But they didn’t look as if they’d ever had anything easy.
He began clearing the room. The kids watched his every move, but they said nothing. He was painfully aware of their scrutiny, but he said nothing either, until he ran out of boxes and sprawled in the desk chair.
“So, guys, what should I get at the grocery store? You like chicken? Spaghetti? Hamburgers? Ice cream?”
Gracie’s and Noah’s eyes lit up, but neither of them spoke. They waited for a cue from Caleb, and he didn’t give it.
“Those aren’t your favorites, huh? I know. I bet you like liver and spinach and brussels sprouts. No problem. That’s what we’ll have for dinner tonight.”
“Oh, no, we love sketti and ice cream,” Gracie blurted out, then darted an anxious look at Caleb before clapping her hands over her mouth and burrowing closer to him.
That was a start, J.D. thought. Now, if he could just get a word out of Noah or Jacob … “What about you, Noah? Do you like spaghetti?”
The boy stared, wide-eyed and tight-jawed.
“What flavor ice cream do you like? Vanilla? Rocky Road? Praline sundae? You have a favorite, Jacob?”
Jacob’s response mirrored his brother’s. J.D. would have given up even if the doorbell hadn’t rung at that moment.
Holly stood on the porch, grocery bags in her arms. Balanced on top of them was a brown paper sack from Harry’s Diner, and wafting from it was the tantalizing aroma of one of Harry’s deluxe cheeseburgers. “Since you never made it to the Winchesters’ house, I brought you some lunch. And Miss Agatha and Miss Corinna will be over soon with enough food to feed you guys for a few days, so I just picked up necessities. Oh, and Sebastian Knight is bringing over two sets of bunk beds from his shop, and Emilie’s got linens, and Shelley Walker’s gathering some toys from the church.” She peered past him. “Where are they?”
“In the bedroom, sitting in the corner.”
“You’re making them sit in the corner? What kind of father are you, J.D.?”
Ignoring the pain her careless remark sparked, he unwrapped the burger and ate while she put away the groceries. “I’m not making them do anything. They’re being difficult.”
“Of course they’re being difficult. It’s part of the job description.” All signs of teasing disappeared. “I have to tell you, J.D., this surprises me, even for you. I just can’t imagine you fostering four children. What made you agree?”
He glanced toward the hall to make sure they were still alone, then shrugged. “I opened my mouth to say no—not only no, but hell no—and the wrong words came out.”
“So subconsciously you wanted to say yes.”
He scowled at her. “Don’t analyze me, Holly. Subconsciously, I wanted to say no. Consciously, I wanted to say no. Every way possible, I wanted to say no.”
“So why’d you say yes?”
He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Damned if I know.”
Down the hall Caleb eased back around the corner. He’d known the shrink hadn’t wanted them, had known the welfare lady had lied when she said he did. She’d told them he liked kids, that he was good with them. But Caleb knew he didn’t like them. He didn’t want them in his house, didn’t want them touching his things.
So why had he taken them? Because the state was paying him? Nah, he was a doctor. He didn’t need their money. Because he felt sorry for them? Because no one else wanted them and, being a shrink, he felt obligated?
Caleb didn’t want to be anyone’s obligation except his father’s.
He went back into the office, and Gracie curled up beside him. “Was it Daddy?”
“No.” He’d known it wouldn’t be. Their luck wasn’t that good.
“Who was it?”
He scowled at Noah. “Nobody you know. Some woman.”
“What did she want?”
“I don’t know what she wanted,” he snapped. “It sure wasn’t us.”
Noah’s eyes filled with tears, and so did Gracie’s. Even Jacob looked like he might bust out crying too, and Jacob hardly ever cried. Caleb felt like he might cry himself, with his throat all tight and his stomach hurting. “Look, I’m sorry, but you gotta quit asking me questions I can’t answer.”
Gracie crawled into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I want my daddy,” she sobbed. “When is he comin’ back?”
