Chapter 3

Swallowing his last bite of blueberry waffle, Cody pushed aside his empty plate, took a sip of coffee, and closed the file folder that had lain open beside him on the table.

Hailey breathed a small sigh, letting a little of the tension slip from her shoulders. The interview hadn’t been as nerve-racking as she’d feared. She smiled across the table. “I really am sorry I acted like such a snob this morning.”

“Forget it. If my day had started with a door, make that two, in my face, I’d have been a bit testy, too. And I’ll take part of the blame—from the moment you walked past me with your nose in the air, I had you pegged as just another yuppy bigot.”

“Strong words.”

“I’ve locked horns with a lot of them over the past few years—it’s turned me a bit cynical.”

“What changed your mind about me?”

Cody returned her smile but with a hint of shyness that disarmed her. “Promise you won’t be embarrassed?” he asked.

“No, I can’t promise that. But tell me anyway.”

“It was that one little tear rolling down over your purple cheek.”

Hailey blushed and instinctively covered her cheek.

He rested his chin on his hands, and without shifting his position, he pointed one index finger at her. “That’s the look. I’m a pretty good judge of faces—you were so flustered, I knew I’d misjudged you.”

A comfortable silence followed. Hailey sipped her coffee, sizing up the man across from her over the rim of her cup.

“Phone booth!” she almost shouted, surprising even herself. “I get it!” She laughed, as much at the look on Cody’s face as at the joke itself.

“Very good. Not real quick. . .but good.”

Trying not to acknowledge the effect his smile was having on her, she reminded herself that every Superman had a Clark Kent side. But the “before” picture of the paint-spattered jeans and red bandanna that flashed in her mind did little to diminish her interest.

Cody laid a tip on the table, then tapped his fingers on the file folder. “Can I be blunt, Hailey?” he asked softly.

She tried a confident smile but failed. “I doubt that I could stop you.”

“This just doesn’t make any sense to me. I’m a lawyer, not a medical doctor, and I’m trained to look at things with pure logic—maybe there’s something here that will make more sense to my dad. . . .” He took off the small, round, wire-rimmed glasses he had put on to read her résumé. “You’re certainly qualified for either the director of nursing position or the occupational therapy position, and I’m sure you’d do an excellent job in either one, but. . .” He folded his hands in front of him and leaned toward her. Hailey squirmed under his intense dark gaze.

“You’re applying for a job at a facility whose sole purpose is to treat and care for children with fetal alcohol syndrome and drug-related disorders. You’ve had three years of experience in a neonatal intensive care unit with hands-on experience with crack and FAS babies, plus numerous seminars on the subject. . . .” He took a deep breath and another sip of coffee before continuing. “Add to all of this the fact that the position we’re most concerned about filling is that of head nurse in the intensive care nursery”—he clenched a fist and tapped it on the file for emphasis—“and you won’t even consider the position?”

Hailey picked at the fruit on her plate, looked up at the man across from her, then quickly lowered her eyes, searching for a plausible excuse. “I don’t think I was ever cut out for the pressure, the emergencies. . . I think I’d do much better in personnel or working with. . .older. . .residents.”

Cody’s eyes narrowed as he smiled. “Believe me, stress is something I understand. Why do you think I’m spending the summer volunteering at the Sparrow Center just after completing my doctorate? I can certainly relate to your need for a break, but—”

He stopped in midsentence, and Hailey had the feeling he was afraid to go on. Hesitantly, she asked, “But what?”

Cody stared into his coffee cup, then looked up at her, searching her face. “But it just doesn’t make sense. Look, I’m not trying to push you into something you’re not comfortable with. I know you said you’ve only been a Christian for a few months, and sometimes it’s hard to discern what God wants. . . but on the surface” —he smiled slightly—“logically, you seem to be the perfect person for head nurse in the intensive care nursery. It looks to me like Direction with a capital D !”

Nervously, Hailey cleared her throat. “I don’t know. Could I have some time. . . to pray about this? I’m just. . .”

Cody held up his hand to stop her. “No pressure. Really. We’ll keep the ad listed. Actually, there have been more applications than expected, but Dad’s had it in his head that you were the one for the job.” He grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “This interview was supposed to be just a chance to let you ask questions and get to know you better.”

Hailey grimaced, and Cody shook his head. “I’m sorry. I promised no pressure, didn’t I?”

“Could we just change the subject for a while?” She met his eyes briefly again. “Besides, it’s my turn to ask questions.”

Leaning back in the booth, Cody smiled. “That’s fair. Shoot.”

“Okay. Obvious questions first. Were you adopted?”

Cody’s eyes widened, and he straightened in his seat. Hailey wrinkled her nose. “Was that tacky?”

“No!” he laughed. “That was wonderful ! Most people dance around in circles to avoid the word!”

“I’ve been told that I have a straightforward approach to things.” She smiled. “Actually, I’ve been told that I’m basically rude.”

“You have no idea how refreshing you are, Hailey. Ever since my dad adopted me, people have tried to pretend they don’t even notice I don’t exactly look like my father. I went through phases as a kid where even I tried to pretend I just had a great tan, but Dad has always set me straight. He worked hard at making me proud of my heritage.”

