CHAPTER EIGHT

TIFF DROPPED HER KEYS into the dish by the garage door.

“Where have you been?” Bruce smacked the handle on their kitchen sink faucet. Water continued to drip into a large bowl set in the bottom of the basin. The heavy scent of Indian takeout permeated the air. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for hours.”

She turned her cell phone over in her hand. Seven missed calls, each one from her husband. Oops. “I’m sorry. I was at the hospital and had the volume off. I guess I didn’t notice it vibrating.”

“And you didn’t notice dinnertime again?”

Her spine straightened. “Excuse me. I didn’t realize feeding you was my responsibility.”

“I work hard. I make the money to get all the nice things you have. And I’d like to have dinner with my wife.” His shoulders fell, and his voice softened. “I’m not asking you to make me a meal every night. I just want some company. We can go out. I can get food on the way home. But you could at least be here.”

“I’m sorry. Time got away from me.” This feeling of being tugged in two directions at once was oh so familiar. She’d felt the same way when Lindsay and Brandt were children. One would have a baseball game, and the other a dance competition. It was bad enough choosing between her children, but it was nearly impossible to find time for Bruce alone. Throughout those years, they’d promised each other that their time was coming. Bruce’s job would get easier, and he’d be home earlier. The kids would grow up, freeing them to be together. Maybe things would be different now if they’d made the room in their schedules back then. “It will get easier.” Tiff repeated the worn-out saying. But would it really?

He shook his head. “You don’t believe that. I can see it written all over your face.”

“I do. I’ll make time for you. Didn’t I go golfing last week?”

“Against your will.”

“It was fun.”

“Don’t. I can’t stand your pity.”

She glanced toward the garage door before she was able to think better of it.

“Seriously?” The vein in his neck grew pronounced.

“What?”

“You’re heading out tonight, aren’t you?” Color painted his face a frightening shade of red.

“It’s Monday.”

Silence thickened the air.

“I have a responsibility to go.”

Bruce crossed his arms in front of his chest. The bulge of his belly was starting to grow, and the hair at his temples had turned gray. They weren’t the young parents they had been or the newlyweds before that.

“Please, don’t be mad.” She touched his arm. Beneath her fingers, his muscle tightened.

“Go. I’ll watch television until I fall asleep, like almost every other night. It’s the dream of all men, you know.” He pulled away and headed to his recliner, which sat next to its twin—the one he’d bought for Tiff. A gift she rarely used. But she wasn’t ready to sit until she died when she had an opportunity to make things a little better in the world. She was fifty . . . something. Not ninety.

The surround sound blasted to life, and the house became an extension of a professional basketball arena. She should go in and spend a few minutes watching the pointless game with her husband, but she didn’t. Instead, she walked toward the garage, leaving his dishes in the sink and his takeout containers open on the granite countertop, not even bothering to change her clothes.

What was wrong with her? She’d rather spend her evening with Esther and Conway. Maybe she could convince him to go to the clinic. And she wanted to see Theresa with her own eyes and make sure she was okay. These people counted on Tiff, and in many ways, Tiff counted on them. They felt more like family than Bruce and Brandt had over the last Lindsay-less seven years.

Eve

May 13, 2019

Everything in this room beeps, and it’s breaking the thin glass in my head. My muscles ache as if they’re being torn apart. I try to take a deep breath, but even that hurts. My kids need me alive. But if I stay here, I’m going to die. Why doesn’t anyone care?

If I throw up one more time, there’ll be nothing left of me. The nurse said she was getting an order for antinausea medicine, but that’s not what I need.

This is the first time today that I’ve been alone in my room. It’s what I wanted all along, but now I feel the demons coming after me. As the sun sets, I sense them set free to devour me.

I’m trying to get my nerve up to rip the IV out of my hand. I have rights. They can’t keep me here. I’m not a child, and I’m not waiting on some judgmental doctor to tell me what I can and can’t do.

Tiff left me clothes. I wonder what life must be like for a woman with a name like Tiff. It seems like you’d be guaranteed a certain amount of privilege just by the sound of it. I tried to give my kids those kinds of names, ones that wouldn’t fit in where we live. Whatever it takes to push them into a better world.

I can’t stop crying and throwing up, and I can’t get free of the invisible strap that’s growing tighter around my chest. I need Charlotte and Sammy back. And I’ll get them. I only need enough to stop being sick. Then I can figure out what to do next.

I’m not going to make it much longer. Getting out of here is my only hope.

An alarm has just gone off somewhere down the hall. People are rushing that direction. This is my chance. I’m going.

