Книга - Day By Day

Day By Day
Delia Parr


Mills & Boon Silhouette
Three grandmothers bound by one common threadBarbara lost her son, a single dad, to senseless violence. Judy's daughter fell into a black hole of addiction. Ginger's girl threw away motherhood for money, status and materialism. And the grandmothers had to pick up the pieces….Miraculously, they found one another, a mismatched trio with no common history, yet with so much to share. Together they found wisdom, strength and courage–and rediscovered the true meaning of faith.









Praise for

Delia Parr

and her novels


“The heartwarming story stars three middle-aged sisters dealing with the ordinary ins and outs of life…. Parr is to be commended for her character development; each sister is well differentiated. The novel is also tightly plotted…another strong offering from Steeple Hill.”

—Publishers Weekly on Abide with Me

“Readers will immerse themselves in the lives of these three women in midlife whose Christian roots help them overcome life’s challenges and rejoice in its joys. With a homey feel reminiscent of Jan Karon’s ‘Mitford’ series, this initial entry in a new trilogy is recommended.”

–Library Journal on Abide with Me

“Realistic issues with concrete solutions will keep readers engaged.”

–Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Abide with Me

“Parr’s writing is fresh and original.”

—Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel on The Minister’s Wife

“Written in the tradition of LaVyrle Spencer, Parr’s books are beautifully written in elegant prose…. The characters’ faith is always a big factor in their growth and triumph.”

—Tina Wainscott, author of In Too Deep, on The Promise of Flowers

“Always one to break the rules and craft intelligent, thought-provoking romance.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Sunrise

“Very few writers today are on a par with Delia Parr.”

—Affaire de Coeur on The Ivory Duchess




Day by Day

Delia Parr







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Dedicated to

Peg O’Hara,

My Summer Friend

in Ocean Gate




Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Epilogue

Afterword

Cinnamon Bubble Wreath

Acknowledgments

Questions for Discussion




Prologue


H ot, humid days and sultry nights each summer slowed the pace of everyday life in Welleswood, a small suburban town in Southern New Jersey. Despite the renaissance that had breathed new life into this once-dying town, many families fled the suffocating heat and escaped to nearby mountain retreats or beach resorts for a few weeks at a time. Others remained to take advantage of townwide recreational and cultural events organized by an old-fashioned network of women who worked together to make Welleswood a good place to live, even in the throes of summer.

Within the predictable cycle of summer this year, however, the early days of July would bring heartache and tragedy, as well as new challenges to grow in faith and love, to three very different women in Welleswood.



“Daddy can’t come.”

At the sound of her granddaughter’s voice, Barbara Montgomery looked up from the travel brochures that littered the dining room table. Her husband of thirty-four years, John, was standing in the doorway holding their twin granddaughters, one in his arms, and the other at his side. “Jessie! Melanie! What a surprise!”

Barbara pushed back from the table, rose to her feet and quickly set aside all thoughts of the sailing adventure she and John were planning two years from now when they launched into retirement as members of a crew on a two-year sailing trip around the world.

“Daddy can’t come,” Melanie repeated. Her little six-year-old face was strangely solemn, and she held tight to her Pappy’s shoulder.

Jessie tugged free from his hand. The eldest by all of three minutes and the more dominant by leaps and bounds, she folded her hands on her chest and stomped her foot. “Daddy had to go away, and Pappy says we can’t go with him, but I want my daddy. Why can’t me and Melanie go? You’ll take us, won’t you, Grammy? You know the way to heaven, don’t you?”

“Heaven?” Confused, Barbara looked up and studied her husband’s features. She froze the moment she saw his tearstained cheeks and the grief that shadowed his gaze. The world stopped for a moment. Time stood still. Her heart pounded against a wall of denial that refused to be cracked. Their son Steve was in heaven? Steve was gone? No, that couldn’t be true. Impossible. Not Steve. He was only thirty years old. He was a health fanatic. He had these two precious little girls to raise—little girls whose mother had deserted Steve and abandoned her babies shortly after their birth.

No. Steve could not be in heaven. Barbara had just talked to him this morning. She locked her gaze with her husband’s, praying he would put her worst fears to rest. “John?”

Fresh tears coursed down his cheeks. “Our Steve’s gone. He’s been…murdered,” he croaked. “Our boy has gone Home, and the girls…the girls need us, Barb, now more than ever.”

Pain seared the very essence of her spirit. The look of absolute grief in her husband’s gaze melted the wall of denial protecting her heart, and she rushed to embrace him. With one arm around Melanie, she pulled Jessie against her, too, as her soul clung to her faith in God—faith that would somehow have to sustain them all.



Late Saturday afternoon, Judy Roberts quickly scanned the empty beauty salon and searched for signs of any cleanup task she might have missed. Satisfied that all was ready for Tuesday morning when her shop would reopen, she flipped the light switch and watched each of the green neon letters in Pretty Ladies sputter and flicker into darkness.

She let out a sigh and arched her back while every muscle in her legs and feet protested against each of the fifty-seven years she had spent on this earth, especially the decades she had spent as a hairdresser turning other women into pretty ladies. “Time for this pretty tired lady to drag herself home,” she mumbled. She opened the door, turned, and locked the door behind her, stepping from the relative comfort of the air-conditioned shop into a never-ending wall of hot, humid air.

Fortunately, home was only a few blocks away. She worked her way down Welles Avenue and eased through the influx of Saturday-night diners who crowded the brick sidewalk en route to a host of new eateries that were part of the trendy “new” Welleswood. There were some families out tonight, but mostly couples and mostly strangers to her, she noticed, and quietly turned off the avenue toward the row house she called home.

Row house. She chuckled to herself. Newcomers called the vintage row houses built during the Great Depression town houses now, but more than the name had changed. Prices of these homes had nearly quadrupled in the years since she and her husband, Frank, had purchased theirs some thirty-five years ago. With Frank gone four years now, God rest his soul, she was barely able to afford the taxes, but she did own the house, free and clear. Any plans she had for spending her golden years comfortably, unfortunately, had died with him, along with the hope she might one day be reconciled with their only daughter, Candy, or see her grandson, Brian. She stopped at the corner to let the traffic pass and patted her thigh. “Looks like I’ll have to struggle through, best as I can on my own. Don’t need much for myself. Good thing, too,” she mumbled before crossing the street.

Dog tired, she got a boost of energy as she started down the block where she lived and thought about taking a shower. A long, refreshing shower. Then a quick bite to eat and off to bed where she could fall asleep watching television, but only after she had set the alarm so she would not oversleep and miss Sunday services. Walking against the glare of the late-afternoon sun, she could just make out her row house on the corner at the end of the block, and it appeared that one of the neighborhood children was using the railing on her front porch like a balance beam.

Again.

Another boost of energy hastened her steps, and her purse swayed faster as she hurried toward home. She loved the neighborhood children. She did not mind if they played on her front lawn or climbed the backyard fence to retrieve a lost ball. She even let them skateboard in the driveway along the side of her house, since she could not afford the insurance for a car and the driveway served no real purpose for her.

Her front porch railing, however, was definitely off-limits. Visions of one of the children falling off the railing now and getting hurt sent her scurrying as fast as her tired legs could carry her. From behind, the boy only appeared to be five or six years old. Didn’t anyone keep track of their little ones any more?

“You there! Get down! You’ll really get hurt if you fall,” she cried as she passed the front of the house next door.

If the boy heard her, he ignored her and continued his daredevil antics by leaping from the front railing to the side one. He landed hard, bobbed a bit, then pitched headlong off the railing toward the driveway below.

Shock halted her steps and her heart skipped a beat, but instead of a scream of terror or the horrible sound of his little body striking the asphalt driveway, she heard a man’s harsh voice. “Do it again, and this time, try harder so you don’t fall!”

Her eyes widened. Her pulse quickened, and she charged past her front lawn, ready to give a good tongue-lashing to the idiot of a man who was letting the boy use her front porch like an old-fashioned playground. She rounded the corner of the yard and faced the man who was lifting the boy back up to the railing, but the diatribe she had planned died before she could utter a single word.

The man was indeed an idiot.

He was also her son-in-law.

Was the boy with him her grandson, Brian? She had not seen the boy for four years, and he had only been a few months old when Duke and Candy had first moved to California with him. Her heart leaped with hope. Was Candy here, too? Was she inside, ready to reconcile, or at least explain why she had gone back to California after that terrible scene at Frank’s funeral?

“Duke?” was all Judy could manage to say.

At the sound of his name, he turned his head, gave her a relieved smile, and pulled the boy down to stand on the ground beside him. At six foot four inches and weighing close to three-hundred pounds, Duke was a massive man. His arms bulged with muscles covered with tattoos that stretched to his knuckles, and he sported half a dozen earrings in his left ear. In the distance, at the far end of the driveway, he had parked his Harley.

He nodded at her. “Me and Brian been waitin’ awhile. Just drove cross-country, and I’m plain tuckered out.”

She swallowed hard and tried not to imagine her son-in-law driving her grandson cross-country on a motorcycle. She approached her grandson and crouched down to gaze at him face-to-face. A layer of dirt and grime covered his features and the dark curls on his head were matted, but the blue eyes twinkling back at her were the same color as Frank’s. “Do you know who I am?” she asked.

“You’re Grandmom,” he answered, squaring his little shoulders. “Dad told me.”

Duke nudged the boy with his knee. “Go on. Give her a kiss hello, boy. Time’s a-wastin’.”

Brian flinched, but obeyed his father and planted a kiss on her chin. “Hi, Grandmom.”

Judy closed her eyes for a moment and melted with joy. She kissed him back. “Hi, yourself. Is your mommy here, too?”

“Candy’s not here. She’s back in the hospital. Again.” Duke spat the words without giving Brian a chance to respond.

Concerned, Judy stood up, but before she could ask for a full explanation, Duke shoved an envelope into her hand. “What’s this?”

“Papers. Legal papers. You’ll be needin’ ’em if you’re gonna raise him. I can’t tell you exactly where Candy is stayin’, ’cause I don’t know, so don’t bother tryin’ to grill me.”

She turned the envelope over and over in her hand. “I don’t understand. If Candy is back in rehab, then why—”

“I’m leavin’ Brian with you. I don’t know whether or not she’ll ever show up for the boy, but until she does, you need the papers to put him in school and stuff.”

She edged closer to Brian and put her arm around his narrow shoulders. “Why?”

Duke snorted. “Kid’s six now. He started school last year, and Candy—”

“No. I meant why are you leaving Brian with me? Why aren’t you going to wait for Candy to come home and raise him? You’re her husband and his father.”

He shrugged. “Havin’ a kid was Candy’s idea, not mine. Doesn’t look like she’ll be able to take care of him anytime soon. Besides, I got plans now, and he’s not part of ’em.”

When Brian tried to squirm free from Judy’s grip, Duke nailed the boy to the spot with a glare that sent shivers down her spine. “You behave, boy. Don’t make me come back if I hear you’ve been bad.”

Brian froze and his features paled.

Judy held him tight. She did not know whether to throttle her idiot son-in-law senseless for being such a brute or for abandoning his own flesh and blood. She was even tempted to thank him for bringing her grandson home to her, instead of leaving him to get lost in the maze of foster care. Without giving her a chance to do anything, however, Duke simply got on his motorcycle and drove off.

He never looked back.

He never even said goodbye to his son.



Ginger King and her husband, Tyler, emerged from their house with their cooler packed and ready to leave for some tailgating with their friends from church before today’s doubleheader baseball game between the Philadelphia Phillies and the Chicago Cubs. To her surprise, they ran straight into their daughter Lily, and her eight-year-old son, Vincent.

At thirty, Lily was their youngest child. A single mom, she and Vincent lived in Chicago where she taught elementary school. She had never spoken of Vincent’s father or even revealed his identity, and she had not been home for a visit for nearly two years. Their oldest son, Mark, was in Nashville recording demo tapes and waiting for his big break into country music, while their middle child, Denise, enjoyed life as a flight attendant, headquartered in San Francisco. All were still single, but it was Lily who Ginger worried about the most.

Ginger squealed with delight, hugged her grandson with one arm and her youngest child with the other. “What a surprise! I can’t believe you two! What are you doing here?” Without giving either one the chance to answer, she tussled Vincent’s hair. “Look how tall you’ve gotten. Don’t tell me you’ve become a Cub fan and Mom flew you here from Chicago for the doubleheader today. We were just headed over to the stadium,” she gushed. She knew they would have to ditch those plans now, but her excitement at seeing Lily and Vincent quickly erased her disappointment.

Vincent blushed. “You know I don’t like baseball, Grams.”

Ginger winced. As endearing as the term Grams might be—it was better than Grandmom—yet she was still tempted to look around, as if Vincent were talking with someone else. At fifty-five, she felt and acted twenty-five. She was too young to be a grandmother, by any name. When she looked at the way Vincent wrinkled his nose at the mention of baseball, any hope that he had developed an interest in sports also died quickly, a major disappointment to both Ginger and Tyler, whose social lives revolved around professional sports, especially baseball and football.

“If I remember correctly, you like hot dogs, though,” Tyler prompted. He nodded back toward the house. “How about we go out back and fire up the grill?”

Vincent beamed. “I love hot dogs, Gramps.”

Tyler gave Lily a kiss. “Welcome home, sweetie.”

“Thanks, Daddy, but don’t go just yet. There’s someone I want you both to meet.” She turned and looked toward the curb where Ginger noticed, for the first time, a young man standing next to a Hummer convertible. When Lily smiled and waved for him to join them, the man quickly approached and placed his arm possessively around her. Beaming, Lily took a deep breath. “This is Paul Taft. Paul is my husband. We were married last week.”

Ginger’s heart skipped a beat. “Married? You’re married?” When Lily held out her left hand and the sun flashed on a set of rings beset with diamonds, Ginger’s reaction shifted from surprise to denial and stayed there. “I can’t believe it! You’re married? Really married? Without a word to us first?”

