A Daughter's Trust
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It actually connected this time.
She picked up on the second ring.
“Ricky?” The voice was needy as always. And filled with hope. As though he was her answer. He’d spent his youth trying to be that answer. She wasn’t getting the rest of his life, too. “Is that really you?”
“Yes. It’s me. I missed you at Christy’s funeral,” he said, hearing the sarcasm in his voice even as he told himself to cool it. “Nice of you to show.”
“You were there, Ricky? I—I talked to everyone…at the church. How could I have missed you?”
Rick studied the neat rows patterned into his newly vacuumed carpet.
“I was at the cemetery. For the burial.” He’d driven to the wrong community church. He’d assumed his sister would be buried in the neighborhood where he’d grown up. Where his mother still lived. Instead, it was at a church across from the funeral home.
“I was there, too…”
“Not to watch your daughter lowered into the ground, you weren’t.” His words were biting. Filled with things she had no way of knowing about. Things that, in part, had nothing to do with her.
“No…we left. They said we had to. They lower the casket after the family leaves.” Her voice broke and Rick tried not to feel a thing. He should be a master at it by now, at least where she was concerned.
“Nice to know I had a sister, Nancy.” Nancy. What kid called his mother by her first name?
He’d been about eight when he’d first asked the question.
You‘re my friend, aren ‘tyou, Ricky? His mother’s eyes had been slits in her face as she’d tried to focus on him.
Yeah. She’d seemed to need a friend. Though he wondered what being a friend to an adult actually entailed.
You see then, all my friends call me Nancy. She’d smiled. And he’d smiled back. And that was what Rick remembered most about that little interlude.
He’d lost a mother that day. But, hey, he’d gained a friend, right?
“I wanted to tell you, Ricky. I wanted Christy to know you. I really did, but…”
The proverbial “but.” His archenemy.
“But what?” He asked now, telling himself to be kind. Somehow. For himself, if not for her. He wasn’t a mean man. And didn’t want to become one.
“I was afraid…”
“Afraid I’d take her from you?”
Her silence was his answer. Both then and now. She wasn’t going to tell him he had a niece, either. Some things didn’t change.
“I know about Carrie, Nancy.” He wasn’t going to spare her, but managed to soften his tone, at least. “I need to know what your plans are.”
“Oh, Ricky, I was going to tell you. As soon as it’s all official.”
As soon as he couldn’t do anything to stop her?
“I’m going to get her, Ricky. My baby’s little girl—” Her voice broke again.
Rick waited. The woman was grieving over her daughter, for chrissake. No one should have to bear that kind of senseless pain.
“I’ve worked so hard. Ever since we found out a baby was coming.” Nancy listed the steps she’d taken. A list he could have recited for her. “Christy’s going to be watching me. And I’m going to make her proud, Ricky. And maybe you, too?”
“It’s not right, Nancy. You had your chance. Two of them.” He was being harsh. But a baby’s life was at stake.
“It’ll be different this time, Ricky. I promise you.”
I promise, my little man, we’ll stay together this time. I’m going to make it this time. I’m going to make you proud of me…
Rick grabbed his keys. Cell phone in hand, he headed out to the Nitro. He needed air. Sunshine.
“We’ll be a family, Ricky. You, me and Christy’s baby. A real family. Just like we always said we wanted.”
It was the one thing he and this woman had in common, other than a shared gene pool—their desire to be part of a family.
Putting the Nitro in Reverse, Rick unclenched his jaw enough to speak. “Is it for sure, then? You’ve been granted custody? Have you heard something official?”
“It’s not final yet, but Sonia—she’s Carrie’s social worker—said that everything looks good. I’m going to do the visitations and there’ll be another meeting or two, and then the hearing before the judge. Sonia told me that unless something unexpected comes up, Carrie will be mine long before summer.”
“Are you sober?”
“Completely. I haven’t used hard in almost three years. Not even when I heard about Christy. I get tested every week. I’m not going to blow this one, Ricky. I promise. Seeing Carrie’s birth—I don’t know, it did something to me…”
Something birthing her own children hadn’t been able to do? Putting the Nitro in Drive, he stepped on the gas.
