Beth’s mouth was suddenly dry, and she felt an almost violent surge of protectiveness for Kayla. For Doug. “I don’t understand,” she managed to say, then added, “May I get my husband?” Doug should know about this. Doug would straighten it out.
“Of course, ma’am. May we come in?” he repeated.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Beth said, opening the door. “There must be some mistake. I know it’s a mistake.”
The two officers entered and stood in the hallway. “I’ll…I’ll get my husband,” Beth said, and hurried back toward the kitchen. When she got to the basement door off the kitchen, she was shaking. She opened the door and called.
“Doug! Come up here!” The tone of her voice alerted him, for she heard him drop the frame and mount the cellar steps two at a time.
“What? What?”
“The police are here,” she said disbelievingly. “Two of them. For Kayla. They said something about a warrant. There’s some mistake. It’s got to be a mistake.”
“What’s she got herself into now?” There was more annoyance than fright in Doug’s tone. “Where are they?”
“I left them in the front hall,” Beth said, but he had already left the kitchen. When he reached the front hallway, he spoke cordially. Trust Doug to stay in control.
“Good afternoon. I’m Douglas Colby. I understand you are inquiring for my daughter?”
“Yes, sir,” the man said. “I’m Detective Fulton and this is Sergeant McCrae. Seattle Police. We need to see Mrs. Kayla Endicott. Is she here?”
Doug was about to answer, when Adam appeared at the top of the stairway. “Gamma Beff?” He had gone on ahead with his armload of books.
“Oh, dear, I forgot Adam,” Beth said distractedly. “Go wait for me in the bedroom, Adam,” she called up to him.
“Mrs. Endicott?” prompted the detective.
“You’d better wake her,” Doug said to Beth, a sigh in his voice. “We’ll see what this is all about.”
Beth knocked softly at the bed-sitter door, then opened it and went in. Kayla was still on the window seat, sleeping deeply. Beth shut the door after her. She shook Kayla’s shoulder gently, and then more firmly as Kayla tried to struggle out of sleep.
“Wha-at? Beth? What’s up?” She sat up, clutching her blanket around her shoulders.
“Wake up, Kayla,” Beth said with low insistence. “Wake up. There are police here. They…they want to talk to you.”
It seemed to take Kayla forever to focus on what Beth was saying. “Police? For me? What for? I haven’t done anything.” But she was awake now.
“Here, Kayla, put on your robe. At least speak to them. See what they want. It must be some mistake.”
“Yeah, right. Lemme get some water on my face.” Kayla stumbled to the basin behind the screen in the corner, and Beth heard the water splashing. She felt a sense of unreality. This wasn’t really happening. It couldn’t be. To the best of her knowledge, no one in her family had ever been arrested. No one had ever done anything to be arrested for. None of this made sense. Please, God let this be over before any more guests arrive!
“I don’t get it,” Kayla was mumbling when she came back. She was tying the robe about her slender waist. “Where are these jerks?”
“Kayla, they’re policemen,” Beth cautioned, opening the bed-sitter door.
The detective was quite close. He spoke at once. “Kayla Endicott?”
“Yes,” Kayla answered, and started to add something, but the detective spoke first.
“This is a warrant for your arrest for delinquent child support mandated by court order number…” His voice droned on.
“You’re kidding,” Kayla gasped. “He wouldn’t do that! Frank wouldn’t do that!” She was obviously stunned, but reached out and took the paper the detective held toward her.
“Read the warrant, ma’am,” he said. “Now I’ll have to ask you to come with us.”
Doug intervened. “Come with you where?”
“I’m sorry, sir. We have to take Mrs. Endicott in for booking.” Now he spoke almost kindly, as if he sensed their confusion and realized how unaccustomed they were to police visits.
“You mean to jail?” Beth asked, and instantly felt stupid. They were going to take Kayla to jail! Unbelievable!
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the detective said, turning to her. “Mrs. Endicott is now under arrest. The procedure is that she has to come with us. My advice—” he turned to Doug again “—is that you call your attorney.”
“I…I’m not sure we have one,” Doug said uncertainly, a dull flush of embarrassment mounting in his face.
“Mr. Kemp,” Beth said. “I know an attorney. Albert Kemp. He helped me when I turned my home into this bed-and-breakfast.”
“He might be your starting point,” Detective Fulton said agreeably. “Now, Mrs. Endicott, if you will get dressed, Sergeant McCrae will accompany you.” He indicated the bed-sitter door, and the female officer moved toward it. Kayla had stood before them, white-faced and stunned. Now she seemed to come alive.
“I don’t believe this,” she moaned, starting to cry.
“If you’ll get dressed, Mrs. Endicott?” the female officer prompted. Kayla turned back to the bed-sitter.
“Can…can’t I help?” Beth offered, but the detective shook her head.
“Sergeant McCrae will assist Mrs. Endicott,” he said formally.
