Promises to Keep

by Susan Crandall

Genres: Literary Fiction; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Molly Boudreau--the younger sister of Lilly from "The Road Home"--has finally become a doctor, but feels there's a hole in her life. When she promises to help a young, frightened pregnant woman, Molly's life completely changes. Original.

Release date: May 13, 2008

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 480

Sample

Chapter 1

The revelation struck Molly Boudreau without warning, like a giant crashing wave of frigid water. The fierce power of it sucked the breath from her lungs and the determination from her heart. It was as if she’d stood deaf while the thunderous surge behind her had gathered power, numb while the ground had trembled in warning beneath her feet.

Deaf and numb and utterly unsuspecting.

Her entire life had been centered upon becoming a doctor. Perhaps she’d emerged from the womb possessing a single-minded determination. It hadn’t been a distant wishing as most childhood fantasies, but a ruby red laser beam, so focused and intense in its being that nothing distracted her from it. Not slumber parties, or big games, or boyfriends. Not financial obstacles—of which there were many for a poor girl from a small midwestern town. She hadn’t wavered once in her resolve, not from grade school through the endless fatigue-strained hours of residency.

But suddenly she realized her focus had been the journey, the fight, with little concentration on what was to come after. She felt as if she’d been engaged in a frenzied uphill battle, wresting free of enemies that struggled against her, finding herself at the summit, breathless and bewildered by the lack of opposition.

A sense of disconnection settled heavily in the center of her chest as she stood in her beloved free clinic—which was in its unfortunate last days because of a lack of funding. This was her most recent, and most disappointing battle. And, as hard as it was to admit, this was the first time she’d met an obstacle she’d been unable to overcome. The clinic had been the sole reason she’d put up with the infuriating internal politics of her paying job at Boston General’s emergency room.

For a long moment, she remained still, waiting for the unsettling feeling to pass. She shoved her hands into her lab coat pockets, staring beyond the clinic’s crowded waiting area, out the large storefront window. Wind-whipped sleet was icing over everything with dangerous swiftness. The unseasonably early arrival of this winter-like storm just compounded her sense of floundering.

Seeking that inner spark that had always propelled her forward, she closed her eyes. She felt the swirl of motion around her, as if the rest of the world kicked into fast forward while she remained stuck in pause. She heard the crying babies, the quiet comforting murmurs of mothers, the motor noises made by a little boy near the front window pushing his matchbox car on the scarred, dark pine table.

“Dr. Boudreau!” A shout yanked her away from her battle with self-doubt.

Carmen, the girl working the sign-in desk, had jumped from her chair to support Sarah Morgan, one of the few patients Molly saw here on a regular basis. Sarah had come to the clinic over six months ago for prenatal care. Molly had seen right away that she was different from the free clinic’s usual maternity cases. For one thing, she wasn’t a teen mother, or on her fifth pregnancy before her thirtieth birthday. She was expecting her first child and was just about Molly’s age. She appeared well educated and was well dressed, yet utterly guarded about the details of her life—Molly had quickly deduced a woman in hiding.

Sarah had seemed as isolated and lonely as Molly. Molly’s isolation was a by-product of her impossible schedule; she quickly learned that Sarah’s was strictly self-imposed. Still, Molly saw a kindred spirit in Sarah’s determination and independence.

Upon Sarah’s invitation after her second visit to the clinic, they had forged a fragile friendship over coffee and conversation after clinic hours. Molly liked Sarah’s quick wit and indomitable spirit. They had grown as close as two women could in their unusual situation. Sarah had been completely secretive about her past, the baby’s father, or anything else that might have given Molly a clue to the reason she was living as she was. Even so, Molly felt they were friends; she might not know about the woman’s past, but she knew what kind of person Sarah was inside.

Now, as Sarah’s step faltered through the clinic door, she was clearly in labor.

Wrapping her arm around Sarah’s back, Molly helped move her as quickly as possible toward the examination rooms. “I thought I told you to go straight to the hospital!”

Sarah’s knees wobbled and she groaned with a contraction.

“Has your water broken?” Molly asked.

Sarah nodded once, her pale blond hair falling over her face. Then in a breathy whisper she said, “About two o’clock this morning.”

“Jesus.” It was nearly noon. Molly knew that Sarah had a serious aversion to hospitals, but she had no idea it was so severe it would eclipse her common sense. “You should have called 911—how in the hell did you get here?”

