Terri grinned. “Enjoy the ride, Rocket Girl.”
In the car, while the driver fought with snarled traffic, Sloan thought about Terri’s words. Kind words Sloan didn’t deserve, because of course, Terri didn’t know the real Sloan. She was Sloan Gabriel now, but as Sloan Quentin she’d made mistakes, and the guilt lingered, gnawing at her heart. She sighed, stared out the window at people on crowded sidewalks, and cars creeping along. She’d once believed she could get lost in LA, but now realized there was no place to hide from herself.
Gloria’s Thanksgiving turkey with trimmings contained more food than Sloan had ever seen on a single dining room table. The table might not have looked elegant, with its mismatched crockery and plastic-coated tablecloth, but it felt as homey as a greeting card.
The only blemish at the table was the chair where Lindsey would have sat…empty now, as if waiting for the mistress of the manor. Gloria refused to sit there—out of respect, Sloan figured, but the vacancy made the dining room feel as if the space were lacking a balance that might never be regained.
“Think there’s enough to eat? I mean, really, Gloria?”
Gloria shook her napkin across her lap and giggled. “You’re just jokin’ with me, aren’t you?”
“There is a lot of food,” Sloan said, “and only three of us.”
“I want mashed taters,” Toby announced, grabbing a roll.
Sloan passed the heaping bowl swimming in melted butter. She took a few slices of turkey from the wooden plank. “Sorry Cole can’t be with us.”
Gloria scooped sweet potatoes onto her plate. “Man never makes it for Thanksgiving. Too many people on the road, too many accidents. He says every EMS team in the state gets called in to work. But don’t you worry, I’ll make him up a big plate of food for when he gets off.”
Sloan’s deep disappointment over learning that Cole wouldn’t be dining with them had surprised her, and because she had to leave early for a scheduled performance at a charity gala in Los Angeles on Sunday, she wouldn’t see him at all this trip. She took solace in knowing she would return before Christmas for a longer visit. “I don’t think two plates for Cole will make much of a dent in all this food.”
“Oh, none of it will go to waste. I’ll keep some leftovers for me and Toby and take the rest to the community center for the homeless and poor. That’s why I cooked so much for today, ’cause there’re lots of hungry folks out there, even in our little town.”
Gloria’s words brought back Sloan’s memories of eating at that same center, because as LaDonna had told her, “It’s free, girl. No need to buy and cook food in this crappy trailer if they’re giving food away!” Sloan shook off the past. “That’s nice of you, Gloria. It’s a kind thing to do.”
Later, after they’d cleaned up and packaged the leftovers for transport and Gloria had left with the food, Sloan played video games with Toby, but she quickly realized Toby wasn’t his usual peppy self. He was lethargic, spoke to her only if she asked him questions. After a while she put down her game controller. “What’s wrong? I know something is, so please tell me.”
“I want Mama.”
Sloan’s heart went out to him. She fumbled around for soothing words, feeling awkward and ill-equipped to say the right things, wise maternal things. “I know you miss her. So do I.”
Toby picked at a loose thread on the sofa cushion. “You’re my aunt, aren’t you?”
She turned guarded. “Isn’t that what you’ve told your friends?”
He nodded. “So I been thinkin’…can I come live with you?”
Jolted by his request, Sloan didn’t know what to say. She inched closer to him on the sofa, lifted his chin to study his small face. “What about Gloria? Wouldn’t she miss you?”
“I like Gloria,” Toby said with enthusiasm. “She’s nice and talks to me about Mama.” He paused, cut his eyes to the side. “But I don’t like that man.”
Sloan’s heartbeat quickened. “You mean Bo? That man?” She refused to call him “your father.” The boy nodded, his expression forlorn. “Why don’t you like him?”
“He’s mean.” His words were so soft that she hardly heard them.
“How is he mean?”
Toby looked up with a scowl on his face. “He calls my mama mean names, nasty names with bad words. And me too. Says I’m a ‘Mama’s boy’ and he’d like to show me how a real man acts.”
Sloan forced herself not to show the fierce anger she felt. Calmly she asked, “Has he ever hurt you? Has he hit you?”
