No Ordinary Child

Instead, she’d added one more distraction to his life.

He thought about telling Christy that talking to the workmen was not a good example for Meggie. Weren’t they trying to teach the child to be cautious around strangers? He thought about telling her that he preferred she not accept dates while she was on duty. He thought about telling her a lot of childish things, but he didn’t. This wasn't Christy’s fault. It was the men who were coming on to Christy—that was plain to see. A couple of them had evidently worked up the nerve to ask her out.

The truth was, he wanted Christy Lane, with her soothing hands and musical voice and sunny smiles and homey cooking, to be waiting in the kitchen when he got home. Waiting for him. Not standing at the curb talking to some tanned gorilla of a construction worker, giggling up at him and twirling a blond curl around her index finger.

The truth was, he wanted to ask her out on a date himself. Which was precisely what he intended to do.

Dear Reader,

One of my favorite expressions is: “Plan like mad, but take it as it comes.”

Most of us have had an experience similar to that of my hero, Sam Solomon. Like Sam, we plan our lives (like mad), but then fate throws us an unexpected curve and we are forced to “take it as it comes.”

I like to think that when unexpected circumstances force us to adapt, our true character is revealed. I like to think that if we are made of the right stuff, we grow with each challenge, reaching new levels of clarity, wisdom and joy. I like to think that love, in all its forms, is the reward for such growth.

Architect Sam Solomon is a good man who is about to grow and learn some powerful lessons. When his mentally challenged daughter, Meggie, comes to live with him, Sam discovers the meaning of sacrifice. And as a result, he is rewarded with the unwavering love of Meggie’s invincible nanny, Christy Lane.

I want to thank my brother Rick, an architect, for his technical advice on this story. My mother, who delighted in all of my books, would have especially enjoyed this one because of Rick’s input. But she will never read this story, because less than twenty-four hours after I completed writing No Ordinary Child Mother died unexpectedly. We must take it as it comes. So I am counting on you to read this one for her.

My best,

Darlene Graham

I love to hear from my readers. Visit me at

www.superauthors.com/Graham or write to me at

P.O. Box 720224, Norman, OK 73070.

No Ordinary Child

Darlene Graham

To Antonia Mae.

The sound of your voice reading Tennyson to me

will echo in my heart for as long as I live.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER ONE

BENEATH THE DARK, GLASSY surface of the still water, Sam Solomon imagined he could see his future, waiting.

He had studied the old photographs and maps long and hard and knew well the intricacies of the rock formations and antiquated stone structures of the old ghost town that had been put to rest under the lake. He could picture every twist and turn, every trailing meander of the rough stone pathways. The way they veered up and down, their many steps. He was familiar with the dimensions of the old concrete retaining walls. He knew the shape of the arched stone bridge, the semicircular pattern of the seats in the tiny amphitheater. All of it vanished under tons of water when the Greer Dam was erected in 1939, a temple to the god of electricity. But the resulting lake had ultimately grown too large, gobbling up stray fingers of property. And in the process, the tiny town of Moonlight Grove, an abandoned hamlet in a narrow valley, had been covered by the flooding water.

Back then, nobody cared.

But now Sam Solomon cared. He could hardly wait to see what actually remained of the stone ruins. Most of the structures in Moonlight Grove had been built of native sandstone and would withstand the test of time. The water, however, was a more treacherous foe. Sam could not be sure of what he would find.

Soon enough, this shallow branch of Broken Arrow Lake would be drained. Soon enough, the restoration Sam had long envisioned would begin.

Restore. Reclaim. Resurrect. Excitement coursed through his veins at the very words. Sam Solomon loved fixing things—big things—in a permanent way. Maybe that was because in his life, there had been so many things that he could not fix, so many things he could not reclaim, could not resurrect. Maybe that was the whole reason he’d become an architect in the first place. To create something that could not be torn away in one cruel instant, by one cruel twist of fate, one tiny aberration of nature.

