Missionary Daddy (16 page)

Matthews had a dressing trailer? Unusual for a local program.

Besides, the red-carpet treatment in front of friends made Sam uncomfortable. “No need. I’m with friends.”

“As you wish.” The woman flashed a smile. “But let me know if you need anything. Please have lunch, drinks, whatever you want. The show will pick up your tab. And that of your friends, of course.”

Sam returned the smile. “Thank you, Phyllis.”

As the young assistant walked away, Sam said to her companions, “Do the two of you have time to keep me company or are you off to another story?”

“Actually,” Jared said, face alight with mischief, “since Matthews is paying, let’s grab a booth. I’m thinking filet mignon.”

The two women laughed.

“We’ll teach him to be rude to nosy reporters.”

A quick look around revealed no empty booths or tables, and as they were about to give up, Jared nodded toward the back. “Pilar’s brother is sitting down at the end. He won’t mind sharing his booth with two beautiful women and one hungry dude. Come on.”

Although Sam hadn’t met Pilar’s brother, she was friendly with Pilar and her police-officer husband, Zach. Pilar was a stunning Latina beauty, and her brother Ramon bore the same dark good looks.

At their approach, snapping black eyes looked up from a plate of pasta. Immaculately groomed in a tailored suit, the handsome Ramon Estes no doubt turned many heads. From Lori Sumner’s expression, hers might be one of them.

“Jared. Ladies.” Ramon’s gaze settled briefly on Lori before returning to Jared, eyebrows raised, waiting for an introduction.

“Ramon, do you know Samantha Harcourt?”

Even though the space was limited, Ramon politely rose and, one hand holding his jacket closed, almost bowed. Yes, indeed. His Old World manners served him well.

“Only her pretty face.” Ramon’s smile flashed white against his dark skin. “A pleasure, Miss Harcourt.”

“Sam, please.”

“Sam it is.” His attention drifted back to Lori and rested there. Interested, Sam thought. “And this is—?”

“My colleague, Lori Sumner. She’s—”

Before Jared could complete the introduction, Ramon’s interested expression dissipated. His lips flattened to a straight line.

“Lori Sumner?”

The room temperature dropped ten degrees.

“Have we met before?” Lori asked a bit uncertainly.

Eyes as hard as onyx, Ramon bit out, “I’m representing Yesenia Diaz.”

When Lori only stared at him, befuddled, his nostrils flared. “Yesenia Diaz, the biological mother of Lucia Diaz. I’m her attorney.”

Lori went deathly pale. She grabbed the table’s edge. “What are you talking about? What do you know about my daughter?”

“
Yesenia’s
daughter, Miss Sumner. She intends to reclaim her child. And I’m representing her in that action.” He whipped a card from inside his tailored jacket. “Perhaps you should give me a call.” He edged out of the booth. “If you’ll excuse me. I have to get back to the office. Nice meeting you, Sam.”

And then he was gone.

So much for Old World manners.

Lori, shaking like a palm in an earthquake, slithered onto the vinyl seat. Sam quickly summed up the situation and slid in next to her. Jared took the other side.

“My baby. He wants to take my baby away,” Lori said in a broken whisper.

“Can he do that?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t even know the mother wanted Lucia back. No one at the agency mentioned anything like this.”

Sam wanted so badly to call Eric. He would know. She patted Lori’s arm, then rested her hand over the reporter’s shaking fingers. They were as cold as Ramon Estes’s eyes. “Do you have an attorney?”

“I didn’t know I needed one. The agency was taking care of the adoption details, and last I heard the mother wasn’t even in the picture. I don’t know what I’ll do if they take Lucia away. She’s my whole life.”

“How long have you had her?”

“Three months.” A tremulous smile. “She’s so precious.”

Sam’s heart ached for the woman. Memories of Ashley’s battle to regain custody of Gabriel flickered through her head, a story Lori most likely did not need to hear right now.

“Do you have a photo?”

Lori nodded and took a handful of adorable baby pictures from her purse.

The child was clearly Hispanic, and Lori was not. Surely, in today’s world the difference had nothing to do with the legal action.

“She’s beautiful.” Sam searched for other comforting words, glancing to Jared for help. He leaned forward to speak but as he did, someone called Sam’s name.

“Miss Harcourt, we’re ready for you.”

In her concern for Lori, Sam had forgotten to be anxious about the upcoming interview. Now her butterflies returned in hordes.

In the next few minutes, the whole world would learn her ugliest secrets.

R
emote in hand, Eric flopped down in a fat brown chair and channel surfed. Barker flopped down on the floor next to him, baleful eyes staring at the food-laden coffee table. Next to an open bag of Cheetos was a half-empty bag of Eric’s favorite peanut-butter cookies and a six-pack of soda. Comfort food, his mother called it. Eating junk to elevate his mood. He was having a pity party.

A missionary and a social worker should know better.

He crammed a whole cookie into his mouth and crunched.

Sam and Gina had starved themselves, and here he was overindulging.

Not a pretty picture.

