She was nearly ready when he emerged. She watched him dress from the corner of her eye. He always threw on whatever shirt he came to first. She always made sure that the clothes in the front of the closet were coordinated.
She was just sliding on an earring post when the telephone rang. “I’ll get it,” she volunteered.
“Catch it downstairs. I unhooked this jack yesterday while I was working on the wiring.”
She scurried down and grabbed the phone in the kitchen. The voice on the other end was unfamiliar.
“Mrs. Samantha Giovanelli?”
“That’s right.”
There was static on the line, possibly due to Joe’s work on the wiring. Sam missed the next several sentences. The voice sounded far away. “...your niece.”
“I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”
“There’s been an accident. Your niece has been injured.”
Sam sank into the nearest chair. She swallowed. Joe had nieces on top of nieces. She loved them all. Fear closed her throat. She was terrified to ask who had been hurt.
“I’m calling from South Carolina.”
“South Carolina?” She gripped the telephone. “I’m sorry. I’m having trouble hearing you. Did you say South Carolina?”
“Yes. Spartanburg.”
No one in the family was vacationing out of the state. Sam was sure of it. The Giovanellis practically lived in each other’s pockets. Rose would have told her if any of them had gone on vacation. But it was possible that one of Joe’s brothers or sisters had sent a daughter to camp. Maybe they had given Sam and Joe’s number for emergencies. “How badly is she hurt? And I’m sorry, but which niece is it?”
The line crackled again, and Sam missed another sentence. The line cleared. “But she’s going to be fine. She has multiple bruises and a broken arm. She was thrown out of the car when it crashed.”
“Oh, my God!”
“Now, don’t worry. She’s been checked over thoroughly and treated. You can visit next week.” There was a pause. “I’m afraid her mother wasn’t so lucky, Mrs. Giovanelli. I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you this, but Mrs. Haskins was killed instantly.”
Sorrow washed over Sam. She didn’t know how she was going to tell Joe. No man loved his family as much as he did. His sisters and brothers were his closest friends. She didn’t know how he would get through this. Then, as the woman on the other end remained respectfully silent, she gripped the telephone harder.
Sam’s voice was only a shade louder than a whisper. “Excuse me, did you say Mrs. Haskins?”
Sometime later she heard Joe’s footsteps on the stairs.
“I decided I ought to get dressed up, since you were.” He came into the kitchen in dark slacks and a gray silk jacket. “What do you think?”
“Joe...” She was still sitting down.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Corey’s been in an accident. In South Carolina.”
“South Carolina?”
“Yes. A car accident.” She saw concern on his face. Joe wouldn’t wish anyone, not even the brattiest child, so much as a splinter. “She’s pretty battered, but apparently she’s going to be fine.”
“Poor little kid.” He sounded genuinely distressed.
“Her mother was killed instantly.”
“No one should die like that...”
She finished his sentence. “Not even Verna Haskins.”
“No. Not even Verna.” He touched her cheek. She covered his hand and held it there. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know you care about Corey.”
“It must be so hard on her.”
“Yeah. Even the worst mother is still a mother.” He squatted in front of her. “Do you still feel like going out?”
“Sure. I’m fine. It’s so late, though. Let’s go somewhere nearby.”
“The Plantation House?”
“Perfect. I’ll get a jacket.”
As they drove into town he told her about his day at school. She listened with half an ear, responding with all the enthusiasm she could muster. It had been so long since he had talked to her about anything. They parked on the street that passed for Foxcove’s major shopping area and window-shopped its length before they headed a block east to the restaurant.
The Plantation House had never been that; it was six years old, built of wafer board and Sheetrock. But the architect-proprietor had been smitten with self-importance. Elaborate Corinthian columns graced an otherwise unassuming two-story building. The food was always good, traditionally Southern and high in calories. Inside, at a table in the center of the room, they ordered the fish fry.
“They hate to see you coming on Fridays,” Sam said. “They lose money on an all-you-can-eat when you’re here.”
“But they gain it back with you.”
“We’ve always been a balancing act.”
They chatted casually—interrupted frequently by people who wanted to say hello—until it was time to tackle a plate of cole slaw and the first round of fish.
“Don’t look now, but Bobby Ferguson’s the busboy,” Joe said. “Remember my stories about him the first year we moved here?”
Joe had stories about almost all the kids at the high school. And they had stories about him. He was the youngest principal in the history of Sadler County, chosen for the job after only a record two years as assistant principal, but it wasn’t youth that had made him such a success with the students. Joe simply understood how to relate to teenagers. He possessed the magical combination of respect, suspicion and forgiveness.
Sam looked up from her plate. “You wanted to bring him home.”
“Just for a week or two.”
“I can’t remember why.”
“He had a problem with alcohol. I wanted to sober him up.”
“And why didn’t you?”
“His parents finally admitted he needed help. They sent him to a treatment program. This year he’ll be going into his third year at Duke. Premed.”
