She’d told him that he took excellent care of his little sisters and he wasn’t ever to doubt that.
She told him that she was the one at fault for pulling out of the driveway without turning around to see what was wrong.
And that was how Teddy’s eye got cracked. Emma was the one who pointed out that it looked like a tear was coming out of the crack in the bear’s eye. It was really just a reflection from the plastic piece that was crooked now because of the crack.
Blinking, Cal swore to himself that he wouldn’t cry.
He wasn’t in Massachusetts anymore.
And he wasn’t seven anymore, either.
Teddy was much older, too.
And there was nothing comforting about the bear now. Hadn’t been for a long, long time.
Teddy was there, not because he belonged to Claire, or because Cal named him, or because part of him yearned to believe the pack of lies Rose Sanderson had told him the day that Teddy got hurt.
The bear was there because he was the reason that Frank Whittier had been the sole suspect in the disappearance of Claire Sanderson.
The morning Claire went missing, she’d had Teddy at the breakfast table with her. There’d been a bit of a scene when she was told to put her bear away.
Just a short time later, Cal had seen the toddler in the back of his father’s car. He’d told the police that, thinking they’d go to his father and find Claire. Dad always saved the day.
And Dad loved Emma and Claire as much as he loved Cal. He loved them as much as Cal did. It never dawned on him that anyone would think his father would ever, ever hurt the little girl who was like a daughter to him.
But Frank Whittier had told the police that he hadn’t seen Claire after he left the house that morning. Because of Cal’s testimony, they searched Frank’s car anyway.
There was no evidence of the toddler there.
They found Teddy instead.
DNA technology hadn’t been readily available back then. And law enforcement officials apparently hadn’t gone looking for Teddy to test him once the technology became available or they’d have known they didn’t have him.
Chances were good that whoever took Claire Sanderson hadn’t touched the bear, anyway, or they’d have disposed of him, instead of leaving him on the floor of the car, just under the back of the driver’s seat, where Claire had obviously thrown him.
But what if they had?
Twenty-five years had passed. Nothing was going to bring little Claire Sanderson back to them.
Even if she was still alive, she was an adult now, with a life of her own.
Still, if there was the slightest chance…
A rustle outside the door told Cal his father was up. Probably to take one of the sleeping pills his father relied on when the blessed relief of unconsciousness evaded him, the nights the demons attacked.
Resisting the urge to go out and talk to him—to offer some comfort to the man who’d sired him and sacrificed the rest of his life for him—Cal listened for the click of the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. For the running water that would follow.
Frank Whittier took sleeping pills often. Cal never left his writing to go watch him take them. His father would wonder what was going on if Cal walked in on him now.
And so he listened as his old man shuffled back to his room.
Cal had no idea who had stolen the evidence Ramsey was after. Especially after a quarter of a century. But he had to find out.
A resurgence of suspicion would kill his father.
Not touching the bear, Cal quietly closed the lid on the box.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WHEN HER PHONE RANG at ten o’clock on Thursday night, Morgan almost didn’t answer it.
Partially because she’d been watching the clock. Thinking about him. And his date.
Wondering if he’d call.
Pathetic.
And partially because her heart leaped into her throat when the ringtone sounded.
“Hello?” Her greeting was slightly hurried. Had she left it too late? Had he already been sent to voice mail?
Was she weak for answering?
“It’s Cal. You busy?”
“No. Just sorting buttons into color-coded compartments so the four-year-olds can glue them to the pictures they drew today. It’s a spatial as well as a color-recognition assignment. The buttons are in place of crayons.”
Like he cared. She was babbling.
His self-possessed, kind-looking, beautiful date didn’t babble. Morgan was certain of that.
She also wasn’t a student like Morgan. She’d talked about meeting a student, which meant she was a teacher, like Cal. Probably an art prof at Wallace judging by what she’d said about something drying in the kiln.
“What was their drawing assignment?”
“Full-body self-portraits. They could be standing still or doing something.”
He chuckled, and she closed her bedroom door, sinking down on the edge of her bed. She’d put on her pink striped, capri-length pajamas an hour before.
“I’ll bet they were interesting.”
Smiling, she dug her toes into the light blue old shag carpet that she’d replace if the place were hers. And she could afford new carpet. “One little guy had himself pulling chocolate cookies out of the oven.”
“You could tell that by looking at his picture?”
“No, he told me.”
“Do you always have the four-year-olds?”
“No, I teach the four-year-old class on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the summer, and do administrative work the rest of the time. Officially I’m assistant to the director, Bonnie Blake, but she’s really good about working around my classes. I also fill in for the regular teachers when they need me to.”