Toby shook his head. “No. The lady is always with us, but she sits at a different table or on a bench if we go to the park.”
He was referring to the social worker who picked him up and brought him to the meetings with Bo. “So the lady never hears him say mean things to you?”
Toby shook his head. “He whispers them into my ears and smiles if she looks at us.”
As if they were having a fine father-son moment. Gloria had called Bo a snake, but Sloan decided that was an insult to the reptile.
“Why do I have to visit with him? Why do they make me? I don’t want him for my daddy. My friends have nice daddies, but he’s not nice! I don’t like him.”
Sloan suppressed inner fury. Bo was smart. He knew better than to leave bruises, but words could hurt as bad as thrown stones. Growing up, she’d heard enough belittling remarks from LaDonna to know that bruises on the outside left marks but usually healed. Bruises on the inside couldn’t be seen, only absorbed.
Toby turned pleading eyes to Sloan. “If I lived with you, I wouldn’t have to see him…so can we go to California?”
The pleading expression on Toby’s face knifed through her, and yet she had to be truthful. “I can’t take you with me, Toby. And you have to visit with Bo for the time being.” He looked crestfallen. “Right now we have to follow the law.”
“I hate the law.”
The law was Toby’s only protection right now, but he was too young to understand that. “What you can do is always hang close to the lady who brings you. Make it hard for Bo to whisper into your ear. And I will figure out a way to change things. It will take a little bit of time, so be patient.”
Toby twisted away, stood, and stomped off to his bedroom. She watched him retreat, defiant and angry, reminding her of herself—a girl who had refused to be broken by an uncaring alcoholic mother and the hatefulness of small-town gossips. A survivor.
Toby slept. The TV was off, and a single lamp burned in the quiet house. Sloan paced the living room, as restless as a lioness in a too-small cage. She could call Marie when she returned to LA, but truthfully, how could Bo’s rights be revoked over whispered hatefulness—a child’s word against an adult’s, and the biological father to boot.
A rap on the front door surprised her, and fear followed, for she would put nothing past Bo Ridley, even showing up drunk on Thanksgiving. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Cole.”
She flew to the door, unlocked and opened it. He looked totally exhausted but managed a dimpled smile. She gave him a heartfelt smile in return. He said, “I had a few minutes and kept thinking about that plate of Thanksgiving turkey.” Who was he kidding? What he’d wanted was to see Sloan, had stolen a half hour to run by Lindsey’s. Sloan started to hug him, but he stopped her. “I haven’t had a chance to clean up, and can’t stay long.”
For the first time she saw the blood flecking his uniform shirt. “Bad day?”
“Drunk driver hit a van of five people. It was a mess. Where’s Gloria?”
“She took food to the community center, but texted that they were shorthanded, so she’s helping to serve. Toby’s in bed.”
He raked his hands through his hair. “And you?”
“Just waiting for Gloria.” She told him about having to leave sooner than she’d expected. The news was a letdown. She grabbed his hand. “Well, you can’t leave without eating some of the leftovers. I can’t cook, but I do know how to run a microwave.”
 
; Once in the kitchen, he leaned over the sink, washed up, splashed cold water onto his face and dried off with paper towels. He unbuttoned his blood-flecked uniform shirt, draped it on a chair. Beneath he wore a white T-shirt, stained with perspiration from his battle to save a motorist’s life. She didn’t seem to notice, only dragged out a plastic-wrapped plate and set it into the microwave oven.
While it warmed, she grabbed him a cold soda and sat with him. Cole popped the top, sucked the fizz, winked. “Best part.”
“How long you on duty?”
“Another twelve. A ton of shoppers out getting the jump on Black Friday.”
The microwave dinged, and she set the plate in front of him, watched him attack the food. Gloria was no gourmet cook, but the meal had been delicious, and sitting at the kitchen table with Cole somehow felt right. She wanted to tell him about Toby and Bo, but held back, fearful of how Cole would react. What if he waylaid Bo and did the man physical harm? Bo could bring charges, and Cole would be in trouble. Sloan decided to hold her tongue.
