Searching For Sarah (The Sarah Series Book 1)

by Julieann Dove

  “Are you happy to have your daddy home?” I asked.

  “Yes. Very much.” Her dimples appeared the minute she said it. The older girl closed her eyes, hoping I wouldn’t see her maybe if she couldn’t see me.

  “Okay, well, then I think we have everything settled here,” Sam said to Gennifer.

  “I’ll meet you tomorrow at the KinderCare down off Pritchard, Sarah. Say, around five? I can introduce you to the staff so they will know who will be picking up Sophie.”

  “Sure.” I tucked my free hand in my back pockets and swayed a bit.

  “They just want to meet you and see who will be picking up this little one.” She repeated herself while she rubbed the cheek of the cherub now in Sam’s arms.

  Sophie hung around his neck like a broken necklace, as Gennifer stroked her hair and soothed her. “Okay, pumpkin. You’ll be fine. Have fun with your daddy.”

  Sam hugged the little girl. I saw Gennifer’s oldest child smirking at the little scared darling. Somehow I didn’t think there would be any love lost if there was never a sleepover in the future. Awkward teenage years—you had to love them. I’m sure I was one at one point, but somehow I don’t recall having the same qualities of a cold stone.

  For the next couple of weeks, I felt as though I had been asked to housesit and someone had accidentally left their child instead of the houseplants and pets. I awoke each morning to picking out clothes for Sophie, grabbing her and myself something fast to eat, dropping her off, and going about what I needed to do—attend classes, seem energetic, intelligent, and as if I didn’t just take a drowsy over-the-counter medicine. The routine was kicking my butt. Never mind that Sam never came home until after dinner. Somehow I was beginning to feel as if free room and board was costing a lot more than I anticipated.

  Evidently Gennifer failed to mention laundry was in the job description. By the second week, socks had become an endangered article of clothing in Sophie’s pearl-white armoire. I had noticed the dirty clothes basket in the corner of her room filling, but somehow assumed that whoever showed up while we were gone to make the beds and triangle the toilet paper rolls would wash a load of clothes.

  Thursday, I picked her up and the teacher told me she got stepped on and had to sit out of recess with a boo-boo. I looked down at her fuchsia flip-flopped feet—her piggy toe sported a princess Band-Aid. Her eyes were still puffy from crying.

  “Come on, sweetie. We’ll go home and you can tell Daddy all about it.”

  “Please tell Mr. Turner not to send her in open-toed shoes anymore.” Her teacher, Mrs. Prescott, handed me her little Strawberry Shortcake backpack.

  “I will. Thank you.”

  I carried the little angel to the car and strapped her in the car seat. It made me remember that Rob commented how odd it was seeing that thing in my car. He said it was very domesticated of me. I agreed, but what could I do? Transporting her was in the job description Come to think of it, was he saying it like that was a bad thing, or a good thing?

  Let’s face it: at the moment, a car seat in my backseat was certainly keeping me from sleeping in the front seat. And in a few months, hopefully the apartment I wanted would come through. Not that I wouldn’t miss the king-sized bed, the French coffee press, and fluffy white towels Sam’s house offered. But I was having a difficult time focusing. This lifestyle was nowhere listed in my imaginary plans of how I’d spend this year. I had only recently settled into Rob, law school, and managing on maintaining a roof over my head. Sophie was a sweet surprise, though. An uber-cute surprise with all her questions, hours of Disney channel surfing, and dipping her cute little fingers in my makeup palettes. I just didn’t have this in my plan.

  Gennifer texted almost daily, asking whether I’d signed the lease on the apartment I promised I had waiting. She was consumed with the last moments before the big move to Texas. I wasn’t sure whether she regretted offering Sam’s room or not. Maybe she was irritated I wasn’t sleeping in the garden shed. Sam mentioned that’s where Brenda stayed. She was the live-in nanny before me, I found out from Sophie. She moved away after she received news of her mother falling and breaking her hip. Either way, Gennifer mentioned she had someone to replace me when the time came that I moved out.

  “Here, don’t forget your puppy.” I handed Sophie her stuffed animal and grabbed my school books off the backseat.