“Taxi.” Perspiration beaded on Sarah’s brow as they settled her onto an examination table.

Molly turned to Carmen and said quietly, “Get an EMS unit here now!”

Carmen hustled from the room.

“All right now, Sarah, let’s take a look and see where we are.” Molly quickly swept her dark hair up into a pony tail to keep it out of the way. When she examined Sarah, she was stunned to see the baby was crowning. Even if the EMS was in the bay and ready to respond, it was doubtful that they could transport Sarah to the hospital before delivery.

Sarah started to push.

“Don’t push yet. Take deep breaths.” Molly took a couple herself to calm her voice before she spoke again. “Looks like we’re going to have this baby right here.”

Through pinched lips, Sarah said, “Good.”

Molly’s mouth went dry. Sarah didn’t understand the risks. Molly had specialized in pediatrics. Under normal circumstances, with the proper medicine and equipment available she would feel confident in treating the baby once delivered. In this financially strapped clinic she had neither. Plus she’d never done a delivery alone, only assisted a couple of times during her rotation in OB/GYN. What if there were complications? At least with the head visible, the baby wasn’t breech. Should she do an episiotomy? Was it too late for that?

She wanted to chastise Sarah for not going to the hospital where emergency equipment and obstetric specialists were plentiful. She wanted someone to stand over her shoulder and tell her she was doing everything right. But deep down, she couldn’t deny the little rush that was building. This baby was coming—and Sarah depended upon Molly to keep both her and her child safe. It was all in Molly’s well-trained, if ill-equipped, hands.

Inclining the head of the table and placing a couple of pillows under Sarah’s shoulders, Molly pulled on gloves and said, “All right, next contraction, push.”

She positioned herself to deliver the baby, listening for the scream of an approaching siren.

Sarah bore down with the next contraction. The baby’s head pushed forward, then retreated slightly when the contraction was over.

Without a fetal monitor, Molly couldn’t begin to tell if this baby was in distress. What if Sarah bled out? A thousand possible complications raced through her mind.

Come on, she thought, babies were born for thousands of years without modern medicine.

And lots of them died.

Molly shook off the thought. She coached Sarah through three more contractions.

Where was that damn EMS?

“Carmen!”

The girl came rushing back in with the cordless phone still in her hand. She looked as panicked as Molly felt. “They’ve got one unit in a ditch. And all others are dispatched—the storm. . . .”

“Try Mass General.”

“I already have. They said they’re having to prioritize. They’re working a bus accident on I-93 right now.”

Molly gave her a quick nod. “Keep after them.” Then to Sarah, “You’re doing great. We should have this little one here very shortly.” Sarah had already told Molly that she had no family and the father didn’t know of the baby’s existence. Perhaps she’d reconsider telling him. “Isn’t there someone we can call for you?”

Sarah was between contractions. Her voice quivered as she said, “No one. Promise me—” Her voice strangled to a groan as she bore down with a contraction.

The baby’s head slid into Molly’s hands; she rotated it slightly to the side, allowing the fluid to run from its mouth. Immediately she saw there was trouble.

“I need you to stop pushing. Breathe through the next contraction.”

“What’s wrong?” Panic gave Sarah’s voice new strength. “What’s wrong with my baby?”

Molly didn’t answer, she had to concentrate on what she was doing. The cord was wrapped around the baby’s neck. Everything was so slippery, the baby’s neck so short, she couldn’t get her finger under the cord.

Sarah started to groan.

“Don’t push, Sarah. Breathe!” If the baby moved farther down the birth canal, the cord was going to cut off oxygen. Statistics of previously normal babies handicapped because of oxygen deprivation at birth whirled in Molly’s head. Seconds mattered.

Sarah huffed exaggerated breaths, fighting the urge to push.

The contraction lessened.

Sarah blew out a long shuddering breath.

“Good girl!” Molly made another try at getting her finger between the baby’s neck and the cord. This time she was successful, but her grip was tenuous. With the slightest movement, she could lose it.

She was ready to try and slide the cord over the baby’s head when Sarah had another contraction.

“Breathe! Don’t push.” She didn’t think Sarah was pushing, but the cord tightened around her finger anyway. “Carmen!”

The girl ran into the room.

