Maggie swallowed. “Ruby says it’s a good sign—that he’s attaching at all, I mean. And we have made progress, Oliver and I. It’s just been really slow.”
Mrs. Darnell sighed. “Yes, and the longer it takes, the worse it is for him. I don’t know, Maggie. I’ve had doubts about this situation from the beginning. Oliver came from a traumatic situation involving a single mother, so it’s understandable that he’d have a hard time bonding when he’s put in a similar placement. Because of her own challenges, Sierra wasn’t a dependable caregiver for Oliver, and he learned that she couldn’t be trusted to meet his needs. Quite likely he’s generalized that to include all women. I’ve wondered from the beginning if Oliver might respond better to a two-parent family, one with a father figure. His reaction to this Neil person seems to confirm that.”
Maggie’s heartbeat sped up. “You said there aren’t any two-parent foster families open right now, though.”
“True. We have a terrible shortage at the moment. But there’s a group home opening up in Bartow County that might be a possibility. They have several men on staff there. I don’t know if they’d take a child as young as Oliver, though.”
“A group home.” Maggie’s heart sank. “Don’t you think the individual attention Oliver’s getting with me is better than that?” She struggled to keep the panic out of her voice.
It wasn’t easy. Her nerves had started prickling as soon as she’d pulled into the parking lot. Her own troubled childhood was over a decade behind her now, but just the smell of this place—pine disinfectant and overboiled coffee—could make her heart start pounding. She’d experienced too many unpleasant moments here to relax.
She knew the people in the foster-care system meant well, but all too often, kids slipped through the cracks. Kids like her.
Kids like Oliver.
Mrs. Darnell’s sharp blue-gray eyes softened. “Don’t take my concerns as criticism, Maggie. I know you’re doing everything you can, but I have to consider what’s best for Oliver.” She sighed. “But you’re right. Group homes really aren’t ideal for children Oliver’s age. It’s true that there aren’t any two-parent families available here, but I could check with other counties—”
“But none of those other families would adopt him, would they? I mean, when all his paperwork is updated and he’s eligible?”
There was a heavy beat of silence. “Probably not. Most foster families aren’t pursuing adoption. But it won’t be hard to find an adoptive family for a child Oliver’s age, once his records are in order.”
“Then he’d be uprooted all over again, wouldn’t he? We both know that’s not good for kids with attachment issues. Every time he’s moved, it ups the risk that next time he might not attach at all.”
Mrs. Darnell glanced back through the playroom window. Oliver had crouched to better watch the train. It chugged past him, and the toddler clapped his hands excitedly.
The social worker smiled, and Maggie pressed her advantage. “Ruby says if Oliver can bond with Neil that means he can form a bond with me, too. I’m already seeing some signs of it. Like this morning, he let me change his diaper without a fuss, and he made really great eye contact.”
“That sounds promising,” Mrs. Darnell admitted. “It’s something you can build on, possibly. So this—” she checked the notes she’d scribbled on her pad “—Neil Hamilton—he’s a teacher at the high school?”
“That’s right.”
“Audrey Aniston will have had a comprehensive background check run before she hired him.” Mrs. Darnell jotted another note. “I’ll just make a quick call to make sure all his clearances are current. Knowing Audrey, I’m sure they are, so we won’t have to run the standard boyfriend check.”
Maggie blinked. “Boyfriend check?”
“Well, that’s not the official term, but yes.” Mrs. Darnell set down her pen. “I’m afraid it’s our policy. If you’re in a relationship with this man—”
“But I’m not. We’re just friends—sort of.”
“Oh.” The social worker frowned. “The way you talked about him, I had the impression that—Well.” She shrugged. “Never mind. But in that case, how do you plan to use Oliver’s attachment to this man to solve your problem?”
“I haven’t...worked out all the details on that yet.”
“You and Oliver will need to spend a significant amount of time with him. Do you think he’ll be willing to make that kind of commitment?”
