by Irene Hannon
Unfortunately, things hadn’t worked out that way. If anything, Nicole resented him more than ever, and the gulf between them had widened. She had also become a master at evading questions and putting him on the defensive, he realized. But the ploy wasn’t going to work tonight.
“The issue isn’t whether or not I pay Mrs. Scott. The issue is politeness,” he said firmly.
She ignored his comment. “So why were you late?”
He wasn’t going to be sidetracked. He’d already been through half a dozen sitters. He was grateful that Mrs. Scott from church had taken pity on him and offered to watch Nicole until he found someone on a more permanent basis. But he hadn’t had any luck on that score yet. So he couldn’t afford to alienate his Good Samaritan.
“Did you thank Mrs. Scott?” he repeated more firmly.
Her jaw settled into a stubborn line, and she glared at him defiantly. “Yes.”
He knew she was lying. And she knew he knew it. She was calling his bluff. And he couldn’t back down. “That’s good. I think I’ll just go have a word with Mrs. Scott myself,” he said evenly as he reached for the door handle. He was halfway out of the car before she spoke.
“Okay, so I didn’t thank her,” Nicole said sullenly.
Adam paused, then settled back in the car. “There’s still time. She hasn’t gone in yet.”
Nicole gave him a venomous look, then rolled down her window. “Thanks,” she called unenthusiastically. The woman acknowledged the comment with a wave, then closed the door. Nicole rolled her window back up, folded her arms across her chest and stared straight ahead.
Adam stifled a sigh. Nicole’s response had hardly been gracious. But at least she had complied with his instruction. He supposed that was something.
“So why were you late again?” Nicole asked as they made the short drive to the house Adam had purchased the year before.
“A couple of last-minute emergencies came up.” Adam had done his best to maintain a more moderate workload than he had in St. Louis, but he still rarely got out of the office before five-thirty or six. “Do you want to stop and pick up dinner at the Bluebird? It’s meat loaf night.” The Bluebird Café’s offerings had become a staple of their diet, and meat loaf was one of Nicole’s favorites. Adam’s culinary skills were marginal at best, and while he could manage breakfast and lunch, dinner stretched his abilities to the limit. So they frequented the Bluebird or resorted to microwave dinners. Only rarely did he indulge Nicole’s preference for fast food.
“Whatever.”
He cast a sideways glance in her direction. She was sitting as far away from him as the seat belt would allow, hugging her books to her chest, her posture stiff and unyielding. As distant and unreachable as the stars that were beginning to appear in the night sky. Just like Elaine had been by the time their marriage fell apart four years ago. Now, as then, he felt isolated. And utterly alone. He didn’t blame Elaine for his feelings. Or Nicole. His loneliness was a consequence of his own failings. Of his inability to connect emotionally to the people he loved. That was the legacy his own father had left him.
Adam made a quick stop at the Bluebird, and a few minutes later pulled into the detached garage next to his two-story frame house, ending the silent ride home. Nicole got out of the car immediately, leaving him alone in the dark. The savory aroma of their meal filled the car, but even though he’d skipped lunch, he had no appetite. Because he knew what was ahead.
He and Nicole would eat mostly in silence. Any questions he asked would be met with one-word answers. Then she would disappear to her room on the pretense of doing homework. A few minutes later he’d hear the music from a CD. Though they shared a house, they’d each spend the evening alone, in solitary pursuits.
Adam desperately wished he knew how to connect with his daughter, who was as lonely as he was, according to the school counselor. Apparently she’d made virtually no friends in the year they’d been in Hope Creek. Standoffish and prickly were the words the counselor had used to describe his daughter. At the woman’s suggestion, they’d actually gone for a few sessions of joint counseling. But Nicole had been so unresponsive that it had seemed a waste of time.
He rested his forearms on the steering wheel and lowered his forehead to his hands, struggling to ward off the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. And, as always in these dark moments, he turned to God for comfort and assistance.
Dear Lord, I need your help, he prayed silently. I know I’m not doing a good job as a father. And I know Nicole is unhappy. But I don’t know how to get past the wall she’s built between us. She hates me, and she shuts me out every time I try to reach out to her. I know I failed with Elaine. I don’t want to fail with Nicole, too. Please give me strength to carry on and guidance on how to proceed. I can’t do this on my own. I’m so afraid that time is running out for us. I love my daughter, Lord. Please help me find a way to make her understand that before it’s too late.
Slowly Adam raised his head, then tiredly reached for their dinner. But when he stepped into the kitchen a few moments later, Nicole was already nuking a frozen dinner. She turned to him defiantly, daring him to comment.
Adam said nothing. He just set the food he no longer wanted on the table, put her meat loaf in the refrigerator and prepared for another silent, strained dinner.
It was going to be a very long night.
Clare added the column of figures again and frowned. Not good. Even with scrupulous budgeting, six months with no income would be rough. But she could make it. She had to. Because she needed Aunt Jo’s legacy.
