by Irene Brand
People didn’t fall in love after only a few days. It was almost as bad as love at first sight though he’d had an extra forty-eight hours to convince himself what he’d seen and felt wasn’t real. And he’d failed. He still wanted to be near her, to hear her clever theories on his case, even to be comforted in knowing that people like her still existed—those who found the good in others and believed in God’s promises without being like Thomas and having to touch Christ’s scars. For the first time, he wanted to be like that, to walk the tightrope of his life without a safety net. To finally put his trust in someone.
Are you sorry you kissed her? he asked himself as he unlocked the door and pushed inside. The immediate tingling around his mouth gave his answer away. Not only was he not sorry, except for maybe his timing, he was perfectly willing to kiss her again anytime she asked. And he hoped with all his heart she would ask.
Too tired to think any longer, Brock slumped out of his clothes and climbed beneath the sheets. In that place between slumber and alertness, her image drifted through his thoughts. She was smiling at him this time, not nervous as she’d been earlier. He gave himself up to sleep and to the notion that when it came to Allison Hensley, he was lost.
Chapter Nine
Allison flipped on the lights at the Division of Family and Children, wishing the thermos of coffee she’d already consumed would finally kick in. She must have tried closing her eyes a hundred times last night with the purpose of shutting out her thoughts and her confusion, but both had followed her, sleep the casualty of their pursuit.
From the moment that Brock had closed the door to separate them, she’d felt lonelier than at any time since her mother had died. The house, so full of things, seemed empty now. How, in just a few days, could she have gone from feeling contented in her single life to so dissatisfied?
Shaking her head, she sat at her desk and booted up her PC. She hadn’t been content before, not really. Resigned was a better word for it, a word that brought no glory to God if He really did want her to lead a single life. As if her lot in life was so horrible that she could find no joy in living it.
Admitting she’d been dissatisfied long before Brock had sauntered in and thrown her world off its axis felt like a betrayal to her mother’s memory and to God’s plans for her life.
What if you were wrong? The question plagued her as it had all night while she’d tossed and turned and tried to hide from feelings she couldn’t define. What if God had a different plan for her life other than the one she had formed in her own disappointment and convinced herself to accept? What if He’d never intended for her to be alone and had planned to answer her questions in His time? What if she hadn’t been listening?
But even if God did have someone in mind for her, she couldn’t imagine Brock being His choice. Brock, the man who clearly had difficulty trusting women and would never trust her with his heart. She would never be able to live with someone’s love but not his trust.
She thought back to that night at the live nativity. Not once had Brock considered that Joy’s mother would return for her the way Allison had hoped she would. That he’d been right didn’t make the fact any less telling. Brock probably wasn’t the man for her.
So why did her heart cry out for him? She’d been held before, been kissed before, so why did her mind refuse to stop replaying his embrace?
Tears of frustration clouded her vision as she stared at the computer screen, still seeing only the moment when she’d been in the circle of Brock’s arms and feeling whole in a way she’d never known before.
“Hey, you’re in early,” Clara Johnson called as she dumped her purse and briefcase in her office and then came out to face Allison’s desk while still wearing her coat. “I thought you’d schlep in after nine, calling for fairness and comp time or some other nonsense.”
“I hope you had a good Christmas, too.”
“All the toys are broken, the CD’s are scratched and none of the clothes fit, but it was all mistletoe and holly for us. Are you still full of the Yuletide spirit?”
Allison gave her boss a sad smile, wishing Clara, too, could know the true meaning of Christmas. “I did take that little donkey ride to Bethlehem.”
“And took one humongous detour, didn’t you?” Clara laughed. “All in a day’s work for a family case manager.”
She tried to laugh with her. It had been a detour, all right. From her play. From her life. And she wasn’t at all sure how to get back on the right path—the one leading home.
Instead of hanging up her coat, Clara picked up a file from her desk and grabbed her briefcase again. “Can you believe they scheduled a meeting at the courthouse this early on the day after Christmas? That’s just not right.” She crossed to the office door and turned back to Allison. “You’ll hold down the fort, right?”
Again, she nodded, wondering what she would do with herself in the silence until the agency’s only other FCM arrived that afternoon. She heard the scrape of the heavy glass office door as her boss headed out into the snow that was finally accumulating.
Turning back to the computer, she pulled up a file on five-year-old twin boys whose parents would be in court later in the week. The boys would forever bear the scars of the accidental fire they’d caused while their parents were out partying, but Allison resigned herself to the reality that those boys would be going back home. She could only hope that the court-required drug counseling and parenting classes had taught the parents something about caring for their kids.
A scrape of the metal-and-glass door on its frame brought her attention up from the computer screen. “Did you forget something?” she called out to her boss. “You’re going to be late, and you know how Judge Douglas hates that.”
She expected a hearty laugh and a nasty comment from the person entering the office, but she only heard approaching footsteps on the squeaky floor. An uncomfortable sensation settled between her shoulder blades as she came up from her desk and started toward the outer office. Anyone showing up this early the day after Christmas when the rest of the community was still recovering wouldn’t have a pretty story to tell.