He squinted out over the lake, determined not to relive the tragedies of his past now, when his dream was coming true at last. His overachieving family of doctors and lawyers had always made Sam feel he had to prove himself every step of the way. But this project wasn’t about them. Moonlight Grove was about him. Sam, the one who restored, resurrected.

“An architect?” his old man had chided in disbelief when Sam announced his plans to return to college after marrying and becoming a father, too young, too recklessly.

“What you need to do is get your law degree and go to work for the firm, like your brother David. You need security, liquidity. You have responsibilities, Sam. You have Meggie to think about now. And I shouldn’t have to remind you that Meggie is no ordinary child. Her needs are only going to become greater as she grows.”

Why had his father felt compelled to talk like that? No one needed to remind Sam that his Meggie wasn’t like other children. He had thought about that fact every single day of his life since the day she was born.

Sam closed his eyes, momentarily shutting out the lake and the sunset, remembering how his father had always made him doubt himself. An architect. The way his father had acted one would have thought Sam had chosen to become a park-bench bum. And when Sam had focused his energies on historic restoration instead of high-rise office construction his dad had mocked him all the more.

But now he had finally amassed the financial backing and the restoration experience to make his dream a reality. He opened his eyes again. Too bad his father had passed on before he could see Sam’s vision become a reality.

He braced his legs wide on the rock ledge where he stood, his stance bespeaking the boldness of his plans. He ran his fingers through his hair and raised his eyes to the blazing Oklahoma sun that seemed to touch the edge of the water. For Sam it wasn’t hard to see Moonlight Grove as the beautiful resort that would rise from this setting a year from now. Always, during any project, Sam kept his eye on his final vision.

The surface of the water, a black satin sheet moments before, was now lit with the torched hues of the fiery evening sky.

Sam drew and released a satisfied breath. Verandas on the main hotel would face southwest, affording guests this stunning view at eventide.

Sam’s schedule as controlling partner in Solomon Architectural Masterpieces did not allow many moments like this, and, predictably, his cell phone bleated, interrupting his daydreaming.

He scowled at the little black intruder clipped to his belt, expecting to see his partner Josh’s cell number—or the number from the office. But no, it was a California area code, which instantly raised a ripple of unease in him. He didn’t recognize the number, but this had to be Andrea—he didn’t know anyone in California except his ex-wife and her parents. Normally, Andrea left her cold, businesslike messages on his home answering machine. Why would Andrea be calling on his cell phone? Unless…something had happened to Meggie. He unclipped the phone and snapped it open.

“Andrea?”

“Yes. Hi, Sam.”

“Uh, hi.” His tentative greeting echoed the tone of his ex-wife’s. She sounded strange.

“I hope I’m not interrupting something important.” Her politeness only increased the feeling of dread building in Sam’s chest.

“It’s okay. What’s up?”

“Sorry to disturb you at work. Your secretary gave me your cell number. I hope that’s okay.”

“I said it’s okay.” Sam didn’t mean to sound abrupt, but he wanted Andrea to just get to the point. Prior to their divorce three years ago, they had been married for eight intense years, and—dammit—he could tell when something was wrong. “What is it?”

“Meggie’s fine, Sam. You need to know that first.”

Sam released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Meggie’s fine. Okay. Maybe something had happened to Lorna or Bud. Andrea’s parents were nice folks, and he wished them well. “That’s good. So what’s the matter, Andrea?”

“I…I have a kind of an emergency.”

“Okay. You need my help?” His anxiety level dropped a notch. Maybe she only needed money. This wasn’t the first time he had given Andrea a little help beyond her alimony and Meggie’s child support. He didn’t mind. He found that sending them extra money actually lowered his guilt quotient.

“Yes. Yes, as a matter of fact I do need your help. I need to have Meggie live in Tulsa with you for a…for a little while. At least, I hope it’s only for a little while.”

Sam drew in a cautious breath. Held it. This was a bit of a shock. Then he frowned, as consternation and suspicion set in. After all the times he’d begged Andrea to let him have Meggie half the year, to let him make some kind of life for his child with him here in Tulsa, difficult as that would be. And now, suddenly, Andrea was calling, asking him in this strange voice to take their child. Not now. He couldn’t quash the unbidden selfish thought. Not now, when I’m finally getting ready to start on my dream project. Maybe he could negotiate with Andrea and make the move easier on everyone, maybe even negotiate a permanent joint custody of Meggie—only later. Later. Like a year from now.

