A Mother's Heart (2 page)

One week later

S
AMMY HADN’T MISSED
a day going to see his mother, although Libby Farraday was still in a coma. The hospital
had bent the rules so that he could stop and see her every day after school, rather than wait for proper ICU visiting hours. He was quiet as a mouse and usually sat in a chair beside her bed without moving. Once in a while, the nurses could hear him talking to her, although they didn’t hear what he was saying. But for Sammy, his message was always the same.

“Mama, it’s me, Sammy. School was okay today. Our teacher took us outside for science class. I found a praying mantis on the side of a tree and saw some ladybugs in the grass. The teacher said I had sharp eyes.”

As usual, Libby maintained her silence, but Sammy wasn’t finished.

“I ate my vegetables at lunch, even though they weren’t as good as the ones you make. The ones in the cafeteria never have any salt on them, and they are always too squishy. You cook the best ones, Mama.”

He waited the usual ten-second count for a response that didn’t come, then moved on to the next topic.

“Mama, if you’ll wake up, I’ll tell you a secret.”

His gaze was fixed on her face, looking past the green and purple bruises and scabs on the cuts to her eyes, praying for the lashes to flutter—praying that her lips would move.

When she didn’t answer, he just sighed and patted her hand.

“It’s okay, Mama. I’ll tell you anyway. Pete heard his grandma talking to the preacher. If you don’t wake up, they’re gonna make me go live with strangers…some people named Foster, and I don’t wanna leave you. So, you know how you always told me that Daddy got lost from us? Well, Charlie has a plan to fix that. It’s gonna be the best Mother’s Day present ever. You just have to wake up.”

A nurse walked up and touched his shoulder. “Sorry, Sammy, but it’s time for you to go.”

He nodded, then leaned over and whispered, “Remember what I said, Mama. The best Mother’s Day present ever. I promise. You just have to wake up to get it.”

S
OMETHING SHIFTED
in Libby’s darkness. There was a flash of cognizance, reminding her of life, and then it was gone and she fell back into the shadows, unaware that her little boy had come and gone.

I
T WAS
S
ATURDAY
. Kate was up to her neck with laundry and worn out from the extra work of taking care of Sammy, along with his visits to the hospital every day. So when Charlie offered to take the boys to the park for the day, she was all for it.

“I’ll watch them good, Grandma, I promise,” Charlie said, and held up his duffel bag. “I’m taking Frisbees and the soccer ball and I’ve got us some snacks.”

Kate sighed, thinking there was hope for her fourteen-year-old grandson yet.

“I appreciate this, Charlie.”

“I know, Grandma.”

She pointed at the clock. “Watch the time. You boys come on home by three. It’ll be too hot by then for you to still be out in the sun.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Charlie said, and then yelled, “Come on, you two, or I’m going without you.”

Kate winced from the blast in her ear, but refrained from mentioning Charlie’s faux pas. She heard the boys coming and sighed again. A little peace and quiet would be welcome.

“You boys mind Charlie,” she said, when Pete and
Sammy came running through the laundry room on their way out the back door.

“Yes, ma’am,” they both echoed, and out they went.

The quiet they left behind was so startling that it took Kate a few minutes to acclimate herself, but she soon fell back into the rhythm of folding and sorting as the washer sloshed and the dryer hummed.

T
HREE BLOCKS OVER
, Charlie’s friend, Howard, was waiting. When he saw the three boys coming up the driveway, he ran out to meet them. Then he led them into his house the back way and down to the basement where his father kept his video equipment.

“You sure this is okay with your folks?” Charlie asked.

Howard shrugged. “As long as they don’t know, it is.” He grinned.

Sammy’s eyes widened nervously. He wasn’t in the habit of breaking rules and defying adults, but he viewed this as an emergency.

“Did you bring the picture?” Howard asked.

Charlie pulled a frame out of his duffel bag and handed it to Sammy.

“Here, kid. You’re gonna hold this in front of you like we planned. Remember?”

Sammy nodded and took the photo, then looked at Pete, who gave him a thumbs-up.

“You know what you’re doing with this stuff, right?” Charlie asked as Howard pulled a tripod out into the middle of the floor and then mounted a video camera on it.

