by Leigh Riker
“Briefly, yes.”
“I can imagine.” After Brig explained the call, Susan looked at the ceiling. “He’s a hard man. Not well at this point, as you know. My uncle never showed Sean much love, that’s for sure. Even when he was younger and still healthy. He didn’t like having us kids around, either. His house wouldn’t have been a good place for this baby, even if he had been willing to take her. Still, he passed along my number to you. That’s something.”
When Brig offered to let her hold the baby, Susan didn’t hesitate. It was as if she could touch Sean again. She gently scooped up Laila, and let her grasp her finger. When Susan looked up, tears glinted in her eyes. “I have two boys and a girl myself. My daughter would love to have a baby in the house....”
Molly’s stomach clenched. She sensed a but in there somewhere.
Susan shook her head. “I wish my husband could see her. He’s great with kids. He would have come with me today, but he lost his job last week and is scrambling to find another. With five mouths to feed, we’ll run through our savings in no time.” She paused again. “I’ve been working when the children are in school, but I’ll be asking—begging is more like it—for extra hours as soon as I get back.” She added, “I’m in HR, which is ironic now when I can’t fill this job for you.”
“I don’t want to place a burden on you, Susan—but you understand my position. If there’s any way you could—”
She glanced from Brig to Molly to Brig again. “I hope I haven’t misled you, or given you false hope, but I wanted so badly to meet Laila. I’m terribly sorry. As much as I’d like to—for Sean’s sake, as well—we can’t help you.”
Molly saw how pale Brig had become. He stared down at Laila, still in Susan’s arms, with a despairing darkness in his eyes. “What about your brother?”
Susan shook her head. “He’s not like Sean’s father, but my brother has made some poor choices in his life. He’s in a bad place right now. I could give you his number, but really, you wouldn’t be doing Laila any favors. Besides, I doubt he’d respond much better than my uncle, even though I know he loved Sean.”
“Are there other relatives? Someone else who would—”
Susan flinched. “No, my uncle, my brother and I are the last of our family.”
“I see.”
She frowned. “What other plans can you make for the baby, then?”
Brig let out a sigh. “I don’t know.”
When Susan kissed Laila softly on her hair, right beside her pink-striped bow, Molly spoke for the first time, her take on Susan’s suitability as a caregiver no longer needed.
“Would you like to visit a while longer, Susan? It’s still early. You could play with Laila—it’s her best time of day—and even stay for dinner. I’m making a meat loaf.” She forced a smile. “My dad considers it my specialty. You’re more than welcome to join us.”
After all, Susan was Laila’s second cousin, and Laila was obviously a welcome member of the Denton family, even if Susan couldn’t give her a foster home.
Susan handed Laila back to Brig. “I would love to. But with three kids...I’d better go. Otherwise I’d be even more tempted to ‘kidnap’ Laila. The traffic through Columbus won’t be any picnic. If I start now...”
“Come back anytime. You’re always welcome.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t seem to remember that Brig wouldn’t be here much longer, and he stayed silent and didn’t remind her. He was standing in the middle of the living room, holding Laila a little too close, as if afraid she might get away. The baby was smiling—a contrast that worsened the moment. Molly could guess at the lump in Brig’s throat. Which matched hers.
She’d been grabbing at straws by asking Susan to stay. Brig had had his answer. Molly could imagine him thinking, What am I going to do about Laila?
If she didn’t miss her guess, with a deadline looming, his clock was ticking with a vengeance.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ALMOST LATE FOR work, Molly poured fresh coffee into a travel mug—an odd item for her to have, considering she rarely went anywhere—and started for the back door. Fortunately, her morning commute—across the yard—was even shorter than Ann’s.
Just before she left, she glanced out the kitchen window and spied her father coming from Natalie Brewster’s house across the street. Scowling, Pop slapped a rolled-up newspaper against his thigh. A minute later he steamed into the kitchen.
The headline in the local paper he was holding referred to tonight’s vote at the zoning commission meeting. Accompanying the lead story was Natalie Brewster’s picture.
“Have you seen this?” Pop asked.
She tried not to panic. “No. I’m sure you hurried across the street as soon as you picked it up from the mailbox.”
“Well, someone had to set her straight. How can she say no tonight to your proposal? It’s not as if Little Darlings impinges on her property. She won’t have kids running through her yard, stomping on those pink peonies she’s so fond of. What’s the big deal about some new swings and a sliding board behind a good-looking fence?”
Molly’s heart sank. “She’s not the only person in this neighborhood who objects. Does the article say all that?” she asked.
If so, in a few hours her worst fears would come true. Little Darlings would not be permitted to expand the center.
He looked away. “No, but I thought I should let her know there’s no harm in saying yes.”
Her mouth fell open. “You tried to sway Natalie’s vote?” She waved the travel mug in the air. “Pop, you didn’t.”
“It was a friendly discussion,” he insisted. “She even offered me tea.”
“You don’t drink tea.”
“She made me coffee,” he said. “Only thing is that gave her time to form her argument—and kept me at her kitchen table twice as long as I meant to stay there.”
“Oh, Pop.”