A female visitor, her hair and part of her face obscured beneath the hood of a heavy wool coat, hesitated just outside the open office area Allison shared with the other family case manager. Allison’s breath caught in her throat. Hadn’t the witnesses from the other night mentioned a long, hooded coat? Could it be her?
She would have berated herself again for refusing to surrender her rose-colored glasses in wishing for Joy’s mother’s return if the woman didn’t lower her hood to reveal a swollen, tearstained face. She wasn’t a woman at all, but a girl of maybe fifteen or sixteen, who from the look of her had known more pain than years.
“I’m looking for Allison Hensley,” the girl said with an unsteady voice. She remained just outside the office, fidgeting and shooting glances toward the exit.
“I’m Allison.” She took a step closer but stopped as the girl stiffened even more. Instinct told her she might bolt, so Allison remained as still as she could, waiting for the girl to say something.
“I saw your name in the newspaper article about the baby in the manger.” She chewed her lower lip. “You were Mary in the live nativity scene.”
“Yes, I was.” Allison smiled, hoping to encourage the girl to relax. “You seem to know who I am, but I don’t know who you are.”
The girl stared at her hands. “I’m Tracie Long.”
Allison waited, trying not to pad the uncomfortable silence with idle chatter. Tracie stood without speaking, her stricken face a mirror for the battle that appeared to wage inside her. Finally, a pair of tears escaped her fierce hold and trailed down her cheeks.
Forgetting her caution, Allison moved forward until they were face-to-face, though the girl looked at the ground instead of her. “Tracie, let me help.”
Finally, she lifted her head and met Allison’s gaze. “I’m the baby’s mother.”
Brock’s gaze was distant, hard
, as he greeted Allison and Tracie at the front door of the sheriff’s department not twenty minutes later. Obviously, he didn’t have an ounce of compassion to spare for the petite teenager who cowered the minute she saw him.
“Miss Long, come this way please.” He led them to an interview room with a long metal table and folding chairs as the only accoutrements.
Instead of offering the sixteen-year-old anything to drink, the deputy only sat across from her and flipped open a spiral-topped notebook. He was being so impossibly insensitive that Allison wondered why he didn’t just snap the handcuffs on Tracie right then. At least he couldn’t force Allison to leave the room, since Tracie’s parents had stipulated during their telephone conversation that she be there for the interview.
“It’s okay, Tracie. Go ahead and tell us what happened,” Allison encouraged. “Your parents are on their way from Ohio, and they’ll be here in a few hours.”
But the minute the teen opened her mouth to speak, the tears began again. “I need to know…is she okay? Is she eating enough? Does she still have her nights and days mixed up?”
Brock cleared his throat. “You lost the right to ask questions when you dumped your baby in a feeding trough.”
Tracie’s head shot back, as if she’d been slapped, and her tears came harder.
Allison wanted to throw her body across the table to shield the teenager from Brock’s censuring glare. They didn’t even know yet what Tracie had to say.
“Your baby’s fine, Tracie,” Allison said. “The family that’s caring for her loves children.”
The gratitude that danced in Tracie’s eyes, along with her tears, was nearly Allison’s undoing.
“I thought…I could…do it,” the girl began. “I thought we’d all be okay once I brought Christina Marie home from the hospital.”
Christina Marie Long? Allison rolled the name around on her tongue, but it just didn’t sound right. The baby was Joy, would always be Joy in her heart.
When Tracie’s voice broke, and she sobbed into her hands, Brock simply glanced up from his notebook, reached for a box of tissues and handed them to her.
“Go ahead, Miss Long.”
Tracie made several ineffectual swipes at her face and tried again. “But my parents—they were embarrassed by me. By us.”
“And the baby’s father?” Allison couldn’t help asking. Her question only earned her a scowl from Brock.
The teenager shrugged. “He doesn’t want anything to do with her or me.”
“Did you think if you deserted the child, he would take you back?”
Had the audible gasp been Tracie’s or her own? Allison couldn’t tell which. Tracie appeared shocked by Brock’s question. Brock’s expression only showed disdain.
Tracie started shaking her head. “No…no…no. It’s not like that.” A sob escaped her again. “Not like that at all.”
Allison reached over and squeezed her arm. “Then tell us what it was like.”
She didn’t care what Brock thought about her interrupting his questioning again. How dare he be so stoic when the girl’s heart was breaking and likely had been broken again and again by all that had taken place?
Tracie spoke of her naive plans to run away and build a life for herself and baby Christina. Of ending up at the Clear View Motel and realizing how little she had to offer her child.
“When I saw a flyer about the live nativity scene, it suddenly seemed to be the answer to my prayers. I knew she would be found. I knew she would be safe.”
The sides of Tracie’s mouth turned up in a small smile, the first Allison had seen since the girl walked into her office.
“Were you aware it’s a crime to abandon a child?” Brock asked.
