September Love Read online

  “Yes, of course I will. Better than that, I’ll make them. I can listen for Daryl Taylor’s call upstairs as well as down here.”

  The attorney didn’t call back until late afternoon, as the evening’s guests were checking in. He had been in court. Beth was busy greeting people, giving them their little Seattle maps, and Doug was carrying suitcases upstairs. He cast her a desperate glance and took the call on their bedroom extension for privacy. She had to wait until the flurry of arrivals was over to find out what Daryl Taylor had said. He had called back again about twenty minutes after his first call.

  When the new arrivals had gone for the evening, Beth and Doug both collapsed into big living room chairs.

  “Well, it’s the usual, good news and bad news,” Doug said, sounding defeated. “Daryl Taylor is sharp. He got right onto it, I’ll say that. That’s the good part. He called someone somewhere and found out Kayla’s arraignment isn’t until tomorrow morning. That’s the bad news. Sometime between ten and noon—that’s the closest they can tell him.”

  “You mean Kayla has to stay in jail overnight?” Beth asked, shocked.

  “Yep.” He was trying to sound matter-of-fact, but she sensed his hurt.

  “Oh, Doug, I’m so sorry.” She reached out to him and took his hand. How difficult this would be for Kayla! Please, God, let Kayla at least learn something from this.

  “Then,” he continued, “I’m going down in the morning to go to court with him. He’s got a bail bondsman on tap, so it’s going to cost us. I’m assuming they take plastic. I forgot to ask. If they don’t, I’ll go early and hit one of the bank machines for some cash. I guess you’ll have to cope with most of breakfast and the guests leaving by yourself.”

  “That’s all right. Don’t worry about me.” But even as she said it, she dreaded coping with it, plus Adam, who would be hovering in the background with his daily selection of books. It was frightening to realize that she and Doug were his only anchors, his only security. Poor little boy. She pushed the idea aside. She’d better start thinking about getting some dinner, but the idea appalled her. She was just too tired.

  “What do you say we call out for a pizza?” Doug asked, and she knew, with a surge of love for him, that he had divined her thought.

  “Great idea,” she said, holding back tears. “Adam liked it the last time.” She didn’t need to add that poor Adam had learned to like whatever was given to him. Was he still hiding bits of food? She hadn’t had time to really search for a while.

  Oh, Kayla, what have you done? But it was no good blaming Kayla. Kayla seemed to be one of life’s maimed, one of life’s misfits, destined to flounder away her time in bleak confusion. Oh, God, please help Kayla.

  She stood up suddenly, saying, “I’ll call the pizza place,” and hurried to the hall phone. She mustn’t let herself slide into depression. She had done that after Ralph’s death, when she had felt so guilty. With a kind of desperate intensity, she picked up the phone and started frantically pressing the buttons.

  When the pizza and salad came, she made a pretense of enjoying it, but she knew she was forcing herself, minute by minute, to get through the evening. All she wanted to do was escape into blessed sleep. But it all had to be done. There was the dishwasher to load and later unload. The breakfast table to set. The melon balls and fruit juice jugs to be prepared. The muffins to set out in the warmers. Adam must be bathed and put to bed with his bedtime story. Everything…everything…everything…

  And over and under, through it all, was the knowledge that Doug was feeling increasingly guilty as he worked beside her, trying to do more and more. What had happened to their wonderful September love? It seemed to have disappeared like daylight into darkness at the end of the day. She forced herself to hide her worry, her tiredness, her increasing feeling of hopelessness. What are we doing to do?

  Upstairs, when the endless day was over, they both fell into bed without enough energy left over to even talk.

  And morning seemed to come almost immediately. Where had the night of rest gone? They spoke little as they showered and dressed to face the day that neither wanted to face.

  Doug had to leave during breakfast, and she determinedly kept her perfect hostess smile as he did, though her heart ached for the humiliation he would face bailing his daughter out of jail.

