Feels Like Family

Dear Friends,

I’m so delighted you’re back for one last visit to Serenity. And though I have dearly loved writing about Maddie and Dana Sue, I have to admit that Helen holds a special place in my heart with her yearning for a child and her sudden awakening to the fact that it might be too late for her to have one.

To be honest, I had another hero in mind for Helen when I began writing about the Sweet Magnolias, but suddenly in midstream I realised exactly how perfect she and Erik would be together. Because of his history and her belated desire for a child, there were bound to be high-stakes consequences for these two wonderfully strong-willed people. I hope you’ll enjoy the twists and turns they take on their path to the altar.

As always, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Margaret Marbury, a wonderful editor who can see far deeper into a story than I and show me ways to enrich it. She embraced this series from the beginning and made me want to make it the best yet. And for years now – almost from the beginning of my career – I have trusted agent Denise Marcil not only to cheer me on, but to show me the error of my ways when I’m about to leap off the proverbial cliff that every author clings to from time to time. She’s amazing. Both women are among the smartest in the business.

And while I’m thanking the two people who keep me on track with each and every book, my thanks as well to the wonderfully supportive sales team. My respect for them is boundless. I couldn’t be happier that I found a home at MIRA Books, years and years ago.

All best,

Sherryl

1

For a woman who prided herself on being cool and competent, who relied on her wits to win a case, Helen Decatur walked away from the Serenity courthouse with a strong desire to pummel some sense and decency into a few of South Carolina’s good old boys.

Not that she could have proved—weekly golf outings aside—that the judge, the opposing attorney and her client’s soon-to-be ex-husband were in cahoots to deprive her client of what she deserved after the nearly thirty years she’d devoted to her husband, his career and their children. Nonetheless it was clear that the ongoing delays and postponements were designed to wear down Caroline Holliday until she settled for a pittance of what her husband owed her.

One of these days Caroline would fold, too. Helen had seen the defeat in her eyes today when the judge had allowed Brad Holliday’s attorney yet another postponement. Jimmy Bob West claimed they hadn’t seen papers Helen had filed with the court weeks ago. Helen’s production of a signed courier receipt for the delivery of those papers on the same date they’d been filed with the court had done nothing to dissuade Judge Lester Rockingham from granting her opponent’s request.

“Now, Helen, there’s no reason to be in a rush,” the judge had said, his tone condescending. “We’re all after the same thing here.”

“Not exactly,” Helen had muttered under her breath, but she’d resigned herself to accepting the decision. Maybe she could use the extra time to do a little more digging into Brad’s finances. She had a hunch that would wipe that smug smile off his face. Men who provided such extensive records as quickly as Brad had often buried financial secrets under the avalanche, hoping they’d remain buried.

If Brad’s smug expression annoyed her, at least she could take some pleasure in Jimmy Bob’s careful avoidance of her gaze. He’d known her long enough to be leery of her temper once she snapped. On his own, he would only push her so far. Spurred on by a client, he was sometimes tempted to take risks—as he was now.

Jimmy Bob, with his slicked-back hair, ruddy complexion and ribald sense of humor, had tangled with Helen on so many occasions that she pretty much knew what to expect from him. He was a born-and-bred South Carolinian who’d been talking his way out of jams since high school. While he’d never crossed an ethical line to Helen’s knowledge, he danced right on the precipice so often it was a wonder he hadn’t lost his balance and fallen into some legal quagmire by now.

“I’m sorry,” Helen told Caroline as she gathered up her files. “They’re not going to get away with this forever.”

“Sure they will,” her client replied wearily. “Brad’s in no hurry. He’s too busy popping Viagra and sleeping with any female who crosses his path to be worried about when the divorce actually goes through. In fact, this is giving him the perfect excuse to avoid making a commitment to another woman. He’s in hog heaven right now, free to do whatever he wants without any consequences. He figures that any woman hooking up with him does so at her own, fully informed peril.”

“What did you ever see in a man like that?” Helen asked.