Clare rose and set a kettle to boil on the stove in her tiny efficiency apartment. She could use the microwave, but she preferred boiling water the old-fashioned way. There was something about a whistling kettle that she found comforting. It brought back happy memories of growing up on the farm in Ohio with her parents and two sisters. Though they hadn’t been wealthy in a material sense, they’d been rich in love and faith. It was the kind of family she’d always hoped to create for herself.
And she’d succeeded. Up until two years ago. Then her own selfishness had destroyed both of those precious gifts—faith and family.
Clare swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. She wasn’t going to cry. She didn’t believe in such indulgences. She’d made a tragic mistake, and now she’d have to live with the results. Her family was gone. And her faith…it wasn’t gone, exactly. It was too deeply ingrained to just disappear. But it had languished to the point that she no longer found any comfort in it or felt any connection to God.
Of course, she still had A.J. and Morgan. She wasn’t sure what she would have done without their moral support these past two years. But while they were close emotionally, geographically they were scattered. Besides, her sisters had their own lives, their own challenges to deal with. Clare didn’t want to unduly burden them with her problems. Especially her financial ones.
She hadn’t communicated the sad state of her finances to Aunt Jo, either. Though she’d written to her great-aunt on a regular basis, she’d always tried to be upbeat. Aunt Jo knew that Clare and Dennis had always lived a good life, enjoying the best of everything. When Clare had moved from a lavish home to an apartment after the accident, she’d simply said she needed a change of scenery. And when she’d reentered the teaching world, she’d explained that she just needed to fill her time. So Aunt Jo had had no idea how precarious her situation was. Otherwise, Clare was sure her aunt would have made some income provision for the six months of the nanny stipulation in her will.
That reminded her—Dr. Wright still hadn’t returned her call from yesterday. Clare frowned and glanced again at the figures on the sheet in front of her. It was time for another call to the good doctor.
“Adam, I’ve got Clare Randall on the phone again. She says it’s urgent, and she’s willing to hold until you have a few minutes.”
Adam stopped writing on the chart in front of him and glanced distractedly at Janice. “Clare Randall?”
“She called yesterday. I left the message on your desk.”
Adam frowned. “That was the one marked personal, right?”
“Bingo.”
“Do you have any idea who she is?”
“Not a clue.”
Adam glanced at his watch. “Do I have a few minutes?”
“Mr. Sanders is in room one, but he’s telling Mary Beth about his fishing trip, so I expect he wouldn’t mind if you take a couple of minutes. I can’t speak for Mary Beth, though. Last time I went by, her eyes were starting to glaze over and she was trying to edge out the door,” Janice said with a grin.
Adam chuckled. “You could relieve her.”
“No way. Last time he cornered me I had to listen to a twenty-minute soliloquy about the newest hand-tied trout flies he’d discovered.”
Adam chuckled again. “Okay. We’ll let Mary Beth handle him this time. Go ahead and put the call through.”
Adam made a few more notes on the chart, then set it aside as the phone on his desk rang. “This is Adam Wright.”
“Dr. Wright, this is Clare Randall. I’m Jo Williams’s great-niece. I believe you and my aunt were friends?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I’m very sorry to tell you that my aunt passed away two weeks ago.”
Adam felt a shock wave pass through him. He and Jo had met at church when he’d first arrived in St. Louis to do his residency, and they’d been friends ever since. Even after his move to North Carolina, they’d kept in touch. In many ways, she had become a mother figure for him, and he had always been grateful for her support and sympathetic ear. He’d had no idea she was even ill. But then, that didn’t surprise him. Jo had never been one to burden others with her problems.
“Dr. Wright? Are you still there?”
He cleared his throat, but when he spoke there was a husky quality to his voice. “Yes. I’m just…shocked. I’m so sorry for your loss. Jo was a great lady.”
She could hear the emotion in his voice, and her tone softened in response. “Yes, she was.”
“What happened?”
She told him of the fast-acting cancer that had taken Jo’s life, and then offered her own condolences. It was obvious that Adam Wright had great affection for her aunt. “Did you know her well?”
“We met more than fifteen years ago, and she became a good friend. We attended the same church when I lived in St. Louis. She was a woman of deep faith. And great generosity.”
Clare took a deep breath. “As a matter of fact, her generosity is the reason I’m calling you today. As you may know, Aunt Jo didn’t have much family. Just me and my two sisters. And she was very generous to us in her will. However, there is a rather unusual stipulation attached to my bequest.”
When Clare hesitated, Adam frowned and glanced at his watch. He had no idea what this had to do with him, and he couldn’t keep Mr. Sanders waiting much longer. He pulled the man’s chart toward him and flipped it open, his attention already shifting to his next patient.
“So how can I be of assistance?” he asked.
“I understand that you have a daughter named Nicole?”
Adam’s frown deepened. “Yes. What is this all about, Ms. Randall?”
“In order to claim my bequest, my aunt required that I act as nanny to your daughter for six months, at no charge to you.”
There was a momentary pause. “Excuse me?”
Clare’s hand tightened on the phone. “I know this sounds crazy, Dr. Wright. Trust me, I was shocked, too.”
“But…why would Jo do such a thing?”
“I have no idea.”
