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Shaking off the familiar depression, she began raking, working steadily until she’d bundled the soggy heaps into plastic bags and set them at the curb for pickup. Then she settled on a knee pad to pull weeds and toss them into a bucket she moved along with her. Finally, wishing she hadn’t put off the most hateful task till last, she dumped the weeds into her garbage can and set the bucket in her garage. Oh, boy. Time to tackle the problem of heaving the blasted mower into her trunk.
No, she could procrastinate for a second more—she’d left her trowel behind.
She was just crossing the lawn, tool in hand, when she heard the familiar sound of her neighbor’s pickup coming down the street and a hum that presaged the rising of his garage door. She turned her head to see his huge black pickup pulling into his driveway. Maybe, if she hurried, he wouldn’t notice her out here.
But she didn’t reach the cover of the garage in time.
The pickup door slammed and a moment later Tom approached across the narrow strip of lawn between their houses. Maybe a few years older than her, he was powerfully built but had a face that most would call homely. All she saw was the buzz-cut hair to match his lawn, the neat polo shirt and crisply creased slacks. Suzanne never, ever, met his eyes. Not quite. She’d discovered you could talk to someone and avoid their gaze without being obvious.
“Hi,” he said. “Putting in a day of work out here, I see.”
“I finally got the leaves raked up.”
“And you’re lucky. Today’s dry enough to mow.”
Suzanne sighed. He was the last person to whom she wanted to admit defeat. “No such luck. My nemesis won’t start. I was just going to load it up to take into the shop. For the third time this year.”
He was nice enough not to acknowledge the grimness in her tone. He rubbed his jaw. “One more mow should do it. Maybe two.”
“Yes.” Although he would probably manicure his all winter long, whenever the weather permitted.
“Tell you what,” he said. “If you can wait until Saturday, I’ll do it. That way you won’t have to worry about fixing your machine or replacing it until spring.”
She gaped at him. He was offering to mow her lawn? In the silence that stretched just a little too long, pride and desperation arm wrestled. Pride thumped to the table.
“I can’t let you… If you’d let me borrow your mower…”
He cleared his throat. “You seem to have trouble keeping engines running.”
In other words, he didn’t trust her with his gleaming, buff machine. She didn’t even blame him.
“Are you sure?”
“Nothing better to do.” When she bit her lip, he added, “Really. Happy to.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Thank you. I really want the yard to look nice.”
“Something special coming up?”
This was far and away the most personal conversation they’d had in five years of being next-door neighbors. She hesitated, but wasn’t sure why. He’d notice sooner or later if a little girl or boy was riding a bike down the sidewalk and going in and out of her house holding her hand.
“I’m trying to adopt.”
She felt him stare at her.
“A child,” she elaborated. “Not a baby. Maybe a six- or eight-year-old. The social worker from the agency is coming to do a home study. That’s why I need the house to look its best.”
“You don’t expect to remarry?”
Too personal. She took a step back. Way, wa-ay, too personal, given what he knew about her.
“Oh, I don’t know.” She inched back some more. “I can’t predict the future. But I hope you won’t mind having a child next door.”
She half expected him to say, Not if you keep the kid on your side of the property line.
Instead he shook his head. “Of course not.” He started to turn away, pausing. “I’ll be over Saturday to mow. The backyard, too?”
“If you don’t mind,” Suzanne said meekly.
“Not at all. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.” He nodded and walked away, disappearing into his garage. A moment later, the door rolled down.
Bemused and grateful—and she did hate the grateful part—Suzanne put away her trowel and closed her own garage door.
GARY WATCHED the saw buzz through the dirty plaster of his cast. The leg that emerged was fish-belly white except for the angry red rash that had caused godawful itching. He leaned over and ran a hand down his shin.
“Well, it’s still there.”
The nurse or technician or whatever he was glanced up with a grin. “Seeing your toes didn’t convince you? What about the itch?”
“Could have been a phantom itch.” Gary flexed his foot and grimaced at the weakness in muscles he’d taken for granted. “Damn, I’m glad to get rid of that.”
“I haven’t seen a patient yet mourn the loss of a cast. Except for the teenagers who want to take it home because all their friends wrote on it.”
They both looked at Gary’s cast. Nobody had written on it.
“You’re welcome to chuck mine in the Dumpster.” He bent to put on the sock and boot he’d brought and then stood up, the slit leg of his jeans flapping. “Thanks,” he said with a nod, and walked out, trying not to limp.
Well, that had been a long three months. He’d been able to ride his bike, but he’d felt clumsy with the crutches, and the walking cast hadn’t been much better. At least the bruises that had decorated his body and face had finished blooming as colorfully as the desert after a rare cloudburst and finally faded from puce to yellow to skin color. His leather pants and jacket had protected him from being skinned alive, although they’d had to cut those off him and throw them away, another loss. Heck, he could even take a deep breath now without wanting to puke.
The doctor had talked about him going to physical therapy for several months, but Gary was thinking he’d find out what he had to do and carry it out on his own. He did most things on his own. He didn’t feel any need for a cheerleader.