It was a question Helen found herself asking her clients a lot lately. How did smart, attractive women wind up with men who were so unworthy of them? To her mind, marriage was something to be avoided. Her friends told her she was simply jaded from handling too many nasty divorces, and while she couldn’t deny that, she could list on the fingers of one hand the number of successful marriages she’d seen. Her friend and business partner, Maddie Maddox, had one—though only after recovering from a lousy first marriage—and her other friend and partner, Dana Sue Sullivan, had recently reunited with her ex, and even to Helen’s cynical eye it looked as if this time things would last for her and Ronnie.

“Brad wasn’t always that way,” Caroline told her, a faintly nostalgic expression in her eyes. “When we met, he was thoughtful and considerate. He was a great dad, a terrific provider and until a few months ago I’d have said we had a solid marriage.”

Helen had heard the rest before, or some version of it. Brad had had a brush with prostate cancer that had threatened his virility. After that, he’d lost his grip on reality. All he could think about was proving he was still a man, and he did that by sleeping with a succession of younger women, never mind that a real man would’ve stuck by the family who’d stayed by his side during his treatment and recovery.

By the time Helen left the courthouse, she felt even more cynical than usual. She would have given anything to head to The Corner Spa, the business she’d started with Maddie and Dana Sue, and spend an hour working out, but she knew she had a full schedule back at the office. Normally a jam-packed calendar would have reassured her, but lately she’d begun to wonder what she was working so hard to accomplish.

She had professional success, she had money in the bank—quite a lot of it, in fact—and she had a lovely home in Serenity she rarely had time to enjoy. She had good friends, but the family she’d once envisioned for herself had never materialized. Instead she played doting surrogate aunt to Maddie’s children—Tyler, Kyle, Katie and Jessica Lynn—and to Dana Sue’s daughter, Annie.

It was her own fault, she knew. She’d always been too driven, too dedicated to the clients depending on her to take the time for the kind of serious dating that might actually lead to a relationship and marriage. And as the divorces had piled up in her caseload, she’d grown less and less enchanted with the idea of risking her own heart, especially on something that came with no guarantees.

When she reached her office, a small cottage on a side street near downtown Serenity, her secretary handed her a thick stack of message slips and nodded toward her office.

Barb Dixon was almost sixty and unapologetically gray-haired, and she’d come to work for Helen the day she’d opened the office. A widow who’d raised three sons on her own and gotten all of them through college, Barb was endlessly patient and compassionate with the clients and fiercely loyal to Helen. She also felt it was her right and duty to take Helen to task from time to time, which made her one of the few people on earth who dared.

“Your two o’clock’s been waiting in your office for an hour,” she chided. “Your three o’clock will be here any second.”

Helen glanced over Barb’s shoulder at the calendar the woman maintained with careful detail, instinctively knowing when to allow extra time for a client and when to keep the appointment to a fifteen-minute session that wouldn’t try Helen’s patience.

“Karen Ames?” Helen questioned. “She works for Dana Sue at Sullivan’s. What’s she doing here?”

“She didn’t tell me, just said it was urgent she speak with you. You had a cancellation for this afternoon, so I called her yesterday and confirmed her for that slot. If you can keep it short, maybe you can catch up a little.”

“Okay, then, let me get started. Apologize to Mrs. Hendricks when she gets here. Give her a cup of tea and some of those cookies from Sullivan’s. She’ll say she’s on a diet, but I know better. I caught her diving into a strawberry sundae at Wharton’s the other day.”

Barb nodded. “Done.”

Helen stepped into her office, with its antique furniture and pale peach walls. Karen was seated on the edge of a guest chair, nervously biting her nails. Her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail that emphasized her fragile cheekbones and large blue eyes. She didn’t look much older than a teenager, though she was, in fact, in her late twenties with two very young children at home.

“I’m so sorry I kept you waiting, Karen,” Helen said. “My court case didn’t start on time and then it took longer than I anticipated to agree on a new hearing date.”