“Mommy?”
They all turned and saw Adam standing at the bottom of the stairway. He had left his books somewhere, crept down and was looking at the scene in the hall in wide-eyed alarm. At three, he couldn’t possibly understand their situation but he could sense their anxiety.
“Oh, no,” Doug muttered, going toward him, but Adam was too quick for him. He ran toward Sergeant McCrae, a tiny bundle of anger.
“Go ’way,” he shouted. “Go ’way!”
Doug swooped down and picked him up just before, little fists flying, he could attack the female officer.
“I’m sorry,” Doug apologized. “I’m really sorry. My grandson has an uncertain temper at times. Come on, buddy.” He held Adam’s squirming little body, trying to quiet him. Adam gave in and stopped shouting, but his face held its angry frown.
Beth became aware that a constant sound in the background had suddenly stopped. All morning there had been the steady tapping of the roofers’ hammers as they put on the new material. Now it seemed almost too silent in the hallway.
“Why are they stopping?” she asked inanely. This whole thing was like some sort of dream where nothing made sense.
“Because it’s started to rain,” Doug said, indicating the glass panel in the big front door, with drops of water on it.
Detective Fulton spoke. “May I ask if this is Mrs. Endicott’s little boy?”
“Yes,” Doug said. “Why?”
“With Mrs. Endicott out of the house, is there someone here who will care for the boy?”
“Yes, of course. He’s my grandson,” Doug said.
“Well, I guess that’s all right, sir, but I have to report it to Child Protective Services. They’ll send someone to check. It’s just routine, you understand.”
“Yes, of course,” Douglas said politely, his face grim. It was clear he was controlling his own temper with an effort.
When Kayla emerged with the policewoman, she was dressed and no longer crying, but she looked stricken.
“Daddy,” she started, but couldn’t continue. She moved as if in a trance.
“They say you have to go in with them. I’ll get in touch with an attorney, and we’ll work it out,” Doug said to Kayla. Beth felt he was trying to be reassuring, but she sensed his feeling of frustrated helplessness.
Detective Fulton offered a word of encouragement. “The system calls for an arraignment, sir. They usually set bail at that hearing, so if you folks get to a lawyer, he can help you.”
“Thank you,” Doug said, just as Adam exploded into protest again at Kayla’s leaving. They all seemed to be concentrating on the furious, frantic little boy struggling in Doug’s strong arms.
“I’ll be back, baby,” Kayla tried to reassure him. “Mommy’s coming back.” She reached over and patted him. It seemed to help because as soon as the door was shut behind Kayla and the two officers, Adam started to calm down.
Doug turned to Beth. “What was the name of that attorney? I’ve forgotten it that quickly. I guess I’m really over the hill.”
“Nonsense,” she said briskly. “It’s Albert Kemp. I’ll call his office right now. He’s a member of our church, and if he doesn’t handle this type of case, he’ll know someone who does.”
Beth was able to reach him almost at once. And Albert Kemp did know someone.
“Yes, in fact, my sister’s boy is in criminal law,” he said. “Daryl Taylor. Here’s the number.”
Beth winced at the term “criminal law” in connection with Doug’s daughter, but she had her pencil ready, took down the name and phone number and thanked him. She turned to Doug, who had his handkerchief out and was blotting the remaining tears from Adam’s flushed face.
“His nephew handles this kind of case,” she told him. “His name is Daryl Taylor, and I’ve got his number. Do you want to call him? Albert said to use his name as a referral. Let me take Adam.” She reached out her arms and Adam came to her.
“Book?” Adam said forlornly, his blue eyes still wet.
“Soon, darling. We’ll get to your story soon.” Doug dialed the new number. Her heart ached as she watched him, loving everything about him. Please, God, protect Doug. Help him with this. Help me to help him.
Daryl Taylor wasn’t in, but Doug explained carefully to his secretary what the problem was, and asked that he return the call as soon as he could.
“This is going to cost us,” Doug commented, a worried frown on his rugged face. “And what with the roof, well, I don’t know.”
“We can always resort to a loan for the roof,” Beth said, “if it comes to that. Kayla’s needs must be met. We can’t let her stay in jail a moment longer than necessary.”
“I agree, but I hate to put you through something like this.”
“Forget about me. I’m doing fine,” Beth said. It made her uneasy again when he wanted to take all the responsibility.
“I don’t understand this,” Doug said. “It’s not like Frank to be this vindictive. He’s not that small-minded. I wonder if he’s still working at the same place.” He glanced at his watch. “L.A. is on Pacific Time like we are, so he’d still be at his office.”
“Where does he work?” Beth asked, shifting Adam’s position because he had started to fidget in her arms.
“Some big insurance company in Los Angeles. Let me think a minute. He’s a claims adjuster there, or he may be the department supervisor now—that was his goal during his marriage to Kayla. He’s a pretty solid guy.” He snapped his fingers. “Got it.” He picked up the phone, dialed directory assistance and asked for Los Angeles, picking up the pencil Beth had put down. In a moment, he was writing down the number.
