for you to take the child with you if that’s what you decide.”
“Hold on.” Kip stood, his slacks a lot more creased than they’d been when he sat down less than twenty minutes before. “Who are these children? Where are they? Where’s their mother? Why haven’t we heard about them until now? Who’s taking care of them? Where do they live?”
All questions she should have asked. Would have asked if she’d been able to think.
Jim nodded, glanced at Clara and then directed his answer to Kip, who was standing by the window, gazing back at him through narrowed eyes.
“A little over seven years ago, Cal met a woman while arguing a case in court. She was the bailiff. The way he explained it to me—just after Kayla was born and he set up a trust for the kids, and changed his will—he’d never met a woman like her. Her name was Abby and he said she made him feel complete in ways he’d never felt before. His actual words, if I remember them correctly—” he glanced at Clara and Leslie before returning his attention to Kip “—was that when he was with her, he felt accepted, forgiven for the parts of himself he wasn’t proud of. He didn’t tell me what he meant by that, what he’d done, or believed he’d done. But he said that with Abby, he felt worthy. Those were his exact words.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Clara said. “Cal was a wonderful human being, always giving, thinking of others. I told him all the time how much I appreciated him. I heard other people say similar things. He didn’t suffer from feelings of unworthiness….”
Her mother was breathing heavily, but otherwise she appeared to be taking the news a whole lot better than Leslie was.
Jim shrugged. “I’m only telling you what he told me.”
“So why wouldn’t he have told any of us about her?” Kip asked, coming back to his seat at the table.
“She was…different from him….”
None of this was making sense to Leslie. “Cal wasn’t a snob,” she said.
“And he knew we weren’t, either,” Clara added. “We’ve always been an accepting bunch.”
“Different, how?” Kip asked from over by the window.
“Abby was African-American.” The shock of Jim’s words shot through Leslie, not because she cared about Abby’s race, but because her brother had always been so careful to behave conventionally. “The kids are biracial.”
“So?” Clara didn’t even blink. “They’re my grandchildren.”
She turned to Leslie then, grinning, tears in her eyes, her face pale. “I’m a grandma,” she said.
“Yes, you are,” Leslie told her, finding a smile for the woman she adored. Clara might not have protected Leslie in all the ways Leslie would’ve liked, but she’d been the best mother she could be. Leslie had never doubted that she was loved. Cared for. Supported.
“YOU SAID WAS.” Kip hadn’t yet found anything to smile about in the news they’d just been given. He needed facts.
And a night with a good woman. He didn’t need a five-year-old child. Didn’t know the first thing about raising children. Could hardly remember having been one himself.
Jim’s raised brow was his only response.
“You said this Abby woman was African-American. I’m assuming she didn’t have a racial transplant.”
He could feel both Sanderson women looking at him, but couldn’t meet their eyes. He could take care of them. But he couldn’t raise a little boy.
“Abby died shortly after Kayla was born.” Jim’s expression softened, his words low. “A gravel truck ran a red light. She died instantly.”
“So who’s watching the children?” Clara seemed to be handling the situation far better than he was. Leslie was completely still.
“A woman named Ada King. She was a friend of Abby’s mother, took Abby in when the mother died of cancer. Abby was only three. She’d been living with Abby since just before Jonathan was born. They owned a condominium in Westerville.”
It was a nice suburb, north of Columbus. Upper middle class.
“Did Cal live there, too?” Leslie sounded as though she couldn’t imagine her brother deserting his own kids.
Kip agreed with her. Cal cared. Maybe too much.
Jim shook his head. “From the little he told me, Abby wouldn’t agree to marry him, and wouldn’t let him live there. She’d had a hard life, needed her independence—and wasn’t willing to face society’s reactions to their union. She also said she wasn’t going to make her children’s lives harder by exposing them to the curious glances inherent in having parents from two different races. But I gather Calhoun spent a lot of time with them anyway. She and the kids were frequent visitors to his home in Gahanna as well.”
The room was warm, comfortable. The light blues in the upholstery and picture frames an easy contrast with the off-white walls. It was a room designed to put people at ease. To Kip it felt like prison. He sat back down.
“How old is Ada King?”
“Sixty-two.”
Still young enough to care for children. Kip nodded.
Clara leaned forward, both arms on the table in front of her. “Have you met her?”
Jim nodded. “She was at the funeral yesterday.”
Kip hadn’t seen a black woman there. “And the children?” Clara asked.
“They were there, too. In the back. Jonathan cried some. Kayla was asleep.”
“Oh, my God.” Leslie jolted beside him, and Kip wished he knew what she was thinking. Wondered if she felt anywhere near as trapped and inadequate as he did by the unexpected “gift” they’d both received.
“The poor little guy,” Leslie said. “First losing his mother, then his father…”
Kip’s entire body stiffened as unexpected, intense emotion grabbed hold of him. He’d just had a flashback, knew something about being a young boy, after all. He knew exactly how it felt, how utterly terrified he’d been when, a few days after his sixth birthday, they’d buried his mother.
“When can we see them?” Leslie and Clara asked almost simultaneously.
“Anytime you’d like, but there’s more that you should know first,” Jim said, his glasses back on his nose as he picked up some papers. “Calhoun left a generous sum of money for Ada, and with the rest he set up a trust for the kids.” He peered at Kip over the top of the wire frames. “Kip, you and Leslie are both named as trustees.”
The rope around Kip’s neck tightened, as he became responsible for more duties he hadn’t asked for and didn’t want.
Leslie glanced at him, her lips turned up in a tentative smile that failed to hide the panic in her eyes. Seeing her discomfort had an odd effect on him; it quieted his own