“It’s okay,” Karen said. “I appreciate you seeing me at all.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I think Dana Sue’s going to fire me,” Karen blurted, her expression tearful. “I don’t know what to do, Ms. Decatur. I have two kids. My ex-husband hasn’t paid child support in a year. If I lose this job, we could wind up on the streets. The landlord’s already threatening to evict us.”

Helen’s heart went out to the pale, obviously frazzled young woman seated across from her. There was little question that Karen was at the end of her rope.

“You know Dana Sue and I are friends, as well as partners in The Corner Spa,” Helen said. “Why did you come to me? I can’t represent you, but I’d be happy to recommend someone who could.”

“No, please,” Karen protested. “I guess I was just hoping you could give me some advice because the two of you are friends. I know I’ve bailed out on her way too often lately, but it’s only because of the kids. It’s been one thing after another with them—measles and then their babysitter quitting. I’m a mom first. I have to be. I’m all they have.”

“Of course they’re your first priority,” Helen said, even though to her increasing regret she’d never experienced the need to juggle kids and a career.

“The thought of being homeless with two kids scares me to death.”

“We’re not going to let that happen,” Helen said decisively. “Have you sat down with Dana Sue and explained about your ex and the threats of eviction?”

Karen shook her head. “I’m too embarrassed. I think it’s unprofessional to bring my financial problems into the workplace, so I haven’t talked to her or Erik about this. When I call to say I can’t come in, I tell them the truth, but hearing about one problem after another involving the kids has to be getting old by now. I made a commitment to be there, and Dana Sue has every right to expect me to honor that commitment.”

“Then you can understand her position,” Helen said.

“Of course I can,” Karen replied at once. “It’s not as if she has a huge staff to take up the slack. In fact, it’s almost too much for us when we’re all there. I’ve been trying to find another sitter for the kids, but do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone willing to take care of two sick kids under five during the hours I need to work? It’s almost impossible. And day-care programs don’t run late enough and wouldn’t have taken them when they were sick, anyway.”

Her shoulders sagged with defeat. “Until all this happened, I was a good employee. You can ask Dana Sue or Erik how hard I worked. I love working at Sullivan’s. Dana Sue gave me a fabulous opportunity when she hired me away from the diner, and I hate that I’m blowing it.”

“You haven’t blown it yet,” Helen consoled her. “I know Dana Sue thinks the world of you. But you’re right. She needs staff who’re reliable.”

“I know that,” Karen said miserably. “And she deserves it, too. I guess I’m just feeling completely overwhelmed right now. Is there anything you can do to help? How should I handle this?”

Helen considered the situation. Though employment issues were not her area of expertise, she was fairly certain Dana Sue could legally fire an employee whose absenteeism was intolerable, especially if there’d been repeated warnings about the absences. At the same time, she also knew that her friend would never kick someone when they were down. Sullivan’s was a huge success in part because Dana Sue had always thought of the relatively small staff there as a family. It was one of the reasons she’d been reluctant to expand.

“Why don’t we sit down with Dana Sue and see if we can’t brainstorm some solutions?” Helen suggested. “Dana Sue is a compassionate person. I’m sure she’s no happier about the prospect of firing you than you are. In addition, I know she’s invested a lot of time in training you to become her sous-chef eventually. Compared to the man who had the job when she first opened, you’ve fit in perfectly. I also know you’ve taken a lot of initiative in creating new recipes for Sullivan’s. And you were there when she had a family crisis of her own. Maybe I can mediate some kind of compromise to buy you time to pull things in your life together.”

“That would be incredible,” Karen said.

“Unfortunately, it only solves part of the problem, not the part about finding a reliable sitter,” Helen reminded her. “But between Dana Sue and me, we know a lot of people. I’m sure there’s someone out there who has time on her hands and would be thrilled to be needed.”

Hope sparked in Karen’s eyes, but faded quickly. Clearly she was someone who’d come to accept defeat as the norm.

“I’m so sorry if I’m putting you in an awkward position,” she said.

“Nonsense,” Helen returned. “If it were a matter of you wanting to sue Sullivan’s for wrongful dismissal, I wouldn’t be able to help you because of my close ties with Dana Sue. This is just three reasonable women sitting down for a little heart-to-heart. I think being straightforward and honest with Dana Sue is the only option here.”

