by Liz Botts
She fingered the slip of paper that had the current placement information detailed on it. The couple had seemed like a good match, and by all reports they had been for awhile, until Lexi started acting up for them. Stability. That's what this girl needed, Charlotte felt sure of it, and she knew she could provide it. The thought that had been hazy came into clear view. She would foster Lexi. Charlotte had all the necessary certifications, and she had been thinking about accepting a foster placement for the past few years. Now was as good a time as any.
With a deep breath, Charlotte stood up. She closed the file, and smoothed non-existent wrinkles from her skirt. Resolved, she headed for the door to talk to her supervisor. Things were about to change. Charlotte felt the rush of excitement as she thought that now she'd be able to start a family of her very own.
****
Will stepped out of the research lab building at the Black Hills Paleontological Institute, and greeted one of his graduate student's as they passed. The blinding ice from earlier had abated, but the air still held a frosty chill. Giant swaths of shimmery ice clung to every available surface forming icicles on the edges of buildings and the power lines that swayed overhead. Boughs of pine trees sagged under the added weight, nearly scraping the top of Will's head as he treaded his way carefully to the parking lot.
When he reached his shiny red extended cab truck, Will checked the front bumper once again just to be sure that nothing had been damaged. He worried more about the compact car he had skidded into. Not that the woman behind the wheel had seemed all that flustered, although he acknowledged that he might be wrong about that. He felt a grin stretch across his face as he remembered the way she pursed her pink tinted lips as she read his business card. The look on her face had told him that she was not impressed with his credentials. Will supposed that meant that she wouldn't be using the card to give him a call any time soon.
As if on cue his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe she was calling right now. The thought made him smile wider. Ducking into the cap of his truck, Will jammed the key into the ignition and turned the heat on full blast before pulling out the phone. The caller display flashed his father's phone number. With a grunt of frustration, Will tossed the phone into the passenger seat. Anything his father had to tell him could wait until he got home. He supposed that he'd have to head over to his parents' place to keep the peace.
Will threw the truck into reverse, stepping hard on the accelerator. When the tires slipped slightly, Will forced himself to take a deep breath and slow down. The parking lot hadn't been salted yet. If he didn't want a repeat of that morning he needed to be careful. He pulled slowly into the lighter-than-normal flow of traffic. The sun broke through the clouds, making everything glitter. Will reached for his sunglasses to shield his eyes from the blinding glare. With a sigh, he headed toward the heart of Rapid City, a throbbing pain shooting through his temples. He hoped the migraine that threatened to consume him would hold off until he got back to Mountain View.
The phone buzzed again on the seat beside him. No doubt his father calling again. The man never gave up, especially when he thought he was in the right. It never mattered if the old man was interrupting something important to Will.
The pain of the migraine licked around Will's eyes. He wondered if he should pull the truck over; maybe grab the emergency prescription he kept in the glove box. The way the sun glinted off the ice sent one thousand stabbing knives burning through his eyes, his sunglasses useless against the glare. He had felt fine that morning, but then he never did know when the migraine pain would come. He remembered the last doctor he had visited telling him that he needed to control his stress levels. Will barked a short, harsh laugh that sent a wave of pain riding through his skull. He winced and did the deep breathing exercises his mom had taught him.
His mom had been the first to diagnose him with migraines, even though she didn't have a medical degree. She suffered from them herself, and even after Bill had scoffed at the notion that his son would be anything but a tough little cowboy, his mom had persisted. The crack pot pediatrician in Mountain View had insisted that a child as young as seven couldn't get migraines, so Karen researched specialists in nearby Rapid City. Until she could get him an appointment, she had used cold compresses and deep breathing whenever one of the headaches waylaid him for a few days.
He drew in a shaky breath, filling his lungs to capacity, and then blew it out through his nose. The pain wasn't actually so bad if he sat completely still. He could drive home, crawl into bed and forget about the world for a few hours. As Will eased his truck onto the freeway, heading north toward Mountain View, he wondered what awaited him at home.
