When Dreams Come True

by Margaret Daley

  Dane leaned closer, taking a whiff of Eddy’s breath as he panted. No smell of alcohol. Inwardly Dane sighed with relief. The boy was in some kind of trouble, but at least he wasn’t on drugs that he could tell or drinking alcohol—tonight.

  “Why can’t I bother him? He’s your dad.” Dane drilled his gaze into the kid’s.

  Eddy averted his head.

  “Why, Eddy? What’s going on here?”

  “I—I—”

  “Ed-dy—that you-uu?” a loud, masculine voice shouted from the back, his words slurred.

  “Leave. Now before—” Eddy jerked to his feet, the look in his eyes pleading.

  Dane slowly rose, his gut twisted into a huge knot. “I’m staying. You need help.” As he muttered his intent, Dane realized he would get to the bottom of what was going on with Eddy one way or another. This teen was screaming for help even if he didn’t know it.

  “Ed-dy!” The slurred voice came closer. “Have youuuu—”

  A tall, thin man with several days growth of beard, his clothes rumpled and his eyes bloodshot, staggered into the entrance of the living room. He leaned into the door frame, clutching the wood for support. “Whooo’s th-is?”

  The man reeked of alcohol as if he had bathed in it. The smell turned Dane’s stomach. Before he could move toward Eddy’s dad, the teen hurried forward, propping his father against him.

  “Dad, let me take you back to bed.”

  “Whooo…” The man’s head slumped against his son’s shoulder.

  Eddy struggled to half drag, half walk his father down the hallway. Dane moved to the other side of Eddy’s father and hoisted him up. The man swung his head around to look at Dane.

  “Whooo…”

  This time the man passed out. Dane helped Eddy drag him the rest of the way to the bedroom, then settle him onto an unmade bed. Beer cans overflowed on the surface of the two bedside tables. The muted TV showing a popular crime show was the only illumination in the room. While Eddy pulled the covers up, Dane turned the television set off.

  At the door Dane said, “We need to talk.”

  Eddy backed away from the bed, then pivoted and rushed from the room. He stormed into the living room as best he could with a limp, then whirled around, anger in every line of his face. “Now you know. My father’s a drunk.”

  “Okay, we can deal with that. You still need your leg seen to.”

  “I don’t want anyone to know about my father’s…problem. He’ll lose his job if they do. He hasn’t gone to work for the past two days. He called in sick.”

  “What’s he do?”

  “He’s vice president of the bank. He can’t lose his job. It would kill him.”

  “I think he’s doing a pretty good job of that himself. He needs help. You need help.”

  Eddy’s whole body went rigid. “We don’t need anyone’s help. My father doesn’t drink much. He just got carried away this time.”

  Dane walked toward the phone on the end table and started to pick it up when Eddy placed his hand over his on the receiver.

  “I’m not going to the hospital and you can’t make me.”

  Dane looked into Eddy’s frightened gaze, then down at the boy’s hand covering his. “My wife has a cousin who’s a doctor. What if he meets us at his office—no one else around? I’m not leaving until I know you’re all right.”

  Eddy’s hand remained on his, a stubborn set to the teen’s mouth.

  “I’m calling my wife to get the number of her cousin. Okay?”

  Fear flickered in Eddy’s eyes. “Don’t tell Mrs. Witherspoon about my dad or what happened tonight. Please.”

  “I won’t unless you say it’s okay.” Suddenly it was important to Dane to gain this kid’s trust.

  The scared teen released his grip and stepped back.

  Dane quickly placed his call. “Zoey, it’s Dane.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Running. I needed to clear my head. Listen, I need Steven’s number.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to ask your cousin for a favor.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing that concerns the family.”

  Zoey heard the evasive tone in her husband’s voice and wanted to shout her frustration. Instead, she gave him Steven’s number. “When are you going to be home? Do you want me to hold dinner?”

  “I don’t know and don’t hold dinner. See you in a while.”