Karen gave her a worried look. “I have no idea what your fee is, but I promise you I will pay you as soon as I possibly can. You can check my credit. As tough as things have been since my husband left, I’ve worked really hard to pay my bills on time. I got behind one month on the rent and the landlord went ballistic, even though he got his money a week after the due date. He’s just waiting for me to slip up again so he can kick us out and charge more rent to the next person.”

“Let’s not worry about any fee right now,” Helen said. “As I said, we’re going to look at this as an informal chat among friends, okay?”

Tears welled up in Karen’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She swiped at them impatiently. “I don’t know how to thank you, Ms. Decatur. I really don’t.”

“First, call me Helen. And before you thank me, let’s wait and see if we come up with some way to make this a win-win situation for everyone, okay?”

Helen didn’t think there was going to be any problem once Dana Sue understood the whole story. Sullivan’s was successful enough that she could afford to hire someone else part-time, if need be, to fill in when Karen had another of the inevitable family crises that came with having kids. If worse came to worst, Helen herself could step in to help out. She’d done it before when Dana Sue had a crisis that took her away from the restaurant.

Helen had discovered that working with Erik was actually fun. He was probably the only male on the planet who wasn’t the least bit intimidated by her. She’d found that to be both refreshing and frustrating.

In addition, she’d found chopping and dicing to his very precise expectations oddly soothing. After a tough day in court, it had relieved some of her stress to envision a particularly thorny witness or cantankerous judge on the chopping block as she worked. After today, taking a knife to an imaginary Judge Rockingham, Jimmy Bob or Brad Holliday would have been particularly soothing.

“Are you working tomorrow?” Helen asked Karen.

“Assuming my sitter shows up, I go in at ten to prep for lunch, then stay ’til seven so the early part of the dinner rush is covered.”

Helen nodded. “I’ll check Dana Sue’s schedule to see when she’ll be there and get back to you, okay? We’re going to work this out, Karen. I promise you.”

If she had to be a volunteer substitute in Sullivan’s kitchen on a regular basis for a while, she would do everything she could to save Karen’s job. Maybe she could even do something about that deadbeat husband of hers, though Karen hadn’t asked for her help with that. She’d happily do the work pro bono.

Karen left Helen’s office feeling a lot better than she had when she’d called out of sheer desperation to make the appointment. She knew enough about the attorney to know she worked hard for her clients—worked hard at everything she did, for that matter. If ever Karen had met a type-A personality, Helen was it. She made Dana Sue’s perfectionism in the kitchen at Sullivan’s seem like a cute little eccentricity.

When Karen got back to her two-bedroom apartment in a charmless rectangular building, she knocked on her neighbor’s door. Frances Wingate, who had to be over eighty but wouldn’t admit to it, had agreed to keep the kids for a couple of hours, which was about all she could manage with rambunctious, five-year-old Daisy and three-year-old Mack. Two hours were about as long as Daisy was content to make pictures with her crayons or read her books, and twice as long as Mack usually stayed down for his nap. Even as Karen waited for Frances to answer her knock, she could hear Mack crying.

“You big baby, look what you did to my picture!” Daisy yelled just as Frances opened the door.

Karen regarded her apologetically. “I am so sorry I took so long.”

Frances didn’t look nearly as frazzled as Karen had expected. “Oh, don’t mind them. This just started. Mack woke up a minute ago and made a beeline for the table where Daisy was coloring. He tore her favorite picture, the one she’d colored for you. I was just about to get both of them some cookies and milk—that should settle them down. Why don’t you come in and have some, too? They’re chocolate chip. I baked them this morning.”

“Are you sure you can stand this commotion another second?” Karen asked worriedly. “You must be ready for some peace and quiet.”

