Every Little Kiss (21 page)

“Carter's note wasn't blank,” she said quickly. The room quieted. Everyone stopped pulling on gloves and hats. “But it provided a clue that I wasn't comfortable reading in front of the entire group.”

“Which was?” Kellie asked.

“Caw, like what a crow says, but it could also mean Canadian Auto Workers. Is that right, Carter?”

Casey crossed the floor quickly, crouching next to Carter, who looked like he might topple out of his chair at any moment. “It's okay,” she reassured him. “I made sure we could talk without your foster parents in the room, in case it was a clue about them. About Scotty, in particular. Was I wrong?”

The kid's eyes were round with a sadness that ripped apart her insides. He shook his head no. She'd read the clue correctly.

Impulsively, she grabbed the kid's hand. She expected him to pull away from her, but he didn't. Instead, he looked grateful.

“What do the Canadian Auto Workers mean to you?” she asked. “Is there something about Scotty's job that upsets you?”

“No,” Carter whispered. His skinny frame was nearly swallowed by the chair. “It's the way he says it. It's
wrong
. He should say the letters—C-A-W—but instead he calls it ‘Caw.' He goes around the house, caw this and caw that and sounds like a crow. That's how he became the crow.”

“Can you tell us why you wrote about him?” Rolf asked. “Why you put him in your journals?”

“I didn't want him to read my pages and know I was talking about him. In case he ever found them.”

“But there was more to it than that,” Casey said, squeezing his hand. “Wasn't there? When you wrote that you saw the crow, it was code for more than just
seeing
Scotty, right?” She hated the question, and her insides shook at the possible answers.
He touched you. He beat you.

Carter nodded. “I did it on the days when I didn't get food.”

The whole room stiffened. “You're saying they made you go hungry?” Kellie said, her voice tight with what Casey could only imagine was shock and anger.

“At dinner sometimes, yeah. They'd eat like normal, but I could only have so many bites. Two or something. I never knew when—like, there wasn't any way I could tell if they'd do it. Some days I could eat. Others, I could only have one or two bites.”

Casey saw spots of darkness in her peripheral vision. She was sickened and furious and heartbroken—all at once. She longed to wrap Carter into a hug. Instead she nodded, trying to reassure him that he was doing great, that telling this group the truth was his way forward.

“And it was just Scotty who did this, or did Bridget do it, too?” This question from Amy, who had grabbed a pen and was starting to write all this down.

“Scotty sort of decides it. I don't know how. He just says how many bites I get some nights. Bridget and Luke just pretend like nothing is even happening.”

“Were you afraid to tell us for a certain reason?” Kellie asked. Casey noticed she left the question intentionally vague, but the subtext was vivid in Casey's mind:
Were you afraid to tell us because you were worried Scotty would hurt you?

Carter bit his lip. “I just didn't want it to get worse. Maybe they'd stop letting me eat at all.”

“If there are other things you can tell us,” Casey said, “if it went beyond not getting food, you need to let us know.”

Carter shook his head. “No. They gave me my own bedroom with an Iron Man bedspread. I wanted to like them. I thought maybe I did something wrong. I was so mad at myself.”

There was the anger.
Casey had to swallow back tears. Carter wasn't even mad at Scotty for withholding food. He was mad at himself, believing he'd done something to deserve it.

“You didn't do anything wrong, kiddo,” she said. “Okay? You need to know that. If Scotty and his family aren't giving you food, it's not right. And it's not your fault. Can you understand that?”

Carter nodded. “I guess.”

Casey looked around the room.
What happens now?
She wanted to yell the question, then forgo the answer by finding Carter's foster parents and starving
them
for a change. Instead, she found Abe's eyes and locked on to them. His gaze held her steady, helped calm her pounding heart.

“I'll call Child Protective Services,” Kellie said, pulling out her cell phone. “We'll open this up for investigation.”

“What will happen to Carter in the meantime?” Casey asked.

Kellie exhaled. “Well, it's really in CPS's hands for the time being. They'll talk to Scotty and Bridget. Probably Luke, too.”

“But he can't stay with them while that happens, can he?” Casey asked. “Not if they're withholding food from him, for crying out loud.”

