Just Beginning (25 page)

Gabe raced after Steve, finally catching him. “How come you know so much about women?”

“Sisters,” he huffed. “Three. Seattle. Cincinnati. And Raleigh. Thank God. Couldn’t handle it if they lived in state.”

They picked up the pace until neither had breath to talk, and the rush hour traffic wouldn’t allow them to ride side by side. Zooming into their respective driveways, they exchanged waves before heading to shower.

“Hey, Gabe,” Steve called out from his garage. “Tell Jen I’ll do the interview. Have her text me.”

“Will do.” Gabe shut the garage door and headed inside.

Jenny almost ran into Gabe as she left their bedroom. He put a hand on her shoulders to avoid the collision

“Hey, babe,” she said. Eyes widening, she backed away. “Boy are you sweaty.” She wrinkled her nose and waved a hand in front of her face. “And stinky.”

“Before I forget, Steve said to text him. He’ll give you the interview.”

Her eyes lit up, and she smiled. “Really? Why? What changed?”

“No idea. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” Gabe looked at Jenny. “Have an interview today?”

“Nope. Working at home.”

“So why’re you dressed like that?” He waved a hand at her khaki slacks, white oxford shirt, and brown loafers. And she had makeup on—not just lipstick but stuff on her eyes, too.

That wasn’t Jenny. When working at home, his Jenny wore soft, faded jeans and a T-shirt. Or shorts and a tank top if it was hot like today. And more often than not she was barefoot. She was a free, unpretentious woman, not this neat, preppy mannequin.

“Like what?” She frowned and looked down at her outfit.

“Why don’t you have shorts on? It’s already hot.”

“Alex and some friends are dropping by to take the boat out one last time.”

Steve was right. This whole new look was meant to impress his kids. Gabe frowned and yanked his T-shirt up to wipe his dripping face. “She’s seen your legs before.”

Jenny avoided his eye and tucked her hair behind one ear. “You’d better get going. You’re gonna be late.”

He gripped her shoulder and drew her into the bedroom. Nudging her down onto the neatly made bed, he sat next to her. “Jen, you’ve got to stop this.”

“What?”

“Trying to look older. It’s not you.”

She frowned and studied the floor. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.” Gabe took her chin in his hand and turned her toward him. “I love you. I love the way you dress—used to dress. I like looking at your legs. You’ve got great legs. Don’t hide them—especially in ninety-degree weather. If you’re doing all this ’cause you want a change, fine. But I want you to be happy. I want you to be
you
, not somebody older or more sophisticated to impress other people.”

Her pale eyes clouded with worry and she fingered the ends of her hair. “You don’t like my hair?”

He smiled warmly and gently tugged a few strands, then settled his hand comfortably around her neck. “I
love
your hair. But I’d love you bald, too. The important thing is do you like it?”

She nodded.

“Good. But you can’t like these pants, especially on a hot day like today. Change into something comfortable. I miss the old Jenny Harrison.”

Slight lines flickered between her eyebrows when she cleared her throat and gulped. She turned moist eyes to him. “Even if she looks young enough to be your daughter?”

God damn those gossiping idiots
.

Gabe slowly shook his head. Cupping her face, he looked deeply into her expressive eyes. “I love you.

Jenny tuned out the baseball game George and Gabe watched in the family room. Two quick raps sounded at the back door as Steve opened it. “Jenny?”

Waving her feathery tail, Ritz trotted past Steve and approached Jenny.

“Come on in.” Jenny finished pouring her drink, then hefted the bottle. “Wine?”

“No, thanks. I’m on my way out. Ritz was wandering around my front yard.”

Jenny looked at Ritz’s furry neck; Gabe had forgotten to put her e-collar on. “Sorry. Thanks for returning her.”

“No problem.” Steve backed out of the kitchen. “See ya.”

Jenny took a sip of wine, and then hurried to the back door. “Hey Grant?”

Steve paused next to his running car and looked back.

“Have you guys decided who’s having the pick party for this year’s Fantasy teams?”

“No, but you’re not invited,” he said. “Gabe’s in, but you’re out. Guys didn’t like losing to a girl.”

