The Bride Wore Red Boots

by Lizbeth Selvig

  “Rory, listen. You don’t have to tell me anything, but I’m a friend and if you want to talk, I won’t repeat anything you don’t want me to. How is life with the Murrays?”

  “It’s okay. It’s boring. Mrs. Murray, Shawna, she’s mostly in love with her kids. She’s nice to me, but I think I’m there because she gets extra money from the county when I am. Lisa is six, and she talks a lot just like her mom. Cameron is only one. He don’t talk at all.”

  “Who takes care of them when she works?”

  “Matt. I don’t like Matt.”

  “Can you tell me why?” She braced for an answer she really didn’t want to hear.

  “He’s loud and he doesn’t do much. Like, he hates to change diapers, so he makes me do it.”

  “Makes you?”

  “Sometimes he gives me a quarter. But that ain’t worth it. If I say that, though, he says he’ll tell Shawna I was mouthy, and I’ll have to do even more work.”

  “So, he threatens you?”

  “He never does nothin’, but he’s kinda loud and scares the other kids when he yells. He says it’s one of my jobs around there, but nobody told me that before. And it’s a gross job. But I just think, before I was there did Cam sit around in poopy diapers all day? So I do it.”

  Mia wasn’t sure what to think. She’d never really seen forced diaper changing listed as a charge for child abuse.

  “Do you feel safe when Matt’s there alone?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah. He spanks Lisa once in a while, but not hard or anything. And sometimes he plays catch with me. Mostly he watches TV and waits for Shawna to come home. Then he goes to work.”

  “And how is it then?”

  “Fine. I go to school, so I’m not there most of the time. It’s just kinda like eating vanilla ice cream. It’s not very exciting.”

  Mia laughed at the adult-sounding comparison. “How’d you learn a smart thing like that to say?”

  “Buster used to say it all the time when he got bored.”

  “Ahhh. So, how old was Buster?”

  “I asked him once. He’s the same age as my mom, twenty-nine.”

  That stopped her questions momentarily. She’d been expecting to hear he was an older man, wise and grandfatherly. What was a young man like that doing homeless?

  She chastised herself. This was New York. There was no single demographic for the homeless population, she knew that.

  “He’s a young man,” she said at last. “How did you meet him?”

  “He used to come and help Mom with little jobs, like washing a window or scrubbing a floor, and she’d pay him with lunch. He’s funny. He said it was a kind of justice having a poor white man work for a black lady. But Mama said that was silly, and anyway it was just people helping one another.”

  Mia listened, rapt, to his animated storytelling. The child was a wonder—he had true gifts of personality and understanding, and yet he seemed so vulnerable, as if he knew his situation but didn’t really think beyond passing through it.

  “And you ended up with Buster? How did that happen?”

  His story tightened up then. “Mama got sick, and Buster tried to tell her to get help. But she went and found more medicines she wasn’t supposed to have instead. When they took her to the police station, Buster told everyone he was my dad, so they wouldn’t take me away, too. My mama ended up in jail, and when they tried to take me away, me and Buster just ran off.”

  “But they found you.”

  “After one month! We were doin’ fine, but they wouldn’t let me stay with him.”

  It had been several months since Mia had visited with Monique. She hadn’t heard these details.

  They both looked up to see Shawna standing in the doorway. Her shiny figure suddenly made Mia feel like a dusty ranch hand—which she had been once upon a time.

  Rory halted in his story, which told Mia he’d chosen her to be his only confidant and wasn’t going to waver.

  “Look, Rory,” Shawna said. “I got all kinds of information about allergies. How about when I go home tonight, I leave some of it with you, and we can both learn?”

  Rory shot his foster mother a pained look.

  “Tell you what,” Mia said. “I’ll round him up a set of his own. I might even be able to find some that are geared toward his age. You go ahead and take those with you.”

  She was rewarded with a smile from Rory, who pulled up his blanket to cover his mouth. She was about to tease him when her cell phone rang from her lab coat pocket. She pulled it out, and saw the same unknown number as earlier. This time her stomach twisted in concern.