She heard something like pride in his voice. “You’re a hands-on kind of guy, Joe.”
“Sometimes that’s the only way to get things done.”
“I wouldn’t have minded if Bobby had come to stay with us. I like helping kids turn around.”
“That’s why you’re such a good teacher.”
“Let’s not forget how kind and full of love I am.”
He looked up.
“And nurturing.” She put her fork down. “Let’s not forget how nurturing both of us are. How concerned about kids. How caring.”
He put his fork down, too. Carefully. “We’re not talking about Bobby anymore, are we?”
“Close.”
“What have you done, Sam?”
She stared at him and prayed he would forgive her. “I’ve told the social worker in Spartanburg that we’ll be there Wednesday morning to pick up Corey and bring her here to stay with us.”
* * *
“I CAN’T BELIEVE you!” Joe threw his sports coat on the hallway table and stalked toward the kitchen.
“Then you don’t know me very well.” Sam followed at a slower pace. She was in no hurry to continue the fight that had flamed since the moment they’d buckled up for the drive back home. Until that moment she had explained her position calmly and rationally, fully aware that even Joe, with his hair-trigger temper, wouldn’t start a fight in front of half the town of Foxcove.
“Oh, I know you,” he said. “Or I used to. But maybe I don’t know the woman who would make a decision like this without consulting me!”
“And if I had consulted you, what would you have said?”
“No!”
“Somehow I knew that.”
He slammed the refrigerator door in response. She watche
d him toss half a gallon of iced tea on the counter, and she was glad the container was plastic.
“I know you feel sorry for Corey.” He slammed cupboard doors until he found the glass he wanted. “I don’t blame you for that. But volunteering to take her is another thing!”
“I’ll go over this one more time, Joe,” she said quietly. “Shut up and listen and see if it penetrates. Corey told them I was her aunt. That’s why they called me.”
“So among other things she’s a liar.”
“Don’t you realize what that means? I’m the only person in the world that one little girl could think of who might, just might, be willing to take care of her. She lied about our relationship so they’d take her seriously. She has no one else. The social worker said Verna took Corey to Spartanburg to look for Corey’s father. Apparently she wanted to dump her with him, even though Corey’s never met him. And you know why? I think Verna was tired of having the child welfare people on her case. It was easier to dump Corey on someone else than to try to become a better mother.”
“And how do they know all this? The part you’re not guessing about, I mean?”
She ignored his sarcasm. “Corey told them. Verna told Corey she was sick of taking care of her and it was time for her father to take her.”
“She could be lying. She lied about you being her aunt.”
“You’ve heard a lot about Verna. Does it sound like a lie?”
He poured a glass of tea and drank it between glares.
“So what?” he asked at last. “She’s free of Verna now. There are certified foster-care homes in South Carolina. You’ve explained that we aren’t related to her, and somewhere out there she has a father who may be searching for her.”
“Not likely. Corey claims her mother said that her father probably wouldn’t want her, either.”
“If Corey’s never met him, she wouldn’t know.”
“She’s lived in Foxcove all her life. Can you really believe it would be better for her to wait in a strange state with strange foster parents until they find her father—if they do? Can you really believe that?”
“You know what I can’t believe? I can’t believe they’re going to let you take her. Just like that. They’ve got laws.”
“And we’ve got credentials up the wazoo. They’ll investigate, sure, but we’ll come out looking like God’s gift to the system. I gave them the name of a psychologist who knows us, little Jeff Hartley’s mother. They’re going to call her, as well as Father Watkins. And the people at the agency here know how concerned we’ve been about Corey. They’ve been as helpful as the law would allow. They’re not going to interfere if we’re willing to keep her.”
“We are not willing.”
“You had better get willing, and quick.” She heard the threat come out of her mouth, and she was astounded. But she couldn’t take it back, because she had meant every single word.
He set his glass on the counter. “Just what does that mean?”
“It means that if you say no to me on this, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive you.”
His dark eyes smoldered, but he didn’t say a word.
“I’ve put up with hell for half of this past year, Joe. I’ve watched you withdraw until I’ve almost given up hope we can still have a marriage. I’ve watched you shut me out, little by little, and deny it the whole time. I’ve watched you cut off all the options that could have helped us deal with our infertility. You won’t consider marriage counseling. You won’t consider artificial insemination. You won’t consider adoption. You. You. You.”
She touched her chest. “Well, this time I want something to help me ease my pain. I want to take a child I already love and help her through a terrible time. I want to keep her here until the state of North Carolina can make arrangements for her, good arrangements, not something shoddy and temporary. I’m Corey’s one link with the good things inside her. No one else is as qualified to help her as I am. If I can do this, if I can be allowed to do this, then maybe it won’t matter so much that I’ll never get to raise a child from start to finish.”
She stopped. She had said too much; she had said too little. And no matter how much or how little she’d said, she wasn’t sure he had heard any of it.