“Like that one. I don’t know, Gracie. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
“The police don’t think he’s comin’ back,” Jacob whispered as if it hurt too much to say the words out loud.
“That’s ’cause they don’t know him. He’ll be back. He promised.” Caleb had been telling the kids that for forty-one days, and they had always believed him, because their dad didn’t lie and he didn’t lie. But they’d heard the sheriff’s deputies talking at the hospital yesterday—had heard them say that their dad had taken off and left them, just like their mother had, and she’d never come back. Now they wondered.
Not Caleb. Their dad would be back. He believed that. He had to believe it.
Noah sniffed and wiped his eyes. “It’s a nice house, isn’t it, Caleb? Nicer’n anything I ever seen.”
“Maybe. But there’s nothing wrong with our house.”
“Our house don’t smell like this,” Noah pointed out.
“And it’s not cool like this,” Jacob added.
“It don’t have a television.”
“Or a ’frigerator that works.”
“Or rugs on the floor.”
“Or nice furniture.”
“Or all this—”
Caleb glared at both boys and harshly repeated his last words. “There’s nothing wrong with our house.” That made them both be quiet, at least for a minute, and when they started again, at least it was about something else.
“Do you really think he’ll make us eat liver?” Noah made a face like he already had the taste of it in his mouth. “I don’t like liver … do I?”
“You’ll learn to like it.” Not that the shrink would make them eat it. He would serve spaghetti and ice cream, trying to suck up to them and make them like him and think he liked them too. He might fool the younger kids, but Caleb knew better.
“Liver is yucky,” Gracie said with a giggle before Caleb shushed her. The shrink and his girlfriend were coming down the hall, probably to make sure they hadn’t gotten into anything.
The woman came in first, her eyes widening when she saw them. “They really are sitting in the corner,” she murmured, like they couldn’t hear. “I thought you were kidding.”
“I don’t kid,” the shrink said, which made him a liar, because he’d been kidding about dinner. “Guys, this is Holly McBride. She’s responsible for all the junk food in the kitchen.”
“Hey, in my house, ice cream, cookies, and chocolate are a vital part of my diet.” She came to them, her hand stuck out. “You must be Caleb. It’s nice to meet you.”
Her hand looked pale, soft, with long, red fingernails. She looked like somebody who never did real work and dressed like it too—like someone with money. In his experience, people with money, or at least their kids, didn’t care much for people without. She was probably just acting nice to impress the shrink. Caleb wasn’t interested in impressing anybody, so he sat still, his arms around Gracie, and just looked at her.
After a moment she pulled her hand back. “So, Jacob, Noah, Gracie, want some ice cream?”
When Gracie started to nod, Caleb squeezed her. She gave him a disappointed look, then shook her head.
“Aw, come on. We have strawberry, chocolate chip, orange sherbet, and cappuccino chocolate. I even got some cones.”
This time all three kids looked hopefully at Caleb. It made him mad that the stupid shrink’s stupid friend made him look like the bad guy for not telling them okay, but he couldn’t give in. He couldn’t lose control. He was family, not the shrink. He was the one their father had put in charge.
“Let them have some ice cream,” the shrink
said, sounding pissed. “You can help me move the desk while they eat.”
He still would have said no if Gracie hadn’t sighed and sagged back against him, as if she knew the offer was too good to be true. She didn’t expect treats, not anymore. It was such a little thing. Any kid should get an ice cream cone sometime.
Lifting her to her feet, he nudged her toward the woman. “Go on. Get your ice cream.”
“Us too?” Noah asked anxiously.
“Go on.”
Once the kids and the woman were gone from the room, the shrink said, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“I didn’t give in ’cause of you.”
“I know.”
“I’ll never do anything ’cause of you. We don’t need you, and we don’t want you in all the same ways you don’t want us.”
The doctor gave him a long, steady look that made Caleb uncomfortable, as if he were seeing things Caleb didn’t want him to see. Finally, he said, “You heard me talking to Holly, didn’t you? I’m sorry about that.”