“You like the work?”
Pulling her feet up on the bed, she tucked them under her legs. “I really do. Which is something my father was never able to understand. He didn’t think I should work at all, but if I insisted on it, then I should get a job where I have the possibility of making real money.”
“He doesn’t think caring for young children is good enough for you? Does he understand that you’re shaping the future of this country?”
“Spoken like a true educator!” Morgan smiled again. And then sobered. “How was your date?”
“Fine.”
That was it. He didn’t offer up anything about who she was. Or how her lasagna tasted. He didn’t even say the date was over. For all she knew the woman was doing the dishes while Cal excused himself to make a call to one of his students.
“How was the meeting with Leslie?” he asked when her silence hung between them.
Fine, she was tempted to say. Meant to say. What came out was, “She thinks that Sammie needs male companionship.”
“She’s going to recommend that your father get custody?” His incredulous tone did her heart good.
“She didn’t say that. Nor did she say she wouldn’t. She gave me no indication at all how she was going to weigh in at the hearing. She just talked about Sammie. She thinks he needs a man in his life.”
“There are a lot of ways to accomplish that.”
“I know. I’ve been working on it most of the evening. I’ve looked up the local Big Brothers organization and left a message on their voice mail, but it says that it usually takes a couple of weeks after the initial interview to find a good match. They don’t want to place him with just anyone on their
list. They try to find a man whose schedule not only matches Sammie’s, but who has similar interests.”
Bringing her knees up to her chest, Morgan hugged them against her. “I also looked at scouting, but Cub Scouts don’t meet during the summer, so Big Brothers is my best option. I’m worried about the two-week wait, though. We go to court in twelve days… .”
Cal was quiet for so long, Morgan wondered if the call had been dropped. She checked her phone’s display to see that their connection was still active. And then she was just plain embarrassed for having gone on for so long.
He was being kind and she was burdening him with every detail of her life.
“I have a proposal to make.” Tingles slid through her when his deep voice came over the line. “Hear me out, and if you feel in any way uncomfortable with what I propose, I trust that you will let me know.”
Heart pounding, she said, “Okay.”
“I’m being presumptuous here, but it occurs to me that we might be able to help each other.”
His words didn’t settle her heart any. “Okay.”
“For the next several weeks you’re still my student and I am very conscious of the boundaries that places on us.”
She was twenty-nine and in college. As long as he didn’t fudge a grade for her there would be no impropriety in them knowing each other.
Not that she’d thought about it or anything. Ha! Just a hundred times or so over the past four years.
“At the same time, I think you would agree that our relationship has changed over this past week.”
“I would, yes,” she said, echoing his formal tone.
Her mind was all over the place. Trying to figure out where this was going. She got stopped at the phrase “help each other.” What kind of help could Cal Whittier need?
Especially when he had a sexy, earthy woman like Kelsey offering to make him dinner?
“I told you that my father lives with me.”
“Right.”
“What I didn’t say was that he’s there because if I left him to live alone, he would sit in his chair until he died.”
Obviously he was exaggerating.
“My father is suffering from severe depression.”
“Is he on medication?”
“No. The one time I got him into a clinic to be evaluated, they prescribed an antidepressant but he refused to take it. He also refused to go back.”
“How can I help?” The question was natural. Automatic.
“I’m not sure, but it occurred to me, as I listened to you talk about Big Brothers, that maybe Dad and I could help you—at least until you can get a match for Sammie—and being with Sammie might help Dad, too.”
Morgan breathed her first easy breath since she’d left Leslie Dinsmore’s office.
“Do you think your father would be willing to spend time with Sammie? Shouldn’t you ask him before you commit him to something?”
“I think he will. And if he doesn’t, I’ll still do it. I could bring Sammie over here and if Dad participates, fine, and if he doesn’t, we tried.”
“I take it you’ve tried things with him before?”
“He’s supposed to be on a fishing trip this week. I might have mentioned that. I paid for the whole thing in advance, arranged transportation for him, bought him everything he needed, helped him pack, and at the last minute he refused to go.”
“What makes you think spending time with Sammie will be any different?”
“I told you my father used to be a teacher. He was actually the headmaster at an affluent all-boys school. He was also their basketball coach, and in just two years got them their first winning season in a very long time. You said Sammie lives and breathes basketball.”
Could life really work out so well? Was she missing something here? Was she lacking good judgment again?
