Father to Be (9 page)

Grayson’s scowl held steady, then in a heartbeat it transformed into a broad grin. “Why? Are you interested?”

Her face flamed again. She chose to ignore his question and concentrate instead on her own. “If you
are
in a relationship,
you must understand that you can’t, ah, bring someone into the house to, ah—”

“No sleepovers. I understand.”

“Good.” She added her notes to his file, then folded her hands on top. “I think that takes care of everything for now. I’ll be making some home visits. You’ll know when I show up at your door. For now you’re free to go.”

He made no move to stand.

“Do you have any questions?”

“Just one. You left your car at my house. Do you plan to walk back to get it, or would you like a ride?”

She sighed heavily. It seemed there was no end to her mistakes today. “I would appreciate a ride if you don’t mind.”

“If I minded, I wouldn’t have offered.” They were on their way out the door, when he added, “You really need to lighten up, Ms. Malone. You’re not in the big city anymore.”

This was what she’d wanted, she reminded herself—small-town life. Making a difference. Making a connection.

So far it seemed all she’d made were mistakes.

It was a silent ride back to the garage apartment. Halfway there, J.D. pulled to the side of the street and gestured toward the corner house. “That’s the Winchester place. The sisters live there together.”

The house looked like something out of a storybook, with a big veranda, fish-scale shingles, gingerbread, and soft colors. There was a swing at one end of the veranda, a glider in the shade of a spreading oak, and flowers blooming everywhere. It was a homey, welcoming place, the sort that she’d sometimes dreamed of in her fifth-floor walkup.

“Can we meet them?”

“If they were home, their car would be in the driveway.
They’re probably at the hospital—they do volunteer work there—or maybe at the library for story hour. We’ll set something up later.” As he pulled away from the curb, he asked, “Have you found a place yet?”

Back in the city, she’d rarely engaged in personal conversation with therapists or foster parents. With the therapists it had been all business. With parents she’d known practically every intimate detail of their lives, while they’d known her only as Ms. Malone the social worker. But she wasn’t in the city anymore.

“I have an apartment on the other side of town.”

“Did you get the pink and green bathroom or the red and yellow?” At her questioning look, he grinned. “There’s only one apartment complex on the other side of town. I lived there for about a month before Mrs. Larrabee offered me the garage apartment. Maybe once I’ve moved out, she’ll give you a shot at it.”

“When are you moving?”

“As soon as my house is finished.”

“Which will be …?”

“Not as soon as it would have been before I agreed to take the kids. I’m building the place myself. I usually spend my evenings and weekends working out there.”

That explained the calluses on his palms. An eminent psychiatrist who was building his own house while caring for four children who weren’t his own. J. D. Grayson was proving to be an interesting man.

He turned the corner into his driveway, then parked beside her car. “Do you want to come up and talk to the kids again?”

“No, thanks. I’ll stop in soon for the first home visit.” She paused. “About our misunderstanding … I really am sorry, Dr. Grayson. I don’t usually make mistakes.”

“Everyone makes mistakes.”

Simple words, presumably meant to reassure her. Somehow they didn’t. “In my job I can’t afford many mistakes. It won’t happen again.” It was a promise to herself more than to him—a promise she would do her best to keep.

Chapter Four
 

J
.D. watched Kelsey drive away, then slowly, reluctantly, turned toward the house. He could think of a hundred places he would rather go than inside, a hundred things he’d rather do than face those kids. With Mrs. Larrabee, they were certainly in more capable hands than his own. They wouldn’t miss his presence for a few more hours.

But when he moved, it wasn’t toward his truck and escape. No, he walked to the bottom of the stairs, climbed up one step at a time—the way he’d learned to live again. The way he would learn to live with these kids. One step at a time.

The apartment was quiet. With four kids inside, he found the silence unnatural. Uncomfortable.

They remained where they’d been when he’d left them, sprawled together on the sofa in front of the television. Mrs. Larrabee sat in the easy chair near the window, using the afternoon light to do her needlework. When she saw him, she smiled, removed the half-glasses that had slipped
to the tip of her nose, and tucked her work into its tote before joining him in the hallway.

“Is everything all right?” she asked quietly. “Was the social worker satisfied? Is she leaving the children with you?”

He glanced over her head and caught Caleb’s scowl. “Yes, she is.” Though why in the world he’d wanted her to was beyond him.

Obviously, Mrs. Larrabee didn’t share his misgivings. “Wonderful. I have no doubt you’ll give them exactly what they need. I’ll run along now. If you need anything, just give me a call. Children, I’ll see you later.”

The offered no response but merely watched her go.

What was he supposed to do now? Sit with them while they watched their sixth or eighth hour of the Disney Channel? Retreat to his room? No doubt, that would make them happy, but it wouldn’t go far toward resolving anything.

He studied them a moment longer, taking in the solemn stares, the shaggy hair, the worn clothes. He knew that they were clean and so were their clothes, but they still looked like urchins. They still looked shabby. So doing something about that was as good a place to start as any.

“Turn off the TV,” he said, pulling his keys from his pocket, “and let’s go shopping.”

None of them moved. He pushed the off button, then waited expectantly.

“I never been shopping,” Noah murmured softly, then shrank back against the cushions.

It was the first time J.D. had heard him speak in more than twenty-four hours. J.D. summoned a faint smile for him. “Then it’s time you went. Come on. Let’s go.”

When Gracie would have risen from the sofa, Caleb tightened his hold on her. He signaled the other two with a look to stay where they were. “Shoppin’ for what?”

“Clothes.”

“We have clothes.”

“New clothes.”

Gracie’s eyes lit up, and there was a hint of interest in Noah’s. Jacob took his cue from Caleb, who said, “We don’t need new clothes.”

