into her eyes. “What else?”
“Mental abuse,” she continued. “Alcohol abuse. One of the most common causes for removal in foster families is spending the allowance for the children’s food and clothing on personal items.”
“That won’t be a problem here.”
“I didn’t think it would. Another thing the courts frown upon is lack of supervision.”
“I see.” He gazed out the window again. Caileen sipped her coffee, which was surprisingly good, and waited for his next question.
“Was Krista physically abused?” he asked. “Apart from the beatings?”
Caileen shook her head. “No. Why do you ask?”
“She seems afraid of me sometimes. She doesn’t like it when both the boys are out at one time.”
“That could be separation anxiety,” Caileen said after considering the facts. “She depended solely on Jeremy and Tony for her safety during the time they were hiding out. It can be frightening to need another that much, to know that without them, she might have to return to foster care and face the same situation again but alone this time.”
“Why wouldn’t she come to me? I’ve never hurt them.”
“Perhaps she isn’t sure you really want her.” Caileen glanced at her watch. She’d been there nearly an hour and still had two other homes to visit. Rising, she gathered her purse and notebook. “I think we should give her time to realize that her life isn’t going to suddenly change again.”
“She needs to regain her trust in people,” he concluded, the cynical note back.
“Yes. Don’t rush her. Just be available if she wants to talk. Stories can help children open up. I have some good books that would be right for Krista. I’ll see that you get them. You might read a chapter to her each night. Oh, and have her read one to you. That helps enormously with reading skills, we’ve found.”
“Okay. When can I get the books?”
Clearly he wasn’t one to waste time. “I’ll bring them over tomorrow.” She checked her day planner. “Around noon. That’s the only time I have free.”
“Fine. At noon then.”
He strode toward the front door, the interview over as far as he was concerned. She found herself as much amused by his manner as touched by his obvious concern for the orphans in his care.
“Mr. Aquilon—”
“Jeff,” he corrected. “Since we’re on day one of a seven-year relationship, we may as well be on a first-name basis.”
“Jeff,” she acknowledged. “I want you to know we’re on the same side where the children are concerned.”
He looked as if he might dispute that, then he nodded, so solemnly it touched something deep inside her that hadn’t been disturbed in a long, long time.
A few minutes later, giving one last wave over her shoulder as he watched her departure, she turned onto the main road and headed for her office.
Her conclusions would be fairly easy to write up. The home was perfectly acceptable. The man was…
She considered several adjectives as she wound her way down the tree-lined country highway. Strong. Cynical. Self-contained. Kind. Caring. Responsible.
If her husband had been like Jefferson Aquilon, maybe they would still be together. Maybe life would have been easier for their daughter if she’d had a father who could have stuck it out during the hard times.
Instead, Brendon, her twenty-six-year-old surfer hero, had run out after five years of married bliss. Not that things had been much fun the last four of those years. With a child had come responsibility. Zia had needed a home, not a van, to live in. She’d needed medical treatment for her asthma.
The family had needed steady income, more than Caileen could provide from her nursing assistant salary while she tried to pursue her degree in counseling. Her parents, furious with her marriage, hadn’t offered help before or after the divorce.
Unfortunately, she now knew exactly how they’d felt. Experience was a great teacher. Putting thoughts of the past on hold, she finished her afternoon appointments and went home.
The two-bedroom town house was cold when she let herself inside. Her daughter wouldn’t be home for another hour or so due to a late afternoon class. She turned up the thermostat, changed to a pair of old sweats and ate leftovers and a salad for dinner.
Later, over a cup of hot tea, she pondered the visit to the Aquilon place.
Jeff’s many talents had surprised her. Obviously he was more than a glorified junk dealer. After the visit, she’d had to revise her opinion of him.
Not that she hadn’t been prepared for him to be a nice person. Lyric Dalton had assured her he was. But he was much more than the surface evaluation written up in the case notes by the former counselor.
For one thing, he hadn’t mentioned losing his foot in service to his country. He seemed to have adjusted quite well to the prosthesis that had replaced his left foot. Some people would have tried to engage her sympathy on that score, but he hadn’t. Although he had a slight limp, he didn’t let the disability interfere with his work as far as she could see.
Her impression was that he took life as it came and dealt with each issue head-on. His concern and questions had all been focused on the orphans in his care.
After having the two younger children taken from him for no good reason—in his estimation, at any rate—he had a right to be cynical and distrusting of her department. Most people were.
Welcome to the club, she should have told him.
Her mother and grandmother had been social workers. Like them, she’d gone into it wanting to help families—especially those with children—make it. Lately she’d wondered if the emotional toll was worth it.
She sighed and listened to the wind in the cottonwoods outside the two-family house she’d bought twelve years ago in order to provide a stable home for her daughter. The rent from the other half had paid for braces and the trendy—but pricey—clothing all teenagers thought they couldn’t live without.
Her handsome, perfectly built, young husband had left their cozy nest when his daughter was four. Zia had never had a clue about the daily struggle to pay the babysitter, her college tuition and all that was needed to keep body and soul together during the three years that followed. Caileen hadn’t wanted her to.
She’d lived in university housing and arranged a babysitting co-op with other student mothers. She’d worked afternoons in the psychology department and weekends as a dishwasher at a restaurant where they’d let her bring her child. She’d found she could survive with a heart that felt as if it had been trampled in the dust and left for dead.
With her master’s degree and a job offer from the local Family Services office, she’d moved to Council, bought the two-family home and settled into the hectic routine known as her life.
She hoped, for Jeff Aquilon’s sake, he