  She tried to concentrate on the positives surrounding her. The guests were happy, well fed, enjoying themselves. Adam—this wonderful little person—was gaining weight, and depending on things he found valuable for the first time in his short life. He had his gold stars. He had his library card. He had shelter, food, clothing…and love. She tried to hold on to these things. They would—somehow—pay the delinquent child support. They would pay for the roof…

  Trust and believe.

  She was thinking this as the door chimes rang out, and she excused herself graciously from the last guest to open the door to a thirtyish woman with a briefcase plus a clipboard and a rather harried smile.

  “Hi. I’m Gretchen Holloway, from CPS—Child Protective Services. I’m looking for Mr. or Mrs. Colby?”

  “I’m Mrs. Colby,” Beth said smoothly, her heart plummeting. “Will you just step into the living room? I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  “Sure. I can see you’re busy,” the woman said pleasantly. “Take your time. I’ve got some stuff to fill out.” And she obligingly went over to the corner and sat down out of view of the hallway as the last guest left for the day.

  Beth silently thanked God that Adam was already in his bed-sitter, sorting through his books on the window seat. Adam, please don’t make a scene. Not in front of the social worker.

  Beth tried not to hurry the last guest out for her day of exploring the sights of Seattle. Then she went into the bed-sitter. How could she explain to this uncertain, unpredictable child? She sat down on the window seat beside him.

  “Adam?” she said gently. “Put that down for a minute and listen.”

  “Wut?” He put aside a book and looked up at her, a question in his eyes.

  “A nice lady, a very nice lady, has come to see us. And I want—now listen very carefully—I want you to like her. I want you to be very nice to her. Do you understand?”

  “Yep. Okay.” His wide blue eyes now held complete trust.

  “You’re not going to cry or yell at her? You’re going to be very, very nice to her, right?”

  He was nodding seriously. “Okay. Right.” Then a slight frown came. “She a good lady?”

  “She’s a very good lady. She just wants to ask us some questions. So everything is…okay. You understand that?”

  “Sure. Okay.” But the little face had become very serious.

  “Adam,” she added as an afterthought, “it will make me very happy if you are nice to this lady.”

  “Okay,” he said, very decisively now, and Beth breathed a little sigh of relief.

  This, after all, was the same little person who had given her the broken half of his dusty cookie when she had said she was hungry. She reached over and hugged him.

  “You wait here, Adam,” she said, getting up. She glanced at her watch. It was ten forty-five. What is Doug doing now? Where are they? How is Kayla coping? She kissed her fingers to Adam and left the bed-sitter.

  She found Gretchen Holloway bent over her clipboard, writing busily, in one of the deep chairs in the living room.

  “I’m sorry to be so long,” Beth said.

  “No problem,” the social worker said, putting down her clipboard. “I’m always behind on the never-ending paperwork. And I can see I caught you at a bad time.”

  “No worse than any other time,” Beth said, then wondered if that was the right thing to say. She sat down opposite the other woman. “My husband isn’t here just now,” she added.

  “No, I suppose not. Now, let me see. I have to start filling out one of the never-ending forms, so I guess we can just get going. These are routine questions—have to ask them.” She glanced up with her ple
asant smile. “I’ll need to see the little boy—Adam, his name is?—before I go. According to the police report, his main caretaker, his mother, is absent?”

  Yes, Beth thought, you might say “absent,” since she’s in jail.

  The social worker was now shuffling through her large briefcase. When she found what she was looking for, she forced the paper up among other papers under the crowded clip on the board. “Who is Adam’s caretaker here? And—” she glanced up and around “—what is ‘here,’ by the way. Is this a boarding house or something? It looks a little grand for that.”

  “It was my home. It’s now a bed-and-breakfast. Today’s guests have left,” Beth said.

  “I see. Well, I’m not quite sure where we are in that situation,” she said. “But I can find out.” She smiled reassuringly again. “My job is to get the best arrangement available for this child, this Adam—” she had glanced down at the paper again “—Endicott.”