Cole’s beeper buzzed, and he glanced down, shook his head, and stood. “Gotta run.”
“Another accident?”
“Domestic violence call. Sometimes holidays bring out the worst in families.” He put on his uniform shirt, and she followed him to the front door.
“I’m coming back for Christmas, and I will stay a whole lot longer.”
His gaze flew to her face, saw the promise in her eyes, and he grinned. “I’ll look forward to that.”
She watched him dash to his truck and drive up the long driveway. She closed the door, leaned against it. Seeing Cole, even briefly, had buoyed her spirits but hadn’t fixed her problem. She’d made a promise to Toby, one she planned to keep. She had to think of a way to get Bo Ridley out of Toby’s and Gloria’s lives, not just once but for all time. She owed it to them. And to Lindsey.
Lani jogged across the employees-only parking lot toward the employee entrance of the hospital, her heart in her throat with every step. Sara Beth was critical, maybe dying, and Pam had called Lani, sobbing, “Jimmy’s not gonna make it. Weather’s got him pinned in.”
Lani had been in testing all day, had fought her way home in heavy traffic, and when the call had come, Pam’s little girl had quickly become Lani’s priority. She’d thrown on scrubs, grabbed her ID, and hurried back to the hospital. LED bulbs in light poles turned the lot and its cars a shade of icy blue-white. December’s cold bit through Lani’s coat, reminding her of another winter night when she’d run through a hospital’s parking lot, not toward but away from the building, hammered by grief and guilt.
She’d taken a few minutes to let Dawson know she’d be returning to work, because they’d scheduled time for a long lovers’ chat that evening.
I promised Pam I’d stay until Jimmy gets here, and I will.
Lani swiped her ID, knowing her supervisors wouldn’t approve of the way she’d become entangled with Pam and Sara Beth. She didn’t care. She would be returning home to Windemere’s children’s cancer unit in another week, her fellowship program completed. Tonight she was needed by the mother of a dying child.
The halls were quiet on the ICU floor, and the night-shift nurses were busy with charts at their central station draped with a chain of festive tinsel for the Christmas season. A small artificial tree sat atop the counter, adorned with shiny ornaments and miniature candy canes. Lani approached the desk, and Kesha looked up in surprise. “I thought you’d gone home for the day.”
“Sara Beth.”
“Ah.” Kesha bobbed her head. “Child’s under sedation, but her mama’s in rough shape.”
Lani identified with Pam all too well. “Still no word from the army?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll dress for isolation and go hold her hand.”
The isolation unit for the sickest of the sick was behind double doors, an airlock, and two more double doors. Sara Beth, waiting for a bone marrow transplant, had been through chemo and radiation treatments to destroy her immune system, and now there was a serious glitch. Lani paused for a moment, sucked up courage, and eased into the room. Sara Beth lay inside a clear plastic oxygen tent, IV lines running into her frail body. Pam, sitting in a chair beside the bed, saw Lani and burst into tears. “Thank you for coming! Thank you so much.”
Lani stooped beside Pam’s chair and took her gloved hand in hers. “I’m staying until Jimmy comes.”
Pam nodded, blew her nose. “Don’t seem right, you know. Her all ready for the transplant, and her daddy can’t get here.”
It was sad. After a flurry of testing and blood samples sent from half a world away, and pediatric oncology consults at St. Jude’s, it appeared that Jimmy, Sara Beth’s father, would be the best match for the transplant. He’d been in the rough mountain terrain of Afghanistan when the army had agreed to return him Stateside, and so they’d lost time extracting him, and now storms held hostage his fifteen-hour flight home.
Pam glanced over at her daughter, looking small and ghostly pale beneath the white sheets. “All she’s gone through…and now…now this.”
“He’ll come. Have faith.” Lani’s heart broke for the family. After Jimmy arrived, he’d be quickly prepped for the marrow extraction from his pelvic bone, a simple procedure for him, with a quick recovery. Once his marrow was harvested, it would be slowly infused into his daughter. And even then Sara Beth would have a long road of recovery, often strewn with the kind of setbacks and complications that threatened all transplant patients. Sometimes anti-rejection drugs could overcome the problems, sometimes not. But if the transplant worked, Sara Beth could be cancer free.