“I don’t know,” Maggie admitted. “I mean, he’s been really nice about everything so far, but—”
“Are you willing to make that commitment?”
Maggie hesitated. She wasn’t sure how to answer that question.
It had something to do with the way she’d felt when she’d seen Neil asleep in the recliner with an exhausted toddler sprawled across his chest and that flip-flop her heart had done when he’d walked into the cabin kitchen looking all tousled and handsome. Something about this particular man had her heart teetering on the edge of a dangerous fall. She couldn’t explain it. But she could sense it.
“Maggie?” Mrs. Darnell prodded impatiently. “Are you willing to work with Mr. Hamilton or not?”
She lifted her chin. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to help Oliver.”
She meant that. When she’d decided, after lots of prayer, to start the process to foster and adopt Oliver, she’d promised herself that she wouldn’t be like so many of the foster parents she’d encountered during her own childhood—the ones who’d been all warm and kind and anxious to help.
Until things got messy.
Then they’d made excuses and bailed. One right after the other.
No, she’d be like Ruby. She’d be the mom who loved without conditions, who stepped right down into a kid’s mess to lift him up and who never gave up. No matter what.
So she’d had a weak-kneed moment or two over Neil. That didn’t mean anything. She wouldn’t let it mean anything.
“I’ll ask Neil to help. I’m sure he’ll say yes.” Mostly sure. She’d find some way to convince him.
“Good.” Mrs. Darnell nodded. “You and Oliver should spend as much time as possible with Mr. Hamilton over the next few weeks.” She glanced back at her notes. “You mentioned taking Oliver along to different summer events that you’re catering for your work. That’s great—you can just ask Mr. Hamilton to go along. I can suggest some strategies to help with transferring Oliver’s attachment to you.”
“All right.” Her mind ticked over the various gatherings she was scheduled to attend on behalf of Angelo’s, all fun-filled, chaotic events. She couldn’t picture Neil at any of them.
“I hope this works, Maggie, because if significant progress hasn’t been made by the end of the summer, I’ll have to find Oliver a different placement. No,” she said when Maggie started to protest. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let this drag on. I need to find a relationship that works for him, and fast. With at-risk children, each broken relationship is like...” The social worker trailed off, as if struggling for the right description.
“A scar.” Maggie supplied the word quietly.
“Exactly. And when children are hurt in the same way over and over again, the scars build up, one on top of the other, until, finally, there’s no way to get past them. We can’t let that happen to Oliver.”
“No, we can’t.” Maggie rummaged in her purse for a notepad and pen. She clicked the pen open and looked Mrs. Darnell in the eye. “And I’m not going to. Just tell me what I need to do.”
* * *
Normally when Neil was at home, the phone didn’t ring.
Years ago, that had been different. Back then, his phone had rung at all hours of the day and night, to the point that he’d put his cell on vibrate at bedtime so that it wouldn’t wake Laura. He’d kept it close enough that it had still awakened him, though, when it had chit
tered in the wee hours. He’d never failed to answer it. When it came to teenagers, those middle-of-the-night calls were the ones that really counted.
Nowadays, though, his phone almost never rang, so he’d been surprised when it had buzzed twice this morning. The first time, it had been a call from the school secretary. That one had disturbed him, but it was the second call that had set him pacing the confines of the small cabin.
Maggie wanted to talk to him. She was on her way over. In fact, she should be here any minute.
And that made him antsy.
Maggie Byrne unsettled him. She stirred him up, made him feel strange and clumsy. That wasn’t a good thing. Since Laura’s death, he’d stayed sane by following a strict routine and keeping his feelings under tight control. But whenever Maggie came around, his carefully regimented life—and most of his common sense—took a flying leap out of the nearest window.
He pulled aside the curtains. There she was, walking up the hill through the woods, her ruddy curls sparkling in the late-afternoon sunshine. She was wearing a bright yellow T-shirt with khaki walking shorts, and she’d finished off the outfit with a pair of sturdy-looking brown hiking boots. As usual, she carried a white bakery box in her hands. She stood out against the subtle, shifting greens of the forest like a glowing beacon. When she glanced toward the cabin, he caught sight of the resolute expression on her face and winced.
