The Foster Girls

by Lin Stepp

  “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t complain about working with someone who is always so cheerful.” She paused and gave him a teasing look. “Anything else contributing to this radiant happiness lately? Or should I say anyone?”

  Scott smiled at her smugly as he got up to carry his papers back to his office. “You know I’m always happy when I’ve got a woman in my life, Nancy.”

  “Smarty-pants.” She flipped a hand at him in exasperation and then gave him a thoughtful look. “You know, Scott, I really like Vivian Delaney. Be nice to her.”

  “I am being nice to Vivian,” Scott said in response, as he snagged a cup of coffee to carry back to his office.

  He closed the door to insulate himself from more probing questions from his cousin and settled easily into his desk chair. After taking a few sips of his coffee, he pulled a small photo of Vivian out of his desk to study it. It had been taken over at the lake when he’d been helping her brush up on her canoeing skills. She was laughing and the sun was in her hair.

  “I am being nice to you, don’t you think, Vivian?” he said softly. “We’re more comfortable with each other; we’re getting to know each other better. Our relationship is strengthening nicely. I’m working hard to be a good boy.”

  Scott smiled at his own thoughts. After he had realized the depth of his feelings for Vivian at the cascades in April, he changed in his approach to her. He stopped pressing her for further intimacy, for one thing. Not that he didn’t want that. But he knew Vivian was ‘the one’ now, and that made everything different somehow.

  He tapped her picture with his thumb. “You’re really testing me, Vivian Delaney. Being nice doesn’t come easy for me. There are times when I think I’ll go crazy with the desire to touch you, to teach you how sweet loving can be. Especially now that I understand why you guarded yourself so carefully from intimate contact before. But I’m trying to be patient and wait.”

  Wait for what, he wondered? The thought gave Scott a shiver. He knew he was thinking seriously about the big M word now. That’s what he and his brothers had always called marriage. Scott knew this was a huge life step.

  He frowned at the photo in his hand. “I’d probably take the big plunge if I didn’t think you were still keeping secrets from me, Vivian. It’s the one factor that makes me uncomfortable in this relationship and the main reason I’ve held back from really sharing all my feelings. I want you to trust me, to not keep secrets from me.”

  Laying the photo on his desk, Scott frowned and leaned back in his chair. “Irritating woman. I can’t figure out why you’re so ashamed of your writing identity, anyway. Or why some college would be so upset about your books that they’d want you to give them up. Are they syrupy romances or bloody mysteries? Or something trashy and tasteless? Maybe you write silly fairy stories like you tell to Chelsey and Sarah. After the Andrew Lang dissertation I could see how that might tick your department off.”

  Scott shrugged. He had no idea what sort of books academia would dislike that much, but Vivian’s work must be something really frivolous or inappropriate for them to have gotten so upset over it.

  “Maybe we’ll talk this over again as we walk over to Quint and Ellen’s tonight. Maybe you just need another little nudge to start to share.” Scott shook his head in annoyance. He had tried to be patient about this whole thing, but the truth was, he often wanted to wring Vivian’s neck over it. In addition, it took all the discipline he possessed not to make some calls to find out more about Vivian’s past on his own. He knew he could track down the truth easily enough if he just got to the right person at her college.

  Back at his house later in the day, Scott found a message from Vivian on his answering machine saying she was going over to the Greene’s early. “Guess we’ll have to have that talk later,” he said.

  Even though he wasn’t meeting Vivian, Scott stopped by the farmhouse as he headed out to the Greene’s. He had gotten some more pet food for the animals and wanted to drop it off. As he opened the back door of the farmhouse, arms loaded with bags and Fritzi weaving excitedly around his legs, he saw Dearie suddenly streak past him.

  “Terrific. She’s got something in her mouth,” he observed in annoyance. “She’s caught something and brought it into the house. Dang cat.”

  He dropped the pet food on the counter and took off after the cat. Naturally, when Dearie heard him in pursuit, she streaked up the stairs with her prey. It looked like it was a bird, a finch from the size and color of it.