  “I hope you’ll excuse me,” she said. “I need to take this and then finish work. But I’ll stop by again in the morning, okay? Maybe I’ll hear that you get to go home.”

  She gave Rory a little wink, and he tugged at her sleeve as she turned. “You’re still going to look for Jack?”

  “I’m going to ask some questions about him,” she said evasively.

  “Now, Rory, we’ve discussed this,” Shawna said. “Jack is better off finding a different home . . . ”

  Mia edged out of the room feeling vaguely guilty. Both she and Shawna had dismissed Rory’s feelings. And yet, it really was just a cat. She answered her phone, hoping to catch the caller before he hung up.

  “Amelia Crockett.”

  “Hello, Mia?” A deep male voice took her by surprise.

  For a moment she didn’t reply while she tried to place the person on the other end of the phone who knew her familiar name—

  And then she knew. Her heart beat straight up into her throat. “Lieutenant Harrison?”

  An indecipherable grunt—annoyance? humor?—rumbled across the connection. “Good memory, Doc. But, please, call me Gabriel. I’m a civilian these days.”

  She hadn’t corresponded with the man in two weeks, and today he’d not only crossed her mind, but he was now inescapably live on her phone.

  “My goodness, Mr. Harrison.” She amended her greeting pleasantly, ignoring his request for first names. “I have to go with the cliché here and say, this is certainly unexpected.”

  “And a pleasure? That would finish off the cliché if I’m not mistaken.”

  Oh, it was Gabriel Harrison, all right. He not only thought he was handsome but funny as well. “How could it possibly be anything other than a pleasure? Is there a problem?”

  “Am I catching you at a bad time?”

  “I assume the nonanswer means you aren’t calling with an emergency.”

  “Your sister took a minor fall in her room today trying to get up by herself. She’s absolutely fine so, no, not an emergency. Just some news.”

  “A fall? How did they let that happen?”

  “She decided on her own to get up. She’s not restrained, of course, and they took her for an immediate MRI. She’s asleep and asked me to call you if she hadn’t heard from you by now. She left a message for you about forty-five minutes ago, but she expected you’d be busy.”

  Mia grimaced. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize this number and was heading for a patient, so I let it go to voice mail. It’s been a crazy day, and I’m afraid I haven’t checked the messages even yet.”

  “Hey, it’s not a problem. She called from a clinic phone and I’m doing the same—you probably saw the general clinic-wide number.”

  Mia lowered her prickly guard slightly. He was less abrasive on the phone than in person or curt e-mails. So far, she didn’t even want to choke him. “So what’s going on now? She’s really all right?”

  “After the MRI, Joely met with an orthopedic surgeon specializing in spinal cord injuries. The upshot is that there’s some experimental surgery he’d like her to consider. It’s somewhat risky and it would, as you know, be Joely’s third surgery since the accident, so I think the idea of this one makes her nervous. She’d like to see if there’s any way for you to be here at the next consultation with this doctor. In other words, she wants a second opinion, and she very much w
ants it to be yours.”

  A hundred questions blossomed after Harrison finished. What was the surgery? Why were they discussing it? What were the alternatives? What had they said that would make stubborn-minded Joely nervous? What did their other sisters think?

  The question that came out was none of those. “Why did she have you call and not one of the family?” She rubbed her eyes and immediately blew out an apologetic sigh. “Sorry, that has no bearing on anything medical.”

  “It’s all right. Kelly went back to Denver; Harper is in Chicago for three days. Grace is taking your mother shopping, I understand. Your grandmother is at home. I’m the only one left.”

  He’d definitely listed all her normally available sisters, and her mother.

  “All right, so you’re the messenger. Can you tell me any more of the details?”

  “I was only authorized to tell you about the appointment and pass on her question so you could call her. I can’t discuss anything else.”

  Of course he couldn’t. Mia’s irritation with him surfaced again. Mr. Harrison’s sense of what was appropriate to share seemed to have been formed in his ancient basic training days—where only the drill sergeant could tell others what to do.

