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I look up from the paper to find Tavers’ intense gaze on me. Being my friend for years, he recognizes the anger oozing off me.
“Doe is Rebecca Stewart,” I tell him and watch his eyes widen in shock.
“Damn,” he says low. “I didn’t expect that.”
“Me neither,” I grunt then carelessly drop the paper on my desk. Agitatedly, I run my fingers through my hair.
“You know what this means, don’t you?”
A growl tries to work its way up my chest, but I force the sound back. However, I can’t hold back the anger that forms in my eyes as I answer him. “Either he’s been abusing her or there’s something he hasn’t told us.”
He nods. “For Doe’s sake, I hope there’s some explanation. Although I don’t really see how he can explain away her scars and recent injuries if he’s the only one she’s been around for years. This could be either good for her, to have a family member out there who cares, or bad for them both if he’s been hurting her.”
I look Tavers square in the eye and tell him truthfully, “For his sake, he’d better hope like fuck not one of those scars were caused by him.”
* * *
My mind is stuckon the news of the DNA report for the rest of the day. I need time to get used to the idea of Doe being Rebecca and the probability of her leaving. I also try to talk myself out of the hell I know I’ll want to rain down on Mr. Stewart if he’s been the one hurting her. The detective in me, the part that goes by the book and ensures justice is served legally, has drifted into the background, and the man in me has stepped forward. The need to rush to his house and demand answers has my body so tense the rest of the day, my joints start to ache. Our time will come later. Doe needs to be told the truth first.
I try to concentrate on the interview with Mrs. Conners, the lady giving her statement in regard to the Mason boy, but I’m distracted. My legs bounce with aggravation. Tavers senses my preoccupied mind and pulls me to the side and asks me to leave. I don’t take offense to his suggestion. I know my anxious behavior is making Mrs. Conners nervous.
I try to keep my mind on other things, but nothing works. I keep picturing Doe in my mind, from what she looked like on the first day at the hospital to her standing in my driveway, waving goodbye to me this morning; her small smile the last thing I saw clearly of her face. She’s grown so much over the past few weeks. I don’t want to stop seeing her grow and flourish, becoming more comfortable with herself and surroundings.
At five o’clock, I’m about ready to pull my hair out with both the anticipation of seeing her and the dread of telling her Mr. Stewart is her uncle. Tavers and I make plans to visit the man tomorrow and question him. As I tell him I’m leaving for the day, he tells me to call him if I need him after I tell Doe. It’s not going to be easy, and I’ll bet Doe’s not going to take it well. With her memory being gone, she won’t remember Mr. Stewart, but I hope she remembers something with the mention of his name. She doesn’t do well with new people, especially men. I’m the only one she feels remotely comfortable being around.
I sit in my truck in my driveway for several minutes, thinking over how I’m going to tell her. I don’t want to scare or worry her, and I certainly don’t want to hinder her emotional healing. This is going to be a big step for her.
With a sigh, I climb from my truck, but instead of going to my house, I head to the one next door. I’ve told Doe several times she can go to my house any time she wants, but for whatever reason, she never does unless I’m there, opting to stay in the house I’m letting her borrow.
As I cross my yard and into hers, something catches my eye. I turn toward the space between our houses and notice Doe kneeling in my backyard at her flowerbed. A smile tugs my lips up as she bends to smell a yellow flower, her long hair falling over her shoulders. I keep my steps light so I don’t disturb her as I make my way into the backyard. I’m going to miss seeing her attend the flowers.
A twig snaps beneath my shoe, and her head snaps up. A brief flash of fear crosses her face before she sees it’s me. A light smile replaces the look, and it reminds me not too long ago she never smiled. I like to think that I taught her how to smile again.
Betsy, who is lying a few feet away in a patch of sun-covered grass, lifts her head then gets up and trots over to me for a head pat.
“Hi,” Doe says shyly.
I reach my hand out for her to grab to help her up, and she slips hers in mine easily and without hesitation; something else she does now that she wouldn’t have done before. Her hand is warm and soft in mine, despite the scars that mar her palm.
“How was your day?” I ask.
She smooths her palms down her long skirt. She likes to wear skirts, I’ve noticed. “It was good. How was yours?”
I hold back my cringe. If I were honest, I’d tell her my day was shit, but I don’t. Instead, I grab her hand and lead her over to the bench sitting not too far away from the flowerbed. I want to wait to tell her, but I also want to get it over with.
She sits first, and although I keep a few inches between us when I sit beside her, I keep her hand in mine. I’m not too much of a man to admit that I want the comfort her hand offers me just as much as I know she’s going to need the comfort as well. Betsy goes back to her patch of sun and plops down with a sigh.
Doe tucks a piece of hair behind her ear then looks at me. Her brows pinch as she frowns. I’m sure she can tell my emotions are out of whack.
Her hand tightens in mine. “What’s wrong?” Her voice quivers, and the sound breaks my fucking heart.
“You have an uncle.” I tell her quietly.
She sucks in a breath and her eyes widen. “What?” she breathes.
I look away from her and stare across the yard at the orange, red, and yellow flowers.
“His name is Clem Stewart, and he lives here in town. He’s been looking for you for weeks.”