In a calm voice Molly said, “Be ready to hand me that bulb syringe.”

Carmen quickly pulled on gloves and picked up the syringe. Molly hoped Sarah didn’t see the wild-eyed fear in the girl’s face.

The contraction relaxed. Molly’s brow beaded with perspiration and she held her breath as she attempted to slide the cord over the baby’s head. If the cord slipped from her grasp, she’d have to wait through another contraction. More risk.

Quickly, Molly moved the cord over the baby’s head. In a rush of relief, she finally took a breath.

Carmen put the bulb syringe into Molly’s outstretched hand. She suctioned the mouth and nose. “Okay, push with the next one. We’re ready for the shoulders.” To Carmen she said, “Get several towels ready.”

In three minutes, the baby was delivered.

“A boy!” Carmen shouted excitedly. “A baby boy!”

Silence followed.

Molly laid the baby face down across her forearm and slapped the bottom of his feet.

Nothing.

She again suctioned the blue-tinged mouth, then rubbed his back vigorously with a towel.

Carmen stood watching with huge eyes and open mouth.

Sarah started to cry, a pitiful, helpless thin whine of fear.

“Come on. Breathe,” Molly whispered as she slapped his feet again. The baby sucked in its first breath and began to cry like a hungry kitten.

“That’s it!” Molly wrapped him in a towel and laid him, squalling, on Sarah’s chest.

Sarah repeated over and over, as if to reassure herself, “He’s okay. He’s okay.”

“He’s better than okay. He’s great,” Molly said, cutting the cord and watching the baby’s color improve by the second. She looked to Carmen. “Get back on the phone. We need the neonatal unit to check him out and give him his walking papers. And Sarah needs a once over by an OB/GYN.”

“How much do you think he weighs?” Sarah asked.

“I’d guess at least seven and a half pounds—a good, healthy size.” She massaged Sarah’s abdomen to deliver the placenta. The danger to the baby was past, but until she was certain there wasn’t going to be any immediate bleeding problem, Molly kept her attention close on the mother.

“Look at all that black hair,” Sarah said with wonder in her voice. “I expected him to be bald as a billiard ball. I didn’t have enough hair to hold a barrette until I was three.”

Molly, preoccupied with her work, responded absently, “Must take after his father.” It wasn’t until she realized Sarah hadn’t responded that she grasped what she’d said. “Sorry.”

“His father was a redhead.”

Surprised, Molly looked at Sarah’s face. This was the very first thing she’d ever said about the father. Sarah had acted as if there was no father. “Oh.”

“You think I’m terrible. But his father is . . . dangerous . . . evil. I can’t ever, ever let him near Nicholas. I won’t put him on the birth certificate. I don’t want there to be any link to that man.” There was a certain panicked vehemence in Sarah’s voice that Molly thought bordered on hysteria.

For a moment, Molly held her words. Circumstances had led her to believe that Sarah had been a victim of domestic violence, hiding away from an abusive husband or lover. Sarah herself had been as secretive as a mummy, not divulging the slightest detail of her past. But she had that haunted look about her, a humming tension, a jittery fear that never quite left her eyes. Molly had seen it dozens of times. But she had never heard even the most battered of women refer to her child’s father as “evil.” Surely Sarah’s emotions were talking, the primal combination of protective new motherhood and raging hormones.

“You’ve named him Nicholas, then?”

“Yes. Nicholas James.”

“After anyone in particular?” Molly fished.

Sarah shook her head, but kept her gaze on her baby’s face. “He’s a person unto himself, a new start. He won’t take after anyone.”

There was a certain stony conviction in her words that made Molly reconsider. Maybe the father was truly bad.

The siren she’d been straining to hear finally pulled up outside.

“Sounds like your chariot has arrived.”

“I don’t really have to go to the hospital, do I? I’m fine. Nicholas is fine.”

“I think you’re both fine. But it’s always a good idea to have a newborn under close observation for the first few hours. Besides, unless you have someone who can stay with you, I don’t want you to go home yet. But if there’s someone I can call. . . .”

Something shifted behind Sarah’s innocent blue eyes. Suddenly she looked much younger than twenty-nine. “No. I’m alone.” Then she smiled warmly and cuddled the baby closer. “Or at least I was until now.”

Molly looked on, wondering what that connection must be like, having a human being completely created within your own body. And now that human being was a life force of its own, yet relying on you for every need. The awesome responsibility. The love.

