The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [74]
Perhaps if she cried enough her tears would flush away the anger, wash away the pain.
A flashback to the conversation with her mother and the way Jude had shaken. Fear, Dina now knew. It had been fear that had caused Jude to tremble.
“I’m afraid, too, Mom,” she whispered aloud. “If I’m not your child, if I’m not Dina McDermott, who in the name of God am I?”
The sun had barely broken through the early-morning haze when Waylon nudged Jude and whined to be let out.
“Waylon, go away. It’s too early,” Jude, who’d lain awake all night, muttered, and turned over, still hoping that sleep might come, if only for an hour.
Waylon stood up on his short hind legs, leaned against the side of the bed, and whined a little louder.
“Oh, for pity’s sake.” Jude tossed the thin blanket aside. “All right. Let’s go.”
In bare feet and green-and-white striped pajamas, Jude padded down the steps, following the eager hound, who seemed especially lively for so early in the morning. Jude unlocked the door and pushed it open for Waylon to go out, then stood, frozen on the spot, as the dog bounced upon the figure seated on the top step.
Without turning around, Dina asked in a hoarse voice, “Do you remember when I was eight or nine and wanted to play softball with the girls club and they wouldn’t let a kid sign up unless at least one parent agreed to volunteer for something? When they called and asked you to be assistant coach, you said sure, even though you knew nothing about the game, because you were afraid they wouldn’t let me play if you said no. The next day, you came home from the library with your arms filled with books on baseball, stacked so high you could barely carry them all.”
Dina paused momentarily, then added, “I didn’t have the heart to tell you that softball and baseball weren’t exactly the same thing.”
“I wondered why they moved me from coaching to selling water ice at the snack bar after the second game,” Jude said softly.
“Remember when I was ten and I nominated you for the Father of the Year Award?” Dina could barely get the words out.
“I remember,” Jude whispered, the pride she’d felt in that long-ago moment pinching her heart. Oh, yes, baby, I remember. . . .
“I want to go back to who I was yesterday at just this time,” Dina said. “I want to be Dina McDermott again.”
“You are—”
“No, I’m not. I don’t even know what my name really is. Is it Pierce? Is it Hayward?”
“Legally—”
“Legally doesn’t mean a damned thing to me right now. If you’re talking about what’s on my birth certificate, that’s just a piece of paper. What does that have to do with who I am?” Dina’s voice was husky from lack of sleep and a fair amount of sobbing.
“Dina, if you want to change your name . . .”
Dina turned around and looked up to meet Jude’s eyes, and Jude recognized the anger, the unbearable hurt, and what was left of her heart shattered.
“Tell me what you want, Dina.”
“I want you to be my mother.” The words ripped from her throat.
“In my heart, you are—have always been, will always be—my daughter. What I did was so wrong, and nothing I can say will make it less wrong. The lie remains. But that I have loved you with all my heart since the moment of your birth, that is the truth. The purest truth.”
Nodding very slowly, Dina said softly, “I know.”
“Honey, if I could change this, if I could take the hurt away from you, I would.”
“I know that, too.”
“I don’t know what to do for you,” Jude said sadly. “I feel so helpless. I would do anything if I could