car backed out. She didn’t want them to go, but she also realized she felt a little shaky. She’d been so nervous about what they’d think, whether they’d like her, she’d been operating on adrenaline.
The car disappeared down the street, and she sighed, giving herself a little shake.
“How’d it go?” a voice asked from so close, she jumped.
Tom, of course. He’d approached as soundlessly as always.
“Oh! You startled me.” She pressed a hand to her chest.
His forehead creased. “I’m sorry. I came out my front door. I assumed you saw me.”
“No, I was too busy trying to decide if the visit went well. I think it did.”
“You think?”
“Well, they seemed to like the house. But Jack freaked when he accidentally knocked over his milk. Sophia told me their foster mom spanked him when he made any messes.”
The lines in his face deepened. “That poor kid.”
“It worried me a little.” She didn’t know why she was confiding in him, but the words just kept coming. “I realized how many issues they probably have. Did I tell you their mom had MS? As her health deteriorated, they moved from shelters to cheap hotels where she could rent a room by the week. Sophia did the grocery shopping. I guess the mom must have gotten a disability check or something. But it sounds really grim.”
“And they watched her die slowly.”
She nodded. “After their mom got really sick, Jack started wetting his bed, and Sophia… She acts as if she doesn’t care, but she must. She says she hates the school she’s going to and doesn’t have any friends, and apparently Jack gets bullied. And I’m coward enough to think What do I know about traumatized children? What if I foul up?”
“You won’t,” he said with a certainty that surprised her. “If I’ve ever seen anyone meant to be a mother, it’s you. Anyway, if they need counseling, you can get them that, too.”
She drew a deep, ragged breath. “I can, can’t I? I don’t know if I’m meant to be a mother, but I want to be one. Wow. I really panicked. Look at me! I’m shaking.” She held out her hands, which indeed had a tremor.
He smiled at her, that amazingly kind smile transforming his blunt-featured face to one that was almost handsome. “You panicked because suddenly your fantasy kids are real, with real problems.”
Another deep breath, this one filling her lungs. “You’re right. That is why, isn’t it?” She gave a little laugh. “You aren’t a parent, either. How did you get so wise?”
“Guess I was born that way.” This grin was more mischievous. “So, when will you see them again?”
“Saturday. We’re going shopping. We’ll start with bedding and then look at paint, and I’m hoping to have time to hit a couple of thrift stores, too. They’ll both need dressers and desks.”
He nodded. “Let me know what I can do. Anything at all. Just ask.”
She gazed at him in amazement. “Thank you. Really. Thank you.”
He smiled again, and crossed their strip of lawn, disappearing a moment later into his house.
Still not having moved, Suzanne stared after him. Now she felt teary because he’d been so understanding and so nice. She’d known him for over five years, and had never known a thing about him except that he was obsessively tidy.
But today, she’d learned all kinds of things. And one, she thought in astonishment, was the color of his eyes. They were gray, with tiny flecks of green.
She’d looked into his eyes, without even realizing she’d broken years of habit.
Was it possible they could actually become friends?
Suzanne shook her head again in bemusement. Who’d have thought?
CHAPTER FOUR
SUZANNE WAS AT WORK on Wednesday when Melissa Stuart called again.
“Suzanne,” she said without preamble, “I’m afraid we have a problem.”
The tone, a little cool, was one Suzanne hadn’t heard from her before. Her heart seemed to skip a beat, then gave an uncomfortable bump in her chest. “A problem?”
“I got to looking through your file and discovered that the background check was never completed. Unfortunately, when I ran one it turned up something you didn’t warn us about. There were apparently two domestic-disturbance calls made to your address during the time when you were listed as owner.”
Feeling a little sick, Suzanne turned her back on the one customer browsing the bins of yarn. “No charges were filed,” she said, hating the way her voice shook. “My ex-husband and I were on the verge of divorce.”
“Can I assume there was violence in your home?”
“No!” she protested. “No. Not the way you mean. We…” She took a breath. “He threw things. Once he punched a hole in the wall. His anger was one of the reasons for the divorce.”
“I did locate your ex-husband.” There was a momentary pause. “Josh Easton. He said, I quote, that maybe you both had a little trouble controlling your tempers.”
The air escaped her with a whoosh. “Josh said that? Did he know why you were asking?”
Another brief pause. “Yes, I did explain.”
Oh, God. This was her worst nightmare. “He was very controlling,” she tried to explain. “And angry when I asked him to leave. He’s trying to hurt me now by lying to you.”
“Suzanne, I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. You have really outstanding character references. But I can’t ignore this kind of red flag. I’m sure you understand.”
Her stomach actually hurt now. She hunched slightly, one hand splayed on it. Tears burned in her eyes. “So…that’s it? You won’t approve an adoption? What about Sophia and Jack?”
“Can you suggest any witnesses to these fights?”
Grasping at any hope, she asked, “Aren’t there police reports?”
“The reports are brief. Neither officer seemed able nor willing to assign blame. They apparently issued warnings and left.”
“You could talk to them…”
“One has long since left the department. The other officer has no recollection of that particular call.”
Suzanne squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t picture either face. Only the uniform, the flashing lights atop the squad cars that had recalled for her the night her parents had died, when police had brought word.
“The neighbors,” she said, in a voice just above a whisper. “You could interview them.”
Behind
