by Mary Burton
The doorbell rang again.
‘I’m coming!’ Kendall hurried down the center hallway. She glanced out the side window and saw a familiar face. As she opened the door, cool air chilled her overheated skin and she shivered.
‘Ms Shaw?’ The grinning man standing on her front porch was medium build and looked to be in his late thirties, early forties. He wore painter’s pants, a white sweatshirt, and a thick army jacket. Dark graying hair framed a rounded, pleasant face.
‘Todd Franklin!’ The carpenter she’d been waiting for.
He tipped his head forward. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
She clapped her hands together. ‘Thank God. I didn’t think you’d ever come. Please come inside.’
Todd wiped his feet off on the front porch mat and came into the foyer. ‘Sorry I’m a few days late. My job on the south side just took longer than I expected. You find all kinds of problems when you’re renovating.’
‘Please don’t say that,’ she said. ‘We’re thinking only positive thoughts when it comes to this renovation.’
He laughed. ‘I’ll do my best.’ He glanced at her sweat-stained jog top. ‘Did I interrupt your workout?’
‘No worries.’ He was the one interruption she would surrender time on the machine for. She moved down the hallway. ‘My roommate gave you the grand tour last month. You remember, Nicole?’
‘I sure do. She was a big help.’
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be here. New job. My first few months were pretty hectic.’
‘Oh, I know how it is. I see you on TV sometimes.’
Kendall had learned long ago not to ask viewers what they thought about her broadcasts. Negative reviews had a tendency to chew on her. ‘It’s always good to be working.’
‘True enough.’
‘Let me show you the kitchen.’
‘Great.’ He followed behind her. ‘That roommate of yours – Nicole – did she have that baby yet?’
She crossed into the kitchen and pulled bottled water from the fridge. ‘Not yet. Still has about three or four weeks to go. Water?’
‘No, thanks.’ Todd glanced around the kitchen. ‘I reckon she’ll make a good mama.’
He unwittingly stumbled to the edge of an emotional minefield that Kendall had no desire to enter. She let the comment drop. ‘Well, as you can see, the kitchen is still as awful as it was when you first saw it. Frankly, I believe it’s a lost cause, but the designer assures me that you can do miracles.’
‘I’ll make it just the way you like it,’ he said.
He possessed a confidence she liked. And he’d come with excellent references, so for now she was ready to turn the job over to him. ‘Bless you.’ She opened a cabinet drawer. The contents were neatly organized and she found a spare key easily. ‘Here’s a key to the house. While you’re working, I’ll just leave the alarm off.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ He put the key on his own ring. ‘First day or two it’s gonna be a terrible mess in here. And the demolition will be noisy.’
‘It’ll be worth the sacrifice.’ She clapped her hands together, more excited than she’d been on any Christmas morning. ‘So, you are going to start today?’
‘I am.’
‘Then I’ll leave you to it?’
He nodded. ‘Go on and do what you need to. I’ve got it from here. I’ll be in and out of the house a lot, dragging in tools, so expect to hear the door opening and closing. Mind if I work tomorrow?’
‘Not at all.’ Kendall went upstairs and laid out her clothes. Her selection included a pencil-thin black skirt, a Bolero jacket, sheer black stockings, and high-heeled shoes. The sooner she dressed the sooner she could get to work on her Jackie White story. Brett felt the story would play out quickly. But she wasn’t so sure. She’d backed off talking to Phil White yesterday, but today she’d do her best to get hold of him.
Nicole appeared in the doorway as Kendall pulled a silk blouse from her closet. Freshly blown-dry hair brushed Nicole’s shoulders and an aqua empire shirt covered her belly and grazed a pair of maternity jeans. ‘That the contractor I hear moving around downstairs?’
‘The one and only. I hope he gets the job done quickly. I’m so over contractors.’
Nicole nodded. ‘Big day planned?’
‘No bigger than usual.’ Kendall took a second glance at Nicole. ‘You’re all dressed up.’
She exhaled a deep breath and smoothed her hand over her belly. ‘I’m headed to the adoption agency today. I have an appointment with a counselor.’
