My family.

Lenore had raised me up and destroyed me all in one go. My hand crushed the pieces of my compass as my eyes went to her tattoos. Tattoos of compasses and dreams. She had tracked the three of us and inscribed us forever on her flesh. She’d taken my broken compass and transformed it into a living, breathing thing, keeping her focused through all these years of wandering and doubt, stumbling and striking out, of forging ahead.

My knees buckled. I wrapped my arms around Lenore’s legs, burying my face in her middle, into the soft flesh of the belly that had carried our baby. Humility before an unspeakable sacrifice.

All my years of unsatisfied wants, my roars in the dark night, my acrid frustrations—all were hollow and dry and crumbling in my hands, falling away like dirt and ash before her unshakeable belief in doing right, her bravery in the face of such choices.

My eyes were hot, my face burning against the thin material of her blouse. I breathed in her perfume, but the sweet fragrance only drove home the bitterness of my regret. Shame filled my blood, swelling like a drug shot directly in my veins, doing its best to cripple me, knock me out. I crumpled her blouse in my fists, raising it, gripping her hips, suffocating myself in the warm scent of her skin, in her soft touch that glided over my forehead. A touch I didn’t deserve, but a touch I desperately wanted, ached and hungered for.

“She’s alive, Finger. Alive and happy. Let that be enough. Letting go of her gave her a really good life. A full, healthy, safe one. No fear, no running.” She ran a hand over my head. “Letting go of Zoë mended the broken hearts of two good people. Our girl made Gail and Steve’s dream come true.”

A horrible noise rumbled in my chest, up my throat. “I can’t.” My voice broke. “I can’t be grateful. I hate them right now. I hate you.”

Her hands dug into my hair, tugging, smoothing. “When I moved to Meager, I took the chance and asked Gail and Steve if I could visit at their store like a regular customer. Not often, just once in a while. They said once a month would be fine, and I assured them I wouldn’t ever tell her I was her mother. I didn’t want to anyway. The last thing I wanted was to confuse or upset Zoë. And I sure didn’t want anyone figuring out a connection between us. I just wanted to see her. Maybe talk to her.

“Our baby was a real person with likes and dislikes and wants and favorites and opinions. She was Zoë, Zoë Drake. She was ours, but not ours. Mine, but not mine. I could see her from a distance, wave and say hello, be pleasant, ask questions, share a joke, but that was all. And I took it,” she breathed. There was fire in those words, in her sharp, jagged tone. A primal roar, a growl that made the hairs on my arms stand at attention.

“And that’s what you’ve been doing?” I asked.

“Yes. Gail and Steve are down to earth, gracious, simple people. I had to prove that I wouldn’t be a problem. It was difficult at first, like falling off a bike when you’re trying to learn how to ride. In the beginning, I could barely speak to Zoë. But I did it. Once a month. And it’s been worth it. I don’t stay very long. I shop. I chat. I leave. It was good, still is. Still special. I’m the friendly lady with the pretty tattoos and colorful hair who likes to garden, who decorates her house with colorful tiles and pots and dishes and mugs made by a little girl with a crazy creative streak a mile wide who’s not so little anymore.”

“She has your eyes.”

“She does.”

“She’s beautiful,” I said.

“She is. I used to wonder what she’d be like without the Down’s, but then I realized she wouldn’t be Zoë.” A small smile broke over her lips. “I feel like I offered a little bit of good to this world.”

Lenore lived her sacrifice every damned day and found the positive in it. She was the strongest person I’d ever known. Did I have such faith? I let go of her and stood up, my head swimming.

She took my drink and had a swallow. “She met Beck once. That almost killed me. Like today, introducing the two of you was the most beautiful thing. The most beautiful, terrible thing.”

“Does Beck know?”

“No.”

A strangled howl escaped my chest. “I should have known. I should’ve known!” I pulled on my hair. “When I was stuck in that fucking jail, I needed to know you were okay, I needed to know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your fucking sorry! I don’t want it! I just want my fucking daughter. I want the life we could’ve had together. All of us together.”

Lenore said nothing. She only stood, watching me, letting me go. Now I understood her kiss back in my office, gentle then passionate. She knew once she told me everything would change. That kiss wasyes, I want you, yes, I miss you, yes, I love you, I’m so sorry, I know you’ll hate me and never forgive me, goodbye.

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