Nick parked in front of a brick Victorian home with green trim, shaded by towering oaks. Lace curtains hung in the windows and white-blossomed shrubs framed a white, wraparound porch. Spiraling stairs climbed to another porch on the second floor, a hand-shaped sign dangling above the entrance. “Gypsy Palm Reading.” According to a shoddy sign stuck in the mulch, Oak Park Health and Wellness occupied the bottom floor.
Shaking his head, he stepped out into the humid late-afternoon air. He stopped, eyeing Marianne’s car parked next to an old lamppost. A chill swept over him as he looked at the giant sign shaped as an opened hand, swaying on rusted hinges. What kind of nut had she found? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
Straightening his spine, he continued up the cracked walk to the front steps. The place was unlocked and inside was a small sitting room turned lobby. Marianne and Jeremy sat side by side in antique leather chairs, she with spine straight and face puckered, him with shoulders caved, eyes downcast. His tennis shoes dangled a foot from the floor.
“Hey, bud.” Nick smiled at Jeremy. He stepped forward. Jeremy pulled back, shrinking into his chair, looking to his mother. Nick tensed, resisting the urge to glare at Marianne.
Facing his son, he forced a smile instead. “How’s your summer going?” He sat across from Jeremy and propped his elbows on his thighs.
The boy shrugged.
A door to their right squeaked open and a squat woman with long black hair emerged. Tortoiseshell glasses rested on her bul-bous nose.
Nick stood and extended his hand. “I’m Nick Zimmerman. Jeremy’s dad.”
Marianne sprang to her feet, clamoring forward so fast she nearly tripped on the corner of the coffee table. “I’m Marianne. We spoke on the phone.” She weighted her words as if conveying a secret message.
His temperature rose, his nerves going on hyper alert as he watched his son—a boy-turned-pawn in Marianne’s obnoxious game—stare at the woman with wide eyes. He sat with his back straight, clutching the armrests on either side of him. His cheeks paled, and he chewed his bottom lip.
Charcoal eyes set in deep sockets made a slow shift as the woman studied each of them in turn before turning to Jeremy with a tight smile. “Hello. And you must be Jeremy.”
He nodded, shrinking further in his chair.
“I’m Anita Bowman. Well, then.” She motioned toward her office. “Ms. Hawke, Jeremy, shall we?”
A gleam sparked in Marianne’s eyes, a slight smile emerging. She touched Jeremy’s arm, “Come on, sweetie,” watching Nick over her shoulder.
Ignoring her sour expression, Nick followed, but Mrs. Bowman moved in front of him, blocking the entrance to her office.
“It would be best, for Jeremy’s sake, if you didn’t attend the first visit.”
“You’re kidding me.” He stared from Mrs. Bowman to Jeremy to Marianne, his temperature rising as her smile grew. “You realize I’m the one paying for this little party, right?”
The woman’s frown deepened. “Good-bye, Mr. Zimmerman. I’ll be in touch.”
Right. With a bill.
Outside the Kuhn house, a low wind howled like a mournful friend, and branches scraped against the siding. Flashes of lightning lit the inky sky as rain pounded against the roof and windows.
Tammy curled in the corner of the couch, her old high school yearbook opened on her lap. At her feet, Tylan built an elaborate Lego-land structure. Becky was spending the night with friends. Despite the steady drone of the television set, the house felt quiet. Too quiet.
Lonely.
What she wouldn’t do for adult conversation—someone to share her day, her fears and concerns with. She missed Vanessa.
And Nick.
She studied the image of her and Nick on the page before her. Thick, wavy hair that never quite behaved, crystal blue eyes filled with mischievous laughter. The crooked tilt of his lips. Standing beside him in her shimmering gown and high tops, she’d tried to act nonchalant. Smiling for the camera, hoping he wouldn’t hear the pounding of her heart or see the frequent blush in her cheeks.
And he hadn’t. Hadn’t a clue how much she’d loved him or how it broke her heart when he left.
Nothing had changed.
She couldn’t handle another heartbreak, and that’s exactly where this was headed. Nick’s last phone call—and the fact he hadn’t called since—proved that much. Not that she blamed him. The man had just lost a son. But that didn’t give him the right to act like a jerk.
With a heavy sigh, she picked up her phone and glanced at the blank screen.
“What’s wrong?”
She looked up to find Tylan watching her.
Tammy smiled. “Nothing, sweetie.” Setting her yearbook onto the coffee table, she patted the cushions beside her. “Come here, little man.” As extra bait, she held up the remote. “Mission to Mars is on.”
Tylan glanced from his Legos to her before giving a slight shrug. Grabbing his plastic dinosaur, he climbed onto the couch and nestled into her arms.
Closing her eyes, she rested her chin on his head, the ends of his hair tickling her skin. Her heart ached as a verse from her morning reading came to mind.
“It’s not good for mankind to be alone. I will make a helpmate suitable for him.”
A helpmate. A friend. Someone who knew the most intimate details about her, who loved her, wrinkles, gray hair, and all—‘til death do us part.
A siren sounded, swelling then fading with the distant hum of traffic. Tammy glanced at the clock, then settled further into the cushions. She was off this weekend. No scrambling to find childcare, no fighting to catch a few hours of sleep. For once.
Tylan slid to the floor, returning to his Lego creations. Closing her eyes, she let her head drop back against the couch.
Her phone rang, and she sat erect. Vanessa? That girl always knew the precise moment to call.
“Hello?”
“Good evening, it’s Rita, from the call center.”
Tammy’s heart sank. Not tonight. “Yes?”
“I’ve got a 56-year-old male, suicide, at Riverview Memorial. Name’s Troy Stevens.”