“Yes, Mom, married.”

“Oh,” was all Ginger could manage. Thankful that Lily would no longer be alone and Vincent would finally have a father, albeit a stepfather, Ginger hugged her daughter tight. She also embraced the fact that her daughter’s secretive wedding was only the latest in a long line of disappointments in their relationship.

Tyler set down the cooler to shake hands with their new son-in-law, but his expression was sober and reflected his own disappointment. “You could have told us when you got engaged.”

“I could have helped you with plans for the wedding,” Ginger added. “At the very least, we could have flown out for the ceremony. Mark and Denise would have wanted to be there, too,” she admonished, only too aware of how easily Lily had always been able to set aside her parents, as well as her brother and sister, in favor of her friends.

“Besides, you know how much your father and I love to travel,” she teased.

Lily glanced at her parents and edged closer to Paul. Her cheeks were flushed pink, which added a little color to her plain, girl-next-door looks. “Especially since I got married in a sports town like Chicago,” she retorted. She slipped her hand into Paul’s. “Under the circumstances, we just wanted a private ceremony,” she murmured. “We thought we’d stop here first for a day or so to tell you both, then we need to go to Boston to tell Paul’s family.”

“We can call Mark and Denise while you’re here,” Ginger suggested, “but you can stay as long as you like.” Eager to speak to Lily alone, she looped her arm through her daughter’s. “Tyler, why don’t you take Paul and Vincent out back to start the grill? Lily and I will get the plates and things from the kitchen,” she suggested.

Tyler nodded and picked up the cooler. “This way, guys. We’re probably all better off if we give these two women time for some girl talk in the kitchen.”

While he led them around the side of the house, Ginger took Lily inside to the kitchen. Instead of focusing on her own disappointment, however, she needed to appease her concern that Lily had married someone neither Ginger nor Tyler had ever met. “Tell me all,” she insisted. “Where did you meet Paul? How come you didn’t call and tell us about him? What does he do for a living? Will you still work?”

Lily laughed and held up her hands. “One question at a time, Mom, but for starters, we met on a blind date last year. I didn’t tell you about him because I never tell you about my social life or the men that I date. Paul’s an attorney who spends all of his time representing some of his family’s interests. And finally, no, Taft women do not work.”

With her eyes dancing, she shrugged. “I’m not really sure what the Taft women do with all their time, but Paul assures me that his mother will take me under her wing once we settle in Boston.”

Ginger nearly dropped the stack of napkins she was loading into the holder. “The Taft women? You don’t mean…you couldn’t possibly mean that Taft family.”

“Yes, Mother, I do mean that Taft family.”

“As in Edmund Taft, the head of the family that owns Taft Publishing and…and a major TV network, not to mention all the cable…that Taft family?”

“Edmund Taft is Paul’s uncle.” She toyed with her rings and let out a sigh. “There’s only one slight problem,” she whispered. She looked directly at Ginger with a troubled gaze. “They’re a very proper kind of family, Mom. They’re not going to take it very well when they find out that Paul and I have gotten married without all the hoopla that usually surrounds one of their weddings.” She looked around the room, as if making sure no one would overhear her, and lowered her voice to a whisper. “They’re especially not going to like welcoming a daughter-in-law with baggage.”

Ginger’s eyes widened and she shoved the napkin holder aside. “I hope you’re not referring to Vincent.”

Lily’s eyes flashed defiantly. “I’m a single parent whose child was born out of wedlock. I’m not exactly the kind of woman who marries a Taft.”

“Paul chose you to be his wife, and he married you, I hope, because he loves you. That should be reason enough to welcome you into the family, with Vincent an added blessing,” Ginger insisted, quickly losing the fight against the disappointment and anger attempting to rise and cloud her thoughts. “If Paul can’t stand up to his family to defend the woman he loves and an innocent child, then maybe you shouldn’t have married him in the first place.”

“He will, Mom. I know he will.” Lily squared her shoulders. “Please don’t ruin this for us. I haven’t met his family yet, but Paul is certain that once they get to know me, they’ll love me and then we can tell them about Vincent and—”

“What do you mean, ‘once they get to know’ you? How are you going to explain who Vincent is when you get to Boston?”

“Well, that’s one of the reasons I’m glad we have a chance to talk privately. Paul thinks it would be better if Vincent stayed here with you and Dad. Just for the summer. By the time school starts in September, we’ll be able to bring Vincent to Boston. In the meantime, Paul’s parents can get to know me, and we can find a place of our own. It’s only for a little while, Mom. Please. Won’t you let Vincent stay with you and Daddy for the summer?”

Disappointment in her daughter and her new husband ran deep in Ginger’s heart, along with the reality that all of the plans Ginger and Tyler had made for this summer would have to be changed. But neither disappointment ran deep enough to slice through the love she had for her grandson, or the regret that she and Tyler had never been to Chicago to visit Lily and spend time with their only grandchild. “I’ll talk it over with your father,” she murmured, “but I suppose we could manage, as long as it’s only for the summer.”




Chapter One


F or the first time in over twenty years, Judy Roberts once again welcomed the start of another school year with open arms and a huge sigh of relief. After a long, frustrating summer juggling her job, getting to know her grandson and almost depleting her meager savings to keep him in day care while she was at work, he was now in school in first grade.

Less than a week later when she hurried to work, she was not sure if her life had gotten more or less complicated now that Brian was in school. She had to get out of bed an hour earlier than usual to get him up, dressed and fed, and walk him to school before she could go to work.

“My life’s just complicated. Sometimes more, sometimes less,” she muttered as she unlocked the front door to the beauty salon and slipped inside. She let up the shade on the door and hit a series of wall switches. As the neon sign, Pretty Ladies, flickered to life, bright lights illuminated both sides of the salon. Behind the reception desk, on either side of the room, two stations sat opposite one another, with a row of six hair dryers and seats stretched across the rear wall. Behind that wall, there was a customer lounge and a ladies’ room. Throughout the salon, a fresh coat of dove-gray paint-covered walls cracked with age that matched the well-worn tile floor. Mauve accents, including baskets of dried flowers hanging in between the stations, offered a soothing atmosphere that helped ease her flustered state.

Her mind raced through a list of things she needed to do as manager, to get the salon ready for business. She stood behind the main reception desk that anchored the converted storefront on Welles Avenue, the main street that the town locals simply called “the avenue,” and opened the appointment book. No computers here. Pretty Ladies was just an old-fashioned beauty salon that had survived through the lean years, during the sixties and seventies, when one business after another had closed along the avenue only to reopen a short while later in nearby malls. In addition to the standard appointment book, the desk held an old, battered recipe box that held index cards for individual customers, recording the specifics of their hair dye colors, preferred brands of permanents, and personal preferences.

Unlike the new and very trendy unisex hair and nail salon just a few blocks away that drew newcomers to town, Pretty Ladies catered mainly to the elderly residents who lived in the senior citizens’ complex, Welles Towers, or longtime, loyal customers who preferred to remain with the owner, Ann Porter, or Judy, the only other hairdresser at the shop.

She quickly counted the appointments for the day and smiled. Ann was only working in the morning today, with her first appointment at ten o’clock, but Judy had eight appointments, starting with one of her favorite clients here at nine o’clock and ending with an afternoon at the Towers. Not a great day in terms of what she might earn, but decent, although she was still worried she might have to get a second job now that she had another mouth to feed.

Still smiling, she answered the phone when it rang, even though the salon did not open for another half an hour. After making an appointment for one of Ann’s customers for tomorrow, she stored her handbag at her hair station and went directly to the customer lounge in the rear of the salon. Within ten minutes, she set up the coffeemaker and a kettle of water for tea, put a fresh tablecloth on the snack table, and set out the packets of sugar, both natural and artificial, powdered creamer, napkins and paper plates.

At eight forty-five, she answered the usual knock at the front door and signed for a box of goodies from McAllister’s Bakery that held the standard order of three dozen assorted baked goods. By design, these were far too many doughnuts or Danish or sticky buns for the customers to consume, but she would take whatever was left to the Towers for the seniors, a daily ritual that almost always ended her day on an upbeat note.

Before she had a chance to carry the box back to the lounge area, Ann arrived a full hour ahead of time. At sixty-two, she was only five years older than Judy, but she was no longer the vibrant, tireless woman who had spent the past thirty years working side by side with Judy as both employer and friend. Beyond the common bond of their vocation, they had shared the challenges of raising a child and the sorrows of widowhood. While Judy had maintained her health, Ann had packed a good extra forty pounds on her once-slender frame and had battled recurring bouts of gout over the past year that had zapped her energy, although her sense of humor was still intact.

“You’re early,” Judy remarked, holding tight to the box.

“Alice Conners called me at home last night. She’s not feeling up to coming in for her ten o’clock, so I promised I’d stop by her house instead. I just need to get my bag.” She paused, stared at the box in Judy’s hands and pointed to the back of the shop. “Take that into the lounge. Quick. Before I gain another three pounds just thinking about what’s inside or my big toe turns bright red and starts throbbing again.”

Judy chuckled. “Just thinking about treats from McAllister’s isn’t the problem. It’s eating two or three a day that gets you into trouble, in more ways than one. Baked goods are off-limits. Doctor’s orders, remember?” she insisted before she turned and started toward the lounge.

Ann followed her for a few steps, but turned to get to her station. “No baked goods. No coffee. No tea. No chocolate. And that’s just a tip of the forbidden list. Boy, isn’t living with gout swell?” She sighed. “Still, it has been a couple of months since I’ve had any problems, and I’ve been dreaming about Spinners for weeks. All that sweet, buttery dough laced with cinnamon and topped with a mound of chocolate icing.” She sighed loudly again. “Set aside a chocolate-iced one for me, will you? Just one couldn’t hurt.”

Ann was off her diet more than she was on it, and Judy was loath to encourage her to do something that would adversely affect her health. When she got to the lounge, she set the box down, lifted out the tray, set it on the table and grinned. “Sorry. No Spinners today,” she replied, relieved at the day’s offerings.

“Any cheese Danish?”

“No. Just miniature sticky buns that you don’t really like. There’s still some fresh fruit in the refrigerator,” she suggested, hoping to convince Ann to follow her diet and try to prevent another debilitating episode that would either keep her off her feet for a few weeks or trigger another eating binge that would add even more pounds.

Judy stored the box away and opened the refrigerator. “I have a yellow Delicious apple, a pear and a navel orange. And there’s a quart of cider you can warm up if you want something hot to drink.”

“One orange. Three sticky buns. And don’t argue. I’m still the boss around here, and just in case I need to remind you, it’s dangerous to argue with a postmenopausal woman.”

“That’s funny. I distinctly remember my boss telling me just last week that I should ignore her when she asked for something she shouldn’t eat,” she teased, even as she arranged a plate with the orange and three sticky buns and put it back into the refrigerator.

“That must have been your other boss. The one with willpower.”

Judy laughed, went back into the shop and grabbed her smock that she put on while she made her way to the reception desk where Ann stood waiting with her bag of tools and supplies. When Judy nearly tripped, she stopped to hike up her slacks.

“New slacks?” Ann asked.

“I got them off the clearance rack. I meant to hem them, but as usual these days, time has a way of running out before all my chores are done.” She took a deep breath and smiled. “Things should calm down a bit now that Brian’s in school.”

“I’m sure they will. Just be careful, will you? I don’t want you to trip and fall and hurt yourself.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Ann nodded. “I should be back in plenty of time for my ten o’clock,” she said before she headed toward the door.

“I’ll be here. I’ve got plenty to do. It’s supply day, remember? In between appointments, I’ll be inventorying the stock.”

Ann looked back over shoulder and lifted one brow. “What about my goodies?”

“One orange. Three sticky buns. I have them on a plate in the refrigerator, although it’s against my better judgment.”

Grinning, Ann waved goodbye. Before the door closed behind her, Judy was already reviewing her appointments for today. The first one, for Madge Stevens, a longtime client, brought a lift to her heart that the second appointment with Mrs. Hart quickly erased, and she prayed for an extra dose of patience to get through it.

When Madge arrived a few minutes later, promptly at nine o’clock, Judy greeted her with a smile and a bear hug. “I’ve missed you.”

Madge returned the hug, stepped back and grimaced. “I’ve missed you, too, but I’m afraid my hair has missed you even more. I was going to borrow that special conditioner you gave me for Andrea when she was getting chemo, but she’d used it all up and neither one of us could remember the name of it.”

“No problem. Andrea’s still doing well?”

Madge smiled. “It’s been two years now, and she’s still cancer-free, thankfully.”

Judy inspected Madge’s blond, shoulder-length hair and grinned. “Sun and salt air might be your nightmare, but they’re a hairdresser’s best friend. Don’t worry. I’ve got some of the conditioner. I’ll use it today and send you home with some, but we’ll have to snip off those split ends first.”

Madge shrugged. “Getting my hair cut is a small price to pay for being able to rent a place for a month at the shore with my sisters. Jenny and the girls were able to stay for the whole time, and Andrea even managed to get down for a few days each week. What a great month!”

An only child, Judy shook her head and wished she had had a sister or two like Madge. Judy had not had a single day off the entire summer, either. Not since Brian had arrived. “Go on back. I’ll give you a good wash, then we’ll see about taking care of those split ends.”

Within moments, she had Madge freshly shampooed and settled into the chair at her station, and she had a tube of conditioner on the counter for Madge to take home. Judy rearranged the plastic drape to protect Madge’s lavender outfit and started to comb her hair free of snags. “We’ll have you looking perky again in no time,” she assured her.

Madge chuckled. “Now that Sarah is in school, maybe I’ll have a little more time to get perky and help Russell at the store, too.”

“Business is still good?” Judy asked and wondered how or why anyone would buy the gourmet food or expensive trinkets for cats, all available at Russell’s store.

“At the Purrple Palace? It’s going perfectly,” Madge teased. “I’m so pleased for Russell. He’s worked hard to make the store a success.”