  She ran off for the front door. I had already seen Sam wasn’t home yet from work. No big surprise. Tonight was going to be pizza. Delivered to the house. I would find a princess movie to play for Sophie, and set up her animals in a pretend hospital. She loved wearing a stethoscope and administering medicine. That would give me time to get ready for my date with Rob. We hadn’t been out in forever—well, since I moved in with Sam and Sophie. I was so pumped today about it, I caught myself smiling the whole way home from the daycare. The thought of him nuzzling my neck, me getting to kiss his, and those hands…covering my body that lately only got about five hours of sleep and splashed with water when I gave Sophie her bath.

  I set my things down while the limping princess ran through the house, looking for Sam. My phone rang in my back pocket. I grabbed it before it stopped, yelling for Sophie to come back to the living room.

  “Hey, just checking to see that you’re going to be on time.” His voice sounded low and sultry. My brain’s imaginary sound system began playing Marvin Gaye’s, “Let’s Get it On.” A complete indication I was smitten with this guy.

  I flipped my hair and looked at my watch. It was 6:00. Sam promised to be home early tonight so I could go out. Boy, did I need to go out.

  “I hope so. What time are the reservations?”

  “Six thirty.” His tone dropped. “Don’t tell me he’s not home again.”

  “He will be. He promised.” I looked at Sophie, snuggled on the sofa, watching the television screen, one arm hooked around a long-necked giraffe.

  “When are you getting your apartment, again?”

  “I’ve got to call the woman. She said to check back in three weeks. It’s been two.”

  I heard him sigh. “It couldn’t be soon enough. Why is it that you moved in with that man and his daughter?”

  I wanted to say because you didn’t offer me to stay at your place, but there’s that gun I always seem to jump with new relationships.

  “He’s a friend of a friend who needed his daughter picked up in the evenings.” I rolled my eyes, thinking about what a lie that was. “He really saved me, Rob. Cut him some slack. He’s a single dad.”

  “Where’s the mom? Why can’t she help?”

  It’s not as if I haven’t told him the story before, but like usual, he didn’t listen to me. Rob’s fatal flaw—well, one of them: not a good listener. His other flaw was that he was too good-looking. I still don’t know how it is that I’m dating him. He’s much too gorgeous to be interested in me. Not to mention my insecurity levels skyrocket when we’re not together. Not that I think I own him or anything; I just know he’ll figure out he could do so much better than me and then I’ll be dumped. Again. The time before the architect dumped me because of my unrefined ways, I was dumped in February. Right before Valentine’s Day, to be exact. I should’ve taken the hint when Jack said he didn’t get why one day out of the year, women purposely targeted men and shamed them into buying candy and flowers. All I remember saying was that I loved daisies and roses. Guys sometimes need direction, you know. Oh well, that’s how life goes. Always the dumped, never the dumpee.

  “I told you, it’s his niece’s child. He’s being a good guy and raising her.”

  “Well, I hope he’s a good guy, and gets home early tonight. I’m going through major withdrawal here.”

  Okay, so Rob wasn’t a complete gentleman always. So he liked to take me back to his place instead of getting me something to eat a lot of times. I guess for him, I was the main course. The guy had two hands, but I could swear when the lights went out, I felt forty or more. It was fine to be sensual, but being pa
wed to death was something I needed to work on with him. Especially on an empty stomach.

  “I’ll call you when I’m on my way.” I said good-bye and watched patiently out the window for Sam.

  I had fed Sophie, bathed her, and apologized every half hour through text message to Rob. That was after I called him and profusely did it over the phone. At 8:00—an hour after I said I’d finally be there. And of course I left many messages for Sam, too. But none of those were ever answered, either. It was 10:00 before I saw his headlights hit the walls of my room. Five minutes before I was going to call the hospitals to check whether he was there.

  “Where have you been?” I rose up in my bed, putting down the textbook I’d been reading when Sam appeared in my doorway. Sophie had long gone to sleep, but not before asking a million times for her daddy. And then when that proved futile, she asked for Gennifer. I actually called Gennifer and let Sophie talk to her. Gennifer was very short in her conversation, telling me that she was busy and Sam was probably just working late. I don’t think I’ll call her again.

