Forever Beach (15 page)

They turned into the meat aisle. Karen picked out a five-pound package of hamburger. “I'll freeze some of this,” Karen said. She added a family pack of wieners and moved over to peruse the steaks.

She put four packages in the cart. “Do you know that woman?” she asked, looking past Reesa's shoulder.

Reesa turned. The same woman was looking down the aisle. She smiled tentatively and rolled her cart toward them.

“I don't think so.”

The woman stopped her cart next to theirs. She was in her early thirties, thin and wiry. There was a thick scar, like a beige thunderbolt, across her cheek.

And something niggled at Reesa's memory.

“Mrs. Davis?”

“Yes?” Reesa quickly flipped through her mental Rolodex. Young woman, scar, two children. Victim of domestic abuse? She still has her children. Did Reesa help her get her children back? Maybe it was someone she met totally unrelated to work. Fat chance. She hardly ever did anything but work.

“You don't remember me.”

“Sorry, I—” She did look familiar, but Reesa just couldn't place her.

“I'm Tanisha Clark. You took me out of my home, oh, about fifteen years ago.”

Reesa tensed. Someone she'd removed as a teenager. Now what would happen? Would the woman start screaming obscenities in front of the children, become violent?

Karen stepped into the silence. “Hi.”

But Reesa had remembered. Tanisha. She'd been bleeding when Reesa put her and her three sisters under the protection of the agency.

“You haven't changed a bit,” Tanisha said.

Reesa breathed out a laugh. “Well, you have. And of course I remember you.” Tanisha had fought like a wildcat as Reesa pulled her away from the doorknob she was clinging to. She'd clawed, kicked, spit, and suddenly Reesa could remember it as if it had happened last week.

She swallowed. She had nothing to say, nothing to apologize for. She'd done her job, the best she knew how, and there it was.

“You saved my life that day, Mrs. Davis. I never had a chance to thank you. Well”—Tanisha smiled sheepishly—“it took me a long while to realize it. But you were right, and even though I didn't make it easy, you didn't let me fall. And I just wanted to thank you now.”

She started to walk away.

Reesa, who had been gripping the grocery cart in stunned silence, started to go after her. “Wait.”

Tanisha stopped and turned; the two kids pulled at her to go, but she waited for Reesa to catch up to her.

“Are these your children?” Reesa smiled at them, a boy and a girl.

“Yes, they are, both adopted. My husband and I both came through the system. We both finished high school. He works up
at the hospital and I'm going to school nights for my nursing degree. Right now I take care of kids, five mornings a week.

“We have this cooperative center down on Eighth Street. It's day care and a learning center for working mothers; it's subsidized, but we're always doing things to make more money. It's called Hands Around the World. We call it Halfway to H House, 'cause one way goes to hell and the other goes to heaven and we just sometimes feel stuck in the middle.

“But at least the kids get some food and some learning, and we have a doctor come in once a week. I think you'd like it. I have a card if you're interested in seeing what we've done. If you'd like to come by sometime.”

“I'd love to,” Reesa said and took the card without thinking. She wanted to hold this moment just like it was. Hopeful that someone she'd tried to help had made good—at least in her own mind. Reesa wasn't sure she wanted to see the reality of Tanisha's life up close.

But before she could start making excuses, Tanisha said, “Great, how about next Thursday?”

You didn't let me fall.
The words kept echoing in Reesa's mind as they drove back to Karen's.
You didn't let me fall.

She'd been falling herself lately. But no more. Somehow, some way, she'd get back to what she wanted her life to be.

Maybe Tanisha Clark was her wake-up call. Thursday, she'd said. It wouldn't hurt to swing by and check out Hands Around the World.

S
ARAH AND
L
EILA
were just crossing the street to Wyatt's house when the Wolcotts and Reesa pulled up to the curb in front and Stu managed to maneuver his SUV into a space that was more suited to a MINI Cooper.

“Bessie,” Leila squealed and tugged at Sarah's hand to hurry.

“We have to look both ways first,” Sarah said. They did and then crossed the street. As soon as they were on the opposite sidewalk, Jenny, Tammy, and Bessie piled out of the car, took Leila by the hand, and they all ran up the driveway to Wyatt's backyard.

Sarah stopped at the car.

“Very impressive,” Sarah told Stu as he came around from the driver's side.

Karen handed her a big bowl of potato salad. “A man of many talents.”

“And don't you forget it, babe,” he said and hauled a large red cooler from the back.

“Wow,” Reesa said, stopping on the sidewalk to admire the front of Wyatt's house. “Wyatt lives here?”

“Owns it,” Stu said.

“Inherited it,” Karen added. “And has to rent out the top two floors to pay the taxes.”

“Still, it's gorgeous. I would never in a million years think of Wyatt living in a place like this.”

