Father to Be (30 page)

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he protested, then honesty forced him to add, “Not entirely. Caleb needs me.” Noelle had been convinced of it. Somewhere deep inside, he believed it too. And somewhere deep inside he needed Caleb. For his own selfish reasons, he needed to help him, needed to undo the damage that had already been done.

“He needs someone who can look at him and see the frightened child he is. Not someone who sees only a real-life reminder of his biggest mistake.”

“I can do that.” J.D. rubbed the ache that had settled behind his eyes. “One more chance, Kelsey. That’s all I’m asking for.”

“One-more-chances are risky in this business. You know that.”

“And you know I’d never do anything to hurt these kids.”

“Your antagonism has already hurt Caleb.” After a pause she sighed. “Have you gotten any sleep tonight?”

“No.”

“Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He wanted to protest but swallowed back the words. “All right. Should I come to your office, or do you want to come to mine?”

“Why don’t you stop by mine? Nine o’clock?”

He agreed, and after a softly murmured good-bye the
line went dead. He made his way across the room through shadows and pale, thin light, then walked silently down the hallway to the last door. For a long time he simply stood there, watching the kids sleep, listening to the even tenor of their breathing. As his gaze settled on Caleb, he recalled one thing Noelle had told him two weeks before when he’d agreed to take them. You won’t regret this, she’d promised, then honesty had forced her to add, Well, from time to time you probably will, but not in the long run.

Not in the long run.

He was counting on that. In fact, he was betting his and Caleb’s futures on it.

God save them both.

K
elsey skipped her morning run and instead drove to Howland, where Mary Therese had agreed to meet her for breakfast. There was a coffee shop across the street from the concrete and glass building that housed their offices. They shared a booth for two in the middle.

She told her supervisor everything, then asked for advice. Instead, her boss turned the question back on her. “What do
you
want to do?”

“I don’t know. The younger kids seem to have adapted well to J.D. Caleb …”

“Would probably have problems with any man whom he sees as trying to take his father’s place.”

Kelsey nodded in agreement.

“Do you think the children should be separated?”

Vehemently she shook her head. “I think that would be the worst thing that could happen to Caleb. He’s devoted to those kids.”

“So with any placement we make, the younger kids are going to adapt and Caleb’s probably going to be hostile.”

“But not every foster father is going to have J.D.’s baggage.”

“I’ve known J. D. Grayson since he came to this area. I’d heard of him long before that. He’s bright, capable, widely respected. If he says he can help Caleb, I have to believe he can.” Mary Therese signaled the waitress for a refill of coffee, then added sugar and cream to the empty cup while waiting. “Everyone has baggage, Kelsey, and we all learn from our mistakes. J.D. believes he failed this patient Caleb reminds him of, so let’s hope he’ll use that experience to succeed with Caleb. If you hadn’t made a few bad choices in your past, you wouldn’t be so cautious about this choice. And if I hadn’t trusted the wrong people a few times, I might not be so sure that J.D.’s the right one.”

“And what if he’s not? What if he does Caleb more harm than good? Do we give him another child to experiment on?”

Mary Therese held her gaze for a long time before softly saying, “If you honestly believe that he’ll do
anything
to harm Caleb, then you need to remove those children from his care immediately.
Do
you believe that?”

Not in a million years. But did she believe J.D. could help Caleb? That he could put aside his past with Trey and achieve a different result with Caleb?

Maybe.

Mary Therese was right about one thing. Caleb was likely to resent
any
father figure in his life. He would be difficult, obnoxious, and obstructive with any man other than Ezra Brown, and J.D. was probably better equipped to deal with that fact than any other man in Bethlehem. As far as she knew, the only times his experience with Trey had negatively affected the way he’d treated Caleb had been purely subconscious. The first step in banishing sub-conscious
behaviors was to become aware of them. Then they could be dealt with.

And, truthfully, what had he done that had been so bad? He hadn’t shown Caleb any sympathy after being called away from work because the boy was in trouble. How many birth fathers would have handled the situation any differently? In fact, if she hadn’t known about Trey, yesterday’s incident would hardly merit discussion. If J.D. hadn’t overreacted. If
she
hadn’t overreacted.

