Finding Perfect (15 page)

She pressed her lips together. “He's very thin for his age. We have some concerns about the food he's getting. His bones aren't as dense as we would like. From what Mrs. Miller told us about the playground, he shouldn't have broken a bone in that fall. Do you know if he gets enough to eat?”

He shook his head, ignoring the rage that bubbled inside of him. He had no patience for people who didn't take care of the kids entrusted to them. He'd been through plenty of that himself as he'd been growing up.

“Are you going to do any tests?” he asked.

“We need to talk to his parents about that.”

“Foster parents,” he corrected. “He lost his parents a while ago.”

“I don't like the sound of that,” Heidi said. “Now I know why Mrs. Miller wanted us to call social services. I'll talk to the caseworker when she gets here and ask her to follow up.”

Raoul looked at her. “Are there any signs of physical abuse?”

“We didn't see any. Do you suspect that something's going on?”

“I was there during the fire. Peter was one of the last kids to leave. When I went to help him out of the room, he pulled away. It could have just been one of those things, but…”

“Maybe.” Heidi didn't sound convinced. “I'll mention that, as well. It doesn't hurt to be cautious.” She made some notes. “Thanks for the information.”

He and Heidi walked out of the room. He saw Mrs. Miller hurrying toward him.

“Can you come to Peter's room,” the teacher asked as she approached. “He's not doing well.”

“What's wrong?” Heidi asked. “He was fine a few minutes ago.”

“The cast is on and they've given him something for the pain,” the older woman said. “It's not his arm.” She lowered her voice. “Apparently the last time he was in the hospital was after that horrible car accident that killed his parents. He keeps talking about them and asking for you.” She looked at Raoul. “I think seeing you would make him feel better.”

“Sure.”

“You go ahead,” Heidi told them. “I'm going to check on the caseworker and see when we can expect her.”

As Peter was due to be released in an hour or so, he hadn't been given a room on one of the regular hospital floors. Raoul followed Mrs. Miller through the maze of hallways that made up the E.R. Peter sat up on a bed, looking small and pale. The cast went from his wrist to his elbow and was Dallas Cowboy blue. But the kid
looked anything but okay as he covered his face with his free hand and tears ran down his cheeks.

“Hey, buddy,” Raoul said as he walked into the room. “What's going on?”

“I want to go h-home,” the boy cried.

“We're getting ahold of your foster parents,” Raoul told him.

“N-not them. I want my mom and dad.”

Raoul swore silently. This was a problem that couldn't be fixed. He looked at Mrs. Miller, who was obviously fighting tears of her own, then back at the boy.

Raoul moved to the bed and pulled the boy into his arms. Then he carried him to the chair in the corner and sat down, holding Peter close.

The kid clung to him, wrapping his uninjured arm around Raoul's neck and crying into his shoulder.

He was so damn skinny, Raoul thought. All bones and angles, too light for a kid his age. He held Peter, rubbing his back, not saying anything. After a few minutes, the crying softened and the kid seemed to go to sleep.

“I feel so bad for him,” Mrs. Miller whispered. “I've called all the numbers his foster parents left and there's no answer. Mr. Folio's employer said the man was out of town for a few days. But if that's true, who's looking after Peter?”

Raoul didn't have any answers. He knew the situation with the boy wasn't all that unusual. That being underage and alone in the world was never a good thing. There were excellent foster parents out there, but plenty of them were only in it for the money.

An older woman entered. She looked worn and tired, with her gray hair pulled back and glasses hanging from a chain around her neck.

“I'm Cathy Dawson,” she said, then saw Peter and lowered her voice. “Is he all right?”

“The break was clean and, according to the doctors, he should heal quickly,” Mrs. Miller said. “I can't get ahold of his foster parents, however.”

The social worker frowned, then put on her glasses and read the papers in her hand. “I see there is also some concern about his physical well-being. He might not be getting enough to eat.” She sighed. “All right. Give me a few minutes.”

