The Foster Family (38 page)

“He’s a good, good man,” David agreed. “I’m lucky to have him. Now prune your tree and let me nap.”

I grinned. “Enjoy.”

I worked for nearly an hour, sneaking peeks at the two sleeping forms in the wide hammock. They looked so very peaceful. And I noticed Nash come to the back door to look out on them more than once as well. When the sun had shifted in the sky enough to leave David’s bare feet and calves basking in its rays, I fetched a light blanket from where I remembered Nash kept them, in a box on the porch, and covered him.

David stirred but didn’t wake, and I went back to pruning. Nash was standing in the doorway again, a blanket in his own hand. He tipped his head to me and smiled. “Thank you.”

I waved. “I like him too, Papa Nash. We can take care of them together, you know. It isn’t all on you. I’m here now.”

Nash said nothing, but he remained a little while longer, watching David sleep and me work, and saying none of the things I knew were coursing through his mind. Topmost on the list, I would lay odds were two questions:

Why was I here, and how long was I staying?

I didn’t have answers for those, so I did my very best to pretend we weren’t all waiting for them to be asked.

W
EEKS
PASSED
like that. I worked at the yard, David recovered from the tail end of whatever virus had attacked his system, and went back to work on the editing job he had that let him work from home and look after Grey when Nash had to go out.

Nash went back to his day job, which had something to do with counseling young moms-and dads-to-be at the shelter, the schools, the group home, and the CPS offices, wherever he could pin them down and cajole them to listen. He did that in between his carpenter jobs, which were more like art these days than anything else. He worked on commission, and I was flabbergasted at the amount of money he could ask for something as simple as a small wooden chest for a wedding that people would slip greetings and well-wishes in and then lock and give to the couple, who weren’t supposed to open it until their twentieth anniversary.

“People really pay that much for this?” I asked, running a hand over the smooth, beautifully stained surface. “I mean, it’s beautiful, and I think it’s worth it. But I see how much work and love you put into the craft, and people always seem to want bargains and free stuff these days.”

“People pay a lot to pass on their family values and love,” Nash said. “And I’m okay with that.”

I smiled. “You remember that garden wagon you made for me?”

“Yeah. That was a fun project. Though you made most of it. I just offered advice.”

“A lot of advice, if I remember.”

“Well, this is my purview, son. When I come out there and pick up a shovel or a pair of snips, you can advise away. I’ll listen.”

And I knew he would too. Half the reason he was so good at what he did, both woodworking and counseling, was that he listened. He felt out the wood and what shape it wanted to take, and he listened to his kids and helped them figure out what shape to make their lives.

“You know, that wagon is probably in the garage somewhere. Have you looked for it?”

“No. I figured you’d have got rid of it by now.”

“Why would I?”

I shrugged. “I moved out. What would you need it for?”

“It’s yours, Kerry. You saw your room. What makes you think I would throw away something you worked so hard on? Something that meant so much to you?”

What did make me think that? I didn’t really know. I had just assumed. Foster parents couldn’t keep every little thing every kid left in their homes. They’d be overrun with stuff that didn’t mean anything to them. I said so to Nash, and he gave me the oddest look.

“Did you ever think this was like any other home you’d ever been in?” he asked. The question was a serious one. It wasn’t him asking it to get me to think about the answer. It was him asking, concerned—scared, even—of the answer I might give.

“No.” I sighed and set the wish box on his worktable. “No, Nash. This is the only house that ever felt like a home. You were the only one who ever felt like a father.”

His smile was one he showed so rarely. It was real and deep, and he’d moved mountains of my shit with it over the years.

He took the box and began the final ritual of passing an oil-soaked cloth over the wood, gently rubbing every inch of it with care and attention. The scent of the oil overtook the room, and I breathed in the memories that came with it.

“You know,” he said, “my kids, they come back now and then. To say hi, to have a meal or spend a holiday. They bring their families and their successes and their joys to share with me, and it makes me proud to have been a part of what got them to those good places in their lives.”

