A Daughter's Trust

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “I’m bouncing a baby, Mr. Kraynick. It’s what I do.”

  “Is it Carrie?”

  Just that quickly Sue’s mood went from self-pitying to defensive. “How do you know Carrie?”

  “I’m her uncle, her mother’s older brother, and I know you have her.”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny your allegations, Mr. Kraynick. Please call social services.” She rattled off the government number. If he was legitimate, the city would send him to WeCare. And Sonia, Carrie’s social worker.

  Sue was already walking back to check on Carrie, about to hang up.

  “Wait!” The urgency in his voice stopped her. “Please,” he said more calmly. “Just hear me out.”

  He didn’t sound like a crackpot. Weary, maybe. Desperate, perhaps. But not nuts.

  “How did you find me?”

  “A friend of Christy’s. Apparently Christy talked about you all the time. She said Christy had visitation rights.”

  That was true.

  Christy had never missed a visit.

  And maybe that was why Carrie was so special. Because Sue had spent a lot of time with the baby’s sixteen-year-old mother. Had seen how hard the girl was working to get her baby back. How determined she was.

  “Why are you calling?”

  “Because you have a say in Carrie’s welfare and I’m concerned. I…”

  She was invited to all meetings pertaining to the baby’s welfare. She gave input for Carrie’s sake. And only regarding what she’d seen with her own eyes. Only regarding what she knew, not what she heard.

  “I’m sorry I can’t help you, Mr. Kraynick. Maybe if you talk to your sister—”

  “What do you know about Christy?”

  “Uh-uh, Mr. Kraynick,” she said softly, laying a sleeping Camden in his crib. Carrie was sound asleep, on her right side, just as Sue had left her. “This conversation is over.”

  “I grew up in foster care,” he said, as though that gave him privilege. Some insider’s edge.

  “Then you know you shouldn’t be calling me.”

  “I know that, right now, you’re my best shot.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m no shot at all.”

  “My mother was a user,” he said out of the blue, reminding her of Joe when he spoke about his father—Sue’s uncle now. With seemingly no emotion, as if he didn’t care. She wasn’t convinced.

  Joe, her cousin. Uncle Adam. Uncle Daniel. Grandma lying to her all her life. Grandpa being unfaithful. Her maternal grandmother giving away her mother, but raising two sons and a grandson. Grandma Sarah’s diamond shockingly going to her mother instead of to Uncle Sam.

  Even after twenty-four hours Sue still couldn’t quiet the cacophony.

  Shaking her head, she tuned back in to the conversation at hand. And wondered why it was still taking place. The man should never have called. His life, his mother’s life, had nothing to do with her.

  Was he some kind of crackpot, after all?

  He was still talking.

  “The point is,” he said, “that while I was in and out of her life growing up, I didn’t know her that well. Which is why I was not even aware she’d had another child, that I had a sister, until last week,” he continued, almost as though he was reading to her from a storybook.

  A sad one. As an infant, Rick Kraynick could have been any number of her babies.

  In a quiet moment, with Camden’s few things packed, his long, furry snake rattle on top of the bag, ready to hand to him as he was carried out the door, Sue sank down on the couch in her family room.

  “All the more reason you should talk to her,” she said, though she still wasn’t going to get involved. “Christy’s very sweet. And frankly, could use your help. She’d probably be overjoyed to know she has a brother, that you care about Carrie….”

  “I…you haven’t been told yet.”

  “Told what?”

  “Christy’s dead.”

  She couldn’t have heard him right.

  “What?” Sue covered her face.

  “She committed suicide last week. Her funeral was Friday.”

  No! First Grandma. Now this? What was happening? “I…last week was a bit crazy here….”

  Sonia knew that. And since Christy wasn’t due for another visit until the following week, her social worker likely figured there’d been no reason to further burden Sue yet.