TIFF DECIDED TO SWING BY the hospital before heading out to the streets. She had called in a few favors to get Eve a place to stay at a decent women’s shelter, but that wasn’t a long-term solution, and it wouldn’t be available until next week. Their practice was to allow the women to stay for one month before requiring them to move into something more permanent. With God’s help, that would permit Eve time to acquire employment and safe housing.

Tiff parked the car in the lot below the towering building, slung her purse over her shoulder, and locked the doors.

Typically there was a sweet-smelling breeze up here that she might have enjoyed. Today’s pounding late-spring rain made her wonder how those who lived in the elements survived.

The parking area was blanketed in the soft lighting of streetlamps placed close together and filtered through the storm. Up ahead, someone huddled in the corner of the bus stop shelter. Tiff glanced back at her car. She had sacks of food and other items in there, yet water was already soaking through her jacket and chilling her skin.

As she approached, Tiff was struck by how very small the person was. For a moment, she was stunned that someone would allow a child to be there alone; then the outline of the face came into focus. It was Eve.

The bottom dropped out of Tiff’s carefully planned future for the young woman. And less than a day from Eve’s scheduled release. One more day, and she was running anyway.

Tiff eased down onto the bench next to her, letting her bag settle at her feet. “Hey.”

Eve’s face turned to Tiff, shock registering in her eyes.

“What are you doing out here, Eve?”

Her shoulders rose and fell in a shrug that was probably meant to look tough but failed.

“I understand wanting to get out of there. I really do. But you need to look at this from the perspective of your kids. If you show the state that you’re not even willing to get a clean bill of health, they aren’t likely to want to give your children back to you.”

Tiff’s words must have hit her where it hurt. Eve dropped her face into her hands, her shoulders bouncing with sobs.

“I’ve been talking to a lot of people. There’s an emergency shelter where you can stay for a few days. After that, there will be a bed available in very nice temporary housing. They’ll help you get your feet under you and start over. I’ll help too, but you need to go back inside for tonight.” Under her rib cage, Tiff’s heart beat like a marching band. She wasn’t a counselor. That point had been proven with her own daughter.

Eve’s arms wrapped tight around her chest, as if she was trying to control the shivers that coursed through her like seizures. Maybe she had come through the beating with her life, but heroin was still in the fight.

Standing, Tiff held out her hand. “Do this for your kids. And for you. There’s a better life for your family. I promise.”

“I can’t do it. I’m just going to let them down.” Eve still hadn’t looked Tiff in the eye.

Kneeling, Tiff felt the wet concrete press into her right knee as she crouched down to eye level. “You can’t do it alone. No one can. But there’s help.” She wanted to tell her that God would walk her through this, but there was a check in her spirit that told her this wasn’t the right time. Tonight, Eve wouldn’t be able to hear truth over the roar of the devil that was this addiction. “Come with me. One step at a time, we’ll get you and the kids to the other side of this.”

Eve didn’t take her hand, but she did rise. It was a beginning, and that was all Tiff could ask for right now.

TIFF WOKE UP with a deluxe-sized kink in her neck from sleeping on the hospital chair, but when she looked over at the bed, Eve was still there. Her mission had been a success, though Tiff’s relationship with Bruce had taken a blow.

She’d exchanged a series of terse texts with her husband last night. He wasn’t willing to understand her need to stay with Eve. What had happened to their marriage? It had once been so good, but now, everything was a struggle. And she was such a different person than the one he married. A lot of the blame should land on her, but people changed. Wasn’t that part of what made love beautiful, the choice to keep caring as you grew?

A nurse Eve hadn’t had before walked in with a folder and a clipboard. “Looks like you’re out of here for real this morning.” Her grin lit up the room that had been filled with trepidation through the night. She stood by Eve’s bedside. “I know you’re ready to be away from this place. I hope you’re able to get some good sleep once you’re home.”

Eve’s eyes rounded, as if the mention of home brought on a battalion of fears.

“Will there be someone who can look in on you, make sure you have what you need?”

Tiff stood and came to the other side of the bed. “I’ll be looking in on her.” Her smile did not earn one in return from Eve.

“Wonderful. I’m glad your mom is around for you.” The nurse shuffled through the papers in her arms while Tiff tried to find the words to correct her, but Eve said nothing, so Tiff took her lead. The nurse continued through the discharge instructions, had Eve sign a few papers, then told them to press the call button when Eve was dressed and ready to go.

Time seemed to fly forward, and before Tiff was ready to think through the next steps, she was in her car with Eve buckled into the passenger side. They didn’t talk much as they made their way through traffic to a crummy emergency accommodation. If Eve could make it here for a couple of nights, Lyla had assured Tiff there would be a room at the women’s shelter she ran. There, Eve would be as far away from the people who wanted her to stay a slave to her harmful lifestyle as she could be in Canyon Ridge.