  Dane hung up the phone before Zoey could say another word. She slammed her receiver in its cradle, picked it up and slammed it down again.

  “Mommy, what’s wrong?”

  Zoey spun around to face both Blake and Mandy in the kitchen doorway, worry on both their faces. She pushed her anger to the side to reassure her children. “Nothing, guys.”

  “But—” Blake said, his brows knitted.

  “Everything is okay.” She moved toward them. “Have you washed up for dinner?”

  Blake nodded while Mandy kept her hands behind her back.

  “Let me see, young lady.”

  Reluctantly her daughter held them out for her inspection. Smudges of blue paint were smeared across the backs. “Did you go out and start painting the house without your daddy?”

  Mandy stared at the floor and mumbled her reply so low Zoey couldn’t hear her.

  “Amanda! What did you do?”

  She yanked up her head, tears welling in her eyes. “Nothin’.”

  “This doesn’t look like nothing.” Zoey flipped over her daughter’s hands to see the other side coated with the bright blue, too.

  “I just opened the can to see the color he’d bought today.”

  “I told her not to. She doesn’t listen to me.” Blake walked toward the table, set for dinner.

  “Why don’t cha help us?” Mandy asked, her hands on her waist. “It would be done if ya did!” She jutted her chin up, glaring at her older brother.

  Blake returned her glare, not saying a word.

  Zoey gestured toward the sink. “Wash up now.”

  While Mandy stood on her stool and cleaned up, Zoey removed the setting for Dane and then sat next to Tara, who was happily eating a banana with half of it smashed on the tray.

  “Where’s Daddy?” Mandy asked, taking her chair across from Zoey.

  “He has some business to take care of.” Which I have no idea what, she silently added, feeling left out yet again in her husband’s life.

  Blake snapped his head around to stab Zoey with a look of fright that he quickly masked, but his voice quavered as he asked, “He’s working again?”

  “No, honey. He’s just delayed and will eat later.”

  This was the first indication in over a month that Blake even cared about his father. Samuel had tried counseling Blake and hadn’t been successful, which had really concerned Zoey because Samuel was so good. She made a note to talk with her son later when Mandy wasn’t around. Maybe now he was ready to open up.

  The opportunity didn’t present itself to Zoey until an hour later after Mandy had taken a bath to finish scrubbing the rest of the dirt and paint off her. Her look into the can of paint had been more than just a peek. Zoey had found a third of it spilled on the garage floor. Her daughter was going to bed early after helping Zoey clean up the mess.

  “But, Mommy, I didn’t mean to tip it over,” Mandy protested as Zoey tucked her in. “Can I have a story?”

  “Not tonight, young lady.”

  “But, Mommy—”

  “Good night.” Zoey switched off the overhead light.

  The night-light illuminated the room in shadows, revealing her daughter wide awake, clutching her doll. “Mrs. Giggles wants her house finished.”

  Zoey quietly closed her daughter’s door to her protests. Two children in bed, one to go. She knocked on Blake’s door, intending to have that discussion with him. When he didn’t say anything, she opened it to find her son curled in his bed asleep. He was becoming quite good at avoiding.

  Zoey blew a lon
g breath out and shut his door. Making her way downstairs to finish cleaning up the kitchen, she wondered where her husband was and what he was doing. She felt as if she were reliving the past when he would leave on an assignment and she knew nothing about what was going on. Her vivid imagination conjured up bad situation after bad situation. By the time he arrived home, she had become a basket case but tried to keep it from him. Whenever she’d expressed her worry early in their marriage, he’d clammed up even more about what was going on, as though not telling her protected her from the danger of what was happening.

  As she wiped down the counters, a sound at the back door brought her around to face her husband. He looked tired as if he’d finished running a marathon. His shoulders sagged, his eyes dull.

  She tossed the washcloth into the sink and snagged his gaze. “Where have you been? And this time, I don’t want any evasions.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The exhausted look Dane sent her didn’t sway Zoey. “What’s been going on?”