“Then losing Christy…This is my chance, Ricky. My last chance. I know it with every bone in my body. I have to give this baby everything I couldn’t give you. Or Christy.”
Like that was ever going to make up for the two lives she’d already harmed? One beyond repair?
“I was at the club last night,” Nancy said, her quiet tone not a familiar one. “James said someone was there, looking for me. A man. From his description, it sounded like you. Was it you, Ricky? Were you looking for me?”
“Probably,” he said into his cell phone, when it appeared the woman was going to wait until he’d given her what she wanted.
“We are going to be a family this time, son,” Nancy said. “I don’t blame you for your doubt. And I’m prepared to spend the rest of my life showing you that I mean what I say. I will succeed this time.”
If he had a dollar for every time he’d heard those words, for every time he’d believed them, he’d be rich. No happier, but rich.
“When’s your court hearing?”
“April tenth.”
Three weeks. That didn’t give him much time. Stopped at a light, Rick signaled a lane change, and as soon as green appeared, he cut over, making a right and then another one, heading south of town.
“Would you go with me, Ricky? You don’t have to vouch for me or anything, but it would mean so much to have you there.”
“What time?”
“Ten o’clock. Can you get off work?”
Get off. He was assistant superintendent. Who would he ask? Himself?
He couldn’t blame her for not knowing that. For knowing nothing about him. He’d carefully guarded his life to ensure that she didn’t.
“I don’t know.” He gave the only answer he could.
“Wait until you meet her, Ricky. I’ve only seen her a couple of times, and in pictures. But she’s special. An angel. Our angel.”
At what cost? Her mother’s life?
“Call me if anything changes,” he said. “Or if you hear anything else. At all.”
“I will.” Then she added, “What I did to you, the way I let you down, that’s the worst part of my life, Ricky. You know that, right?”
Worse than your daughter’s suicide? “It doesn’t matter. I made it through, and have a good life.” Good being relative. He had a decent job he enjoyed. A nice home. Enough money.
“I’m very very glad you called.” He heard the tears in her voice and felt a little sick to his stomach.
“Just keep in touch.” He almost choked on the words.
“I will. I love you.”
She needed him to tell her he loved her, too. He opened his mouth, but just couldn’t say the words.
Chapter Seven
SHE’D BEEN OFF THE PHONE from her parents less than fifteen minutes, not nearly enough time to deep breathe her way back to calm, when someone knocked. With Carrie on her hip, Sue did a visual check of her sleeping young men and pulled open the door.
Rick Kraynick, looking too good in jeans and a button-up denim shirt, stood there.
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head, swinging the door closed again. She was already having enough trouble getting the man out of her thoughts.
“Wait. Please.” The hand administering resistance against the solid wood panel wasn’t violent. Or particularly pushy. But it was firm. “I need to speak with you.”
There was something about him. A sense of vulnerability mixed with toughness that she couldn’t ignore.
And she couldn’t give in to it, either.
“You know my number.”
“In person,” he said. “I need to speak with you in person.” He swallowed, his eyes beseeching her far more than anything he could say. “Please.”
“We’ve been through this, Mr. Kraynick. Talk to social services. Or better yet, get yourself into some kind of counseling. You don’t seem to be able to take no for an answer.”
“I called my mother.”
Christy’s mother. Carrie’s Grandma. Sue didn’t want to care. She repositioned the baby, holding her up against her, with Carrie facing back into the house.
“You have to leave now.” She wished she felt the conviction behind her words.
With a glance behind her, Sue verified that both boys were still sleeping. Chances were that wouldn’t last long. William was eating every two hours.
All night long.
As well as during the day.
And Michael wasn’t sleeping through the night yet, either. Or at least, if he was, he’d stopped since his move to a new home. Which meant, since she also used her evenings to do Joe’s bookwork, Sue was coming off a night with very little sleep.
“My mother just told me she’s adopting Carrie,” the man said, a hint of desperation in his voice.
“I can’t discuss that with you.”
Dressed casually today, he looked no less serious about himself. Or his business. He had no less effect on her. Sue rubbed Carrie’s back, bobbing to keep the baby entertained.