“Andrea, listen. You know I’m always willing to have Meggie with me—to share the burden. But this is a really bad time right now. I’m starting a restoration project that involves nothing short of resurrecting an entire town from the bottom of a lake. I’m not sure I can meet Meggie’s special needs while I’m trying to finish a project of this magni—”

“Sam, I’m sick,” Andrea interrupted.

“Sick?” What did she mean, sick? Sam’s chest tightened.

“Yes, I’m…I’m afraid I’m actually very sick.” Andrea’s voice, normally controlled and cool, sounded incredibly soft now, even vulnerable. And kind. Too kind. As if she wanted to soften the blow for him, as if this were an apology. “You see, I have cancer.”

“Cancer?” At the word Sam’s heart sped up, but still he hoped against hope that Andrea was dramatizing or something. She sometimes did that, except, of course, when it came to Meggie. And this was about Meggie, wasn’t it? Or was it? Suddenly he hoped there was some big mistake, some miscommunication. His mind flashed around in denial. His ex-wife, the model-sleek beauty who had snagged him straight out of high school, the overprotective mother of their needy child Meggie, simply had to be okay. Meggie was the one who was not okay. Ergo, everybody else had to be okay.

“Cancer?” he repeated. Weren’t there all kinds of cancer? One of the junior architects had beaten malignant melanoma only a couple of years ago. “What kind of cancer?”

“The doctors call it soft-tissue sarcoma.”

Sam was so stunned that he lowered a hand to the rock ledge. “Is that…is that really serious?” he said, already sensing that it was. There was a brave finality about Andrea’s voice.

“I’m afraid so, Sam.”

He sat down, knees raised, head lowered, holding the cell phone to his ear, staring at the mossy lichen growing on the rock between his legs, thinking, No.

“But there’s good news.” Andrea altered her tone, lightened it—clearly a front, which scared Sam all the more. “The doctors tell me it is treatable.”

Every time she used the plural of the word doctor, his anxiety level kicked up. What kind of cancer was this soft-tissue sarcoma that Andrea needed doctors, plural, to treat it? “What do you mean, it’s treatable?”

“I mean, it’s treatable,” she said lightly. But she didn’t sound convinced. She sounded scared. “I’m going to the City of Hope in Los Angeles tomorrow.” Suddenly, her tone changed again and she sounded weird. Calm. Mature. Not like the Andrea he knew. Irrationally, he longed for the whiny, temperamental woman he had once called his wife. But she allowed herself only a cleansing sigh before she continued. “But my treatment won’t be easy. First extensive surgery. Then some pretty heavy chemotherapy. That’s why I need you to take Meggie for a while. The treatment that will save my life is going to take a lot out of me at first, I’m afraid. And Daddy hasn’t been well, so Mother and Daddy and I discussed it, and—”

Save her life? Save her life! Good Lord, what was Andrea facing? But he suppressed his own panic and concentrated on listening to her.

“—and I don’t think I can keep up with our daughter. You know, with her needs.”

Sam did know. The familiar guilt clenched his gut. When it was his turn to have Meggie with him in Tulsa, life slowed down to her pace, the pace of a severely damaged child forever stuck in the chaotic world of a three-year-old. In short, when his daughter Meggie was visiting, he got next to nothing done.

“Andrea.” He fought to keep the emotion in his voice under control. Was he going to cry? He sure as hell felt like it. “I…I’ll help you in any way I can. You know that. You know I…I still care about you.”

“I know that, Sam. You’re a good man. You always have been. I know you care. And I know how much you love Meggie. So, here’s how you can help me. Take her.”

His answer was resolute. “Sure. Anything.”

“I’m putting her on a plane tomorrow afternoon.”