  That proved to be the case, as Dearie dropped it on the floor for a minute and the little bird took flight. Scott took off to chase the bird now, with Dearie after it at the same time. Eventually, he trapped the bird in the upstairs sitting room that Vivian used for an office. After shutting Dearie outside the door, yowling in protest, Scott managed to catch the finch in a towel. He opened the sitting room window, pushed out the screen, and let the bird go free. Amazingly, it seemed unharmed. Lucky break for the bird, Scott thought.

  He dropped on the couch to catch his breath just as Vivian’s office phone rang. After the third ring, a message for Vivian came in on the answering machine.

  He heard a man’s voice, deep and honeyed. “Viv, darling. It’s Tad. The sales numbers on the new book, Kissing Cousins, are starting to come in. You marvelous woman, it’s a smash, as always. And this new twist in the Foster series of having Isabel get this financial legacy is just thrilling the television fans to death. They’re all wondering if the letter Izzy got about an inheritance from a long lost uncle is even genuine and, if it is, how much money it will be for Isabel, and what the girls will do with it. Yadda, yadda. The idea was just brilliant, Viv. And, of course, by the time the follow-up book, The Legacy, comes out, all the fans will have to have that one, too. I just want you to know we’re all so proud out here of all your success.”

  There was a warm laugh then. “And of course you know I’m proud of my success as the show’s director. It has enhanced my credentials out here tremendously, darling. I’ve been approached about doing another network show if I can make the time, and I bless the day that Betsy Picardi came to me with your little books and suggested we make them into a pilot. It was just the perfect time for a good family series like The Foster Girls.”

  A rustling of papers came through then. “You hear that, Viv? That’s the sound of new scripts for the upcoming episode. Roz wants me to fax them to you so you can look them over, be sure all the dialogue she’s written is consistent with the girls. You know the drill. I’m sending them through by fax, so look them over tomorrow and give us a heads up if everything is okay. And call me, darling. I want to know every little thing that has been going on there in farmsville.”

  There were some kissing sounds. “Kiss, kiss to you, my pretty woman. You be careful that you don’t give your heart away to anyone else but me. Especially to one of those local boys. You know you’re the only woman I love.”

  There was a laugh then, and the phone clicked out. The sound of the fax soon followed, and the script papers began to come through.

  Scott leaned back on the couch, stunned. Incredulous.

  “Vivian is Viva Leeds,” he said out loud to the empty room. “She’s the writer of The Foster girl books, the genius behind the award-winning Foster Girl television series.”

  He got up then, to let the still yowling Dearie into the room.

  “Your bird’s been sprung, Dearie,” he said to her, watching her go around the room looking for her catch. “He escaped this time. But it looks like I’ve been snared in a big mess myself.”

  Scott picked up one of the fax sheets, saw the lines of script across them. And tried to absorb the reality of what he had just learned.

  He sat back down on the couch, his thoughts still reeling. Yes, Vivian had told him she was well-known in her field. But he had not expected this.

  “She’s Viva Leeds.” He said it again, shaking his head, trying to take it all in.

  His mind now replayed all the times Vivian s
napped her computer shut when he came over and found her writing or the times she made excuses to keep him out of her upstairs office. He also remembered how little interest she showed in the television show every Thursday night while the rest of America was enthralled with it. Yet, she always seemed to know what was going on in the series.

  Scott hit his hand against his forehead as a stream of past memories flooded in.

  “No wonder she guessed that Cliff wouldn’t really be Veronica’s full cousin,” he said to himself, recalling her suppositions to the McFee girls in the camp kitchen one day. “She wrote the story. She knew where it was going while the rest of us were only guessing. She was writing the stuff right here.”