To keep her close.
To ignore how drawn she was to this intense man.
“She says Carrie’s birth changed her. I guess she was there for the last couple of months of the pregnancy and was with Christy for the birth.”
“And she wants Carrie.”
“Yes.”
“If she’s the junkie you say she is, she’ll never get her.”
“She got me back enough times. And Christy, too.”
“Yes, but…”
“She’s older now. She’s already got a job, working in a preschool. And she’s renting an apartment from a preacher and his wife. And I just found out from my lawyer yesterday that there was a suicide note. In it, Christy said she wanted the baby to go to her mother.”
“Which could carry some weight, of course, but a judge could just as easily decide that Christy’s suicide meant she was unstable—not fit to be making decisions for her baby.” For the baby in Sue’s arms. Why was she still talking to him? Anyone else and she’d have shooed him away immediately.
“I’m not willing to take that risk. Carrie might be one in a hundred to you, Ms. Bookman, but she’s the only child of my dead sister. She’s all the family I have left. And I, apparently, am all the family she has as well—discounting a junkie who’s already had two chances at motherhood and failed. I can’t just stand back and let the system take its course.”
“Did Christy know she had a brother?”
“No. My mother never told her. Just like she didn’t tell me about Christy.”
Carrie’s feet jabbed Sue’s stomach. The infant was going to be wanting her lunch soon. And before that, to get down and move around. The little girl was busy developing. She had places to explore, things to learn. Muscles to strengthen.
“Before finding out about Christy, how long had it been since you’d been in contact with your mother?”
“Years.”
“Your choice or hers?”
“Mine.”
“And yet you want me to believe family means so much to you?”
“My mother…I’d like a chance to discuss this with you. Please.”
Carrie grabbed for her ponytail. Missed. Tried again. Rick Kraynick followed the action with his eyes. And grinned. Sue’s insides quivered. Pulling the ponytail over her opposite shoulder, Sue reminded herself that she was a foster mother not only because she loved what she did, but because she was truly good at it.
For most people, loving from afar was difficult, especially loving babies. Many foster mothers of infants burned out quickly or petitioned to adopt their charges. Giving them up was too hard.
But Sue could do it. Loving from afar was what she did. The only way she could love.
The system needed her.
And she needed it.
“I don’t see any point in further discussion,” she finally told the man waiting in front of her. And plenty of reason not to further their acquaintance if every expression that crossed his face seemed to be permanently implanted in her memory banks. “There’s nothing I can do with any knowledge you give me, except to keep sending you to social services.”
“And there’s no legal reason why you can’t just listen,” he persisted. “You’re allowed to have guests in your home. I’d like to come in as your guest. I won’t touch the baby. I’ll be here only to speak with you.”
“On her behalf.”
“As one person involved in the foster system to another who grew up in the system. Period. Just talk. Can you give me that much?”
Leaning back, the baby in her arms put her hands on each side of Sue’s chin, her big round eyes focusing somewhere around Sue’s mouth. As though she could understand that the answer was important. Sue didn’t want to help Rick, but he was asking her for something she wanted as well. Information about Carrie. And for Carrie’s sake, she really wanted to know what he had to say.
“I don’t feel good about this.”
The man was entirely too…everything.
“But you’ll listen?”
“You have twenty minutes.”
Stepping back, Sue knew she was making a mistake.
“MY MOTHER IS A DANGEROUS woman.” Rick came right to the point as soon as he sat down on one end of the couch in Sue Bookman’s home. Pulling a blanket from the changing table shelf, Sue laid Carrie on the floor several feet from two other babies—both sleeping—and then joined her there. Setting herself up as a human barrier between him and his niece.
Carrie’s temporary mother was a definite distraction, he’d give her that. The woman wore baby barf as easily as other women wore silk scarves. That alone impressed him.
“How is she dangerous?” Sue looked him straight in the eye.
“She’s intelligent, keeps herself attractive, and, most dangerous of all, she knows how to pretend that she cares.”
“I’m not getting the danger element.”
“She’s a fake, Ms. Bookman. A lie.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, call me Sue.”
