A Different Blue(108)

hands against my belly, a look of intense rapture on her face. The baby rolled and nudged a few

more times, inducing squeals of delight from Tiffa.

For the rest of the ride we talked, listened to music – I introduced them to Willie Nelson –

and took turns driving and dozing off. But I couldn't get the image of a young Darcy Wilson out

of my head, plodding over Irish hills in search of a saint who had lived many hundreds of years

before. It was easy to see how a boy like that could go to Africa for two years or shun a

medical profession for something simpler and less glamorous. It was harder to see how a boy like

that, so inspired by a saint, could be attracted to a sinner like me.





Chapter Twenty





The process was incredibly easy. I met with a Detective Moody, who had been the responding

officer on the case more than eighteen years before. He was bald, whether by choice or

necessity, I wasn't sure. He was in his early forties, but tired looking, like he had a long

life so far. He looked fit and slim in khakis, a dress shirt, and a shoulder holster that he

seemed as comfortable with as everything else he wore.

“I can't give you details of the case. Not yet. You understand that if you aren't this woman's

child, you have no right to the information. Not to her name, to her child's name, to the

details of her death, nothing . . . do you understand?” Detective Moody was apologetic but

firm. “But if you are who we think you are, when we get that DNA confirmation back, we'll give

you everything we have. I have to say, I hope to hell that you are that little girl. It's

bothered me for a lotta years, I can tell you that. It would be a happy ending to a very sad

case.” Detective Moody smiled at me, his brown eyes sober and sincere.

[page]I was sent to the lab, and I was given a big Q-tip and told to rub it against the inside

of my cheek. And that was it. Eight hours in the car for a buccal swab. Detective Moody told me

he would put a rush on it, and he hoped to have it back in three or four months.

“It all depends on whose goose is being cooked in these things. There are priority cases,

though. And this rates pretty high up there. It'd be pretty exciting for us to see resolution on

this. And we want that for you too.”

Resolution. Redemption. My life had began to circle around these reoccurring themes. Now we

could add Reno. That was a new one. Another 'R' to add to the list.

We stayed the night in Reno, Tiffa and I in one room, Wilson in another. Tiffa had put her arms

around me as we left the police station and had kept me close through dinner, occasionally

rubbing my back or patting my hand, as if for once she had no words. None of us did. The whole

thing was stranger than fiction, and the ramifications affected not only me, but my unborn child

and the woman who wanted to be her mother. It wasn't until we lay in the darkened room, the long

day put to bed, the sounds of the Reno night shut out by heavy curtains and thick carpeting,

that I faced the fears that had clawed for recognition since talking to Detective Bowles on

Monday.

“Tiffa?” I spoke up softly.

“Hmm?” Her voice was drowsy, as if I had caught her just before she dropped off into sleep.

“What if she was a monster . . . a terrible person?”

“What?” Tiffa was slightly more awake now, as if sensing my turmoil.