“It don’t matter. You don’t matter. All that matters is taking care of Gracie and Noah and Jacob until our father comes back.”
“And you, Caleb. You matter.”
Yeah, right, like he believed the shrink believed that. The guy was a liar and couldn’t be trusted. The kids might forget that, but he never would.
Mornings were the hardest time for J.D.—those few minutes between being asleep and awake, when dreams were particularly vivid and sorrow was particularly harsh. Normally, some part of his subconscious ended the dreams as soon as they started and forced him to awaken completely, but Monday morning he stayed there in better times, better places, for every second he could. When he came awake, it was reluctantly, with a great raw pain that tingled through him.
He put off opening his eyes until the throbbing subsided, until he thought he could bear finding himself alone in his bed, alone in his existence, hundreds of miles from Chicago, where he belonged, hundreds of days from the life he’d destroyed. Finally, with a fortifying breath, he opened his eyes and saw the textured ceiling, the pale yellow walls empty of photographs, the furniture that meant nothing to him. He’d never shared this bed with anyone important, had never known satisfaction or peace there, had never let it be anything more than a utilitarian place where he slept.
Most mornings the instant he was awake, he jumped from bed, dressed in running clothes, and, after downing a cup of caffeine, ran a hard five miles. The exertion helped clear the dreams and memories from his mind. The fatigue helped keep them from returning until the next morning.
But this morning he didn’t jump from bed and he didn’t give more than a regretful thought to his running shoes in the closet, because this morning he wasn’t alone. There were four kids asleep in the next room, and he hadn’t thought ahead to make arrangements for a baby-sitter while he ran, which left him trapped.
He’d had a steady stream of company the previous day, bringing everything he could possibly need to take care of the kids—except the patience, know-how, and desire. It hadn’t been so bad with people coming in and out, but eventually everyone had gone home and he’d been left alone with the kids. Dinner had been awkward. Bath time had been difficult, and bedtime— He’d given up, kept his distance, and watched from the doorway while Caleb tucked the kids in. He’d gone to his room, thinking one half of one day down. Fifteen or twenty or thirty to go.
What a damned depressing thought to fall asleep to.
Slowly, he sat up, rubbing his eyes, then the ache that had settled in his temples. Last night he’d called the hospital administrator and told him he wouldn’t be in for a few days. Today he needed to take the kids shopping, get those cartons of books moved from the hallway to the hospital, set up a baby-sitting schedule, spend time with the kids. But first, he needed aspirin, a shower, and coffee.
The aspirin made a difference, and the shower and coffee helped. It was seven-thirty by the time he made it into the kitchen to fix breakfast. Most mornings he stopped at the diner on his way to wherever he was going and enjoyed Harry’s cooking, Maeve’s coffee, and the company of half the folks in town. This morning he would more or less duplicate the experience at home, he thought as he prepared sausage, eggs, and potatoes. He was fairly pleased with the results when he was done.
He walked into the guest room and flipped on the overhead light. “Come on and get up, kids. It’s time for breakfast.”
Gracie sat up first, hair standing on end, and yawned. She looked extraordinarily cranky. Caleb was next, throwing back the covers and sliding from the bunk above her to the floor. He greeted J.D. with a scowl as fierce as any he’d managed yesterday. “What do you want?”
J.D. bit back the impulse to suggest politely that Caleb ask the question again with a substantial improvement in his tone. The time would come for a firm hand with the boy, but not just yet. “Breakfast is ready. Noah, Jacob, come on.”
The other two boys slowly rolled out of bed, and they all huddled together on or beside Gracie’s bed.
“Get dressed, comb your hair, and come and eat,” J.D. said as he turned away. “Make it quick, before the food gets cold.”
Back in the kitchen, he sat down at the head of the table to wait.