He couldn’t be distracted. There was no place in his life for an attractive woman. Not now. And probably not ever again. Not a nice woman like Sue Bookman. She had to be nice to be approved for the responsibility of caring for needy babies.
“Aside from the fact that my mother doesn’t know the meaning of love, other than wanting it for herself, she’s dangerous because she doesn’t look, speak or act like what she is.”
“And what, exactly, is she?”
“A drug addict. Her parents died when she was a teenager, leaving her with nothing. She ran away from her foster home and got into drugs as a way to make money, at first. At least that’s how she tells it. She was a good front for the dealers on the streets. No one suspected her.”
He was saying more than he’d meant to. Sue Bookman was easy to talk to. “She had me when she was seventeen,” he continued. “I don’t think even she knows who my father is.”
Rick focused on his hostess, but was still aware every second of the baby lying on the floor with his blood in her veins, could see her out of the corner of his eye. Carrie was on her back. Staring at him.
“And there followed eighteen years of chaos,” Rick said. “When she was sober, my mother looked like a candidate for mother of the year. She was funny and attentive in public. She was in all the right places at the right times. Showed an interest in my days, in my little happenings.”
“You loved her.”
What kid didn’t love his mother?
“I learned very quickly not to believe in her,” he countered. “Because she never stayed sober long. I don’t know, maybe the memories were too strong for her to fight, to avoid or get away from. I’ve wasted too much of my life trying to justify why she did what she did.”
“People are complicated.”
Hannah hadn’t been.
“Life shouldn’t be that complicated. Not for kids. As soon as I’d get settled in a new school or apartment, or both, I’d come home to find someone from child protective services waiting for me, to take me to yet another foster home.”
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t want her pity. Or her compassion. Not for himself. Not unless it had to do with helping him get Carrie.
“I was lucky. Every single home I was placed in provided a loving environment, a chance to be a kid. Problem was, I didn’t get to stay in any of them. My mother wouldn’t give me up. And it didn’t seem to matter how many times she faltered, she still managed to convince the state that she would get better. And that I was better off with her—my real mother.”
“She’d get well, you’d go home and then she’d use again.”
“Right.”
“You think she did the same thing with Christy?”
“I know she did.”
“And you think she’ll do the same thing with Carrie.”
With his gaze steady, and implacable, he faced her. “Don’t you?”
“I’ve never met the woman. How could I possibly know…”
Sue’s hand had found Carrie’s foot, her fingers caressing the skin just above the baby’s ankle. The unconscious response of a mother?
“You’re a professional,” Rick said. He wasn’t sure what he expected her to do, but he knew that he needed her. Carrie needed her. “You hear the stories. And have to be familiar enough with the statistics to at least have an opinion.”
“But it’s not a professional one and…”
Carrie rolled, her downy curls flattening and springing back as she moved. And Sue Bookman caressed the baby’s cheek. Rubbed a hand over the top of her head.
“Do you want Carrie going to my mother?” Rick asked.
“Come on, pumpkin, it’s time for you to eat,” Sue said, pulling the baby into her arms as she stood.
“I still have five minutes.”
“Do you have more to say?”
Rick didn’t stand. He wasn’t ready to leave. This woman. This home. And he hadn’t done what he’d come to do. “Do you want her going to my mother?”
“I take good care of my children,” Sue said, standing there with his niece cuddled securely in her arms. “And when they leave here, I have to let them go. I don’t think beyond that. If I worried about the future of every baby I care for, if I analyzed the statistics on happy placements, I’d lose my sanity.”
“But you have input before they go. You can influence where they go.”
Spinning around, she crossed the room, rewinding the swing. Checking on the baby still asleep in the carrier. And then she turned back to look at him.
“Your time’s up.”
Rick stood. Pissing her off wasn’t going to help anything. “My mother told me today that scheduled visitations here will be a part of her adoption process.”
Sue Bookman didn’t say anything. Her expression didn’t change, not in any perceptible way. But Rick knew he had her full attention.
She was a mama bear protecting her cubs. The quintessential mother. The kind of woman he’d fall for.