Sarah knew what she meant. Wyatt had repainted the house himself; a medium gray with forest green shutters and intricately carved gable boards picked out in burgundy. It fit right in with the rest of the neighborhood until you went inside.

“Yeah, kind of girly for a tough guy like Wyatt.”

“I think it's gorgeous,” Reesa said.

They walked down the driveway to the backyard. Wyatt's SUV was gone.

“Guess we're a little early,” Sarah said.

“We'll just get started without him. He said he'd leave a key.” Karen put two bags of groceries on the porch floor and
rolled a brass Buddha to the side. “And there it is. Sarah, you want to open the door for me?”

Sarah reached for the key. She didn't like taking liberties like this, especially with Wyatt. And she didn't want anyone to think she had free rein of his house. Which she didn't.

“Are you sure it's all right to do this?”

“Open the door,” Karen cajoled. The groceries she'd just picked up were beginning to slide.

Sarah opened the door, and the kids all crowded inside.

“Don't make a mess,” Karen said. “Jenny, make sure it's childproofed. Rory, you too. Help Jenny watch the little ones going up the steps.” She turned to Reesa. “The turret stairs. There's a little room at the top where you can look out. Total waste of space if you ask me.”

She began taking things out of the bags and making herself at home in Wyatt's pristine new kitchen.

“This is amazing,” Reesa said.

Wyatt had opened up the front of the house, combining two parlors and kitchen into an open space. The floors were hardwood, the walls were white, and the furniture was wood with beige cushions.

“It's nice,” Sarah agreed.

“Nice? That's an understatement. I'd kill for a house like this. And he keeps it so neat.”

“Because he's rarely here,” Sarah said.

“Ah,” Reesa said.

Sarah blushed. Did Reesa think she had reason to know what Wyatt did? Well, she did. And they all knew it. So why couldn't she just accept it? There were two smallish bedrooms in back, one that was hardly big enough to fit the king-size
bed and one that served as Wyatt's study, though it was usually filled with extra scuba gear.

But she didn't feel she had the right to mention those.

“What do you want me to do?”

“There's corn that needs shucking, and the salad and potato salad need to go in the fridge. Then I want to marinate the steaks for a bit before we put them on the grill.”

The three of them worked and chatted while Stu uncovered the grill, and by the time Wyatt walked in, dinner was almost ready.

“Grab a beer and come out while I grill,” Stu called.

Wyatt gave Sarah a fleeting smile before grabbing a beer and heading for the porch.

When the women joined them a few minutes later, two large round tables had appeared on the porch, citronella candles had been lit, and Stu, Wyatt, and Rory were all standing around the grill watching meat cook.

And it was delicious. After dinner they moved over to the sitting area while the kids ran after fireflies on the lawn, and the adults made themselves comfortable to watch the setting sun. Wyatt grabbed Sarah's hand and pulled her down to sit between his legs on the chaise.

At first she sat rigidly upright, but gradually she leaned back into him, settling there. And when he put his arms around her, she thought,
This feels right. Everything will work out.
And for a while she believed it would.

I
f Sarah thought that putting a sticker on visitation days would make the transitions easier, she'd been dead wrong. By the time the next Wednesday came, she and Leila were both on the edge.

Sarah's heart tore a little as she watched Leila slow down each time she passed the wall calendar on the way to the table. How her eyes cut toward it as if making sure it was really there. There were times when Sarah wondered if maybe she was looking forward to the visit, and though her stomach turned sour at the thought, she would remind herself that whatever was best for Leila is what she wanted. But what she really wanted was for Leila and her to live happily ever after next to the clock shop.

That's when she really knew she was human. That she wasn't just a leftover piece of flotsam that nobody wanted. Sam had wanted her. Not the way some of the men she'd encountered wanted her.

But like a father wanted his daughter. At least what she
imagined it would be like. Because she knew that was how she felt toward Leila.

When Leila came home from school on Wednesday, Sarah reminded her that it was the day for her visit with Carmen. Leila didn't say anything, merely climbed on the couch and stuck her thumb in her mouth. Another regressive habit.

Sarah gritted her teeth and waited for Danny to ring the bell.

Leila went without argument. She didn't complain, but she also didn't say good-bye, just slid off the couch and went to stand in front of Danny. Danny took her hand and with a quick, “We'll be back,” he walked her to his car.

Sarah considered going over to Wyatt's, but she couldn't keep running to him every time she was feeling insecure. And Karen and Reesa had their own lives. Sarah would just have to sit it out. She went back to her back porch workshop.

Mrs. Bridges from the antique store had brought her a late-nineteenth-century Seth Thomas violin clock she'd picked up at an estate sale. The body was in decent shape, but the inner workings were mangled. Sarah had brought part of the inner workings over to work on at night when she wouldn't have any interruptions.