Besides, he’d been considering a trip. What better time? While convalescing, he’d discovered he was curious about these sisters it seemed he had. One who was apparently going to be heartbroken because he hadn’t been real excited about some kind of reunion, and the other who’d wanted to chew a strip off him because he was being selfish enough to tell them to leave him alone.
Funny thing, since he’d gotten first the call from the P.I. and then the one from the sister—Carrie, he thought her name was—he’d found he did remember them. Or at least he thought he did. His memories from before he went to live with the Lindstroms in Bakersfield had a hazy, dreamlike quality.
He supposed he’d lived in a foster home, too; maybe a couple, for all he knew. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure which people were the family he’d lost and which were foster families. But sometimes he saw this woman, pretty and dark-haired, smiling as she bent to swoop him up. There’d been a girl, too, dark-haired and skinny. And a baby. He had this memory of crying in terror when someone tried to get him to go to bed in a room by himself. He wanted to stay with… He didn’t know. The baby sister? Well, that made sense. From what the P.I. and this Carrie had said, the two of them had been taken away and then adopted out, and the big sister got to stay with family.
And he was supposed to worry about hurting her. Gary grunted and shook his head.
But he guessed the fact that she’d gotten the breaks wasn’t her fault. And chasing memories that refused to be caught was getting old.
So he figured he’d take a ride cross-country to Washington state, maybe stay a couple of weeks, talk to this Carrie and…Suzanne? yeah, Suzanne, a few times, hear the real story.
Then figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life that would keep him from flying over the guardrail the next time, into the welcoming darkness.
CHAPTER TWO
REBECCA WILSON LOOKED forward to this home visit. She’d scheduled it almost three weeks ago, so she had reread the file this morning. Once again, she liked what it said about Suzanne Chauvin, especially her open attitude about what age or gender or race of child she’d take. So many people acted as if they were shopping for a garment of a particular color and style.
“We’d consider a girl up to two and a half,” they’d say. Two and three-quarters would apparently be too old. “We’d like fair skin. Nobody in our family can even tan! Blond would be great. And blue eyes.”
She could tell that they were really envisioning a baby. Their ideal. Which left her wondering: Would they be disappointed by a healthy, happy two-year-old with brown hair, hazel eyes and a golden tint to her skin?
Oh, well. Rebecca understood the desire to adopt a child who looked as if she could be yours. Nonetheless, she was grateful for the occasional parents-to-be who just wanted a kid to love and didn’t care if people could tell their children were adopted.
She glanced again at the map of Edmonds in the Thomas Guide that lay open on the seat beside her. If she turned up ahead…
Edmonds was so pretty. Climbing a hillside rising from Puget Sound were neighborhoods of a mix of older and new homes, many on lots terraced by stone or cement retaining walls. Even several of the more modest houses had peekaboo views of the Sound, blue and choppy today, the green-and-white Washington State ferries that arrived and departed every forty-five minutes, and the Olympic Mountains on the other side, already white-capped in mid-October. Rebecca wished she could afford to live here, rather than in her small condo in Lynnwood within earshot of I-5 and night-and-day traffic.
But social work of any kind didn’t pay that well, even though she had a master’s degree. It would help if she’d stayed put rather than changing jobs, but after three years of dealing with an overwhelming caseload of abused and neglected children and their horrifically dysfunctional families, she hadn’t been able to handle the stress anymore. What she’d done there had been so important, she felt guilty for quitting.
She kept telling herself this job was a break. A vacation. She’d be ready again someday to rescue children from the parents they loved desperately despite the blows and the filthy homes and the nights huddled alone because Mommy hadn’t come home. But not yet.
She turned onto the street and looked eagerly ahead. Halfway down the block…yes, it was the gray rambler with white trim, dwarfed by the two-story next door. The house was friendly-looking, Rebecca decided immediately, before laughing at herself. Way to jump to conclusions!
As she approached from one direction, she noticed a gleaming black-and-chrome motorcycle coming from the other way, the powerful roar out of place on this quiet street. The rider was going slowly, just as she’d been, as if also scanning house numbers. When she pulled to the curb, he did the same, swerving onto her side of the street and stopping with the front tire of his bike only a few feet from her front bumper.
She turned off the engine and checked in the rearview mirror to be sure her makeup was intact and her shoulder-length, copper-red hair was smooth. As she reached for her briefcase, she saw him set the kickstand and swing his leg over the back of the bike. He pulled the helmet from his head and hung it over the handle bar. Although he wasn’t obvious about it, she had the feeling he was watching her, which made her nervous. Without standing next to him, she couldn’t be sure, but she didn’t think he was a huge man. Still, there was something…tough about him. His dark, straight hair was shaggy, his blue jeans and black leather jacket well worn, his gaze narrow-eyed and…well, she couldn’t tell whether he was wary, hostile or just naturally unfriendly looking.