“Tomorrow?” As soon as he uttered the word, Sam regretted it. He wasn’t going to complain about or question anything in this deal, dammit. He was going to help.

“Yes. It seems the timing is critical, and I am checking into the hospital very early in the morning. Actually, Daddy will take Meggie to LAX airport in L.A. I really hate putting her on a plane by herself in these uncertain times—” At last Andrea’s voice grew emotional, but she quickly recovered. “You’ll need the flight number and arrival time. Got a pen?”

Sam patted the pockets of his windbreaker. “I do, but it’s in my car. I’m out at a building site.” Sam didn’t wanted to tell her that he had been standing on a rock overlooking a beautiful lake, dreaming his dream, when she called with her terrible news. “Where are you? Can I call you back?”

“I’m staying at Mother and Daddy’s house in Huntington Beach. We’re going to have dinner now, but just call me back anytime this evening. Meggie will arrive about 7:00 p.m. your time at Will Rogers.”

“Will Rogers? Down in Oklahoma City?”

“Yes. It was the only way to put her on a direct flight. There was nothing from here to Tulsa.”

“That’s fine.” It wasn’t. Tomorrow afternoon he had an important meeting with the developers of Moonlight Grove that would undoubtedly run late. But what could he say? “It’s just fine.”

“Sam, I know this puts you in a bind, as far as child care and all. Maybe your mother could help you out.”

Andrea and his mother had always been friendly. His mother had once proclaimed Andrea the perfect daughter-in-law. These days they shared a mutual love and fierce protectiveness of Meggie. But his mother had her own life now—she was scheduled to leave for Central America on a photographic expedition in one week.

“We’ll be fine. If Mom can’t take care of Meggie, I know of a very nice older lady who can. Mrs. Waddle has baby-sat for me a couple of times. Very nice. Very grandmotherly.” This was a somewhat rosy description of Cloretta Waddle.

“Okay. Call me back later tonight.”

“Andrea?”

“Yeah?”

“When did you find out about this?”

“About a week ago.”

Oh, God, he thought. A life could change so dramatically in only a week. Hadn’t Andrea Haynes Solomon suffered enough in her life? First, bearing a severely brain-damaged child when she was only twenty years old, then having her marriage fall apart. And now this. Cancer. “Andrea, I’m so sorry. We will get you through this, all of us. Don’t worry about Meggie. I promise I will take very good care of her.”

“You always do.”

“Yes, well. I love her. She’s my baby.” He was glad he hadn’t said, She’ll always be my baby. Andrea didn’t need reminders of Meggie’s shortcomings any more than he did, certainly not now.

“I know, Sam. Call me back when you’re somewhere where you can write the plane information down. I’m really sorry to spring this on you so suddenly. I just didn’t want Meggie to have to see me in the hospital, you know? I don’t think she would understand any of this.”

“Does Meggie know you’re sick?”

“We told her I have to have an operation. She had a friend who had her tonsils out, so she understands that much. I told her she would probably get to stay with her daddy until I’m…until I’m well.” Andrea rushed on, her voice artificially bright again. “She was very excited about seeing you and her nonnie.”

Sam closed his eyes, but somehow the hot orange light of the sun seeped through his lids, anyway, egging on the tears. “I’ll call you back,” he croaked, trying not to choke up, “in a bit.”

“Okay. I’ll be here.”

Sam punched End and stared out over the shimmering apricot surface of the water again, feeling as if the world had suddenly shifted on its axis.

How could life change so completely in only a few minutes? Then again, hadn’t he learned already that life could change just that fast? Suddenly, completely, horribly. In those few tense moments when Meggie had been born, those tortured moments, he had wanted to rip the cord from his child’s neck with his own hands. Those moments had taught him that everything, positively everything, could spin out of control in an instant. When the nurses forced the mask over his tiny baby’s blue face and she did not breathe, hadn’t he seen, with his very own eyes, how in the span of less than five minutes, a life and all the lives around it could shift forever?