Kendall directed her full attention at Nicole. ‘How are you doing with that?’
Nicole’s eyes watered. ‘Honestly? I’m scared.’
Kendall dropped the blouse in her hand onto the bed. She had a million things she wanted to get done today and yet she heard herself saying, ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
Nicole’s face brightened. ‘Would you? God, that would help a lot.’
‘When’s your appointment?’
‘An hour.’
‘I’ll be ready in thirty minutes.’
‘You’re the best.’
Kendall crossed the room and hugged her. ‘Just don’t let it get around that I can be nice. I’ve a reputation to uphold.’
Nicole laughed and swiped a tear. ‘I promise.’
Thirty minutes later, Kendall headed down the main staircase dressed and ready to go. Drop cloths now covered the kitchen floor and partway into the hallway. Sporadic bursts of banging hammers sounded from the kitchen. She sighed. She didn’t like people in her house. She valued privacy. But if she wanted a new kitchen, sacrifices were required.
She found Nicole in the living room. She had her coat on and was tapping her foot. Seeing Nicole like this turned Kendall’s mind to the woman who’d given her up. Had her own birth mother been this nervous when Kendall had kicked in her belly and she’d thought about giving her up?
A jolt of sadness rocketed through Kendall and it took an effort to shake it off. She was starting to believe that her reasons for helping Nicole weren’t as pure as she’d first thought. Maybe understanding and knowing Nicole would help her understand her own birth mother.
Kendall grabbed her coat and slipped it on. Between hammer strikes, she shouted, ‘Todd, we’re outta here!’
‘Will do, Ms Shaw!’ he shouted without even looking out of the kitchen. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow!’
Kendall and Nicole exited the front door and moved down the narrow alleyway beside the house to the garage in back. They each got in their own cars and soon Kendall was following Nicole toward Monument Avenue. Minutes later they walked together toward a nondescript stone building with a wrought-iron railing around a small grassy yard. Five steps led to a covered porch and a black lacquered door that had a tarnished brass knocker in the center. A brass sign by the front door read SERENITY FAMILY SERVICES.
Nicole swallowed as she stared up the steps toward the door. ‘They’ve come highly recommended.’
‘I know.’ Kendall smiled. ‘I checked.’
‘You did?’
‘I’ve got lots of connections. They come in handy.’
‘And you heard all good things, like I did?’ Hope and fear wove around the words.
Kendall met her gaze head-on. ‘All good. I would have told you if I’d heard anything squirrelly.’ She hooked her arm into Nicole’s. ‘Let’s see what they have to say.’
Nicole pressed her hand to her belly. ‘Okay.’
They climbed the steps.
The adoption counselor’s office was designed for comfort, Nicole noted. Shag carpet, pale blue walls, pictures of happy kids and families, bookshelves lined with every book on child psychology and adoption ever written. There was even a basket full of stuffed animals and toys in one corner.
But she didn’t feel the least bit comfortable. She felt as if she were being pricked by a thousand pins and needles. And she felt like a failure and a quitter. Logically, she understood that adoption was a good, sound decision. A loving d
ecision. But logic and emotion didn’t always agree.
The counselor, Carnie Winchester, rose and immediately came out from behind her desk to greet Nicole and Kendall. Carnie was medium height, had shoulder-length red wavy hair and a peaches-and-cream complexion. Hip-hugger jeans, a fitted T-shirt, and a collection of beaded bracelets on her left wrist gave her a Bohemian look. Everything about Carnie belied Nicole’s image of an adoption counselor. For some reason, she’d expected a matronly woman, not a woman so close to her own age.
‘Nicole,’ Carnie said as she extended her hand. Her voice was soft and soothing. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
Nicole took her hand. ‘Thank you. Wow. I didn’t realize you were so young.’
Carnie smiled. ‘I’m sorry I’m so casually dressed but I’ve got my teens’ support group meeting tonight and don’t have time to go home and change. We’ll be playing dodgeball.’
Nicole could picture Carnie with the kids and bet she was good with them. ‘No problem. I’d like you to meet my friend Kendall Shaw.’
