They followed him into the small room. A massive desk stood in front of the one large window. It looked out toward the sound, and in the distance, the grand, golden dunes at Nag’s Head. The priest sat casually on the edge of his desk, and Daria and her mother sat in two armchairs on the opposite side of the room. Father Macy’s easygoing demeanor irritated her father, Daria knew.
“He’s too informal,” he had said, and she doubted that the Norfolk priests ever sat on the edge of their desks. But Father Macy was very young; it was his third year being a priest and his second year at St. Esther’s. Even Daria thought he was handsome, with those large, brown eyes and long eyelashes. He had an easy laugh that made her feel relaxed around him.
“So tell me more about this baby you found, Daria,” he said.
“I was on the beach very early this morning to watch the sunrise and to beach-comb,” Daria said.
“And I kicked over a horseshoe-crab shell, and underneath was the baby.” She didn’t want to tell him about the blood.
“And obviously, it had been born quite recently?” He looked at Daria’s mother for confirmation, and she nodded.
“Someone had simply given birth to her right there or very nearby, and left her to die,” Daria’s mother said.
“My, my.” Father Macy looked gravely concerned.
“Is the baby… alive?”
“Yes, by the grace of God, she is,” she said.
“She’s at the hospital in Elizabeth City. We just visited her and she’s doing well, and in a few days she should be able to go home. But she has no home, and that’s why I’m here.” Daria’s mother looked uncomfortable for the first time since they’d entered the priest’s office. She looked into her lap and played with the clasp of her purse, and Daria wished she would just get to the point.
“My husband and I would like to adopt her,” she said finally.
“That is, if no one claims her. And I was wondering if you could help with that. If you could intercede on our behalf.”
Father Macy looked thoughtful.
“Do you realize what a miracle this is?” he asked.
“That Daria found this baby in time to save her? That the baby was found by someone who belongs to a family as devout, as holy and blessed as the Cato family?”
For the second time that afternoon, Daria felt close to tears.
“Yes,” her mother said softly.
“Yes, we’re very aware that the Lord selected us.”
“I’ll be in touch with the hospital,” Father Macy said, standing up.
“And I’ll be in touch with the state adoption agency. I’ll do whatever I can to plead your case. I can think of no better home for that little one.”
One week later, the baby arrived at the Sea Shanty, and became the instant celebrity of the neighborhood. Everyone from the cul-de-sac stopped by to stare at the little blond-haired infant and to shake their heads over her rude j beginning in life. Daria’s mother named the infant Michelle, calling her Shelly for short. The irony of that name had seemed lost on everyone except Daria, who had de lighted in how fitting a name it was. People often corns men ted though, on the other irony: that this tiny, blondg brown-eyed child was now part of the dark-haired, Greet Cato clan.
All that summer, Daria’s mother would sit on the porch, rocking the tiny baby in her arms and telling all who ap-| preached that Shelly was her gift from the sea. I “Daria?” ‘s Daria started at the sound of Chloe’s voice. She sat up;
on the bed, freeing herself from the memories. “Shelly’s back,” Chloe called from downstairs.
“Comej have some cake.”
“Coming!” Daria called back, relieved that Shelly had;
returned safe and sound. She ran her fingers through her hair and headed downstairs to hug the young woman who was both her joy and her heartache, her blessing and her burden.
The plane came to a standstill at the gate, and Rory unfastened his seat belt and stood up to reach into the overhead bin. He pulled out the backpack and handed it to his son, who was still buckled into his seat and looked disinclined to leave the plane. Zack stared out the window, tapping out an imagined drumbeat on his knee. He was fifteen years old and annoyed at the prospect of spending the entire summer with his father on the East Coast. It had been a painful flight, at least for Rory, who had vainly tried every ploy he could think of to get his son to talk to him.
“Come on,” Rory said.
“Let’s go find our rental car and get on the road.”
With a loud sigh, Zack unbuckled his seat belt and followed Rory down the aisle.
“Welcome to Norfolk, Mr. Taylor,” the flight attendant said as Rory passed her to leave the plane. She’d chatted with him off and on during the flight from Los Angeles, telling him how True Life Stories was her favorite show on TV. He doubted that was true, but as host and producer of the popular show, he was accustomed to the adulation.
Women tended to know him from television, men from his days on the football field. Either way, he attracted attention, and even that seemed to irritate Zack. “We can never go anywhere without people staring at us,” he’d said when the third or fourth passenger on the plane had approached Rory for an autograph.
“Welcome to Nor-fuck,” Zack said now, under his breath, and Rory pretended not to hear him.