“Yeah. I help Dad do this all the time. We took a bunch of film at his bowling tournament last month. I even uploaded the two gutter balls Mr. Waychoff bowled onto YouTube for him.”

“You ready for this, Sammy?” Charlie asked, giving
Sammy a nervous glance. Charlie knew the dangers of posting images of children on the Internet. His grandma had talked long and hard to him about porn sites and perverts before she’d let him use her computer. He didn’t think what they were doing was going to put Sammy in any danger, but he wasn’t sure. Still, he felt sorry for the kid and, like Pete, didn’t want to see the little guy placed in some awful foster care place.

“You ready for this, Sammy?”

Sammy nodded as he clutched the eight-by-ten photo of him and his mother. “Where do I sit?” he asked.

Howard pointed to a straight-back chair he’d pulled from the dining set. “Sit there, kid and when I say go, you start talking.”

“His name is Sammy,” Pete announced.

“Whatever,” Howard muttered.

Charlie frowned and shook his head at Pete. They needed Howard’s help, so antagonizing Howard wasn’t a good idea.

Pete stuck his tongue out at his brother, then gave Sammy another thumbs-up.

“Do you remember what you’re going to say?” Charlie prompted.

Sammy nodded. “I’ve been practicing it in my head for two whole days.”

A phone rang somewhere in the rooms above. Howard glanced up at the ceiling. When no one yelled his name, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“We gotta do this fast,” he said, then pointed at Sammy. “Ready?”

Sammy nodded again.

Howard punched a button, checked the camera for clarity, upped the volume, then pointed at Sammy and mouthed the word
go.

Sammy clutched the picture against his chest and started talking.

“My name is Sammy Farraday and I’m eight years old. My mama’s name is Liberty Farraday but everyone calls her Libby. This is a picture of us taken on Valentine’s Day this year, only Mama’s hair is longer now. A truck crashed into my mama’s car on my birthday and hurt her really bad and she won’t wake up. My best friend, Pete, heard grown-ups talking about making me live in Foster’s care. I don’t know any people named Foster and I don’t wanna go live with strangers. I don’t know who my daddy is, but Mama always told me that he got lost from us and doesn’t know where we are anymore.”

When Sammy’s chin started trembling, Howard’s own eyes welled. The kid was getting to him. Hopefully the rest of the nation would pay attention, too.

“So the reason I’m doing this is because I promised my mama the best Mother’s Day present ever if she would wake up. Pete’s big brother, Charlie, told me the Internet goes all over the world, and if I was lucky, maybe my daddy would see this.”

Howard pointed at Sammy. “Say it now, kid.”

Sammy took another deep breath. “Daddy, I know you don’t know me, but I’m a good boy. If you see this, would you please come find us? I don’t want them to take me away from Mama and give me to the Fosters. If you came, it would be the best Mother’s Day present ever. We live in Azalea. It’s in Tennessee. If you look on the map, it’s not too far from Nashville.” His little voice was trembling as he ended. “I guess that’s all. Amen.”

Howard stopped the recording. There was a long moment of silence. No one moved. No one spoke. Then Sammy asked, “Was that okay, Charlie?”

Charlie cleared his throat before he could answer. “Yeah, kid. That was great.”

Sammy beamed, then looked at Howard. “When are you gonna put my movie on the Internet?”

“Right now,” Howard said, and grabbed the camera off the tripod and hustled over to the computer in the west corner of the basement.

The trio watched, unaware that, within days, Sammy Farraday’s plea was going to explode beyond the World Wide Web to media coverage all over the world.

K
ATE
W
YATT
was putting the last pan of cookies into the oven when her phone rang. She glanced at the clock, making a mental note that the cookies would be done in plenty of time before she had to go pick up the boys from school. Then she wiped her hands before answering the call.

“Hello?”

“Kate. It’s me, Myra. Turn on the television! Hurry!”

“What on earth?” Kate muttered, as she reached for the remote to turn on the little set she kept in the kitchen. “What channel?”

“Ten. Channel Ten.”

Kate hit the number then gasped as Sammy Farraday’s face and voice filled the screen. She heard all the way from “Daddy I’m a good boy,” to “I guess that’s all. Amen.” Then she groaned. “I didn’t hear the first. Where did this come from?”