J.D. kept his tone level and friendly even as he sent a warning glance Caleb’s way. “You seem to have misunderstood, Caleb. I’m not making a request. I’m telling you what we’ll be doing for the next hour or two. Get up and let’s go.”

Caleb didn’t move. The other kids looked from him to J.D. and back again. If Caleb refused, there was no question they would also refuse, leaving J.D. with no choice but to back down.

And backing down, he was sure, would be a mistake. But what would be the alternative? Fortunately, he didn’t have to look for one. After a moment, with all the hostility he could manage, Caleb gave in. “Fine. Let’s go.”

There were only a few clothing stores in Bethlehem, all of them located on two adjoining blocks. What were the chances, J.D. wondered sourly, that Caleb wouldn’t find anything he liked?

J.D. herded the kids into the nearest shop, where Mandy Lewis, daughter of one of his fellow doctors, was working for the summer. Somehow hearing the bell over the door in spite of the discordant racket coming from the radio under the counter, she lowered the volume, spit out the gum she’d been popping, and greeted them with a bright smile. “Hi, Dr. J.D. What can I do for you?”

“We need new wardrobes—shorts, T-shirts, underwear, whatever they need for the summer. And something for church.”

“I never been to church,” Noah murmured.

“Well, it’s never too late to start,” Mandy replied. “At
least, that’s what my grandfather the minister says. Why don’t you two”—she held out her hands to Gracie and Noah—“come with me, and I’ll help you get started while Dr. J.D. takes care of your brothers.”

Noah looked to Caleb for permission. Gracie, her attention caught by a rack of pretty dresses, felt no such need. She immediately placed her hand in Mandy’s and headed for the dresses. Only then did Noah grab the girl’s other hand and follow.

J.D. considered coming up with an excuse for leaving all four kids in Mandy’s care. The courthouse was nearby. He could check in with the sheriff’s department and see if there’d been any progress in the last hour or so in the search for Ezra Brown. He could cross the hall to the police department and shoot the breeze with his friends there. Or he could go to the third floor and unnerve Kelsey Malone a bit more.

His grin faded. No use considering could-dos. What he
would
do was admit—at least to himself—that he was once again out of his element and try his best in spite of it.

As he looked around, his gaze settled on a display of denim shorts. Since that was his own summer uniform when he wasn’t working, he headed that way. “Jacob, what size do you wear?”

With a bewildered expression the boy looked at Caleb, then shrugged. He probably wore hand-me-downs from his brother, whose own clothes appeared to be hand-me-downs from their father.

J.D. picked out a variety of sizes, then handed them to Jacob. “The dressing room’s over there. Try those on until you find a pair that fits.” After taking a breath for patience, he turned to Caleb. “What about you?”

“I got clothes.”

“You need more.”

“Don’t want any.”

“You need some for church.”

“I’m not goin’ to church.”

“Yes, you are. Sunday morning. We don’t go to the same church as Mandy, but you’ll know some people there. Mr. Montero, the principal at your school. Miss Smith—she was your teacher last year, wasn’t she? Oh, and Alanna Dalton. Her family goes there too.”

Caleb’s face turned red at the mention of Alanna’s name. “I’m not goin’ to church, and I’m not buyin’ new clothes, and I’m not takin’
anything
from
you
.”

Out of sight behind the stacks of shorts, J.D.’s fingers curled into a fist. For one brief moment he considered letting Caleb have his way, letting him continue to live in ragged old clothes that fitted badly and gave other kids reason to tease or feel sorry for him. But that would be the easy way out, the coward’s way out. It would mean giving in to a twelve-year-old, and he wasn’t quite ready to do that.

“You’re getting new clothes for church,” he said in an even voice. “You will show respect by dressing appropriately when you’re there. The rest of the time, I don’t care if you wear rags out of the trash.” But others would, and because they would, eventually so would Caleb. “So you can pick out stuff you like, or I can pick it out for you. It’s your choice.”

Anger made Caleb’s dark eyes even darker and sharpened the ever-present hostility as he slowly, noisily, breathed to control his emotions. Off to the side, the dressing room door squeaked as Jacob pushed it open, and back in one corner, Gracie made a delighted sound. “I’m pretty!” she exclaimed, and Mandy replied, “Of course you’re pretty,” as if there’d never been any question of it. J.D. didn’t take his eyes off Caleb, who returned his stare for a moment before finally selecting a pair of shorts.

“You can make me get them,” he said quietly. “But you can’t make me wear them.”

J.D. shrugged as if it made no difference to him, then turned his back to check on Jacob. A moment later Caleb pushed past him and a moment after that the dressing room door slammed shut. The sigh he released wasn’t one of relief, J.D. told himself. There would be plenty more standoffs to come. He hadn’t won anything yet.

By the time they left the store an hour later, that morning’s headache was back and he’d made a dent in his bank balance, but the kids had clothes. Gracie and Noah had wanted to wear one of their new outfits home, but Caleb had insisted they put on their old clothes. Their
own
clothes, he’d called them.

They couldn’t separate the kids, Noelle had insisted yesterday. The younger ones needed Caleb and he needed them. J.D. couldn’t help but wonder if in this case separation might be the best thing.

They went to the shoe store down the block. It took another hour—faced with so many choices, Gracie had found it difficult to decide—but at last they returned to the truck.

“What’re you gonna buy us now?” Caleb asked snidely.

“Food. Then we’re going home.” There he was going to swallow a bottle of aspirin and another of antacid, put a wet cloth over his eyes and plugs in his ears, and not move until the following morning.

They drove the few blocks to the grocery store. As they turned into the parking lot, Caleb’s palms got damp, and as they pulled into a parking space, his face grew warm. He didn’t want to go in there, had sworn he’d never come back. Now, only a couple of days later, here he was.

But he wasn’t going in.