“Were you adopted at birth?”

“No. I was nine. Actually, Robert is my stepfather, but it’s a long story.” Hailey looked at him expectantly. “Do you really want to hear it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay. I need to stop at home and pick up some papers. Do you have time to ride along?”

“I don’t have to work until one.”

Cody picked up the check and smiled. “Great.”

❧

Without prompting, Cody began his story as he turned the car onto the highway. “My mother died when I was nine, but the story really starts before that. My parents met at a mission church near Missoula, Montana. My father was in the Jesus People movement—VW bus and everything. He was with a group that traveled around the country singing and preaching. He led my mother to the Lord and then fell in love with her and stayed behind when the rest of the group left.

“It would have been a perfect love story, except that my grandparents hated him. He was white and a Christian, not a good combination in their eyes; they were irate when she married him. Three months later my father was drafted. A month after he was sent to Vietnam, my mother found out she was expecting me, but before she could write him with the news, she got word that he had been shot down. The pilot who had witnessed it said there couldn’t have been any survivors, but I’m not sure my mother ever quite let herself believe it.

“I had a pretty normal, happy childhood until I was eight. Then my mother moved us to Edgewater to get away from her family. She worked at an art gallery, and we lived above the shop. The owners were like grandparents to me.” Cody turned the car onto a narrow country road and was silent for several minutes.

“Anyway, we first met Robert when I was five. He spent a couple of weeks every summer volunteering at a free clinic near us. The first year he was there I was in the hospital for a week with pneumonia; then two years later I fell off my bike and broke my collarbone—I guess I was responsible for bringing my mom and Robert together. They spent a lot of time together while he was in Montana and wrote to each other when he was back here.” Cody put on his turn signal and glanced at Hailey. “Still with me?”

“Yes!”

He pulled into a winding drive that led to a nineteenth-century, two-story white house with a wide porch and second-story balcony. “This is Dad’s place; mine’s in back. Want to come in for a minute?”

Without her usual caution, Hailey followed him up the cobblestone walkway.

“This used to be the summer house. The main house was built by Milbrooke’s first mayor, and this was added during the nineteen twenties.” He opened the door for her.

The living room of the low-ceilinged bungalow was newly carpeted in a light teal, with matching vertical blinds on the windows. An arched fireplace was tiled in terra cotta; the stark white walls were accented by several Southwest prints. It’s a peaceful place, Hailey thought.

“I’ll grab the papers; make yourself at home for a minute,” Cody said.

Hailey’s eyes were drawn to the painting that hung above the fireplace. The room seemed to have been decorated around its color scheme. Hailey touched the smooth blond wood of the frame and stared at the scene above her. A row of small clapboard storefronts, shaded by a covered boardwalk, was nestled at the foot of a cloud-covered mountain. Streaks of sunlight filtered through the clouds and dappled the dirt street in front of the buildings. Such a common scene, yet it held an almost ethereal quality.

“Like it?” Cody asked.

She nodded.

“It’s one of my mother’s.”

Hailey shook her head sadly. “She was very gifted.” She turned to a smaller painting. “Did she do this one, too?”

“No. We have only two; Dad has the other one.”

“You know Paige, David’s sister, I suppose.”

“I just met her yesterday. Studied art in Paris, huh?”

“Yes. She’s going back in the fall. She just started working for a gallery in Madison. You should see her work.”

She was about to comment that he and Paige had a lot in common, but something stopped her. She walked quietly to a narrow table that was crowded with picture frames and picked up the one in the center. A woman with long black hair, wearing a traditional Indian dress of white buckskin trimmed with beads and layers of fringe, stood beside a man with a dark beard and hair to his shoulders. A brass plaque on the frame read, “Richard and Kwanita.” Almost in awe, Hailey whispered, “Your parents?”

“Mm-hm. Their wedding picture.”

“Your mother was beautiful.” She was about to set it down, then pulled it closer, turning it so that the light from the window illuminated the beaded headband that held the long black hair in place. “I’ve seen. . .” She hesitated.

“What?”

Hailey shook her head again. “Oh. . .nothing.”

She set the frame down and focused on the picture next to it. A dark-haired little boy sat between a gray-haired couple; behind them stood a stern-faced man in his thirties, with cold, piercing eyes. She pointed to the child. “Is that you?”

“Yeah. Cute, wasn’t I? That’s Pampa and Millie Waters, the shop owners I told you about.” His voice altered slightly as he pointed to the younger man in the picture. “That’s their nephew, Lyle, a real deadbeat. Used to show up whenever he needed money. He was always after my mother; I remember being terrified of him when I was little. He’s the reason things weren’t so happy for me after we moved when I was eight.”

Cody straightened the stack of file folders in his hand. “Ready to go? I’ll finish my life story on the way back.”

Hailey nodded and turned to follow him, then glanced back, puzzled, at the wedding picture. She opened her mouth in a silent question, then stepped beneath his arm and out the door.