I nodded. I’d met more than one of the people he’d fostered before me, and they were all reflections of his kind generosity. I knew I wasn’t special. I wasn’t the only one he’d saved.

“You, Kerry, are the only one who’s come back to me with your pain.”

“What?” My heart slipped its moorings and my head shot up. “I—” Guess I was special after all. I was a special kind of fuckup, to come to him with my problems when none of his other kids had needed to.

“I’m happy to see the kids I’ve helped all grown and doing well. It makes my heart sing to see them happy. I’m proud of every one of them for making good.”

I nodded, sick to my stomach.

“It humbles me to be the one you came to when you needed help, Kerry. Nothing else means what that means to me.”

“What?” I asked again. My heart was tumbling end over end inside, and I couldn’t get it to beat naturally or even reseat itself in its proper place. “I—I don’t understand.”

Nash smiled. “Clearly. Here.” He pulled over a high stool, the same one I’d sat on a million times to watch him work and try to emulate his touch on the wood. “Sit.”

I sat because I was quickly losing track of which way gravity was going to pull me when I gave up the struggle to make my insides work properly.

“Anyone can come back in triumph, Kerry. And many do, and I treasure their visits and the proof that what we do makes a difference to some of them. Real family comes home to roost when they’re wounded and hurting and needing care. It’s a lot harder to admit you’ve fallen down and need a hand up than it is to show how well you’ve succeeded. It hurts me to see you in pain, but at the same time, I realize how much I must mean to you that you came to me for help.” He cupped his hand around the back of my neck, like he always did—like he always had—and stepped close enough for me to lean on him if I wanted to.

And hell, did I want to. I wanted to cling to him and hide there until all the crap went away, and I had my life back. Only I didn’t even know where or what my life was anymore, and he couldn’t fix it. He could shelter me, like he said, while I sorted it out, but if anyone was going to fix anything, it had to be me.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened. As long as you feel safe here to figure it out, that’s all I need to know.”

I nodded against his chest. Fact was, I’d never felt safer anywhere, except maybe in Malcolm and Charlie’s house on those few occasions when things had worked between us. There was something significant about that thought, but at that moment, I didn’t feel like examining it too closely. Just acknowledging that it was a fact I should look at soon. That was enough.

I
SUSPECTED
whatever had messed with David’s immune system had also attacked Grey, because only a few days after I arrived, I was greeted one sunny morning by a vastly different boy than the one I had met on my first night. He’d come crawling on all fours into my room—it was faster than his unstable walk—and banged on the nightstand with his sippy cup until I had not only woken thinking the world was falling in but had tumbled out of bed to join him on the floor.

After that, he never, ever stopped. His wobbly little legs could pump remarkably fast when he wanted something you told him he couldn’t have, and he ate more than anything that size had a right to. With only four teeth, the food he ate had to be prepared, and it seemed like a never-ending struggle to fill his hollow leg.

He still didn’t vocalize a whole lot, but he was adept at making himself understood anyway. And he watched everything. And learned fast. I soon discovered why Nash had refitted the kitchen cabinets and drawers with fronts that had grooves underneath to open them instead of proper handles. The kid could climb any damn thing.

The day I cleaned the thorny mess of thistles from under the maple tree the hammock was hung in, he left David napping in the swinging bed and got himself stuck in the topmost branches. Lucky me, lightest of the three adults and nervous of heights at the best of times, I got to go up and coax him down to where I could reach to get him out. How a kid that short who couldn’t even talk yet had managed to fearlessly get himself that high, we never figured out, but I took to keeping him with me in the garden when he refused to nap, just to keep him from any other death-defying stunts and let David get some uninterrupted, stress-free relief.

“You know,” David told me one afternoon about three weeks later. “You’re really very good with him.”

Grey and I were sitting in a shady section of garden pulling weeds. I had hesitated to show him about pulling things out of the loamy soil, afraid he’d be indiscriminate, but he was an unbelievably bright kid. He’d managed to find a way, in his shorthand mime language, to ask if he was about to pull the right plant, and if I told him yes, he’d yank it out. Often as not, he’d end up on his ass in a shower of dirt, but he was having the time of his life.

