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“Probably, but that’s not why I’m here.”
The guy studied him and then pulled out the empty chair. “You look troubled,” he said. “Have a seat. Maybe Nancy will show.”
“No thanks.” Rick couldn’t even pretend he had an appointment, pretend he’d stay if he could. Five minutes and he’d had enough of this place.
There were other ways he could find out what he needed. He had a name and address of someone who could probably help him, thanks to Chenille Langston, the young black girl who’d stayed behind after Christy’s small funeral. The name and address of a woman who apparently had another Kraynick in her care…A name and address he shouldn’t use. And he had official options, too, which would inevitably involve red tape—and probably require evidence of things that might take a while to prove.
If what he’d been told at the cemetery this morning was true, his whole life was about to change. Again. He needed information. Confirmation. His mother had seemed the obvious source. Stupid of him to think his mom would ever—ever—have answers for him.
An hour later, standing in his en suite shower in the Sunset district home he’d shared with Hannah, Rick scrubbed until his skin stung.
Then he stood, leaning an arm against the wall, head bowed, as he let the hot water cascade over his back.
A year ago, life had been great. He’d been the single dad of a great kid, with a world of possibilities ahead for both of them. Tonight he was the son of a druggie; the older brother of a dead sister he never knew about; a grieving father.
They’d told him it would get easier. That as time passed, the violence of the grief raging through him would lessen.
They’d lied.
MOST OF THE CROWD WAS gone by nightfall. Sue slipped upstairs, to call Barb, from the bedroom she’d always slept in on visits to Grandma.
“I’m finished sooner than I thought,” she said, keeping her voice low, for no logical reason. Old habits, conditioning—a need to keep her private life private—died hard. “I’d like to swing by and pick up my brood.”
Emily and Belle were in the kitchen, overseeing the caterers. Uncle Sam was downstairs, too, probably in the living room, cataloguing his take. Or checking that no one had taken anything yet. Not until he directed who would get what.
“Wilma called. She told me to keep them all night, no matter what you said. You need this night to yourself.” Barb’s tone was sympathetic. “Besides, they’re already asleep.”
Glancing at her watch, Sue realized it was after nine o’clock. Far too late to be making this call. Wilma, a foster care supervisor, was right. Sue wasn’t ready to take up motherhood again tonight.
“I’ll be there first thing in the morning,” she said, missing the young charges in her care. Missing the busy-ness, the unconditional acceptance of love. “Don’t worry about breakfast. I’ll get them early enough to feed them at home.”
Closing her cell phone, sliding it back into the case at her hip, Sue took the deep breath necessary to go back downstairs—but stopped. Someone was upstairs. Crying.
Following the sound down the hall to Grandma’s room, Sue pushed open the door. Her mother, sitting in the off-white Queen Anne chair in the corner by Sarah’s bed, had her face buried in a nightgown she’d given Grandma for Christmas.
“Hey.” Sue fought her own tears as she knelt at her mom’s feet. “Come on, you shouldn’t be up here alone.” She’d said the first thing that came to her mind, though there was no reason why Jenny shouldn’t be visiting her own mother’s room.
Jenny started, clutching the hand Sue placed on her knee. “I…she was…I loved her so much,” she said.
“I know.” Tears filled Sue’s eyes and she could hardly speak as her throat closed up. “Where’s Dad?” she managed to ask after a moment.
“In the bathroom.”
Sue’s gaze followed her mother’s around the room, taking in the long dresser covered with tiny antique perfume bottles on top of doilies Sarah had stitched herself. The collection of miniature porcelain animals. The tall bureau that had been her grandfather’s, still holding his key valet and an encased Giants baseball he’d caught on a fly at a World Series game.
“Not once in all my years growing up did they ever make me feel as though I didn’t belong to them,” Jenny said.
And that’s when Sue realized. “You heard Uncle Sam, too.”
“It’s not like he’s ever tried to hide how he feels,” Jenny said. “I love my brother, Sue. I see the insecurity behind all of his blustering. I just wish he’d see that I’m not and never have been a threat.”