He hadn’t known Maggie for long, but he recognized that expression. Reminding himself of what the school secretary had told him, Neil flexed his shoulders like a boxer prepping for a match.
He met her at the door. “We should talk.”
She lifted an eyebrow at his tone, but she smiled anyway. “Yes,” she agreed. “We should.” She lifted the box. “I brought pie.”
Did this woman go anywhere without trucking along some kind of food? “Thanks, but I don’t need any pie,” he informed her even while he wondered exactly what kind she’d made.
“Don’t be silly.” Maggie snorted as she came up the steps. “Everybody needs pie.” She brushed past him—she smelled like gingersnaps today—and disappeared into the cabin, leaving him standing alone on his porch.
He hesitated there for a minute, shaking his head.
She hadn’t been on the premises two shakes, and he’d lost the upper hand. He was going to have to up his game.
“Neil? Do you have a pie server?” Maggie called.
He stalked to the kitchen. She was opening and closing his empty drawers, muttering under her breath. Finally she sighed and brandished a steak knife. “I guess this’ll have to do. Sit down.”
“I don’t want pie,” he repeated clearly.
“You’ll want this pie.” Maggie flipped up the top of the bakery box, revealing a pale green circle garnished with lime slices and mint leaves. “Although, I’ll admit, it’s the simplest recipe in the world. I didn’t have time for anything else. Pucker pie is the first one I ever learned how to make.” She paused, the steak knife poised in her hand, and glanced up at the ceiling, thinking. “I guess I was...fourteen? It’s still my favorite standby in a pinch.” She crunched the knife through the crust. “Go on. Sit. I’ll have this ready in a second.”
He smelled the sharpness of lime mingled with the scent of the gingery crust. His mouth watered. He tried to remember the last time he’d had a piece of homemade pie.
It had been a while.
“Sit,” Maggie repeated. She plopped a thick wedge of the creamy pie on a plate, added a fork and slid it in his direction. She cut a smaller piece for herself before sticking the rest of it into his near-empty refrigerator.
Once seated, she picked up her fork and nipped a luscious triangle from the tip of her slice. She paused with it almost to her lips, one eyebrow raised. “You’re not going to make me eat alone, are you? The calories count double that way.”
Neil held out for another stubborn second, but who was he kidding? There was no way he was passing on pie. He made a frustrated noise, but he pulled out the kitchen chair and sat, trying not to notice the way Maggie’s lips curved around her second bite.
“Don’t expect too much,” she warned. “Like I said, pucker pie’s the simplest thing in the world. I do make a really mean key lime pie from scratch, though. I’ll bring that another day.”
He was enjoying the creamy, sweet-tart taste of the pie too much to argue with her. “Why do you call it pucker pie?” he asked, scooping up a generous second bite. “It’s not sour.”
Maggie laughed. There was something about the sound, something so companionable and easy that it sucker punched right in his stomach. He’d been taking a lot of blows there lately when Maggie was around.
“The first time I made it, I went a little too heavy with the lime and a little too light with the sweetened condensed milk. It was so tart it nearly turned my family’s mouths inside out. My sister Torey called it pucker pie, and the name stuck. I’m glad you like it, because as usual, I’m here asking for a favor.” She looked at him, her green eyes worried. “I met with my caseworker yesterday.”
Oh, yeah. Neil set his fork down with a clink. “About that,” he said. “I had a phone call from the school earlier, notifying me that a social worker had requested a copy of my background check. Did you have something to do with that?”
Maggie worried her lower lip for a few seconds before replying. “Yes,” she admitted finally. “I hope that didn’t cause you any trouble.”
“The school secretary just needed my permission to share the information. I gave it.” He paused, then added, “If I did anything to make you concerned about Oliver’s safety with me, I wish you’d said something to me directly.”