She didn’t think so. It seemed to her that the lapse in judgment would be to turn down her one hope of proving to the court that she could give Sammie every opportunity he needed. Even on short notice.
But…her mind raced. What would the risks be?
“Does your father have a temper?”
“As much as anyone. He’s not violent, if that’s what you’re asking.” He didn’t sound the least bit put out by her question. “And his professional record is completely clean. Not a single complaint.”
“Can I be there? Can I meet your dad and see how Sammie takes to him? And then I’d go. I know this is supposed to be guy time.”
“Of course you can be there.” Cal’s voice was soft. Understanding. It soothed her tattered nerves until she wanted nothing more than to curl up with her head on his chest and go to sleep. “We’ve got some curtains that need to be replaced. I could use your opinion on what to buy.”
She didn’t know a whole lot about curtains, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. “Sure! When were you thinking?”
“You busy Saturday morning?”
“Nope.”
“The first time I meet Sammie, I’d like it to be on his own turf. My place is kind of hard to find anyway, so how about I pick you two up, say, around ten, and we’ll see what happens.”
“Sounds good.” She was grinning from ear to ear. Feeling blessed. And stupid as hell for feeling so good.
He was being a friend. It wasn’t as if she’d never had one of those before.
* * *
“I DON’T WANT TO GO over to some stupid teacher’s house! It’s Saturday morning. You’re supposed to give me computer time.”
“I’ll give you computer time this afternoon, Sammie. We’ll skip Saturday afternoon chores this week.” She’d do all the dusting and vacuuming by herself while Sammie visited with her folks tomorrow.
A visit that had been recommended by Leslie Dinsmore so, of course, Morgan had to agree to it.
Prior to her father’s lawsuit, she’d have allowed the visit anyway. She never got in the way of her parents’ relationship with their grandson. Her father’s lack of time spent with Sammie was strictly her father’s doing.
Not that she expected anyone in the court system to believe her word against his on that one.
“I’m not going.” Sammie was speaking to her through the bathroom door again. If this kept up, she was going to take the handle out of the door.
“Professor Whittier will be here in fifteen minutes,” she said, trying not to lose her temper with her son, reminding herself that if Cal weren’t involved, she wouldn’t care how this looked. She’d be thinking about what Sammie was thinking and feeling and trying to communicate.
“I don’t care.” His anger was obvious, if a bit less intimidating for the fact that he wasn’t all that close. She’d bet he was sitting on the toilet.
“Look, Sammie, I’m doing the best I know how to be a good mother to you. I know you aren’t real happy with me right now and I’m sorry about that. But the bottom line is I am the parent here. By law, you have to have a guardian. You’re only ten. You aren’t permitted to be your own boss. And right now, I am that guardian. If you want that to change, I guess you just have to tell Leslie that.” No point in splitting hairs here. Sammie wasn’t stupid. For all she knew he’d already told his counselor that she sucked as a parent and he wanted out.
“In the meantime, I’m the boss and I say you need to spend some time around men. You’re so insistent that you are one and it’s time you see how real men act so you can be one, too.”
“I see men at school.”
“These guys don’t know me. They’ll just be doing a job.”
“You don’t know them, Sammie, but they feel like they know you. Professor Whittier sat up with me all night on Friday. He didn’t sleep from the time you left until the police brought you home. His father was in touch throughout that whole time, too. Lots of people we’ve never heard of were out looking for you and following the news to make certain you were okay.”
Sammie had no idea how much trouble his little escapade had caused. But then, how could he? He saw the world through the eyes of a ten-year-old.
“Nuh-uh.” The voice was muffled through the door, but closer to it. “I didn’t see him here.” The belligerence was still there, but it had softened some.
“Because he left while I was hugging the daylights out of you.”
“It’s you he likes, not me. Go ahead and date him. You don’t need my approval.”
Good heavens. Why had she ever thought she could raise a boy on her own? “I’m definitely not dating him, Samuel. He’s got a girlfriend. She made lasagna for him just last night.”
She took his silence as a good sign.
“Please come out, Sammie. Because if you don’t I’m going to have to take the door off the hinges and I don’t want to embarrass you that way.”
“What if I don’t like this guy?”
“As long as you’ve given him a fair shot, you tell me you don’t like him and we politely thank him for his time and come back here and clean house.”
The bathroom door opened.
* * *
CAL DIDN’T GET HIMSELF all wrapped up in other people’s lives. He didn’t allow relationships to form beyond the superficial. He had no expectations. So why in the hell had he been up at dawn replacing the basketball net on the old hoop attached to the garage?
A Son's Tale Page 14