If she hadn’t been so disappointed.

“Kelsey?” Mary Therese prompted.

“I started out yesterday afternoon assuring J.D. that what had happened wasn’t cause for removing the kids from his care. Then I spent the next eighteen hours convincing myself that it was.” Her smile was thin, more of a grimace. “In reality, what happened had little to do with my decision. I based it on the fact that for a while, at least, he wanted to give them up.”

Mary Therese laughed. “Honey, I promise you, there’s not a parent out there who at moments hasn’t wanted to give their kids to someone else. And those moments usually don’t come when the kids are being perfect angels.”

Kelsey put her fork down and pushed the plate away. “I should have told J.D. to cool down, take the evening to think it over, and if he still wanted to give them up this morning to call me. Instead, I acted like a brand-new caseworker dealing with her very first crisis. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“It’s never a bother, hon, not when kids are involved. So … other than that, how’s it going?”

“Fine. I like Bethlehem. I like the people.”

“It’s a great little town, a good place to raise a family.” Mary Therese’s smile took on a sly edge. “Met any guys yet?”

“A few,” Kelsey lied. She didn’t want to tell her boss
that J.D. was the only single man the town matchmakers thought she needed to meet. She certainly didn’t want to tell her about that kiss Saturday night.

“Of course, you’re getting well acquainted with the best one in the bunch. That J.D. is so fine—and sweet too. Too bad I’m married. Too bad
you’re
his caseworker. Might as well hang a Hands Off sign around his neck.” Mary Therese slid to her feet and picked up both checks. “I’ve got an early appointment this morning, so I’ve got to skedaddle. I’ll see you later this week?”

Kelsey nodded. “Thanks for breakfast. And for the advice.”

“I didn’t give you any advice, hon. I just listened while you sorted it out for yourself. Be careful on the drive back home. And if you ever need to talk, just pick up the phone. I’m usually available.”

After another nod Kelsey left the coffee shop. Though she knew it was always better to be safe than sorry when it came to the welfare of the children in her care, she did feel foolish for driving ninety miles round-trip to reach the same conclusions she would have found at home if she’d given herself the chance, and she felt like an idiot for overreacting to the whole situation.

It was J.D.’s fault. If he weren’t so appealing and handsome, if he didn’t tease and flirt with her, if he hadn’t kissed her, she wouldn’t have lost her perspective. She wouldn’t have been so disappointed, and she would have known the proper way to handle it. It was
all
his fault.

But blaming him didn’t make her feel better. Neither did seeing him when she stepped off the elevator on the third floor. He wore shorts and a T-shirt and looked more sexy than any man had the right to.

He also looked more serious than any man should.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she murmured as she unlocked the outer door, then the inner one. She set her briefcase on
her desk, put her purse in the bottom drawer, then faced him. On the drive back from Howland, she’d thought of ways to ease into her decision, but now that it was time, the words just slipped out. “You want to keep the kids? They’re yours.”

“For how long?”

“If the authorities don’t find a family member who wants them within the next few weeks, we’ll have to make a permanent placement then.”

He nodded, and the tension slowly seeped from his body. “You have a lot of power, Ms. Malone. On one whim you can take the kids away. On another you can give them back.”

“I don’t operate on whims,” she said stiffly.

“I didn’t mean—” He exhaled loudly. “Can I sit down?”

She nodded to the chair beside him, then slid into her own chair.

For the first time since they’d met, he seemed at a loss for words. He looked around the office, noticing that she’d taken his advice and moved the file cabinets, and he skimmed his gaze across the desk, looking, she thought, for something to talk about. He found it on the corner of her desk. “Who is that?”

It wasn’t the first time she’d been asked about the photograph. Usually she just said a friend, and left it at that. If she wanted to leave it at that today, she knew J.D. would let her. But today, for the first time, she knew she would answer. Completely. “Stephanie. She was my best friend.”

“Was?”

