“Of course.” Cassie reached her hands out, searching for a way to give them use. “Can I carry Deidre, Star?”
But Deidre, wordless in the whole affair, only dug her head into Star’s collarbone and gripped her neck tighter.
“Or I can try and hold Kennedy?” Cassie looked to Rachel, whose typically polished, shoulder-length hair was being tossed by flailing elbows.
“Yes.”
“Mypapeesndheidr! I wan my papee!”
Cassie pried the child off Rachel and, with difficulty, put her on her hip. One arm protectively around her back, Cassie gripped the railing and managed to start down the stairs.
The child gave a guttural cry, her small head dropping on Cassie’s neck with a new and different explosion of tears. Her forehead was burning hot.
Cassie rounded for another set of steps.
The little girl began to tremor, and Cassie knew it was because of far more than the icy breeze. It was as though she could feel the little girl’s sense of loss now complete, the realization that she was going to lose her puppy, that her hands weren’t big enough to reach up those few steps and wrap her arms around it. That no matter how loud she cried or how desperately she asked, begged, pleaded for help, the adults weren’t going to hear her. Whatever was going to happen to her puppy, and whatever had happened in that home in the hours, days, weeks, and years prior, was completely and utterly out of this little girl’s control.
“Mypapee!”
Four steps to the bottom.
Three steps to the bottom.
“Mypapee! Mypapee! Mypapee!”
Two.
One.
“I’m going to go get it.” Cassie turned abruptly and handed the child back over to Rachel, not waiting for a response as she darted up the stairs. Come fleas, bugs, human waste, meth, it didn’t matter. She would scrub that dog and drop herself in a bath of Lysol if it came to it, just to hear the little girl stop screaming in that manner.
“Cassie, really—” Rachel called after her, but Cassie didn’t stop.
A man in an orange hazmat suit stood in the living room. With the toe of his foot he nudged a pile of dirty clothes. An empty pill bottle surfaced, and he squatted to take a look. When she stepped inside, he looked up.
“Just getting something for Rachel.”
He nodded and turned back to his work.
Cassie became painfully aware of the inadequacy of her canvas shoes as she tiptoed swiftly through the living room, careful to avoid the piles. After five large strides beyond the front door came the hall to the bedrooms, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she entered the narrow path.
She heard the refrigerator door to her left open and saw an officer, a man without a suit this time—one she recognized. The cries of the child outside were a continuous reminder of the need to return as soon as possible. Still, the urge to know pushed her to sidestep into the kitchen.
“Mike, what’s going on here?”
Mike Slade had run in the same circles as Cassie for years—everything from the same gym membership and friendly barbeque invites to the same geometry class back in middle school. Though she spoke far more with his wife, she’d had a number of conversations with Mike—restricted generally to the cuteness of his kids and work. In one sense they understood each other more than the others. They knew the grit of the other’s job in ways mutual friends and acquaintances did not.
He straightened. “This one of your girls?”
Cassie nodded.
He shook his head. “I hate to see it.”
She took a step into the kitchen, observing her surroundings. Every cabinet door hung open, either because Slade had just inspected it or because it had been left that way. Whereas the living room was knee-deep in dirty, broken, and used objects best shoveled out to the dump, here each cabinet was empty. No cans of beans and peas, no boxes of noodles, no Cheerios inside the empty boxes of cereal.
She flicked a bag of chips, and it slid across the counter.
How had this happened to another one of the Haven girls in a month? Another girl pulled from her home without Cassie having a clue how bad it was? Another girl living in such conditions that DCS warranted removal?
Cassie felt her throat wobble, and she clenched her teeth with a determined steadiness. Not Star. She cared for all the girls, genuinely loved them all. But oh, she loved Star.
She felt the urge to run to her car and drive like a wild woman around town, knocking on the doors of each and every one of the forty-eight girls who dropped in every day. What were they doing tonight? What sort of situations were they living in? She wanted to set each one in a chair tomorrow, to give them the inquisition until she knew with absolute certainty their lives were in good shape. That there was nothing to hide.
But Star? She’d known something was going on with Star. She knew her stepfather had come back into the picture, knew her mother was unpredictable, suspected worse facts hidden shallowly beyond that. But Star kept coming to the Haven every afternoon. Kept that smile on her face, kept boxing out the questions whenever Cassie tried to move in.
Especially after Cam’s departure and the news of Star’s stepdad’s return, Cassie had been more diligent. She’d “broken” several of those rules in the fat handbook on her desk: Don’t give out full-frontal hugs. Don’t keep up private communication after hours with the teens. Avoid becoming friends on social media.
Yeah, right.
Those rules were written by the wise, perhaps, but not by the ones personally holding the door open for the kids every day.
Cassie had spent at least fifteen hours a week with Star for the past six years. Fifteen. That meant she spent at minimum seven-hundred-and-eighty hours with Star each year. Tack on the summer camps and special trips, and she was at well over a thousand. At some point, “child in question” became “close as blood,” and rules went out the window.
Mike spoke. “Looks like someone tried to get a lab off the ground but failed. Hazmat team took a look around, but they’re clearing out now.”