Kendall put out her hand. She looked positively regal and very out of place here. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’
Carnie didn’t hide her surprise when she met Kendall’s gaze head-on. ‘I watch you every night. You’re great.’
‘Thank you,’ Kendall said.
‘You’ve really added some life and glamour to the station.’
‘Thank you.’ Kendall accepted the compliment with ease. She was never arrogant, always gracious. She reminded Nicole of a queen.
Kendall lifted a brow. ‘May we sit?’
That was something else about Kendall that Nicole admired. She had a way of politely, but definitively, directing the people around her.
‘Of course,’ Carnie said.
Nicole and Kendall settled on the couch and Carnie sat across from them in an overstuffed chair, tucking one of her legs under her.
Kendall, looking so smooth and sleek, crossed her legs. Nicole struggled to get comfortable. The baby had chosen this moment to sit on her bladder and her swollen feet felt as if they were overflowing her shoes. When she did finally get comfortable, she suddenly found that she was at a loss for words. What did a woman say when she was considering giving away her own flesh and blood?
Nicole glanced to Kendall trying to convey her sudden panic.
Kendall seemed to sense all this and without betraying any of Nicole’s worries turned to Carnie. ‘This is a very stressful situation for Nicole, as you must know.’
Carnie’s gaze was soft. Bracelets jangled softly as she leaned forward and touched Nicole’s arm. ‘I don’t want you to worry or feel any kind of pressure. We are here today just to talk.’
Nicole managed a weak smile and didn’t feel so boxed into a corner. ‘I know.’
‘I haven’t relinquished a child, but I was adopted, so I have a personal connection to the process.’
Kendall shifted, but her expression didn’t show any emotion.
Nicole swallowed. ‘You were? Do you ever see your mother – your birth mother?’
‘I haven’t found her yet. I’ve become something of an expert on searches, but no luck with my mother yet. My adoption wasn’t exactly black market but very gray.’ She seemed relaxed, as if she’d told this story a thousand times before. ‘My murky roots are why I’m so committed to open adoption.’
The tightness in Nicole’s throat didn’t vanish but it eased. ‘Do you know anything about her?’
‘Only that she was young when she had me. My associate, Debra Weston, couldn’t be here today because her youngest is in the winter play at his elementary school. But Debra gave up a child when she was in college. She’d be the first to tell you that it was the hardest thing she’s ever done.’
‘Was she able to keep up with her child?’
‘She lost track until he turned twenty-one. Then he came searching for her. Now they exchange pictures and his parents have even sent her a scrapbook filled with pictures of him growing up.’
Kendall removed an imaginary piece of lint from her skirt. ‘How does someone go about searching for a birth parent? I know you support open adoption, but what if Nicole chose a closed adoption?’
‘Then the petitioner – the birth child or parent – would request a court order and ask the state to unseal the adoption records. It can be a very complicated and long process.’
‘How long would something like this take?’ Kendall asked.
‘It varies, depending on the original adoption order. Adoptions done pre-nineteen eighty-nine are a little harder to open. I’ve one client who’s been searching for three years.’
‘I didn’t realize it was so complicated,’ Kendall said. ‘Somehow I pictured this room full of files that could be opened at will.’
Carnie smiled. ‘I wish.’
By all appearances, Kendall looked relaxed and cool. But Nicole had learned over the last couple of months that strong emotions ran under her cool exterior. Something was brewing behind her eyes.
‘You’ll have to excuse me,’ Kendall said easily. ‘I’ve a reporter’s mind. It’s hard not to ask questions.’
Carnie didn’t seem to mind. ‘Of course.’
The interlude between Kendall and Carnie gave Nicole a chance to collect herself. She was far from comfortable but she could think a little better now. ‘Can you show me that book of families you were talking about?’
Carnie smiled. ‘I’d be glad to.’
Kendall leaned forward. ‘Do you want some privacy?’
As much as Nicole had appreciated Kendall’s help getting her this far, she knew the next steps she’d have to take alone. ‘Do you mind?’