“And Sarah. Is she is still attending the preschool program?”

“She turned five in the spring, so she’s in full-day kindergarten. Remember when my boys and your Candy started school? They had half-day kindergarten sessions back then. That’s all changed now, I suppose to accommodate so many working mothers.”

Judy’s hands stilled as memories of her daughter surfaced. When Candy started school, Judy was young and hopeful, with her husband, Frank, at her side. Now he was gone, and Candy was somewhere in California battling her addiction again.

Madge pointed to the photograph Judy had taped to her mirror. “Is that your grandson?”

Judy looked into the mirror and locked her gaze with Madge’s. Although they were very close in age, the two women looked very different. Madge wore her years well. She had a deft hand with her makeup and both the time and the money to make sure her hair was colored well and styled fashionably. Like the proverbial shoemaker’s son who had no shoes, Judy had little time for her own hair. She wore it short and shaggy now, and her gray roots reminded her she was long overdue for a color touchup. Struck by the difference between them, as well as Madge’s question, she took a deep breath and turned her attention back to Madge’s hair. “Yes. He’s in first grade. You’ve been away, so I guess you haven’t heard. Brian’s staying with me…for a while longer.”

Madge frowned. “I thought I’d heard he was only going to be with you for the summer and that he’d be going back to school in California.”

Judy took another deep breath. “Candy’s not well,” she whispered, relying once again on the euphemism she had used for so many years now, although Madge knew all too well that Candy had been battling drug addiction for most of her life. Madge had been there through Candy’s rebellious high school years, her unfortunate marriage, and the scene at Frank’s funeral four years ago that had changed the rift between mother and daughter from temporary to permanent, at least as far as Candy was concerned. Judy glanced up and looked into the mirror again, half expecting to see her broken heart staring back at her, along with Madge’s sympathy.

“I’m so sorry,” Madge murmured.

Judy blinked back tears. “Me, too. For the past few years, I thought not knowing how she was doing was bad, but not knowing where she is now is even worse. Brian’s only six, but he asks questions about his mother and his father that I can’t answer.”

Madge nodded. “Sarah’s had questions, too. She was three when we adopted her, but she still asks me to find her mommy for her. Death isn’t a concept she understands yet, I’m afraid.”

Judy swallowed hard and started trimming off the split ends. “I think I could handle explaining Candy’s death to Brian a lot easier than trying to explain why his mommy doesn’t come for him when she’s still alive. I’ve told him how sick she is. Unfortunately, he knows that, too, but he’s so young. He doesn’t understand drug addiction any more than I do, and I’m afraid he’s seen a lot of things he shouldn’t have.”

“At our age, raising a child isn’t easy,” Madge murmured.

“What about Brian’s father? Isn’t he able to take care of him?”

Judy snipped another section of hair and let her hand drop. “Duke?” She snorted. “Would you believe he drove that child cross-country on a motorcycle? Then he waited with him on my front porch until I got home from work, handed me an envelope with some legal papers making me Brian’s guardian and cycled off into the sunset all by his lonesome.”

“He didn’t!”

Judy cocked her head and studied Madge’s hair. Satisfied with the trim, she worked some conditioner through the sun-damaged strands of hair. “He sure enough did. I’m trying really hard, but raising Brian is a whole lot harder than raising Candy.” She sighed. “Or maybe I’m just a little bit older than I was back then, and now I don’t have Frank to help me. But at least school’s in session now, and I don’t have to pay a sitter while I’m working. They have an after-school program, too, so I can pick him up at six o’clock. That helps.”

Madge did not respond for several minutes. When Judy picked up her blow-dryer, Madge gripped the end of the dryer and held on to it. “We adopted Sarah, so our situations are different. I know that. But I have a friend who is going through the same thing as you are, raising her grandchildren. She’s in her fifties, too, like we are. I’m sure you know Barbara Montgomery, don’t you?”

“Not very well. Her granddaughters are in Brian’s class, though. She’s Ann’s customer. Owns Grandmother’s Kitchen on Antiques Row at the other end of town. It’s so sad about what happened to her son, but she hasn’t been in to the salon to have Ann do her hair since the funeral, and I haven’t seen her at school much, either.”

“It’s a tragedy. A true tragedy, especially for the twins.” She sighed. “Poor babies. First their mother runs off and disappears. Then they lose their daddy in a senseless crime,” she murmured as she shook her head. “I’m really worried about Barbara, too. Between losing Steve, raising the girls, running her shop, dealing with the stress of the continuing police investigation and praying they find the monster responsible for Steve’s death, she’s having a rough time all around,” Madge whispered.

Judy toyed with the cord on the dryer. “To be honest, I’ve been so busy with Brian and work all summer, I haven’t had much time to myself,” she murmured.

Madge smiled and let go of the dryer. “Maybe you and Barbara should get together. You have a lot in common, with both of you raising grandchildren. It might help.”

“You might be right,” Judy said absently while she turned the idea over in her mind.

“You know, Barbara’s been a friend of mine for years. She may be too proud to admit it, but she could probably use a friend in the same situation right about now, too.”

Barbara Montgomery, along with her husband, were definitely “old” Welleswood, like Judy, but they had been among the town elite for years, while Judy’s background was decidedly working class. Would the problems they were each encountering raising their grandchildren be enough to create a bond of friendship? Eager to find out, Judy shrugged. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

“It’d be good for you. For both of you. Why don’t I stop by her shop this afternoon before I pick up Sarah from school? I’ll talk to her and tell her to stop in to see you on her way home from work. I think she finishes up at four.”

“That’s all right. I’ll…I’ll make sure I walk over one day later this week. Today’s not really a good day for me. I’ve got to check the supplies and place an order. And somehow I wanted to find time to color my hair, so I may not even have time for lunch and still be at the Towers for the afternoon,” Judy insisted and switched on the blow-dryer to prevent Madge from arguing. Whether or not Judy would be able to find a friend in Barbara remained to be seen. Finding support or getting advice from someone else in a similar situation, however, was something she knew she really needed.

Madge could understand the challenges Judy faced—to a point. But she had not walked a single day down the path that led to having a grown child abdicate her responsibilities as a parent or raising a grandchild or making the emotional and financial adjustments that had become a necessary part of Judy’s life. Judy did not know Barbara Montgomery very well at all, except to know they lived and worked in very different social circumstances. She suspected she might have more in common with another single working woman trying to make ends meet than she would with Barbara, who was married to a very successful CPA and owned her own business to boot.

Judy finished styling Madge’s hair and met her gaze in the mirror. “Better?”

Madge smiled. “Much better. Thank you. I’ll need another appointment for early October for a coloring, though. By then, you and Barbara might be friends,” she suggested.

“Maybe,” Judy replied, but she was not nearly as certain about the prospect as Madge seemed to be. She removed the plastic cape, hiked up her slacks again and swept up while Madge left to use the ladies’ room.

When Madge returned, she pressed a bill into Judy’s hand and took a bite out of one of the miniature sticky buns that had been in the lounge. “You take care of yourself, and don’t forget to go over to see Barbara,” she murmured and left before Judy could respond.

She rang up the charge on the cash register and slipped the change, her tip, into her pocket. She was not surprised that Madge had tried to be so supportive, as well as generous. She was surprised, however, when Madge returned half an hour later. “I stopped to see Barbara. When I was talking to you earlier, I forgot that she closes the shop at three o’clock now that she picks up the girls after school. She said she’d have some time around one if you wanted to stop in to see her then. I know you said it was a really busy day for you, but sometimes you just have to leave one thing go because something else is more important.”

“Like coloring my hair? Thanks a bunch.” Judy chuckled to herself and shook her head. “Do you ever leave anything undone?”

“Of course not,” Madge teased.

The phone rang and interrupted their banter. As soon as she answered the phone and heard Mrs. Hart’s voice, her heart sank. When the elderly woman canceled her appointment and scheduled another one with Ann later in the week, Judy tried to remain polite. She was more relieved than disappointed not to have to deal with this particular customer today, in spite of the fact that she needed everyone she could get these days.

As soon as she hung up, she looked at Madge and shrugged her shoulders. “Mrs. Hart canceled her appointment for today, so unless someone walks in, I think you’re my only customer this morning.”

Madge smiled sympathetically, then brightened. “Which means you can get started checking the supplies.”

“True. And color my hair.”

“And have time for lunch?”

“Also true,” Judy admitted.

“Good. I’ll pick you up at twelve. We’ll celebrate the start of the school year by having a quick lunch at The Diner, and then we’ll go to see Barbara together. I’ve been meaning to stop at the shop next door to order something for Andrea anyway. She and Bill are celebrating their second anniversary in a few weeks.”

Lunch at The Diner, the quaint little restaurant that was one of the few businesses like Pretty Ladies that had thrived during the years when Welleswood was just another dying, suburban town, sounded wonderful. Judy’s purse, unfortunately, held barely enough to last for the week as it was, even counting Madge’s tip.

“My treat,” Madge insisted, as if reading Judy’s mind. “I owe you lunch, remember?”

Judy frowned. “You owe me lunch? Since when?”

“Since September, 1986. We both went to lunch at The Diner to celebrate when Candy started her last year of high school. Remember? I’d forgotten my wallet, so you paid the bill. When I tried to repay you, you told me I could pay for both of us the next time we got together on the first day of school, which we never did because that was Candy’s last ‘first day’ of school.”

Judy laughed. “You’re making that up. Your memory might be good, but it’s not that good.”

Madge narrowed her gaze. “As I recall, you were a redhead back then. On that particular day, you were wondering whether or not to go blond or try frosting your hair.”

“So you remember our conversation, too?”

“Tell me you don’t remember what happened to your hair that very afternoon?”

Judy opened her mouth to respond, but a memory flew out of the past. A painful memory that flashed a horrid mental image of the disaster later that afternoon that had left her with bright orange hair less than half an inch long over her entire head on the very day that Candy started her senior year. “Oh, that day?”

“Exactly that day,” Madge insisted. She smiled and patted Judy on the shoulder. “I’ll pick you up at twelve,” she insisted. “In the meantime, stick to the inventory and if you do have time to color your hair, stick to dark brown. It’s more becoming, and it’s safer,” she teased before she left.

Chuckling, Judy hiked up her slacks again. When she saw the tube of conditioner on the counter, her smile widened. She could give Madge the conditioner at lunch, free of charge, one friend to another. The phone rang again. “Pretty Ladies, this is Judy,” she said as she grabbed her pen to either make an appointment or change one.

“Judy Roberts?”

“Yes.”

“Judy, this is Marsha, the school nurse at Park Elementary. It’s Brian. I’m afraid you need to come to the school immediately. He’s—”

Judy dropped the phone, grabbed her purse and ran out the door, barely remembering to lock it behind her before charging down the avenue toward the school.




Chapter Two


T he nurse’s office at Park Elementary School smelled of alcohol and disinfectant and sported freshly painted medicine cabinets with shiny locks. There was a child in one of the four yellow plastic chairs that served as a waiting area for students sent or brought to the school nurse, who was sitting behind a metal gray desk.

Judy shoved her visitor’s pass into her pocket and rushed straight to Brian. Ignoring the nurse, she crouched down in front of her grandson and ran the edge of her finger along one of his tearstained cheeks. “Feeling sick?” she asked, too concerned to waste time worrying about how she was going to salvage the rest of her workday.

He shrugged and kept his gaze downcast.

She heard the nurse approaching as she felt his forehead with the back of her hand. “I don’t think you have a fever.”

“His temperature is quite normal,” the nurse quipped.

Judy stood and turned slightly to face the other woman, who had stretched out her hand. “I’m Marsha Chambers, the school nurse. We spoke on the phone.”

Judy shook the younger woman’s hand and wondered how this woman-child could possibly be old enough to be a nurse. She did not look a day over seventeen, but then, everyone Judy dealt with these days seemed impossibly young. “I came as quickly as I could. I had to walk. I don’t have a car,” she explained, wishing Hannah Miller, who had been the school nurse here at Park Elementary for as long as Judy could remember, had not retired last year. Or was it the year before?

“I understand. You’re Brian’s grandmother?”

“Yes. I’m raising Brian. Temporarily. What’s wrong? He doesn’t appear to have a fever.”

The nurse glanced at Brian and hardened her gaze. “No. Physically, he’s fine.”

“Then why on earth didn’t you tell me that when you called?” Judy argued.

The nurse arched her back, and flipped her long, blond hair over her shoulder. “I would have told you, if you hadn’t hung up on me,” she countered, with just a slight tone of impatience. “Actually, Miriam called me from the front office to let me know you’d arrived. I’ve arranged for Brian to spend a few moments with one of the secretaries so we can talk. Privately,” she added with a nod toward Brian.

Judy swallowed hard and tried to stem the flow of miserable memories that threatened to sweep over her, despite the relief she felt that Brian was not seriously ill. When Candy had been in high school, Judy had been called to the school too many times to count, let alone remember, but that had been high school, not elementary school. When the secretary arrived, Brian left without an argument or a glance at either his grandmother or the nurse, and Judy sat down in the chair positioned at the side of the nurse’s desk.

After the nurse took her own seat, she looked at Judy with a gaze softened by pity. “I know it can’t be easy to be raising a young child at your age.”

Pity? Judy’s backbone stiffened. “I was busy raising his mother before you were even born,” she snapped. “How many children are you raising?”

The nurse huffed, and her cheeks reddened. “I’m not married so I don’t have any children of my own, but I had four years experience at Grace Academy before coming here last year. If you’d rather speak to the principal—”

“No,” Judy murmured before their encounter became any more adversarial. “I’m sorry. Your call scared me half to death. I should have given you an opportunity to explain what was wrong. Brian seemed perfectly fine this morning when I walked him to school, so if he had taken sick this quickly, I was afraid it might be something serious.”