  He paced around the room looking for more evidence and spotted a group of books tucked into his Gramma’s bookshelf. Copies of all The Foster Girl books, neatly arranged in the alphabetical order they were famous for –from A for Almost Home right up to K and the newest publication, Kissing Cousins. Also, on a shelf beside Vivian’s computer sat four small dolls. Scott had read in a tabloid, which the McFee girls had left lying around at the camp, that Viva Leeds had built her whole book series around some childhood dolls she’d had since she was small. There were actually a series of purchasable Foster Girl dolls on the market now, but these little well-worn dolls were probably the real things. The real, original Foster Girl dolls. A good thief could probably make a million dollars just from hocking these little dolls.

  Scott laughed at the thought, and then became offended as a new set of emotions flooded over him.

  Why hadn’t she told him? This wasn’t something to be ashamed of. These books were highly acclaimed and the series was wholesome family entertainment.

  “And who the heck is this Tad, besides being her show director?” He paced the room in irritation. “Calling her darling and pretty woman. Saying she’s the only woman he loves. Does Vivian have someone else out in Hollywood? A secret man with her secret life? Have I just been some kind of interlude?”

  He found himself getting really angry then. Angry at all the secrets, angry that he was fancying himself in love and thinking about marriage with a woman that had a huge second life he obviously knew nothing about. He spouted out a few expletives as he pushed his way out the door of the sitting room and started down the stairs. He wanted out of that room and out right now.

  And he wanted answers. Tonight, after they got back from this deal at the Greene’s, he would get some. They would talk this out. Between then and now, somehow he would get through the evening. If she could play games, he could, too.

  Scott took the long route to the Greene’s, trying to walk off some of his anger, trying to get himself back in control. He didn’t want a confrontation in front of his friends, so he worked hard to collect himself before he arrived at Quint and Ellen’s.

  “You’re late,” Quint said throwing Scott one of their Grill Man aprons Ellen had bought for them as he walked into the Greene’s backyard.

  “It’s the busy season at the camp now.” Scott shot a grin his way and started patting the hamburger meat he’d brought into burger patties. He whistled while he worked, purposed to put on a jovial front.

  From the side lawn nearby, Vivian and Ellen waved at him. They were playing croquet with Chelsey and another little girl.

  “Who’s the extra kid?” Scott asked.

  “Another of Alice’s foster kids we’re keeping for awhile.” Quint poked at the charcoal in the grill and started putting the burgers on. “Remember those two we kept last year for a little while, those two little boys?”

  “Yeah. Cute little guys. I took them over to the camp with me a few times. And Nancy’s boys really enjoyed having them around. Nice kids.” He paused thoughtfully. “Aren’t they the ones that the Kincaids over in Kodak adopted?”

  “That’s right.” Quint spritzed the charcoal in the grill as the grease from the meat whipped the flames up. “And you and your mother helped Alice with that placement, knowing that Bart and Diedre couldn’t have kids and wanted to adopt.”

  “I see that family every now and then.” Scott finished the burgers, wiped his hands, and sat down on a patio bench. “Bart and Diedre love those boys. It’s been a happy match.” He shifted a glance over at Vivian when Quint wasn’t looking, trying not to glare at her.

  “Well, maybe you can help with this one, too.” Quint raised a brow suggestively. “That little girl there – name’s Sarah Louise Taylor – just lost her mother. Has no other family. She needs a home, too. You may have met the mother; she ran one of those craft stores in Gatlinburg that Ellen sells her soaps to. Little place back in the corner of Mountain Laurel Village. Pretty woman, too. Single and on her own with just the child.”

  “Must have missed that one,” Scott commented, with a grin to Quint. “But I know where the village stores are in Gatlinburg. Is there no father in the picture?”

  “None that anyone knows about.” Quint flipped the burgers as they cooked. “Woman came here and bought the shop, single and with a small child. Never married. Past a bit of a mystery. She obviously had some money from somewhere. But never told anyone anything that could be tracked down about the father or about any family. Always said her parents had passed on. Alice said she figured that was where she got the money to relocate and buy the store. Guess no one will ever know now.”

  “Tough break for the kid,” Scott said, thinking about the stories Vivian had told him about being a foster child when she was younger. “She’s lucky that it’s Alice that’s working with her. She’s one terrific lady.”