“No!” Maggie’s eyes widened. “It was nothing like that. Since he’s in the foster-care system, Mrs. Darnell just needed to be sure your clearances were up-to-date before she could officially approve the plan we’d come up with. I’m so sorry if we embarrassed you.”
He hadn’t been embarrassed. His background checks were squeaky clean. He’d been annoyed—and a little hurt that Maggie would think such a thing necessary.
Which was stupid. Of course she and this Mrs. Darnell would want to be careful. The world was a dangerous place. He understood that.
It was just that with Maggie and Oliver he’d felt more like his old self than he had in years. The phone call had been another unpleasant reminder that he wasn’t anyone’s beloved Prof anymore, trusted and with a reputation above suspicion.
Wait a minute. He frowned. What had she just said? “What plan?”
Maggie sighed. “It’s a big ask, Neil, but please don’t say no until you hear me out. First,” she added, a flash of hopeful humor sparkling in her eyes, “maybe you should have another bite of pie.”
Neil felt his mouth tipping up, and he steeled himself. Don’t get talked into anything foolish, Hamilton. “What is it?”
He sensed Maggie measuring him, calculating how likely he was to say yes. She must not have liked what she saw, because she sighed again. “This may seem absurd, but the attachment Oliver’s formed to you? It’s important. After kids go through periods of neglect or...” She seemed to have a hard time getting the next word out. “...abuse, they often have problems trusting people. It’s an emotional, knee-jerk reaction, so it’s not logical. Right now, Oliver’s decided to trust you instead of me. Maybe because you’re a guy. Who knows?”
She sounded so genuinely bewildered that Neil felt a little insulted.
“Anyway,” she went on, “the fact that he’s attached at all is a hopeful sign, but we have to find some way to transfer that trust from you to me. Until then, we can’t disrupt the connection he’s formed with you. It could set Oliver back, Mrs. Darnell says, so that he might be afraid to connect to anybody ever again. Some kids get to that point, and it’s so tragic, Neil.” Suddenly, unexpectedly, Maggie reached across the table to cover his hands with hers.
Human touch, like sleep, had grown rare in Neil’s life over the past few years, but Maggie offered it as generously and naturally as she’d offered her pie. The gentle warmth of her hands cupped around his made him go carefully still, and as he looked into Maggie’s pleading eyes, old instincts stirred sleepily to life.
People had hurt this woman, and she still bore the scars, no matter how well she covered them up with cookies and smiles. “Did something like that happen to you?”
He sensed her reluctance to answer his question, but she nodded. “Almost. I was pretty stingy with my trust by the time I came to Sweet Springs. If it hadn’t been for Ruby—” She paused and swallowed. “It almost did. And I knew kids in the foster-care system who weren’t as blessed as I was. Their stories didn’t end well. How could they? If you shut your heart off, if you can’t love people because you’re terrified of getting hurt again, what kind of life is that?”
He could have told her. He knew exactly what kind of life that was. But she didn’t seem to expect an answer, so he didn’t offer one.
“I won’t let that happen to Oliver,” she said fiercely, “but I’m going to need your help. And who knows?” Her fingers tightened over his. “Maybe it’ll help you, too. I mean, isn’t it kind of providential that you’re not teaching summer school this year? You said that you usually do, but if you were, you wouldn’t have time for this. And you mentioned something about being out of touch. Maybe helping Oliver is part of God’s plan to get you back on track with your teaching.”
Neil flinched. God’s plan. Right. God had given up on him a long time ago, and that feeling was definitely mutual.
This was his cue. Time to refuse politely, to back away from this personal situation and retreat into the closed-off lifestyle that kept him reasonably functional.
He’d never be Prof again. He’d accepted that. As soon as a different job came through, he’d put his teaching days behind him for good.
He knew he should make that clear. Instead, he looked into Maggie’s pleading eyes, acutely aware of her fingers trembling over his. He recalled that moment in the bakery when Oliver had run to him instead of to her—and how he’d wished he could help her.
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