“It will depend on what CPS finds. What they decide.”

“I'll take him.” Casey blurted the words before she could think. For a moment she swore she saw them hovering in a cartoon bubble in the air, just in front of her face.
I'll take him.
She debated popping the bubble, letting the words fall to the ground and then scrambling to clean them up, saying it was a mistake, she never should have said such a thing. But she didn't want that. So she stayed quiet and let the phrase hang there:
I'll take him.

“That's kind of you, Casey,” Kelly said, “but if CPS decides he should be removed from foster care—and it's a big if—he'll need to go to a home that's been approved, inspected, and where the parents have filled out the right paperwork with the state.”

She felt her face heat. Of course she couldn't just take Carter home with her like some puppy. It didn't work like that. What was she even thinking?

She nodded. “I—yes, of course.” She blinked back mortified tears. Everyone must think she was such a fool.

But then there was the pressure of small fingers on hers, and she realized Carter had squeezed
her
hand this time—just a little bit. “Thanks anyways,” he whispered, and her heart folded in on itself, an origami shape of affection for this young boy who was dealing with so much.

“Folks, if you could excuse us, Kellie and I may need to speak with Carter privately about the next steps.” Amy set down her notebook. The face of her old-school watch glinted in the late-morning light.

Abe nodded. He reached out and extended his hand to help Casey up from the floor, where she was still kneeling in front of Carter. The sureness of her palm against his was a welcome support.

“Will you call at least one of us?” Casey asked. “With any updates?”

“You have my cell,” Ingrid offered. “I'll take a call night or day.”

“Will do,” Kellie agreed.

From his seat in the chair, Carter glanced up.

“See you at Robot Lit, okay, bud?” Casey said.

Carter gave her a whisper of a smile. “See you.”

With Ingrid and Rolf leading the way, the four of them stepped out of the middle school offices and into the hallway. Casey noted that the ever-present smell of paste and hot lunch hadn't changed in two decades.

“Can I have a word?” Abe asked, pulling gently on Casey's sleeve.

She stilled. Her mind reeled, thinking of their fight in the kitchen. Part of her wanted to refuse, to tell him there was nothing to talk about. Except there was no fight left in her—not even enough to tell him she didn't want to talk.

She waved at Ingrid and Rolf. “I'll catch up with you at the office,” she said.

Ingrid nodded, though she raised an eyebrow. As if she sensed the conversation between Casey and Abe was going to be about more than just the weather.

Abe turned to her. Behind him, a row of red lockers stretched down the hallway.

“That was rough in there,” he said. “You did great.”

“Thanks,” she said, even as she wished she'd been able to do something more tangible for Carter. She couldn't take him home, it was true, but leaving him in the hands of CPS didn't seem right, either. Not that she had any choice in the matter. It was out of her control.

She waited, wondering if the conversation was over, if Abe had held her back simply to compliment her. But no, there was a shadow on his face that hinted at emotions churning just below his chiseled exterior.

“I wanted to apologize for the other day,” Abe said finally. “About the way I handled things.” He ran a hand along the back of his neck. “You've been very clear about what you wanted from the beginning. I agreed to your terms, then changed course on you. That wasn't fair.”

Casey could feel her eyes widen. Out of all the things she expected him to say, an apology was almost dead last.

“I know I don't exactly deserve it, but if you'd give me another chance, I'd like to try the list again.
Just
the list, nothing more. No loopholes, no modifications.”

Casey opened her mouth, but Abe held up a hand. “Before you go telling me no, I promise I won't ask for more when the list is complete. I've thought about this since Saturday, and I'm not using this as a trick. I like you, it's true. But I also like your list, and I'm good for some checked boxes if that's still what you want.”

Casey wasn't sure what to say. Which was just as well, since a bell sounded, loud enough to drown out whatever she might have uttered. Doors swung open and kids poured into the hallway, swarming past them. They were suddenly two islands in a chaotic, energetic stream.

“Let me think about it,” she said, raising her voice over the thunder of the middle schoolers. “I'll text you.”

Abe smiled. No teeth, just a pull at the corner of his perfect lips. But it was enough to have Casey remembering what his mouth could do—
had
done—to her.

