If she could offer any excuse, it was that she hadn't been herself. The hours she'd spent with Riley had been the first in days, in weeks, in which she wasn't suffocating in her grief. She'd reached out to him, a stranger, needing his touch, needing to be held and loved and protected. Needing a reprieve from her pain to ease the frustration of having been cheated from this experience with Jerry, the only man she'd ever truly loved.
She'd been despondent, and in her anguish she'd sought the comfort of a stranger. It had been sheer stupidity on her part. And now she was faced with the knowledge that the one major indiscretion of her life was about to bear fruit.
Even if she hadn't gotten pregnant, even if she'd been able to bury the events of that night for what remained of her life, she had changed. Not only in the physical sense. It had taken her several weeks to realize the physical aspects of her experience were only a minor portion of their lovemaking. Her emotions had become involved. She didn't know how to explain it or what to make of it. She'd assumed that once she left the hotel room, she'd never think of Riley again. But she did, almost constantly, against every dictate of her will.
"I'm sorry, Dad," she whispered brokenly. "So sorry."
Her father wrapped her gently in his arms. "I know, Hannah, I know."
"I was wrong---I was so angry at God for taking Jerry. I loved him so much."
With a tenderness that pitched knives at her heart, her father brushed the hair from her face. "I needed a few moments alone to think through this situation. I've been reminded that God doesn't make mistakes. This child growing under your heart was planted there for a reason. I don't know why any more than I understand the reason God took Jerry home. Nevertheless you are going to have a baby, and the only thing we can do is make the best of the situation."
Hannah nodded, not knowing what to say. She didn't deserve so wonderful a father.
"I love you, Hannah. Yes, I'm hurt. Yes, I'm disappointed in your lack of judgment. But there is nothing you could ever do that would change my love for you or the fact you're my daughter."
Hannah closed her eyes and breathed deeply, clinging to her father's strength and his love.
"Now, tell me his name," he said, breaking away from her.
Keeping her gaze lowered, she whispered, "Riley Murdock… We met only once – the night of the torchlight parade. He's in the Navy, but I don't have a clue where he's stationed." Finding him now would be impossible, which was just as well. Hannah didn't want to think about what Riley would say or do once he found out she was carrying his child. Frankly, she wondered if he'd even remember her.
Her father gripped her hand in both his own, and once again Hannah noted how frail he looked. The lines around his eyes and mouth had formed into deep grooves and there was more gray than reddish brown in his thick thatch of hair. Funny how she hadn't noticed that earlier. The changes had come since Jerry's death, but she'd been so consumed by pain and uncertainty that she hadn't noticed he'd been dealing with his own grief.