  “Now listen here,” Mia said, honestly angry. “Don’t you dare call me up and relay a message that basically says ‘get home, your sister needs you,’ and then pick and choose what information you give me. We’ve been through this before. If I’m to help, I need all the facts.”

  “And there’s the Amelia Crockett I grew so fond of during our many meetings in September.” The underlying hint of condescending amusement in his words finally brought up the desire in Mia to throttle him, but he continued, oblivious.

  “The fondness is not mutual, Mr. Harrison, but that’s beside the point. You’re supposed to advocate for and with the entire family.”

  “And here I am on the phone doing exactly that. Fulfilling my client’s wishes to the letter.”

  “Oh, for the love . . . Don’t use your smug semantics on me, Buster—” She stopped short, realizing she’d just used the name of the man she’d promised to locate on Rory’s behalf. Her anger deflated. Why was she wasting her energy on this stubborn man when she had things to do? “Look, tell me what exactly Joely needs, and I will do it if I can.”

  “Her next appointment is in two weeks—Tuesday, the fourteenth of November. If it’s not possible for you to be here, she’d like to know if you would be willing to Skype during the appointment.”

  Mia’s mind scanned mentally through her calendar. She’d taken some time off in August for her father’s funeral and then again in September for Joely’s accident, but vacation wasn’t her problem; she had time to spare. She did, however, have surgeries scheduled in two departments through Thanksgiving. And, in one week she fully expected to have a new job as chief resident. That would put a vise grip to her ability to travel.

  “Amelia?”

  She refocused. “I may not know until next week if I can get any time off, but of course I’ll be happy to speak with her specialist. What’s his name?”

  “Perry Landon, with twenty-five letters after his name. Look him up. He’s one of the best spinal surgeons in the country.”

  “Good friend of yours, I presume?” She smirked.

  “Never met him before today.”

  “Odd. I thought you knew everybody in the VA personally.”

  “I don’t. But they all know me.” A confident smile in his words turned his voice whiskey smooth.

  “Well, then. Thank God for you.”

  The laugh he returned, easy and smoky, did something to transform her annoyance into a flutter in her chest. Siccing her anger on the quivery sensation, she snapped at him again. “Is there anything else, Mr. Harrison?”

  “There is. And seriously. Call me Gabe.”

  Chapter Three

  FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER that delightful conversation, Mia received two pages from social workers: one she expected from a woman she’d contacted about trying to find Buster. The other call was from her friend Samantha, who specialized in children’s issues. Both worked for New York County social services, but both kept hours twice a week in the hospital’s Outreach Clinic.

  She dreaded what Sam might have to say, knowing the meeting with Shawna Murray hadn’t exactly led to a new BFF, so she sat first in front of Hannah White, watching her scribble on a yellow legal pad.

  “I had a little bit of luck, believe it or not,” Hannah said. “I made calls to three different shelters in the area you said your little patient mentioned. The woman I spoke to at one of them, St. Sebastian’s Shelter in Brownsville, knows a man everybody calls Buster. His real name is Aaron Sanderson. They didn’t know anything about a cat or remember that he ever had a child with him, but he fits the description. The downside is he doesn’t show up on any kind of regular schedule.”

  “But someone there might be able to find him?”

  “I assume you know what that area of Brooklyn is like, Dr. Crockett. If I were you, I’d do my best to handle this by phone.” Hannah tore the piece of paper she’d been writing on from the pad and handed it to Mia. “Here are the name and number of the woman I spoke with. What you might do is ask them to pass on a message to your guy the next time he shows up. Sometimes, if it’s an unusual situation, they’ll let the shelter guests make a phone call. Buster could get in touch with you.”

  “This is very helpful. Thank you so much.”

  “This must be pretty important to you.”

  Mia wanted to say that it was more an accidental promise than important, but Rory’s heartfelt pleas wouldn’t leave her mind. He might be sharp as a fox, but his missing cat might be the only family he had for a while.