“Ingrid was my ride,” she said as Abe turned to go. “Any chance you can give me a lift back to Robot Lit?”

Abe arched a brow. “If I was an asshole,” he said playfully, “I'd tell you I needed your answer first.”

Casey almost smiled. “If
I
was an asshole, I'd tell you my answer was no.”

“I'd better give you that ride, then.” He grinned at her then—big and wide—and Casey found her pulse pounding louder than the kids all around her.

I will think about this
, she vowed.
I will not just jump back into bed with Abe.

Her brain fought to hold on to reason and logic, even as her skin was already whispering yes.

T
hat evening, Casey had finished decorating her tree, swept up errant pine needles, scrubbed the sink, and was beginning to think about cleaning out the fridge when Ingrid called. “Finally,” she said, grabbing for her phone. She'd been waiting for word about Carter since they'd all met in the counselor's office that morning.

“Tell me,” she said, not even bothering with a hello.

“They took him to the doctor's office,” Ingrid said, “and he was right on the edge of being malnourished. The parents denied not feeding him, but CPS got it out of their teenager, Luke. They'd been letting him go hungry, the assholes. Of course the parents changed their story then, saying it was to discipline Carter. Suddenly he was unruly and surly, not doing his homework, that kind of thing. No one's buying it, though. They're messed up, but at least they won't be able to foster any more kids.”

Casey reached out to the counter to steady herself. She thought she might be sick. “And Carter?” she managed to ask. “Is he okay?”

“Placed with a different family for now. His mom gets out of rehab in another couple weeks. With any luck, he'll be back with her soon.”

“Cripes,” Casey said, shaking her head, “what the heck is wrong with people? No wonder Carter was burning shit up. I'm surprised he wasn't stealing as well. Just so he wouldn't starve.”

“He's a good kid placed in a bad situation. I'm cautiously optimistic that things will turn around from here.”

“Me too,” Casey said. Deep down, though, she could feel a small pang of disappointment where part of her had been hoping
she
could help Carter. That somehow Kellie would decide to place him with Casey—even just for a short while—and she'd give him the stability he needed until his mom was back on her feet.

Of course that was silly. She didn't want kids.

But Carter wasn't hers, she reminded herself. He was just someone in a tough spot who needed help. And the idea of coming to his aid, or even to the aid of kids like him, had her heart filled with something she couldn't put her finger on. Hope? Want? Happiness? Whatever it was, it gave her such a lightness and a peace that she wondered if she wasn't floating a bit.

She was startled back to the present by a sound on the other end of the phone. “You'll have to excuse me, I have a Disney princess tugging on my pants and a husband who's just made dinner. See you tomorrow?”

“You bet. Thanks for the call, Ingrid.”

After they hung up, Casey stood in her kitchen, pondering what in the world was happening to her. Surely being a foster parent wasn't in her cards—or was it? She didn't have the answer. So instead she simply let the newfound lightness envelop her, buoying her mind and body. She smiled and wondered, for the briefest of seconds, if she wasn't about to hit her head on the ceiling.

That Thursday, the Knots and Bolts recipe exchange decided to let someone else do the cooking for once. The group met at the Paul Bunyan Diner, the six of them crushed into a corner booth, to hold an informal baby shower for Willa.

“I need something fried, stat,” the mom-to-be said, grabbing a menu. “And if I can get that with a side of chocolate ice cream, that would be great.”

She brushed a lock of dark blonde hair away from her face with swollen fingers. Casey felt a pang of sympathy as Willa shifted, trying to get comfortable. Her protruding stomach bumped the table, even though she was seated on the end, feet propped on a chair in the aisle. Her position probably violated some kind of fire code, but it wasn't as if their waitress, Pauline, who'd worked there for years and knew them all by name, was going to say anything about it.

“I craved sour stuff with Juniper,” Anna said. “I'd pile lemons into my water, or suck on them straight. I drank buttermilk right from the carton. I think Sam was disgusted, even though he never said anything.”

“Smart man, staying quiet,” Betty said. “When he carries a baby for nine months,
then
he can judge.”