The parts were old and rusty, and some of them were bent; it would take a very steady hand to work them back into shape without breaking them. Oh so carefully Sarah straightened them out with her tiny jeweler's hammer. It was slow delicate work, just what she needed to help the time pass.

Finally the front bell rang, and she rushed to the foyer, but slowed down to appear normal when she opened the door.

Leila walked in and continued right past her.

Danny called out. “See you Saturday, Leila.”

She stopped long enough to wave and went straight back to her room.

“Saturday?” Sarah asked. “I told you we have plans that day.”

“I know. Didn't anyone call you?”

Sarah shook her head.

“It's Carmen's birthday. She wants Leila to come. I'm sorry, someone on the team was supposed to clear it with you.” He shrugged, obviously chagrined. “Leila knows about the plan. It might be upsetting to her to cancel now.”

Leila would also be upset to miss the sand castle contest.

“As a matter of fact . . .” Danny reached in his pants pocket and brought out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to Sarah.

She opened it and took a look. A schedule of visits.

“They want to put her on a fast track, if you will. Studies have shown that the transition back is easier if the meetings are more often than once a week.”

“She's being adopted.”

Danny shrugged. “I'm just doing what the study team is telling me to do. Carmen's caseworker and support team are very pleased with her progress. I think they could use a success story about now,” he said confidentially, having no clue to what his words were doing to Sarah.

“So they've set up a schedule, if you can just see if this works for you. It would be twice a week. Wednesdays and Saturday for a longer visit. I'll oversee an in-home visit next week. And then we'll see how it goes from there.”

Danny kept explaining, but Sarah was just hearing buzzing. The sound of Velcro ripping open. She tried to make herself concentrate on what he was saying. Tried to focus her eyes on the paper he'd handed her.

“The team understands that some of these dates might not be convenient. If you have a problem with any of the dates, you should call this number.” He craned his neck to see the paper and pointed to a number at the bottom of the page.

Oh, sure. It would be one of those numbers that no one ever answered and from which no one ever called back.

“I'm sure you know that reacclimating the child is less painful if it is done with more frequent visits. After all, we want reunification to happen as smoothly as possible, don't we?”

Sarah clenched her fist, and the paper crumpled. They both looked down at it as if it were some defenseless animal she'd just crushed.

“She's on an adoption path. You're her
adoption
caseworker. Have you forgotten that?”

Danny blinked behind his horn-rimmed glasses. “Well, no, and I know you're probably having to adjust to this unexpected development. But if this adoption doesn't work out, there are many more children who need good homes. It's my job to facilitate that if it were to happen.”

“Mr. Noyes. Children are not interchangeable. It takes time and work and unconditional love to get a child to accept you. You can't just plug them in anywhere there's a vacancy.”

“Ms. Hargreave, please.”

“How long have you been in the field?”

“What?”

“How long have you been a caseworker?”

“Well, only eighteen months. But I graduated at the top of my class.”

“Well, just so you know. There's a long way down from the top of the class to the rest of us. I won't give her up without a fight.”

The caseworker's eyes widened, and he actually stepped back. Maybe he thought she might hit him. And she was sorely tempted.

“Well,” he said, backing toward the door, “I'll plan to pick up Leila on Saturday at ten. It's Carmen's birthday,” he repeated and fled.

Sarah didn't even know where to turn. Call Reesa? Randy? He'd been totally useless so far. But he's what she had. She'd have to call him. Hopefully he would be in his office even though it was nearly six.

But first she needed to see about Leila.

She was sitting on her bed;
Green Eggs and Ham
was open.

“Did you have a good time?” Sarah asked.

“Go away.”

“Are you upset?”

“I don't like you. Go away.”

Sarah had been through this before, they both had. She would let it rest for the time being. She closed Leila's door and went to call Randy Phelps.

She left a message. Then she started googling other family law attorneys.

She checked on Leila several more times, but she'd fallen asleep. And Sarah let her be. She was at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of chamomile tea when Leila came in rubbing her eyes. She didn't acknowledge Sarah but went straight to the art supply cupboard and opened it. Pulled out the bag of stickers and went to stand by the wall calendar.

“What day is Saturday?”

I
T HAD BEEN
three days since Reesa had returned home from her weekend away and nothing had changed. Michael had
given her the silent treatment until Monday night when he needed her to get something down from the attic for him.

Then he thanked her . . . begrudgingly. Work hadn't changed either. More and more paper, less and less success.

On Wednesday she'd spent an entire afternoon in another team meeting for the White boys. She didn't mind spending time on their placement, but that was not what was taking up the bulk of time. Several members of the team didn't seem to realize that Mrs. White and her current lover were going to jail, for at least drugs and reckless endangerment. If Reesa had her way—and she probably would be called in to testify—they'd be convicted of attempted murder.

Of course she wouldn't get her way, but she'd make damned sure the court knew just what she'd found in that squalid apartment. She tried to convince the team to give up on reuniting this family. Even resorting finally to “Over my dead body,” and stalking out of the meeting.

