Read Online The Lost Daughter by Lucy Ferriss - Free Book Online Page B

found herself paying attention to the complexion and hair of the kids gettingpicked up. She stepped out of the car into the sunshine. There was another Asian girl, her blond mother waiting with an infant strapped to her back whose features Brooke couldn’t make out. Shanita, she thought, could talk all she liked about what she felt and didn’t feel. Shanita didn’t know what happened when Brooke thought about giving birth again.
    She had Meghan, she reminded herself. Nothing bad was going to happen to Meghan. But Sean wanted another. Her family—just hers, no one else’s—needed another. And they could have a child without triggering the fears that rose like a tsunami from Brooke’s past and washed her away. She studied the children jumping into their mothers’ arms, the ones whose features didn’t match but whose expressions did. Shanita’s case had been different, she told herself. It had been about foster homes, older kids who needed their birth mom. Her advice didn’t extend to Brooke’s case. It couldn’t.
    “Looks like you’re not sure which one’s yours,” said the man standing by the Mazda next to her car.
    Brooke blushed. “Oh, she’ll make herself known when she comes out. I don’t worry about that.”
    The man stepped out of his car and stretched. He was an inch or two taller than Brooke, and not much older; gray hair was just making its appearance at his temples. The shorts he wore revealed the muscled calves of a soccer player. “Quite a rain last night,” he said.
    “Broke the humidity, I guess.”
    “True enough. Not so great for my business, though.” He squinted at the sky.
    “And what business would that be? Air conditioning?”
    “Pools.” He extended his hand. “Tad Horgan. Jason’s dad. I think our kids are in the same group here.”
    Tad’s handshake was warm and firm. Brooke hadn’t noticed him before, but her circle of fellow parents was confined to the oneswhose daughters played with hers. “If you say so,” she said. “Meghan’s still at the boys-have-cooties stage.”
    “And Jason definitely has cooties. Got them from me, I’m afraid.”
    “I doubt that.” He was flirting with her, Brooke thought. She glanced at her watch. She was due at Starbucks in a half hour. “How did you know Meghan’s in his group?”
    “Jason is not at the girls-have-cooties stage. Causes him some problems with the other boys. But I think he likes your daughter. Your clone, I should say.” He winked. “Didn’t take rocket science to figure who you were, but I still don’t know your name.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry. Brooke O’Connor.” She wanted to steer the subject away from kids before they got to the “How many others?” question. “So, pools,” she said. “Backyard pools? Country-club pools?”
    “Just those kidney-bean things. I run a little franchise out in Manchester.”
    “You’re not a swimmer, though.”
    “A shower’s about as much water as I need, personally. How’d you know?”
    Brooke cracked a smile. “An old boyfriend was a soccer player. He had your legs.”
    “I’ll be damned.” Tad looked down at his calves. “Wonder how he’s managing without them.”
    Brooke chuckled. “I’m meeting him for coffee. I’ll ask.”
    “Ah.” Tad’s eyebrows lifted.
    “Not like that. Old times. You know.”
    “If you say so. Anyhow, you’re right. I kick the ball around, most Saturdays. Buncha Jamaican guys and two palefaces. Look, here they come.”
    From the quartet of bright blue doors at the entrance to the school the kids poured out, bearing their kites and lanyards andstill-sticky collages. A towheaded boy in a Spider-Man T-shirt flung himself against Tad’s car and got in without a word. “Well, hello to you too,” Tad said. He turned to Brooke. “See you here again.”
    “Not often. My husband’s usually the pickup guy.”
    “Have I—?” Tad paused, his hand on his chin. Then he opened his door. “Of course!” he said. “Sean O’Connor.