Just then Peter stirred and sat up. He blinked at Raoul, then turned.

“Hi, Mrs. Dawson,” he said, then yawned.

“Hello yourself. It looks like you fell.”

Peter nodded. “I broke my arm.” He held up the cast, then glanced at Raoul. “It's Dallas Cowboys blue.”

“I noticed that,” Raoul said. “Are you going to let me sign your cast?”

“Uh-huh.” The boy smiled shyly.

“Good.”

Mrs. Dawson pulled up the other chair and sat across from them. “Peter, where have you been staying for the past few days?”

“With the lady next door.” He gave the name.

“How long have your foster parents been gone?”

Peter shrugged. “A while.”

Mrs. Dawson's expression stayed friendly. “Since the weekend?”

Peter wrinkled his nose. “Before that, I think.”

“I see. Do you know when they'll be back?”

He shook his head, then cradled his arm against his chest. “Are they gonna be mad because I got hurt?”

“Of course not,” she said firmly. “They'll be happy
you're all right. We all are.” She paused. “You know what I think?”

“What?” Peter asked suspiciously.

“I think you probably need a little ice cream. I know they have some down in the cafeteria. If you don't mind, I'm going to get you some.”

Relief showed in Peter's expression. He grinned. “I don't mind.”

“That's very nice of you. But you know, it's a big hospital. Would you mind if Mr. Moreno showed me the way?”

“Okay.”

Raoul wasn't sure what the social worker was up to, but he stood and put Peter back on the bed. “I might have some silver-star stickers at my office,” he said. “I'll check tomorrow and if I do, we can put some on your cast.”

The boy grinned.

Mrs. Miller moved toward him. “I'll wait for you here,” she said.

Raoul followed Mrs. Dawson into the hallway.

“The cafeteria is that way,” she said, pointing.

“So you don't need my help finding it.”

“I wanted a chance to talk to you. I assume you have people in town who know you?”

“Yes,” he said cautiously.

“Good. That will help us push through the paperwork. I know a sympathetic judge. If you'll give me two or three people to use as character references, we can get this done in an hour or so.”

“Get what done?”

Mrs. Dawson stopped and stared at him. “Having
Peter stay with you until his foster parents return and we can figure out if it's safe for him to go back with them, of course.”

 

P
IA ARRIVED AT
R
AOUL'S
place at seven. There'd been so much to carry, she'd had to drive. Now she grabbed two shopping bags and headed toward the front door. He had it open before she made it to the small porch.

“What's all that?” he asked.

“Dinner for many days to come. There's more in the car.”

“More what?”

Poor man, she thought, handing him the bags. “Food. Word got out about you taking in Peter. People didn't know when you'd get home, so they brought it to me.”

He was still standing there looking confused when she went back to her car for the second load. She collected the last three bags, shut her car door with her hip, then returned to the house.

“I don't understand,” Raoul said, following her to the kitchen.

“Pia!”

She turned and saw Peter running toward her. He had a cast on his skinny forearm and had already changed into race-car pajamas.

“Hey, you,” she said, putting her bags on the kitchen table. “What happened?”

“I fell.” He held out his cast. “See.”

“Very impressive. Does it hurt?”

“No. I have drops.”

Some kind of pain medicine, she would guess. “Cool. Have you had dinner?”

Peter shook his head. “Just ice cream.”

Pia raised her eyebrows.

“Don't look at me,” Raoul told her. “It was Mrs. Dawson's idea.”

“A likely story,” Pia teased, then shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the back of a chair. “So, what are we in the mood for? There are lots of choices.”

She moved to the counter and started taking casserole dishes out of the various bags. “Lasagna, always a favorite. Seven-layer tamale pie.” She read each item as she set it down. “Chicken-and-noodle casserole, a vegetable bake.” She wrinkled her nose at Peter. “Probably not that one, huh?”