There was no sense reminding the woman it was her night off. Either another OPC had called in sick or they were all at other hospitals. Since it was a stormy Saturday, it was most likely the latter. Not that it mattered. Tammy was already on Ellen’s watch list. She couldn’t decline this call.
Only problem—she still hadn’t found reliable childcare. Which meant . . . She looked at the church directory, her stomach souring.
Rita continued to relay the patient’s information. “He suffered from carbon monoxide poisoning. The daughter found him in the garage with the car running. He’s not a registered donor, although he did leave a suicide note asking that his organs be donated. The daughter’s already at the hospital. No other next of kin we’re aware of.”
“Okay. Thanks, Rita.” Hanging up, Tammy stood, observing sweet Tylan. He’d stopped playing and watched her with a frown.
“Sorry, sweetie, but Momma’s gotta go in.”
“Is Stephanie coming over?”
“No. Not this time.” She reached for the church directory. “Maybe you can spend the night with Dickson.”
Tylan’s face brightened. He bobbed his head and jumped to his feet. “I’ll bring my new Xbox game.”
And if Kelly, Dickson’s mom, said no? She’d deal with that when the time came.
Tammy tried Kelly first but got the answering machine.
“Hey, it’s Tammy. I . . .” Begging for a sitter was hard enough. Blurting it over an impersonal answering machine? “Call me. Please.”
She hung up and tried Carol Hudson.
“Hello?” Voices—laughter and what appeared to be children’s squeals—sounded in the background.
“Hi, Carol. It’s Tammy. I wondered . . .” She swallowed and traced her finger along a groove in her coffee table. “Listen, I hate to ask, but I got called in to work tonight, and I . . .” The words clogged her throat.
Carol didn’t respond right away, and when she did, her tone sounded nasally. “I wish I could help, but we’ve got company. Sorry. Maybe next time?”
“Sure. I understand.”
Tammy dialed the next person on the list, then the next, then the next. She stopped at Constance’s number.
How desperate am I?
She glanced at the clock. Pretty desperate.
But there was always Dover.
She sat there for a full minute, her mind vacillating between total humiliation and escape. Well, escape tinged with a bit of parental nagging. But for her kids’ sake, for never having to scramble for childcare . . .
Regardless, she couldn’t bail tonight—not on such short notice. Someone’s life depended on those organs. No. She needed to swallow her pride and call the one person she’d rather avoid—Condemning Constance.
“I’m ready.” Tylan bounded out of his room lugging a stuffed duffel bag. A horned dinosaur head poked out from the top.
“I’m sorry, bud, but the Hudson’s aren’t home.”
Tylan heaved a heavy sigh and dropped his bag, flopping beside it. “Isaac?”
“He’s got the flu.”
“Ronnie? Charles?”
Tammy shook her head as he continued to list the names of every boy in their children’s ministry from the third grade up. “Sorry, bud.” The clock continued to tick. If she didn’t find someone soon, Ellen would make the Dover decision for her.
“Then who?”
Studying her phone, she breathed. “Let me call Constance—”
“No! Not her.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“What about Dad? He’ll take me.”
Her heart wrenched. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Just this once. I’ll find a sitter for you—”
“Like Joni?”
“Like Joni.”
His head drooped, and he pulled his duffel bag closer. While he fished through its contents—probably looking for his favorite video game—she made the dreaded call.
Constance answered on the second ring. “Tammy, are you okay?”
In other words, Do you realize what time it is? “Yes, everything’s fine. I just . . . I hate to bother you, and I know it’s late notice, but . . .”
“You need someone to watch the kids.” She sounded like she’d choked down a rotten lemon.
“I know it’s a lot to ask. And it’s just Tylan. Becky’s at a friends’.”
As silence stretched across the line, Tammy envisioned Constance sitting in a stuffy, mildew-infested chair, frowning, as she recounted all the mistakes, according to Constance, Tammy had made. In a nutshell, the woman felt Tammy had utterly failed as a wife and mother, as if she was somehow to blame for Brody’s infidelity.
Constance’s breath, loud and heavy, reverberated through the line. “You will bring proper nightwear? No need to bring his Bible. I have one he can borrow in the morning. He is staying overnight, I presume?”
“Yes, if that’s all right.”
“Of course. Children need their sleep. Studies suggest many students diagnosed with ADHD really suffer from severe sleep deprivation and stress. Stress! At nine and ten years old.” As Constance continued to talk about the downfalls of modern society, Tammy gathered her things and ushered Tylan out the door.
Constance continued her lecture as Tammy pulled out of her neighborhood and down the block.
Glancing into the rearview mirror, she offered a glowering Tylan an apologetic smile. “Listen, Constance, I hate to cut this short, but I’m about to turn onto Falcon and—”
“Oh, my. Talking and driving? I wasn’t aware. I’ll see you when you get here, then.”
With another lecture keyed and ready to go?
Luckily, Constance had run out of energy by the time they arrived.
The woman stood in the doorway wearing a checked house-coat with lace trim. The lights were off, minus the one above the entry and a lamp on a corner end table. A musky scent drifted from the living room.
“Come in.” Constance stepped aside and motioned Tammy and Tylan inside.
Tammy checked her watch. “I can’t stay.”
Clutching his duffel bag with both hands, Tylan shrank back, but Tammy nudged him forward. Squatting to his eye-level, she lifted his chin. “You be good, okay?” She hugged him, pinning his arms to his sides, then stood. “Thanks, Constance. I really appreciate this.” She handed her a page of emergency numbers. “Text me if you need me.”
“I’m sure everything will be fine.”
Tammy nodded and slipped out, casting one last glance at her son.
He stood in the center of Constance’s living room, head drooped, looking like he’d lost his best friend.