“She died soon after that picture was taken.” She gazed at the picture, at the straight brown hair that Steph would have traded for her own curls, the brown eyes that were so solemn and sad, the smile that was a pale reminder of her real smile. By the time the photo was taken, she’d had
nothing left in life to smile about. She’d had nothing, period. “Her family lived a few doors down from mine. We went to school together, to church, played together. We were inseparable. Until the year we turned fifteen.”

“What happened then?” J.D.’s voice was soft, nonintrusive.

“Her parents were killed in an accident. She didn’t have any family who could take her. My parents wanted to, but the state wouldn’t let them. They placed her in a foster home.” She cleared her throat, straightened in her chair, shifted her weight away from her bruised hip. They were delaying tactics, but they weren’t important. J.D. in concerned mode was nothing if not patient. He would give her all the time in the world to go on.

Finally, drawing a breath, she did. “Before long, Steph started missing school. Her grades fell. She lost weight. Everyone said it was just grief, that she needed time, that she would adjust. But it wasn’t grief.”

J.D. knew where the story was headed. He’d heard it often enough in his Chicago practice, and he’d hated it every time. He wished he’d ignored the photo so Kelsey could be spared the telling. So he could be spared the listening. But he hadn’t ignored it, and she wasn’t sparing herself anything.

After a moment she picked up the frame, rubbing her fingers over the polished wood, her touch as gentle as if it were her friend she was touching, as tender as if she could soothe the girl’s spirit. “Her foster father was molesting her. He had raped her the day after she moved in, and he continued to do so for months. She confided in the caseworker, but nothing was done. She tried to tell me, but … I wouldn’t let her. It was more than I could deal with. She was my
best friend
. I couldn’t handle knowing that that man was—” She closed her eyes, then swallowed hard. “I changed the subject, and she let me. Because I
insisted, she pretended nothing was wrong. The next few times I saw her, it was like the old Steph was back. She was smiling. Happy.”

And soon after, he thought regretfully, she was dead. She was smiling and happy because she’d reached the decision that she wouldn’t go on living that way—betrayed, abused, unable to find help or even to confide in her best friend. She’d decided to end her life, to be with the parents who’d loved her and never hurt her, to leave the people who
had
hurt her, Kelsey included.

Her voice dropped to little more than a whisper. “She overdosed on pills belonging to her foster mother. And it turned out that hers wasn’t the first accusation against this man. He had molested four other girls placed in his care. But it took her death to make them stop him.”

“And that’s why you became a social worker. Because you failed her. The system failed her. And you want to make sure it doesn’t fail anyone else.”

She nodded blankly.

“You were fifteen years old, Kelsey. What could you have done?”

“I could have told my mother, our teachers, our priest. I could have listened to her. Believed her. Sympathized with her.”

“Those are great responses from an adult. And if you’d been an adult, you would have done all that and more. But you weren’t. You were a child. You couldn’t even imagine what she was going through.”

“I could have tried. I could have—”

He shook his head. “She was your best friend, Kelsey. You loved her. If you could have done anything, you would have.”

After a long while she returned the frame to its place, then faced him. “I don’t want another Steph on my conscience.
Sometimes I overreact. Yesterday was one of those times.”

“Were you really going to take them away?”

“I came back here to start the paperwork. If fate hadn’t intervened …” She shrugged.

“We don’t believe in fate around here. We call those interventions miracles. Goes with the town name, you know.”

“Well, whatever you call it, if the file drawer hadn’t gotten stuck, then pulled out of the cabinet, scattering me and my files all over the room, I would have had the paperwork finished before the close of business yesterday. Instead, I spent hours getting everything back into the drawer and nursing the hip I bruised when I fell.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, then innocently asked, “Want me to look at it?”

Her cheeks turned pink, and she wriggled in the chair as if she couldn’t sit still. “No, I don’t. It’s not a bad bruise.”

“Actually, I meant the file drawer,” he lied. “Maybe the stops somehow got jammed.”

The pink turned red. “Oh. No. It’s fine. It was just a freak accident.”