“Don’t worry!”
“I hadn’t even looked at this tape yet when she paid me a visit. Not that I don’t take you seriously, but it was air let out of three tires—not exactly high crime. But I found her whole presentation a little...odd. She is real pretty, though. Oh, and about Sid? You don’t have to be so secretive. Everyone knows you like her. No one would be surprised you’re steadies.”
“Great,” he said. “She wanted us to go slow, not start up the gossip.”
“Then you ought not be on the same bar stool three nights a week unless you can manage to drink a little heavier.” Then he laughed, but it was more of a giggle.
Dakota made a face.
“Small town,” Stan said. “Just when you think you’ve got a secret...”
“So...where do we go from here?”
Stan folded his hands on top of his desk. “I’ll be collecting information. I don’t have much use for people who do things like that. I try to think of ways to request their departure from my beat. As for you? Go about your business and see what you can do to be less irresistible to the ladies. Hmm?”
“It’s not funny,” Dakota said.
“I’m not exactly laughing,” Stan said.
Dakota could admit to himself that he’d been lucky with the ladies over the years but he’d never been in a situation like Neely in the alley. “Will you give me a call if you find out something more?”
“I can do that,” Stan said. “Listen, I don’t consider myself a wise man. I have a little experience, that’s all. But I’m gonna tell you something. Don’t think I’m talking down to you or anything, but just in general—I’ve discovered men are stupid. In a situation like this, for example, you’re probably thinking you don’t have much to worry about up against a girl, and maybe you don’t. You’re definitely stronger. Probably smarter, too. But if you smell an ill wind, you’d be smart to pay attention. Men tend to think just because it’s a girl...”
“She creeped you out, too,” Dakota said.
“I’m just saying, I don’t take too much for granted. I know it don’t seem like it, Timberlake being a small and uncomplicated town, but we’ve had us a situation or two I could probably sell to a movie channel.”
Dakota smiled. “How long have you been doing this, Stan?” he asked.
“Too damn long. Twenty-five years now and retirement is not in sight. Got four kids and three dogs and a happy wife. At least she was happy last time I checked. If it ain’t broke...”
“I’d like to buy you a beer sometime, hear some tales. I’d like to hear that one about Maggie shooting some guys who kidnapped a girl. Cal can’t seem to even talk about it.”
Again Stan’s laugh was almost a giggle. “That sure riled him up, didn’t it? I’ll be the first to admit, took about ten years off my life. That woman’s so frickin’ headstrong! I ever get a blood clot in my brain, I want her in the operating room with me, but the rest of the time?” He shook his head. “It takes a big man, that’s all I’m saying.”
* * *
Starting right after their wedding, Sierra and Connie endured several long interviews. Some of the people listed as their references had been contacted, their home had been inspected and their dog had even been evaluated, and the process wasn’t nearly complete. But it was not for their certification to be foster parents. No, it was more intense and permanent than that.
The baby Connie had rescued from the car accident was named Samuel Ryan Jergens and his mother had called him Sammy. His maternal grandmother was his legal guardian but she was not up to the job given her chronic illness; she suffered from rheumatoid arthritis and a spinal injury that left her weak and in pain. She had more difficult days than easy ones, not to mention the fact that she was sixty and widowed. Sammy’s mother had not married and on his birth certificate the father was listed as unknown. Mrs. Jergens had no idea who Sammy’s father was, and according to her, there had not been a man in her daughter’s and grandson’s life. Rachel Jergens had planned to give up the baby but instead had moved home to her mother’s house in order to take care of them both. Rachel had been only twenty.
There were other family members, cousins, though they hadn’t seen each other in years. Rachel had no siblings. While Sam was in foster care with Rafe and Lisa, Mrs. Jergens had sought the counseling help from social services and they had come up with a solution—an open adoption. That way Sam might know his biological grandmother through visitation and some of the information about his family history would be passed on.
After a great deal of talking and soul-searching, Sierra and Connie decided this was the answer for them. They wanted to make that sweet little baby their son.
It was arranged privately through an attorney. The second Lisa Vadas heard of the plan, she told Sierra and Connie. There would be no shortage of couples waiting to adopt who would step up, but there was only one man who had actually pulled the little baby from a decimated car. Connie and Sierra would be allowed to foster Sammy until the adoption could be finalized. It would take six months to become his legal parents.
It was June. School was out for summer vacation and for weeks Sierra had paid almost daily visits to the Vadas household to be with little Sam. While Sierra and Connie were screened, the new family was bonding. Finally they were approved for foster care pending adoption and today was the day they could finally pick Sam up and take him home. They had asked Connie’s mom and brother to come to Timberlake for dinner and a surprise. They issued the same invitation to Sully, Cal, Maggie, Elizabeth and Dakota. They encouraged Dakota to bring Sid if he wished.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Connie said to Sierra. “Any answer is all right as long as it’s honest. The only thing is we can’t change our minds. No matter what bucket of trouble or difficulty we might face, we’re in this forever. There are lots of young couples waiting to be parents if you’re not ready, so be sure. Can we do this?”
