Chapter 7: Clause Seven

Maureen walked down the center aisle with the two security men behind her and neither one touching her.

The guests stepped back from their chairs to let her pass.

She stopped three tables from the stage and held up her hand.

A tiny plastic bracelet hung from her fingers, yellowed with age.

"I kept this," she said. "Twenty years. It says Tull, Baby Girl, and the date. It was on your wrist the night you were born."

Nobody at the nearest tables said a word.

Camille was standing at the head table with one hand flat on the cloth.

"I've never seen this woman before in my life," she said.

The sentence was clean and quick, and it came a half second too soon.

"Camille," Maureen said. "I told you in the parking structure, two years ago. You were crying. You said you'd call."

"She's been outside our house for days," Camille said to the room, her voice rising and turning sweet. "She's a very sick woman. Daddy, please."

"Officers," said Gordon.

"You have a mole on your left shoulder," Maureen said, not loudly. "You were seven pounds and two ounces. I counted your toes."

"Remove her," said Gordon.

The two men stepped forward and took Maureen by the arms.

She didn't fight.

She only kept her eyes on the girl she had made, and it was Camille who looked away first.

"Mr. Hollister," I said. "It's a ten-minute blood test."

"You have no standing in this room," he said.

"I have your blood."

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