Reaching down, I grab the duffle bag and throw it out the open window first. And then I use all of my strength to haul myself up to the window sill. I can hear the door knob being turned behind me and banging on the door.
"Adeline?" I hear Marco's voice, and it sends icy cold terror straight into my veins. With all of my might, I pull myself up and look out over the edge. The drop is not far, which I'm thankful for.
Twisting my body around and grabbing onto the outside wall for leverage, I manage to climb out the window. I'm hanging onto the ledge with my legs dangling. And then, as easily as I can, I force myself off the side of the building and drop down.
Pain shoots into my right ankle the moment I land, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. I put all of my weight on my left foot and test my right ankle by rolling it gently. I may have sprained it or even broken it from the fall, but it will all be worth it if I can get out of here and keep my baby alive.
Holding onto the wall, I reach down and grab the handle of my duffle bag. Then I limp and hop my way towards the back parking lot.
Glancing to the left, I notice one of the protesters, the woman with the sandy blonde hair, walking to her car. Limping towards her, I wave my hands in the air to get her attention. I don't want to attract any unwanted attention, but I need to get the hell out of here. And she may be my only hope at this point.
At first the woman does a double-take, and then she glares at me. "Well, that was pretty quick…formurder," she hisses in disgust.
"Please. Help me. I was forced to go in there," I gasp, breathing through the pain and limping closer to her car, hoping that she'll help me escape from my father's guards. "I jumped out of the window before they could do anything," I cry with relief.
Her eyes widen at my words, and then her entire demeanor suddenly changes. "Oh, my god. You poor girl." She glances at my ankle and asks, "Are you hurt?"
"I think I twisted my ankle," I say, grimacing in pain. "Could you take me somewhere? Anywhere?" I beg.
She nods quickly and helps me to the passenger's side of her car. Opening the door, she ushers me inside before going to the driver's side and hopping in. "Recline your seat, honey," she tells me, and I do as she says. Then she cranks on the ignition of the older Buick and floors it out of the parking lot. "My name's Barbara, by the way."
"Adeline," I reply. When we're a safe distance from the clinic, I straighten the back of my seat a little bit. "Thank you for helping me," I tell her with tears in my eyes. If it wasn't for her, my baby might not be alive right now. I had been planning on running, but I also hadn't planned on hurting myself in the process. "I wouldn't have gotten very far if you hadn't been there at the right place, at the right time."
"It was divine intervention," she says with a smile before bringing the cross connected to a delicate gold chain around her neck up to her mouth to give it a kiss. "I believe that everything happens for a reason. Don't you?" she asks with genuine interest.
"I'm starting to believe that, yes," I tell her with a watery smile of my own.
CHAPTER 28
ADELINE
BARBARA TAKES ME to her home in the outskirts of Brooklyn. It's an older English cottage style house, and there's a lovely scent of apples and cinnamon the moment we enter the front door. The entire place has a homey type feeling that instantly puts me at ease.
After helping me sit on a comfy chair at the round, oak kitchen table in the small dining room, Barbara sets off to the kitchen to make us lunch. When she first mentioned food on the way here, my stomach rumbled so loud it was embarrassing. I honestly can't remember the last time I ate. My father's been keeping me locked up in my room, probably hoping I'll starve to death.Or hoping something bad will happen to the baby, I think to myself sadly.
When Barbara sets a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich and a glass of cold water in front of me, I sigh in relief and almost begin to cry at her kindheartedness. "Thank you," I tell her, blinking back my tears.
She sits down and reaches over to pat my hand. "You're welcome, dear."
As we eat, Barbara tells me about her childhood growing up in Brooklyn. She was raised by her mother and father, who are both now deceased. She was married to her high school sweetheart, but her husband also passed recently to cancer. She confesses to me that she just turned fifty-five, and she doesn't feel old enough to be a widow.
And then she tells me about the worst day of her life.
"I was sixteen. I had been walking home from school when it happened." She takes a long sip of coffee before she continues. "He was older, maybe in his forties at the time. A police artist sketch of his face had been all over the news. He'd been kidnapping and raping young girls for a while back then. All the girls in school had been told to use the buddy system, never walk home alone, but I never thought it could happen to me." She shakes her head sadly. "No…you never think anything bad can happen when you're that young." Sighing, she sets down her coffee mug. "Anyway, you can guess what happened next. A few months later I found out I was pregnant."
Tears form in my eyes as I listen to her story. It's hard to imagine a woman this kind ever saw that kind of evil when she was just a girl.
"I was scared to tell anyone, even my parents. But eventually my mom figured it out. Motherly intuition and all that," she tells me with a wink. "Does your mother know about…?" she asks, her voice trailing off and eyes falling to my flat stomach.
"My mother died shortly after I was born," I tell her on a whisper.
"Oh, dear," she says, her face falling. She pats my hand again in reassurance. "I'm so sorry to hear that."
I give her a small smile. "It's okay. I don't remember her." And then I add, "It's probably better that way."
Barbara clears her throat. "So anyway, my parents took me to the police station to report the crime. I gave such a good description that they actually caught the guy within a week. He had been wearing his work jacket that night, had forgotten to take it off, and I remembered the logo on the chest pocket." She shakes her head as if to clear herself of the terrible memory. "I had a choice to make. Keep the baby or not. And when a baby is forced into a situation the way my rapist had forced me…I felt like I had no other choice. I went to a clinic…just as you did. I went into a room…just as you did. And then I left without going through with it…just like you did."
She stands and goes to a shelf on the wall to gather two picture frames. She sets them down in front of me with a big smile on her face that could light up the whole world. Her finger points to a small boy on the left picture. "This is James. He came into this world on June 8th, 1978." Then she points to the next photo frame. "And this is a family portrait we had taken before my husband passed."
