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“Ugh. Okay, but I’m definitely going to need something stronger than decaf coffee.” I pulled open her liquor cabinet that also served as a TV stand. Instead of alcohol, however, I found tiny baby clothes folded and stacked in neat little piles.
The sight of my messy cousin’s organized piles devastated me. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the hope contained in those folded baby clothes. Maybe it was the thought of my own mother. Had she lovingly prepared my layette like this, only to wind up being murdered by her own husband?
“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” Lia handed me a glass with amber liquid.
“What is it?” I asked, taking a sniff. “Battery acid?”
She smiled. “No, it’s the last of the conception cognac.”
“The what?”
In answer, she patted her belly. “It’s very expensive cognac. Oliver and I drank most of the bottle the night the twins were conceived, hence the name. Conception cognac. This is the last of it.”
“Oh, great. Getting pregnant is just what I need.”
She offered a sympathetic smile. “It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it?”
I threw back the cognac, enjoying the burn. “Troy wants to have another baby, but I don’t think I have enough patience for a third child. I’ve always worried that, like my father, I might snap one day. Thinking he might be innocent gave me hope, but now... now I know that was just a fantasy.”
Lia filled a glass with juice for herself. “You’ve always been patient with the boys and your students.”
“Not always. And that’s what scares me. What if I have the murder gene and something inside me snaps one day?”
“I don’t think you have the murder gene, if that’s even a real thing.”
“It is a real thing. Genetics matter and—” My hand shot to my mouth, embarrassed. I wasn’t just talking about me anymore. Because Lia and I shared the same father, she too had been cursed with poor genetics.
Lia lifted her chin. “I don’t think I have the murder gene, and I don’t think you do either. Sometimes I get frustrated, but I seldom lose my temper.”
I scoffed. “Just wait until you have kids.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. Don’t get me wrong. Kids are wonderful, but they test your patience beyond anything you could imagine.”
Lia gently rubbed her belly. “I just want my girls to feel loved and know that they’re enough just the way they are.”
“You’re enough. You know that, right?”
She offered a sad smile. “Am I?”
I nodded. “Absolutely. But it doesn’t matter what I think or say. You have to believe that yourself.”
She nodded. We talked a little more, then I called Troy to tell him the bad news.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know how much you wanted him to be innocent.”
“I did.” Holding back my tears, I wandered into the babies’ room. Lia had done such a good job decorating the room with cute woodland animals: foxes, bears, elks, and squirrels.
Maybe I should have another baby. Hadn’t these past ten years of motherhood proved that I could handle it? Was that what I wanted, or was there something else I was supposed to do with my life?
As a reading specialist, I often encountered kids who were part of the foster care system. I’d always been interested in the idea of becoming a foster parent, yet I couldn’t imagine the amount of patience and dedication that required. Plus, would Troy and I even be eligible, given the fact that my father was a convicted murderer?
“Brandy?” Lia shouted my name from the other room. “Brandy, come here. Come here right now.”
“I’ll be right there.” I said good-bye to Troy and walked into the other room. “What is it?”
She stared at me, shocked. “Let me see your phone.”