They silently filed into the room, and with quick gestures Caleb directed each of them where to sit. Grasping the edge of a place mat, he pulled his own food around until he was opposite J.D., placing himself also at the head. Gracie was on his right, Jacob and Noah on his left, with their chairs squeezed together to leave extra space between them and J.D.
J.D. started to eat. After a moment he replaced the fork and fixed his gaze on the children, all sitting with their hands in their laps. “Do you usually say grace before you eat?”
“I’m Grace,” Gracie piped up before Caleb motioned her to be quiet.
“Grace is also another word meaning prayer,” J.D. explained. “A lot of people pray before they eat.”
None of them made any response.
“Noah? What’s wrong?”
The boy ducked his head until his chin rested on his chest. The instant J.D. looked at Jacob, he mimicked the action. That brought him to Caleb. “Well?”
“We don’t like eggs.”
“So don’t eat them.” J.D. turned his attention back to his own breakfast.
“We don’t like sausage either.”
His fingers tightening around the fork, J.D. took a slow, deep breath. “So don’t eat it. And don’t tell me you don’t like potatoes. You ate them last night at dinner.”
Caleb waited a beat, then said, “We don’t like potatoes with all that crap in ’em.”
“All that crap” was bits of onion and pepper and melted cheese, and it was a pretty good knockoff of Harry’s famous hash-brown-potato casserole. But the issue here wasn’t what he liked. It was what they liked.
He stood up and began gathering their dishes. “Let me guess. You don’t like orange juice either, do you?”
The only response was Caleb’s mocking smile.
J.D. dumped their plates in the kitchen sink. “Do you like oatmeal?” Caleb shrugged noncommittally. “Fine. Four bowls of oatmeal coming up.”
Making instant oatmeal was easy enough. Five minutes later he was back in his seat and picked up his fork. Once more all four kids sat there, hands in laps, staring at their breakfast as if he’d served them shoe leather. “What?” he asked sharply.
It was Caleb, of course, who answered. “There’s stuff in it.”
“It’s strawberry-flavored oatmeal. Those are little pieces of strawberry.”
“Oatmeal’s not supposed to have stuff in it.”
“If oatmeal doesn’t have stuff in it, it tastes like wet newspaper.”
Noah picked up his spoon, poked around in the bowl for a moment, then let the spoon fall with a clang. “I don’t think I’m hungry,” he said with a mournful look that shouted the opposite.
J.D. took a breath for patience, then forced
himself to say calmly, “All right. What do you want for breakfast?”
There was a long, tense silence, with the younger kids looking to Caleb. When he didn’t speak up, Gracie ventured her own answer. “Ice cream?”
J.D. got four cartons of ice cream from the freezer, then dropped them in the middle of the table along with four big spoons. “Go to it,” he said stiffly before returning to the kitchen. They were diving for the spoons the instant he was out of sight.
His own appetite gone, he did the dishes and fixed himself a fresh cup of coffee. Leaning against the counter, he stared out the window, wishing he were anywhere but in this apartment with those kids.
He felt incompetent. Granted, it had been a long time since he’d dealt with kids on any but the most superficial basis, a long time since he’d borne any responsibility for a child’s well-being. Once he’d been very good at handling them. Given time, he might be good at it again.
He just didn’t want to be good at it again.
But the issue wasn’t what he wanted. In a moment of insanity he’d agreed to provide a temporary home to the kids, and that was what he would do. He would give them what they needed, and in time they would give him what he needed.
They would get out of his life.
Chapter Three
Kelsey’s meeting with her new boss in Howland had gone extraordinarily well. Mary Therese Carpenter was plump, motherly, and had a mind like a steel trap. She had great people skills and better instincts, and she swore Kelsey was going to love everything about Bethlehem. She’d given Kelsey enough files to fill at least one cabinet and had sketched out the details of her first case—four children found living alone after their parents’ abandonment. Her priority was to visit them at the hospital and find out exactly what she could do for them.
“Oh, they’re not here, dear,” she was told by the old lady at the information desk.
She blinked. “What do you mean, they’re not here?”
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