Soft-tissue sarcoma. Andrea was dying. No. He would not even think such a thought, would not even allow such a possibility. He would get on the Internet tonight and look it up, and he would find out everything he could about this…disease. He would help the mother of his child fight for her life. By God, he was a man who fixed things—restored things—and he would find a way to fix this, too.

But first, he had to find someone to drive to Oklahoma City and pick up Meggie at Will Rogers World Airport at seven in the evening. There was really no question as to who that someone would be.

GAYLE SOLOMON STOOD STARING out at the runways, thanking God that Will Rogers World Airport was quieter than most. Set on a grassy plain south of Oklahoma City, Will Rogers was a typical, vast, unadorned airport. At least here the parking lots were uncrowded and the traffic flowed smoothly. Even at seven o’clock on a Friday evening at the start of the Memorial Day weekend there weren’t that many people. Maybe Meggie wouldn’t be too scared, arriving in a relatively calm place like this. But the drive to Tulsa would seem unbearably long to the child, so Gayle had come armed with sing-along tapes. Meggie loved to sing.

The jet that carried her grandchild taxied in from a distant runway. She hated to think of little Meggie in a plane that big all by herself. She wondered if any of the other passengers had shown an interest in Meggie, if they’d talked to her. If they’d been kind.

Of course they’d been kind. People were always kind to children, weren’t they? But even if they were kind, they would still be expecting Meggie to behave like what she appeared to be—a normal ten-year-old. When in reality, the specialists estimated that Meggie was, at most, mentally a three-year-old. Meggie could fool people. She wasn’t slack-jawed or slow-moving. She was beautiful, thin and graceful. She moved like a tiny gazelle. And she could parrot the most astounding words, making her seem brighter than she actually was.

For an instant Gayle thought she saw Meggie’s bewildered little face framed in one of the oval windows of the plane, but in the next instant, the glare of the setting sun obliterated it. Envisioning her granddaughter’s face reminded Gayle of how simple, how sweet Meggie could be. Well, Meggie could be sweet if she wanted to be. At least when her routine wasn’t disrupted. Gayle sighed. Being separated from her mother and having to fly across the country was certainly a major disruption.

Not for the first time, Gayle wished Andrea hadn’t taken the child off to California. What was Sam supposed to have done? Abandon his struggling architectural partnership when it was just taking off? Building a reputation as a specialist in restoring historic buildings took time and persistence.

Gayle walked around the passengers waiting at the gate, positioning herself directly in front of the door of the boarding ramp, thankful that the airline security had allowed her to come this far down to meet Meggie.

Airports, Gayle thought, had become such somber, anxious places these days. The long, brightly lit corridor around her, with its boarding gates fanning out in a semicircle, felt subdued, vacant, compared to her last visit to Will Rogers.

Gayle walked over to a rounded bank of windows and folded her arms across her middle. The heat from the prairie sun setting low over the vast tarmac radiated through the glass. The holiday weekend promised to be a scorcher. Gayle watched as the blue-and-white jet aligned its door with the boarding ramp. Meggie was in there. She hoped her baby wasn’t scared. Meggie would remember her nonnie, wouldn’t she?

A stream of passengers emerged from the doorway. A little family. Some college students. A few tired-looking businessmen. Soon the area was filled with passengers. People assembled their parties, then rushed toward baggage claim. Gayle’s view became blocked by a large man. She ducked around him, but she still couldn’t see any sign of Meggie. In no time the stream dwindled to a trickle. Still no Meggie.

Anxious, Gayle took the paper on which she’d written Sam’s instructions from her purse. Flight 1292. She looked at the digital display behind the boarding desk. She was at the correct gate. She stepped toward the ramp and peered down the tunnel toward the door of the plane. Not a soul was in sight. What should she do? Surely they hadn’t let something happen to the child. Gayle’s mind flashed to the time her elderly mother-in-law had been left sitting in a wheelchair while her connecting flight took off in Salt Lake City. Her palms grew damp.

Sam should have flown to Los Angeles to pick up his daughter. Gayle had told him that in no uncertain terms.

In defiance of the rules, she was about to march down the ramp and look into the plane herself when she heard a shriek and then a child’s howling protests.