“I can’t stand to be in the same room with him,” Sue said. “He’s just plain cruel…”
“Everything he says is true.”
“That everything here belongs to him?”
“That he’s the only true Carson child.”
“Mom! I can’t believe you’re saying that! We belong here as much as he does.”
“And what we care about, the things that were dear to Grandma and Grandpa, the pictures, the things that hold memories, Sam won’t want, anyway. It’s going to be fine, honey. I can’t let him upset me like this.”
“Who’s upsetting you, Jen?” Luke came into the room and Sue stood, giving her father a hug. Her parents had flown in from their home in Florida two days before. They’d been in town over Christmas, but she’d missed them more than usual this time around.
“Sam,” Jenny answered.
“Well, then that makes three of us he’s getting to, huh?” Luke pulled his wife to her feet, an arm around her and one still around Sue. “How about the Bookmans go face the dragon together?”
HEART POUNDING Monday morning, Rick listened to the phone ring. Once. Twice.
Come on, he willed Ms. Sue Bookman—the faceless woman who, at the moment, meant more to him than anyone else in the world.
A third ring. And a fourth.
Answer your phone.
He didn’t know her age, her race or her marital status. He just knew she held his future in her hands.
And that she lived just outside the Bay Area.
The Internet phone listing matched the address he’d been given at the cemetery.
“Hi, it’s me. I’m probably changing diapers. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
She was changing diapers.
“Sue, my name is Rick Kraynick. I’m assistant superintendent of Livingston schools…” He wanted her to know he was a good guy. Trusted around children. “I have an urgent matter to discuss with you. Please call me as soon as possible. Thank you.”
There. That should do it.
Sitting back at the huge, glass-topped desk in his corner office on the fourth floor of the district building, Rick almost smiled. He’d made the call. Nothing was going to stop him.
Chapter Three
GRANDMA’S ASHES WEREN’T even in the vault before Sue’s uncle arranged the meeting for the reading of the will. He ’d said his urgency was out of respect for Jenny and Luke, who had a home in Florida to return to, but Sue didn’t buy that for a second.
Sam Carson, in an impressive gray suit, paced the foyer of the high-rise building that housed the lawyer’s office more like an expectant father than a grieving son.
“Mom said he’s been chomping at the bit all weekend,” Belle whispered to Sue as the two stood together on Tuesday morning across from the reception counter, much more casually dressed, in good pants and blouses, in a quiet corner of the high-rise entryway. They were sharing a cup of bad coffee neither of them wanted while they waited to be called to the first-floor office. Sue held the cup while Belle gently bounced Camden up and down, soothing the little guy back to sleep.
Baby Carrie was good for another hour, snoozing in the pack on Sue’s back.
Jenny and Luke had not yet arrived from their hotel a short walk down the street.
“Thank goodness Stan Wilson’s not here yet,” Sue whispered back when Sam stopped to say something to his wife, who was sitting on a chair in the opposite corner, reading a magazine. “At least Mom and Dad won’t be blamed for making your dad wait.”
Stan Wilson had been handling Grandma’s affairs for only a couple of years. Their longtime attorney, Mitch Taylor, had retired shortly after Grandpa’s death.
Sue wondered if Mr. Wilson had met Sam Carson yet.
“Dad makes me sick,” Belle said. “It’s not like he needs any of Grandma’s money.”
“Maybe he’ll relax a bit when he’s officially God Carson,” Sue said, then bit her tongue. After a long talk with her parents Friday night at their hotel—where she’d opted to sleep over rather than have them drive all the way out to her place—she was supposed to try her best to love her uncle. Her mother had always insisted that Sam loved all of them. He just had…issues.
Well, so did the rest of them.
Of course, it was a little easier for Jenny to be understanding these days. She had Luke as a buffer. And they lived in Florida. Out of Sam’s reach.
Sam didn’t mess with Sue, either, but she sure hated to see how much grief he gave Belle.