Sierra smiled sweetly and touched her husband’s handsome face. “I’m absolutely sure,” she said. “I’m so in love with him.”
“Have we covered everything?” Connie asked.
“I think so,” she said. “If a father turns up, we can manage some visitation, provided he’s of good character. We’ll be honest with Sam about his roots. If he has medical issues, we’re in for the long haul. Same with any behavioral issues. And if he grows taller and stronger than you, you promise not to be jealous.”
“You were afraid to have your own child because of possible genetic schizophrenia. We have only his grandmother’s word on the family medical history and I think she’s a little wacko if you want the truth. What if Sam has mental illness in his family history?”
“I thought we covered that under medical issues,” she said. “We will be his champions. We will get him the best medical help if we need to. Remember, we have Maggie in our corner. Connie, please don’t make me beg. Sam should live with us. We love him. We have a bond with him.”
“Want to make another run through the inventory?” he asked.
“We’re ready,” Sierra said.
It had been some very busy weeks since their wedding. First, meetings with Mrs. Jergens and the attorney and the social worker. Then to Denver to trade in Sierra’s little orange VW, affectionately known as the Pumpkin. She was now the proud owner of a medium-size Honda SUV. It was not orange, but silver. And then there was furniture for the baby, though the crib was in their bedroom for now. Supplies from diapers and wipes to towels, blankets and bottles were neatly stored. The room that would be Sam’s was painted powder blue and yellow. But he would be with Sierra and Connie for a while until everyone was comfortable and sleeping through the night.
Sam had some clothes but Sierra still purchased more. She’d had a field day at Target.
“Okay, the lasagna is in the slow cooker, salad in the fridge, bread hidden from Molly in the cupboard, chocol
ate cake under the glass dome, also safe from Molly, plates and utensils ready for company.” Connie ticked off the items, making Sierra laugh.
“Please, can we go get him now?”
They had a brand-new, approved car seat. There were some things that a firefighter was very handy with—anything to do with safety for children was a particular specialty. They had a baby swing, a high chair, a changing table. There were new toys, a lullaby music box, a play box for the crib and a playpen.
Lisa had been packing up Sam’s things all morning—there was little enough to get ready. There were still some things at Mrs. Jergens’s house but much of it was secondhand, from thrift shops or hand-me-downs, and Rachel hadn’t been well stocked, the baby being so young. One thing for which everyone gave grateful thanks—she had not scrimped on the car seat. It had been high quality and saved his life.
When they walked into the Vadas home, the whole family was there. Sam was in the high chair being fed lunch—cereal, vegetables and strained fruit. It was not only all over his face but when he saw the spoon coming his mouth opened wide and he lunged toward it. When he saw Sierra and Connie, he grinned his most handsome toothless grin.
“Oh, my heart,” Sierra said in a breath.
“We’re all so relieved Sam isn’t going far,” Lisa said. “This time we won’t have a hard time letting him go.”
Sierra pulled a chair out from the table and sat beside Lisa. “We’re a little bit scared. What if something goes wrong and we can’t adopt him?”
“I understand completely,” Lisa said. “But there’s nothing to suggest that will happen. After just a few days, you’ll relax and enjoy him.”
“You’ll be exhausted and forget to worry,” Rafe yelled from the living room.
“As soon as he’s had his lunch, why don’t you give him his bottle. He’ll probably nap for a while and be fresh and happy for his party. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“We’re ready. Molly is home, guarding the slow cooker.”
“Do you think your family will be at all surprised?”
“Well, they don’t know we’ve been stocking up on baby things,” Sierra said. “But they do know we’ve been visiting Sam every day. I tried to be secretive but it just wasn’t in me. I talk about him all the time.”
“How have you kept them away from your house and the blossoming nursery?”
“That was easy. We checked in at the Crossing often, dropped in on Maggie and Cal regularly. Dakota has a girlfriend and Sedona has gone home. No one bothers us.”
“Oh, they’re going to be so surprised!” Lisa said. “And the diner?”
“We had long talks about it and I’m going to continue to work two days a week. I’ll work on Connie’s days off. It was his suggestion. He thinks if I give up the diner and all the people I’m used to seeing in town, I might get lonely and bored. I’m going along with this for now and we’ll see what happens. I think I’m a little too busy with Sully and the rest of the family to get lonely, but...” She shrugged.
“He has a point,” Lisa said. “Anything that gets you out of mommy mode on a regular basis helps keep you in balance, especially if you feel like you’re contributing. Everyone should feel they’re contributing—the guys, the kids, the moms. That’s my philosophy.”
“That’s her philosophy!” her oldest child said.
“Two days at the diner isn’t going to contribute much,” Sierra said with a laugh.
“Just be careful that you don’t find yourself feeling lonely and unappreciated because you’re trapped at home with the kids and the only thing you do is take care of other people and collect complaints from them.”
“Gotcha,” she said.
“It’s easy to ignore your own confidence and self-esteem when everyone seems to need something. All. The. Time.”
