by J. A. Little
“What do you mean?”
“Is she just your granddad’s nurse or is she…more?”
Dean chokes. “I don’t know, Kayla. That’s not something I really want to think about.”
I giggle. “Sorry. I just think it must take a lot to look after someone full time like that. I mean, I get taking care of your kids—they’re part of you—but…I don’t know.” I take a bite and swallow it. “Do you ever want kids?” I blurt out without meaning to. I wince as Dean’s fork stops on its way to his mouth. When he looks up at me, I shift my eyes around before finally meeting his gaze.
“Uh… Where’d that come from?” His voice is quiet, but strong.
“Just curious,” I squeak out.
“Um… Do you?” he asks seriously, setting down his fork and scratching the side of his jaw like he does when he gets nervous.
I shrug. “I guess I’m already kind of having kids—I mean, with Claire and the baby. I don’t know. I was just thinking about it. Andy was talking about having kids with Sara the other day, and I…I love kids, but I guess I’ve never really seriously considered having any of my own.” Dean lets a long breath out from between pursed lips. He opens his mouth and then closes it again. He’s obviously thinking very carefully about his answer. “You can say no,” I offer, thinking that maybe he doesn’t want to admit it to me.
“I know I can,” he assures. “Um, a couple of months ago I would have said that I absolutely never want kids.” My heart speeds up a little. “But I guess now it’s not totally off the table.”
I nod and look down, only slightly aware of the fact that I’m smiling. We finish our dinner in comfortable silence until Dean points out the storm clouds rolling in.
“Looks like it’s gonna be rough tonight,” he says. “I’ll bring some wood in from the shed.”
By the time we collect our plates and glasses and get into the house, the rain has started.
“Go on upstairs,” Dean tells me. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.” When he closes the door behind him, the house is eerily silent. I climb the stairs fast, making my way to the bedroom he showed me earlier.
Turning on the lights, I get a much better look at my surroundings. The room is large, furnished with a king-size bed, two nightstands, and a huge dresser. There’s also an armoire and a leather settee. In the corner is a gorgeous, stone, wood-burning fireplace.
The bed is insanely comfortable. I sprawl across the down comforter and bury my face in a pillow. A few minutes later, while I’m still relishing how soft everything is, I hear a low chuckle.
“Comfortable?”
“Oh my God! Yes,” I groan, rolling onto my back. Dean has an armful of firewood and a smudge across his cheek. He sets it down, and I watch him as he starts a fire.
“Were you a Boy Scout?” I ask when it takes him less than two minutes to get it roaring.
“No, why?” he laughs.
“Because you’re awfully good at that.”
He strips off his now-dirty shirt and tosses it to the side while stalking toward the bed.
“I’m awfully good at a lot of things,” he says, kicking off his shoes and crawling over me. There’s a crack of lightning followed less than half a second later by booming thunder.
“Jesus, you weren’t kidding,” I say, glancing toward the window.
“The storms out here are a little crazier than the ones in the city. The power’ll go off soon.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Well, I guess it means I’ll just have to explore my way around the bed.” I feel his hand slip up my side and onto my shoulder, sliding my bra strap off. I wipe the smudge of dirt from his cheek before lifting my head to meet him in a searing kiss.
As the storm grows stronger and louder, Dean undresses me. The lights flicker a few times while he’s between my legs, his mouth bringing me closer and closer but never quite allowing me to go over the edge.
When the storm is right on top of us, the power finally fails, plunging us into darkness except for the slight glow from the fire. I hold him close, loving the weight of him as he rocks against me. My heels dig into his calves, my nails scratch down his back, and then I’m there and he’s there and I don’t want to let him go, but my body feels like jelly.
“Happy birthday.” I smile and kiss his shoulder. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his side.
“Best birthday ever.”
