He perked up. “Invest it for Caleb? I’ve already set up a college account, but if we add some slow-growth mutual funds to the portfolio, it could easily pay for the college of his choice. What do you think?”
“Perfect,” she said, then added without thinking, “where were you when I was investing in the stock market?”
He rose and walked toward her. “Did you lose money?”
Allison regretted the slip. “I’m embarrassed to admit this, but when I was married, my ex-husband handled our finances. When we divorced, Dean made sure I got my fair share of our stocks, but to be honest, I haven’t looked at them in ages. I have no idea where I stand.”
“Would you like me to check them out for you? If things are tight for your business right now, you might be able to unload some slow movers and use the money to tide you over.”
“Really? I had this on my to-do list, but there’s never enough time. Plus, I didn’t know who I could trust to steer me right.”
“You can trust me.”
“I know that.” Suddenly feeling as if she’d shared too much, she pivoted. “I think the folder is on my laptop. I’ll e-mail it to you. But if you find out they’re all bogus junk bonds or something, don’t tell me.”
He gave her a cheeky grin. “Turning a sow’s ear into a silk purse is my specialty.”
Kind and generous, Allison thought, as she walked to her room. Damn. How was a person supposed to maintain a safe distance from that?
After sending her financial files to Jake, she checked her e-mail. Page after page of messages filled the screen.
“Good grief,” Allison muttered. Most were from her employees. Jeffries Computing was still afloat, but the ship was taking on water. Fast.
She was about halfway through the list when she sensed a presence in the room with her. When she looked over her shoulder, she spotted Caleb standing by her bed, petting Cleo, who’d finally started to warm to the child. “Good morning, sweetie. How are you today?”
He shrugged but didn’t speak. Allison motioned him closer. “I could sure use a hug to get my day started.”
His little arms went around her neck and he squeezed tight then let go, but he didn’t back away. She sensed that he wanted something. “I’m not playing a game or anything fun right now, hon. Just boring old work. Maybe Jake has a game you could play on his computer.”
Caleb shook his head. “I wanna send an e-mail.”
Allison’s hands hovered above the keyboard. “You do?”
He nodded vigorously.
They teach keyboarding in preschool? Man, I really don’t know anything about this parenting business. “Well, okay. Do you know how to type?”
He shook his head negatively. “You have to do that for me.”
“Oh,” she said, getting the picture. “You want me to send an e-mail for you. To whom?”
“Mommy.”
Allison’s heart stopped. “I...you...what?”
He looked at her with complete trust. “Sometimes when Mommy and Daddy go away, Gramma and me send them e-mails. And Mommy writes back. And sends pictures.”
Allison tried to work up enough spit in her dry mouth to respond. She had no idea what to say. Should she try explaining that as far she knew there was no e-mail in heaven? Or should she listen to the voice that cried, “What can it hurt? Let him get what’s troubling him off his chest.”
She made space for him on her lap. After a little wiggling, they managed to find a comfortable position. Allison looped her arms around him to reach the keyboard. She selected the New Message page and said, “What do you want to tell them?”
He cleared his throat. “Dear Mommy and Daddy… He paused to let her type. “I miss you. Come home soon.” Allison’s fingers were shaking but she somehow touched the right keys.
She was about to remind him of the finality of death when he went on. “Jake is here. I bit him yesterday, but he forgave me.” This came out muffled.
“You did?” she asked, leaning to one side to look at him.
He nodded, his bottom lip quivering. “At the park. I wanted to swing. He said maybe we could swing today. Can we, Ally?”
Shifting into the crook of her left arm, he looked at her, but Allison ducked the other way. She didn’t want him to see her tears. “A movie and swinging in the park?” she tried to make her tone skeptical. “I don’t know...maybe we could for a person who doesn’t bite.”
“I don’t. It was an accident.”
“So you’re not going to bite people anymore?”
He shook his head.
“Then, I guess it would be all right. Weather permitting.”
He let out a whoop of joy and slipped off her lap—his letter apparently forgotten. “I gotta tell Jake you wanna come, too.” He was two steps out of the room before he turned around and said, “I’ll finish my letter to Mommy later, okay?”
Allison nodded, but he’d already disappeared. She stared at the screen. Dear Mommy and Daddy... “Oh, Pam,” Allison softly cried. “Why me? What if I screw up?”
The cursor kept blinking. No answer appeared on the screen. With a sigh, she closed the letter and went back to answering her e-mails. The living demanded her attention.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” said the sixty-something man in a black jogging suit and well-worn running shoes. His thick silver hair was worn in a stylish cut that made him look younger than his years. “Forgive my attire, but I help on the playground at lunch and those kids play rough.”
Jake had noticed a sign in front of the nondenominational church that mentioned a Christian school.
“Jake, nice to meet you,” he said, shaking Jake’s hand heartily before bending over to give Caleb a friendly wink. “Good to see you again, Caleb. Do you remember me? My name is Father Avila, but, like I told you at the hospital, the kids all call me Padre.”
Caleb nodded a greeting, but refused to release the death grip he had on Jake’s finger.
