last night,” Luke added. “He’s ordered Emily and Belle to have nothing to do with Adam and the rest of the Frasers, and wanted your mother to agree to stay away from him, as well—”
“Which, of course,” Jenny interrupted, “I didn’t agree to, but it turns out that our dad told him the diamond would be Sam’s when both he and mom were gone.”
Our dad. Those words took on a whole new world of meaning now that they knew Robert had been Jenny’s dad biologically as well as legally.
Her mother seemed to be taking the deceit a whole lot better than Sue was.
“But Grandma wanted you to have it,” she said now. “Just don’t do anything rash, Ma. Give yourself time to get used to the idea of not having been orphaned. And I’m glad you told him you weren’t going to obey him. You need to get to know Uncle Adam.”
God, how strange was that? Joe’s dad, her uncle?
She hadn’t talked to her boss since the day of the will reading. Was kind of afraid to, actually.
She’d thought his adult coolness toward her had been because of her rejection in high school. But if that was the case, all would be well now, right? Maybe she’d rejected him because, on some level, she’d sensed they were related.
“I’ve been telling her that the necklace was Sarah’s to give, not Robert’s.” Luke jumped in again, his voice as clear as her mother’s via their high-tech cellular phone. “From the look on Emily’s face, I don’t think she and Belle agree with Sam about staying away from Adam, either.”
“I’m sure Belle wouldn’t,” Sue said, and then added, “Take the necklace with you back to Florida. Don’t leave it in the lockbox at the bank here.”
For all she knew Sam had a key to the lockbox. “Do you have it now?” she asked, as it occurred to her that it might already be too late.
“We do,” Luke said. “We got it yesterday afternoon.”
The appointment with Stan that they’d asked her to join them for. She’d been accepting delivery of William.
She’d had Michael for two days. He’d settled in nicely. But then, he’d been in another foster home since his birth. He was used to commotion.
William, at three days old, was still just acclimating to the world.
“You have to see it, Sue, honey,” Jenny piped up.
Carrie stuck a finger in Sue’s mouth. Sue kissed the little tip. And had a mental flash of a man’s face—staring with longing at his niece. Why couldn’t she just forget the man? “I’ve seen it, Ma.” She forced herself to clear her mind of the man who’d been haunting her. “Every time Grandma wore it.”
“It would help to look at it again, hon,” Luke said. “Help you accept that your grandma is gone.”
“I don’t need help.” Unless they could find a way to get Grandma back to her.
“Sue, love…” Jenny started.
“We’ll bring it when we come for dinner,” Luke finished for her.
Smiling at the baby in her arms, finding solace in the innocent stare she received back, Sue said, “Just bring yourselves. You’ve got a newborn to bathe, Ma.”
Babies. If life stayed about the stream of infants in and out of her life, she could control it. Mostly.
“I sure wish you’d put in for vacation,” Luke said. “Come back to Florida with us for a few weeks. A change of scenery would do you good. This next little while is going to be really hard for you in particular, sweetie. From the day you were born, Grandma was the one person who seemed to be able to reach you—”
“Okay, you guys, really, I’m fine. Can’t we just enjoy our last night together?”
Her parents’ return flight to Florida left first thing in the morning.
And they were as desperate to take care of her as she was to be left alone.
IT WAS SATURDAY, with still no word regarding an emergency hearing to put a stay on whatever adoption procedures were pending for Carrie. Tempted to take a hike to the judge’s chambers to find out if the guy had even seen the paperwork yet, or signed it, or was going to sign it, Rick got control of himself enough to decide against that particular maneuver. The court-house was closed on Saturdays, anyway. It didn’t help that judges’ chambers were off hallways behind locked doors. Unauthorized people were not allowed back there.
How did a guy take care of a situation when he had no idea what was going on? Rick was going quietly crazy.
Which was why, after another basketball game with a couple of strangers hanging out at the court at the park down the street, followed by a jog and a quick run of the vacuum, he dialed the number he’d been told was reconnected. Again.
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