“Yeah, I ran into one of them in the living room.” Cassie took a step closer, catching sight of the two unopened soda cans in the otherwise empty fridge. “Where’s the girls’ mother?”
“I’m sure DCS will be coming down tomorrow, asking you the same.” Mike opened the second bottom shelf, confirmed its lack of contents, and shut it.
“The girls aren’t talking much. One of their neighbors made the call, saying their mom split a while ago. Best I can tell, they’ve been on their own a few weeks.”
“Weeks?” Cassie crossed her arms, trying to think of the exact date she had spoken with Star about her stepdad. Her mom had still been home then, hadn’t she? She thought so, but Star had been intentionally vague.
“I spoke with Star about her stepdad about three weeks ago. She led me to believe her mother was still around. At the time Star said her stepfather was planning to leave town.” Cassie squeezed her eyes shut, remembering. “Actually, she said he was planning to leave that weekend. Oh, I hope they haven’t been on their own that long. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.”
“Maybe the girl thought her mother would be returning soon.” He stood and adjusted his belt. “Maybe the mother still plans to. Not that she’ll find her daughters here when she returns.”
Cassie shivered. It felt like forty degrees in there. “What’s going to happen?”
“Well, I don’t know what all she’ll be charged with, but child neglect alone—”
“Yes, yes.” Cassie nodded, well aware of the court procedures ahead. “The girls, I mean. What will happen to them?”
But she already knew. Even while he started to reply, she heard the cries of the youngest in the stairwell and stepped backward. “Actually, I’ve gotta get something and bring it back to Rachel. Thank you, Mike. I’ll see you around.”
“I’ll see you. Sorry about the news.”
“Thanks.” Her reply was feeble as she withdrew into the hall and dodge
d the piles of refuse there. At the first open door, she stepped over a naked Barbie and into the room. Definitely Star’s. Besides a couple of aged movie posters, Cassie recognized several sweaters hanging on hangers in the open closet and strewn across the floor. A Pack ’n Play stood squarely in the center of the room. Star’s black backpack hung off a chair where a Spanish 2 textbook sat at the top of a wobbly stack.
Cassie gingerly opened the unzipped backpack and peeked inside. DCS was moving too quickly to even pick up her school laptop? She pursed her lips, shivering again.
She slid the computer out of the bag and just as she did so felt the unmistakable tickle of a bite beneath her jeans, above her ankle.
Time to go.
On top of the twin mattress in the corner lay the stuffed dog, its nose pressed into the wall. Balancing on the spring of a second twin mattress on the floor, she grabbed it.
The silver frame on the window sat on the ledge above it. Pulling the frame in for a closer look, she ignored the second bite on her ankle and stared at the photo. The girls pressed in close around their new Santa fireman friend, giddy grins slapped across each face as they delighted in the surprise visit and euphoria around their united project. It had been a good day. Even Star had her lanky elbows hanging over Cassie’s shoulder as they pressed their faces together, smiling at the camera.
Star. Whatever would she do without her buddy?
Cassie took a sharp breath. There was a very real possibility that Star wouldn’t be coming back to Haven. Not a certainty, no, but at least a fifty-fifty chance. Who knew where the teen would end up. She never spoke about extended family; no support groups ever came to her side at the Haven’s array of get-togethers. The Haven was big on encouraging as much family involvement as possible, and yet it was never Star’s mother or uncle or grandmother who showed up to volunteer at a dodgeball tournament or start that (albeit failed) community garden. Without family, she and her sisters would be merging into the system. And if the foster family lived farther out—and odds were they would—would they actually commit to picking Star up from the Haven every day? Of course not.
For that matter, was there really a family out there who would take all three? And one a teen? All they would hear would be the ominous word fourteen before the fears and statistics started whispering. They wouldn’t know what a mother Star was—how Deidre looked to her as if she could carry the city on her shoulders, how Star had always kept an eye out for her at the Haven, even when she was busy doing her own teenage thing.
Potential fosters had never heard Star cackle at her own jokes, had never seen the way she welcomed new girls into the Haven and helped them feel at home. It was a gift of hers, a way of sensing the needs of others without a whiff of explanation. Few could do that.
The possibility that Star—Star—had not only gone through this trauma but would now face the potential of being stripped away from her sisters . . .
The silver frame beneath her thumb crackled in protest and she released the pressure, looking down.
Cassie knew what she must do.
She should feel terrified. But instead she felt her body rushing forward, expelling her through the hall and out the apartment door.
“Rachel!” Cassie called, stumbling down the steps as she felt her phone ding inside her coat pocket.
8
Jett
Jett let go of the pull-up bar in his doorway. It was out of character for him to be impatient, but he simply couldn’t wait one more minute.
He rubbed a slick palm across his chest as he picked up his phone.
Had a great time tonight.
Jett hit backspace rapidly until the terrible sentence disappeared. Had a great time tonight? Of course he’d had a great time. They’d parroted those exact words back and forth several times before even hitting the parking lot.
Home safe and sound?
Nope. Women prone to old-fashioned chivalry would take that as considerate and protective, but Cassie—the woman who prided herself on walking through dark parking lots behind her not-so-suburban workplace—would be more likely to write him off altogether.