  He’s not a name on a paper, Beth thought desperately. He’s a person. He’s mixed up. He doesn’t understand. He’s—

  “Because Adam is at a vulnerable age,” the social worker went on.

  Yes, Adam is vulnerable. What we do here today for Adam is vital.

  The social worker glanced up, smiling again. “And right now, you’re feeling pretty confused and protective, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Beth said, knowing her tone revealed it more than her answer.

  “Well, take it easy. I’m on Adam’s side, too. Just tell me what Adam’s situation is.”

  And Beth found herself pouring out the story, about Kayla’s sudden arrival, about Kayla’s problem, about Doug and her trying to understand and help, not really knowing how. About Adam hiding food—should she really have said that?—and about his gold stars and his library card, and about his loving to sit on the window seat, staring out whenever it rained… “I guess I’m doing this all wrong,” she ended.

  “Not at all,” the other woman said. “You’re doing things as right as you can do them. Don’t be discouraged. You’d be amazed how many people are coping with just this kind of sad situation. And you’ve given me a good picture of how things are here, with Adam—” she glanced down at her clipboard “—Endicott.”

  Despite the woman’s obvious kindness and understanding, Beth felt a slight chill. The little person who was Adam Endicott was in the system now. This Gretchen Holloway, or some other person, would be checking up on Adam Endicott to see how he fared, how he progressed. It was as if they were somehow taking Adam away from people who were his own. She tried to push the thought aside.

  “I know it’s scary,” the other woman said. “Do you think I could talk with Adam a bit?” She was making motions to get up, putting aside her clipboard.

  “He’s in the bed-sitter—the little room we call the bed-sitter because it has a make-down bed in it,” Beth explained haltingly.

  “And where is that?” Miss Holloway asked.

  “I’ll show you,” Beth said, getting up.

  “If you’ll just get us settled, see that Adam is at ease, then excuse yourself for a few minutes, I can take it from there,” Miss Holloway was saying as they left the living room. “Would you and Adam be comfortable with that, do you think?”

  Beth swallowed hard. “I’m not sure what Adam would be comfortable with,” she said carefully. And I am not at all comfortable with that. “Why don’t we see how it plays out?” she evaded.

  “Fine. Whatever. Every child is different,” Miss Holloway said reassuringly.

  Adam was still on his window seat, surrounded by his big storybooks. He glanced up warily as they entered.

  “Adam,” Beth said, making her voice steady with an effort. He looked so little and uneasy. “This is the lady I talked to you about. She’s come to see us. Her name is Miss Holloway.”

  “Hello, Adam,” Miss Holloway said, pausing just inside the door. “Okay if we come in?”

  “Sure. S’okay,” Adam said, staring at her.

  “Thanks.” Miss Holloway went inside, “Okay if I sit down?”

  “Sure.” But as he said it he glanced over at Beth, and she nodded encouragingly, though she saw his small body stiffen.

  “I see you have a lot of books. Do you like books?” Miss Holloway asked in an interested manner. When it seemed as if Adam wasn’t going to answer that at all, Beth couldn’t resist speaking to fill the pause.

  “Adam loves his books. He has some of his own, and we get some every week from the library.” She knew she shouldn’t have interrupted. Miss Holloway shook her head just slightly, and Beth felt annoyed. If the child surrounds himself with books, he obviously likes books. No wonder Adam won’t bother to answer. Adam isn’t exactly a chatterbox, but he isn’t stupid, either. Adam Endicott has found his first escape from the ugly realities of his life.

  “Would you show me some of your books?” Miss Holloway persisted, undaunted.

  Adam gave a gusty sigh and slid down from the window seat, carrying one of his books. At that moment the blasted door chimes rang out.

  “Adam, I’ve got to answer the door,” Beth said, feeling desperate.

  With Adam’s resigned “Okay” to reassure her, she went into the hall and opened the big door. She would make short work of this, whoever it was.

  It was Pastor Cooper. His first words were “Did I come at a bad time? I just wanted to stop in before I start on my daily round.”