He turned back to Beth. “This is the speaker button, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
He pressed it so she could hear the conversation, too. Just a few seconds after Doug had given his name and asked for Frank Hughes, they were connected. The strange man’s voice came into their hallway, firm, pleasant and controlled.
“Doug! Of all the people to hear from! I hope I’m glad you called. Is everything all right with Kayla?”
“No, it isn’t,” Doug said bluntly. “I’m going to give this to you straight, Frank. Kayla’s just been arrested for nonpayment of the child support payments.”
“Oh, no.” It was almost a moan.
“Did you arrange this?”
“Absolutely not, Doug! But I’m afraid it got out of my hands. Just a minute, let me find a button to push here. I want this conversation to be just between us.” There was a pause and then Frank Hughes resumed speaking.
“Think back to when Kayla and I broke up. She was in a pretty bad way. I had to get her away from Becky. Becky was being badly affected by Kayla’s drinking and some of the friends Kayla was seeing at that time. Please understand, the divorce—the complete break—was a necessity.” Frank Hughes’s voice held an almost desperate sincerity.
“I guess I can understand that,” Doug agreed reluctantly.
“Knowing Kayla’s job history, I followed the lawyer’s advice about the child support thing. It was mainly because I knew Kayla would never pay it, and if she didn’t pay it, she wouldn’t keep coming around to mess up Becky’s life and mine. But at that point it went out of my control. It became a court order, part of the system. As I understand it, it’s the District Attorney’s job to enforce those orders. I take it they have.”
“Yes.” Doug’s voice was tight. “Two police officers have just taken Kayla away. She was in shock. When she comes out of shock, assuming she does, she’ll find herself in jail. Maybe that sounds heartless, but we’re dealing with these facts at the moment.”
Frank Hughes moaned. “I am so sorry. What can I do? I don’t know how to stop this, even if I could.”
“You probably can’t,” Doug said. “A court order is a court order. At least you’ve eased my mind. We were pretty good friends once. I didn’t think you would deliberately arrange this.”
“Well, thanks for that, anyhow. I would hope that we can still be pretty good friends. Wait a minute. Who’s going to pay for this? I know Kayla can’t.”
“I guess my wife and I are,” Doug said. “Who else?”
“No! Absolutely no! I did not intend that,” Frank protested.
“Doesn’t matter what you intended, Frank. You know that old phrase about the wheels of justice—if it’s part of the system now, well, that’s that.”
“Wait a minute. Okay, say you have to pay it to help out Kayla. What’s wrong with my just sending the money back to you when these wheels of justice send it my way?” Frank offered.
Beth shook her head and whispered, “No, Doug. No, we can’t do that.” Adam, not understanding the conversation, imitated her, shaking his head, too, which brought a slight smile to Doug’s face.
“My wife is shaking her head, Frank. If you sent the money back after the court or whatever collects it, that would probably be either illegal or at least unethical. Incidentally, how are you both doing?”
“Us? We’re doing fine. You know Megan and I married?”
“Yes, I’d heard that. I wish you both well.”
“Thanks. And we’ve increased our family. Megan wanted one of our own, and we hit the jackpot with twin boys.”
“Well, double congratulations,” Doug said, really smiling now. “I wish you both all the best, and that comes from the heart.”
“Thanks, Doug, more than I can say—all things considered.” Frank sounded choked up.
“Which brings to mind another question. If Megan is caring for Becky and two new babies, she isn’t still working, is she?”
“Not for a while, no,” Frank said, but added hastily, “But we’re doing okay. Really.”
“Frank,” Doug said, “you can use this money, can’t you? As sole provider and all?”
“I said we’re doing okay,” Frank persisted.
“I was a sole family provider once myself, buddy,” Doug said. “And since Kayla isn’t able to help raise her own daughter, some financial support is justified, so don’t argue. Plus, my wife is now nodding her head, so we have her approval. We will pay the child support, and don’t send it back. Let me do this much for Becky, okay? At least until things are better for you and Megan.”
Frank finally agreed, but added, “I’m going to investigate at this end. Maybe there’s a way I can get it cancelled now—to avoid something like this in the future. You’re going to have to live with that, Doug, because I’m going to do it.”
“Okay, but for now we pay up this delinquent amount,” Doug agreed, and, after sending his love to Becky and the others, they rang off.
“Thanks for backing me up on that,” Doug said to Beth, and she felt a flood of love for him. Somehow, they would do it. They must. But what else would Kayla manage to wreck?
“Book!” Adam reminded, suddenly looking fierce, and both Beth and Doug had to laugh.
“Yes!” Beth said, just as positively. “Book! Doug, I’m going to read this poor child his story. If time gets short, will you help with the beds?”
“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 pleasant 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.