If I told him not to pull something, he didn’t. He might forget and ask me about the same plant eight times, but he never pulled something I didn’t want him to.

“It’s easy when he’s so damn smart. Aren’t you scared he’s going to be trouble when he gets old enough to really know how to use all that processing power?”

“I am sincerely hoping that by the time that happens, we’ve taught him to use his powers for good.”

I grinned. “He already is a good kid, David.”

David shot a clear, blue-eyed look at me. “Nash tends to turn out pretty good kids. He’s a gifted teacher.”

“He’s a gift, period.”

David nodded agreement. “So why don’t you use that gift and talk to him, Kerry?” he asked gently. “I know he’s probably told you he doesn’t need the details, but that isn’t because he doesn’t want to know. It only means he respects your privacy.”

“I understand that.”

“So talk to him. Let him help.”

I smiled and swished a bit of dirt out of Grey’s hair. “I really wish he could.”

“You don’t know until you try.”

“I know that I made a mess, and it isn’t one someone else can come along behind me and clean up.”

“And it hasn’t occurred to you that maybe a couple of old dogs who’ve been around the block a few times might have some thoughts on how you can clean it up yourself?”

It had occurred to me, actually. And the fact was, on my own, all I’d done since I’d arrived was hide and manage not to think about the holes I’d left in people’s lives or the rents in my own. I’d buried my head in the proverbial sand while I’d buried my hands in their garden soil, and if it had brought me some peace, it hadn’t solved anything. Not really.

I was busy watching Grey bury his chubby feet in garden soil now, so I didn’t really register David moving until I felt the warmth of his palm and long fingers curl about the back of my neck. I closed my eyes and drank in the comfort of that simple, fatherly touch.

“Whatever it is, Kerry, we’ve made it through addiction and birth and death and messy court cases and heart transplants. We’ve got a pretty broad range when it comes to human disaster cleanup. Give us a chance.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

I felt his breath on my temple just before the dry kiss he left there. “You’re more than welcome, son.” Then he was standing and calling Grey to him. “I’m going to get his bath going and start supper. Nash should be home in about an hour. You be ready to eat by then?”

I smiled up at him. “Definitely. Thanks.”

He smiled back and took the kid into the house while I raked the mounds of dirt Grey had displaced back into the garden and gathered up our trimmings. I was wiping the dirt off my tools and replacing them on their hooks on the side of the wagon I had, eventually, found in the garage when my phone rang.

“Hey, Liss,” I said after checking the display. “Long time no chat. How are things?” When I had called her that first day, after talking to Mal and Charlie, she’d promised to both give me space and keep in touch while I was away. I hadn’t spoken to her since, though we had exchanged brief texts a couple of times. It was good to hear the brightness in her voice when she greeted me.

“Things, Kerry, are fantastic. You know, it’s going to be a tough choice when you get back deciding which of you to keep on at the shop. You have your uses, but Charlie is amazing.”

“Wow. Tell me how you really feel,” I said, only half chiding. It hurt a little to know I was so easily replaceable.

“The customers love him, Kerry.”

“Good.”

“And he’s doing our website, and he showed me a mock-up. It’s incredible.”

“Excellent.”

“And, Kerry, you would not believe how many times he has stopped at your locker in the office and just stared at it. Or touched it. When he thinks no one is around, he just stands there with his hand on the door and… God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so sad.”

“Don’t be a shit,” I snapped at her. “It isn’t funny.”

“Who says I’m trying to be funny?” she asked, her voice coming down from that high, overexcited register. “Okay, maybe the locker thing doesn’t really happen exactly like that. But you know how you kept a pair of gloves beside the register?”

“Yeah.”

“He asked one day why they were there and did I want him to put them in the shed. I told him they were yours and you know what he did?”

“Do tell,” I said dryly.

“He left them exactly where they were, Kerry. Like so they’d be there when you come back. And those he does sort of touch every now and then, and if he’s not thinking about you, then he has some very weird fetish about touching beat-up leather.”