As if on cue, the phone buzzed again. "Can it, Dad," Will muttered to the empty cab. "I'll be home soon."
The snow plows had salted the freeway so the traffic moved quickly as he distanced himself from the city. Soon he was weaving his way north past small towns and high foothills dotted with scrubby pines dipping heavily under the ice. How long would it be before everything melted? Will wondered, tapping a gloved hand against the steering wheel. The movement proved too jarring, and he stilled himself again.
"Just a few more exits," he told himself.
As he neared the Mountain View exit, his cell phone went off again. Annoyance shot through him. He snatched the phone off the seat, and punched the talk button.
"What?"
"Dude, calm down." His older brother, Walker.
Will slowed as he turned onto the exit ramp. He shifted the phone to his other ear and sighed. "Sorry. I thought you were Dad."
Walker chuckled, but stopped abruptly. "Look, Will. You need to get home as soon as you can."
Despite his earlier irritation with his father, concern squeezed at him. "What's wrong? Did Dad have another heart attack?"
"No, nothing's wrong with the family. Just… just get home, okay?" Walker's voice cracked at the end of his statement, and the unfamiliar sensation of fear pulsed through Will's veins.
"I'll be at Mom and Dad's in ten," he said before hanging up and tossing the phone back on to the seat.
Adrenaline took over as he navigated the streets of his shabby home town. He barely saw the familiar nooks and crannies that had all but defined his childhood. The truck might as well have been on autopilot as he turned west of town toward his family's ranch. The fear he felt was so acute, so uncommon to him that he nearly forgot the pain of his migraine, until he took a turn to hard and a wave of nausea hit him.
Something in Walker's voice told him that whatever awaited him at his parents' house couldn't be good. Walker, the tough guy of the family. The brother Will should have been more like, should have lived up to. Mr. Perfect. Nothing rattled Walker. So for him to sound like that, something monumental must have happened. If it wasn't the family, though, what could it have been? Will racked his brain as he drove the ten minutes from town. Could it be someone from town? Something with the animals? The ranch?
Bypassing his own small house, Will took the driveway up to his parents' home. He pulled his truck up next to Walker's, and noted that his younger brother, Wyatt, was also there. The knot in his gut tightened as he climbed out of the cab. Ice crunched under his feet as he made his way up to the massive stone steps that led to the wraparound porch.
Will took a deep breath to soothe the nerves and pain racing around his body. Then one at a time he climbed the steps. An ominous feeling wrapped around him as he pushed the front door open, and stepped into the usually cheery house. The air, normally infused with delicious smells of his mother's baking, hung heavy.
"Hello?" He heard himself speak, but the voice seemed distant, disembodied.
His father cleared his throat. "We're in here, Will."
Will turned the corner toward the living room and stopped short. His father sat on the sofa with his arms around his mother. Wyatt sat on the footstool, elbows resting on his knees, looking like a little kid again. The sight might have made Will smile if
he hadn't caught Walker's gaze. His older brother looked like a bus had hit him, red rimmed eyes, clenched jaw, and all.
With a hitch of his breath, Will said, "What's wrong, people? Who died?"
The moment the words left his mouth, Will realized his stupidity. Tears rolled down his mother's face and she turned to smother her sobs in his father's shirt front. Will's mouth went dry. He shrugged helplessly as he looked from his dad to Walker to Wyatt and back again.
"William, I think you'd better sit down," his father said. The serious tone reminded Will of all the times he had been in trouble in high school.
The only available spot was on the sofa next to his mother. Will sank down into the soft cushions; his chest tight with something he thought might be panic.
"What's going on?" Will didn't realize that he had reached out for his mother's hand, but when he looked down he noticed that she was clutching him tightly.
"I don't know how to tell you this, son," Will's father paused and cleared his throat again. "But, Steve and Gretchen were in an accident this morning. Out on County 4A. It looked like they were coming from the back pasture."