And Emily.
Sue’s phone vibrated against her hip. Juggling the coffee in one hand and the stuffed diaper bag on the opposite shoulder, she checked to see who was calling.
In her business, she never knew. The state might have someone who wanted to see one of her charges. More importantly, they could have an emergency and need someone to take a baby immediately.
Which was why she had her home phone calls forwarded to her cell anytime she was away.
She didn’t recognize the number.
But because she didn’t want to get stuck making small talk with her uncle, who was heading toward Belle, Sue listened to the message.
She didn’t know any Rick Kraynick, assistant superintendent of Livingston schools.
Had never heard of him.
He wasn’t from child services…
The revolving door from the outside spun around. From behind the pillar practically blocking her from the cold air, Sue could make out two people, not her parents. Both were tall. And broad. And…
“Joe?” she called out, sliding her phone back into its case. She walked over, taking in the man at her boss’s side. He was older, in his fifties, Sue would guess. Gray hair. With eyes that, while not the same dark blue as Joe’s, seemed equally impenetrable. Another strong, silent type?
“What are you doing here?” she asked. Weird that he’d show up on the very morning she was waiting to hear Grandma Sarah’s last requests.
“Business,” Joe said, guiding her away from the other man without any acknowledgment whatsoever. As though he wanted to make sure they didn’t meet. “A nine o’clock appointment. How about you?”
“Me, too,” she said, feeling awkward standing talking to him with a baby on her back. Joe didn’t seem to notice. “Nine o’clock.”
Even after several years of working for him, of being peripheral acquaintances, she still had trouble with the new Joe. She missed her friend. More this week than usual. “Grandma’s will is going to be read.”
He frowned. “I’m here for a will, too.”
“Oh!” Sue’s hand found its way to his arm before she could worry if she’d offend her employer. “I’m sorry,” she told him. “Who died?”
“It’s not for me.” Joe glanced back to the man who’d come in with him. Dressed in a beige trench coat, with shoulders hunched up to his ears, the older gentleman had spoken to the receptionist and was standing alone in the foyer, apparently in a world of his own. “I’m just here with him.”
“Who is he?” she asked. But she thought she knew. The eyes might be different colors, but there was something so…alike…
“My father.”
The infamous Adam Fraser. “He’s a lot more muscular looking than I pictured him,” she said, trying not to stare. There’d been a time when she’d wanted five minutes alone in a room with that man.
A time when she’d thought about writing to him, begging him to come home to his son.
A time when she’d hated him for all the pain and rejection he’d put Joe through.
“Comes from years on a fishing boat,” Joe said drily. He had his back to the man. “Who’s that?” he asked, nodding to her right.
Sue turned. Smiled at her cousin’s curious stare. Sam had moved on. “Belle.”
“Your cousin. She’s a couple of years younger than you.”
He’d remembered. “Right.”
“Is the baby hers?” Camden was sleeping, snuggled against Belle’s chest as though he belonged there.
Infants had an uncanny ability to adapt.
Especially ones who’d been passed from one pair of arms to another since taking their first breath.
“No.” Sue shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Belle’s not married. That’s Camden. He’s mine, too.”
With one last pointed look, Belle moved over to join her mother. Uncle Sam had disappeared. Probably to go check on Stan Wilson himself since the receptionist hadn’t yet produced him. Had he really been waiting for his mother to die so he could take over the Carson dynasty?
A dynasty of six.
“She’s cute.”
Joe’s words brought Sue back to the slight chill of the high-ceilinged foyer. She glanced over at Belle again, and then realized Joe was staring at the baby on her back.
“That she is,” she said, remembering the changing table that morning. She’d rubbed her face against the baby’s belly and Carrie had chortled out loud. The sound, one she’d heard countless times from more than fifteen babies over the past four years, had calmed her. Reminding her that everything would be okay. It always was. If you held on long enough.
“What’s her name?”
“Carrie.” Chosen by her mother.
“How long have you had her?”