“Alan had to learn how to make curry because I wanted it so often,” Stephanie said. “I don't think he minded, though. I'm usually averse to spicy food, so the fact that we were having it regularly had him over the moon.”

“I definitely crave Charleston Chews. I think it's a texture thing,” Betty confessed. The whole table stared at her.

“Are you—?”

“Oh my God, you and Randall—“

Betty paled, then shook her head. “No, I'm not
pregnant
. I meant when I get my period I crave Charleston Chews.” She waved her hands, as if trying to erase the misunderstanding. “Randall got smart and started buying them in bulk. He thinks I don't know he hides them in the wheel well in his trunk. But right about the time I want one, he's got it right there.” Betty smiled, soft and gentle in contrast to the rusted saws and cookware tacked to the diner's walls.

“I like how bubbly you get when you talk about Randall,” Stephanie said.

Betty immediately stiffened. “I do not get
bubbly
.”

“It's not a bad thing,” Audrey said. “Even if it's not precisely bubbly, you get happy, at least. Which is great.”

Betty looked down at her menu, her cheeks pinking uncharacteristically. “I am happy.” Her words low, heavy with feeling.

Casey stared down at her hands, wishing that for once she could have that same sentiment, too. That someone out there—maybe by the name of Abe Cameron—could feel so much for her that one day she'd tell a whole tableful of ladies all about it.

Of course, it was a shadow-thin fantasy. There was no future for her and Abe Cameron when they wanted such different things.

“You're the best thing that ever happened to that pastor,” Willa said, bringing Casey back to the here and now. “Believe me. His sermons are so much better now that he's getting laid.”

They all stared at her for a moment.

“Sorry,” Willa said, grimacing. “It's the pregnancy.” She shifted and, as she did, she emitted a tiny fart. The whole table quieted. “This is the part where you call out the fact that I just passed gas, Betty. In public. Because I'm a human blimp.”

Betty pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. “Should I also say it smells like rotten broccoli?”

“More like a compost pile in the summer.”

“Gross!” Stephanie said, waving her napkin in front of her nose. “How are we supposed to even eat now?”

Willa giggled. “No problem. Whatever you don't finish, I will.”

“You're going to finish us all if you fart again,” Betty said.

Casey covered her mouth to keep from barking out laughter. She barely succeeded as the other women collapsed into fits of giggles. After a few minutes, they settled down, gave their orders to Pauline, and then handed Willa their shower presents. The table was piled with enough pink to wallpaper a nursery.

Willa pulled off the wrapping paper for the gifts, one by one, to reveal a slew of thoughtful, handmade items. Betty had knitted the baby a blanket as well as a stuffed bear wearing a green cardigan with impossibly delicate buttons. Anna had purchased a pile of classic children's books, and had tied them up by knotting onesies together. Stephanie had put chocolate, coffee, bath salts, and a neck massager into a basket for a mommy survival kit. And Audrey had purchased a package from Click Here, the local photography studio. Whenever Willa felt ready, she and Burk could take their tiny arrival in for a family portrait. In addition to the photo package was lip gloss and a brand-new compact, to help the new mom look her best.

Casey could feel crimson embarrassment creeping along her neck as her turn came. She tried not to read too much into the gift that Willa was about to open. It didn't mean she was completely awful at every single thing having to do with babies and relationships. All it meant was that she should have asked Audrey for help shopping for this thing.

Right?

Willa tugged open Casey's gift and, to her credit, her smile never faltered. Not even as she pulled out a generic pack of washable breast pads and what looked like a miniature baster, but was actually a tool used to pull snot out of kids' noses.

“It was on your registry—” Casey started, trying to explain. She wanted to say she had no idea that everyone else was going to pull together the most creative gifts in the history of female pregnancy ever. She wanted to put words to the fact that this was her first shower and she didn't know what she was doing. But instead, she just plastered on a smile.

“Thank you,” Willa said, “these are going to be so useful.”

Not memorable. Not special. Not cherished.
Useful.

Casey caught Audrey's eye, and her sister gave her a little smile.
Next time I'm not going near a baby store without her
, Casey thought.

