Hannah’s soft, melodic voice clashed like lightning against the violence of his thoughts. “I know you don’t know anything about me. This is a horrible way for me to approach you. I’m sorry that this is bringing you so much pain—”
“This is not bringing me pain.” He hated that she was reading him, hated that she was right.
“You have to believe that I had the best of intentions. I had no choice. I risked everything to come here.” Her words came out quickly and she sounded almost frantic, probably because she was scared he’d kick her out.
He took another sip of the whiskey and met her gaze. She was gutsy. He ignored the sheen in her eyes, the concern that he read in them. He didn’t want to feel her compassion. He clenched his teeth against it, as though he could make himself immune to it, but there was no going back now. She had trudged in here and hauled him back to a past he’d tried to forget. He’d deal with this now and then send her and the baby packing in the morning. He could deal with one tiny social worker and a baby and then go back to his scheduled life. He had his dog and his business. What else did he need?
He leaned forward in his chair, his forearms on his thighs, the cool, smooth crystal of the glass cupped tightly in his hands. “Why don’t you tell me exactly why you are here?”
Hannah cleared her throat. “Your sister became one of my cases when she was pregnant. She was an addict who tried to stay clean for her baby.”
Jackson felt his stomach churn with revulsion as a memory of his sister, strung out, falling into his arms, bulldozed him into the past again. He hated Louise’s weakness. He hated that she hadn’t trusted him enough to keep her safe. He hated that Louise had taken the easy way out. She had abandoned him and the reality of their lives in favor of mind-numbing drugs. She had sold her soul, her body, for a cheap fix. The sound of Hannah’s voice reached in and brought him back.
“We found a group home for her and she did really well. She gave birth to a beautiful, healthy little girl that she named Emily.”
Jackson stared straight ahead, avoiding her probing stare. Don’t look over at the baby. She had named the baby after their mother, who had died when they were both children. When they were still friends. When they would tear through the woods bordering their home playing Batman and Robin until their mother would call them in for dinner, always with a smile, always with a home-cooked meal. That was all a long time ago. Such a different world that sometimes he wondered if it had happened at all.#p#分页标题#e#
He stared into his lap, seeing his mother’s smile, so like his sister’s. It was an image he rarely indulged in because if there was one thing that could bring him to his knees, it was the thought of his mother, of his sister, of what his life once had been. To him, that was weakness, and he abhorred weakness in himself and others. “I heard that Louise died. I didn’t know there was a baby.”
“You didn’t go to the funeral.”
“I didn’t really think there was a point.”
“She killed herself.”
He nodded, ignoring the twisting in his gut. “I know.”
“It came as a total shock to all of us. I found a baby on a church doorstep. Her baby. Emily. She was one month old. Your sister left a note to find the baby’s uncle, Christopher James.” He didn’t have to look at her to know there were tears in her eyes.
Christopher James. Chris, as his mother and sister had called him. He swirled the whiskey in the glass, watching as the flames from the fire danced in the amber liquid. He knew no amount of the stuff would ease the pain. He had understood that nothing could ever take away gut-wrenching pain or sick memories. Louise hadn’t learned that lesson.
Emily. His sister had a baby. This baby. Maybe she was better off without his sister. He knew first-hand blood meant nothing when that person was a substance abuser. He had learned that the hard way. Jackson looked up at Hannah. “What about the baby’s father?”
Her green eyes were filled with pain that couldn’t be false. A part of him hated that—hated that the compassion and pain were so genuine. And a tiny, tiny part of him that didn’t want to acknowledge it felt comforted by her.
Hannah shook her head. “She didn’t know who the father was. You are Emily’s only relative. You are documented as her next of kin.”
He needed to shut this down before she got crazy ideas into her head. “So what do you want from me? To sign some papers—?”
“I want you to adopt her.” Jackson felt like someone had ripped his insides out with one hard tug. It was ridiculous. Absurd. It was one thing to inform him that he had a niece, and quite another to expect him to adopt her.