and reached for the first bag.
“Need a hand with those groceries?”
At the voice from behind, she jerked her head up and rammed it against the trunk lid. Tears sprang into her eyes. Swearing, she let the grocery bag go and rubbed the bump she could already feel rising.
“I’m sorry,” Tom said, stepping closer. His voice had roughened in contrition. “I startled you. Are you okay? I can get you some ice….”
Suzanne blinked away the tears. “No, I’ll be okay. I just didn’t see you.”
A big, powerfully built man, he had a rough-hewn face that wasn’t ugly but was far from handsome. The combination of porch light and streetlight cast shadows on his face, accenting cheekbones and a nose that looked like it had been broken at some point.
“Sorry,” he said again. “I should have realized you wouldn’t see me coming. I have a package for you. The UPS guy left it with me since you weren’t home.”
Head throbbing, she said, “Really?” A package? She wasn’t expecting anything.
He handed it over, and after a glance at the return address label, Suzanne said with pleasure, “Oh, it must be my new pattern!”
“Pattern?” he asked.
“I sell knitting and crochet patterns for publication. I work out designs, mostly for kids, like sweaters with flowers or horses or whatever on the front.”
He nodded, apparently satisfied by this explanation. “Congratulations on the new one. You must be really creative.”
Pleased despite her headache, the drizzle that had begun anew and her weariness, Suzanne said, “Thanks.”
“I’d be glad to give you a hand with those groceries.”
No way she was letting him in her front door, especially since she’d been so busy over Thanksgiving weekend she hadn’t done her usual thorough housecleaning.
Tom was… Neat didn’t cover it. Obsessive-compulsive? Maybe not certifiable, but close. Suzanne was quite sure his garage floor was cleaner than her kitchen counters. His lawn looked better than her living-room carpet. His flower beds were tidier than her coffee table. She was afraid to see what the inside of his house was like.
“No, I’m fine, but thank you,” she said, once again gathering plastic grocery bags.
He bent his head in acknowledgment and melted into the darkness. But then, barely visible, he paused.
“Any word on the adoption?”
“No.” She awakened every morning thinking, Maybe today, and went to bed every night thinking, Maybe tomorrow. But she was afraid the loss of her caseworker at the adoption agency would mean delays. Rebecca Wilson had resigned to move to Santa Fe, New Mexico, and at some point in the near future marry Suzanne’s brother Gary. Suzanne was very glad to welcome her into the family; she liked Rebecca. She just wished Rebecca had waited to quit until after she’d found a child for Suzanne to adopt.
“Oh. Well, good luck,” her neighbor said courteously, at last leaving her alone.
Suzanne made two trips to carry her bags into the house. Then she made herself put away the frozen and refrigerated food before she opened the package and took out twenty copies of a pattern she’d designed last spring for a sweater that could be knit in any children’s size from 2T to 6T, as well as preteen sizes. The photo on the front of the glossy booklet showed three children modeling the sweater in different colors. She’d knit all three herself. Fish leaped across the front. A toddler boy wore the sweater in aqua with a single red fish. A girl a few years older wore it in white with two fish in sea foam green, while a preteen wore the longer, slouchier version with smaller red fish on black. They’d come out really cute, and she thought the pattern would be popular. She’d order it right away to sell in her own shop, open only a few months.
This probably wasn’t the world’s best timing for adopting a child, not with the hours she was putting in getting the business off the ground. And especially not with money so tight. But Suzanne didn’t want a baby. She’d asked for an older child, one who needed her. She would manage financially, just like other parents did.
Rebecca had hoped she’d have one by Christmas, but here it was, the twenty-fourth of November, and she hadn’t heard a peep from the agency.
Quit obsessing, she ordered herself. It would happen. She’d been approved. Somewhere there was a child who would become a Chauvin who was probably, right this minute, scared and wondering what would happen to her. Or maybe him, although Suzanne thought that as a single woman she was probably better suited to raising a girl.
Darn it, she’d revel in Christmas this year whether she had a child by then or not. Being with her brother and sister would be enough.
Their parents had died when Suzanne was six, Lucien three and Linette just a baby. Suzanne had stayed with their aunt and uncle, but Lucien and Linette had been taken away to be adopted. This year, finally, Suzanne had been able to let go of the awful sense of loss she’d lived with for twenty-five years.
She’d found them. Mom had always said, “You’re the big sister, Suzanne. You take care of your little brother and sister.” She hadn’t been able to, not then, and had suffered irrational guilt as well as loss. But just this fall, all three had finally been together again, and they would be on Christmas Day. And she and Carrie would be there to see Gary marry.
Best of all, their family now included Carrie’s husband, his son and parents, and Carrie’s adoptive parents. It was going to be quite a crowd at Carrie’s house in Seattle. Every time she thought about it, Suzanne got tears in her eyes.
She had fulfilled that long-ago promise to herself to reunite the three of them. She’d started forging a satisfying life for herself by quitting her job and opening Knit One, Drop In, her yarn shop. Remarriage clearly wasn’t in the near future—in fact, after the disaster her marriage had been, she wasn’t all that interested in the possibility. But she did want children. And adopting one… Well, she thought she could once and for all lay to rest that irrational guilt. She could do for some little girl or boy what she hadn’t been able to for her sister and brother. For her, that would be every bit as fulfilling as bearing her own child.
She’d jumped through every hoop the agency held up. Now, she was just waiting.
But the answering-machine light wasn’t blinking, and the phone was silent. Another day closer to Christmas, and the bedroom down the hall stayed empty.
THE PHONE DID RING Monday morning just as she was going out the door. Laden with her purse, her lunch and two knitting bags, one of which held the sweater she was currently knitting for Michael, Carrie’s stepson, and the other a project she intended to teach in her morning class, Suzanne hesitated with the front door open. For goodness sake, the caller was probably a telemarketer! But if Carrie or Gary was calling this early, it might be important. So, with a sigh, she closed the door, set down her lunch and one knitting bag and went back to pick up the phone on the last ring before voice mail turned on.
“Hello?”
“Hello.” The voice was a woman’s, and unfamiliar. “May I speak to Suzanne Chauvin?”
What was she selling—aluminum siding or cellphone service?
