A Family Name (3 page)

Will took a deep breath to soothe the nerves
and pain racing around his body. Then one at a time he climbed the
steps. An ominous feeling wrapped around him as he pushed the front
door open, and stepped into the usually cheery house. The air,
normally infused with delicious smells of his mother's baking, hung
heavy.

"Hello?" He heard himself speak, but the
voice seemed distant, disembodied.

His father cleared his throat. "We're in
here, Will."

Will turned the corner toward the living room
and stopped short. His father sat on the sofa with his arms around
his mother. Wyatt sat on the footstool, elbows resting on his
knees, looking like a little kid again. The sight might have made
Will smile if he hadn't caught Walker's gaze. His older brother
looked like a bus had hit him, red rimmed eyes, clenched jaw, and
all.

With a hitch of his breath, Will said,
"What's wrong, people? Who died?"

The moment the words left his mouth, Will
realized his stupidity. Tears rolled down his mother's face and she
turned to smother her sobs in his father's shirt front. Will's
mouth went dry. He shrugged helplessly as he looked from his dad to
Walker to Wyatt and back again.

"William, I think you'd better sit down," his
father said. The serious tone reminded Will of all the times he had
been in trouble in high school.

The only available spot was on the sofa next
to his mother. Will sank down into the soft cushions; his chest
tight with something he thought might be panic.

"What's going on?" Will didn't realize that
he had reached out for his mother's hand, but when he looked down
he noticed that she was clutching him tightly.

"I don't know how to tell you this, son,"
Will's father paused and cleared his throat again. "But, Steve and
Gretchen were in an accident this morning. Out on County 4A. It
looked like they were coming from the back pasture."

Will's mind reeled as he pictured his best
friend and fellow professor and his pretty wife. "The back pasture?
We haven't been out there in months. Not since the weather got bad
in, what? November? We can't take groups up there right now. It's
too dangerous. Steve and Gretchen know that."

From the corner of his eye, Will saw his
parents exchange a glance. His mother tightened her grip on his
hand. Another wave of nausea rolled over Will.

"That's not all," Bill said, breaking through
Will's haze. "Their SUV rolled down an embankment." His dad's voice
broke, and he stopped talking for a moment. "They… they were killed
on impact."

The words reverberated in Will's ears.
"No."

They all had to be wrong. Steve wouldn't have
gone up to the pasture alone, and he would never have taken
Gretchen along. Will tried to remember the last time he and Steve
had spoken. Yesterday? The day before? They'd both been busy with
students and teaching, but they had agreed to go to Grumble's Bar
and Grill later in the week.

"Will…" The heartbreak that he heard in his
mother's voice told him it was true.

Something felt like it cracked open in his
chest. Will dropped his pounding head to his hands and tried to
make sense of the information. Steve and Gretchen had died. In a
car accident. That morning. What had they been doing up here? Had
they been looking for him? Hadn't Steve known Will had to teach a
class this morning? And the ice storm should have kept them at
home, right?

"There has to be some mistake." Will choked
on the words as his throat constricted.

"Son." Will felt his father's hand heavily on
his shoulder, but he didn't look up. The pain in his head
threatened to explode.

A knock at the door drew his attention.
Walker strode across the room, and peered out the front window.
"Looks like the sheriff's back again."

"I wonder what he wants now." Wyatt muttered.
"Hasn't he delivered enough bad news for one day?"

Will's head ached as he heard Walker usher
the sheriff into the living room. He smelled the acrid aroma of the
sheriff's cigar habit before the man even entered the room. When
his footfalls made it clear that the sheriff was directly in front
of him, Will looked up.

The room tilted as Will tried to focus on
Clint McLloyd, the man who had been the definition of law
enforcement in this count for the last twenty years. Clint's
handlebar mustache twitched.

"Howdy, Will," Clint drawled, taking off his
hat and fidgeting with the brim. "I'm real sorry about your
friends."

Will nodded, but the effort of moving his
head up and down sent explosions of pain rocketing from his temples
to the base of his skull.
The loss of his friends
. How was
he to put the pieces of that news together?

