Leftover Love by Janet Dailey Page B

“This is delicious. What is it? Some kind of Swedish dish?”
    Layne shrugged. “I guess you could call it an ‘American leftover,’ like me.” It was a phrase she’d used so often that she said it out of habit, the words hitting her after they were out.
    A confused frown knitted Hoyt’s forehead as he gave her a curious look across the table. Even Creed’s spoon paused halfway between his dish and his mouth.
    “What do you mean by that?” Hoyt asked. “I never heard of anybody calling themselves an ‘American leftover.’”
    “It’s kind of a family joke.” Layne had a brief debate with herself, then decided to tell the truth. “You see, I was adopted. When I was growing up, I didn’t know what my family’s nationality or background had been, like the other kids in my class. So my dad made up this story about children God had ‘left over’ and how he put them in different countries for childless couples to love. That’s how I came to be an ‘American leftover.’”
    While she made her explanation, Layne was conscious of how silent Mattie had become at the head of the table. She listened intently to every word and studied Layne closely with those faded green eyes. Layne held her breath, almost afraid Mattie would guess, and scared that she wouldn’t. It was crazy.
    When she had finished recounting the story, there was a short lull. Then Mattie spoke quietly. “That’s a lovely explanation, Layne. He must be a very special man.”
    “He is.” Her voice was taut with emotion, too choked to say more.
    The comments seemed to remove the reluctance on the part of the others to ask about her past. “What about your real parents?” Hoyt inquired. “Did you ever find out anything about them?”
    Mattie spoke, almost defensively, before Layne could respond. “I’m sure Layne regards her mother and father as her real parents. After all, they did raise her and love her.”
    “I’m sorry.” Hoyt looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean—”
    “It’s okay,” Layne inserted, including Mattie in the assurance that she wasn’t sensitive on this issue. But this time she chose a half-truth. “The adoption agency told my parents that I came from an unwed mother who elected not to keep her baby.”
    “When you found that out …” Mattie began, then paused, hesitating over the question, “did it bother you?”
    “For a while it did. I felt rejected, abandoned … even though I had two wonderful people who loved me more than anything. It hurt to think my natural mother hadn’t wanted me. Then … I did a series of articles on teenage pregnancies and unwed mothers. After talking to those young, and sometimes frightened, girls, I discovered it was never a casual decision to give up a baby. Even the ones who were the most confident in their minds went through emotional turmoil. And gradually I learned to accept that my natural mother had made a decision that was best for both of us at the time.”
    But that hadn’t affected this driving need to find the woman who had given birth to her, and get to know her.Now it was happening. She was even getting a chance to tell her side of the story. Best of all, no one was getting hurt.
    “How about some coffee?” Stoney leaned back in his chair, rocking it on its rear legs. “Is there any more in the pot, Mattie?”
    “There should be.” Mattie started to rise, but Layne motioned her to stay seated.
    “I’ll get it,” she volunteered, feeling that it was a wise time to change the subject.
    As she went to bring the coffeepot from the kitchen counter, there seemed to be a general shuffling of interest to fill the lull. Hoyt patted the empty breast pocket of his shirt, then nudged Stoney.
    “Can I bum a cigarette off you?” he asked. “I’ll buy you a pack when I get paid.”
    “It’s more like three packs,” Stoney grumbled, but obligingly shook an unfiltered cigarette from his pack and offered it to Hoyt. “At the rate you’re smoking my