Images flickered across the plasma TV. The DVD was primed to record. Might as well admit it. He’d taken off this afternoon to watch Sam’s interview. As much as he prayed for all to go well, he still felt lower than a snake’s belly.

“Glutton for punishment,” he muttered. He popped the top of a soda and took a long, fizzing drink that burned the back of his throat.

Sam was nervous about sharing her story with the world and he wanted to pray her through it. A man didn’t stop wanting good things for a woman just because she didn’t love him in return.

But she did. She
did
love him. He knew it as well as he knew his own name. And yet, she’d broken things off. And her reasons didn’t add up. He’d phoned her after the talk with Ross, left a message on her cell, but she’d never responded.

“It’s over, Pellegrino. Adjust.”

Her reasons didn’t add up because he didn’t want them to. End of story.

Barker raised a bored eyebrow. When Eric said no more, the dog sighed and closed his eyes.

The theme music of
Afternoons with Douglas Matthews
filtered from the surround sound. Eric’s gut tightened. Sam would be on there in a few minutes.

Expectantly, he listened to the opening teaser that promised an exclusive interview with Style fashion model, Sam Harcourt, followed by the inevitable commercial.

He crunched another cookie.

The doorbell rang. Barker shot up from the floor like a Roman candle and charged the door, yapping like mad.

“Quiet, boy,” Eric said as he shoved off the chair to answer the bell, cookie crumbs flying.

FedEx delivery stood on his tiny porch. Eric took the large brown envelope, thanked the man and returned to his chair, turning the packet over to read the label.

“Africa,” he said to Barker, who was now cleaning up the spray of cookie crumbs.

With the new adoption program finally under way in several African countries, he had so many documents coming and going from the continent he assumed this was more of the same. Here was the only bright spot in losing the boys. At least his work would take him to South Africa several times a year to see them and to make certain they had everything they needed. It still hurt knowing they would never be his official sons. But they would always be the sons of his heart. And he would father them from a distance.

He still didn’t understand the Lord’s direction in this thing. He’d been certain he was supposed to adopt them. But then, he’d also thought God had sent Sam into his life.

Maybe someday he’d go back to Africa and live with the boys again. If the Lord willed.

He ripped the seal and withdrew several official-looking documents. Eager to get back to the TV program, he quickly scanned the letter.

And then he read it again slowly.

After the second read-through, he barely breathed. Did this say what he thought it said?

He tried again, and the third time was the charm. He let out a whoop loud enough to send Barker into another fit of barking.

“Look at this.” He waved the paper in front of the dog’s startled face. “We did it. We got it. They changed their minds.” He held the document toward heaven. “Thank you, Lord.”

Indeed, the letter was an official invitation for Eric Pellegrino, former missionary and trusted friend of the children of Africa, to return for the adoption of Matunde and Amani Mbuli.

Official. Not a phone call. A signed, sealed, delivered letter of approval. The real deal.

He rifled through the rest of the packet, determining the travel date and other details. It was going to happen this time. It was really going to happen.

After the show, he’d call the boys. They’d be as ecstatic as he was.

After the show.

His attention drifted back to the television screen. Doug Matthews’s toothy mouth smiled at him. Any minute Sam would appear.

Sorrow momentarily overrode his excitement. Sam would be happy. She would want to know. Maybe he should call her.

Maybe not.

At that moment, the camera focused on Sam. Eric could practically hear the ratings clickers going crazy. Dressed in trendy Style fashions, bangles on her arms and ears, blond hair flowing around her sculpted face, she added a layer of sophistication the local show had never achieved. She reminded Eric of the stars he’d seen on the late-night talk shows. Knowing Sam the way he did now, she didn’t even realize her power.

During the first part of the interview, Sam shared her thrill at being named the Style girl and answered Douglas’s questions about the places she’d been and the famous people she’d met. Though he knew she was nervous, Eric didn’t think anyone else would notice. Her class and gentle humor served her well.

But then Matthews gave her the opening she must have been waiting for. “I understand you’ve taken on a platform, Sam, a sort of crusade. Will you tell us about that?”

Sam grew serious. She swallowed, and Eric suffered an attack of jitters on her behalf. He sat forward, pinched his upper lip in concentration.

“Help her, Jesus.”

Then in a soft voice filled with passion, she began to speak. “There’s a terrible myth being perpetrated upon young women in our society. The myth of thinner, prettier, richer. I’m here today to combat that myth. To stop the madness. I’m talking about eating disorders, anorexia and bulimia.”

“I imagine you see a lot of eating disorders in your profession.”

“I do,” she said. “But the problem isn’t confined to certain professions or locations or even to one type of personality.”

“Are you saying anyone can fall victim?”

“Anyone, Douglas.” She leaned forward, silver earrings catching the light. “Most of us had core issues, problems that we didn’t know how to handle, but the main issue with an eating disorder is control. Girls who feel out of control, for whatever reason, tend to control the one thing they can. Their weight.”

“You keep saying ‘we,’ Sam. Are you trying to tell us something?”