"The thing is," Clint said, pausing to run a
hand over his face. "The thing is that your friends left a will, to
provide for their kids."

Sierra and Shane. The mere thought of them
sent another wave of pain crashing over Will. How could the five-
and three-year-old children deal with the loss of their
parents?

Clint sighed. "The thing of it is… I got a
call from a social worker down in Rapid. And well, you've been
named temporary guardian, Will. The kids are being brought up here
right now."

Will wasn't sure he had heard the man
correctly, but as the words sunk in, pain exploded in Will's eyes.
The room began to spin.

"And this will be your room." Charlotte
pushed the door open, allowing the sullen teenager to enter
first.

Charlotte held her breath as she watched Lexi
look around the small but cheerful space. After setting the foster
care paperwork in motion, Charlotte had begun redecorating the
room. The yellow walls suddenly seemed a bit too intense, and the
green comforter looked a little too green. Charlotte balled her
hands to keep them from shaking, her nerves getting out of
control.

After the silence stretched on for what
seemed like longer than it should have, Charlotte cleared her
throat. "So what do you think?"

Lexi set her backpack down on the bed, and
turned around slowly. "It's nice. I like the colors, especially
this green."

Charlotte exhaled as Lexi ran a hand over the
bedspread. She set down the suitcase at the girl's feet. "I'll just
let you unpack. When you're finished, we can start making
dinner."

She eased the door shut behind her. Charlotte
paused a moment, listening to the sounds of Lexi moving around the
room.
This is good,
she told herself,
she needs time to
settle in.
The desire to smother the girl in welcoming
activities hummed just below the surface of Charlotte's soul. She
knew from experience that she had to rein in her emotions, and take
things slowly so as not to scare the girl. Margo, her supervisor at
work, had laid out the extra expectations she had of Charlotte in
this situation. Both of them wanted Lexi to be able to stay here
for a long time.

With a deep breath, Charlotte walked down the
short hallway to the kitchen. The bags of groceries she had carted
in when she and Lexi had gotten home lay haphazardly on the
counter. Pulling out a package of taco shells, Charlotte wondered
if Lexi even liked Mexican food. There was so much she needed to
find out about the girl. As she hugged the package to her, fear
constricted her breathing and made her chest feel tight. How would
she ever manage to do this?

Margo had believed in her enough to recommend
the paperwork be expedited. She had managed to get everything
cleared in a matter of days. When Charlotte delivered the news to
Lexi, she got the feeling that the girl was excited, even though
she refused to show any emotion. Getting herself together, she
decided to get the tacos started.

"I can help."

Charlotte dropped the pan she had just gotten
out of the cabinet, the clang echoing through the tiny space. "You
startled me." With a shaky laugh, she bent to retrieve the pan. "I
guess I'm used to living alone."

The words came out wrong, but they couldn't
be taken back. Lexi's face tightened, but she lifted her chin
slightly, and Charlotte had to wonder how many defenses the girl
had built up over the years. It was her job to tear them down, and
build a bond of trust. Tacos seemed like a good activity to achieve
just that.

The first time Charlotte had been removed
from home, her foster mom had made tacos with her. That was before.
The goal at that time had still been to reunite her with her
mother. Still her first foster mother had made the transition less
traumatic with those tacos. Browning ground beef, grating cheese,
and shredding lettuce had been soothing. The act of fixing dinner
together had made Charlotte feel like part of the family. Now tacos
felt like loss mixed with home, comfort mixed with sadness. She
wondered now if Lexi felt any of that as the girl helped unpack the
groceries.

"What should I do?" Lexi shifted herself away
from Charlotte. The movement was so microscopic that Charlotte
wasn't sure she had seen it, but her instinct told her that Lexi
was feeling isolated. She needed to do something to diffuse the
situation.

Handing Lexi a spatula from the utensil
drawer, she said, "Do you know how to brown meat?"

Lexi nodded as Charlotte opened the package
of ground beef and plopped it into the skillet she had already set
on the stove. After she turned the burner on medium heat, Charlotte
stepped back to let Lexi have autonomy.

Charlotte continued to put groceries away
while she kept an eye on the girl's progress with their dinner.
After all the food had been taken care of, Charlotte pulled a brick
of cheddar cheese out of the refrigerator and set about grating it
into a bowl.