ZARA DIPPED HER HAND into the dirt. The soil was rich and dark beneath the sod. As soon as possible, Chad would rent a tiller and tear up the space she’d roped off, but Zara was preparing the land for the loofah plants on her own strength. She shoveled another scoop of grass, divided it from the earth, and dumped it into her wagon to be unloaded at her new compost site.

Today the sun shone warm, a prelude to summer’s coming arrival. It felt like the months would stretch on forever, but fall always came too quickly. Zara wiped her forearm across her face, feeling the dirt mix with sweat above her brow. This was hard work, and she loved it. She loved the smell of the earth, the ache in her muscles, and the ever-changing view out here on her own little farm. Soon, lavender, sage, mint, and chamomile would grow in uniform rows. She could almost smell the perfection as she pictured the place in its glory.

Her phone buzzed against her hip, shattering the dream. It must be the caseworker. Zara had left three messages already.

Zara glanced at the screen before holding it to her face. The number was one she didn’t recognize. “Hello?”

“Hello. This is Rebecca Stevens from The Bees are the Buzz. Is this Zara Mahoney?”

“Yes.” A grin tugged at her cheeks. She’d been waiting for this call, hopeful but not optimistic.

“Good news, Zara. We had a cancellation, and we’ll be able to set you up with bees after all.”

“Thank you. This is so great.” Now she could add honey to her product list. Zara imagined what she could do with homegrown honey. Not only could she offer food-grade honey for sale, but she could make lotions and soaps. She’d even been working on a recipe for a foaming honey bath bomb.

“The driver will be in your area tomorrow morning. I know it’s short notice, but do you think that would work?”

“Absolutely.” Her gaze swung around the farm, searching out the best location for the hives. They would be perfect at the distant end of the property, far away from their normal life activities.

“All right, then. He’ll call when he’s about thirty minutes away. Have a wonderful afternoon.” The line disconnected.

Zara did a happy dance around the plot of land she’d been turning over. The phone buzzed again. “Hello.” She was out of breath but hoped the lady from the bee place wouldn’t notice. “Did you forget something?”

“I’m calling for Zara Mahoney?” This voice was different, understated and serious.

She took the phone away from her face. The number was also different. She’d just assumed it was the bee place again. “It is. How can I help you?”

“This is Cheri Jerome from DHS. I received your calls but just finally had a moment to get back to you.”

All the excitement drained from Zara’s body, leeching from her feet into the soil. “Yes, I got a letter about my niece and nephew. It said they’re in foster care.”

“I’m glad you contacted us. Charlotte and Samuel are in a temporary placement. We can only keep them there for a short while. I’m afraid we just don’t have enough foster parents in our county. If we could move them to you, that would be best for the children and your sister.”

“What’s my sister done?” Tension climbed up her spine and clenched the muscles in her neck.

“I’m afraid I can’t go into details about Eve. She has the right to some confidentiality.”

Zara’s body flamed with too much sun and not enough choices. She walked closer to the house and sat in a camp chair under the shade of a giant oak. “I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry. What don’t you know?”

“Well, for starters, I don’t know the children. I’ve never met them. And I don’t know what to do.” She struggled to remember all the questions on the list that remained on her bedside table. “Are they okay?”

“They’ve just been brought into foster care. I’m sure they’re scared and worried.”

“Have you asked them about me? Do they want to come here?”

“Zara, I’m not in the custom of asking children if they’d like to do things I’m not sure I can even make happen. We need to know if you can be a resource for them first. Are you employed? Is there anyone else in your home? Do you have a safe home?”

“I—my husband and I—moved onto a farm recently.”

“That sounds wonderful. I’ll get you in touch with a certifier in your county. They can come out and do the paper work to get you okayed as soon as possible, if you fit the qualifications.”

This was no longer about Chad and Zara deciding if they were willing to do something good. It was about if they were even good enough to be involved. “We’re not bad people.”

“You’ll have to excuse me, but I hear that all day long from parents who’ve hurt their children. There are procedures, and we will follow them, because in my job, the consequences can be fatal. Once I send the email, your certifier should get in touch with you right away. Is there anything else?”

“Can we meet them before we decide? This is a lot to process.”

“I’m sure it is. It’s a lot for these children too.”

The weight of her statement sat heavy on Zara’s shoulders.

“I’ll see what I can arrange.”

“Thank you.” Her skin had gone from burning to numb. And she was thanking a woman who might have pushed her into a black hole of mistakes. But then again, Charlotte and Samuel didn’t get a choice, either. Why should Zara?