“You’ve boxed me in, Sam.”
“If that’s possible, I’m glad I have.”
“She’s a smart kid. She’s going to know I don’t want her. She’s already decided she doesn’t like me.”
“The two of you are peas in a pod.” Sam’s knees shook. She leaned against the stove. “Give her a chance, Joe. Nobody’s better with kids than you are. You don’t have to love her. You just have to get along with her for a little while.”
“I don’t like ultimatums.”
“Neither do I. But you’ve given me one right after another this year. I suppose my turn’s been coming.”
She could see he wanted to deny what she’d said, but he didn’t. “One condition,” he said at last.
“What?”
“You don’t even think about keeping her.”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “She has a father.”
“Who may not want her. Promise me if he doesn’t, or if for some reason he’s not acceptable to the state, you won’t bring up adoption.”
“I promise. Her stay will be temporary.”
“Very temporary. It wouldn’t be fair to Corey to give her false hope.”
“I don’t want this to come between us.” She moved toward him. Slowly. Apprehensively. “We were just making a new start tonight.”
“Were we?”
“We made love. And it felt new.”
He didn’t open his arms.
“This means the world to me, Joe.”
“It must.”
She stopped right in front of him. “I love you.”
“You love me because I’m doing what you want.”
“I love you because even though you’re still wading around in your own pain, you’re willing to help me with mine.”
He opened his arms and enclosed her inside them. But even though they stood that way for a long time, when they climbed the stairs to bed, neither of them could think of another thing to say.
Chapter Eight
THE HOSPITAL WHERE Corey had been taken could have been plopped down unnoticed in any state of the union. The building was medium sized and nondescript, complete with the frog-pond cacophony of intercom, beepers and smiling personnel determined to give out as little information as possible.
Joe and Sam waited for the county social worker on imitation leather chairs in the lobby. After fifteen minutes Sam found a coffee machine and returned with a cup for each of them, only to find Joe immersed in conversation with a young brunette.
For a moment Sam wanted to throw herself between her husband and the dark-haired woman. Joe had been quiet on the long drive. Yes, he had agreed to take Corey, but only under protest. Perhaps even at this late date he had decided to renege.
Then she realized how little credit she was giving him. Joe never went back on his word.
She handed him one of the cups and extended her hand to the woman. “Miss Davis?”
The woman, cuter than she was pretty and young enough to be Corey’s sister, stood to shake hands. “You must be Samantha. I was just telling Joe that Corey’s been a terror. You’re not going to have an easy time of it.”
“Corey’s always been a terror.” Samantha didn’t look at Joe. “We’re prepared. Has she been told that she’s coming home with us?”
“I told her last night. I’m sorry we had to wait so long, but I wanted to be sure all the paperwork was cleared up. I didn’t want to disappoint her if we ran into any snags.”
“How did she take the news?”
Miss Davis hesitated.
“I don’t think she believed me. She thought we were just trying to get her to behave.”
“She’s had a hard life. She doesn’t have much reason to trust anything an adult says to her.”
“But she seems to trust you.” Miss Davis turned to Joe. “I’m wondering, though. Have you had much contact with Corey?”
“Enough to be fully aware what we’re getting into.”
“She, um, said that you don’t like her very well.”
“She’s not the kind of kid you necessarily like on sight.”
That seemed to satisfy Miss Davis. Sam appreciated Joe’s tact. She owed him one. “Look, we know she’s had a hard time, not just since the accident, but since she was born. But she responds to love. She’s extremely bright, and she wants to please if she thinks it’s possible.”
“Well, I can’t tell you how glad I am that somebody wanted her. I think we might have had some real problems finding a foster home. Very few marriages can withstand the testing of a troubled child.”
Sam couldn’t look at Joe. For the first time she had doubts about this decision. Their marriage was shaky. Was Corey going to be the final blow? “Can we see her now?”
“Your timing’s good. She’s just had her bath, and the doctor’s discharged her. She should be ready to go home with you.”
But she wasn’t ready. When they entered the room at the far end of the pediatric wing, one nurse was holding Corey down as a second tried to comb her hair. Somewhere there was a karate studio willing to give a scholarship on the basis of Corey’s perfectly aimed kicks.
“Corey!” Sam crossed the room and waved away the nurse with the comb. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
Corey took one look at Sam and started to wail. Sam fell to the bed beside the little girl and put her arms around her. “It’s okay, honey, you’re going to go home with Joe and me.”
“My mama’s dead, Miss Sam. I ain’t got nobody.”
Sam held her tighter and rested her head against Corey’s hair. Corey looked past Sam to Joe.
Sam couldn’t see Corey’s expression, but Joe could. Mixed with genuine misery was challenge. Her thoughts were visible to him. I’ve got her now. See if you can top this, buster. Joe told himself she was just a little girl. He told himself that she was a little girl whose life had been tough and sad.
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