Day by Day (8 page)

Judy got up and followed Barbara and Ginger out the door, happy to take along a good dose of common sense from the counselor. When they reached the counselor’s office, Brian was lying flat, belly to floor, legs bent and feet kicking in the air while he doodled on one side of a large sheet of paper and an older boy, probably Vincent, was on the other side. Melanie and Jessie were seated together coloring opposite pages of a coloring book.

Brian looked up, saw Judy, scrambled to his feet, and ran over to her. “Grandmom! Vincent’s grandmom works in a candy store, and she lets him fill his pockets with candy. He said we could go to the store, and she’d let me fill my pockets, too. Can we go? I got big pockets today,” he said, tugging on her slacks with one hand and one of the pockets on his camping shorts with the other. “Can we? Please?”

“That would be an interesting punishment,” Judy remarked.

Apparently, Ginger was right behind her and overheard. “Sounds like all has been forgiven,” she teased. “I work part-time at Sweet Stuff now that Vincent’s in school.”

“I thought I’d seen you in town,” Judy admitted. “I don’t go to Sweet Stuff very often, though. I try not to keep candy in the house. Not that I’m all hung up on keeping candy from Brian,” she whispered, only too aware that, given her daughter’s name, there might be double meaning to her words. “Candy and children just go together,” she managed.

“It’s me. I’d eat every piece of candy I could find.”

Barbara edged into the room and joined the conversation. “Did I hear someone mention candy?”

Brian tugged on Judy’s pants leg. “Can we go today and get some candy? Please?”

“Not today, Brian. We have to go to the salon and sweep up, then we have an appointment before dinner. Besides, we have a few things we need to discuss first about what happened in the school yard before we even think about getting some candy.”

He dropped hold of her slacks and hung his head. Huge tears trembled, then rolled down his cheeks.

Judy knelt down and tipped up his chin with her fingertip. “I said we were going to talk, Brian. Just talk,” she assured him. Visions of how his mother, her own daughter, and his father might have disciplined him made her tremble, too.

He drew in shaky breaths. “You’re not gonna tell my Dad, are you?”

She pulled him into her arms and held him close. Despite all the challenges and complications and inconveniences he had brought into her life, Brian was exactly where she wanted him to be—safe and loved and protected within her arms. “No, sweetie. I’m not gonna tell your Dad. Not ever,”
she whispered, along with a prayer this precious child might one day come to love and trust the most important father of all—the Father who had created him.

W
hile Tyler supervised Vincent’s shower upstairs and had a talk with him about the incident at school before bedtime prayers, Ginger paced back and forth in her kitchen. She checked the clock. Eight-fifteen. Should she leave another message for Lily? She paced faster, stopped to pick up the telephone and hung up.

She had left five messages for her daughter on her cell phone, starting as soon as she had gotten home from school with Vincent, practically one an hour. No response. Vincent getting involved in a little fracas at school did not exactly constitute an emergency. But Lily was the boy’s mother, not that she had been acting like it. Nevertheless, she still had a right to know.

Ginger kept pacing and toyed with the end of a piece of her hair. Disappointment in her daughter for leaving Vincent behind all summer while she was in Boston settling into her new role as Mrs. Paul Taft fueled a host
of deeper, darker emotions. Resentment flared for all the changes she and Tyler had had to make in their lives to accommodate taking responsibility for Vincent when Lily was not even able to find the time to call more than once a week. She had never come to see her son. Anger rose that Lily had not kept her word to Vincent or to her parents. Lily and Paul were still living with Paul’s parents, who still did not know about Vincent, and consequently the poor little boy had not been able to rejoin his mother to start school on time in Boston.

When pressed on how soon Lily and her new husband would bring Vincent into their lives, Lily had been evasive and distant. Embarrassed by her daughter’s behavior and ashamed of all the lies Ginger had told to protect Vincent, as well as herself, and all the lies Lily had been telling her in-laws, Ginger stopped dead. “Not anymore. Tyler is right. It’s time you started acting more like a mother, and we got back to being just grandparents,” she murmured and headed straight to the desk built into a corner of the kitchen, rifled through the top drawer and pulled out her personal telephone book. She flipped to the
T
section, found the number for the Taft home, and placed the call Tyler had been urging her to make for weeks.

“Good evening. Taft residence.”

“Hello. This is Ginger King, Lily’s mother. May I speak with her please?”

“I’m sorry. Mrs. Taft is not able to take your call.”