Adam tried to sort through the information Jo’s great-niece had just given him. None of it made any sense—the stipulation, or this woman’s willingness to go to such lengths to claim what couldn’t be a large bequest. As far as he knew, Jo wasn’t a wealthy woman. With her generous heart, she’d given away far more than seemed prudent to him sometimes. But maybe she’d had more assets than he knew.
Adam glanced up to find Mary Beth standing in the doorway. She nodded her head toward room one, pointed at her watch and rolled her eyes. He got the message.
“Look, Ms. Randall, I’ve got to go. I have patients waiting. Give me your number and I’ll get back to you.”
Clare did as he asked, then suggested he call Seth Mitchell. “I’m not sure he can explain Aunt Jo’s reasoning any better than I can, but at least he can verify that my offer is legitimate,” she said.
“Thanks. I’ll do that. I’ll be back in touch shortly.”
When the line went dead, Clare slowly replaced the receiver. Dr. Wright hadn’t exactly been receptive to her offer, she reflected. But she couldn’t really blame him. She would have reacted the same way. After all, he was a doctor. He probably made more than enough money to hire any nanny he wanted. In fact, he might have one already. So why should he let a woman he didn’t know help raise his daughter, even if it was for only six months?
Logically speaking, there were all kinds of reasons why Adam Wright could—maybe even should—turn her down. So she needed to put together a strategy in case he declined to cooperate.
Because Clare needed Aunt Jo’s legacy.
And she didn’t intend to take no for an answer.
Adam looked across the kitchen table at Nicole. Tonight she was eating the meat loaf he’d brought home last night, while he ate a frozen dinner. As usual, they were out of sync. He speared a forkful of broccoli and searched for something to say, anything that might generate a little conversation.
“So…anything interesting happen at school today?”
She gave him the look he’d come to clearly recognize over the past year. It was a look that let him know how pathetic she thought his overtures were. And even after all these months, it hurt. But he made himself try again.
“Come on, Nicole. Tell me about your day.”
With a long-suffering sigh, she lowered her gaze and picked at her food. “There’s nothing to tell. It’s just a dumb, hick school. Everything and everybody there is boring.”
It was the same refrain he’d heard over and over again. So he changed subjects. “I had some bad news today.”
She looked over at him. “Yeah?”
“Do you remember Mrs. Williams, from St. Louis? She ran the bookshop and went to our church.”
“Yeah. She was nice.”
“I found out today that she passed away a couple of weeks ago.”
Nicole looked down at her meat loaf. “Why do people you care about always have to die?”
Adam knew she was thinking of Elaine and the tragic boating accident that had taken her mother’s life a little over a year ago. Nicole and Elaine had been close, and though Adam had thought Elaine was too liberal in her child-rearing practices—a frequent point of contention between them—he knew that his wife had deeply loved her daughter. And that Nicole was still grieving for her.
“It was just their time, Nicole,” he said gently. “God has His reasons.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think God is very nice. He lets bad things happen that just make people sad. I don’t know why people are always praying to Him. He never listens anyway.”
Adam frowned. Over the past couple of years, he’d been having a harder and harder time getting Nicole to go to church with him on Sunday. And it had become a weekly battle since they had moved to North Carolina. She and Elaine hadn’t gone to church regularly, and he knew that the lapse in church attendance had come at a critical stage in Nicole’s life, shaking her still-developing faith. It was another change he didn’t like in his daughter.
Nicole put her fork down. “May I be excused?”
Adam glanced at her plate. She’d barely touched her food. “Are you feeling all right?”
Nicole glared at him. “Can’t you stop being a doctor even for a minute? I feel fine. I’m just not hungry anymore. So may I be excused?”
Adam’s gut clenched. His question had been prompted out of fatherly co
ncern, not medical interest. But clearly Nicole hadn’t seen it that way. She saw him as a doctor, not a father. Which only served to underscore the problems in their relationship.
“Yes, you may be excused.”
Disheartened, he watched her walk away, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the slip of paper containing Seth Mitchell’s phone number. Last night he’d prayed for help with his daughter. Today Clare Randall had called with her offer. That wasn’t exactly the kind of help he’d had in mind, but then, God’s ways weren’t always our ways. Maybe Clare was the answer to his prayer. Since he wasn’t getting anywhere with Nicole on his own, and he was rapidly running out of possible babysitters in Hope Creek, he’d be a fool not to at least consider Clare’s offer.
He’d been too busy to call Seth Mitchell today. But he’d make that the first order of business tomorrow morning.
Adam slowly replaced the receiver and leaned back thoughtfully in his desk chair. Seth Mitchell had just confirmed Clare’s story, though he’d been unable to offer any further insight into Jo’s offer. Nor much additional information about Clare herself, except that she was a widow with teaching credentials. When Adam had seemed skeptical about Jo’s unusual stipulation, the attorney had assured him that it was completely aboveboard and verified that Clare Randall would expect no payment for her services.
Despite that reassurance, Adam had a hard time accepting the offer. Getting something for nothing was outside the realm of his experience. And it had been ever since he was twelve years old and asked his father for a new bicycle. To this day he vividly recalled his father’s gruff response.