“Why, they’re with Dr. J.D.”
“And he is …?”
“J. D. Grayson. Our psychiatrist.”
Yesterday in the parking lot—big man, summer suit, befuddled look. Nothing wrong with him that a good shrink couldn’t take care of. What exactly had he meant by that? she now wondered. “And where can I find Dr. Grayson?”
The woman checked her clipboard. “At home, I imagine. He didn’t come in today. I don’t believe he’s coming in tomorrow either.”
Kelsey was bewildered. The children she was supposed to interview and place had been taken home by the staff psychiatrist on his days off. Why? If he was counseling them, surely that was best done in a controlled environment. If he and his wife were providing emergency care to the children, it should have been cleared through her office and noted in her files. Hoping she had somehow misunderstood, she said, “He took the Brown children to his home?”
“Why, of course.”
“Why ‘of course’?”
“Well, honey, what did you expect him to do? He can’t have custody of them here.”
“Custody?” She drew a deep breath and forced an unsteady smile in what she was sure was a dismal attempt to look unshaken. “There must be some mistake here. The Brown children are currently in the custody of the state. No placement’s been made yet. My department has to make recommendations and there has to be a hearing with a family court judge. Dr. Grayson can’t simply take them, even if he is the only psychiatrist in town.”
The volunteer finally lost her rosy smile. “But Dr. J.D.—a judge did—I think you’d better speak to our administrator.”
When she reached for the phone, Kelsey stopped her.
“Right now I really need to speak to Dr. Grayson. If you could give me his home address …”
“Well, now, I don’t know …”
Another volunteer, young with the kind of long, silky brown hair that Kelsey had always envied, interrupted. “I’m sure it’s all right. Everyone in town knows where J.D. lives. It’s on Sixth Street. Turn left out of the parking lot, go down to Sixth, turn right, and it’s behind the first house on the right.”
Kelsey curled her fingers around her briefcase handle and left the building. This was amazing. She’d seen such carelessness on occasion back home, when overworked hospital staff lost track of who had a right to whom, but she hadn’t expected it here in Bethlehem.
Maybe it was part of the small-town charm. Maybe Dr. Grayson had believed the kids would be better off waiting for her in the comfort of his home rather than in the sterile confines of a hospital. Maybe, in a small town where everyone knew everyone else, that seemed a reasonable choice.
But it wasn’t. The moment they were taken into custody, those children had become wards of the state. No one had the right to just claim them, not even an apparently well-liked psychiatrist.
The volunteer’s directions took Kelsey straight to the doctor’s home, a garage apartment behind the corner house. Interesting quarters for a psychiatrist, she thought as she climbed the stairs to the door. It suggested rental, bachelor, temporariness. Was there no Mrs. Grayson? And if there wasn’t, didn’t that make his taking four young kids home with him on his days off just a little more curious?
When her sharp rap was answered, she immediately recognized the man from the parking lot yesterday, though a rumpled version. Instead of a suit, he wore faded denim shorts with more than their share of rips and a T-shirt with permanent stains, and his hair stood on end. On the positive side, he didn’t look befuddled but handsome—six-feet-plus, blond hair, blue eyes, square jaw. How had she missed noticing that yesterday?
Oh, and one other thing—he didn’t appear to recognize her at all.
“J. D. Grayson? I’m Kelsey Malone, Department of Family Assistance.” She offered him a business card, then a handshake. She expected a so-so grip and softness. She got restrained power and calluses—and not of the golf club or tennis racquet variety. “Can I come in?”
He stepped back and allowed her entrance into an apartment that was large, beautifully decorated, and scrupulously clean if she discounted the two dozen cartons of books stacked just inside. The combined fragrances of wood polish and fresh flowers perfumed the air, and the sound of a television was muted in the background.
She shifted her attention back to the doctor. “I understand you have the Brown children here.”
“Of course I do. Where else would I have them?”
She ignored his testiness. “Can I see them?”