  “I’m sorry. I was working on something and lost track of time, I guess.” He came closer and stared at Sophie, snuggled in my bed.

  “Don’t move her. I’ve tried about five times taking her to her room, and each time she’s woken up. Just leave her.” I put up my hands, thwarting him from removing the sleeping child.

  “She can’t sleep in here. You’re…” He looked at the books I had piled around me. “You’re busy.”

  I rose up on my pillow. “Sam, she’s fine. Leave her.”

  He took a seat on the edge of my bed and covered his face with his hand. Alcohol wafted in my direction. Worked late, my butt. I gently got out of bed and pulled the blankets over Sophie, and motioned for Sam to follow me out to the hall.

  “Did you fail to remember I had a date tonight? I told you two days ago, mentioned it to you last night, and messaged you today to remind you.” I rested my hand on my hip.

  “Oh no, I’m sorry, Sarah.” He palmed his head. “You did mention something about going out tonight, didn’t you?”

  “Ah, yeah.”

  “I’m so sorry.” He looked at me with those hazel eyes and for some reason, all the images of him on a target board dissipated. They looked so hurt. Like they always did.

  This man seemed to be in a perpetual pit of unhappiness. I wanted to be angry with him, tell him he has responsibilities to this tiny angel, but I couldn’t. His shirt tail was pulled out, his tie hung loose around his neck, and I noticed a cut on his cheek. It glistened in the overhead hall light.

  I raised my hand to touch it, but he flinched. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He looked down at his feet.

  I pulled back. “I’m just going to leave Sophie in my bed tonight. If that’s all right with you?”

  “That’s fine.”

  I wanted so much to prod him a little more. Put some water on his cut. Ask him what was bothering him. What the real reason was that he was out so late, and whether there was anything I could do. Other than washing some socks and preparing macaroni and cheese. It was the maternal instinct in me that came from taking care of my dad for so many years. Instead, I went inside my room and shut the door. After checking on Sophie again, I went to take my shower.

  I had just turned the water off and grabbed for my towel when I heard shouting. I paused, looked left and right, and tried to discern the voices. Who could be yelling? Who was in the house? A door slammed before I could wonder anymore, and I pulled the towel around me and opened the bathroom door. Poor Sophie was sitting straight up, screaming and crying all at the same time. The screams I heard were certainly not hers, but perhaps what provoked this little girl into the fits of hysteria she was now in. I placed my finger on her lips, squeezed her tight, and told her to try to quiet down. I then walked to the door and cracked it open. The hall light was on and Sam’s door was pulled shut. I placed one leg into the hall area and called out. “Sam.”

  Sophie remained on the bed, hiccupping a little off and on, and wiping her sleepy eyes. Two of my books were on the floor by the bed—probably fell off when she was awakened by the noise.

  His door slowly creaked open. I saw him wiping his eyes between the gap. “Everything is fine. Is Sophie all right? Is she still in the room with you?”

  “Is someone here?”

  “No. Is Sophie okay?” he asked again.

  “Yes.” I turned around to look at her. She bit her lower lip and hugged the floral duvet cover. I walked over and kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry, precious. It is all okay now. Try to go back to sleep.”

  She curled up on her side and tucked her hand under her chin. The more I rubbed her back, the more enraged I became by Sam’s carelessness. It was difficult enough not having a mother to braid your hair, squirt you with perfume, or kiss your boo-boos, but Sam could do better at being a single dad. I never once thought my dad wasn’t going to show up for dinner, or have unexpected nightly screaming matches.

  I felt my heartrate begin to race and my brow push over my eyes, as I marched right out of the room in the direction of his. I wish I would’ve realized all I was wearing was wet hair and a damp towel. His eyes peered from the cracked opening.

  “May I come in?” I took a quick glance down the lit hallway. I wasn’t sure someone wasn’t going to show up. Although I was certain I heard the front door slam earlier.

  He pulled back the door gently.