Eighteen months ago, she’d had surgery to remove a tumor from her cervix. It had been more extensive than the surgical team had anticipated. The prognosis for Molly’s carrying a child to term wasn’t good.

As she gave Sarah’s hand one last squeeze before the paramedics rolled her out of the clinic, she wondered if this would be as close as she’d ever get to the birth experience.

Molly finished out her day with a satisfied buzz in her veins. Holding new life in her hands had helped eclipse the bleakness that had threatened to swamp her earlier—had pushed the dissatisfaction back behind the black curtain.

Finally, the last patient was out the door and she was free to go to the hospital and see Sarah and the baby. She was as excited as she’d been when she’d gone to see her nephew, Riley, for the first time. Having coaxed Sarah’s baby’s first breath, it was hard not to think of Nicholas as family.

The weather hadn’t improved over the past hours. The instant Molly stepped out the door, sleet pelted her like tiny needles, stinging her cheeks and bare hands. She had to squint into the wind to protect her eyes. Despite Carmen’s frequent applications of ice-melt on the walk outside the clinic, Molly didn’t dare lift her feet off the slick concrete; she did a shuffle-skate toward the parking lot at the side of the building. The sleet made a silvery halo around the streetlight that sat at the edge of the lot.

The lock was iced over on her car door. She gave it a couple of thumps with her fist to break the icy film so she could insert the key. Luckily all of the freezing had been on the outside of the lock and it opened fine. The cold interior creaked and crackled as she settled in the driver’s seat.

“Why didn’t I go to med school in California or Arizona?” she asked, her breath forming a cloud in front of her face. She could easily have relocated after graduation, but she’d stayed here in Boston, where she felt like she’d laid the groundwork for her career. What a misconception that had turned out to be.

Once the defroster had cleared the windshield enough to see, she pulled out of the nearly deserted parking lot. The tires spun before they finally gripped the road; she inched along, testing her brakes every so often to see how slippery the pavement was. Even though it was only seven o’clock, she found herself virtually alone on the streets. She should just drive home, forget the stop at the hospital. Even as she thought it, she turned right at the stoplight, toward the hospital, instead of making the left that would take her home. She came up behind a salt truck and poked along behind him, hoping for a marginally safer road.

It took her twice as long to reach the hospital parking garage as normal. She was glad to drive inside the structure and onto the first dry pavement she’d seen all day.

She stopped in the gift shop and bought flowers; every new mother should have flowers. The thought of Sarah alone with her baby, not having anyone to share this moment, broke Molly’s heart.

Stopping at the nurses’ station in maternity, she asked for Sarah’s room number. The duty nurse looked up from the medication cart, then shook her head as she double checked her roster. “No Sarah Morgan registered.”

“Maybe they haven’t moved her up here yet.” Even as Molly said it a chill crept over her heart. “She delivered at my clinic today. EMS brought her here.”

“You want me to call down and check?”

“No, thanks.” The nurse was clearly in the middle of getting meds ready to dispense. If Sarah was downstairs, she’d have to go down there to see her anyway.

Worry kept Molly’s stomach in her throat as the elevator slowly descended to the first floor. She followed the familiar corridor to the ER. Walking past the registration desk, Gladys Kopenski called, “Dr. Boudreau! You’re on duty tonight?” She looked quickly at her schedule. Gladys had manned this desk for more years than Molly had been alive. The woman ran a tight ship. It really threw her to have an unexpected face show up. Molly smiled. “No. Looking for a patient. What on earth are you doing here at this hour?”

Gladys’s lips pursed and she shifted in her chair. “That Cindi didn’t show up again. I’m pulling a double.”

Molly nodded in sympathy. Gladys had advised—to put it in mild, professional terms—against hiring Cindi Forbes in the first place. Hadn’t called her anything but “that Cindi” since the first day. Gladys took a no-nonsense approach to her job, and Cindi’s most remarkable credentials were an impressive set of hooters—which, ironically, was the name of the location of her last job. Dr. Michaels, director of emergency medicine, who was smack-dab in the middle of a midlife crisis, complete with red Porsche and new gym membership, felt Cindi had been the “most qualified candidate.” But Cindi had missed at least half of her work days since she’d been hired three weeks ago.