“We should probably have this conversation in a few months,” Sierra said. “Right now I just want to hold Sam and love him.”
Lisa wiped off his face and dropped a kiss onto his head. “He is the sweetest baby we’ve ever had.”
“I don’t have any trouble believing that. Would you like to join us for dinner?” Sierra asked.
“We’re going to have lots of dinners together,” Lisa said. “Today is for you and your family, a little time to get to know Sam. They’re going to be so happy. Lucky Elizabeth! A cousin!”
A few hours later, amid tears and laughter, little Sam was passed from person to person, cuddled and petted, tossed up in the air, bounced on knees, and he treated them all to the most handsome toothless grins. Sully had more turns with the baby than Sierra expected. As he held him and jiggled him, he said, “Yeah, I guess you’re a keeper. Best-lookin’ guy at the party.”
That best portion of a good man’s life,
his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.
—WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
11
SEDONA HAD NOT gone home at all, as she requested Dakota and Sierra be told. Instead, she had agreed to an inpatient mental health facility. That took some doing—at first she had resisted the very idea. Checking into a hospital, even if it was as plush as any resort, had not been part of her plan. Her plan had been to continue to cope by controlling her environment and keeping secret her greatest fear—that she would soon be as out of reality as her father had been since before she was born.
She had gone with Maggie to Denver, stayed with Maggie in her house and kept a few appointments with a psychiatrist by the name of Nan Tayama, a gentle woman of Burmese decent. “I’ve known Nan for years,” Maggie said. “She is the smartest woman in the world, I think. And probably the kindest. But if you don’t connect with her, I know others we can try.”
“How is it you know so many psychiatrists?” Sedona asked.
“We like the same part of the body. The brain. I like the physiology, they like the chemistry.”
“It’s going to take a lot more than chemistry,” Sedona said.
“You don’t know anything yet,” Maggie said. “First you have to be honest about what’s happening with you.”
Sedona tried her hardest. She gave Nan the benefit of the doubt. Nan was a tiny woman dressed in a suit that made Sedona wonder where she found professional-looking clothes made in such a small size. She assumed Nan was as smart and intuitive as Maggie said, and tried to open up. She explained that she’d started having manic episodes. Her heart would pound violently and she suffered from insomnia. Then the voices began. Usually it was her mother’s voice, telling her what to do. She’d already had two children, and believed she was out of the woods for schizophrenia since she was in her late twenties. She used the excuse of needing to be available for her kids and asked about working from home. Her employers accommodated her. Now, looking back, she wondered if they knew something was wrong with her and preferred to keep her out of the office. She was running analyses of psychological testing. It really wasn’t necessary that she be available for meetings or presentations as long as she supplied regular reports. And she did—long, meticulous reports. Being alone was better for her; she muttered to herself constantly, unless Bob or the kids were around, then by sheer dint of will she shut her mouth.
She went to see a psychiatrist with a good reputation and he immediately prescribed therapy and medication, but when she couldn’t wake up for the children, she stopped taking it and never went back. She was smart enough to know that meds without therapy or therapy without meds just wouldn’t do it. So, to cover what she knew was wrong, she made herself a rigid schedule that would disguise the fact that she didn’t want to leave the house, didn’t want to be with people. She went to the grocery store on Mondays, ran other errands on Thursdays, saw her parents twice a year. If her schedule went awry for any reason it was torture, but no one knew because it was apparent she used her time very well. Her house was perfect, her cooking delicious, her childre
n excelled in school. Of course Bob wanted a social life, but she declined so often he all but gave up. She’d toss in a labored acceptance sometimes, just to keep the peace. He might be having an affair; she didn’t know. Didn’t really care. Not as long as her life was routine and no one knew her secret.
But it got worse, which of course was her worst fear. She experienced memory loss and confusion. She began to see things—animals in the refrigerator, the walls were crying, there was someone hiding in the closet in her bedroom and she was terrified to look. She couldn’t lie still in the dark; it made her bones itch. So she went to the basement—to read, she told Bob. But really she paced and muttered and tried to will it away.
She admitted to Dr. Tayama that she’d thought about suicide.
After her assessment, Sedona spent ten days in the inpatient facility, talking to the psychiatrist every day, taking medicine, enduring group sessions that for her were impossibly terrible. One thing she did grudgingly admit: the drugs were not as bad as the ones she’d been prescribed several years ago and probably a thousand times better than the ones her father had tried. She was resting better, though she’d wake up confused about where she was until she got her bearings.
She walked into Dr. Tayama’s office for her regular appointment.
“I’m so happy to see you, Sedona. You look well. Are you having a good day?”
“I think I would like it better if I could have a normal day,” she said.
“Then I have good news,” Dr. Tayama said. “You are normal. Not average, perhaps, but normal. Your version of normal.”
“It would feel good to be everyone else’s version,” Sedona said.
“Ah, that would be a problem. It doesn’t exist. I know it’s hard to be objective when you’re so far out of your comfort zone, but do you think the meds you’ve been taking are helping? Are you getting some sleep? Are the voices and images relaxing?”