  “Yes. No. I mean, oh, you have no idea—” Beth said, with a welling up of gratitude so intense she couldn’t complete her thought.

  “Beth, you’re upset. What do you want me to do? Tell me. Right now, this minute. I’ll do it.”

  Sanity. Blessed sanity. “Just go into the living room and wait for me,” she said steadily, as if she might be commenting on the weather. “You see, Doug isn’t here. Kayla was arrested and taken to jail, and Adam is talking to the social worker, and we need to convince her that Doug and I are good caretakers for Adam, so you see…” For some reason she couldn’t say another word.

  “I do see,” he said quickly. “I’m not here unless the social worker wants to meet the family preacher. Then I’m here. Gimme a call if you need me.” And he disappeared into the living room.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Just as Pastor Cooper left the hall, the phone rang and Beth picked it up distractedly. It was someone wanting to book a room. Beth went into her courteous refusal, attempting to end the conversation when she really wanted to scream “Go ’way!” as Adam might. The caller persisted, and Beth recommended a couple of other places he might call. Then she had a legitimate excuse for ending the call.

  “I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful, but I have another call waiting.”

  What is Adam saying to the social worker? Is he saying anything at all? Does the social worker think he should be someplace else? The low murmur of voices came from the bed-sitter.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s me.” Doug’s beloved voice came to her. “You sound stressed. What’s up?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle. What’s up with Kayla? Where are you?”

  “Just outside the courtroom. I came out to make this call. This is going to take a while. Kayla wasn’t with the first group they brought in. Daryl Taylor’s a nice guy, very helpful. He knows a lot of people in the justice system. He’s making some calls. I may not be back for lunch. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Fine. Don’t worry. Just do the best you can for Kayla. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. See you later—as soon as I can.” He rang off, but he had sounded worried, harried.

  Beth hung up the phone, listening to the sudden silence from the bed-sitter.

  Bracing herself, she went in. Miss Holloway and Adam were seated side by side on the window seat. Miss Holloway had just finished reading a line from one of Adam’s big, flat books. She closed it with a smile and handed it to Adam.

  “I see Adam likes being read to,” she commented unnecessarily to B
eth, with a quick glance at her watch. “I’m going to have to be going. I’ve got a caseload you wouldn’t believe.” She got up, turning back to Adam. “Thanks for the story, Adam.”

  “Okay,” Adam said, and put the book aside. Then, turning around, he got on his knees, pushed aside the curtain and looked out front. It had become his custom, when he knew someone was leaving, to watch them go as if he might be thinking “Good riddance.” Beth and Doug had laughed about it.

  Beth braced herself as she took the social worker out into the front hallway. “Adam’s all right for now, isn’t he?” She couldn’t help asking.

  “I think so,” the social worker said. “But I’m not sure about this bed-and-breakfast situation. True, the child is with relatives. That part’s fine. A lot of grandparents are taking care of their children’s children these days. But with strangers coming and going—that I need to check out with my supervisor. I’ll have to let you know about that. I’ll be in touch.”

  Beth shut the door behind her and went back into the bed-sitter. Adam was safe, at least for today. Back in the bed-sitter, she paused at the doorway to watch him watching. He was always a little tense and wary, it seemed. Well, why shouldn’t he be?

  “Has the lady gone?” she asked Adam’s stiff back.

  “Yep. In her car. Now.” That was rather detailed for Adam, and Beth went to stand behind him. Adam, you dear little person. He was talking better these days; at least he was saying more. Now he turned around and gave her his sunniest smile.

  “Lady read a story,” he offered.

  “Why did she do that?” Beth asked, sitting down beside him.

  “I told her she could.”

  “Why?”

  “Is my book,” Adam said decisively, as if that explained everything. Beth had to stifle a sudden impulse to laugh. He was such a sweet kid.

  “Where’d you go?” he asked, almost accusingly.

  “I was answering the phone, remember?” Beth said. “Did anything else happen? What did the lady say to you?” Adam, remember—and please talk—I need to know.