"I hope tacos are okay," Charlotte said.

Lexi's head bobbed up and down, either from
shyness or boredom, Charlotte couldn't tell, and she poked at the
meat as it sizzled in the pan. "We never had Mexican food at my
last placement. My foster dad said it gave him indigestion. I love
tacos, though. It's my favorite meal at school."

The mention of school gave Charlotte a moment
of pause. She had already enrolled Lexi in the middle school down
the street, but had left the starting date open. When she had been
removed from her mother permanently, Charlotte remembered that her
foster mother had allowed her to take several weeks to assimilate
before sending her back out into the world.

Clearing her throat, Charlotte said, "I
thought you could take a few days off before you start at your new
school, if you want."

Lexi's eyebrows shot up, but otherwise she
remained stoic and pokerfaced. She stirred the meat four times.
Charlotte counted each rotation. After the last circle, Lexi looked
up at her with a small smile on her face.

"That's really nice," Lexi said. Then she
lapsed back into silence. Charlotte racked her brain trying to
think of something to say, but the conversation had been derailed.
After the last piece of cheese had been shredded, Charlotte
attacked the lettuce and tomatoes. While she cut up the vegetables,
she watched the girl out of the corner of her eye. Lexi seemed to
be comfortable, even in her new surroundings. Charlotte hoped it
wasn't just wishful thinking.

"Do you want tea or lemonade or water? Or
milk?" Charlotte wondered at the tinny tone in her voice. She
sounded manic, even to her own ears. Was she trying too hard to
impress this young girl, her new foster daughter? Despite her
misgivings and anxiety, Charlotte loved the way the words sounded,
and she whispered them to herself over and over.

Lexi deftly took the meat off the flame, and
turned off the burner. Before answering, she added taco seasoning
to the meat. "Lemonade is good."

Relief coursed through Charlotte. She had had
several people suggest that bringing a teenager into her home would
bring her nothing but heartache, but this was right and good.
Charlotte could feel it in her bones.

****

"Where's my mommy? I want my mommy!"

The little girl's cries tore at Will's heart.
Despite the fact that he had no idea how to comfort her, he found
himself wanting to. Sierra's big eyes swam with tears as she looked
up at him frantically. She reached out and, running on instinct,
Will lifted her into his arms.

"Shh." He made soothing noises and Sierra
laid her head on his shoulder. The sobs that wracked her tiny body
slowed to convulsing hiccups.

"M-m-mommy." Sierra's voice was so small. How
could he explain the tragedy to her?

The social worker that had brought the
children to the house had given him some suggestions on talking to
children about dealing with grief, but he couldn't remember any of
it. His mother had taken notes while he had nodded numbly.
Everywhere he looked reminders of Steve haunted him, not only at
home, but at work. After the shock had worn off, the anger had
settled in. What had Steve and Gretchen been doing out on that back
road that day? The weather had been awful. They had lived in the
Hills long enough to know that dirt road driving was to be avoided
at all costs on icy days.

Sierra's hiccups turned to sniffles. She
snuggled deeper against his shoulder. Her soul-deep sigh rattled
him to his very core, and he tightened his arms around her. At
five, she understood her loss far more acutely than her three-year
old-brother. Shane walked around with his thumb in his mouth and a
ratty blanket trailing behind. He never talked. At least not yet.
The social worker had warned him to give both children plenty of
space and plenty of stability.

When he felt the girl grow heavy and limp, he
knew she had fallen asleep. Will eased her back into her bed. With
the covers pulled back up around her tiny shoulders, Will paused to
examine the young face streaked with tears. Sierra looked
remarkably like her mother. Will remembered how thrilled Gretchen
had been to have a little girl. She had spent months planning a
nursery, which Will had helped paint. Steve had been insistent that
Gretchen not inhale any fumes, lest the baby suffer permanent
damage. Will shook his head to clear the cobweb of thoughts that
had developed. He knew that Gretchen would have done anything for
her kids. She hadn't been one to take unnecessary risks. So why had
she gone out in an ice storm?