  “I can’t believe it. I just saw her…”

  “I got a call from the police.” He sounded weary. And as confused as she felt. “They were trying to locate next of kin. She had my mom’s name on her to notify in case of emergency, but the number was disconnected. That happens a lot with my mother. My mother’s last name is the same as mine, and Kraynick isn’t common. When they did a search, my number came up and…”

  Oh, God. Christy? Dead? She’d been doing so well. Was so excited about getting Carrie back. “She was only sixteen! It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I’m struggling with it all myself.”

  Sue’s mind raced, and her heart felt painful jabs at every thought. A child having a child before she had a chance to grow up. But struggling so hard to make it, anyway. Carrie, an orphan. Grandma gone. Joe, her cousin. Jenny having been lied to by her own father her whole life. Never knowing her mother. Sue, never knowing Grandma Jo. And now this stranger, this man, losing a sister before he ever knew her. A young sister.

  “Carrie is my niece,” Rick Kraynick said, breaking the silence. “I intend to adopt her. But right now I need to meet her. To make sure she’s okay. To connect with her. Let her get a sense of my presence.”

  “You’ll have to go through social services to arrange that.”

  “I’m sure you realize that’s not as easy as it sounds. I’m a single male who never knew her mother and without enough proof that I’m family. They aren’t real eager to give me the time of day. For all intents and purposes, the mother we have in common didn’t raise either one of us. All I have going for me is half a set of genes, which has yet to be proven. My lawyer’s on it, but it could be weeks before this is sorted out. We’re filing for a hearing that will stay any adoption proceedings already in process, but there’s no guarantee we’ll be granted the hearing. And it’s not the state that we have to be concerned with at this point, as I’m sure you’re aware. It’s WeCare. And their red tape is worse than the state’s.”

  Stacking blocks were strewn around the quilt on the floor, residuals from this morning’s after-breakfast, pre-bath playtime. Both Camden and Carrie could roll over now. She’d be sitting up soon.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Kraynick, but—”

  “Please,” he interrupted before Sue was even sure what she’d been about to tell him. She had guidelines. Her status as a foster mother rested on them. Because the rules were in place to protect the children.

  To protect Carrie.

  “I have to see her.” All coolness, or hint of composure, left the man’s voice. “She’s a part of the sister I just saw buried.”

  Sue said nothing.

  “Family is not something I can take for granted, Ms. Bookman. I grew up without one. I know how it feels to wonder what’s wrong with you, why you weren’t wanted enough to have a mother and father who loved you. What it’s like to be caught in the system. I survived. My little sister did not. I can’t let the same thing happen to her daughter.”

  “You’re already doing what you can. You’re applying to adopt her.”

  Jenny had been adopted. And lied to.

  “I’ve started the paperwork.” Frustration seeped from the man’s voice on the other end of the line. “But I’ve been led to believe that someone else is there before me. A possible family member. From what I gleaned from my attorney, the process was already in the works before Christy’s death, just in case she didn’t meet minimum standards to get Carrie back. If I can’t get a stay, the adoption could be granted before I’m able to prove my rights to the child.”

  Christy hadn’t tol
d her about someone applying to adopt her baby.

  “And I can’t do anything about that.”

  “I’m not asking you to,” Rick said, enunciating clearly. “My sixteen-year-old sister is dead, Ms. Bookman. Right now, I just want to see her daughter while I still know where she’s living.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Kraynick. I really am. Get permission from WeCare and I’ll happily facilitate a visitation at your convenience. Think about it. If foster parents were able to make these kinds of decisions, they’d be at risk of intimidation from every abusive parent who wanted access to his or her child.”

  “That’s your final word?”

  “It has to be. I’m sorry.”

  Feeling uneasy, Sue hung up.

  And wished she could call Grandma.

  HE SHOULDN’T BE DOING this. He was assistant superintendent of a fairly large school district. Had ethical and moral standards to uphold. Examples to set.

  Yet Rick drove slowly down the street, anyway, searching for the address Chenille Langston had given him at the cemetery. They’d only had one brief conversation but the young girl had told him that Christy had driven her friend by the place many times, when she’d been lonely for her baby. She’d said she wanted Chenille to know where Carrie was in case of an emergency. Christie wanted to be sure Carrie was cared for. Loved. But Chenille was only a kid herself. No one listened to her, she’d said. They certainly wouldn’t give her a baby.