The nurse nervously twisted her hands, which were resting on top of a manila folder on her desk. “I’m sorry, too. I probably should have been a little more direct when I called you. I certainly didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s just that…well, I’ve never encountered anything like this before. Our guidance counselor is also assigned to another elementary school, and she was already involved in another incident and couldn’t come, so Mrs. Worth, the principal, asked me to speak with you.”

Judy swallowed hard again. Mrs. Worth. Another person at Park Elementary who was new to Judy, but at least she had met Brian’s first grade teacher at the Open House in August. “What exactly is the problem?”

The nurse opened the manila folder, picked up a crayon drawing, and slid it across the desk so Judy could see it. “Yesterday afternoon, the children were asked to draw pictures of their parents. This is Brian’s picture, which his teacher only looked at last night at home. Given the climate in today’s society, I’m sure you’ll be able to see why Brian’s teacher had to bring this to our attention today. Before anyone contacted the Division of Youth and Family Services, the principal thought it best we speak with you.”

Judy’s pulse raced. Before she even took a peek at the picture he had drawn, she thought she had a good idea of what she might see, but she was not prepared at all. Despite some very juvenile stick figures and awkwardly drawn objects, the image of what his life had been like before coming to Welleswood to live with his grandmother was devastatingly graphic and pathetic.

Trembling, she examined the picture closely. The largest stick figure had been drawn in heavy black crayon. An assortment of oddly shaped spots on one ear looked far more benign than the dark rainbow of colors streaking down each arm. Judy could not have drawn a more accurate picture of Duke, with his tattoos and earrings, if she tried.

She was shaken, but not overly concerned because she knew the picture was, unfortunately, very accurate in detail. She studied the small stick figure sitting at the man’s feet playing with what appeared to be a collection of weapons of some sort. She could not tell if they were supposed to be knives or guns, but there was no doubt the little figure had one aimed upward, pointing directly at the larger stick figure.

Her heart lurched against her chest, however, when she gazed at yet another stick figure lying in a prone position on the floor behind the tiny figure. Yellow crayon scribbled across the head obviously represented blond hair, just like Candy’s had been the last time Judy had seen her. But it was the assortment of crudely drawn bottles, multicolored dots looking very much like pills, and pointed objects that looked like syringes that left Judy clutching her chest as she tried to endure looking at the painful scene which had poured out of Brian’s memories onto this paper.

Blinking back tears, she pointed a shaky finger at each of the stick figures and identified them. “This is Duke, Brian’s father. The prone figure is his mother, my daughter, Candy.” Her voice cracked. “This little one would be Brian.”

Without responding, the school nurse left for a moment and returned with a glass of water for Judy. She took a sip, almost too distraught to swallow the water without choking.

The picture Brian had drawn depicting the life Candy had led in California with her husband and child was far worse than Judy could have imagined. Heartfelt disappointment in her daughter, coupled with concern for Brian, quickly merged into anger. “How could you? How could you?” she whispered, as if Candy might be able to justify allowing her child to be raised in such a dangerous and godless environment. She did not expect Candy to answer. Judy knew that it was not Candy at all, it was the drugs, those hideous drugs, that had robbed Candy of all sense of decency and put Brian in danger.

Any and all resentment Judy had harbored these past few months about being thrust into the role of mother instead of grandmother evaporated at that very moment, and all the inconveniences in her life now that Brian was with her seemed inconsequential, if not petty. Brian was safe now. He was here, with her, where he belonged and needed to be.

She took several sips of water before quietly explaining the meaning behind the picture, as she understood it, as well as the circumstances behind her temporary custody of her grandson. To her relief, the nurse remained sympathetic and nonjudgmental, patting Judy’s arm. “I’m so sorry. Brian’s very fortunate to be with you.”

Judy sniffled and reached into her purse for a tissue. “What do we do now? About the picture?”

The nurse put the picture back into the manila folder while Judy put her glasses back on. “Even though Brian is no longer in that environment, with your permission, we’d like Brian to see the school district’s psychologist, of course, but the counselor wanted me to arrange for a time she could speak with you about arranging for private counseling for your grandson.” She took a card from the folder and passed it to Judy. “Her name is Janet Booth. If you call her tomorrow morning after nine, she’ll set up a time convenient for both of you to meet.”

Judy sighed with relief. Finally a name she knew. “Mrs. Booth was Candy’s sixth grade teacher. I didn’t realize she’d become a counselor. Of course, I’ll call her tomorrow morning.” She paused to moisten her lips. “What about the Division of Youth and Family Services?” she whispered, frightened that Brian might be taken from her and placed into foster care.

The nurse shook her head. “I’ll speak to the principal, but I don’t believe that will be necessary now. Not under the circumstances.”

Judy looked toward the door and back again. “What about Brian? Should I take him home? I had to close the salon to come here, but—”

“You can speak with him if you like. I know he’s still a bit confused about why his picture wasn’t hanging up with all the other children’s. I’m afraid he got a bit forceful with one of the other students, which is why his teacher, Miss Addison, sent him here. Just to cool down a bit.”

Judy shook her head and tried to reconcile the nurse’s description of Brian with what she had observed. Over the course of the summer, she and Brian had actually gotten to know one another for the first time. Now that he had filled out, his stocky frame was in perpetual motion, and he had the greatest dimple in each of his pudgy cheeks. At first, he had been wary of her, even untrusting. He seemed more comfortable with her and with his new surroundings now, although she noticed he did not gravitate toward men, especially large men. “He’s normally very agreeable. He can get withdrawn once in a while,” she admitted, “but he’s never highly agitated or pushy, even with the children in the neighborhood.”

“All the more reason for you to speak with the counselor. I’m sure she’ll have some ideas for you that could help. In the meantime, you can take Brian home if you want, although maybe it would be better if he rejoined his class. The teacher has already taken down all the other pictures,” she added.

“I’ll ask Brian, but he’ll probably want to stay,” Judy suggested. While the nurse called the front office to have Brian returned to the nurse’s office, Judy worried the strap on her purse. How she might be able to afford counseling for Brian when she scarcely made enough for the two of them now was a problem she would need to lift straight to the top of her prayer list, but she was certain about one thing. Brian would get all the help he needed, even if that meant taking a second or third job to pay for it.



By skipping lunch with Madge, after a brief, but evasive explanation and a promise to meet her at Barbara’s shop, Judy was back on schedule by one o’clock. She had a good forty-five minutes before she was due at Mrs. Schimpf’s apartment in the Towers to give her a haircut, and she turned down the cobblestone walkway onto Antiques Row toward Grandmother’s Kitchen with more than a slight hesitation to her steps.

It seemed like only yesterday when the lumberyard had been on this plot of land. Frank had come here to order the wood to build the fence that still protected the backyard of their home and the swing set he had made for Candy as a surprise for her fifth birthday. Judy made her way past the shops, scarcely four years old now, but designed to complement the vintage storefronts along the avenue.

Grandmother’s Kitchen was halfway down the row, and the foot traffic, even on a day as hot as this one, was light. Judy was so preoccupied with happier memories she nearly walked past the shop. Once inside, she paused for a moment to cool down in the air-conditioning and looked around. The shop was smaller than it appeared from the outside, perhaps no larger than fifteen by twenty feet, and the shine on the wooden floor was almost dazzling. Floor-to-ceiling shelves boasted dozens and dozens of rare china canister sets that were breathtaking, both in beauty and price. Protective velvet chains, like the ones used in movie theaters and museums, kept patrons at a safe distance. No problem there for Judy. If she saved her wages for a month of Sundays, she would never be able to afford a single item in this shop, and she held tight to the box from McAllister’s and her purse for fear of knocking something over.

Several small antique glass-and-oak display cabinets placed about the center of the room protected more canister sets for potential buyers to inspect at close range. Candles on top of the cabinets added the scent of summer roses to the air. There were no customers currently in the shop but Judy could hear voices coming from a back room, presumably Barbara’s office.

Uncertain how to proceed and anxious about the time, she was grateful for a sign that directed her to buzz for assistance. Within moments, Barbara emerged from the back room, and Judy saw for herself how deeply the woman had been affected by her son’s tragic murder.

Although still stylish, dressed in a pale pink linen suit and heels, Barbara had obviously been too grief-stricken by her son’s murder or too busy trying to raise her twin granddaughters to pay much attention to her hair, badly in need of a good trim and a touch-up. Sorrow had etched new lines across her forehead and down her cheeks, but it was the haunting look in her gaze as she drew close that nearly moved Judy to tears.

Poor Barbara. To lose a child so suddenly and so violently must be a heavy cross to bear. At least Judy could still pray for Candy’s recovery, but Barbara had no hope of ever seeing her beloved son again. Maybe she and Barbara could become friends, helping one another deal with their private pain as they each struggled to revert from their roles as grandmothers to become mothers again, despite the obvious differences in their backgrounds and circumstances. Perhaps grief, for a son lost forever and for a daughter lost to drugs, would be the bond that was strong enough to help them both.

When Judy stepped forward, eager to make a new friend, she tripped on the hem of her slacks. With her purse in one hand and the box of bakery goods in the other, she bumped into one of the glass display cases. Fortunately, the case was heavy enough to hold fast and keep her from falling, but her nudge had toppled the contents.

With her heart pounding over the sound of the china rattling in the display case, she closed her eyes, grateful to have kept her balance. Thoroughly embarrassed by her awkward entrance, she prayed nothing more than her pride had been cracked or broken.




Chapter Three


B arbara took one step out of her office and froze. Helpless to prevent the inevitable, she watched near disaster unfold in motion slow enough that it appeared to defy time.

Cringing, she instinctively squeezed her eyes shut. When all was quiet, she opened them and saw that Judy was still on her feet, though her face was flushed as she drew in deep gulps of air.

“Merciful heavens, are you all right?” Barbara managed as she rushed forward.

“I’m okay,” Judy insisted, looked over her shoulder at the display case and sighed. “Thankfully, I think your china is okay, too. I can’t believe I was so clumsy. I knew I should have hemmed these pants. I’m so, so sorry for bumping into the display case. I can’t even begin to imagine how long it would take me to repay you if I’ve broken anything.”

“Nonsense,” Barbara countered. “I have insurance to cover everything. I’m just glad you’re all right.”

Madge rushed up to join them. “Barbara? Judy? Are you two all right? I thought I heard—”

“I’m fine. Just totally and completely mortified. I tripped and bumped into the display case,” Judy responded. Holding tight to her purse and the box of baked goods, she turned and scanned the display case again. Smiling, she shook her head. “It doesn’t look like anything is broken. Maybe my day is taking a turn for the better after all. I was afraid this was going to be the grand finale to a day that went from bad to awful by noon!”

“Mine, too,” Barbara admitted. “I’m afraid having a bad day is become the norm. I’ve been more than a little preoccupied lately. Between reopening the shop, caring for the girls, and my Steve…” Her throat tightened. She choked back the grief still so heavy on her heart and wondered if she could ever function normally again or spend the rest of her days trying to exist with a broken heart.

Madge put an arm around Barbara and Judy. “You both have enough on your plates to warrant a lot of bad days. That’s why I wanted to get the two of you together…so you could help each other.”

Judy sighed and shook her head. “Some help I brought with me today. I can’t believe I was so clumsy.” She turned and looked down at the display case again. “I’d rather have broken something on myself. Bones heal. But antiques can’t be replaced. I don’t think any of the china is broken…but what if it’s cracked?”

“Barbara said that would be covered by insurance,” Madge insisted. “Now listen. This may not have been the best introduction, but working together to make sure there’s been no damage at all might be just the ticket.”

“The display case is pretty solid and the velvet lining should have cushioned the pieces that tipped over,” Barbara suggested.

Madge left them for a moment to turn the sign on the window from Open to Closed. “The last thing we need right now is a customer,” she explained.

“That’s true,” Barbara murmured. After walking around the display case, her initial hopes about the lack of damage were substantially reinforced, although she needed to carefully inspect each piece for hairline cracks that would ultimately affect their value.

The flush on Judy’s cheeks, however, remained. “Are any of the pieces cracked?” she asked.

Barbara caught her breath for a moment. Telling Judy the display case housed one of the most expensive or the most fragile set in her collection, which primarily contained imports from Germany and Czechoslovakia, would only add to the woman’s obvious distress. These white china canisters, decorated with multicolored wild flowers, dated back to the early 1800s. The largest canisters for flour, sugar, barley, rice, coffee and tea were intact, as were the smaller ones for spices ranging from cinnamon to mustard, and a pair of tall matching cruets for vinegar and oil, although most of the pieces had tipped over. “There’s no visible damage,” Barbara murmured.

Three months ago, she would have been frantic even to think the set might have been damaged, but losing Steve had taught her many lessons, not the least of which was the importance of life over mere possessions. The smile she offered to the other two women now was genuine. “If there’s any damage at all, it would be very minor. I still have to carefully check each of the pieces for cracks or chips, but I have to put the canister sets under the light on the work counter in back to know for sure.”

Judy’s smile was tenuous. “Minor?”

Madge grinned. “That’s what Barbara said. Minor.”

The distant sound of a tinny melody signaling a call on a cell phone immediately deepened Madge’s grin. “That’s my cell phone. I just love hearing ‘The Purple People-Eater’ instead of a standard telephone ring,” she explained. “I’ve been expecting an important call. I’ll be right back.”

While Madge walked to the back office in rhythm to the catchy tune, Judy checked her watch. When she looked back at Barbara, her gaze was filled with disappointment. “Unfortunately, I’ve only got about half an hour before the first of my afternoon appointments at the Towers, so I won’t be able to stay while you check the pieces for any damage. Why don’t you open the display case? At least I have enough time to help you take the pieces back to your office. I’d call to cancel the appointments if they were in the shop. My customers there wouldn’t mind a last-minute cancellation half as much, but the seniors…well, that’s not your problem, it’s mine. Anyway, as soon as I finish up at the Towers, which should be by five o’clock, at the latest, I’ll pick Brian up from the after-school program. There’s no way I can bring that child here, though. I’ll see if I can find a sitter. Maybe one of my neighbors would mind him, under the circumstances, and I can come back tonight. That’s assuming you can come back—”

“Judy! You’re rambling. Stop!” Barbara almost chuckled out loud when the woman snapped her mouth shut and blushed again. “Take a deep breath.”