Father Avila smiled and lightly touched the boy’s shoulder before turning to Allison. He took both of her hands in his. “A pleasure to see you again, Allison. I’ve been praying for you. I’m happy to know that you made it through this traumatic time. And Caleb’s grandmother? How is she?”
“A little under the weather at the moment.” Allison filled him in on Cordelia’s post-surgical infection as they walked down a narrow hall to a brightly lit multipurpose room that smelled of spicy cooking. Jake missed out on what was being said because the scent immediately transported him to his childhood in the mostly Hispanic neighborhood on the outskirts of L.A.
“Have a seat,” the priest said, gesturing toward a serving table around which six molded plastic chairs were grouped. “I thought this would be better than my office, which gives me claustrophobia anytime two or more people are in it.” Before joining them, he asked, “Would anyone like coffee or a soft drink?”
Jake and Allison both shook their heads. When the man looked at Caleb, the little boy’s thumb disappeared into his mouth.
“You know, Caleb,” Father Avila said, “the church preschool is having story hour right through that door. Would you like to go?”
Caleb shook his head.
“No problema,” the minister said, smiling broadly. “Sister Maria is probably going to sing ‘Ten Little Monkeys.’ I don’t imagine you know that song, do you?”
Caleb’s eyes widened. “Uh-huh.”
“The one where you pretend to jump on the bed?” Father Avila asked with mock surprise. “Really? Can you jump? Let me see.”
Caleb let go of Jake’s hand and demonstrated his jumping ability.
“Ay caramba, you’re good. You’re probably the best jumper I’ve seen all day. Are you sure you don’t want to check out Sister’s class? She’ll bring you back here any time you ask her to, and I promise these good folks aren’t going anywhere without you.”
Caleb considered the offer, and after checking for reassurance from both Allison and Jake, nodded. Padre took his hand a
nd led him toward the schoolroom door.
Jake raked his fingers through his hair. “Wow. Do you think he gives lessons?”
Allison let out a sigh. “I don’t know, but I’d be the first to sign up.”
Jake hated the way she constantly underrated her mothering instincts. In the past week, he’d seen Caleb turn to her time and again for comfort or permission to do something. Before he could say anything, Father Avila returned.
“Please, sit. We won’t have long. A child Caleb’s age, who has been through a traumatic loss, needs constant reassurance that his world isn’t going to continue to disintegrate.”
Allison and Jake sat opposite each other, the priest at the head of the table. Father Avila spoke first. “So, let me guess. Caleb is acting out in atypical behavior. Hitting, biting, sleepwalking, night terrors, bed-wetting.”
“He had a few bad dreams, and twice he wet bed. But last night—”
Jake interrupted Allison. “It happened again. We let you sleep in this morning, and Caleb seemed embarrassed so I decided not to mention it. But he did tell me that you said these things happen when people are really, really sad.”
“Good explanation,” Father Avila said. “Always try to keep things simple. Use terms he’ll understand. We’ve all heard detailed insights on the grieving process, but none of those theories mean squat to a four-year-old. He just wants some assurance that whatever bad thing happened to change his wonderful, happy life and steal his mommy and daddy from him isn’t going to happen again.”
“And how do you suggest we do that?” Jake asked. “We all know life doesn’t come with any guarantees.”
Both Allison and Father Avila looked at him curiously. Apparently his tone had been more revealing than he’d intended.
“This morning, Caleb asked me to help him send his parents an e-mail,” Allison said. To Jake, she added, “I didn’t have a chance to mention it to you before we left and I didn’t want to bring it up in the car.”
“What did you do?”
“I typed what he dictated. Mostly, I think he wanted to get off his chest the fact that he bit you yesterday.”
Padre said, “Biting, hitting and thumb-sucking are not uncommon responses in a child Caleb’s age. Neither is wanting to call Mommy or go see Daddy at work. E-mail is a first for me, but most of the children I see aren’t that familiar with technology.”
“I felt like I was taking the easy road out by helping him type his message,” Allison said. “I don’t want to give him the impression they’re vacationing in heaven and can’t be bothered to come home.”
Jake knew what she meant. “After my brother died, so many people told me that Phillip was in a better place, I was tempted to kill myself to go there, too,” he said, surprised to find himself sharing the memory.
Allison looked at him, her eyes filled with compassion.
“Children this age have a difficult time comprehending the finality of death,” the counselor said. “You might suggest he speak to his parents in his prayers at night. But be sure to stress that this is pretty much a one-way line of communication. His parents can hear him, but they can’t speak to us the way we’re used to hearing.”
Allison nodded. “That’s a good idea. Pam and Kenny weren’t regular churchgoers, but Pam always made Caleb say his prayers at night. Jake and I haven’t had a chance to establish much of a schedule, yet, but I’d like to include that in his nightly routine.”
Her gaze met Jake’s briefly, asking if he concurred. He wasn’t sure, but he nodded all the same. She smiled sweetly then looked away when the minister continued speaking.
“Fortunately, as with physical pain, the brain helps diffuse the sensation of loss as time goes on. Eventually, your presence will crowd out the memories Caleb has of his parents.”