“Did you think I’d just let that meeting happen tonight without speaking up for my daughter? After I saw this article?”
Molly gave up. She wouldn’t influence the vote if she could, though she had no doubt Natalie would speak her mind, perhaps swaying the others on the commission. And this morning, Molly had different things on her mind.
For one, she’d had another rash of absences at the center because the flu showed no sign of letting up. Then she had Brig to worry about. And Laila.
“I have to get to work. I’ll talk to you about this later.”
“Nothing more to say,” he told her with a guilty look.
At least she’d gotten her point across. “I never thought I’d hear myself say this—but, please, stay in the house today.”
Molly had her hand on the doorknob to leave, but she stopped again. Brig had come down the stairs with a far more solemn look on his face than Pop had right now. Molly had rarely seen Brig in the past several days. He’d spent most of his time trying to find child care for Laila after Susan Denton’s visit.
Now he was holding his still-open cell phone. “My orders,” he murmured. “The whole situation just exploded in my face. I’d hoped for more time, but I’m due on base in three days.”
Thomas made a sound of obvious distress.
“So soon? I mean, I know this Middle East thing has been going on—”
“Not there,” Brig said. “A different trouble spot, it turns out. Not that I couldn’t end up in two places before I get leave again.” He glanced at Molly. “And that’s all I can tell you about that.” He blew out a breath. “Sorry. I know it wasn’t the most tactful way to make the announcement.”
Molly dared to ask, “And Laila?”
Her father’s face threatened to crumple. He must be as sad to know Laila would soon be leaving their house as Molly was, but Brig squared his shoulders.
“
Right after we saw Susan, I called a local nanny agency. I’m meeting with them later today. Keep your fingers crossed.”
* * *
HER WORDS WITH Pop and then Brig’s unwelcome, if expected, news set the tone for the rest of her day. Molly had to try hard not to give in to a black mood.
At Little Darlings she had no sooner stepped inside than she heard a commotion in the hallway. She looked toward the rooms at the far end—and saw Benjamin Crandall locked by Ernie Barlow in a wrestling hold on the floor. Molly couldn’t make out their words, but the little fellows appeared angry enough to fight to the death.
“Boys!” She raced down the hall, intending to seize one of them by the arm and haul them apart. “Benjamin, stop!”
But before she could get there, Ernie was straddling Benjy. As Molly skidded to a stop, to her amazement, Jeff’s little boy pulled back his arm, fist cocked, and delivered a solid blow to Benjamin’s nose. Blood streamed down his face in an instant, then down his neck and onto his white polo shirt.
Ernie’s face was beet-red. His eyes flashed. Neither boy had uttered a syllable. Theirs had been a silent struggle until the dull sound of flesh meeting bone.
“There!” Ernie said. “Don’t ever hit me again.”
“Ernie.” Molly grabbed his arm before he could deliver another rounder. She dragged him off Benjamin just as Ann came out of the nursery.
“What’s going on?”
“The four-year-old version of WWE—world wrestling,” Molly said, “or, more accurately, cage fighting.”
Ann bent over Benjy, who had blood running through his fingers as he tried to cover his bleeding nose. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
“I think stealth was the plan,” she murmured. “Ernie, I’m very disappointed in you. You know the rule here—if there’s a problem with another child, you come to me or Miss Ann. I’ve told Benjamin the same thing. I’ll have to speak to your father.”
Ann was mopping Benjy’s nose with the clean rag she’d been carrying. Each morning she prepared items for the day’s crafts, among them play dough and crayons, and she’d probably been mixing tempura paint for today when she finally heard the scramble in the hall.
Ernie’s chin set. “My daddy told me to,” he said.
“Seriously?”
“He did, Molly.” Ann helped Benjy to his feet. The other boy was crying now, which pretty well guaranteed that Debbie Crandall would be giving Molly an earful. “The last time the kids tangled, the time Ernie had stitches, Jeff advised him to deck Benjy the next time.”
“Who started this?” Molly asked, her gaze darting between them.
“Benjy,” Ernie said, the spots of color on his cheeks turning darker.
“No! Miss Molly, it was him.” Benjamin pointed a finger.
“All right, Ernie. Come with me.”
He tried to hold back. “Am I in trouble?”
“Yes. Whatever you were told, I doubt your dad will be happy about this.”
“He will, too,” Ernie said, chin in the air.
Molly had never seen him like this, but she refused to get into an argument with a four-year-old. She took Ernie’s hand in hers and marched him down the hall to her office. “Ann,” she called back. “You’ll see to Benjy?”
“Under control,” she said.
Molly was stunned by what had happened. It was true, as she’d told Debbie Crandall, that some of the boys tended to fight, usually territorial arguments over toys, but to see Ernie become the aggressor shook her opinion of him. She’d been wrong to see him as a paragon of behavior.
“Sit in that chair,” she said, “the one in front of my desk. I’m going to phone your dad—and he’ll have to come get you. You’re ‘suspended’ for the day, Ernie. You’ll have plenty of time to think over what you did and why it’s not a good idea to let it happen again. Do you understand?”
Molly got no answer. Her back to him, she finished washing her hands at the sink in the half bath adjacent to her office. When she at last turned around and came out, she met with another surprise.