  I propped my hand on my hip and began. “Not that I rank high on your list of important things, but Sophie should.” I pointed down the hall. “That little girl waited all night for you, and after finally getting to sleep, she’s rocked awake from shouting. What in the hell is going on here, Sam? Call me silly, but I thought living in a semi-mansion with a home security system meant feeling safe while you go take a shower. This is crazy.” I took a second to catch my breath. “Bordering on getting into your business, is everything on the up-and-up? Should I invest on sleeping with a weapon underneath my pillow at night?”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I can assure you this doesn’t happen all the time. In fact, this never has happened. There’s no need to feel you’re in danger. I’d never put Sophie or you in harm’s way. I apologize. Everything is fine now.”

  Danger? It’s actually a possibility? Or, actually he assured me I wasn’t in any. Funny, that didn’t make me feel like holding hands over a campfire and singing kumbaya with him. Images of bulletproof vests and deadbolts circled in my brain.

  He walked to the other side of the room and knelt down to pick up something. I moved to see better. It was a broken bottle of what looked like cologne. The long stem of the pump thingy was lying on the ground. And I noticed it smelled a little manlier than usual. A lot manlier. Spice, musk, and bouts of cinnamon seemed to clobber me all at once. I went to pull my shirt over my nose and noticed I was still wearing my bath towel.

  “Are you all right, Sam?” I pulled to secure my towel, and cowered a bit.

  He looked up, holding a few pieces of glass. “I’m fine. I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll take Sophie to daycare. You can go on to your classes.”

  “I can take her. It’s cool.” I stepped back, backing down off my high horse.

  “No, you’re right. I need to put her as a priority. I haven’t been, and I’m going to change that.”

  “Okay.” I twisted my mouth and took a step backward. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together to know there was a jilted woman lurking nearby—broken glass and a cut cheek. She must’ve been a doozy.

  “So there won’t be any bunnies in pots of boiling water tomorrow, will there? I shouldn’t fear running a bath, ever?” I smiled a little, hoping to lighten up the tension. It’s the same thing I did when I lived with Dad and he was having a bad day, mired down in memories of my mother.

  He stood, holding a handful of fragrant shards of glass. “Don’t worry about it. Like I said, it won’t happen again.”


  “Okay.” I felt for the doorknob behind me. “I mean, it can.” I stammered. “I hope for your sake it doesn’t happen again, but this is certainly your house. And your child. I’m merely a fill-in for…a house guest…someone who’s just going to get back to bed. I’m sorry.” I was so unsure what to say. Or who I was to him. To this situation. Nothing, really. Just a front-row stalker of one crazy night.

  “I’m going to just…” I pointed to the hall. “Get back to my room. I’m glad to see everything is okay.”

  He watched as I backstepped from the room. I disappeared down the hall and slept a very restless night.

  The day after the whole screaming and slamming door thing, Sam took and picked up Sophie from school. After he texted me to tell me he did, I called Rob to tell him I had the night available. He didn’t answer his phone and quickly responded by text that he didn’t feel he was ready for an exclusive relationship. Which translated to he was out with someone else and couldn’t pick up the phone to talk. I had a feeling he was enjoying a new main course. So much for thinking I wasn’t good enough. He proved me right and onward I went to the library to study and lick my wounds of another relationship tanked. Budding relationship, that is. I can honestly say I did nothing to drown it.

  I mean, I’ve been getting better as time goes on with my marriage madness. I didn’t mention what wedding colors I wanted, how many children I imagined having, or baby names I picked out when I was six years old and pretended to rock them to sleep in a fort my dad made me out in the back of the house. No, my living situation did the Rob/Sarah thing in. Real car seats, stuck at home watching a child, and not being able to give all my attention to him did it. Oh well, better to find out now he wasn’t into the paternal thing.

  Funny thing is, I couldn’t retain anything I was reading as I sat on the hard-backed wooden chair, staring out at all the other bowed heads, with little desk lamps on their tables. Perhaps because I couldn’t care less about case law. Try as I might to want to walk in the footsteps of Earl in To Kill a Mockingbird, or Ally McBeal in Ally McBeal, I soberly couldn’t see myself challenging hostile witnesses and screaming, “You can’t handle the truth!” All I wanted to know about law I could find out by binge-watching Law and Order, or reruns of The People’s Court. I was just going through the motions of showing up to class at this point. I tried jotting down reasons I was even attending in the first place, and the same thing happened like it did in the past—with “sounded like a good idea” mounting its way to the top of the list.