He gestured down the hall, and she followed the television sounds into the living room, where four children sprawled together on the sofa. Four pairs of identical brown eyes subjected her to a scrutiny as thorough as she gave them, then dismissed her as unimportant—meaning not their parent—and turned back to the television.
They looked as good as could be expected for four children who’d lived on their own for six weeks—a testament to the oldest boy’s determination. According to their records, they were relatively healthy, though undernourished, and they hadn’t suffered any apparent harm in their unauthorized time with the doctor. Still, he shouldn’t have taken them. Though his intentions had no doubt been good, it was still against the rules.
When it came to protecting the children in her care, Kelsey was a stickler for following the rules.
She shifted her attention back to J. D. Grayson. “Is there someplace we can talk?”
“Down here.” He led the way to a room that had hastily been converted into sleeping space, with nothing on the walls and a small collection of toys and children’s books on the shelves. A dresser didn’t quite cover the deep indentations in the rug where a larger piece—a desk, perhaps—had recently stood, and a few unfaded patches on the wall showed where photographs had been removed.
She turned in a slow circle between two sets of unmade bunk beds. The lower left bed was obviously the little girl’s—Gracie’s—with its pink sheets and lace-edged candy-striped spread. The bunk above hers sported a football theme, while race cars and cartoon characters roared across the other two. “This room is a bit small for four children.”
“No one seemed to listen yesterday when I said I didn’t have room,” he said dryly as he leaned against the dresser. “What is it you want, Ms. Malone?”
She gestured toward the door. “Can we close that?”
“I’d rather not. Caleb has a habit of listening around corners. A closed door might be more temptation than he can resist.”
And J.D. was standing where he could see if anyone so much as stepped into the hallway. She acknowledged the wisdom of his strategy. “I came to pick up the children.”
“You what?”
“I assume you meant well, Dr. Grayson, but you can’t just take them.”
He was staring at her as if she’d begun speaking an alien language. “I meant well? Hey, lady, this was not my idea. You people came to me. You asked me to take them.”
“There seems to be some misunderstanding here. This is my case, and I couldn’t possibly have asked you—”
He waved one hand impatiently. “Not you. The other one.”
“The other what?”
“The other social worker. Jeez, don’t you people talk to each other?”
Feeling off balance again, Kelsey took a deep, calming breath. “What other social worker?”
“The one who came to me yesterday and asked me to take the kids—no, not asked, insisted. She said they needed me, said no one else would do. She even got Judge McKechnie to show up in court on a Sunday afternoon to sign an order for temporary custody. What’s her name … Noelle. That was it.”
“Noelle who?”
“I don’t remember. You should know. It’s your office.”
“I admit I’m new here, Dr. Grayson, but I just met all the employees in the office this morning, and there’s no one by the name of Noelle.”
For a long time he stared at her. Once he opened his mouth as if to argue, then shut i
t again. Then, combing his fingers through his hair, he did argue. “You must be mistaken.”
She shook her head. “There are only four of us. Two intake personnel named Dan and Lisa and two caseworkers—Mary Therese and me. There’s not a Noelle in the bunch.”
“But she gave me a card.” He left the room, and an instant later she heard the slamming of drawers next door. In another instant he returned and handed her a business card. It was the standard card someone who was new to an office would have until she got her own cards printed—exactly the same as the one Kelsey had just given him.
“This doesn’t prove anything.”
He left the room again, then returned with a handful of official forms. “She gave me these.”
None of the signatures on the custody papers were neatly formed, but she could make out Grayson’s scrawl, and the judge’s. She recognized Noelle’s first name only because she could match the swoops and loops to the letters she knew to look for. The last name was nothing but a scribble.
Seeing that she remained unconvinced, Grayson tugged at his hair again. “She gave me the kids. The sheriff’s department didn’t question her. The hospital didn’t. The judge didn’t.”