  “Well, Sarah’s a great kid, too.” Quint smiled, glad he’d gotten Scott interested. “Smart and creative. Well-behaved. Better manners than Chelsey actually.” He laughed at that. “We’re hoping some of that will rub off on the Chessie Cat while Sarah is here.”

  “Aw, Chelsey’s fine,” Scott said, defending her. “But it was good of you and Ellen to take Sarah in for awhile. I’ll start putting my feelers out about potential homes. She’s still just a little thing. They’ll be someone that will want to adopt her, I’ll bet.”

  “Well, I know Alice will appreciate any help you can give,” Quint replied.

  The new child helped to provide Scott with a needed distraction. Scott really loved kids. He made a big effort to entertain Chelsey and Sarah that evening. Quint set up a small tent for the girls in the backyard, and Scott played ‘attack bear’ with them, bringing on shrieks and giggles from both the girls. Then, they all played several games of croquet. With a vast amount of satisfaction, Scott knocked Vivian’s ball almost down to the creek.

  Later, after dinner, Vivian volunteered, as usual, to go up to read with the girls while everyone else settled down to watch The Foster Girls on television. But, this time, Scott had done a little priming with the girls ahead of time, promising to tell them true camping stories, so they begged for him to go up with them instead.

  “I’ll go and help you,” Vivian said graciously, smiling. “Maybe I’ll like your stories, too.”

  “No, you watch the television show, Vivian. Perhaps actually watching the show for once will help you better predict to the McFee girls how the series is going to develop.” He gave her a pointed glance. “You’re so good at that.”

  He enjoyed seeing a slow blush steal over her face at his remark.

  “You know it is uncanny how Vivian seems to know what’s going to happen on these shows when she watches them so seldom,” Ellen observed.

  “Yes, isn’t it just.” Scott’s reply had a nasty edge to it, and he saw Vivian’s look of question and surprise at his tone.

  He stalked upstairs to tell the girls bedtime stories, glad of yet another space of time in which he wouldn’t have to keep acting pleasant and personable around Vivian, Ellen, and Quint. His layer of contrived congeniality was growing thinner as the evening wore on.

  Chapter 20

  As Vivian and Scott started their walk home from the Greene’s, Vivian felt nervous and uncomfortable. Scot
t was upset about something. Vivian was certain of it. He had been acting peculiar all evening, almost as if he was carefully controlling some inner irritation or anger. Perhaps he’d had a bad day earlier at the camp but didn’t want to inflict his problems on all of them.

  Vivian chewed on her lip as she watched him. Scott strode along a few paces ahead of her, scowling and not speaking. He hadn’t said a word since they left the Greene’s and they were almost back to the farmhouse porch now. Tension radiated from him. Even in the dark, Vivian could see that Scott’s face looked edgy and drawn. This just wasn’t like Scott at all. He must be really upset about something.

  Vivian reached over instinctively to touch his arm and tried to take his hand. But he jerked away from her.

  “What’s wrong, Scott?” She tried to read his face. “You haven’t been yourself all night.”

  He glared at her. “And so when are you ever yourself, Vivian Delaney. And how do you even keep all your many selves straight?”

  The little porch light showed Vivian the raw anger on Scott’s face now.

  “I think we’d better sit down so you can tell me what’s going on.” Vivian gestured to the porch chairs.

  Scott shrugged off the offer, pacing in restless random patterns instead. When Vivian sat down on the porch steps, Scott turned to confront her.

  “You’re Viva Leeds,” he announced in a steely voice, seeming to dare her to deny it. “You’re the writer of all those Foster Girl books and the writer behind the television series. Why didn’t you tell me, Vivian? What is there to be ashamed of in writing material like that? The books are bestsellers; the series is on a family network and well-respected. It’s practically like another Walton’s series, it’s so clean. Why would you not want people to know you are behind something fine and wholesome like that? It’s not like you write bodice ripper romances or bloody crime thrillers you might not want your name associated with.”