“It’s important. I need to speak with her right away. Please call her to the telephone.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

Ginger clenched her teeth. “It’s an emergency. I need to speak with my daughter. Now.”

“But she’s not at home, Mrs. King. The entire family is spending the week at the family home in St. Thomas.”

“Then I’ll need the number there,” she insisted.

“Please.” She tried to keep her words polite and her voice calm, but her heart was thumping in her chest.

“One moment, please.”

Ginger waited for almost five minutes before another voice came on the line, and she finally stopped twisting the cord between her fingers. “Mrs. King? This is Mr. Harrell. If you’ll hang up, I’ll call you back and give you the number to call. One can’t be too careful today. The media, you know.”

She rolled her eyes. She would probably have had an easier time getting hold of her daughter if she had been a member of the media, especially one of the tabloids. Then again, neither the national press nor the tabloids showed much interest in the Taft family these days. Too staid. Too boring. Too much old money to protect them? “Fine. My number is—”

“I have your number. I’ll call you right back.”

Ginger heard the click on the other end of the line and hung up. The phone rang less than a minute later. She identified herself again and jotted down the number. She did not have a chance to say thank-you or goodbye. The caller had already hung up. She tapped out the number with the tip of a bright pink fingernail. When someone answered, Ginger went through another hassle, but after fifteen minutes, Lily finally came on the line.

“Mom? Is it Vincent? Is Dad okay?”

“We’re all fine. I just—”

“But they said it was an emergency call!”

“It is. Vincent got involved in a little fracas at school today. It really wasn’t his fault,” she explained and quickly detailed the incident.

Lily gasped. “A school-yard fight? You’re calling me to tell me about a little disagreement on the playground? Here? Mom, really!” She lowered her voice, obviously trying to keep their conversation from being overheard. “I told you only to call me on my cell phone. I can’t talk to you right now. We’re on vacation and there’s a dinner party tonight with dozens of guests. Important guests.”

Ginger’s temper got the best of her. “Guests? You’re worried about guests? I’m talking about your son. I had to meet with the principal and the other parents today at school, which I did willingly for Vincent’s sake, but frankly, that was your job, Lily. You’re his mother. Daddy and I love him dearly, but he should be with you. He wants to be with you, and he needs to be with you, and this constant pattern of one delay after another, one excuse after another—”

“I can’t talk about this now, Mom. I’ll call you when I get back to Boston on Saturday morning.”

Ginger’s hold on the receiver tightened. “You’ll call Saturday? Not good enough. Either you drive down here Saturday night to take your son home with you where he belongs, or Daddy and I will drive him up there ourselves.”

“No. Don’t. Please don’t do that. You have no idea what I’ve been through this summer. I’ll—I’ll fly down on the first flight Monday morning. Can you meet me at the airport? I’ll call and let you know what time as soon as I book a flight. Please, please give me until Monday.”

Ginger hesitated. She had given Lily so many chances to do the right thing all summer long, to no avail, and she had no reason to believe this time was any different. The strain in Lily’s voice, however, tugged at her mother’s heart. “Monday morning. That gives you until the end of the weekend to make things right with your in-laws. But no excuses this time. I mean it, Lily.”

“Thanks, Mom. You’re the best mom in the whole world!” Lily whispered and hung up.

Ginger stared at the receiver, hung it back up and let out a sigh. “No, I’m not the best mom in the whole world,” she whispered. “If I were, I would have taught you how to be a better mom.”

“A better mom? Better than you? She doesn’t exist.”

When Ginger turned toward the sound of her husband’s voice, strong arms embraced her. “Don’t worry about Vincent. He’s fine. He stood up for himself and got a little more of a reaction than he probably liked, but he’s all right now and waiting for a good-night kiss from his Grams. First things first, though.”

She snuggled deeper for a moment and looked up at him. He was gray at the temples now, and his hairline had receded a bit, but the look of love in his eyes was as strong as it had been the night he had proposed. “‘First things first’?”

He kissed her. Hard. “There. I had a rough day today, too, but I feel better already. How about you?”

She shrugged her shoulders and giggled. “I’m not sure.”

He squeezed her closer and gave her another kiss. “Better yet?”

“Almost,” she managed and kissed him back. “Okay, I’m
feeling better now,” she teased and leaned back against his arms to lock her gaze with his. “While you were upstairs, I talked with Lily.”

He smiled. “Wonder of wonders, she finally called back.”

“No. I called her. In St. Thomas.” She gave him a full account of their conversation.