He laughed. “I like lasagna.”

“Me, too.” She glanced at Raoul. “Would you set the oven to three-fifty? It's not frozen, so it won't take long to heat up.”

He stood there, staring at her. “I don't understand.”

She faced him. “When people heard that Peter would be staying with you for a few days, they brought food to help out. So you don't have to cook dinner every night.”

“How did they hear?”

“Someone told them. Have you learned nothing about small-town living?”

She turned on the oven, then walked to the fridge. “Tell me the freezer's empty, because you have food for days.”

He nodded, still looking shell-shocked.

“Why don't you go help Peter wash his hands? You know the cast can't get wet, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I'll get things together in here. I'll leave two dinners in the refrigerator for the next couple of nights.
Oh, and there are stickers in that white bag. For your cast.”

“Cool!” Peter reached into the bag and pulled out the sheet of stickers. “Can we put them on now?”

Raoul looked at her. She laughed. “Go ahead. Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes.”

They left the kitchen. A few minutes later, Raoul was back.

“I'm sorry,” he told her.

“For what?”

“We were supposed to have dinner together tonight.”

“We are.”

“Not like this,” he said. “I don't know exactly how it happened. One second the social worker was talking, the next I had a kid.”

She patted her stomach. “I know the feeling.”

“You're not mad?”

“Why would I be? Peter's all alone, he's hurt and no one knows where his foster parents are. You stepped up. Honestly, it makes you even nicer.”

“You hate nice.”

“I'm making an exception.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

He disappeared down the hall.

She stared after him, telling herself that just because he was a great guy didn't mean it was safe to open her heart to him.

 

B
Y THE TIME THEY FINISHED
dinner and got Peter settled in Raoul's spare bedroom, it was after nine. Pia curled up on the sofa, telling herself that she had to get it together and head home. Despite not having many
symptoms of her pregnancy to date, she was a little more tired than usual. Raoul sat at the other end of the couch, angled toward her.

“Thanks for everything,” he said.

“I just showed up with other people's effort. There's nothing to thank me for.”

“Poor kid.” Raoul sipped his beer. “Talk about a hell of a situation.”

“They really don't know where his foster parents are?”

“That's what Mrs. Dawson said. I hope they investigate them when they finally get back. Peter hasn't said anything bad about them, but there are a few red flags.”

He'd already told her about the possibility that the kid wasn't getting enough to eat. There was no excuse for neglect, she thought. But that didn't stop it from happening.

He set down the bottle. “I had other plans for the evening,” he told her.

For a second she thought he meant sex. Her body reacted with an internal happy dance, and various parts of her went on alert.

He pulled open a small drawer from the underside of the coffee table and withdrew a small, square lavender jewelry box. She recognized the color and the design on the box. Jenel's Gems was known for elegant, upscale, one-of-a-kind designs.

Her throat went dry and she had an odd and unexpected sense of shyness. The wanting faded as confusion took its place.

“I don't understand,” she said.

“We're getting married,” he reminded her. “I believe an engagement ring is traditional.”

“Yes, but…” Theirs wasn't a traditional engagement. “I wasn't expecting anything. You don't have to do this.”

“I want to.”

He eased toward her and took her left hand in his. “Pia, thank you for agreeing to marry me. We're going to make this work. I'll be there for you, no matter what.”

His words made her ache. They were exactly what she'd always wanted to hear…almost.

“I'll be there for you, too,” she whispered.

He smiled, then opened the box.

If she hadn't been sitting, she would have fallen. The ring was incredible. Beautiful and sparkling, and large enough to make her nervous.

“The two diamond bands are wedding bands,” he said. “If you don't like them, we can get something else.”

“They're wonderful. Everything is stunning, but it's too much.” She looked at him. “I would have been fine with a simple gold band.”

“Are you saying you're not a diamond kind of girl?”

She returned her attention to the ring. “I haven't been.”

“Then we need to change that.”