“Apparently, someone should have.” Kelsey laid her briefcase on the top bunk, placed the papers and business card inside, then snapped the case shut again. “We’ll have to get this straightened out, the sooner the better. Do you want to take the children with us, or is there someone trustworthy who can watch them while we’re gone?”
His gaze narrowed dangerously at her use of the word trustworthy. He seemed to take it as a personal insult. “I’ll ask Mrs. Larrabee to watch them,” he said coldly, quietly. “She’s my landlady, widow of the former mayor, a member of the hospital board of directors and the school board, a grandmother of eleven, and current or past president of every charitable organization in the county. She’s quite trustworthy.”
He walked to the door, then waited pointedly for her to leave. She returned to the living room, where the children once again subjected her to those long, flat looks. With a faint smile she sat down in an easy chair. “Hi. I’m Kelsey. I’m the social worker assigned to your case. Which one of you is Caleb?”
No one answered.
“Jacob? Noah?”
Still no response.
She smiled at the girl. “Well, I know you’re Gracie. Gosh, you’re pretty.”
No smile, no blush, no shyly ducking her head.
Kelsey moved to sit on the coffee table directly in front of them. As one, they moved into a tighter huddle, shrinking away from her. “Look, kids, I know this is tough. You got along okay without any adults for the last six weeks, and you don’t understand why things can’t just go on the way they were. Unfortunately, they can’t. Kids need grown-ups. You need your dad. But since he’s not here, we’re going to watch over you for him.”
“He’s coming back,” the oldest boy said sharply.
Maybe, maybe not. Kelsey didn’t know the percentage of parents who abandoned their children, then later returned for them, though she was sure some study somewhere had narrowed it to an educated guess. She did know in her experience that it didn’t happen often enough. But maybe Ezra Brown was the exception to the rule. After all, he’d stuck it out two years longer than his wife had. According to the sheriff’s report, he’d told the kids he was going to look for work and would return as soon as possible. Maybe he’d meant to keep that promise. Maybe something had happened to stop him from keeping it.
Or maybe it had merely been empty words.
“I understand you live in the country on a farm. I’ve never seen a farm before. I grew up in New York City. Have you ever been there?”
The oldest boy—Caleb, if she remembered correctly—rolled his eyes disgustedly, making her chuckle. “Feel free to point out a dumb question whenever I ask one. I do manage from time to time. So what do you guys like to do with your summers? Do you swim? Play baseball? Go fishing?”
No response. Not even a flicker of interest.
“When I was a kid, I went to the library a lot. And sometimes my mom would take us to the park, and for one week every summer, we would go to the beach. Have you ever seen the ocean?”
“That’s a dumb question,” the second oldest boy—Jacob, she thought—announced. Caleb scowled at him, and he protested in his defense. “She said to point out dumb questions, and that’s a dumb question. We never been anywhere. How would we go to the ocean?”
“Shut up,” Caleb hissed, and Jacob obeyed.
So Caleb was the key. If he ever relaxed and opened up, so would the others, but as long as he kept his guard up, reaching the kids in any way was going to be a slow, delicate job. She hoped Bethlehem was home to foster parents who were up to the job.
Before she could try again, Dr. Grayson came in. He’d changed into jeans and a less disreputable shirt and combed his hair—though she suspected that before their business was concluded, it would be standing on end all over again. He walked past them without a word, reaching the front door just as a knock sounded. When he returned, the eminently trustworthy Mrs. Larrabee was with him. With her round body and snowy white hair, all she needed was a red dress and spectacles to make a perfect Mrs. Santa Claus.
Dr. Grayson made the introductions, gave the kids a warning to behave, then fixed a less than friendly look on Kelsey. “Shall we go?”
She followed him outside and down the steps. Near the bottom he called over his shoulder, “We’ll take my truck.”