“What? Really?” She frowned, let down. Jenny’s team had come in second—largely due to Peyton Manning having another phenomenal year—and won three hundred dollars, but she didn’t think the others were sore about it. “Andrew won, not me.”

“Just kidding.” He grinned. “Picks are weekend before Labor Day. Want to host?”

“Sure.”

“’Kay. See you later.” He swung into his car.

Jenny waved as he drove away.

Back in the kitchen, she mulled over her disturbing interview with a foster care coordinator while dicing red and green peppers. Jenny mechanically washed and sliced the yellow onions, and then covered them with plastic wrap to keep from crying.

Her editor wanted this next piece to be a more broad-range look at the foster care experience than the residential program Christ Child offered, but how could Jenny effectively present the issues burdening the foster care system in a way guaranteed to get readers’ attention and sympathy without exploiting the children?

There were plenty of heartbreaking stories she could tell, but she hated the way most of the agencies presented the children on their websites, like puppies up for adoption. It seemed degrading to Jenny; hopefully the kids didn’t feel that way.

And she’d been obsessing over people thinking she was too young for Gabe or that she was a gold digger. In light of the struggles these children faced, Jenny was reminded again to be thankful for her many blessings.

She propped one bare foot on the other as she diced the chicken. No more ugly clothes or wearing makeup at home. She flipped her hair away from her neck. She was gifted with good health, a loving husband, great friends and family, beautiful home, great job—she was so very fortunate, and now it was time to show her appreciation and give back.

Jenny flicked water droplets to test the oil in the wok. With it being hot enough to spit the water back, Jenny tossed in the chicken slices and efficiently moved them around with two wooden spoons to keep them from burning.

The bell dinged on the rice cooker. Jenny added vegetables to the sautéed chicken, then sprinkled them with garlic salt, pepper, ginger, and a little soy sauce.

“George? Gabe? Five minutes.”

After they dished up, Jenny glanced at Gabe’s uncle. “What’re you up to these days, George?”

“Keeping busy. This weekend my buddy Bob Limber’s gonna show me a new fishing hole. Claims it’s his secret spot.”

“Judge Limber has time for fishing?” Gabe asked.

“Yeah, even though he’s a hoity-toity judge, he makes time. You should have seen him in the old days—smooth. Surprised he didn’t go into politics. He talked our way out of more than a few messes, I’ll tell you.”

George took a fork full of food, quickly chewed, and swallowed. “Anyhow, I’m still golfing three days a week, and then there’s my garden to finish cleanin’ up, and Will, the guy I sold the shop to, wants some help. He’s opening a new branch and needs advice setting it up and stuff.”

Maybe there was hope for George after all; it wasn’t like him to help anyone out of the goodness of his heart. Everything was a deal with George, whether the person knew it or not. “That’s nice of you,” Jenny said.

George shrugged. “He’s payin’ me.”

Of course he is
.

“Mmmm, this is great, Jenny, just great.” He munched appreciatively. “Adele never did stir-fry. Had to go out for that. By the way, we could use a fourth on Saturday. Tee time’s eight.” He looked at Gabe. “You interested?”

“Sorry, can’t.” Gabe scooped a forkful of rice and then stabbed a broccoli floret.

“Why not?”

“Gotta get a new car. Jenny’s Jeep keeps leaking oil all over the garage.”

“So, get it fixed.”

“I’d rather she had a more reliable car.”

George harrumphed and went to the kitchen for seconds.

They ate quietly for a few minutes. Jenny chewed slowly, thinking about her morning visit with the social worker Emily. Jenny’d tagged along on a home visit where, ultimately, Emily had to recommend CPS remove an infant from the care of her drug-addicted mother.

The poor ten-month-old’s arms were covered with bruises that her mother said came from falling down, and blisters covering her small bum went light years beyond Jenny’s comprehension of diaper rash. The little mite sat, sucking her fist, staring at them through dull eyes during the entire interview.

Jenny sighed and took a sip of her wine. Good thing she’d gotten to interview Steve in the afternoon. His success story and photo session had been a welcome break that helped restore her equilibrium. After outlining it, she could see Steve’s story was going to practically write itself. She’d be able to finish it tomorrow and have it ready for his approval shortly thereafter. Jenny sighed. Too bad her assigned story wasn’t that simple.