She did.

“Now another.”

She did.

Barbara sighed. “Life is a whole lot more complicated for me now, too, especially when John has evening appointments, which he does most nights these days. But don’t worry about staying while I check the pieces for damage. Once we get them to the back room, it won’t take me long to check them over, and in the meantime, you can go ahead and keep your appointments at the Towers,” she insisted and absently smoothed the hair on the back of her head. For the first time in months, she felt self-conscious about neglecting her hair, but blamed her vanity attack on the fact the Judy was a professional hairdresser who certainly must have noticed how wretched her hair had become.

Judy smiled, however, for the first time since she had entered the shop. “I can’t thank you enough for being so understanding, but I can do your hair for you. After hours. During hours. At the salon, or your house, or mine. It’s the least I can do. I know you’re Ann’s customer, but I don’t think she’d object.”

Barbara swallowed hard and focused on retrieving pieces of the wildflower canister set. “I’ve been too preoccupied and too…” She tried to choose her words carefully. Judy was merely an acquaintance, not a friend, and Barbara was not prone to talking about such private issues, anyway.

“Too overwhelmed?” Judy prompted.

Barbara nodded. “Good choice. I was trying to think of a word that wouldn’t make me sound like I was whining.”

Judy set down her purse and the box of baked goods before carefully lifting a cruet from the display case. “Overwhelmed is just one of the words that came to mind. I could have said exhausted or overtired or stressed out or pressed for time or too proud to ask for help—”

“Who needs help?” Madge asked as she blew back into the front of the shop.

“Oh, not me,” said the hairdresser.

“Not me,” said the shopkeeper.

Madge gave each of them a hard stare. “‘“Then I’ll do it myself,” said the little red hen,’” she said, reminded of the old nursery tale of the little red hen who had to do all the work of making bread by herself because no one would help her until the bread was baked and ready to be eaten. In this situation, however, Barbara and Judy were not offering to help. They just needed someone to help them, and Madge was determined to be that someone. “Look, I’ve known you both for years, and I’ve been raising Sarah for two years now, at a time in my life when I thought I’d be enjoying my grandchildren, not another child. So I think I know a little bit about how much your lives have changed in the past few months and how much your lives will change even more in the coming years.”

She held up her hand when Barbara tried to respond. “I know my circumstances are also very different. I chose to adopt Sarah. You two are far more noble. You’ve both accepted responsibility for your grandchildren without question and without hesitation, all the while dealing with heartache I can only imagine. So…here’s the plan. You two get all the pieces of the canister set to the back room and finish up whatever work you have for the afternoon, but don’t worry about dinner tonight. I just talked to Russell about it. Bring the children and meet us at Mario’s at six. We’ll have a pizza party, then Russell and I will take all the children to the puppet show at Welles Park while you two enjoy a little free time.”

Barbara hesitated. Going out for a pizza party tonight was about the last thing she wanted to do. She was not really ready to resume a life quite that normal yet, even for the girls. And free time meant time to think, time for the deep ache in her heart to begin to throb, time to begin to pray, then stop, too full of pain to even remember the words to prayers she had recited since childhood.

“I haven’t had much in the way of time for myself,” Judy admitted.

“Good!” Madge clapped her hands once, sealing the deal without waiting for Barbara to agree, and headed for the front door. She closed it behind her, then opened it again to pop her head back inside. “Listen, you two. When you’re comparing notes and talking about being mothers again instead of grandmothers, there’s something you both have to remember, something this younger generation just doesn’t seem to understand.”

Barbara raised a brow, almost too afraid to ask Madge what she meant. Almost. “Pray tell, what would that be?”

Madge looked around, as if making sure no one would overhear. “Don’t even try to be a superhero. They aren’t real. In fact, they never existed in the first place,” she murmured, and promptly closed the door.

“Amen to that,” Barbara whispered. “Amen.”




Chapter Four


J ust before two o’clock, Barbara let Judy out the front of the shop, turned and leaned back against the door. She took a deep breath and carried the last few canisters to the back room which doubled as both her office and workshop, an odd blend of modern life and yesteryear. Along the right side of the room was a custom-built unit, housing the usual array of modern office equipment: a telephone, fax machine, computer, printer, scanner, coffeemaker, even a small television, DVD and CD player. On the left, a wall-to-wall work counter, set waist high since she preferred to work standing up, held shipping and packing supplies, a case of disposable, white cotton gloves, a hanging shop light and a variety of cleaning solutions and tools, along with the two damaged canister sets.

She set the canisters down, crossed the room and poured a cup of coffee. Carrying the coffee with her, she returned to the worktable, with the familiar sense of walking from present to past, from today back to yesterday. From sorrow back to joy?

She was quite pleased with the way she had handled today’s accident at the shop, but she was usually stoic throughout emergencies of any kind. When the dust cleared, that’s when she would allow herself to collapse. That’s how she had handled news of Steve’s tragic murder, the funeral, the media attention and the process of taking in her two granddaughters to raise, even reopening the shop. Two months later, when life had seemingly returned to some sense of normalcy, few people had any idea that she was coming apart or that her grief was still so raw that it swept over her in waves as spontaneous and uncontrollable as they were unpredictable.

When her arms and legs began to tingle, she sensed another episode about to unfold. She set her coffee mug down on the counter. Just in time. In the next heartbeat, a tsunami of grief crashed through the protective wall she had built around her heart. Deep choking sobs filled the room, and she wrapped her arms around her waist. Tears fell. So many tears. How many tears could be left in the deep well of hurt she carried within her? How long would it be before grief would relent and let her live in peace instead of sneaking inside her heart and slicing open old wounds?

“Steve.”

She whispered her son’s name and groaned. He was her baby. Her dream child. A loving, gifted man. A doting father. A Christian who lived and loved his faith, even when abandoned by the woman he had loved and married.

“Steve.”

He did not deserve to have his life snuffed out by a bullet small enough to fit in the palm of a child’s hand. He had been an innocent victim, shot while performing the mundane task of getting cash from an ATM, in broad daylight, in the middle of center city Philadelphia. No attempt at robbery had been made. Amazingly, no witnesses had stepped forward.

Steve was simply here one moment and gone the next. His children did not deserve to be orphans before they were even old enough to fully understand that once Daddy got to heaven, he could not come back. Would not want to come back. She choked back tears. She did not deserve to lose him, either. She should not have lost him. In the normal cycle of life, a mother died before her son.

“Steve.”

Her legs weakened. She grabbed onto the counter for support as she fell to her knees. Head bowed, she felt grief fuel the nugget of anger buried deep within her soul.

“Why?” she cried. “Why Steve? Why my son? Why?”

She drew in deep gulps of air and felt her tears flood her cheeks. She tossed back her head and stared up toward the heavens. “He was a good, good man. He was my son. You had no right to take him. No right!” she cried.

She listened to the echo of her words. She was so shocked by the harsh tone of anger in her voice that she caught her breath. Ashamed, yet too heartsick to pray for forgiveness, she concentrated on trying to breathe normally again and waited as her heart finally stopped racing. She held very still, hoping the grief would ebb and the anger would subside. Waiting. Listening to the sound of each breath she drew. Feeling each heavy beat of her heart.

And in the stillness, a gentleness surrounded her. She opened her heart to the Source of all love and forgiveness, yearning for the gift of acceptance and the peace only He could bring to her through His Son.

She bowed her head and gripped the counter even harder. “But the cross is so heavy, Lord,” she whispered and let her troubles spill from her heart. “I can’t pray. I can’t eat or sleep. Thanks to the media, I can’t get the image of my son’s wrapped body lying on the ground out of my mind. John’s buried himself in his work, and my shop…”

Her litany of troubles continued to pour forth until she was hoarse and her mouth was dry. Exhausted, she let go of the counter, leaned back on her haunches and closed her eyes. “I’m just a mess. My whole life is a mess. My marriage, my house, my shop—”

She hiccuped and wiped her lips. “And if I really want to win the whining award, I should mention my hair, too.” She shook herself and got back to her feet. She reached for her coffee mug, but the echo of Reverend Fisher’s words when she met with him last week for counseling stilled her hand. “Prayer can be just having a conversation with God. Talk to Him. He’ll listen.”

She repeated her pastor’s words aloud and wondered if today she might have taken the first step toward prayer. “There are no accidents in life. Only opportunities to open our hearts and accept His will as our own,” she whispered, relying once again on the wisdom the pastor had shared with her.



Barbara was waiting outside the elementary school at dismissal time with other parents and caregivers. The school crossing guard, Emmett Byrd, had his large stop sign in his hand, ready to freeze traffic on Park Avenue for his little birds who were almost ready to fly the nest again. Now seventy-six, he had been the crossing guard at Park Elementary since his retirement from the military some thirty-odd years ago, and his devotion to the children entrusted to his care was still as strong and unwavering as he was.

She scanned the crowd. Mostly women. Mostly younger women. Of course. She shook away memories of waiting for Rick and Steve all those many years ago. Rick had always been the first child from his class to rush out the door at the end of the day. Steven had been the last, dragging home a schoolbag filled with schoolbooks and books from the school library.

When the dismissal bell rang, she cupped her hand at her brow and watched the children break rank and fly out the door and down across the lawn. They slowed a bit, once they passed the principal, and again when they either reached the crossing guard or whomever had come to take them home.

The little ones in kindergarten were first to be sent home by their teacher, but there were only a handful. With so many mothers working full-time today, she assumed the rest had stayed for the after-school program. She could have kept her shop open until five, as always, and signed Jessie and Melanie up for the program, too. Unlike many other women, however, she had the economic freedom, especially with John still working, to make the choice to shorten her shop hours and care for the girls after school rather than have them stay with strangers.

When the first-grade teacher emerged, Jessie was first in line behind Miss Addison, holding hands with her sister. Barbara watched the girls and caught her breath as they waited for the teacher’s permission to leave. Jessie and Melanie were fraternal twins, as different in looks as they were in temperament. Jessie was built tall and lean, like her father, with long, poker-straight brown hair she wore in a single braid that coiled halfway to her waist. With a healthy dollop of freckles that spilled across her cheeks and sparkling brown eyes, she was the classic image of the all-American little girl. She was forceful, dominant and easily frustrated.

Melanie was the younger of the two by a few minutes. Shorter and a bit plump, with curly brown hair and pale blue eyes, she reminded Barbara of the children’s mother, Angie, who had not made any attempt to contact Steve since the day she walked out three years ago. Even Steve’s murder, widely covered by the media, had not inspired the woman to return or contact any of her relatives, for that matter. But unlike Angie, Melanie was so sweet, an absolute darling who wanted nothing more than to please everyone around her.

The bond between the girls was unlike anything Barbara had ever witnessed with her sons, Steven and Rick, who had been born several years apart. She had a number of books on twins which well-meaning friends had given to her. All she needed was the time to read them.

Maybe tonight?

“Grammy, look!” Jessie charged forward, dragging Melanie with one hand and holding up a bag with the other. Her backpack flopped around on her back as she ran, and she was so excited she nearly ran into Barbara while Melanie struggled to keep up. “Look inside! Look!”

“Careful, Jessie,” Barbara cautioned. “Give Grammy a kiss. You, too, Melanie. We’ll take a look inside your bags when we get home.”

They shared kisses while Jessie hopped from one foot to the other. “No, now, Grammy!” she insisted, then let go of Melanie’s hand and opened her bag. “See?”

Barbara, deciding to choose another battle to win, stooped down and peeked into the bag. Inside, she saw two large hunks of fabric, each a different shade of green, lying next to what appeared to be a page of instructions. “Oh, my. What’s all this?” she asked, even as visions of some sort of costumes that needed to be made flashed before her mind’s eye.

“I’m gonna be a frog! So’s Melanie. Show her, Mel.”

Melanie looked shyly at Barbara for permission first, then opened her bag. “See mine, Grammy? I’m gonna be a frog, too.” She wrinkled her nose. “I wanted to be the princess, but I didn’t get picked. Susan’s gonna be the princess.”

Jessie tilted up her chin. “Frogs are better.”

“Frogs are my very favorite,” Barbara insisted. She took a quick look at the paper inside Melanie’s bag and skimmed the teacher’s note, but she did not bother to read the directions for making the frog costume. “So, you’re going to be in a play during the Book Fair next month. That’s wonderful!”

Jessie grinned. “We gotta. Miss Addison said so. But we gotta practice a lot. Like this.” She handed her bag to Barbara, squatted down, pinched her features together, and started hopping around. “Ribbit. Ribbit. Ribbit.” She stood back up and grinned. “See? I know how to be a frog already, but Mel’s gotta practice more.” She took Melanie’s hand. “Want me to show you how again?”

Laughing, Barbara stood up, rather ungracefully, since her leg muscles had cramped. “You’ll both be great little frogs, but we’d better practice at home. After homework.” She took one of each of the girls’ hands and started them all toward the car. “Then we’re going out for a pizza party before the puppet show.”

“Pizza! Pizza! Yeah!” Jessie skipped her way alongside Barbara, shouting for joy.

Melanie just smiled. “I like pizza the best.”

“Not as best as me,” Jessie challenged.

Barbara laughed again. “What about frogs? Do you think they like pizza?”

Melanie shrugged, but Jessie squinted her eyes for a moment. “Frogs don’t eat pizza. They eat bugs. Ugh!” she said and stuck out her tongue.

They bantered back and forth until they reached the car. As Barbara buckled each of the girls into their car seats in the rear seat, she heard someone call her name and looked up. When she saw Fred Langley, the police chief, approaching, her heart began to race. Why was it that every time she could actually keep grief at bay, even for just a few moments, reality had a way of bringing it back?