Was he Suzanne Chauvin’s boyfriend? She’d denied having a serious relationship in the questionnaires she’d filled out.
Rebecca hesitated, then got out. For Pete’s sake, it was broad daylight! And just because a man rode a Harley-Davidson—at least, she thought that’s what it was—didn’t mean he was a Bandido or Hells Angel.
Nonetheless, she circled the back of her car so that she wasn’t too near him on the sidewalk. She gave a vague, pleasant nod in his direction, then started toward the driveway.
His voice followed her. “Are you Suzanne?” He sounded doubtful.
“Me?” She turned, startled. “No. Is that who you’re looking for?”
“Yeah.” He nodded toward the house. “This is the address I have for her.”
“It is her address.” Should she have told him that? “If you don’t know what she looks like, I guess you’re not an old friend.”
A nerve jumped in his cheek. “She’s my sister.”
She gaped. “Your…what? But…”
“I don’t know what she looks like. Yeah.” His mouth twisted. “Long story. Do you know her?”
“Not yet. I’m here to interview her.” None of his business, she reminded herself. He didn’t know what his own sister looked like. Sure. “Well.” Out of her element, she said, “Shall we go to the door together?”
He didn’t move. “No, go ahead. She’s not expecting me.”
O-kay. She gave another nod his way and continued up the driveway. To her annoyance, she was too conscious of his gaze to assess the house or yard as she walked, or to organize her thoughts.
She rang the bell, and the door opened so quickly, Suzanne had to have been hovering nervously in the entryway. She looked just like the photo in the file, pretty and petite with warm brown eyes and thick, glossy dark hair bundled on the crown of her head with a scrunchy.
Smiling, Suzanne said, “Hi, you’re Ms. Wilson?”
“Rebecca, please.” They shook hands. “What a nice neighborhood! And I see you have a bit of a view.”
Suzanne laughed. “That’s a generous way of describing the fact that if you stand at the very edge of the porch and crane your neck you can see a sliver of blue.” Her gaze went past Rebecca. “I wonder who that is.”
Rebecca looked over her shoulder. “The guy with the bike? He says…” Wow, she felt silly even saying this. “He says he’s your brother.”
She could never have expected the reaction she got. A tiny whimper escaped the woman who’d greeted her with such friendly poise and Suzanne gripped the door frame, face suddenly pale. “My…brother?” she whispered.
“Well, he said you’re his sister, but he doesn’t know what you look like. I didn’t take him seriously….”
As if she didn’t hear her, Suzanne brushed past Rebecca and hurried down the steps and then the driveway.
The man, who’d been half sitting on his bike, legs casually crossed, rose to his feet.
“Lucien?” Rebecca heard Suzanne say, voice high-pitched, shocked.
“So I’m told. Gary now.”
Rebecca watched, openmouthed, as Suzanne Chauvin threw her arms around the dark stranger. Even from this distance, she could see that he was startled and didn’t know what to do. After a moment, he awkwardly lifted his arms from his sides and patted her back as she apparently sobbed on his chest.
The scene was so bizarre, Rebecca didn’t quite know what to do. Leave and politely deny the application? Wait to hear an explanation? She was fairly new at this, but she’d never had an applicant so completely lose interest in her arrival for a home study. Anyone who wanted to adopt knew that this visit was make-or-break.
Finally, sniffling, Suzanne stepped back. She and the man spoke for a moment, the words indistinguishable to Rebecca. Then she gasped and turned toward Rebecca. She said something else to him, and finally they both came up the driveway to where Rebecca waited on the porch.
Tendrils of dark hair had pulled from the knot on Suzanne’s head, and her face was blotchy and wet. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed. “You must think I’m crazy!”
The thought had crossed Rebecca’s mind, but she murmured, “No, no.”
“I said in my application that my parents died when I was young and my siblings and I got split up. Lucien…” She glanced quickly at the man next to her. “Gary was adopted out. I haven’t seen him since he was three years old.”
“No wonder you didn’t recognize each other! How on earth did you find her?” Rebecca asked him.
His mouth tilted in what might have been a smile. “She found me.”
“Months ago,” his sister filled in. “But he said he wasn’t interested in a reunion, so I tried to resign myself to never seeing him again. And then…and then…”
“He showed up out of the blue.” Rebecca’s eyes met his, completely unrevealing. Why had he changed his mind? Why decide to just drop out of the sky like this?
“Yes.” Suzanne dashed at her tears. “Oh, gracious! I so wanted to impress you, and then I fall apart like this!”
“Getting a little emotional is certainly understandable, under the circumstances.” So why wasn’t he getting emotional? she wondered. “Suzanne, meeting your brother for the first time in…”
“Twenty-six years.” New tears filled her eyes.
“…twenty-six years should take precedence,” Rebecca said. “Why don’t you and I reschedule?”
“Oh, I can’t inconvenience you like that!” Suzanne Chauvin was trying to hide her alarm, but failing.
Rebecca understood that convenience wasn’t what they were talking about. Suzanne feared she’d just blown her big opportunity.