Will's mind reeled as he pictured his best friend and fellow professor and his pretty wife. "The back pasture? We haven't been out there in months. Not since the weather got bad in, what? November? We can't take groups up there right now. It's too dangerous. Steve and Gretchen know that."
From the corner of his eye, Will saw his parents exchange a glance. His mother tightened her grip on his hand. Another wave of nausea rolled over Will.
"That's not all," Bill said, breaking through Will's haze. "Their SUV rolled down an embankment." His dad's voice broke, and he stopped talking for a moment. "They… they were killed on impact."
The words reverberated in Will's ears. "No."
They all had to be wrong. Steve wouldn't have gone up to the pasture alone, and he would never have taken Gretchen along. Will tried to remember the last time he and Steve had spoken. Yesterday? The day before? They'd both been busy with students and teaching, but they had agreed to go to Grumble's Bar and Grill later in the week.
"Will…" The heartbreak that he heard in his mother's voice told him it was true.
Something felt like it cracked open in his chest. Will dropped his pounding head to his hands and tried to make sense of the information. Steve and Gretchen had died. In a car accident. That morning. What had they been doing up here? Had they been looking for him? Hadn't Steve known Will had to teach a class this morning? And the ice storm should have kept them at home, right?
"There has to be some mistake." Will choked on the words as his throat constricted.
"Son." Will felt his father's hand heavily on his shoulder, but he didn't look up. The pain in his head threatened to explode.
A knock at the door drew his attention. Walker strode across the room, and peered out the front window. "Looks like the sheriff's back again."
"I wonder what he wants now." Wyatt muttered. "Hasn't he delivered enough bad news for one day?"
Will's head ached as he heard Walker usher the sheriff into the living room. He smelled the acrid aroma of the sheriff's cigar habit before the man even entered the room. When his footfalls made it clear that the sheriff was directly in front of him, Will looked up.
The room tilted as Will tried to focus on Clint McLloyd, the man who had been the definition of law enforcement in this count for the last twenty years. Clint's handlebar mustache twitched.
"Howdy, Will," Clint drawled, taking off his hat and fidgeting with the brim. "I'm real sorry about your friends."
Will nodded, but the effort of moving his head up and down sent explosions of pain rocketing from his temples to the base of his skull. The loss of his friends. How was he to put the pieces of that news together?
"The thing is," Clint said, pausing to run a hand over his face. "The thing is that your friends left a will, to provide for their kids."
Sierra and Shane. The mere thought of them sent another wave of pain crashing over Will. How could the five- and three-year-old children deal with the loss of their parents?
Clint sighed. "The thing of it is… I got a call from a social worker down in Rapid. And well, you've been named temporary guardian, Will. The kids are being brought up here right now."
Will wasn't sure he had heard the man correctly, but as the words sunk in, pain exploded in Will's eyes. The room began to spin.
Chapter Two
"And this will be your room." Charlotte pushed the door open, allowing the sullen teenager to enter first.
Charlotte held her breath as she watched Lexi look around the small but cheerful space. After setting the foster care paperwork in motion, Charlotte had begun redecorating the room. The yellow walls suddenly seemed a bit too intense, and the green comforter looked a little too green. Charlotte balled her hands to keep them from shaking, her nerves getting out of control.
After the silence stretched on for what seemed like longer than it should have, Charlotte cleared her throat. "So what do you think?"
Lexi set her backpack down on the bed, and turned around slowly. "It's nice. I like the colors, especially this green."
Charlotte exhaled as Lexi ran a hand over the bedspread. She set down the suitcase at the girl's feet. "I'll just let you unpack. When you're finished, we can start making dinner."