Myra was a busybody and loved knowing stuff first. There was a hint of satisfaction in her voice as she filled Kate in.

“The newsman said it was one of those videos that people put on that Internet site, YouTube. He said it had
become the most watched video ever and was getting thousands of hits a day.”

“Who did this?” Kate asked.

“Obviously, Sammy and most likely your two, as well. He could hardly do this by himself now, could he?”

Kate bit her lip to keep from saying something she might regret later and just hung up in Myra’s ear. She set the timer on the cookies and then paced until it went off. Within seconds, she had the cookies onto the cooling rack along with the others, then headed for school. She knew three boys who were going to get out of school a little early today, but she didn’t think they were going to like the reason why.

S
TORYTIME
was the last class on Thursdays and Sammy’s favorite. Mrs. Lowrey had just begun the third chapter of
The Boxcar Children
when the school secretary’s voice came over the school intercom.

“Peter Wyatt and Sammy Farraday, bring your things and come to the principal’s office.”

Sammy’s heart sank. The last time he’d been called to the office, Grandma Kate had come to tell him about Mama’s wreck. The only thing that went through his mind was that Mama had died. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t bring himself to speak. He just sat, staring at a stain on the hardwood floor, pretending he hadn’t heard. Then Mrs. Lowrey walked over to him to hurry him along.

“Sammy. Get your things and go with Peter.”

Sammy and Pete gathered their backpacks and walked down the hall to the principal’s office.

As soon as they entered, they saw Charlie. He was sitting beside Grandma Kate. Neither of them was looking all that happy. Sammy felt sick to his stomach, and his voice was shaking.

“Did my mama die?”

Kate groaned as she jumped up from her chair. Of course this would be what he thought. “No, no, darling, nothing like that. I’m sorry you were scared, okay?” she said, and then hugged him to punctuate her words.

Sammy was so relieved he couldn’t speak. He just nodded and followed her out the door. It wasn’t until they got in the car that she started to talk.

“Boys, what on earth prompted you three to make a video of Sammy and then put it on the Internet? Don’t you know how dangerous that could be? All kinds of perverts and crazy people could come claiming to be Sammy’s father.”

The three boys were stunned. They’d never looked at it from that point of view. All they’d known was that Sammy needed to find his dad.

Sammy came to the rescue and took the blame for what they’d done. “Don’t be mad at Pete and Charlie, Grandma Kate. They heard you talking to the preacher about me going to live with the Fosters. I told them I didn’t want to live with strangers and asked them to help me figure out a way to stay with Mama.”

“Lord, Lord,” Kate muttered, pulled the car over to the curb, wiped her eyes, blew her nose and took them to the Dairy Queen for ice cream.

Broken Bow, Oklahoma

G
RACIE
H
OLT
was finishing off the last few stitches on an afghan she’d been crocheting for a baby shower when the evening news came on. She set the afghan aside, grabbed the remote and upped the volume, then reached for her glass of iced tea as the anchorman began to speak.

“Normally, this news station is not in the business of catering to the frivolity of the Internet videos. But there was a video uploaded onto YouTube a few days ago that has pierced even the hardest of hearts throughout the nation. We did some research and found out that the scenario, which seems like something straight out of
Hollywood, is all too true. There is a woman named Libby Farraday in Azalea, Tennessee, who survived a devastating car wreck, but is into her third week of a coma. She does have an eight-year-old boy named Sammy who is, as he states in his video, looking for his biological father so that if she dies, he won’t be put into foster care. And I’m going to admit at the outset, even though I’ve seen this video several times now, it still brings me to tears.

“So for all you fathers out there who are shirking your duties, listen up. If you ever knew a woman named Liberty Farraday, and you have an ounce of decency left in you, do the right thing.”

Gracie was in shock. Everything around her seemed to stop. Could this possibly be the same Liberty Farraday who’d come home with her son Sam the Christmas before he’d left for Saudi Arabia? Then a little boy’s face filled the screen. She saw the picture he was holding against his chest and moaned.

“Dear God, dear God, it’s her.”

Gracie’s gaze moved from the picture to the child’s face, and she felt as if she was going to faint. It was like looking at her Sam all over again, right down to the black hair and brown eyes—and in an eight-year-old body too tall and too thin for his age.