* * *
The next morning, Dean and I don’t get out of bed until after ten. When we finally get up, we take our time getting dressed and heading down to the kitchen. We drink coffee and eat bagels on the patio and are surprised when Mrs. Elliot and Granddad join us. He’s especially lucid this morning, and we sit and listen to him tell stories of his youth and about raising Joe and Charlotte, Mita’s mother. Now I’ve seen two completely different personalities.
Around lunchtime, he begins to get tired. Dean and I have to head back to Minneapolis anyway, so we say our good-byes, pack up our bags, and head out.
* * *
On Friday morning, we both get ready to go back to work.
“Do you have a lot to do today?” Dean asks.
I shake my head. “Not really. I have an adoption hearing this morning and a termination visit this afternoon. Then I’m going to need a really stiff drink.”
A sly smile crosses his face, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. I love his dirty mind. He kisses my shoulder. “Of alcohol, Dean,” I laugh. “Although a drink of your stiff—”
“All right. Stop before I take you back to bed,” he interrupts, chuckling. “I’m going to go make coffee.”
“You started it,” I yell after him.
I finish getting ready, slipping on a pair of slacks and a red blouse. Staring at my shoes in the closet, I briefly consider wearing the red pumps that Dean loves so much, but somehow, wearing them for anyone other than him feels wrong now. Instead, I go for a simple pair of black peep toes.
“Wow.” He whistles as I enter the kitchen.
“Thanks.” I grin. “I love adoption days. Feels like everything I’ve been working for is finally paying off. Too bad I have to follow it up with a termination visit.”
“Are you worried?”
“No. It’ll be fine. Dana’s going to be there, too.”
“Do the parents know it’s a termination visit?”
“Yeah. We told her last week that we’re no longer going to be working with her. Until the hearing, she’s technically allowed monthly visitation, but the hearing’s in three weeks.”
Dean frowns. “Just…be careful.”
“I will,” I promise.
“Good.” He bends down to plant a kiss on my mouth. “I love you.”
I smile up at him. “I love you, too. See you tonight.”
My morning is fantastic. An adoption hearing is the best way to come back to work after a break. The courthouse is flooded with happy families all dressed up and taking pictures. Lawyers and social workers get hugs and handshakes. Judges are smiling and kids are laughing. Warren’s here with a kid from his caseload and Andy has two kids whose adoptions are being finalized.
It’s after eleven when we finish. Andy and I have sushi from the Asian bistro, and then I make my way back to work. I spend the first part of the afternoon going through my cases with Kate, and then I clean up and submit my adoption case for closure. It’s a great feeling.
Dana’s on call, which is part of the reason we scheduled Lizzie and Garrett Turkins’ final visit for today. Sara is in and out, but she’s acting funny. I’m about to ask her what’s wrong when she jumps up.
“I have a visit. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Dana and I look at each other. She’s obviously noticed the odd behavior as well.
“We’ve got about ten minutes,” she says glancing up at the clock on the wall.
“I know. Do you have any Wite-Out? I don’t want to reprint this,” I grumble, looking down at a mistake I’ve m
ade on a court report. I only noticed it after I printed it out.
“Try Sara’s drawer. I borrowed some from her last week.”
Getting up, I lean over and pull out the drawer of Sara’s desk. Sure enough, there’s a bottle of Wite-Out. I glance down at her calendar. I don’t do it intentionally, but my eyes are drawn to today’s date.
Office visit: Abigail and Zachary – 3:00
I tilt my head. Yep, that’s exactly what it says. My stomach drops. That’s why she was so nervous. Dean’s ex-wife is in the building. I look up at the clock. Or at least she will be in five minutes.
“What’s the matter?” Dana asks, concerned.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Are you sure? You’re white as a ghost.”
“I’m fine,” I force out just as my phone rings. I answer quickly. “Hello?”
“Ms. Brooks?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Xavier. Ms. Lizzie Turkins is here to see you.”
“We’ll be right up,” I say blankly, turning to Dana. “Are you ready?” She nods.