The camera zoomed in for a close-up. Sam blinked several times and took a deep breath. “A month ago I would never have admitted the truth. Not to my friends. Not to my family. And certainly not to a television audience.”

“You’re anorexic?”

“I doubt it’s much of a surprise, though we like to think we’re hiding the disorder from everyone. But, yes. My problem started when I was fifteen and got worse over the years. I knew there was something wrong with me, but I couldn’t stop. And I was ashamed to tell anyone. That’s what I want to say today.” She looked directly into the camera. “If anyone watching needs help, ask for it. Please. People will understand. I brought an 800-number hotline to call. Stop denying you have a problem. Get help before it’s too late. The long-term effects of anorexia, even if it doesn’t kill you, are terrible.”

The camera cut back to Douglas, who spoke to his audience with compassion and concern. “The number is on the bottom of the screen. Call if you need help.” Then he turned his attention back to his guest. “Tell us more, Sam. Talk about the problems anorexia can cause.”

Even from the confines of his living room, Eric could feel the hush that had descended on the diner and the show’s live audience. The beautiful, successful, totally together model had everyone’s attention.

“I’m not a medical expert. I can only speak from personal experience and from watching what has happened to some of my friends. Anorexia and bulimia are cruel taskmasters. They control your life, your every waking moment, and in the process they eat away at your insides. Once the disorder takes control, the chemical changes in the body affect the brain and distort thinking, making it impossible to make rational decisions about food. Mood and personality changes occur. Friends and family are shunned because we’re so afraid they’ll find out and stop us. And the weird thing is this, Douglas. We think we’re right. We really, truly think we’re too fat.”

The camera moved to wide angle showing Sam’s tall, slender form.

“But you’re very thin.”

Sam’s smile was sad. “Not as thin as I have been but I’m one of the lucky ones. I got help.” She shook her head. “No, wait. I’m not lucky. I’m blessed. For years I fought the disorder through treatment and counseling. Don’t get me wrong. They help and anyone with anorexia should seek professional help. But the battle of distorted thinking still raged in my mind all the time. The negative thoughts.”

“What happened? Why are you willing to talk about this now when you hid it before?”

“God,” she said simply, and Eric felt a burst of pride. It took a lot of strength to do what Sam was doing. No wonder he loved her so much. “I found a relationship with the Lord Jesus Christ. I wouldn’t be here today if that hadn’t happened.

“I also stood at the bedside of a teenage girl who could have been me ten years ago. I felt God prompting me to do something. He’s blessed me with a job in the spotlight. It’s only right that I use my public voice to make a difference.

“For a long time I thought God was angry with me, but a very special friend helped me understand the truth. God loves me no matter what, but He wants what’s best for me, too. And that’s for me to be healthy, to take care of the body He blessed me with.”

“Which gets us back to the question. What exactly can occur if a woman continues the path of bulimia and anorexia?”

Sam paused, and Eric saw a tiny muscle twitch beneath her eye.

“Go on, Sam. You’re doing great.”

When this was over, he’d send her some roses with a card, whether she wanted to hear from him or not. His heart nearly burst with pride. She was some kind of woman.

“There are several long-term effects,” she said. “None of them nice. Brittle bones and osteoporosis. Damaged internal organs.” Her voice dropped to a thoughtful murmur. The cameraman reacted with a close-up. “The most awful, to me, is infertility.”

A beat of silence invaded the set. Douglas Matthews knew how to milk the timing.

“You’re saying anorexia can prevent a woman from having children?”

Sam swallowed again. Moisture gathered in the famous gray eyes. “An anorexic can do so much damage she either can’t get pregnant or her body can’t sustain a pregnancy if she does conceive. Either way, she’s lost her chance to ever have a baby with the man she loves.”

The last words were spoken in a stark whisper. Though she’d spoken in couched terms, the devastation on Sam’s face said it all.

Eric sat up straight, heart pounding so hard, he was sure Barker could hear it. A dozen recent memories flashed through his head.

The doctor’s visit Sam hadn’t mentioned.

Him, yammering on and on about his desire for a big, noisy family.

Her reaction at the baby dedication with all the pregnant women and babies and kids. Since that day he’d felt her pulling away.

Blood roared in Eric’s ears as the truth slammed down like a heavy cellar door.

Sam couldn’t have a baby.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love him. It wasn’t that at all.

His beautiful, tragic Sam knew his desire for a family and rather than ask him to give up his dream, had chosen to break off their relationship.

Could that be it? Or was this only wishful thinking on his part? Either way, his Sam was hurting.

“Oh, Sam.” He squeezed his eyes shut and began to pray for guidance. What should he do? How did a man handle a situation like this one? She didn’t want him to know.

He pushed off the easy chair and walked around the living room, still praying.

Finally, he stopped stock-still and stared at the envelope on his coffee table. His boys’ future was at stake here, too. They deserved every good thing he could give them. And the best thing of all would be a mother and father to love them forever.

If Sam loved him, and he believed she did, she was trying to protect him.

There was only one way to find out.

He grabbed his keys from the end table and took off in a dead run.