But there was an ache inside her that persisted, even as she tried to brush it aside. She couldn't shake the feeling of longing—of wanting to be loved as wholly and completely as the women around her were, and the overwhelming disappointment that came from knowing it wasn't in the cards.

She could wish and wish for her path and Abe's to be different, for them to twist together on the road to happily ever after, but it was useless. Casey was never going to be his, and she was never going to have that look on her face that Betty Lindholm was wearing right now.

Pauline brought their dinners and she tore into her hamburger, trying to distract herself with food, not realizing that, lo and behold, there was dessert. Audrey had baked a cake—complete with fondant ribbons and
Welcome Baby Olmstead
swirled on it, for heaven's sake—and Pauline brought it out after the plates had been cleared.

As she speared a hunk of frosting, something in Casey felt off, like a house after an earthquake that's suddenly no longer square with its foundation. She'd felt like she was part of this group, and she'd let them help with her stupid list, but even after all that, they still had lives that were fundamentally different from hers. They had committed relationships, which led to weddings. Showers. Marriage. Kids.

None of it was for her. And while it was one thing to feel like a freak when it came to a recipe klatch, what would happen when it was Audrey's turn to have a family? She pressed the tines of her fork against the plate, trying to imagine stumbling through a shower for her sister, screwing up everything along the way, and then not knowing even how to
relate
to Audrey as she plunged into parenthood. Casey would try, of course. She would paint nursery walls and change diapers and take Audrey's overtired two-in-the-morning phone calls. She'd do anything for her sister.

But that didn't mean she'd do it right. Her emotions weren't to be trusted, after all. What if she screwed up something with the baby, God forbid, like she had with Kieran and Audrey? And even if she didn't, she'd still never fit into the mommy culture, never truly understand it or connect with it.

Casey swallowed. She'd tried so hard to change her life, but fundamentally she just couldn't change who she was. It wasn't a bad thing, but it was a heartbreaking thing, because it left her feeling not just alone—but actually lonely.

She pushed her plate away, trying not to dwell on it. Because if Audrey had a kid, then her job was to be supportive. Period. Her feelings didn't matter.

But that didn't mean they didn't
exist
.

Casey muddled through the rest of the shower, forced a laugh when Betty joked about naming the baby Burka, and fairly bolted out the door after the farewell hugs were complete.

Moments later, she stood by her car, breathing in the brittle air and watching the night-black water of the Birch River ripple by.

Since moving to White Pine a few months ago, she'd experienced moments of uncertainty and of doubt. But she hadn't, until now, been discouraged.

About her friends. About her sister. Even about Abe—someone she might want to care for, but couldn't, because he wanted kids in the end, too.

She'd just unlocked her car when she heard footsteps behind her. “Hey, speedy! What's the hurry?”

She turned to see Audrey jogging toward her, long legs eating up the distance before Casey could slip inside her vehicle and drive away. Audrey's breath puffed in the cold, and her brown eyes reflected the glittering Christmas lights strung along Main Street. “You in a race to be the first one out of here?” Audrey asked.

A thousand fibs crossed Casey's lips. How it had been a long day and she wanted to put her feet up. How she had things to do at home. How Ingrid had asked her to work on a project that was due tomorrow and she needed to tackle it.

She opened her mouth to utter one of the excuses—any of them, actually—and found herself bursting into tears instead.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified. She tried to swallow back the tears, but only ended up hiccupping sobs instead.

She tried to turn away, to hide her face, but couldn't move before Audrey had thrown her arms around her and pulled her close.

“Oh my God! Are you okay? What's
wrong
?”

Casey fought to regain her composure. She shouldn't be standing here crying in a parking lot. But the tears just kept coming, leaking onto Audrey's down jacket as her sister rubbed her back and told her it was going to be okay.

Casey's whole head hurt as she wondeed if that was the truth. Was everything going to work out, or was Casey destined to be on the outskirts of their happy group, never really knowing love or commitment just because she didn't want kids? Would it affect not only her friendships, but the heart of her relationship with her sister as well?

“Hand me the keys,” Audrey said after a minute. She released Casey and held out her hands.

“What? Why?” Casey asked, wiping her nose.