  Chenille’s words to Rick at the cemetery had been “It doesn’t get any more emergency than this.” She’d trusted him to make certain that Christy’s baby didn’t get lost in the system.

  So he was using the statement of a confused young woman as justification for circumventing the system?

  Maybe Mark and Darla Samson were right. Maybe he did need to talk to somebody. They’d been after him to do so ever since Hannah died the year before.

  Maybe he really was nuts.

  Not that his friends had said as much. But he suspected, by the wariness in their eyes, the shared glances when they thought he wasn’t looking, that they thought so.

  He’d known Mark, and through him, Darla, for years. Had hired him, in fact, to be the high school basketball coach when he’d been principal of Globe High.

  Rick stopped the Nitro in front of a large yard with a smallish house set far back on the property, about ten miles south of San Francisco. It was just after four on Wednesday afternoon. The Samsons would absolutely not approve of this visit.

  He could hear a baby crying as he approached the front door, and his heart lurched. Carrie? His flesh and blood?

  She sounded hungry.

  Rick knocked. And then, seeing the button beside the handle, rang the bell.

  The crying stopped. Footsteps approached, on what sounded like a wood floor.

  Wood floors were drafty. And…

  The door opened.

  “Oh. You’re not Barb.”

  Rick stood there, taking in the sight before him.

  Gorgeous, feminine—untouched by the trappings of accessories—the woman had a pure beauty. And babies. Three of them. One strapped to her front in a baby sack. The other two on either hip.

  He wondered which of them was his niece.

  He met the woman’s dark brown eyes, taking in her impatience, the blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, the T-shirt and jeans and bare feet. “Can I help?” he asked over the crying, motioning to the babies in her arms.

  “No,” she said. She was bouncing her babies. One of whom, the crying one, needed its nose wiped. His nose wiped, if the blue sleeper was anything to go by. “But as you can see, I’m busy, so—”

  “I’m Rick Kraynick.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Kraynick,” she said, backing up enough to be able to close the door.

  “Wait! Which one is Carrie? I’m standing here. What would it hurt to point her out to me?”

  “If you don’t leave this instant, I’m going to call the police.”

  Obviously his suit and tie and shined shoes had done nothing to reassure her that he was a good guy. He’d left the jacket on, just in case, in spite of the almost seventy degree temperature.

  “I’m going.” But he couldn’t take a step back. Not yet. All three babies were adorable. But one…she reminded him of…“Just tell me which—”

  Her foot shot to the door. And just as she was kicking it shut in his face, the crying infant in blue spewed what had to be a full bottle of formula, as though shooting a ball from a cannon. The sour burst hit the face of the baby in the carrier, who promptly started to cry. It covered Ms. Bookman’s arm and chest, her floor, her door and Rick’s shoulder.

  The shooter, once he was done, let out the most piercing wail Rick had ever heard.

  He was one sick puppy.

  Without further thought, Rick stepped inside the still partially open door. Relieving Ms. Bookman of the boy, he placed the smelly baby against his chest so he could rub his back. Soothe the ache.

  Some skills, once learned, never left you.

  “Go ahead, tend to them and yourself,” he said, loudly enough to be heard over the crying. “There’s no cure for colic but patience. And soft pressure on the stomach. I’ll follow you so you can keep me and shooter here in your sight at all times.”

  “I can’t—” The baby still in her arms started to cry.

  Reaching for his wallet while juggling the messy baby, Rick threw it on the table. “My license is in there,” he called out over the noise. “My school ID is as well. And all my credit cards. They’re yours while I’m here,” he added. “And I can’t kidnap Carrie while you’ve got her…. Go!” he called, sending her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

  With another worried look in his direction, she went. Rick followed, making sure to stay in view at all times.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT DIDN’T TAKE SUE LONG to get the babies cleaned up. Or herself, either, once she had the girls settled on a blanket on the floor with several brightly colored toys in their vicinity, encouraging exploration. She’d have liked to change, but they had a stranger in their midst.