  He inhaled a deep breath, then released it slowly. Making his way to the sink, he filled a glass with water and downed it in several large gulps. “I can’t tell—”

  “I’ve heard that stock answer too many times. I’m not accepting it. You aren’t working for the DEA at this moment.”

  He swung around to face her. “I made a promise to someone I wouldn’t tell what happened unless he wanted me to. I can say I was helping out a teen who had gotten himself into a bind. It’s nothing that affects this family and nothing to do with my job.” He sank back against the counter, his hands gripping its edge.

  “Your life revolves around secrets.”

  “Zoey, as a counselor, surely you understand the need to build trust and the need for privacy.”

  “You’re counseling this person?” She remembered their argument earlier that had led to Dane’s run.

  “Not exactly, but he does need help.”

  “Okay,” she answered slowly, hanging the wet washcloth over the sink. There was a part of her that understood Dane’s need to keep this secret, but there was a part that was angry yet again that there was another mystery between them. “Do you want something to eat?”

  “I’ll fix a sandwich.” He opened the refrigerator and took out the ingredients for it.

  “Well, then I guess I’ll go to bed.” She started for the door.

  “Don’t. It’s only nine. Stay and talk to me.”

  She froze for a few seconds, stunned by the offer. Unhurriedly she turned and shrugged. “Sure.”

  After he made a ham sandwich and poured himself a glass of milk, he sat across from her at the kitchen table. “After this incident this evening, I’m more convinced than ever that Sweetwater needs a youth center.”

  Zoey opened her mouth to ask why, but instead snapped it closed. The subject was taboo, as were so many with Dane.

  “This kid’s having problems and really doesn’t have anyone to go to.”

  “If he’s in high school, he can come see me.”

  “I think the school environment can be stifling for some. Hopefully the center will be a place those teens who feel that way can connect with a counselor who can help. It just gives a troubled teenager another option.”

  “I’m all for that. I hope Samuel can work out the finances. Knowing Nick, he’ll jump at the chance to fund it.”

  “I agree, from what I’ve seen of Jesse’s husband.” He took a bite of his sandwich, then washed it down with a drink of milk. “Maybe you can put in a good word tomorrow about the center at your little get-together. Are you meeting at Alice’s Café?”

  “Nope. Here.”

  “Here!”

  “Don’t act so panicked. It’s just five women.”

  “You all are a force to be reckoned with.” Suddenly Dane sat up straighter, his gaze glued to the window that overlooked the driveway. “There’s something going on outside.”

  Zoey twisted around in her chair and saw the flashing lights. Quickly she stood and headed for the front, Dane right next to her.

  She reached for the handle, but Dane was quicker, opening the door and stepping out onto the porch before her. Parked three houses down at Wilbur Thompson’s were two patrol cars, their red lights sweeping the darkness.

  “You think it’s another robbery or something else?” Zoey asked, trying to keep her alarm tamped down. This was too close to her own home.

  “There’s only one way to find out.” He descended the steps and strode across the yard toward Wilbur’s.

  She closed the front door and followed. She arrived at Dane’s side in time to hear Zach say, “Dad’s house was broken into while he was at my place. He came home a while ago and found the window smashed, the back door standing wide open.”

  “Is your father okay?” Zoey asked, gripping Dane’s arm, the very thought of someone coming into her house uninvited sending fear through her.

  “Did you two see anything?”

  Dane covered her hand and said, “I came home about twenty minutes ago but from the other direction. The street was deserted.”

  “They knew Dad wasn’t home even though he had several lights on. Have either of you seen anyone suspicious around?”

  “You think whoever did this was casing his house?” Dane thought of the red Dodge Ram and Eddy. Even at the doctor’s office, the teen had refused to discuss what had gone on this evening that led to him being pushed from a moving truck. Was there a tie-in with the rash of robberies?

  “Maybe. No one has been home with these break-ins. That’s either extremely lucky or they have to be casing the places.” Zach pocketed a pad.