He nodded and pressed his chin to her forehead. “I’ll do what I have to do to rearrange my schedule for Monday so I can go with you to meet her at the airport. That way, we can spend the day with her and talk things through before Vincent comes home from school.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her shoulders slumped, and she voiced the concerns their other children, Mark and Denise, had expressed the moment each of them had learned that Lily had left Vincent with his grandparents all summer—concerns that had been plaguing her heart all these many weeks. “What if she never takes Vincent home with her? What if she doesn’t want him back?”

He kissed the tip of her nose and released her. “She’s been his mother for eight years. A new husband, even a rich, society husband, can’t compete with that, regardless of what Mark or Denise seem to think. Once the dazzle and the glamour wears off, and once we stop making it so easy for her, Lily will want him back,” he assured her.

“But what if she doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll do the right thing for Vincent. We’ll punt, draw up some new plays and draft him so he can stay with us permanently.”

She gave him a mock punch to his shoulder. “Wow, it must be football season,” she teased.

“First home game is Saturday. I got another ticket last week so Vincent could go with us. Maybe if he attends a game, he’ll develop an interest, but I was thinking maybe it would help more if he took a friend along. I’m going to check around at work or go online and see if I can’t swap the three tickets I have for four tickets on an upper level for one of the games later this season. He seemed to like the idea when I mentioned it after he said his prayers.”

“Really? Which friend did he have in mind? He hasn’t made very many this summer.”

“Brian. The boy from the school yard today.”

Her eyes widened. “Brian? He’s only in first grade.”

“Vincent seems to like the boy.”

She shrugged. “I guess it would be all right. See if you can get the tickets first, though, before I mention anything to Brian’s grandmother. What about the sketch pad? Did you ask Vincent about it?”

“I thought I’d leave that to you.” He grinned and looked up at the clock. “It’s eight-thirty. The football game starts at nine. I’ll get the snacks ready while you go up and kiss Vincent good-night and maybe talk about that sketch pad. I’ll meet you in the family room.”

When she started up the stairs for Vincent’s bedroom, she shook her head. For two sports fanatics like herself and Tyler, trying to entertain an eight-year-old boy with no interest in group activities or sports, as a participant or as a spectator, had been a true challenge. Try as they might, however, Vincent was happiest when left to entertain himself alone. He loved to read, hardly a pursuit she could discourage, although she had made sure the books they had checked out of the library were suitable. The Internet
was off-limits, but he loved computer games, again all monitored, and they had gotten accustomed to walking around the roads and bridges he built from one room to the other for his minicars.

She reached the top landing and turned down the hall. After passing Lily’s old bedroom, she stopped in the open doorway to Vincent’s room and found him in bed, sketching in the light cast by the wall lamp above the headboard.

Caught off guard, Vincent quickly shoved the sketch pad under his pillow and scooted down so his head was on the pillow.

“Ready for a good-night kiss?”

He nodded. “Gramps already talked to me about school today,” he offered, as if making sure she knew so she would not bring it up again.

She sat down on his bed. “He did, did he?”

“I’m gonna leave my sketch pad home so nobody tries to take it again.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” she responded and suspected that idea had been Tyler’s.

“Gramps has lots of ’em,” he said as he fidgeted about. He pulled his pencil out from beneath his back and stuck it under his pillow.

“What kind of ideas?”

“Maybe taking Brian to the football game with us?”

“Would you like that?”

“He’s a good drawer, like me.”

She smiled. “Until today, I didn’t know you liked to draw. What kinds of things do you like to draw the most?”

He blushed. “Stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“You know. Stuff. Like…people. I guess I like to draw people the best.”

She ran her fingers through his still-damp hair. Maybe he had been drawing one of the children at school and that’s why he had been reluctant to let Brain see his sketch pad. “Did you draw any of the girls or boys at school?”

“Nah.”

“What about Grams or Gramps?”

He shook his head.

“Your teacher, Mr. Norcross?”

He shook his head again.

Time for more open-ended questions. “Who have you drawn?”

No verbal response. No gesture—until he dropped his gaze.

“It’s all right. You’re tired. Maybe we can talk about your drawings another time. Good night, darlin’. Grams loves you this much,” she said. She opened her arms wide, then enclosed him in a tight hug and kissed his forehead. After turning on the night-light, she switched off the lamp above the headboard and walked toward the door.

“Grams?”

She turned around, but his little face was in the shadows.

“I drawed my mom,” he whispered.

Her heart trembled.