Molly said, “I’m looking for a patient brought in by the EMS around one-thirty this afternoon. Sarah Morgan, she’d just delivered a baby.”

Gladys frowned. “I remember when she came in. She should be up in maternity by now.”

“She’s not.”

Gladys started shuffling paperwork. “Things did get pretty crazy this afternoon. I hope they didn’t leave that poor woman parked in a cubicle all this time.” She got up and headed through the double doors, looking like she was going to extract a pound of flesh from whoever had thrown a wrench into her well-oiled machine.

Molly followed, flowers clutched in her hand. Occasionally, she’d been the recipient of Gladys’s ire; it was much more entertaining when the woman had another target.

Molly’s amusement quickly disappeared. Sarah wasn’t in the ER. Apparently, she’d disappeared at some point in the afternoon when the victims of the bus accident, the overflow from Mass General, had flooded this facility. No one had seen her leave.

Had Sarah simply gotten up and carried her child out into this storm?

Molly picked up the chart from the foot of the gurney. The clipboard was empty. Apparently, Sarah had had the presence of mind to take the paperwork with her. The woman really didn’t trust to leave a trace of herself, even a confidential hospital record.

“Do you have an address in the computer for her?” Molly asked Gladys. She could go back to the clinic and look it up herself. But that would take another thirty minutes.

“Yes. But that’s about all.”

They returned to Gladys’s desk. Molly laid down the flowers to make a quick notation of the address. Then she snatched them back up in a tight fist and headed to the garage. About halfway there, she realized she was swinging the bouquet at her side as she steamrolled her way toward her car, knocking the heads of the flowers against her coat, leaving a shower of petals in her wake. She felt just like Gladys had looked just minutes ago—ready to rip someone’s head off. Why in the hell would Sarah put herself and her baby at risk like this?

It took Molly forty minutes on the slick streets to get to the address on Sarah’s chart. When she pulled up and stopped, she slammed her fist against the steering wheel. This was no residence. It was just one of those mailbox places. She sat there for a few minutes, listening to the sleet clatter against the car and the windshield wipers thump back and forth. Had Sarah made it safely to wherever she was going? A shiver coursed down Molly’s body. Somewhere in this big city, a new mother huddled with her child against loneliness and the storm. Molly prayed to God they were all right. It was the only thing she could do.

That sense of sad isolation, of cold detachment, once again covered her like an unhealthy skin. Finally, she turned around and headed home, to her own fight against loneliness.

The next day the sun shone brightly, glinting off the icy tree branches like diamonds. The cheerfulness of it didn’t begin to penetrate Molly’s mood. Worry had kept her awake most of the night. This morning’s roads had been reduced to nasty, yet relatively safe, slush. She concentrated on its gray ugliness instead of the fairyland created by the sparkling ice coating everything else as she drove to work at the ER.

Throughout the day she hoped against hope that Sarah and Nicholas would appear. Three different times she called the clinic to see if they’d shown up there—or at least called to tell Molly they were all right. Carmen assured her that she’d call the instant she heard anything.

She never called.

By the end of her shift, it was beginning to sink in that Molly might never see either one of them again. She left work with a growing sense of loss. By the time she was warming up a can of soup for her solitary dinner, she’d managed to fall into a perfectly disgusting quagmire of self-pity.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love medicine. She did. But living like this wasn’t enough anymore. The past day’s events had shone a bright light on the fact that her personal life consisted of no more than a visit home at Christmas and a single, watered-down friendship with a woman she barely knew. She really needed to rethink her life, reassess what she really wanted.

As she was going to bed, she decided tomorrow she would decide. She would have the whole day to herself. She’d take stock, then take hold of her life and set it on a course that would deliver the fulfillment she was currently lacking. Her decision delivered a measure of calm. She went to sleep certain that when she awoke her future would begin to take shape.

Just as Molly was stepping out of her morning shower, frantic knocking sounded at her apartment door. She grabbed her robe and tied it around her as she hurried to answer it, wondering if the building was on fire. Instead of a fireman with an ax waiting for her when she opened the door, she was stunned to see a nervous-looking Sarah holding Nicholas.

Sarah didn’t hesitate, but stepped right in. “Close the door.”