Allison’s expression turned to one of alarm. Father Avila reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “I don’t mean that he will forget them completely. I’m sure you and Jake will do everything you can to keep their memory alive for Caleb, but the harsh fact is life goes on for those left behind. Caleb is your child now.”
She lowered her chin to her chest. Jake knew he had to say something. “Until Cordelia is back on her feet, you mean.”
The minister gave a puzzled frown. “I’m sorry...what?”
Jake explained that theirs was a temporary arrangement. Once Cordelia was well, she’d take over. Jake would then return home.
“I see,” the priest said. “Well, I’m sure the grandmother’s intentions are sincere, but given a choice, don’t you think Caleb would be better off with someone younger and in better health? After all, that’s usually why parents choose contemporaries to be their child’s godparents.”
Allison looked at Jake. “We want to do what’s best for Caleb,” he said. “But we’re both single. My home is on the other side of the continent. Allison has a demanding business. Neither of us has ever been a full-time parent. And Cordelia feels very strongly about raising Caleb herself as soon as she’s able.”
Father Avila leaned back in his chair. “Well, you obviously care a great deal about his future. Perhaps we should put the long term in God’s hands and worry about getting Caleb through the holidays. You did say you planned to stay here until after the first of the year, right?”
Jake nodded.
“Good. I’d be happy to work with him if he continues to act out, or I can recommend a group session for children who have experienced traumatic losses. But, basically, keep doing what you’re doing. Give him as much time as you possibly can.
“Your job, your routine, your life is going to be there when you get back to it. Caleb’s future, on the other hand, hinges on how well he adapts to this unthinkable change. His future will reflect the care you give him now.”
Allison looked miserable. “I feel guilty even bringing it up. Jake has relocated across an entire country and he isn’t complaining, but...” She let the word drag out.
“But what?” Jake prompted. “Is it work? Your company?”
She nodded. “My employees are mostly young Hispanics who came to me through a job placement agreement with the state. Last year, the government subsidized my payroll so I could give them on-the-job training.
“It worked out great, but they’re still relatively new to the field and inexperienced. After a week without me, they’re stretched thin and my clients are getting testy. If I don’t get back on the scene, there will be six families struggling to pay the rent, let alone celebrate Christmas.”
Jake sat forward. “Year-end is a crummy time for me to be away, too. My assistant has been up to his eyeballs in calls.”
“Neither of you should be penalized for doing good,” Father Avila said. “A child isn’t the only aspect of one’s life that requires time and nurturing. Is there a possibility you could both work half days?”
Allison frowned in thought.
“I remember you telling me Caleb’s mother—while ostensibly a stay-at-home mom—was actively involved in the community and her husband’s business.”
Allison smiled. “Especially at this time of year.”
“So Caleb is used to having busy, hardworking parents. He’ll adapt to your schedules just fine, as long as you’re consistent.”
“Should we send him back to preschool?”
“Ask him. He’ll let you know when he’s ready.”
Allison fiddled with her purse strap. “What about Christmas? Is there any way we can keep him from feeling the loss of his parents?”
The priest rocked back in his chair and let out a sigh. “No. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Try to celebrate the holidays the way his parents would have. Same decorations. Same traditions. But don’t expect it to be perfect. The poor little guy’s got a lot to process—and some of it will be painful.”
Allison looked at Jake. He could see her second-guessing her ability to pull it off. “We can do that,” Jake said firmly. “Allison has spent the past few Christmases with the Rydells,
and I’ve seen every holiday video Kenny made.”
“And if you get stuck, just ask Caleb,” the priest said with a chuckle. “He doesn’t seem shy about expressing his needs.”
Father Avila smiled. “Is there anything else you’d like to talk about? As I told Allison when we met, I’m a family counselor, not a psychiatrist. But I have a background in child development. I used to be a teacher until I decided I could reach more people through my ministry.”
“What grade did you teach?”
“Second, first and kindergarten, successively,” he said with a rueful grin. “The kids kept getting smarter at a younger age while I just got older.”
Jake chuckled. “I understand completely. Sometimes Caleb will say something that blows my mind. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t that savvy when I was his age.”
The man looked at him intently. “I’m not sure I believe that. I have a feeling you grew up in a hurry, Jake.”
Jake’s mouth dropped open. He looked at Allison, who was busy hunting for something in her backpack. When she came up with her cell phone—which apparently had been set to vibrate, rather than ring out loud—he could tell she had no idea what the two men had been discussing.
Father Avila lowered his voice and said, “You have old eyes, Jake. I see it all the time in people who come to me. Maybe I’m wrong, but you look like a person who has suffered great losses in his life. And I don’t mean this recent one. From before. In your childhood.”
Allison had turned her back to them and was talking on her phone. Jake saw no reason to lie. “My younger brother died when I was fourteen. We were in separate foster situations because our mother took off and our father was an alcoholic loser who couldn’t keep food on the table—or buy medicine for my brother whose lungs never quite developed right.”
The minister let out a knowing groan. “Fourteen. That’s a particularly rough age. Children in their early teens often take on the role of parent. When their younger sibling dies, they blame themselves.”
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