She stiffened her backbone, planted as much of a smile on her face as she could manage as she waved the chief over, and turned back to the girls. “Grammy needs to talk to someone. I’ll stay right here next to the car. While I do, why don’t you two practice sounding like a frog for a few minutes?” she suggested and closed the door halfway.

With the sound of ribbits behind her, she was satisfied that the girls would not overhear anything. When the police chief finally arrived, her fear that her son’s murderer had been caught was almost as great as hearing news he was still at large and no progress had been made in bringing him to justice. As if justice could bring Steve back. “Fred?”

“Sorry to bother you like this, Mrs. Montgomery. I haven’t been able to reach your husband, but I thought I might be able to track you down here.”

She swallowed hard and nodded.

He took a deep breath. “I got a call from Detective Sanger, the Philadelphia officer handling Steve’s case. She said they’ve got a possible break in the case. News about possible suspects leaked out, so it’s probably gonna hit the news at five, maybe even earlier. She’s not gonna be able to get away for a while, and she just wanted me to warn you and your husband so you both weren’t caught off guard.”

Barbara closed her eyes for a moment until she could find her voice. “Have they found Steve’s killers?”

“They’re not sure, but Sanger said they had a gun. It’s the right caliber, but they’re waiting on ballistics, and there’s a lot of investigation that still needs to be done before any arrests can be made or charges filed.”

She struggled against images her mind had created to bring to life the monsters who had senselessly killed her son. A cold shiver raced up and down her spine. “Can you tell me anything about them? The suspects?”

His gaze softened. “I really don’t know much about them, other than one is seventeen and the other is fifteen. Sanger said she’d call you as soon as she has something further to report.”

“They’re just teenagers,” she whispered. “What kind of parents raised their sons to become murderers before they were old enough to graduate from high school or to vote? What kind of mother—”

“They’re girls, Mrs. Montgomery, and they’re sisters. That’s why the media has really grabbed hold of the story.”

Girls. Barbara nodded, too numb to even imagine two teenage girls as murderers.

“You’ll tell your husband?”

She nodded again.

“Is there anything more I can do for you?”

“No. Thank you.” She looked inside the car, wanting to shield the girls from the media. “I—I need to take the twins home,” she whispered, turned and closed the car door. Given the notoriety of the case, there was no way she could take the girls out for the pizza party tonight for fear of having reporters approach them. She did not have the heart to disappoint the girls, but right now, she had to call John on the private cell phone he carried for her emergency calls and tell him to come home.



Barbara heard John’s sports car pull into the driveway and looked out of the third-floor window to make sure. He was home. She popped the Finding Nemo DVD into the player, adjusted the volume, and leaned down to give each of the twins a kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

Jessie pouted and tried to pull out of reach. “I don’t wanna watch Nemo again. I wanna go to the pizza party and the puppet show.”

Barbara kissed the tip of her nose anyway and wished she had remembered a lesson she had learned the hard way with her own children: Never mention an outing until you’re ready to leave. “I’m sorry, baby. Not tonight. There’s ice cream in the freezer, though.” She tweaked Jessie’s nose and planted a kiss on Melanie’s cheek. “If you two eat all of your supper, maybe we can make ice-cream sundaes for dessert.”

Ever the one to please, Melanie smiled. “I like sundaes. Can we smash up some cookies to put on our ice cream like Pappy did last time?”

Jessie crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t like cookies on my ice cream. I like caramel sauce, but I like pizza—”

“We have cookies and caramel sauce, but we’ll have to have our pizza another night,” Barbara insisted. “Now watch Nemo while I go downstairs and see what I can make for supper.” She left without giving Jessie a chance to continue to be difficult and met John on the second-floor landing. Her hold on her emotions was so tenuous, she avoided his gaze. “The girls are upstairs watching a movie,” she managed.

He took her hand and led her back down the stairs. When they got into the parlor, he let go of her hand and she stepped into his embrace. With her arms wrapped around him, she could feel the tension in his body. She burrowed closer and laid her head on his heart before she let her tears fall.

He pressed his cheek to the top of her head, and they rocked back and forth. No words of comfort were spoken or necessary. Only the heavy silence of sorrow and loss reigned. And the mutual fear that now that the journey toward justice for Steve had begun, each step—the trial, the verdict, the sentencing—would only deepen their grief and accentuate their sense of loss and devastation.

No trial, no verdict, no sentence could bring the sound of Steve’s laughter or the glimpse of his smile back into their lives. He would not be there to watch his girls grow into young women, and he would not be there on the their wedding days to walk them down the aisle.

John stilled, took a deep breath and handed her a handkerchief to dry her eyes. Sadness shadowed his gaze, and he cleared his throat. “I called Detective Sanger on my way here,” he said quietly. “She couldn’t add much to what Fred told you, except a little more background on the girls.”

She twisted the handkerchief in her hands. “I can only imagine the kind of background that would give two teenage girls access to a loaded gun and prompt them to use that gun to solve a problem or end an argument. It’s reckless and outrageous and it’s beyond my ability to comprehend, let alone forgive,” she snapped. “But I can tell you what they’ll probably discover.”

She counted out her assumptions on the fingers of her right hand. “One, a broken home. Two, maybe even a series of foster homes. Three, drugs. Alcohol for sure, probably worse. Four, poor academic and discipline records at school. Five, they haven’t been to church for years, if ever. And their defense attorney will use their deprived, miserable backgrounds to defend and make excuses for them so the jury will feel sorry for them. No one will care about Steve and the price he paid for someone else’s sins.”

Alarmed by the depth and scope of her anger, she stopped, closed her eyes for a moment and forced herself to take a few long, slow breaths to slow her racing heartbeat. When she did, the echo of her words sounded against the very foundation of her faith—a faith built on the belief that the Son of God had sacrificed His own innocent life to atone for the sins of others.

“They’re still investigating,” John murmured and stroked the side of her arm. “Let’s take this one step at a time, one day at a time.”

She met his gaze and saw the turmoil in her soul reflected in the depths of his eyes before he dropped his gaze. “I’m really glad you came home,” she whispered.

He looked toward the staircase. “I’d better head upstairs. I need to make a few calls and tie up some loose ends.”

“Okay. I had made some plans for us to go out for pizza with some of the girls’ friends before the puppet show, but I told the girls we’d make it another night.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

“I just have to make a call or two to cancel.”

“Use your cell phone.”

She cocked her head.

He shrugged. “I unplugged the phones on the first floor. I’ll do that upstairs, too. I’m just surprised none of the reporters have tried to call yet,” he explained.

Memories of the media barrage in July that began with Steve’s death and continued for days past his funeral were still vivid enough to make her shudder. While he went upstairs, she got her cell phone from her purse and called Madge first and quickly explained why she had to cancel tonight’s outing.

“If you can’t come to the pizza party, then the pizza party will come to you,” Madge insisted. “Good friends, junk food and a few little chatterboxes are just what you need to take your mind off what you learned this afternoon. I’ll take care of everything, and I’ll call Judy to tell her about the change in plans, too. Just set the table and change into something comfortable, like jeans and a T-shirt,” she offered and hung up before Barbara had a chance to decline.




Chapter Five


A s the party was winding down, Barbara sat back in her chair and sighed with satisfaction.

Indeed, Madge had been right.

A lot of chatter, a little chaos and a good dose of friendship had been just the prescription to help rescue a troublesome and challenging day and a sure way to ease the ache of what might have been. She glanced down the length of the dining room table. Instead of the maps and brochures John had been collecting, now safely stored away in the attic, along with dreams of sailing away into retirement and a life of leisure, empty pizza boxes and antipasto tins littered the middle of the table.

Behind paper plates and beverage cups, all five adults and four children crammed together around the table. Russell and John sat at opposite ends. Madge and Judy anchored one side with Barbara between them, across from the four children on the side closest to the wall, a line of chatterboxes, their little faces smeared with tomato sauce and more than one milk mustache.

Ever the organizer, Madge checked her watch and clapped to get the children’s attention. “Who wants to go to the puppet show now?”

“Me!”

“Me!”

“Me!”

A chorus of little voices rose louder and louder until Madge quieted them with another clap of her hands. “Then we need clean faces and hands.”

Barbara got to her feet. “And a potty stop. Sit still. I’ll get some cloths.” While she went to the kitchen to retrieve the box of premoistened, disposable cloths that had become a new staple in her life, John and Russell blocked the two possible escape routes. The children apparently were far more interested in getting ready for the puppet show than they were in avoiding a cleanup because when Barbara returned, they were all in their seats and offered little protest when she started an assembly line.

After washing one pair of hands and a face, Barbara passed the child to Madge who provided escort to the powder room behind the kitchen. John took the next child upstairs to the main bathroom. Then, while John and Madge kept their little charges occupied in the living room, as much to protect the antiques as to keep the children from going back to the table for one more bite of pizza, Judy and Russell took the remaining two children for a potty break.

Barbara tossed the last dirtied cloth into one of the pizza boxes, got a large trash bag from the kitchen and cleared the mess from the table, including the plastic tablecloth, in a matter of minutes. “There’s a lot to be said for going modern,” she murmured and stored the trash bag outside the back door. She returned to the dining room, smoothed a lace tablecloth back into place and set the pair of antique Hull candlesticks in the center.

She paused to run her fingertips along the stem of one of the candlesticks, the first of the thirty-four pieces John had given her over the years for their wedding anniversaries. She kept them all displayed behind beveled glass in an old oak cabinet she had helped her father refinish, first stripping away layers and layers of white paint and cleaning tiny specks of paint in each groove in the heavily carved wood with toothbrushes and toothpicks.

Glancing at the cabinet, she smiled. So many memories, outside and inside. Memories of her father, teaching her patience and sharing with her his love for antiques as they worked. Memories of her married life captured with each piece of Hull resting on glass shelves. The small Hull lamp she had gotten their first anniversary for “lighting up his life with joy.” The vases she had used to hold the flowers John had given to her for different anniversaries and later, when Rick and Steve had been born.

“Steve.”

She choked out his name. Reminded once again of her loss and the breaking news from the police, she fought the swell of grief ever ready to crash over her heart and inflame still-healing wounds. She turned away from the table. Toward the sound of little frogs who had apparently invaded her living room. Toward laughter. Toward the future instead of the past. Toward life filled with more joys than sorrows.

John came back into the dining room and stood beside her. “Russell and Madge are ready to take the children to the puppet show now. It’s only a few blocks to the park, so they’re going to walk. They’d need two cars, anyway, just to accommodate the four car seats. It’s probably best if they leave by the back door.”

Barbara nodded and studied the man she had loved all her life. His golden-brown eyes no longer sparkled with the joy of life and his ash-brown hair was flecked with more gray highlights now than blond. She had not seen the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes for months now, and his shoulders drooped beneath the weight of the cross he was carrying, too.

She moistened her lips, searching in vain for the words to have him turn to her instead of his work for comfort. “Will you stay here with me? What if the reporters come?” she asked. Even though the telephones were still disconnected, she was surprised their pizza party had not been interrupted by knocks at the door, and she did not relish being home alone if and when the media barrage began.

“Carl Landon has taken care of the reporters. As soon as I hung up from you, I called him. He scheduled a press conference at his office for five o’clock which should have kept them satisfied. Besides, if any of the reporters decide to come to the door, I don’t think they’ll get past Rob and Stuart.”

She managed half a smile. Carl was a good friend as well as their lawyer, and he had taken on the role of being their spokesperson within hours of John’s call after Steve’s murder. Their neighbors, Rob and Stuart, bless their hearts, had proven to be as tough and protective as Secret Service agents guarding the president. When they were called to duty, no one got past them to get to the front door.

He kissed her cheek. “Keep the telephones unplugged and use your cell phone if you need to call me. I’ll be at the office. I had two appointments for tonight that I couldn’t cancel. I’ll leave through the back door, too. The walk will do me good.”

“Do you have to leave? Tonight?”

“Judy said she was going to do your hair for you, so you won’t be alone. It’ll do you good to have some time for lady talk. I won’t be late. I should be home by nine-thirty,” he promised before leaving her.

Nine-thirty. After the girls had been tucked into bed.

She tried, but found it hard to swallow the lump in her throat. Bedtime rituals, from reading stories, saying nighttime prayers and getting that last drink of water, had always been John’s alone time with their boys when they were little. He had resumed the ritual with Jessie and Melanie when Steve used to bring them for an overnight visit, whether it was the night before opening remarks or closing arguments in a big case or an occasional weekend when he had to go out of town.

John had avoided the ritual ever since Steve’s death when the girls had come to live with them. Instead, he had wrapped himself deep inside his grief, protected by evening business appointments at his office in Whitman Commons—evening appointments he had abandoned years ago. She did not know how long he would continue to grieve alone and avoid bedtime with the twins, and she yearned to see him kneeling at the side of the bed with the girls once again.

She toyed with the edge of the lace tablecloth and watched him lead the parade of guests past the door and through the kitchen to the back door. When the door finally closed, filling the house with suffocating silence, she flinched and dropped her gaze, feeling so very, very alone.

“I’ve got everything with me. Are you in the mood to be pampered a little?”

Startled, she looked up and saw Judy standing in the doorway holding a large, canvas bag.

Judy smiled and held up her bag. “Tools of the trade. Everything I need to cut and color your hair. I brought them with me when I left the Towers. Madge had called there and left a message with Penny so I’d know to come here instead of Mario’s. I stopped at the salon and got the hair dye. I looked up your color. Just in case,” she added. “Madge thought it was a good idea.”

Barbara ran her fingers through her hair and cringed. “I must look a sight to have everyone so concerned about my appearance. To be honest, I meant to call for an appointment. I just haven’t had the time or the…interest. I hate to be such a bother,” she insisted, although she would have liked nothing better than to have her hair done. “You’ve already had a long day.”

