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Stormy smiled. “Maybe not.”
“He takes that blanket everywhere. It’s disgusting.”
His tone was so like Tully’s that Stormy knew at once he was mimicking his father. She was glad she had spoken up to her brother-in-law about name-calling.
Liane was sitting up in bed. Stormy set the tray aside and gave the child a hug. Liane did not turn away, but she didn’t reciprocate, either.
“It’s so wonderful to wake up and have you right here with me every morning,” Stormy told her. “I missed you so much.”
Liane plucked at the sheet. “Will you ever have to go away again?”
Stormy plumped up Liane’s pillow and put the tray across the child’s knees.
“Not if I can help it.”
Liane’s eyes grew wide with doubt. “You said you couldn’t help it last time.”
Stormy sipped the coffee, using the moment to form her answer. Above all, she knew she must be truthful with Liane; she must somehow convey a sense of reality to her without increasing her daughter’s feelings of betrayal and abandonment.
“I wish,” Stormy said, “that we lived in a world where bad things never happened. It hurt both of us when I had to go to prison. But I didn’t abandon you, sweetheart. The courts said I had to serve—”
“We could have run away together.”
Stormy smiled. “Did you think that, too?” Liane nodded, and Stormy went on. “But we would’ve been scared all the time. At least, I would’ve been. And if the police had found us, we would’ve been separated anyway. Probably for much longer. The way it worked out, you got to live with Aunt Nina and your cousins, so I knew you’d be safe. That’s what I wanted for you. To be safe.”
“I don’t like living here, Mom. Aunt Nina fusses all the time. Uncle Tully doesn’t like me. And Davie is a bully.”
“We’ll be out on our own again soon. Now, eat, then get dressed. I’m driving you to school today.”
While Stormy dressed, Liane munched her toast. “Mom, what doesillegitimatemean?”
Stormy was brushing her hair; her hand stopped in midair. “Where did you hear that word?”
Liane shrugged. “I just heard it.”
She’s testing me, Stormy decided, finding out how far I’ll go for honesty, how much truth I’ll share with her. Somehow, she had to act as if the conversation were ordinary and take care not to allow Liane any negative ideas about her birth, about herself. She swallowed a sigh. It was going to be a heavy morning.
“Illegitimate is an antiquated word, often used to refer to a person born outside of marriage,” she began carefully. “But it’s not a very useful word. It doesn’t—”
Liane had kept her eyes on the toast she was tearing into small bits. Now she burst out with, “Then I’m illegitimate.”
Stormy almost choked. How did you tell a seven-year-old about society’s thoughtless ways of labeling nonconformist behavior without prejudicing the child totally against the world she must live in? “You know, sweetheart, that doesn’t mean you were born without love,” she said. “And love is what’s important. I adored your father.”
“Why didn’t you marry him?”
“He—he changed his mind.”
“Just like that?”
Stormy took up the brush again and began working tangles out of her hair. “It seemed so at the time. Looking back, though, I think he was scared of responsibility. Some men are.”
“You mean he was scared of me.”
“Oh, sweetie, it wasn’t you. He didn’t even know you. Sometimes men have a closed-in feeling. That’s how your father put it to me.”
“What was his name?”
“Truman Witney,” Stormy said.