“I wanted you to know who she really is so she doesn’t fool you, too,” he said quietly. And at her continued silence, he added, “You’ll be giving reports to the committee and they’ll listen to you—”
“Get out, Mr. Kraynick.”
He did.
Chapter Eight
SHE THOUGHT ABOUT Rick Kraynick all through dinner with her parents—in spite of repeated remon-strations to herself to get the man out of her system. Carrie’s Uncle Rick, with his compelling combination of determination and vulnerability, would have stolen her heart—back when she’d thought she would marry and have children. Rick Kraynick, with his dark hair and serious eyes, was making her tense.
But that wasn’t all of it. As she sat there with her mother, she thought about Rick implying that he wanted her to fudge her reports on his mother, if she was favorably impressed by the woman. He wanted her to lie. To keep Carrie’s grandmother permanently out of the girl’s life. Like Grandma and Grandpa had lied to her? To everyone? To keep Grandma Jo away from her? Away from Jenny?
And why? The woman had been a wonderful mother to Joe. And by the sounds of things, to Adam and Daniel, too. According to Joe.
Why couldn’t Adam have known his father, as well? Maybe if Uncle Adam had grown up with a male influence, he’d have been better equipped to step up and take responsibility when his wife’s death left him with a son to raise. And maybe, if Jenny hadn’t always felt like she was second best, not quite as much a part of the family as her brother, she’d have been less apt to smother her own daughter…
Why couldn’t Sam have been told that Jenny was his half sister? Or Jenny that Robert was her real father? What right did Sarah and Robert and Jo Fraser have to perpetuate lies that affected the lives, the self-concepts, of so many people?
It was like they’d spent their entire lives playing the wrong roles.
And what right did Rick Kraynick have to do the same thing to Carrie—to make her into something she wasn’t? To prevent her from being as complete? To understand herself. To know what she came from? It was very clear he intended to keep the little girl from ever knowing her grandmother.
For that matter, was he hoping to keep the truth of Carrie’s mother from her, too? Was he just going to pretend that Christy hadn’t been a teen addict who’d struggled to get herself clean for the sake of the baby she’d adored?
And why, since he’d behaved inappropriately, did Sue feel guilty for kicking him out?
Yeah, the man had had it rough as a kid. He’d lost a sister he’d never met. He’d suffered. Didn’t everyone?
If his mother was as he said, he had valid points.
But he shouldn’t be airing them with Sue.
She passed the potatoes when her father asked. Cut her chicken. Pushed food around on her plate.
She’d never met a man she couldn’t stop thinking about.
Sue made it through dinner mostly because her parents were happy just being with her. They didn’t require scintillating conversation. And because they were grieving together.
And after dinner three babies needed baths and feedings while her folks were there, which left little room for meaningful conversation.
As she washed and dried little limbs, Sue tried not to think about Rick Kraynick. He’d been up-front with her from the beginning about who he was and what he wanted from her. And she’d been rude.
That wasn’t her way.
If his adoption petition was considered, he could very well be back as a legitimate visitor. Someone she would watch. Sonia was going to want her opinions. She was going to have to be unbiased. Kind. Looking out strictly for Carrie’s best interests…
Her father was on a ladder in the kitchen, changing a bulb that had burned out just that morning, when she and her mother came out of the bedroom with three clean and kicking babies.
“I’d have gotten to that,” Sue told him while, with Carrie on her hip, she gathered three bottles to fill with formula.
“Now you don’t have to,” he said, climbing down. “You’ve got some condensation on the window in your family room,” he continued. “Which means a seal has come loose. It’ll need to be replaced at some point.”
“Is it a safety issue?”
“No, but eventually it’ll cause water damage to the drywall.”
Eventually, she’d replace the window.
“And I took care of the drip in the sink in your bathroom. It just needed to be tightened.”
“Thanks.” She handed a bottle to her mother. And one to her father, who took Michael and sat in the kitchen chair next to his wife’s. Sue grabbed Carrie’s bottle and joined them.
“I really don’t feel good about you being out here all by yourself,” Luke said. He and Jenny exchanged “the glance.” Sue prepared for another two-against-one onslaught of loving concern.