She felt ridiculous the moment she got outside. Now there was no one in the meeting who knew exactly what had gone on. Sometimes you didn't need a damn team meeting. You just needed to act.

It was simple. Pete White needed a loving home. Jerome would need long-term care. The baby at least would have a pretty good chance of being adopted—if it had no lasting problems. End of discussion.

Reesa didn't go back inside; they could talk all they wanted, but she'd be the one giving testimony at the hearing next week.

She was fed up. She didn't know how she was going to bail herself out of this quagmire. But between her job and her husband, Reesa was slowly having the life sucked out of her.

So instead of going into work on Thursday, she did some
thing she'd really had no intention of doing. She drove down to Eighth Street to visit Hands Around the World.

The building was exactly what Reesa had expected, a dingy little storefront on a block of neglected buildings. And her hope sank. There were the usual knots of people on the street, though she noticed none were standing near the entrance of the center. That was unusual, unless there were some very large security guards inside.

She stepped inside. There was no security at all, just a medium-size room furnished with mismatched chairs and tables and a sagging couch covered by a colorful throw. Old travel posters and construction paper collages by children were the only artwork on the walls.

Reesa felt a stab of disappointment. “Hands” was just another stopgap effort bound to fail or to just fade away when interest waned.

Tanisha spotted her from where she was sitting behind a reception desk, explaining the finer points of answering the telephone and making appointments to a trio of women.

She turned the class over to another woman and came forward with both hands extended. “I didn't know if you would come or not.”

Reesa just smiled. She hadn't intended to come. “You have a nice space,” she said, deflecting the need to explain.

“Yes. We could use more. Come on back. I'll show you around.”

If Dorothy had traveled from black and white to the colorful land of Oz, Reesa stepped from a colorful waiting room into a room with stark white walls, and two rows of tables each with its own computer. The computers were the only imaginative thing in the room and ranged from laptops to old iMacs
and everything in between; the women who were practicing on them were just as varied.

“We're gradually updating our equipment,” Tanisha explained. “Most of what we have now are donated. But we have a great IT person . . . My husband. And a computer teacher who comes in three times a week. We have about twenty-five women in two levels of classes, and mentoring hours for the more advanced students to help the others. Down here . . .”

She trailed off as she left the room. Reesa quickly followed Tanisha down a hallway where she pointed to additional classrooms, all closed at the moment, and around the corner to another room. The door was closed, but when Tanisha pulled it open, a caroling of noise flooded out. “Day care,” Tanisha said proudly.

There were at least fifteen kids in the room. From babies to preschoolers who were being read to by an older woman. “One of our volunteers.” Tanisha waved at the woman and ushered Reesa out. “We don't like to interrupt too much. Some of the children are pretty traumatized. We have therapists, but you know how it is. Safety and a sense of security is the most important thing.”

“This is amazing,” Reesa said. “Are you registered with child services?”

Tanisha frowned for the first time since Reesa had arrived. “They're aware of us, but this is a ‘get off your butt and come to us when you're ready to make it' center.

“Most of the women who come here are on their way to a normal life and just need the reinforcement. A place to talk about their fears with their peers. But we also have several apartments upstairs for women and children while the mothers are looking for a permanent job and home. We'd like more.
Actually we'd like to buy the building. We're just renting two of the floors now.

“And before you ask. No men. No drugs. No alcohol. And no hurting. You get three strikes for minor infractions. One for the biggies. No tolerance for drugs or abuse. Do it and you're back out on the street. No exceptions. Not even children.

“You have to be serious about getting your life together.”

“Wow,” Reesa said.

“Does it sound harsh? Well, it is. Life is harsh. My mama had help. She had services out the wazoo, but she was never held accountable. And she never succeeded. She fell through the cracks”—she smiled—“or because of crack. So yeah, we're harsh. Nobody makes them come here.”

“How do you stay afloat?” Reesa asked as they made their way back to the front desk. “The rent alone.”

“By hook and by crook. Donations and grants and the families have to pay either monetarily, or by volunteering to teach, or cook or clean. We have a couple of paying positions, and we have an accountant and a lawyer. We also have a couple of part-time administrators, a necessary evil if you want to stay legal.

“We've applied for funds for a development person. Sounds real business-like, but what it means is chief cook and bottle washer. Someone who can write grants and have a vision about how to best use the funds we've got.”

“Amazing. And you're going to nursing school?”

“At nights. Hey, you gave me a chance and I tried not to mess it up. I did anyway, but I had some nice families that helped me through.”

Reesa met a few of the volunteers and checked out the kitchen before Tanisha walked her out to the street. “Come
back any time. We're always open.” She grinned again. And Reesa smiled back. She was still smiling as she drove down the street and back to her office.