“It seems like every day is a long day.” Judy sighed. “I’m also getting used to sitting down to watch a little television at night and falling asleep before the second commercial. I can’t remember the last time I saw a show from beginning to end or had enough energy to stay awake long enough to dry the clothes I’d tossed into the washer.” She laughed and shook her head. “I’d forgotten how many clothes a young child can go through in a few days. Look, I completely understand. If you’re too tired right now, or you’d rather have Ann do your hair, just say so, and I’ll pack up.”

“No. Not at all. I just don’t want to impose. You’ve been on your feet all day.”

“And I’d better stay on my feet if I want to stay awake until Brian gets back from the puppet show,” Judy teased.

“Shall I set up in the kitchen? I’d rather not risk it here.”

Barbara laughed. “I could tell you stories about the havoc two little six-year-olds have managed to unleash in the past two months, but you probably have a good idea now that Brian is with you. You couldn’t possibly do any worse damage, but the kitchen would be better, I suppose.”

Barbara led Judy into the kitchen and pointed to the granite countertop where Judy set her canvas bag. She laid out a piece of heavy plastic and lined up several pairs of scissors next to familiar bottles of hair dye and conditioner. “We’ll color first and cut second, if that’s all right?”

“Sure.” Barbara pulled a low-backed chair away from the seventeenth-century farmer’s table she had found in an antique barn in Connecticut several years back and sat down.

Judy motioned her back up, laid another piece of plastic the size of a shower curtain on the tiled floor, carried the chair to the middle, and smiled. “That’s better. Now if any dye drops on the floor, it won’t matter. As you can see, I’ve been known to drop a little dye in the past.”

Barbara looked at the splotches that covered the drop cloth, cringed and sat down. While Judy fit a plastic cape around her shoulders, Barbara folded her hands on her lap and toyed with her wedding ring. “You seem to have this down to a real science.”

Judy laughed. “I’d better. I’ve been making house calls for twenty years or more. Most of the time they’re at the Towers. Ann and I both still have a few customers who live at home, but don’t go out much so we go to them. As a matter of fact, Ann was just at Alice Conner’s home.”

“How is Ann doing? The last time I was in the shop in the spring, she was just back from being home sick for a few weeks. Gout, wasn’t it?”

Judy nodded. “She’s been having a rough time of it for the last year or so.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever known a woman, other than Ann, who had gout. I thought that was something men got.”

“I think it is, but to hear Ann tell it, gout is just another surprise reserved for some very special postmenopausal women.” Judy chuckled. “And Ann is definitely a special woman, even though she isn’t very faithful about following the diet the doctor ordered or taking her medication. Once she feels better, she’s right back to her old habits, I’m afraid,” she admitted, and ran her fingers through Barbara’s shoulder-length hair.

Barbara closed her eyes and took gentle breaths so she could concentrate on the soothing sensations Judy created with her fingertips.

“Your cut has really grown out, and there’s a bit of a problem with split ends. Nothing I can’t fix. I assume you want the same cut?”

Barbara shrugged. “I’ve worn my hair the same way for so long, I wouldn’t know how to manage anything beyond having a center part and just turning the ends under.”

Judy played with her hair again for a while before she stopped and walked around her full circle. “You might want to try something new. Sometimes change is good for your hair and it can lift your spirits, too.”

Barbara opened her eyes and met Judy’s gaze. “Change can be hard, too.”

Judy’s gaze softened and she nodded. “I guess we both know some changes are harder than others, don’t we?”

Barbara swallowed hard and accepted the invitation of friendship and understanding in Judy’s eyes. “Losing Steve was the worst nightmare in my life. Everything has changed. Nothing, absolutely nothing is the same as it used to be.”

“I know. Or I think I know,” Judy admitted. She clenched and unclenched her fists, and her gaze grew distant. “Sometimes, when I wake up in the middle of the night, I wonder where Candy is or if I’ll ever see her again.” She paused. “I’m so sorry. About Steve. I—”

“In my heart, I know Steve is safe now and happy. He’s Home,” Barbara whispered. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you. Madge told me Candy is in a hospital somewhere in California, but her husband couldn’t tell you where or how soon she’ll be released.”

Judy took a deep breath. “She’s in rehab. She’s been in and out of rehab for years. I couldn’t tell you how many times. I’d lost count long before Frank died and she showed up for his viewing stoned and out of control. She left in the middle of the night and didn’t even bother showing up for the funeral. I haven’t heard a word from her since. She’s somewhere in California. I don’t know where. Her husband couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me. That’s my nightmare…not knowing…being half afraid I’ll never see her again and being half afraid she’ll show up on my doorstep, stoned or high, demanding to take Brian back into that life again. That’s another nightmare.”

She sighed. “It’s hard being a mother again, but I won’t ever let him go back with her unless I’m absolutely certain he’ll be safe.”

“I’m sorry. Truly sorry,” Barbara whispered. “Have you given any thought to hiring a detective to find her, just to make sure she’s all right?”

Judy picked up the bottle of hair dye and turned it round and round in her hand. “Detectives cost money—money better spent, if I had it, for Brian. As it is, putting him into day care for most of the summer used up whatever I had saved. It’s better now that school has started. I had to hire a sitter for Saturdays, even though it’s usually pretty slow and I lose money because the Saturday crowd has switched to the new salon that does both hair and nails. The after-school program is less expensive, but it’s still a strain on my budget. I’m not complaining, though. Brian is all I’ve got left of Candy. He’s my flesh and blood, and I’ll care for him and protect him any way I have to.”

Barbara clenched her own hands. “Sometimes my imagination runs wild, and I have these dreams about Steve’s ex-wife suddenly appearing and taking the children away, even though she hasn’t tried to contact them since she walked out on them three years ago. They’re all I have left of Steve. I don’t want to lose them, too.”

She swallowed hard, all too aware of the similar challenges she and Judy seemed to be facing. Barbara’s loss, with Steve’s death, might be very public, splashed in the newspapers for all to read about, while Judy’s was more private and perhaps more painful to bear because she was all alone in her grief and struggles. But they both shared the common bond of dealing with the loss of a child, one to death, the other to drugs; their fears about losing their grandchildren; and the ongoing problems of keeping them and adjusting to being mothers again instead of grandmothers. Alone, they struggled in their new roles. Perhaps together, as friends, they might share the struggle and find the path of rediscovered motherhood easier to travel.

Judy held up the bottle of hair dye and read the label. “Summer Sunrise. That’s your color, right?” she asked, changing the subject back to the task at hand.

Barbara nodded.

“Just checking. I’d rather find out now instead of later.”

“Good idea. Maybe while you’re coloring my hair, you could give me some idea of a new style that would be easier to manage?”

When Judy cocked a brow, Barbara smiled. “A little change might be good,” she murmured. “Maybe it’s time for some good change. For both of us.”

Judy cocked the other brow. “For both of us?”

Barbara smiled, but only time would tell if her hopes for a stronger friendship between them would be fulfilled.




Chapter Six


A week after her near-disastrous visit to Grandmother’s Kitchen, Judy was on her way to the Towers, and her life was back on schedule. Again. The trouble was that her schedule today seemed to get a little more unsettled and much more complicated with each passing hour.

First, she had overslept this morning, always a bad start to the day. Brian had been late to school by a whopping fifteen minutes, which meant he had to enter the first grade classroom with all of the children already working at their desks.

In between a rush of unscheduled appointments, she had left another message for Mrs. Worth, the school principal, the third in as many days, but the woman did not seem in any hurry to call her back. Judy had met with the school guidance counselor last week and had the first appointment for Brian with a private counselor set for five o’clock this afternoon. Apparently Judy’s efforts to report all she was doing to arrange for counseling for Brian ranked low on the principal’s list of priorities.

She arrived at the Towers just before one o’clock, right on time, and got buzzed into the office. She took one step inside, looked around at the lavish display of Mickey Mouse decorations that adorned the office: A clock, computer screensaver, coffee mug and even planters holding foliage worthy of blue ribbons at the annual Philadelphia Flower Show. Mickey was on everything!

She grinned. A touch of Disney was just what she needed today. “What a happy place! I always love coming here, Penny, especially after a rough day.”

The office manager for the past fourteen years, Penny looked up from her seat behind the shoulder-high counter and laughed. “It’s only one o’clock in the afternoon. The day is still young,” she cautioned. She got up, retrieved Judy’s canvas bag with the tools of her trade she kept stored in the office, and lifted the bag to the counter. She looked at Judy and frowned. “What? No baked goods from McAllister’s today? Or are you bringing them later?”

Judy rolled her eyes. “No. Unfortunately, that’s only one small part of my day so far. I had a rough morning. Mrs. Sweeney came in for her weekly touch-up, with three elderly cousins visiting from Florida. Then they all wanted a cut, wash and dry. They even brought their husbands along. Ann’s been sidelined with gout again for the past two days, so I had to handle Mrs. Sweeney and company, who proceeded to eat their way through almost the entire box of baked goods.”

“Ann’s laid up with gout? Again?”

“Again.”

“Poor Ann. I’ll try to give her a call later.”

Judy let out a deep breath. “I was afraid I’d be forced to cancel some of my appointments here today, but somehow I managed to finish Mrs. Sweeney and her cousins all up, scoot them all on their way and still get here on time. I shoved the last two doughnuts down for my lunch.”

“The residents on the second floor who were scheduled for the treats today will be disappointed, but they’ll survive,” Penny quipped. “I’ll put a note out in the Gossip Garden for you, but I won’t mention why they have to wait for another time. It’s safer that way.”

Judy chuckled. “Is there ever a topic safe from residents’ gossip in the social room?”

“Not really, but they’re pretty preoccupied, now that plans are in full swing for next month’s Book Fair. Closing down the avenue to promote reading is as worthy a venture as you can get. Authors appear with their books, crafters sell book-related specialties, schoolchildren perform in little plays and food vendors sell everything that tastes good. It’s a win-win for everyone, but you’d think the Commissioners had approved the entire event again this year just to inconvenience the seniors.”

“I suppose a lot of them aren’t able to read much anymore.”

Penny pointed to the small stack of newspapers at the far end of the counter. “There are fifty-seven apartments here. Every day we get fifty-seven newspapers delivered, courtesy of the Commissioners. See? There are only half a dozen left, which is about par. I won’t even venture a guess at how many dozens and dozens of tabloids and magazines come into the building every week. What does that tell you?”

Judy shrugged. “I guess they’re still reading.”

“They can’t all be lining birdcages or litter boxes,” Penny teased. “I think many of them are reading, if only to get a good discussion going in the Gossip Garden. To be honest, I think there are a lot of seniors who like the Book Fair, but they get nervous around crowds. We’re not an assisted living facility, but many of our residents use canes or walkers. The Book Fair drew what? Four thousand people last year? Even with the avenue closed to traffic and opened up for pedestrians, between all the booths and the stage set up for the children, it’s still a bit of a mob scene. That’s why some of the residents just stay put for the day.”

When Penny smiled again, her eyes twinkled. “A lot of the residents are excited about the Book Fair, and they’ve volunteered to help, but the event gives the grumblers the perfect excuse to sit around and complain. So I got the building manager to agree to add a new element to the day. I’m hoping they’ll all be so busy, they’ll forget to grumble and my daughter’s Girl Scout troop will get credit for a community service project at the same time.”

Judy checked her watch. Penny loved to talk and normally, Judy loved to listen, but not today. Still, she would rather be a little late, than rude. “What do you have in mind for them?”

“Adopt-a-Grandparent Day. Each of the girls will come and spend the day with one of the residents who doesn’t volunteer or who doesn’t plan to attend the Book Fair.”

Judy drew her brows together. “You’d know who they were?”

Penny turned, punched a few keys on her computer and pointed to the monitor. “This is a list of volunteers so far. Joan Smith is on the Book Fair committee, and she e-mails updates to me once a week or so. As for the folks just planning to attend, that’s even easier for me to find out.” She pointed to the pink plastic clipboard halfway down the counter. “Sign-up sheet,” she explained.

“They actually sign up, just to attend?”

Penny laughed. “For ten dollars? You bet they do. Actually, we just issue Book Fair Dollars. I make them up on my computer, and we redeem them with some grant money after the fact. Otherwise, someone might take the ten dollars and keep it.”

When the telephone rang, she held up one finger to keep Judy from leaving and answered the call. “Yes, Mrs. Edwards. No, she didn’t forget. She’s just on her way up now. No problem.” She hung up and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Guess I held you up.”

Judy hoisted her bag from the counter and realized she had forgotten to bring more free samples of hair care products to replace the ones she had given away. Just another part of a bad day. She handed Penny a list of her three appointments today, a minor accommodation she had in her workday after Brian had come to live with her. “Just in case someone’s looking for me. I’ve been playing telephone tag with Mrs. Worth, the principal at Park Elementary. If she calls, tell her I’ll call her back and then let me know.”

Penny nodded and pinned the list to a bulletin board on her side of the counter and answered another telephone call while Judy left by the side door that allowed residents and workers to enter the office without using the foyer and waiting to be buzzed inside.

She passed the sixty-gallon, freshwater aquarium, a new addition to the inner foyer and whispered a quick prayer for Dan O’Leary whose family had donated the aquarium in his name. Ninety-seven when he died last year, he had been the last of the original residents who had moved into Welles Towers when it had opened years ago. The aquarium seemed a fitting memorial to the avid fisherman and quickly became a favorite with the residents.

She nodded to several women sitting together nearby waiting for the county bus to take them to the grocery store and took a quick glance inside the aquarium while she waited for the elevator. Dozens of fish were swimming in and out of the plants and ceramic decorations. Either the residents had finally stopped raiding the fish food, over-feeding and killing the fish, or Penny had solved the problem after losing a second tank of fish by moving the fish food into her office.

When the elevator arrived, she rode to the third floor where she found Mrs. Edwards sitting in the alcove by the window. Scarcely five feet tall and thin to the point of emaciation, she was a powerhouse of energy. Her mind was still sharp, and she was one of the nicest seniors in the Towers, if not the most talkative. “I saw you walk in a bit ago. Penny bending your ear again?”