The video started. By the time it was over, she was in hysterics. That was her grandson in the video. She knew it. She just couldn’t prove it. There was only one person who could make this right.

“Oh Sam, Sam…what in God’s name have you done?” she cried, then reached for the phone.

S
AM
H
OLT
had been in Amman, Jordan, for eight months. Before that, on offshore rigs in California and Louisiana.
Before that Saudi Arabia. Wherever a troubleshooter was needed, he was there. The last eight-plus years of his life had been a blur of work, work and more work. He wanted to be so tired when he went to bed that he passed out. No dreams. No endless replay of the fight with Libby Farraday that had ended his world.

When he let himself think about it, which wasn’t often, he still couldn’t believe what had happened—how two people who’d been so perfect for each other had gotten so messed up. By the time he’d come to his senses, two weeks had come and gone. Then he’d called her and gotten a disconnect message. The panic that set in afterward still haunted him. He’d gone back to Tulsa, Oklahoma, to find out she’d left her job without giving notice. She hadn’t left a forwarding address with the post office, and the few friends she’d had were as in the dark as he was. All they knew was what Libby had told them—Sam Holt didn’t love her anymore. For the next eight years, that had been a private hell of his own making.

Also, with the passing years, he was bigger and stronger at thirty-two than he had been at twenty-four. His skin was darker from countless days on offshore oil rigs and in the oil fields. The laugh that had been ready on his lips rarely made it to the surface. He hid his emotions behind a stoic countenance and an empty heart. His days seemed to run one into the other, and had for years. Until last night. He’d been in bed less than an hour when his cell phone began to ring. He’d started to let it go to voice mail, then thought of how difficult it usually was to get a clear signal to return calls and grabbed it as he turned on the light.

When he saw the name on caller ID, his heart skipped a beat. Mom? He tried not to panic. She never called him unless someone died. He was mentally running through
the family names, wondering who’s time had ended while he was half a world away and trying to figure out what kind of an excuse he could give her for not coming home for the funeral.

“Hello?”

The minute he heard her voice, he knew it was bad.

“Sam! Sam!…You have…. going to…. should have…. can’t believe…”

“Mom! Mom! Your call is cutting out! I can’t hear you!” he shouted, as if raising his voice would somehow take care of the bad connection.

“I said…all over the news…you….. don’t wait any longer….”

“Mom! Are you all right? Is it Aunt Susie? What’s happening?”

“Just come home, Sammy!…. you…. home.
Now!
”

The line went dead.

He shuddered. She’d called him Sammy. He hadn’t heard that name since his eighteenth birthday when he’d announced he was now a man and would she please just call him Sam. Something was terribly wrong and it was going to take him a few days to get home to her.

“God help me,” he muttered, then headed for the office. He had calls to make and a suitcase to pack.

S
AM MADE IT
to Broken Bow, Oklahoma, in just under two days, with less than six hours of sleep. He’d tried calling his mother off and on since he’d reached the States, but the calls kept going to voice mail. When he pulled up into the driveway in his rental car, he was almost afraid to get out. Then the front door swung inward and Gracie Holt was coming from the porch with her arms open wide and tears on her face. He knew whatever it was was bad. Gracie Holt was a woman who
never bothered to cry until the urgency of the moment had passed.

“Sam! Sam! Thank God you’re here!”

Sam caught her on the run and just held her. Her body was trembling so hard he thought she would faint. But then she pushed out of his arms, grabbed him by the hand and almost dragged him into the house.

“Hurry,” she said. “There’s something you have to see.”

When she turned on the TV and then began scanning her digital video recorder, he frowned. “Mom! Your phone call scared me half to death. Please do not tell me you had me come halfway around the world to watch television.”

Gracie spun, pointing a finger in Sam’s face.

“Do not mess with me, Samuel Wade Holt. The past few days have been hell for me, but nothing compared to what this child is going through.”

She hit Play, then upped the volume on the television.

“What the hell, Mom? Child? What child? I want to know why you called me. I want to know why it was so urgent that I come home.”

“That’s why,” she said, pointing to the screen. “Now shut your mouth, watch and listen. The rest of your life depends on what you do afterward.”