Molly did. “What’s wrong? I’ve been so worried about you two.” She looked at Sarah. Even with cheeks reddened by the chill air, the girl looked like the walking dead, exhausted beyond normal new-mother exhaustion. “Sit down.” Molly pointed to the only piece of furniture in her living room, a futon.

Sarah sat and laid the baby next to her on the futon. She unwrapped him from thick blankets. Molly looked closely at the child to assess his health. His appearance was the opposite of Sarah’s: good color and alert, bright eyes.

Sarah didn’t look at Molly as she said, “I need your help.” She raised her blue eyes then, and the deep purple smudges beneath them were even more evident. “I need you to keep Nicholas for a day or so.”

Molly drew a deep breath, then sat down on the floor next to Sarah’s feet and said, “Tell me what’s happening.”

“I just have to take care of a few things—and I can’t have the baby with me.” Again, Sarah’s gaze skittered away from Molly’s probing expression.

“This has to do with Nicholas’s father?”

Sarah nodded and ran a pale finger along the baby’s cheek. Then she looked Molly in the eye. “He can’t know about Nicholas. That’s the only way I can protect him.”

“Sarah, don’t you have someone—”

Jumping to her feet, Sarah threw her arms in the air. “Don’t you think if I did . . .” She stopped herself and took a breath. “I understand how much I’m asking. I don’t have much time—and I don’t have anywhere else to turn. Once I get this taken care of, Nicholas and I can start over . . . safe.”

“My God, what kind of man is this?”

“Dangerous.”

The way she said it made Molly’s blood run cold. She decided if she was going to do this, she deserved more of an answer. “How could you have gotten involved with—”

“He’s not what he appears. He’s very convincing in his lies. The ugly truth is buried so deep . . . When I found out, it was too late. All I could do was run to protect the baby. But I can’t run anymore.” There was a chilling finality in her last statement.

Molly had the odd feeling she was caught up in a weeknight television drama. “Why not? If you’ve stayed away from him this long, why can’t you just leave it this way?”

“Because I’m a liability. He can’t afford liabilities. It’s just a matter of time.”

“You make it sound like he’ll kill you.”

“He will.” Her voice was flat, as if fear had ground away all emotion until there was nothing left.

“If he’s dangerous, you should go to the police.” Molly grasped Sarah’s hand; her flesh was as cold as a corpse.

Sarah looked down at her and ignored the statement. There were tears in her eyes. “Will you take him? I don’t have a lot of time.”

“What if I can’t?”

Sarah’s eyes closed briefly and she drew a breath. “Then I’ll have to leave him somewhere else.”

“With someone else?” Even as Molly said it, she knew that wasn’t what Sarah meant.

“No. Abandon him somewhere where they’ll take care of him—like the hospital . . . or a church.”

Molly shot to her feet. “You’ve got to be kidding! You’ll never get him back.”

Sarah blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek. “But he’ll be safe.”

Somehow Molly kept herself from saying, Don’t bet on it. She had seen plenty of kids from foster care end up in the ER. It had happened again just this week. “I’ve got two days off. Can you be back here before my shift on Friday at three?”

Sarah grabbed her into a quick, fierce hug. “Thank you.” Then she stepped an arm’s length away. “Promise me you’ll protect him . . . no matter what. Keep him from his father.”

Molly looked at her sternly. “If I knew who his father was, that’d be a whole lot easier to do.”

Sarah stared hard into Molly’s eyes. “No. Just the opposite.”

Molly tore her uneasy gaze from Sarah to look at the baby, who’d fallen asleep on the futon. She could not let this child get swallowed up in the system.

“You’re sure the father doesn’t know?” Molly asked.

“Absolutely.”

“I still think you should go to the police.”

Sarah gave Molly a quick hug. “Everything he needs is in the case. I’ll be back before your shift on Friday.”

“I’m worried about you,” Molly said gravely.

“Don’t worry about me. Nicholas is the one who matters.”

Putting her hand on the doorknob, Sarah paused and looked back at the baby one last time. Molly couldn’t help but think she looked like a sad fairy princess; fair and beautiful, yet caught in a nightmarish tragedy.

Sarah said, “Thank you,” once again, and slipped out the door.

Molly stood for a long moment, just staring at the closed door, an impotent fear filling her throat.

As Molly gave Nicholas his 5 A.M. bottle the next morning, she turned on the television news and discovered that Sarah was dead.

Chapter 2

Dean Colett