She eased the door shut behind her. Charlotte paused a moment, listening to the sounds of Lexi moving around the room. This is good, she told herself, she needs time to settle in. The desire to smother the girl in welcoming activities hummed just below the surface of Charlotte's soul. She knew from experience that she had to rein in her emotions, and take things slowly so as not to scare the girl. Margo, her supervisor at work, had laid out the extra expectations she had of Charlotte in this situation. Both of them wanted Lexi to be able to stay here for a long time.
With a deep breath, Charlotte walked down the short hallway to the kitchen. The bags of groceries she had carted in when she and Lexi had gotten home lay haphazardly on the counter. Pulling out a package of taco shells, Charlotte wondered if Lexi even liked Mexican food. There was so much she needed to find out about the girl. As she hugged the package to her, fear constricted her breathing and made her chest feel tight. How would she ever manage to do this?
Margo had believed in her enough to recommend the paperwork be expedited. She had managed to get everything cleared in a matter of days. When Charlotte delivered the news to Lexi, she got the feeling that the girl was excited, even though she refused to show any emotion. Getting herself together, she decided to get the tacos started.
"I can help."
Charlotte dropped the pan she had just gotten out of the cabinet, the clang echoing through the tiny space. "You startled me." With a shaky laugh, she bent to retrieve the pan. "I guess I'm used to living alone."
The words came out wrong, but they couldn't be taken back. Lexi's face tightened, but she lifted her chin slightly, and Charlotte had to wonder how many defenses the girl had built up over the years. It was her job to tear them down, and build a bond of trust. Tacos seemed like a good activity to achieve just that.
The first time Charlotte had been removed from home, her foster mom had made tacos with her. That was before. The goal at that time had still been to reunite her with her mother. Still her first foster mother had made the transition less traumatic with those tacos. Browning ground beef, grating cheese, and shredding lettuce had been soothing. The act of fixing dinner together had made Charlotte feel like part of the family. Now tacos felt like loss mixed with home, comfort mixed with sadness. She wondered now if Lexi felt any of that as the girl helped unpack the groceries.
"What should I do?" Lexi shifted herself away from Charlotte. The movement was so microscopic that Charlotte wasn't sure she had seen it, but her instinct told her that Lexi was feeling isolated. She needed to do something to diffuse the situation.
Handing Lexi a spatula from the utensil drawer, she said, "Do you kno
w how to brown meat?"
Lexi nodded as Charlotte opened the package of ground beef and plopped it into the skillet she had already set on the stove. After she turned the burner on medium heat, Charlotte stepped back to let Lexi have autonomy.
Charlotte continued to put groceries away while she kept an eye on the girl's progress with their dinner. After all the food had been taken care of, Charlotte pulled a brick of cheddar cheese out of the refrigerator and set about grating it into a bowl.
"I hope tacos are okay," Charlotte said.
Lexi's head bobbed up and down, either from shyness or boredom, Charlotte couldn't tell, and she poked at the meat as it sizzled in the pan. "We never had Mexican food at my last placement. My foster dad said it gave him indigestion. I love tacos, though. It's my favorite meal at school."
The mention of school gave Charlotte a moment of pause. She had already enrolled Lexi in the middle school down the street, but had left the starting date open. When she had been removed from her mother permanently, Charlotte remembered that her foster mother had allowed her to take several weeks to assimilate before sending her back out into the world.
Clearing her throat, Charlotte said, "I thought you could take a few days off before you start at your new school, if you want."
Lexi's eyebrows shot up, but otherwise she remained stoic and pokerfaced. She stirred the meat four times. Charlotte counted each rotation. After the last circle, Lexi looked up at her with a small smile on her face.
"That's really nice," Lexi said. Then she lapsed back into silence. Charlotte racked her brain trying to think of something to say, but the conversation had been derailed. After the last piece of cheese had been shredded, Charlotte attacked the lettuce and tomatoes. While she cut up the vegetables, she watched the girl out of the corner of her eye. Lexi seemed to be comfortable, even in her new surroundings. Charlotte hoped it wasn't just wishful thinking.