Kendall’s face softened. ‘Not at all. I’ll talk to you later.’
‘Thanks.’
Kendall rose and left the office. Carnie reached for the binder on the coffee table. It was blue with flower stickers. Our Families was written in black Magic Marker on the cover. ‘Let’s have a look at some of our profiles.’
When Jacob knocked on Dr Christopher’s office door, he was fifteen minutes late and unapologetic. He had a murder investigation on his desk and he didn’t have time to waste with a shrink.
‘Come in.’ She sounded annoyed.
He pushed open the door. ‘Dr Christopher.’
She sat at her desk, her gaze on a magazine. A silver barrette held gray hair back in a tight ponytail. Black-rimmed glasses perched on the edge of her nose, and she wore a loose black sweater, jeans, and sneakers.
Dr Christopher’s office was located in the medical office building of Mercy Hospital. The office was neat, organized, small, and efficient, like the woman herself.
She didn’t rise from her desk or look up from the magazine she was reading. Slowly she turned a page. ‘You’re late.’
‘Yes.’
He shrugged off his jacket and moved into the office, closing the door behind him. The space always felt cramped once he entered it. He took his place on the couch across from her desk and felt a little like a kid summoned to the principal’s office. ‘Let’s get started.’
She finished the line she was reading and closed the magazine. ‘So what are you working on these days?’
He’d expected a lecture on tardiness and was grateful she skipped it. ‘A murder investigation. A young woman strangled, dumped by the river.’
She frowned. ‘I read about that in the paper. That must be tough for you.’
He set his jacket aside and sat back on the couch, determined to look relaxed. ‘No tougher for me than the other cops working the case.’
Her gaze narrowed. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘I can see their faces. The strain. Each one of them is thinking about a wife. A sister. A daughter. It’s hard not to personalize a case like this when it appears the woman lived her life by the straight and narrow.’
‘Do you personalize it?’
His shrug was meant to look casual. ‘I feel bad for the victim. It’s a waste to die so young,
but I don’t have a woman in my life whom I’m particularly close to, so I don’t personalize it.’
She lifted a brow. ‘There’s no woman in your life whom you are close to?’
He crossed his leg, resting his ankle on the opposite knee. ‘You know this.’ Tension crept up his spine. ‘We’ve been through this before.’ He’d stopped short of confessing his real fear – that if he were tested again in the line of duty he’d freeze, as he had last summer.
‘I’d like to revisit some things.’
‘Why? It’s water under the bridge. I know a lot of women. I like to date around. But I have no desire to settle down.’
‘You’ve never been in love?’
Shit. He didn’t like these questions because honestly he didn’t know what to say for fear she’d peg him a nut. ‘Look, we’ve discussed my mother. She was a drunk who cared more about booze than me. It was a fucked-up family. I get that. Anyone who went through that would have trust issues. But I don’t dwell on it.’
‘Knowing you have trust issues and understanding how that affects your life are two different things.’
They were traveling down the same path again. ‘It doesn’t affect me. At least not in my job.’
‘There’s more to life than work.’
He picked at the cuff of his jeans. ‘I’m good at my job. I stay in shape. I help a neighbor in need. What else am I supposed to do?’
She leaned forward. ‘When is the last time you felt joy?’
‘That’s easy. We arrested a guy in late December. He was a dealer and he killed two of his teenaged mules. It felt damn good to take him down.’ He’d ridden that high for several days.
‘That’s satisfaction. What about joy? Laughter?’
He tipped back his head trying to hold on to his patience. ‘I’m a homicide detective. Joy isn’t part of the job description.’
‘It is part of the description of a balanced person.’
He could see where this was going. It wasn’t enough he caught killers. Now he had to prove he was happy. At the rate he was going with the doc she was going to write an unfavorable evaluation. He had to come up with something. Before he thought too much, he went back to the last happy moment in his life. ‘The last time I felt joy. Last summer. July. Pete and I were in the gym. He was checking the laces on my boxing gloves. He kept warning me that I was going to injure my hands if I didn’t ease up. It felt good to know someone had my back.’