Judy laughed and followed her down the hallway. “Just a little. I’m sorry I’m late. She was telling me about the Book Fair.”

The elderly woman stopped in front of her apartment door and used the key hanging from a lanyard around her neck to unlock the door. “Handy little thing,” she commented as she let the key drop and tugged on the lanyard. “Somebody donated a whole case of them to the residents so we wouldn’t lose our keys. I checked it good, though, and made sure it had that safety clip so if I fall when the key is in the door, the strap will snap apart and I won’t hang myself like that poor soul out West. Hung there for days before anyone found him. Imagine living eighty-some years, fighting in the war and dying like that. Not an ounce of dignity.”

She shook her head. “Awful tabloids. Had a picture of him, too. Looked like they tried to block out his face, but they did a terrible job. Not that it would have mattered much. The poor man’s body was all twisted up, plain as day.”

Judy shivered. She had gone from a touch of magic to a dose of gruesome reality within minutes, but that was par for the course here at the Towers. She followed her customer into the kitchen and set everything up. She had the woman seated, with a plastic cape around her shoulders within minutes. “When you called, you said you wanted a trim, right?”

“Just an inch or so. Keeps the hair healthy to have it trimmed regularly.”

Judy undid the braid of gray-and-white hair wrapped into a crown and slid her fingers through the thinning hair to work out any snags or tangles before brushing the hair that fell just below her customer’s shoulder blades. “Your hair feels beautiful, like silk. You must be using that conditioner I gave you.”

“It’s almost gone. Do you have any more in that bag of yours?”

Judy shook her head. “No, but I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. I’ll drop off a few samples for you.”

“That would be sweet of you.”

Judy misted Mrs. Edwards’s hair, separated it into sections, and began to cut while she got filled in on the latest tabloid headlines and Mrs. Edwards’s plans to volunteer at the Book Fair.

“I learned my lesson and made sure I signed up early. Last year I waited until the last minute and wound up at a booth selling cotton candy. What a mess! I came home, looked in the mirror and cried until you got here, remember?”

Judy held back a giggle. “I remember. Before I washed your hair, I thought the pink-and-blue cotton candy added a bit of whimsy to your braid.”

“And my eyebrows and my ears? Oh, I was one sticky mess. I was so worried you’d laugh at me, like certain other unnamed people who live in my building.”

“I would never laugh at you,” Judy promised.

When the telephone rang, Mrs. Edwards lifted the cape and pointed to the wall phone. “Be a dear and answer for me, would you? Hannah Damm was supposed to call me this morning, but she never did. That woman is getting more forgetful by the day. Tell her I’ll call her back.”

Scissors in hand, Judy answered the telephone.

“Judy? Penny. Mrs. Worth called from the school, like you thought she would. I told her you’d call her back, but she was a little huffy. She wants you to call her back right away. ‘Immediately,’ as she put it.”

Judy sighed. “Well, isn’t that dandy? I call that woman for three days, patiently waiting for her to find the time to call me back, and now that she’s ready…Mrs. Worth will just have to wait for me for a change. If she calls back again, tell her I’m booked until five so I’ll stop in to see her in the morning when I take Brian to school. I may not be an important lady like she is, but my customers are.”

“Got it. I’ll take care of her for you.”

“Thanks.” Judy hung up and returned to her customer.

“Trouble at school?”

Judy shrugged and resumed cutting. “Nothing that can’t wait till tomorrow.”

“It’s hard being a grandmother and raising your grand-baby, isn’t it?”

“Not all the time.” She snipped at a few pieces she had missed. “I hadn’t seen Brian since he was a toddler, so we’re really just getting to know one another. Between school and work, we don’t have all that much time together. He spends more time with his teacher every day than with me.”

“I was a teacher, you know.”

“Really?”

“Fourth grade. I only taught for a year or two before I met James. As soon as we got engaged, that was it. I got called down to the principal’s office, and he fired me on the spot.”

Judy gasped. “Fired you? For getting engaged?”

Mrs. Edwards laughed. “We were getting married right away and back then, teachers weren’t allowed to be married. We couldn’t do a lot of things teachers do today, but I didn’t mind trading a classroom full of students for married life. Not one bit.”

Judy checked to see that the ends were even. “That’s it for today. Shall I braid your hair again for you? It’s still a little damp.”

“Don’t bother, dear. I’ll sit on my couch by the window and let the sun dry my hair first. Since you’re going to Hannah’s next, tell her to call me when you leave, will you?”

Judy agreed, packed up and cleaned up. “You’re good for another five or six weeks,” she suggested.

Mrs. Edwards smiled. “You’ll do fine with that boy. You might be his grandmother, but you’re a good woman. You’ll be a grand mother to him, too.”

Judy swallowed hard. “Thank you.” She left for Hannah Damm’s apartment with a five-dollar tip for herself, all in quarters inside a little plastic bag, and a box of animal crackers for Brian. But the notion she was a grand mother as well as a grandmother was a priceless memento she tucked into her heart.

She rang the bell at Miss Damm’s door on the fourth floor twice. No response. She tried twice again, but no one answered. It was not like Miss Damm to forget an appointment, but she was hard of hearing and wore two hearing aids. Judy sighed and decided to go back down to the office again and try calling before moving on to the next appointment with Mrs. Thompson. If Miss Damm was not wearing her hearing aids, she would not hear the doorbell, but she might hear the extraloud bell on her telephone.

If Judy had a cell phone, she would have been able to call from where she stood, but a cell phone was out of the question, along with any hopes for a new winter coat this year. Brian needed an entire winter wardrobe. She retraced her steps, with her quarters jingling in her pocket, and walked back to the elevator that arrived before she had a chance to push the call button. Oddly, the elevator was empty, and she rode back down to the first floor hoping and praying Miss Damm was home and would hear her telephone.

Penny tried calling Miss Damm’s apartment. No answer. She tried again. “Still no answer. I know she’s here. She stopped in this morning for a package the mailman left and said she was going back to her apartment to wait for you. No problem,” she said and jangled a set of keys she retrieved from a drawer. “I’ll go up and let you in. She probably fell asleep watching television.”

“I don’t think I heard the television,” Judy countered as she followed Penny to the elevator.

Penny pushed the call button. “She keeps the volume turned down. Don’t ask me why. I haven’t a clue.” When they got to the apartment, Penny rang the bell several times before opening the door with her master key.

Looking over Penny’s shoulder, Judy could see the television. The screen flickered with life, but there was no sound. Miss Damm was lying in her recliner, apparently sound asleep. Penny had been right, but how she knew all the little idiosyncrasies of the residents still mystified Judy.

“She’s asleep. Just like I thought,” Penny whispered and approached the brown vinyl recliner with gentle steps. “Miss Damm? It’s Penny. Judy’s here to do your hair. Miss Damm?”

While Penny tried to wake the elderly woman, Judy held back and stayed just inside the door. When Penny looked up at Judy, the ashen look on her face confirmed an odd premonition that Miss Damm had slept her way from this world to the next.

“Call 911. There’s a telephone in the kitchen. Hurry. She’s still breathing, but I think she’s suffered a stroke.”

The next half hour was a blur of sirens, paramedics, police and fire personnel, who routinely responded to all emergency calls, and hosts of residents who filled the corridor and filed down to the Gossip Garden to share whatever they had been able to see or hear. After Miss Damm had been placed into an ambulance and peace had been restored to the Towers, Judy was not surprised when Mrs. Thompson canceled her appointment. She was simply too upset about her neighbor and friend to have her hair cut.

A bit shaken, Judy stored her canvas bag back in the office while Penny listened to the telephone messages that had been left in her absence. She called out when Judy started to leave. “There was another call from Mrs. Worth for you. She says it’s urgent.”

Judy stopped and checked her watch. “It’s only two-thirty. I suppose I could call her back now. I don’t have to go back to the salon to do more than clean up,” she murmured, although she had half a mind to make the woman wait until morning, just on principle, pun intended. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to be the bigger person. Can I use your telephone?”

“Sure. Use the one in Patricia’s office. She’s not in today.”

Judy went into the assistant manager’s office, found the telephone and punched in the number for the school. This time, the secretary put her call right through to the principal.

“I’m afraid you need to come to school right away,” she urged.

Instead of panicking as she had the last time, Judy forced herself to remain calm. “If it’s about the counseling for Brian, that’s all been arranged. I’ve met with your guidance counselor and his first appointment with a private counselor is already scheduled for five o’clock this afternoon. If it’s about another picture he’s drawn—”

“No. It’s not about the counseling or another picture. I wish it were.”

Judy’s pulse began to race. “Is he sick?”

“No, he’s not sick or injured. He’s been in a fight. I have one of the other children’s parents here with me now, and the other one is on the way. I’m hoping you can join us momentarily. Otherwise, Brian will be suspended from school, and he will not be permitted to return until you can arrange to meet with me.”

Judy swallowed hard. “Suspended? He’s only in first grade,” she grumbled. “Since when does a six-year-old get suspended from school?”

“When that six-year-old gets involved in a fight. We have a zero tolerance policy for bullying behavior.”

“I’m on my way,” Judy murmured. She hung up the telephone and shook her head. Two weeks of school. Two different problems. Two summonses to the school. Maybe a suspension for fighting or bullying. “I wonder where he learned that,” she whispered, seeing Duke’s image in her mind’s eye, and shoving it away.

At this rate, Brian might break his mother’s poor school discipline record before he reached his seventh birthday! “If I survive that long. There’s a reason why God made mothers young. Some grand mother I’m turning out to be,” she grumbled and headed off to answer her summons to the school.

Again.




Chapter Seven


N o panic. No fear. Only a dreadful sense of déjà vu.

Judy climbed the front steps of Park Elementary School with her mind playing flashbacks of raising her daughter. Candy had partied hard, fought hard and rebelled her way through high school and graduated next to last in the Class of 1987, but at the top of the list of students with discipline infractions.

Judy reached the top step and took a deep breath. When it came to her own child’s outrageous behavior in high school, she had passed embarrassment and humiliation a long time ago. By learning to distance herself, to separate the child from the behavior and the parent’s responsibilities from the child’s obligations, she had managed to survive with her own sense of worth only slightly bruised and battered. Would she be able to do the same with Brian?

She had a good idea of what lay waiting for her inside the principal’s office. Still, the process was never pleasant. She was also certain she was about to face down a pair of professionals and a pair of parents young enough to be her own children, all of whom were educated far beyond her own high school diploma and license as a hairdresser. She squared her shoulders and reached for the door.

“Judy? Wait!”

She turned and saw Barbara Montgomery rushing up the steps. Sunshine danced in the highlights of her hair, a casual, yet elegant layered cut now, but misery and panic shadowed her face. When she reached the top step, she held on to the railing and stopped to catch her breath.

“Sorry. The car…is in for repairs…. I closed my shop…and ran here as fast as I could in heels.” She took a deep breath and lowered her voice. “Are you here about the fight, too?”

Judy frowned. “I’m afraid so, but please don’t tell me the twins were involved.”

Barbara’s eyes filled with tears. “Only Jessie, but I think Melanie was there. She’s too timid to fight. She wouldn’t argue with her own shadow.” She groaned. “I’ve never been called to school before. Not once. The boys were always so good at school, but these girls are going to be a whole different story, I guess. This is terribly embarrassing.”

“You didn’t get into a fight. Jessie did. Keep that in mind. It’ll help. Trust me, I know,” Judy assured her.

“I’m sorry Brian was involved, but I’m awfully glad you’re here,” Barbara said. “Facing the principal will be hard enough, considering she’s a paragon that the administration lured away from another district this year. The other parent is bound to be a thirty-something, career-building powerhouse. Or a stay-at-home soccer mom whose husband has a six-figure income, while she’s a combination of Mother Earth, sultry siren and last year’s finalist for Mother of the Year.”

Barbara shook her head. “They’re going to take one look at me and assume because I’m a grandmother, I’m too old to be raising two six-year-olds effectively. I might think I’m too old once in a while, but I defy anyone else to think it.”

Judy looped her arm with Barbara’s. “I’d like to see them try. There’s safety in numbers and power, too. We’re not just grandmothers. We’re grand mothers,” she whispered, sharing the gift Mrs. Edwards had given to her. “Let’s go inside and prove it.”

Barbara sniffed. When she reached into her purse for a tissue, she eased out of Judy’s hold. “Grand mothers. I like the sound of that,” she said and dabbed at her eyes.

“Me, too.”

“Okay, I think I’m ready now. I’m not sure I’m up to doing this. It’s been a week since John talked with Detective Sanger, and there’s still no news about whether or not they’re going to arrest those two girls and charge them with Steve’s death. Maybe if I didn’t have that on my mind, I wouldn’t be so anxious about being called up to the school. Thanks, Judy. I really needed a friend right now.”

“Me, too,” Judy repeated and led Barbara into the school. When they arrived at the principal’s small office, the secretary ushered them to the door of an adjoining conference room. “Mrs. Worth wanted to meet with the adults involved in here. The children are all with Mrs. Booth, the guidance counselor, in her office. They’ll be joining you later, after your meeting,” she explained and opened the door.

Judy stepped inside, studied the positions of the two women seated at the long, rectangular table, and assumed the woman seated at the head was Mrs. Worth, the principal. Perfectly coiffed and made up, she wore a navy-blue power suit that had to be tailor-made. Mrs. Worth could not be a day over thirty, yet she looked every inch the capable administrator Barbara had mentioned earlier.

Judy’s heart sank to her knees as she eased into a chair. Across the table, the other woman met Judy’s gaze and offered a brief, tenuous smile. The fact that the woman sat opposite Barbara and Judy implied that she was the parent of the child who had been bullied, but Judy tried not to leap to conclusions or allow the slightest hope to rise that Brian had been the injured party here. The woman was even vaguely familiar. Judy could not place her. She assumed she had just seen her about in town. Returning the woman’s smile, she looked at her closely. Her heart skipped. Another grandmother? Or was she?





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