The look he gave her dared her to refuse—which, of course, was her first impulse, and second. The truck was caked with mud. It sat high off the ground. There was no running board to give her a step up, and her skirt was too narrow by far for the challenge ahead. But they could begin unraveling this mess on their way to the sheriff’s department, and the sooner it was unraveled, the sooner she could get down to the business of helping those kids.
She covered her reluctance with what she hoped was a dazzling smile. “Thanks for the offer. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”
He looked at her, her skirt, then the truck, and grinned an ill-tempered sort of grin. “Oh, I think I can guess.”
Then he walked around the vehicle and left her to struggle in on her own.
J.D. watched as Ms. Malone maneuvered her way onto the seat. She had to pull her skirt about four inches beyond decent, revealing a length of nice, tightly muscled thigh, then shimmied it back into place. With a huff she fastened her seat belt, settled her briefcase across her lap, and gave him a look that pretended composure. “We can go anytime, Doctor.”
“You can call me J.D. Everyone else in town does.” He started the engine, backed around her car into the side yard, then headed down the drive. “Where are we going?”
“To the sheriff’s department. I want to talk to the deputy who took the children into custody.”
“That would be Max Davis. I doubt he’s on duty yet.”
“Is Bethlehem so small that everyone knows everyone else’s schedule?”
“Max works three to eleven. That means he won’t be in yet. But, yes, Bethlehem is that small. Does that bother you?”
She showed no interest in the neighborhood they were passing through but watched him instead. “Why would it bother me?”
“Some people find small-town life stifling. There are no secrets here.” Save one or two.
Her smile was humorless and made him wonder. “Every place has secrets, Dr. Grayson. Tell me about the children.”
He considered correcting her use of his name, then shrugged it off. Bethlehem was a friendly town, and stiff, unyielding people didn’t do well there. Ms. Malone would learn to loosen up, or she wouldn’t last long. “Are you interested in my professional opinion or my temporary guardian opinion?”
“Either.”
“I think they’re in pretty good shape considering what they’ve been through. They’re frightened and hurt, and Caleb’s angry. He takes his role as big-br
other-in-charge very seriously. He’ll resent anyone who might come between them.”
“Why did you take them?”
Annoyance tightened the muscles in his neck and made his voice sharp. “I told you, Noelle asked—”
“Why did you agree?”
He knew the sort of answer she expected. Though a few bad ones occasionally slipped through the approval process, the majority of people who became foster parents had admirable reasons for doing so. They loved kids. They wanted to help. They felt their lives had been blessed and wanted to pass on the blessing to someone else. They believed they could make a difference.
He loved kids—from a distance. He wanted to help—again, from a distance. His life had been blessed—until he’d screwed it up. And he knew he could make a difference.
He also knew that that difference could be good or bad. He could help, but he could also hurt. He could make one life better, but he could just as easily destroy another, and the guilt from that could destroy him.
So why had he agreed to take the kids? The only answer he could offer was the same one he’d given Holly yesterday. Damned if I know. Somehow, he didn’t think Ms. Malone would like it any more than he did.
Fortunately, the courthouse was just ahead. Waving at a cop on his way out to patrol, J.D. turned into the parking lot and found a space. “We’ll have to ask Sheriff Ingles to call Max in. He lives a couple of blocks away. It shouldn’t take long.”
The sheriff’s department wasn’t busy. It rarely was. The dispatcher looked up from her magazine long enough to wave them into the sheriff’s office, where Ingles set aside the schedule he was working on and got to his feet. “J.D., ma’am. What can I do for you?”
After J.D. explained their reason for coming to see him, the sheriff shook his head with a chuckle. “Impersonating a social worker. Now, there’s something you don’t see too often. Me, if I were going to impersonate someone, it’d be a millionaire. No offense, Kelsey.”
“None taken, Sheriff,” she said dryly.
“Actually, though, there was no harm done. You couldn’t ask for a better placement for those kids than J.D. here. He’s an upright citizen, a doctor, and a shrink to boot. Everybody likes him.”
Father to Be Page 5