Ernie sat slumped in the cushy armchair across from her desk, his eyes red rimmed and bleary, his cheeks still red. For the first time since she’d met him, he failed to give Molly a smile. He knew he was in trouble, of course, but...
She touched a practiced hand to his forehead, which felt as hot as a bonfire. She wanted to blame that on his recent battle with Benjamin, but she knew better. Ernie was obviously the latest victim of the flu.
And her mood softened. “You’re not feeling well, are you?”
He shook his head, then winced. One of the first signs of the current flu strain was headache.
“Would you like a book to look at until your daddy gets here?”
Ernie nodded. “I would like a book. Please.”
By the time Molly retrieved his favorite story, Ernie was asleep in the chair. Molly covered him with a light blanket, then closed her office door and went down the hall to the nursery.
She beckoned to Ann, who had taken Benjamin back to his teacher. Molly could see him curled in a beanbag chair with an ice pack on his face.
“Could you sit with Ernie in my office? He’s going home sick this morning.”
Ann groaned. “Not him, too? You sure he’s not overheated from the boys’ fist fight?”
“Positive. How many cases have we seen? This year’s vaccine doesn’t appear to have any effect on this strain. I’d appreciate your help. Just be sure to sanitize your hands before you go in—and when you’re ready to go back to the nursery.”
“As if I didn’t know,” Ann murmured, but she didn’t refuse.
Molly couldn’t keep from teasing her sister a little. She needed a light moment.
“Say hi to Sheriff Barlow for me,” she said, noting a now-familiar look on Ann’s face as soon as she mentioned the name. Then Molly sailed down the hall to greet Debbie Crandall, who had just stepped into the center. Benjy’s teacher had phoned her, and Debbie worked nearby, so she was able to get there right away.
Molly could tell by the look on the woman’s face that their conversation wouldn’t be easy. This time she didn’t blame her. She steered Benjamin’s mother into a small anteroom by the front door and attempted to ease into the subject.
“I’m sorry for these cramped quarters, but my office is filling in for a nurse’s station we don’t have right now. The whole center has been fighting off this flu bug.”
Debbie frowned. “I hope Benjy doesn’t catch it,” she said, looking around the room, “but I’m more concerned right now about his nose. Where is he? I hope it isn’t broken. Where was his teacher when Ernie attacked him?”
“She was nearby, but it all happened so fast. I’m not sure who started it,” Molly said. “They each claim the other did, but that’s always the case.” She cleared her throat. “Debbie, I’m terribly sorry.”
Debbie’s face tightened. “But you think this was Benjamin’s fault? Again?”
“No, it appears he was this morning’s victim. I saw for myself. Ernie Barlow punched Benjy while holding him down.”
For a moment Debbie seemed both alarmed and satisfied. Then she said, “I need to see my son. Now.”
“Of course.”
Debbie followed Molly into the hall. “I’ll let you know if my husband and I decide Benjy would be happier—and safer—at Playtime rather than here.”
She swept down the hall and headed for the four-year-olds’ room. Gazing after her, Molly had a sense of utter failure. She fought an inner urge to throw a chair.
The way today was going, tonight should be interesting.
* * *
ERNIE WAS HER weak spot.
In Molly’s office, Ann smoothed a hand across his forehead. He was burning up. Considering her normal duties in the nurs
ery, she shouldn’t be here for fear of carrying the bug to one of the babies. She should go home as soon as Ernie left. Yet she hadn’t thought to say no when Molly had asked for her help.
All she could think of was giving Ernie whatever comfort she could. Never mind his fight with Benjamin Crandall—or the lecture he would deserve from his father. Right now her whole being seemed to hurt for him.
Well, no. That wasn’t all. She kept remembering the night he and Jeff had brought take-out food to her apartment and how nice it had been to talk with Jeff while Ernie watched a movie in the other room. How good it felt to have them in her home instead of spending another night by herself. What she should remember was the look of total horror on Jeff’s face after she’d told him about her accident.
Ernie opened his eyes halfway. “I’m sick, Miss Ann.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
“My body hurts.”
“That’s part of this nasty flu,” she said with a smile meant to reassure him. “You’ll feel better after you rest at home for a few days.” She noted the scraped knuckles on his hand and, with a wince, thought he’d probably feel those, too, along with all the aches from the flu. Maybe he would learn his lesson.
“Will you come to see me?” he asked groggily.
“Well, I’ll...” She didn’t know how to answer.
Jeff wouldn’t want her to visit, but before she could make some excuse, she heard the main door open, then familiar footsteps in the hall.
His face a mask of worry, Jeff breezed into Molly’s office, already holding Ernie’s parka from the coatroom. He barely glanced at Ann, who tried to blend into the furniture. If he did notice her, she would catch that look of revulsion on his face and hate herself all over again.
“Hey, chief.” The sound of Jeff’s voice roused Ernie. “Not feeling so hot?”
Ernie smothered a cough in the crook of his arm. “I want to go home.”
“That’s why I’m here.” He glanced over his shoulder, and his blue gaze homed in on Ann. “Thanks for watching him,” he said mildly.