  “Do you know anyone who drives a red Dodge Ram with a partial tag number of 385?” Dane asked, aware of Zoey shifting beside him, her grip tightening.

  Zach swung his full attention to Dane. “James Norton’s son drives one. I’ve caught him speeding a few times. I don’t know the tag number, though. Why?”

  “Earlier, several streets over, I saw them joy-riding, going twenty, thirty miles over the speed limit.”

  “Mmm. I’ll check it out. Warn Clark that he has been sighted speeding on a residential street again, but with the kind of connections his father has that will be all I can do.”

  Dane heard the frustration in the police chief’s voice and knew what the man was experiencing. “Who’s James Norton?” Dane asked, hating the fact he didn’t know very much about Sweetwater and its citizens. He felt at a disadvantage, much like he had in the Amazon. If he was going to help Eddy—and he had decided to whether the teen wanted him to or not—then he needed to know the people involved.

  “He’s the president of the biggest bank in town and doesn’t let us forget it. He thinks money can solve any problem.” Zach removed his pad again and wrote the partial tag number down.

  “Son, they took my coin collection.” Wilbur shuffled toward them. The old man slowed when he spied Dane, his eyes narrowing as his mouth curved into a scowl. “What are you doing here? My son doesn’t need your expert help.”

  “Dad, please calm down,” Zach said, walking toward his father to steer him away from Dane and Zoey.

  “Let’s get home.” Zoey squeezed Dane’s arm. “I don’t like what’s happened in Sweetwater. You aren’t even safe in your own home.”

  Dane glanced at his wife, seeing the fear in her eyes and wishing it wasn’t there. “This gang will be caught. They’re getting bolder, robbing the police chief’s father. They’ll make a mistake.”

  “You think it’s kids, don’t you?”

  Dane took her hand within his and strode toward the bright lights of her house. “Yes. My gut is telling me that Clark Norton has something to do with this.”

  “Why? He comes from a wealthy family. He doesn’t need the money.”

  “People steal for other reasons than needing money.”

  “I can’t believe Nancy’s son would do something like this. She’s Mandy’s Sunday school teacher. Clark was just in my office last week about a
schedule problem for next year. He’s an excellent student with prospects of going to an Ivy League college.”

  “The Nortons go to Sweetwater Community Church?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think I’ll go with you this Sunday. I want to meet them.”

  “Did the speeding Dodge Ram have something to do with the incident you can’t talk about?”

  “Yes. Someone needs help and I’m gonna give it to him, starting with checking out this Clark Norton at church.”

  * * *

  Zoey didn’t care why Dane was going to church with the family tomorrow. The fact that he was elated her. A ray of hope peeked through all that had happened lately. She hummed a current popular song while laying out the snacks and drinks for the get-together with her friends.

  Mandy slammed open the back door and rushed inside. “Got to go.” She raced through the kitchen, leaving the door wide open.

  Zoey walked to it to close it and stopped in the entrance, shocked at the scene before her. Blake held a brush in his hand and was painting one side of the playhouse, not the same one as his father, but he was helping with the family project finally.

  Dane glanced up and caught her look. He smiled. Her stomach flip-flopped. His smile was devastating, and often in the past could charm her out of her anger.

  Mandy shot past her, nearly knocking Zoey down in her haste to get back outside. “Ya can hang the curtains soon, Mommy.”

  Zoey clutched the edge of the door to steady herself. Mandy took up her position next to Blake, painting the lower part of the house while he took care of the top. Zoey’s heart swelled at the picture of the three of them. She’d have to find out how Dane got Blake to help them.

  Tara’s voice could be heard over the baby monitor. It was time to get her youngest up from her nap so she could play with Rebecca, Darcy’s daughter.

  Fifteen minutes later, with Tara in her arms, Zoey opened the front door to her friends who had supported her when she had needed it the most. Once inside Darcy set Rebecca next to Tara on the floor in the center of the living room and the two toddlers played side by side. After drinks were poured and plates filled with goodies, the five women sat in a circle.