Finding Christmas. Gail Martin Gaymer
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of hot chocolate.”
“I’ll do better than that.”
Donna sat in the living room and watched Connie concentrate on her toy house. Sometimes she was amazed at the depth of love she felt for the child. She’d been her stepmother for less than three years, but time didn’t matter. Connie fulfilled her longing to be a mother, a pleasure her body would never allow her.
She remembered that when she met Carl, one of the draws for her was the child. Connie seemed so lost and so in need of a woman’s touch. Carl said he’d hired sitters to care for her, but that wasn’t a mother’s love. Donna had opened her heart to Connie.
“Can we go to the parade?” Connie asked, looking up from her playhouse. Plastic furniture and plump, molded characters were strewn across the floor.
“You mean the Thanksgiving parade?”
Connie nodded. “My friend Sarah is going. Can we go?”
Donna had never taken Connie to the parade. Carl wouldn’t take the time or effort to fight the Detroit traffic, then stand out in the cold to see the gigantic helium balloons and the floats or listen to the bands. “I’ll ask your daddy.”
Connie hung her head.
Donna realized the child knew her father too well.
“Could we go?” Connie asked.
“You mean just you and me?”
Her face brightened and she nodded.
Donna knew there were shuttle buses. Maybe if they went to Fairlane Town Center they could take public transportation. “Let me think about it, okay?”
“Please.” Her blue eyes shone with excitement.
“I’ll do my best. That’s all I can do.”
Connie accepted her offer and went back to her play, while Donna closed her eyes to think. Every child deserved to see the Michigan Thanksgiving Day parade. It was televised in cities across the U.S. It seemed unfair for Connie not to go. But Carl? He wanted his Thanksgiving turkey.
Carl wanted a lot of things—and gave so little.
Donna’s thoughts slipped again into escape mode. She had made two calls to Joanne Fuller, but she’d lost her nerve. When she’d opened her mouth, her voice froze. She’d been disheartened by her actions. Donna needed to know if Connie was truly Joanne Fuller’s daughter.
She sensed Carl was having business trouble. Or he was in trouble. He would never tell her, but she’d seen his behavior change for the worse these past few months. She was certain he’d gotten into some kind of racket and that it had backfired. When Carl had problems, Donna had greater ones.
Escaping had preoccupied her mind because she feared for her life. It seemed as if Carl took out his anger and frustrations on her. Now she feared for Connie, too, and she needed to make sure she’d found Connie’s real mother. It was beyond her comprehension how Carl came to have Connie, but she felt certain she had deduced correctly. After she made sure, she would devise a plan—a plan to escape.
Wouldn’t a mother pay a great deal of money to know her daughter was alive? Money would mean nothing with a child at stake. If Donna had cash, she could get away. She could even take Connie with her. Her love for the little girl had grown as deep as if the child were her own, and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.
If she made Joanne Fuller believe she would lead her to her daughter, the woman might be willing to pay her, but instead of leading her to Connie, Donna could take Connie and leave the U.S. She could go to Canada or Mexico—anywhere to be free of Carl’s cruelty.
She had to think her plan through carefully. One mistake and she could scare off Joanne or get the police involved. Or worse, Carl could find out and she’d be a dead woman.
Chapter Five
Joanne sat beside Benjamin as he drove down the side street off Woodward Avenue and took the ramp into the underground Cultural Center garage adjacent to the Detroit Institute of Arts. Traffic had bogged down as soon as they reached the downtown area as nearly a million people crowded into the area.
“Are you sure this is worth it?” she asked, as Benjamin pulled into a parking spot stories below the city.
He gave her a smile and turned off the ignition. “You tell me once we’re there.”
She swung open her door, and he met her as she stepped out. As they passed the trunk, he lifted the lid and pulled out two seat cushions with handles, and a car blanket.
“This won’t keep us warm, but it might help.”
His thoughtfulness impressed her, but she teased him anyway. “You forgot the thermos.”
“I told you I’d do better than that. Remember?”
He’d piqued her curiosity. She waited with him for the elevator to street level, and when they saw daylight, she realized they were at the front of the parade. The wind struck them as they exited, and she tugged on her gloves, then adjusted her scarf, wishing she’d worn a cap.
Benjamin motioned her to follow and they struggled through the crowd along the sidewalk. She wondered how they would see anything with such a bustle of humanity.
To her surprise, Benjamin reached a roped-off area near the grandstands and handed passes to a ticket-taker.
“Grandstand seats?” she asked, amazed he had such pull.
He gave her a wink. “I told you.”
She gazed in delight at the bleacher seating that would raise them above the crowd for a full view. As she headed up, her focus settled on the stage where Santa would speak with the children. Santa. Her heart gave a kick as her thoughts flew to Mandy. She’d never had a real kid’s chance to enjoy the bounty of Santa’s gift bag.
But Joanne had told her little daughter about Jesus. Joanne had sung her children’s hymns and told her stories about the Savior. Joanne had always been confident that Mandy was in heaven—
Her thoughts stumbled. No. Joanne didn’t know that for sure anymore—not since the voice. She tugged her heavy coat around her more tightly.
Benjamin gave her a questioning look, and she realized she’d fallen silent. “I was thinking,” she said without any more explanation.
Benjamin seemed to understand. The Thanksgiving parade was for children more than adults. It was natural her thoughts would be of Mandy. Filled with a sudden melancholy she climbed the stairs.
When they’d found a good spot about halfway up, Benjamin dropped their gear and glanced at his watch. “Let’s leave the blanket and cushions here to hold our spots. We have time to go inside.”
“Inside what?” She didn’t let him answer because she had another question. “How did we get grandstand seats?”
“I know people.” He grinned.
“So do I, but I guess it’s who you know.”
He put his hand on her back as they descended to the ground again. “I have a client who’s a sponsor. He gets sets of tickets and can use them as he wants.”
“And you’re one of the recipients,” she said over her shoulder.
He chuckled. “Along with the real bonus we’re about to enjoy.” He motioned for her toward the Detroit Institute of Arts sidewalk.
“We’re going to an art show?”
“No, but they have free coffee and muffins inside. We can come into the building to get warm and to use the rest room. Plus it’s much nicer than standing on the street, craning our necks.”
“I won’t argue that,” she said.
They ascended the broad