Prodigal Daughter. Patricia Davids

try to take an honest look at why I made that decision. Then I try to fix what went wrong.”

      “That’s what I want to do. I want to fix what I did wrong.”

      “Have you discussed this with your parents?”

      She raised her chin. “No. This has to be my decision.”

      “That’s true, but this isn’t an easy task. It will require a strong commitment and you will need your family’s support. Have you been to see your father?”

      “My sister, Amy, is helping me. I haven’t told anyone else. I’m certainly not ready to have Dad read me the riot act.”

      “I think you’re misjudging him.”

      “No, if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that Dad is going to be furious when he hears this. Oh, he won’t be surprised. He always said I’d come to no good if I didn’t mend my ways. I think that’s what I hate most about this. I ended up proving him right.”

      “Nothing has to be decided today, Melissa. Here is what I want you to do. Sleep on this decision. If tomorrow you still feel this is what you want, call me and I’ll help find a suitable couple for the child.”

      “But tomorrow is Saturday.”

      “I have special hours for special clients. Call me. I’ll be here.”

      “Amy mentioned that Dean has a right to the baby and that he could block the adoption.”

      “That’s true. As the child’s father, he can.”

      “Do we have to tell him about it? He told me to get rid of the baby. He doesn’t want anything to do with us.”

      “Many people say things in the heat of the moment that they later regret. Either way, legally, we will need his consent. Do you know how to contact him?”

      “I’ll give you the name of his band manager. He should be able to find Dean.”

      “Good.” Richard stood and helped Melissa to her feet. Slipping his arm around her shoulder, he gave her a quick hug. “I’m not an adoption attorney, I do corporate law, but I have a good friend who runs an adoption clinic. With his help, I’ll take care of all the legal paperwork. Try not to worry. Everything will work out.”

      “That’s easy for you to say. You aren’t the one who’s going to look like a hippo in three months.”

      Chuckling, he placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. “Courage, Melissa.”

      She took a deep breath. “If you insist, I’ll give it a try.”

      After Melissa left his office, Richard sat in the black swivel chair behind his desk. Poor kid, she’d really done it this time. He, like most people, had considered her capricious and careless. To hear in her own words how lost and alone she felt pulled at his heartstrings.

      She needed someone she could talk to. One of her own family members made the most sense, but he suspected the Hamilton family had just about all they could deal with at the moment. An idea began to form in the back of his mind.

      He leaned forward and pressed the intercom. “Margaret, please get my sister on the phone. She should still be at her office at the university.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      He leaned back and waited. Melissa needed a place to stay and he had an extra bedroom at his home. If Angela and Dave didn’t have any objections, maybe Melissa could stay with them.

      Before he got too far into his plan, Margaret buzzed him to let him know his sister was on the phone. He picked up line one. “Hi, Angela. I’m sorry to interrupt you at work. Are you busy? This could wait.”

      “I’m swamped, but now is as good a time as any. I was getting ready to call and let you know I’m going to be late again tonight. Do you think the girls will mind pizza?”

      “They’ll survive. Do you know what Dave has planned?”

      “He said this morning that he would be working late at the house. He’s getting the rest of the electrical lines run tonight so the drywallers can start putting up Sheet-rock tomorrow. What did you need?”

      “Do you remember Melissa Hamilton?”

      “Certainly. I had her in my English 101 class last year. She was a bright student, but she never seemed to have much focus. Once she turned in the most amazing paper on women writers from the South, but her next piece was terrible. It was as if she didn’t want to succeed. Why do you ask about her?”

      “She’s in a bit of trouble and she’s looking for a place to live. If you didn’t mind, I thought I’d offer to let her stay with us while you and Dave are there.”

      “It’s your home, of course, but why can’t she stay with her mother? The Hamilton house is bigger than yours.”

      “I’m not at liberty to discuss it, but she has her reasons. I only thought of it because you mentioned hiring someone to help with the kids until your workload lets up. I know that Dave is spending all his free time getting your house repaired. With Melissa living at our place, it might make things easier for you. It’s just an idea.”

      “I did like her, and I certainly don’t mind helping someone out. I’ve received more than my fair share of help from friends and family since the fire. It would feel good to give back a little. You’re right, it might make things easier. I’ll talk it over with Dave and give you an answer in the morning.”

      “Great. Thanks, sis.”

      Richard hung up the phone. His sense of satisfaction was quickly followed by a niggling doubt. Was he helping or hurting Melissa by trying to make things easier for her?

      Melissa let herself into Amy’s apartment. Tossing her handbag on the desk, she kicked off her shoes and dropped onto the sofa. Lassitude crept over her and she longed for a nap. A nap at one o’clock in the afternoon? Did being pregnant make everyone exhausted by the middle of the day? How had her mother managed to do this five times? Once with twins, no less!

      A single glance at her puffy ankles was enough to convince Melissa she needed to put her feet up. It didn’t take much extra effort to pull the coverlet over her shoulders and settle her head on one of Amy’s bright green throw pillows. The next time she opened her eyes, the clock on the wall said two-thirty and she was starving. Again.

      A handful of carrot and celery sticks pilfered from her sister’s refrigerator took the edge off her hunger pangs, but she wanted something more, something substantial. As she surveyed the contents of her sister’s cupboards, fridge and freezer, Melissa settled on a plan of action. Lasagna, garlic toast and a fresh salad would make a wonderful dinner. Never one to do much cooking, Melissa searched for and found a cookbook with full color photos of the finished product.

      Her mother was fond of saying, “If you can read, you can cook.” Usually she had been talking to the boys at Sunday dinner when they started complaining about their bachelor existences and living off takeout. Well, there was no time like the present to test her mother’s theory. Wouldn’t Amy be surprised when she came home?

      Setting to work with a sudden burst of energy, Melissa diced, chopped and simmered away the rest of the afternoon. By five-thirty the apartment was filled with the smells of tomato sauce, oregano, basil and baking bread. She was setting the table when she heard Amy’s key in the door.

      Amy walked in and stopped short. “I must be in the wrong apartment. Something smells wonderful.”

      “Surprise! I thought I would make dinner to say thanks for putting me up—and for putting up with me.”

      “Melissa, I didn’t even know you could cook.”

      “You’d better reserve judgment until after you taste it. The bread is sort of burned on the bottom and the tomato sauce didn’t thicken the way the recipe said it would.”

      “I’m