  “Yeah,” she said. “It kind of is.”

  She stood to leave and Hannah smiled. “I’ll let you know if I get any information from other calls I put out.”

  “I can’t thank you enough. By the way, do you have any information on animal foster homes or institutions? The boy’s foster mother has said he can’t keep the cat with him. I’ll talk to her, but . . . ”

  “I have a few place names, but no real contacts. I’ll let you know.”

  Mia nodded and headed for Sam’s office where, she had a feeling, the news wasn’t going to be nearly as positive.

  Sam’s space was small and tucked into a corner across the hall from Hannah’s, but it was a relatively cheerful office, with a large desk and three file cabinets, bright yellow walls and a handful of inspirational posters. Sam grinned when Mia entered.

  “Hey you, thanks for taking time to come in before you leave for the day.”

  “Anything for you,” Mia said. “I hear you’re the goddess of children.”

  “I wish. Sit down. I heard you’ve had a long day.”

  “Certainly an eventful one.” Mia rubbed her aching temples.

  “You saw Rory. Small world, huh?”

  “I was shocked to hear about Monique. I’m worried about her. And about Rory ending up in the system after all this.”

  “I know. Which brings me to the point. There’s been a complaint filed, and I’d like to ask a couple of questions. You had a chance to meet Shawna Murray today, didn’t you?”

  Here it comes.

  “I did. I’m sorry, Sam. I admit to being astounded by Mrs. Murray’s cavalier attitude about some issues related to her foster son. I said some things in haste—”

  “Wait, Mia, no. The complaint wasn’t against you. It was against Mrs. Murray by another member of our staff.”

  For a moment Mia sat stunned. She’d been told several times today that she needed a less brusque way of dealing with adults. She’d simply assumed Shawna Murray had joined the Dr.-Crockett-had-no-bedside-manner Club.

  “Oh! What was the complaint?”

  “That while she might be well-intentioned as a foster parent, she doesn’t seem to be providing the safest environment. Evidently Rory spent four or five days severely ill at home
before he was brought into emergency with a ruptured appendix. Rather than have his symptoms checked, Mrs. Murray relied on the opinion of her live-in boyfriend, a man who wasn’t in her life when she was approved as a foster parent.”

  “I just learned that this afternoon,” Mia said.

  Sam nodded. “The second complaint is that Mrs. Murray used peanut oil in cooking for the child even with full knowledge that he has a severe peanut allergy.”

  “I did speak with her about that. She was not deliberately negligent, according to her story. I do believe she didn’t have any idea what she’d done was dangerous. I’ll be honest, though, Sam. I did criticize her actions—perhaps a bit strongly.”

  Mia wasn’t sure what, exactly, made her defend the woman, but as much as she wasn’t Shawna Murray’s biggest fan, it was her job to be as objective and honest as she could.

  “The complaint definitely says that Mrs. Murray’s motives are not being questioned, nor are there allegations of any abuse. There was simply concern expressed that this home might not be the best fit for this child.”

  “I hadn’t heard the appendectomy part of the story.”

  “I was wondering if you could add anything to this issue from your perspective.”

  “I have a few opinions,” Mia said slowly. “A lot of them are subjective, though. I don’t believe the woman has an uncaring heart.”

  “Caring and safety aren’t necessarily the same thing,” Sam said. “My concern is whether the child is safe.”

  “I can tell you what Rory told me. He doesn’t like the boyfriend, but it doesn’t seem to be because he feels unsafe. He made the boyfriend seem like a mere presence, not any kind of hands-on parent.”

  She related the rest of her interactions with Rory and Shawna as factually as she could, but she didn’t really feel as if she’d contributed much damning evidence. She allowed one personal opinion, however, at the end of the conversation.

  “I know a situation like Rory’s is stressful for a parent, especially a foster parent. My worry is that I didn’t think Mrs. Murray showed the right amount of concern for what happened. She treated it like an unlucky accident. A ‘stuff happens’ kind of thing. I may be off base, but if it were my decision, I’d at least make another home visit.”