Tracie shook her head at first and then said, “I don’t know what I thought. I love my baby. I wanted to give her the life she deserves.”
“You must think she deserves a life in foster care because that’s what you’ve given her.”
“Brock!” His name came out as a single sharp syllable, but Allison couldn’t stop herself. Was this the man she loved, a man who could be so cruel? Her own heart ached for Tracie, who had been faced with nothing but difficult choices. The girl had made the wrong decision, but she’d done it out of love. Could she say the same for Brock’s behavior?
Allison cleared her throat and spoke to the girl instead of him.
“Deputy Chandler is trying to say that no matter whether you were trying to do the right thing for your child or not, you still broke the law. You might face criminal charges for abandoning your baby.”
She waited for Tracie’s nod of understanding before she continued. “Even if you don’t face charges, you’ll want to consider the option of signing a voluntary termination of parental rights so that your baby can be adopted.”
Allison cringed inside when thinking of the formal court hearing that such a termination would require—an event so final that many had described it as a death. She couldn’t imagine ever willingly letting go of Joy.
Brock pushed back from the table and paced, his movements short, annoyed.
For several seconds, Tracie watched him but then turned back to Allison. Her shoulders straightening, the girl appeared far older than her sixteen years. “I’m ready to face the consequences for what I did.”
“It’s up to the court now,” Allison said.
Tracie nodded and lowered her gaze to study her folded hands. When she spoke again, her voice was soft. “God had special plans for that first child found in a manger. I’d hoped the Father might have plans for my baby, too.”
The girl’s words hounded him as Brock typed up the report. God had special plans… No, he didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to allow himself to lose his focus.
He glanced over to the interview room where Tracie Long was inside, having a conference with Allison and her parents. Allison had explained that she needed to talk with the girl and her parents to find out what the stressors were for the family and what were the safety risks for Tracie and for her child in that household. As if any stressor would justify what she’d done.
Allison hadn’t said a word to him since they’d first interviewed Tracie together. Clearly, she thought he’d been too tough on the girl. He was just doing his job, just as he had been all along since that first night in the stable. Allison needed to understand that.
Well, his first major investigation was solved, whether he’d been the one to find the suspect or not. He tried not to be annoyed that the girl had turned herself in to the Division of Family and Children rather than the sheriff’s department. A woman who portrayed Jesus’ mother probably seemed more approachable than people with badges, anyway, especially to a teenager.
Funny, he’d expected to feel satisfaction when he took Joy’s mother into custody. Instead, he felt only relief. Tracie was little more than a child herself, and she’d had a child of her own. Hardly the evil woman he’d been hunting when he’d begun the investigation.
But the girl had abandoned her child, he reminded himself. The baby, Joy, was the victim. He shook his head to dispel the artificial name from it. Christina Marie Long was her name, and she’d been deserted just as he had. He closed his eyes, trying not to become that little lost boy again, but the emptiness overwhelmed him against his will. No one had been around to defend him, but he was there for this baby, no matter what her name was.
As for the mother, she’d broken the law. She’d even confessed to the crime, which could end up in the juvenile or adult courts, depending on the county prosecutor’s decision. Whether or not the girl would go to prison for her crime, he could only guess. The courts would look at things such as motive and extenuating circumstances, so he shouldn’t waste his time doing it.
His job was to enforce the law. It was as black and white as that. But for the first time, child abandonment seemed to have its share of grays. Tracie—he wanted to think of her as “the suspect,” but he just couldn’t—had left her child, not because she didn
’t love her, but because she did. The realization tempted him to wonder about another mother and another set of circumstances.
Strange, he’d never thought about it that way before, but it didn’t matter why his mother had done it because her decision—selfless or selfish—had landed him just where he was supposed to be, with the Chandlers. His real family. His birth mother’s decision had made it possible for him to grow up in a home built with more than bricks and mortar but constructed of love for family and for God. Could anyone ask for more than that? So why had he spent his lifetime wishing for more?
Chapter Ten
Wet snowflakes landed on her eyelashes just after seven o’clock that night as Allison waved goodbye to the Longs in the sheriff’s department parking lot. At least Tracie had been released into her parents’ custody until her initial court appearance the next morning.
Tracie looked so small as she waved from the car’s back window. It would be a long night for the Long family as they went to their hotel and continued the discussion they’d started in the interview room a few hours before.
How did a family get so far off track? she wondered. When had it become more important what others at church thought about their parenting of Tracie than their actual job of raising their daughter? Could any mistake a child made be bad enough for a parent to stop loving her? That wasn’t fair, and she knew it. Tracie’s parents did love her, or they wouldn’t have come all the way to central Indiana to be with her.
Sure, this whole mess had begun with Tracie’s mistake of trying to use sex to keep a boyfriend who wasn’t worth keeping, but her parents had contributed to this sad outcome. They hadn’t thrown her out, but they’d let their shame prevent them from helping her make the best of a difficult situation. They’d refused to forgive, and it had only multiplied their pain.