We weave through the hallways toward the front. Lizzie looks rough—disheveled and nervous. She passes through the metal detector like she’s walking on hot coals. She’s definitely on something. This isn’t going to be an easy visit.
Before we go back to the visiting rooms, I scan the lobby. I don’t see anyone that I think could be Stephanie, but since I don’t know what she looks like, I could be wrong.
Once Lizzie is settled, I leave her with Dana to wait for Garrett’s foster mother. Lizzy hasn’t seen Dana since the case was transferred. This will give them a chance to talk.
I lean against the wall behind Xavier’s desk. Maybe they’re already here, in one of the rooms. A few minutes later, as I’m lost in thought, little Garrett comes bounding in, pulling on the hand of the woman who will soon be petitioning to adopt him.
“We’ll be about an hour,” I tell her. “Why don’t you come back in an hour and a half?”
“Sure,” she answers, nodding. The extra half hour is just a security boundary. It allows us to make sure foster parents and biological parents don’t run into each other. That’s gotten messy before. I take Garrett’s hand, and we wave good-bye. I’ve just turned my back when I hear a soft voice behind me.
“Stephanie Newbaker. I’m here to see Sara Dravin.” I can’t help myself—I turn to look. I stare at the woman. She’s nothing like what I’d imagined. She’s tiny, shorter than me, and probably not more than ninety pounds. Her jet-black hair is pulled into a ponytail, and her pale face is smothered in heavy makeup, covering what look like meth pockmarks. It’s kind of sad to see, actually. She must have been really pretty once.
It takes me a minute to realize she’s staring at me, too. Her lips are pressed tightly together, her startling blue eyes narrowed. I don’t know how, but I suddenly have no doubt she knows who I am. I look away. I’m not easily shaken, but this has definitely done it. A million thoughts are running through my head.
Sara comes through the door, catching my attention, and her eyes widen when she sees me. She looks in Stephanie’s direction and then back at me.
“Crap, I’m sorry, Kay,” she whispers when she reaches me. “You had ‘Turkins final visit’ written on your calendar. I didn’t realize you were having it here. I just thought… I guess I wasn’t really thinking.”
“Uh…” I swallow the thick lump in my throat. “It’s…it’s okay. I have to…go help Dana.” I turn on my heel and head through the door and into the hallway where the visitation rooms are, Garrett toddling alongside me.
After sitting down and letting go of Garrett’s hand, I glance over at Lizzie. She looks agitated and nervous. Her leg is shaking as she interacts with Garrett. Something doesn’t feel right, but I can’t gauge what it is because my mind is still on Stephanie. I want to sneak into the observation room and see her and hear her voice. I want to see the kids. I want to see the little girl Dean thought was his.
Dana taps on my wrist. “You okay?” she mouths. I nod, but I’m not. I should excuse myself. I shouldn’t let myself get so distracted. It’s the number-one rule during visits. Never allow yourself to be caught off guard. Parents who are about to lose their children can be unpredictable.
Chapter 72
Dean
Going back to work after taking Kayla to see Granddad is harder than I expected it to be. I loved having that time with her. I loved introducing her to Granddad, even though I know he probably won’t remember. But we will. I couldn’t have asked for a better thirtieth birthday.
But now I can’t seem to get settled. I’ve been fidgeting all morning. Emily, who’s only working a half day, keeps suggesting I stop drinking so much caffeine, but I don’t think that’s it.
Zander picks a fight with Edgar, and the two end up tearing up the den. The new kid is little, but he’s tough. And he spits. Emily and I are patching up three kids before lunch, including Curtis, who just happened to get in the way. When I try to send the little scrapper to his room, Zander screams all sorts of profanities at me. It’s only when I’m standing directly in front of him and he’s looking up at my angry face that he finally relents and storms up to his room.
Once I’ve dealt with that issue, I check in on Trey—who has yet to come out of his room today—and find him missing.