“Jenny?” Gabe sounded muffled, like he was speaking from some distant place. “What’re you thinking about?” he asked. “You’re scowling.”

She blinked at Gabe. “I...nothing. Just a rough day.”

“How?”

“Research for the Woodward Home,” Jenny said for George’s benefit. “I’ve been doing a series of articles on this new extension of the Christ Child House and the whole foster care system.”

“What a waste of time.” George reached for another roll.

“Why do you say that?” Jenny asked.

“There shouldn’t be any need for foster care. What is it, they take kids away from druggies and hookers, and then give them back when the parents are, so-called ‘rehabilitated’? Stupid. They need ta’ take the kids away forever.” He shoved his food around the plate with abrupt motions.

“I’m sure it’s a little more complicated than that,” Gabe said.

“Sometimes they do,” Jenny said, “but they still need foster homes for them.”

“Put ’em with the kids’ families. That’s what family’s for.”

“What if they don’t have family? Or the family can’t take them?” Jenny asked.

George didn’t look up from his plate, didn’t slow in his eating. “They gotta take them.”

Is that how you felt when Gabe needed a home? Did you only take him out of obligation?
She longed to peek at Gabe to see his reaction to his uncle’s careless words but didn’t. She didn’t want to make Gabe feel bad at his uncle’s insensitivity.

“What if they can’t? Somebody has to take care of those poor kids. And the kids aren’t only from drug-addicted parents. Some kids are simply neglected, abused, or runaways avoiding the sickness at home. Society has a responsibility to these kids. It’s not their fault they’re born to a bad set of parents.”

“So besides financial problems, what’s the foster system’s greatest challenge?” Gabe asked.

“They’re in a crisis now because of lack of quality foster families. Studies have shown that foster families work best for these kids, but there’s a critical lack of volunteers—especially for the older children.”

“No wonder. Who wants to open their home to those screwed-up kids? Raising teenagers is hard enough without takin’ on that extra problem,” George observed matter-of-factly.

Jenny scowled at George. What a horrible thing to say. “I’m glad not everybody feels that way. Not all the kids have deep emotional problems either, George. In fact, you’d be a great foster father.”

“Me?” He raised his eyes from his plate and stopped chewing. “Are you nuts?”

“No. Think about it. You raised Gabe, so you’re experienced. You’re semi-retired, which would give you more time to devote to a child. You’re good with kids. You could adopt an older child. I interviewed three sweethearts just dying to be a part of a forever family.”

“Without any emotional problems, eh?” His fork hovered over the plate, while he squinted at her through one eye and raised the other eyebrow.

“They might have a few issues, but they’re getting counseling—on the State. You wouldn’t have to pay for a thing. There’s this one ten-year-old who’s been there for three years.”

“Why? What’s the matter with him?”

Interesting that George assumed it was a boy
. Maybe he was more open to the idea than she’d given him credit.

“His mother’s a prostitute. Tommy took to the streets when he was only eight ’cause he hated what she did, especially after one of her johns tried to fondle him.”

“And he’s not too screwed up?” George snorted. He returned his attention to his meal and speared a hunk of sautéed chicken.

Well, who wouldn’t be? But Tommy was a good kid who deserves a chance. “He has some anger,” she allowed, “but he’s getting help. He’s a bright kid—really smart. With a family to love him, he’d thrive—I know he would.”

“What about his relatives?”

“No idea who the father is. His maternal grandma’s caring for his half-brother and sister. The grandma gave him over to child services; she claimed she couldn’t afford him and the other two, but the caseworker suspects she did it to get him away from neighborhood gangs. He’s a great kid, George. You should meet him.”

“No, thanks.”

“Just think about it.”

“If this kid’s so great, why don’t
you
take him?” George challenged.

He voiced the question that’d been tickling Jenny’s subconscious all afternoon. She wanted to help and felt she was in a position to do so. After nearly two years of marriage, she and Gabe were in a great place. Jenny’d carved a niche out in the family, and work was in a good flow. Life was pretty great. Maybe now was the time for them to take on more.

And how could you ask people to do what you weren’t willing to do yourself? She turned to Gabe, thoughtful. He’d been surprisingly silent during this whole discussion. “Gabe? Would you want to meet Tommy?”