He glanced at the screen, saw the little boy, but didn’t catch his name. Then he saw the photo the kid was holding and his heart stopped.

“Libby.”

It was the look on his face that told Gracie she’d been right.

Then Sam focused on the boy, and even as he was listening to the child say his mother wouldn’t wake up, and he was in fear of being sent to foster care, all Sam could think was that little boy looked just like him. His mind was racing.

The boy said he was eight. That part fit. He said his mother told him that his daddy was lost. That part fit. Sam had been lost since the day he’d last heard her voice.

But when Sammy stated in his little-boy voice that he was a good boy, Gracie went from teary to an audible wail.

“I can’t bear it,” Gracie said. “That’s my grandson, isn’t? Why doesn’t he know you? Why doesn’t he know about me? Sam, Sam, I thought better of you. How could you do that to a child?”

Sam was in shock. “I didn’t know,” he mumbled. “I swear to God, Mom, I didn’t know.” Then he jumped to his feet and began to pace. “Libby and I had a fight. It was stupid, but it was a bad one. I thought she was cheating on me. She swore she wasn’t and I didn’t believe her.”

“Why?” Gracie asked.

Sam groaned, and swiped his hands across his face, as if trying to wipe out the bad memories. But they were buried so deep they’d become scars on his soul.

“One of the men at work swore he saw her with another man. She said it wasn’t her and I didn’t believe her. I still don’t know why. She never lied. But I opened my mouth and turned into someone else. Someone I didn’t like, but couldn’t call back. I broke her heart and ruined my relationship with the only woman I ever loved.”

Gracie sighed, then got up and hugged him. “You have to make this right,” she said. “You go to Azalea, Tennessee, and you find your Libby and your son, and you make things right. Do you hear me, Samuel Wade?”

“Yes, Mom, I hear you. But what if I’m too late? What if Libby dies? Lord, Lord…what if she’s already dead? What have I done?”

“Then you get your son. I can’t bear another night of thinking of that little boy alone and afraid. You get him now, and figure out how to be a father later. Here’s a map of Tennessee. Go do what’s right. Oh…and you might need this, as well.”

Sam looked down at the small picture she’d put in his hand.

“It’s your second grade school picture and I want it back,” she stated.

Sam shuddered. The picture looked identical to the kid on the video. He slipped the picture in his wallet, pocketed the map and grabbed his suitcase on the way out the door.

S
AM
H
OLT
was a changed man. It had happened somewhere between his mother’s house and the hospital parking lot in Azalea, Tennessee. Before, he’d lived without purpose other than work; now it was the furthest thing from his mind. All he could think about was Libby dying before he could tell her he was sorry. Before he could tell her he still loved her, that he’d always loved her. Before he could let her know that, if she would still have him, he’d take care of her and their son for the rest of his life.

He’d driven all night without stopping for anything but food and fuel. It was just after sunup when he arrived in Azalea. The town was small. According to the sign at the city limits, the population was under three thousand, which meant everyone knew everyone else’s business. Like Broken Bow. Small town people with great big hearts. He could picture Libby coming here, alone and pregnant and trying to start her life over.

He was overwhelmed by the thought of the countless milestones he’d missed in his son’s life. A baby’s first
laugh, first word, first hurt. The first time he cried because he was afraid. His first Christmas. The first birthday cake.

Sam became sad all over again.

And Libby. If she lived, would she forgive him? He didn’t know how serious her injuries were, but what if she didn’t even know him? His thoughts were as crazy as he felt.

After stopping to ask directions, he found the hospital, parked and headed inside, trying not to run. A quick stop at the front desk and he had the floor Libby was on. It was the ICU. The receptionist gave him a curious stare that he ignored and headed for the elevator. A couple of minutes later, he stepped out onto the third floor and headed for the nurses’ desk. A short, blonde with a long ponytail and too much eye shadow was sitting behind the desk. Her blue scrubs were a couple of sizes too small, but that didn’t seem to affect her competency. When he paused at the desk, she finished making her notes before she bothered to look up.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“I want to see Libby Farraday.”

She frowned. “Sorry. No one but family is allowed in ICU.”

Sam felt off center, as if he’d been on something going too fast and had just stepped onto firm ground. He was family. In a way.

“But I am family,” he said. “I’m Sammy’s father.”