Frances gave her a wry look. “At my age peace and quiet aren’t the boon you’d think. I like having the kids around. They remind me of mine, though I hate to tell you how long ago it was when they were as young as Daisy and Mack. I have great-grandchildren older than these two.” She drew Karen inside. “Now, you sit down and get off your feet. I’ll get the kids settled and then you and I can chat.”

When Karen had asked Frances if she’d mind watching the kids, she’d said only that she needed to talk to someone about some problems at work. The older woman hadn’t hesitated. “Of course,” she said. “You go do whatever you need to do.”

Now, while Frances bustled off toward the small kitchen, Karen stepped into the dining room where the kids were still engaged in a noisy dispute over the destroyed picture. The instant Daisy spotted her, she ran to Karen and lifted her arms to be picked up.

“Mommy, Mack tore my present for you,” Daisy said with an indignant huff, her big blue eyes shimmering with tears.

Though Daisy was getting much too heavy for Karen to hold for long, she cradled her precious little girl in her arms. “Sweetie, he’s only three. I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt the picture.”

“But it’s ruined,” Daisy wailed.

“I bet you can draw me another one that’s even more beautiful,” Karen suggested. “You’re very good at drawing pictures.”

Even as she spoke, Mack latched on to her leg, shoulders heaving with great hiccuping sobs. “Mommy!” he wailed. “Up!”

Karen felt the start of a pounding headache. Torn between her two distraught children, she managed to sit down at the table while still holding Daisy. Settling her on one knee, she hauled Mack into her lap. Daisy immediately struggled to get down, clearly feeling betrayed by the shift in attention to her little brother.

“Not just yet,” Karen told her firmly. “Let’s talk about this.”

“He’s a baby,” Daisy said sullenly. “He never listens.”

“And isn’t that the point?” Karen asked. “If he’s too little to understand that something is important to you, then you need to be the big sister and keep important things where he can’t get at them. Can you try to do that?”

“I guess,” Daisy said, sounding resigned.

“Thank you,” Karen told her solemnly.

“Who’s ready for cookies and milk?” Frances called cheerfully.

Both kids immediately abandoned Karen, scrambling down and heading toward the kitchen, the disagreement forgotten. Frances’s cookies were always a huge hit with her kids, who preferred them to the fancier desserts Karen sometimes brought home from Sullivan’s.

“Why don’t we make it like a picnic?” Frances suggested. “I’ll put a big tablecloth on the floor in front of the TV and you can have your cookies and milk in there.”

“I love picnics!” Daisy said enthusiastically.

“Me, too,” Frances confided. “And you know the best part of having it indoors?”

“What?” Daisy asked.

“No ants.”

Daisy giggled.

Karen helped Frances spread out a plastic red-checked tablecloth, where she then set down a plate of cookies. “Two for each of you,” Frances said emphatically. “Mack, here’s your sippy cup with milk in it, and Daisy, here’s your glass of milk.”

She flipped on the TV, then handed the control to Daisy. “Find that cartoon channel you both like, okay?”

That was something else the kids loved about visiting Frances. She had cable TV, which gave them a whole range of channels Karen couldn’t afford. At home they had only the three major networks and one local station that carried ancient reruns.

“That should keep them busy for a while,” Frances said. “I’ve made some tea for us to have with our cookies. You sit down at the dining-room table and I’ll bring it right in.”

“Please, let me help,” Karen said.

“The day I can’t carry a plate of cookies and two cups of tea to the table is the day I’ll check myself into that nursing home they built up the street a few years back,” Frances said.

Karen knew better than to argue. Frances was as strong-willed and independent as anyone she’d ever met. It was probably the reason she was still doing so well on her own. Every now and then one of her children would come for a visit and drop in on Karen to see if she thought Frances was getting too feeble to be left alone.

Karen had never felt a need to shade the truth even slightly. Frances still had a sharp mind and plenty of energy for a woman her age. She was active at her church and made a trip to the library at least once a week to pick up something to read. Until a few months ago, she’d even volunteered at the regional hospital, but the long drive had gotten to be too much for her. Now she spent an hour or more a day checking on local shut-ins, calling or visiting them just to chat and to see if they needed anything more than a few minutes of company.