“Shit!” I swear under my breath. It takes me, Emily, and several of the boys almost an hour to find him. Luckily, he hasn’t gone far—just past the property line. He’s testing me, and I don’t let him get away with it. I introduce both of the new boys to my form of restriction: lockdown and sappy love songs from the seventies. The rest of them escape by going out to play basketball.
The afternoon is a little less manic. After Emily leaves, I make Edgar and Zander clean up the damage they’ve done to the den, and Trey’s social worker comes to check on him. She lectures him on the importance of always telling me where he’s going. I know she means well, but he’s not listening to her and it’s obvious. She hands me meds for both his bipolar disorder and his ADHD.
“You’ll have to monitor his intake,” she tells me. “He’ll hide them under his tongue and then toss them. He’s even been known to throw them up.”
“He didn’t come with any medications,” I say, agitated. She sighs.
“He probably has them, but I was out on leave and the on-call who placed him didn’t know. I’m sorry. I didn’t even know he was moved until I got back yesterday. If he hasn’t been taking them, you need to watch him. When he’s not stabilized, he’s a rapid cycler. Has he been up or down?”
I think about it for a minute. “Down.”
“Okay, well, just keep an eye on him. He could jump to a manic state before the medications take effect.”
I nod. “Is he a risk? Other than the running?”
“There’s always a risk, but hopefully he’ll stabilize again before the depressive state gets too bad. He’s not dangerous to anyone else if that’s what you’re wondering, though. If he were, we’d have him institutionalized.”
I hear her, but I’m not 100 percent convinced. We’ve dealt with both bipolar disorder and ADHD before, and each kid handles it differently.
I’m just sitting down at my desk with a cup of coffee when I hear Matty yelling.
“Dean!”
I groan and stand up. If anyone else is fighting, I’m sending them all to their rooms for the rest of the night.
“Dean!”
“What?” I ask, walking into the den. Matty is the only one there. “Why are you yelling?”
“Isn’t that where Kayla works?”
I glance at the television. The four o’clock news is on and the reporter is talking while a helicopter hovers over the DHS building Kayla works in.
“At least two employees have been injured, however, the extent of those injuries is unknown at this time. The identities of the individuals involved have not been released. We will bring you more information as it is know
n. In other news…”
“Back it up,” I order. Matty picks up the remote and rewinds.
“Hello, and welcome to Channel 4 News at four. I’m Annika Weaver. We start today with breaking news. There has been a violent assault at the Minneapolis Department of Human Services. Details are emerging that at just after three o’clock this afternoon, a woman entered the building and managed to carry a knife through security. It’s believed that the woman was there to visit her child, who is currently in the custody of DHS and placed in a foster home. The child was reportedly present during the attack but was unharmed. The suspect is in police custody. At least two employees have been injured, however, the extent of those injuries is unavailable at this time. The identities of the individuals involved have not been released. We will bring you more information as it is known. In other news…”
I don’t hear anything else. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and my arms break out in goose bumps. There’s a sick feeling in my stomach. I want to vomit.
“That’s her work, right?” Matty asks.
“Yeah,” I say distractedly. I need to get to my cellphone, but I have no idea where it is. I set it down somewhere. I walk out of the den patting my pockets. Matty is right on my heels.
“But she’s okay, right? I mean, we’d know if she wasn’t. You’d know, right?” He fires off question after question I can’t answer because I can’t find my fucking phone. It’s not in my office or in the kitchen. I’m getting frustrated, and still I have a fourteen-year-old boy who won’t be quiet so I can concentrate.
“Matty!” I finally snap. “Just stop for a minute. I don’t know anything. Let me find my phone.”
“It’s in Emily’s office.”
I stop in my tracks and turn to face him with a frown.
He shrugs. “I saw it in there when I was talking to her earlier.”
Pulling out my keys, I open Emily’s office door. Matty’s right—my phone is sitting on top of a pile of papers. I must have set it down when I was in here earlier and forgot to pick it back up. I can already see there are several missed calls. This doesn’t bode well. I don’t even bother to see who they’re from, I just listen to voicemail.