He backpedaled until he stared yet again at a blank screen. He took in a deep breath, waited five seconds far too long for inspiration, then dropped the phone on the bed. Ten more pull-ups on the doorway bar and he reached for the phone again.
If you lose Wednesday, are you going to skip out on dinner afterward? Best to know if I’m going to need to call a backup date.
He read it again. It wasn’t exactly a Robert Frost original, but it was better than nothing.
Pressing Send, he tossed the phone on the bed for another set, aware that with every pull-up his ears strained to hear a muted ding against the black comforter.
A ding came, but it wasn’t from his phone.
Jett heard the TV turn down in the living room. The door opened.
“Jett, you got company!”
Jett arched his head back mid-pull-up but only saw Sunny blocking the doorway. He sped up to finish the set, wiped his hands against his sweats, and started down the small hall. When a set of curly blond heads dodged around Sunny, however, he broke into a jog—running until he slid to a halt on his knees and wrapped the twins in his arms.
Dakota and Drew squealed as they squirmed to be free from his embrace, all the while giggling. Drew broke loose and stole a couple of feet away before Jett snatched him by the back of his coat. Drew wailed in glee, his blue snow boots dragging back into the hug.
“Look at you! What big kids you are! Did you miss me?”
Dakota flung her arms around his neck while Drew made for another getaway. Jett closed his eyes momentarily, Dakota’s soft, platinum-blond curls covering his face. He kept one hand on the back of Drew’s coat, feeling Drew tug and laugh.
“We need to crash here tonight.”
And just like that, a frost far colder than the twenty-four-degree air swept into the living room. Jett opened his eyes. Looked up to his sister.
“Hello, Trina. It’s good to see you.”
She didn’t smile. “Hello.”
Gripping Dakota on his hip, he stood and faced her. “If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve made up a bed for you . . . but absolutely. Come on in.”
Sunny shut the door and stood between them, frying in the middle of the awkward silence as Jett and his sister took each other in.
“My phone wasn’t working,” Trina finally said.
Jett nodded, well aware of how “finicky” her phone could be. “Sure.”
His eyes tracked across Trina’s face. He wasn’t surprised by what he saw, but it hurt just the same. Her dead eyes, her protruding cheekbones fruitlessly veiled by dull skin. The same long, blue coat swamped around her skin and bones just as it had this time last year—perhaps even more. Where had his baby sister gone?
It’d been a year since the incident surrounding her addictions and the twins’ lack of safety finally scared him enough to make him go down to DCS to file a report. A year since she’d met the social worker at her door and fled—from the worker and from him.
From the way she looked at him now, he knew she hadn’t forgiven him, that if she had any other place to go tonight, she would’ve gone there instead. Everything in her stance made her thoughts clear as crystal. You betrayed me. You humiliated me. You aren’t on my side.
But, oh, if he could only get through to her how much he was.
Between them, Sunny began to clap. “Reunion! Yaaay.”
And that’s when Jett looked down, his jaw opening slightly as he saw the car seat at Trina’s feet.
“Trina?” He weighed his voice carefully as he took a step toward them. “Is there a baby in there?”
He bent down slowly, Dakota’s arms still wrapped tightly around his neck.
“TJ,” Drew declared loudly, standing inches from the television, eyes glued on the football spiraling across the field.
A blanket covered the car seat. Jett lifted the corner.
A baby so small it could fit within the length of his forearm lay unhooked in the car seat, fast asleep.
The slap on his arm was loud, startling. “Don’t you dare wake him,” Trina hissed, then hoisted the car seat up with two hands. “Where can he go?”
Jett locked his jaw, forcing the frustration down. She’d had a baby. Another baby.
Holding Dakota tighter, he put a smile on his face and motioned with his stinging arm toward the back hall. “He can stay in my room. I don’t have a crib, of course, but—”
“He’ll sleep in the seat.”
He nodded, though even to his own childless ears that sounded suspicious. “I’ll take you back.”
“I remember where it is.”
Yes, but he bet she also remembered where he kept his checks. “Even so. Let me help you.” He reached and took the car seat from her grip. The whole thing lifted from her slumped shoulders as if it couldn’t have weighed more than fifteen pounds, baby included.
“How old is he?”
“Six weeks.”
He nodded, his throat constricting. How odd it was to feel something for a kid upon nothing more than a glance. Less than a glance. Another new relative changed things. All of a sudden he had one more being to care about. One more kid to worry over.
Stop this madness! Get your life back, Trina. Now.
He wanted to talk some sense into her, plead with her, make her change. Lock her in a bedroom for two weeks, force her back to reality, to life. But she’d heard his pleading a thousand times before, and a thousand times before she had walked right out that door again, saying fanciful things about changing but never following through.
The rule was simple: Always love. Always try. But never, ever raise your expectations.
And yet he couldn’t stop hoping, couldn’t stop persisting in the belief she’d someday be freed.
He set the car seat against the closet door, smoothly slid a couple of checkbooks from the desk drawer into his back pocket, and mentally went through the checklist in his room for any valuables. As he turned, he lifted the blanket for another peek.
The Dating Charade Page 7