  Settling for hot soapy water and a couple of baby wipes, she was as good as she was going to get.

  Rick Kraynick, in the meantime, standing within sight at all times, managed to get three-month-old Jacob cleaned up and to sleep.

  “You’re very good at that.” Something about his splayed fingers covering the baby’s entire back, his forearm supporting Jacob’s diapered bottom so tenderly—and competently—made her more aware of the man than she should have been. Than she wanted to be.

  She reached for Jacob. And her fingers brushed against the solid warmth of Rick Kraynick’s chest, where the baby was nestled.

  “I’ve had some practice.”

  Jacob didn’t stir as she laid him in the newly changed bassinet in the family room.

  “You have a family of your own?” she asked, handing Rick a wipe for a spot he’d missed on his shoulder. Why wasn’t his wife there with him on his mission of mercy?

  “No.”

  So he was unattached. The fact made him no more attractive. Made no difference to her. Right?

  He’d said he’d grown up in foster homes—a great place to get child care experience. His lack of wife, his life, were not her business.

  She headed toward the door.

  “Sorry about the suit,” she said, jittery and anxious to be rid of him. She had to get dinner started. And she didn’t need any more complications right now.

  He didn’t follow her to the door. Instead, Rick Kraynick, baby wipe still in his hand, watched as Carrie rolled over. And over again. To reach the bright yellow rattle that was her favorite. It went straight to her mouth. And Sue wondered, not for the first time, if the little girl was going to teethe early.

  She’d rolled over a couple of weeks sooner than Sue had expected, too.

  Her visitor’s expression—soft and filled with pain, too—called to her, making her nervous.

  “M
r. Kraynick, you have to go.”

  He nodded. “That’s her.”

  He was moved by the baby. And why did she care? This man was a total stranger to her. So why didn’t he seem like one?

  “I’m not going to—”

  “I know—confirm or deny. But you don’t need to. That’s Carrie.”

  He was right. But then, he’d had a fifty-fifty chance.

  “You need to leave.” Please. Before I do something I’m going to regret. Like let you stay.

  “She seems to be a happy baby.”

  “Mr. Kraynick.” Barb would be arriving soon to collect the two babies she’d had to leave with Sue when her third had a reaction to this morning’s inoculation, running a fever of 104, and had to be taken to the emergency room. “You have no idea which of those babies might or might not be your niece. Now I’m asking you to leave.”

  “I heard you,” he said, still watching the baby.

  Sue opened her mouth to threaten to call the police. He was breaking the law, refusing to leave her home. And then she noticed that his eyes were glistening.

  And it occurred to her that they’d both buried a family member that week.

  “Mr. Kraynick.” She hadn’t meant to allow any softness in her voice. He really had to go. His presence was causing her to feel things she couldn’t afford to feel.

  “She…I’m sorry. She looks exactly like…someone I used to know….” His voice faded away.

  Just when she was going to lose her battle with herself and allow him to pick up the baby, Rick Kraynick, the oddest man she’d ever met, turned, thanked her for her kindness and walked out of the room. And out of her life.

  “I CAN’T STOP THINKING about her.”

  “Rick, come on, man. What are you doing?” Mark easily dribbled around him and went for the layup. He scored.

  Again.

  And rebounded his own ball. Holding it against his side, he stopped and stared at Rick. “You aren’t seriously considering trying to get her yourself, are you?”

  “I’m not just considering it, I’m going to do everything in my power to get her.” He’d given up on family. On making a family, or hoping for one. But he was not turning his back on family that already existed. Period. His mother aside. Her he’d written off years ago. “She’s my flesh and blood, man. She’s my sister’s child. And I know I can be a good father to her, give her a happy life. Hannah certainly had no complaints.” With a lunge, he stole the ball from the former college all-star point guard, took it out to the three point line and back to the basket for a score. And when Mark rebounded, he played him one on one until he stole the ball a second time.