“Why don’t you stretch out in the recliner chair and let me watch over her?” Lani led Pam toward the chair as she asked. The woman was exhausted, and even a few minutes of rest could be helpful. Lani tucked Pam into the chair with a blanket, and Pam fell asleep instantly. Lani returned to the other chair and sat to wait.
Lani must have nodded off, because a rattle at the door startled her upright. She saw a man’s face pressed against the door’s window. She jumped up, hurried to the door. He was draped in isolation garb, but the look on his face announced that Pam’s solider had arrived.
“Hi, ma’am. Jimmy Reader.” His gaze swept the room, grew alarmed at seeing his daughter, gentled when falling on Pam in the recliner.
“So happy to see you, sir.”
“They said I have to get upstairs but I could visit my family for a few minutes.”
“Go on,” Lani urged.
He crossed to the bed. Lani followed, and watched his eyes fill with tears while he stared down at Sara Beth. “My poor baby. Daddy’s here, honey.” He turned then, walked to his wife’s side, knelt on one knee.
To Lani he looked like a prince from a fairy tale, bending to kiss his sleeping beauty. Jimmy smoothed her cheek. Pam woke, saw him, and threw her arms around his neck, and they clung to each other. Lani knew it was her cue to exit, and she did, hoping that their story would have a happier ending than the story she’d lived one cold winter night in Windemere.
Sloan gave a stellar performance at the Love and Hope Ball for diabetes research, to a ballroom filled with many Hollywood A-listers—stars and superstars, the beautiful people. The great ballroom sparkled with silver, gold, crystal, and a king’s ransom of jewelry. The tables were spread with red linen and holiday decorations, and glowed with candlelight. On one wall hung a large painting of a looped ribbon dotted with a single drop of blood, representing the countless blood tests diabetics did daily to measure glucose levels. Later the work by a well-known artist would be auctioned to the highest bidder.
Yet despite the glitz and glamour of the evening, Sloan’s mind remained on the problem she’d pledged to solve. During the ride back to her apartment in the town car, she ignored the driver’s attempt at small talk, focusing on the facts surrounding Bo. Why would he want custody of Toby? Gloria had sworn Bo had never wanted a baby in the first place, and while a baby,
Toby had been a source of irritation, to the point of physical abuse. Memories of LaDonna milking the welfare system intruded. Sloan tried to swat them aside, like a bothersome fly, but then she straightened in the car as insight shot through her like an arrow. All the pieces fell into place, and the puzzle was instantly solved. Excitement stirred as she began to formulate a plan.
She glanced at the time on her cell phone, realized it was two hours later in Tennessee and that waking Marie up at three in the morning might not be the best idea, but she needed the attorney’s help. She didn’t call but sent a text message: Call me first thing tomorrow. Urgent. Then Sloan settled back in the luxurious car seat and watched the glowing lights of LA spreading out as far as the eye could see as the car wound its way down from the hills.
It was a chance encounter. Dawson was filling his gas tank when he glanced across the station’s islands of pumps and saw Sloan gassing up a rental car. She had camouflaged herself with a toboggan hat to completely cover her hair, and huge sunglasses that covered half her face. She wore jeans and an unflattering ski jacket to ward off the cold, but Dawson recognized her at once. He had known her body well, and no amount of ugly clothing could hide her from him.
“Hello, Sloan.”
She jumped a foot at the sound of his voice, turned to see Dawson standing behind her. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” He nodded toward his truck two islands over. “You coming or going?”
“Coming.” Sloan had talked to Marie and asked her to set up a meeting at DCS with Bo and his lawyer. Two weeks later she’d flown into Nashville, checked into a motel, and driven to Windemere. She had wanted to come and go undetected, in case her mission failed. “I guess I didn’t do a very good job of hiding in plain sight.”
Dawson’s dark eyes lasered her. “You seem to spend a lot of time in a town you always hated.”
“I have a meeting.” She fumbled so badly with the gas cap that Dawson slid his hand over hers and took over the task. “Besides, how do you know how much time I spend here?”