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None of this was making sense to Leslie. “Cal wasn’t a snob,” she said.
“And he knew we weren’t, either,” Clara added. “We’ve always been an accepting bunch.”
“Different, how?” Kip asked from over by the window.
“Abby was African-American.” The shock of Jim’s words shot through Leslie, not because she cared about Abby’s race, but because her brother had always been so careful to behave conventionally. “The kids are biracial.”
“So?” Clara didn’t even blink. “They’re my grandchildren.”
She turned to Leslie then, grinning, tears in her eyes, her face pale. “I’m a grandma,” she said.
“Yes, you are,” Leslie told her, finding a smile for the woman she adored. Clara might not have protected Leslie in all the ways Leslie would’ve liked, but she’d been the best mother she could be. Leslie had never doubted that she was loved. Cared for. Supported.
“YOU SAID WAS.” Kip hadn’t yet found anything to smile about in the news they’d just been given. He needed facts.
And a night with a good woman. He didn’t need a five-year-old child. Didn’t know the first thing about raising children. Could hardly remember having been one himself.
Jim’s raised brow was his only response.
“You said this Abby woman was African-American. I’m assuming she didn’t have a racial transplant.”
He could feel both Sanderson women looking at him, but couldn’t meet their eyes. He could take care of them. But he couldn’t raise a little boy.
“Abby died shortly after Kayla was born.” Jim’s expression softened, his words low. “A gravel truck ran a red light. She died instantly.”
“So who’s watching the children?” Clara seemed to be handling the situation far better than he was. Leslie was completely still.
“A woman named Ada King. She was a friend of Abby’s mother, took Abby in when the mother died of cancer. Abby was only three. She’d been living with Abby since just before Jonathan was born. They owned a condominium in Westerville.”
It was a nice suburb, north of Columbus. Upper middle class.
“Did Cal live there, too?” Leslie sounded as though she couldn’t imagine her brother deserting his own kids.
Kip agreed with her. Cal cared. Maybe too much.
Jim shook his head. “From the little he told me, Abby wouldn’t agree to marry him, and wouldn’t let him live there. She’d had a hard life, needed her independence—and wasn’t willing to face society’s reactions to their union. She also said she wasn’t going to make her children’s lives harder by exposing them to the curious glances inherent in having parents from two different races. But I gather Calhoun spent a lot of time with them anyway. She and the kids were frequent visitors to his home in Gahanna as well.”
The room was warm, comfortable. The light blues in the upholstery and picture frames an easy contrast with the off-white walls. It was a room designed to put people at ease. To Kip it felt like prison. He sat back down.
“How old is Ada King?”
“Sixty-two.”
Still young enough to care for children. Kip nodded.
Clara leaned forward, both arms on the table in front of her. “Have you met her?”
Jim nodded. “She was at the funeral yesterday.”
Kip hadn’t seen a black woman there. “And the children?” Clara asked.
“They were there, too. In the back. Jonathan cried some. Kayla was asleep.”
“Oh, my God.” Leslie jolted beside him, and Kip wished he knew what she was thinking. Wondered if she felt anywhere near as trapped and inadequate as he did by the unexpected “gift” they’d both received.
“The poor little guy,” Leslie said. “First losing his mother, then his father…”
Kip’s entire body stiffened as unexpected, intense emotion grabbed hold of him. He’d just had a flashback, knew something about being a young boy, after all. He knew exactly how it felt, how utterly terrified he’d been when, a few days after his sixth birthday, they’d buried his mother.
“When can we see them?” Leslie and Clara asked almost simultaneously.
“Anytime you’d like, but there’s more that you should know first,” Jim said, his glasses back on his nose as he picked up some papers. “Calhoun left a generous sum of money for Ada, and with the rest he set up a trust for the kids.” He peered at Kip over the top of the wire frames. “Kip, you and Leslie are both named as trustees.”
The rope around Kip’s neck tightened, as he became responsible for more duties he hadn’t asked for and didn’t want.
Leslie glanced at him, her lips turned up in a tentative smile that failed to hide the panic in her eyes. Seeing her discomfort had an odd effect on him; it quieted his own sense of impending doom. He wasn’t alone here. Together he and Leslie would figure a way out.
“You said a temporary order could be issued immediately,” she said, her gaze back on the attorney. “Does that mean we could have immediate access to the kids?”
“It does.”
“What about Ada King?” The returning strength in Clara’s voice was a relief. “Does she know about us? About the will? Will she be resistant to our visit?”
Jim’s face broke into a grin for the first time since they’d entered the room. “Ada’s known about you all since the first time Abby brought Calhoun home. She knows about the will. Cal discussed it with her before he ever came to see me. After Abby died, Ada was willing to continue caring for the children as long as Calhoun was around to help. But I think that though she’s going to miss those children terribly, she’s relieved to know she won’t be raising them all by herself. I spoke with her the day after Cal’s accident. Kayla’s an active little thing and Ada’s getting old, can’t keep up. And she has a sister in Florida who’s invited Ada to share her retirement condo….”
Kip loosened the top button on the shirt that was sticking to his perspiring skin. Life just didn’t damn well work this way. A man didn’t get up in the morning, and find himself a parent three hours later. Raising children required knowledge he didn’t have. A man didn’t just take an orphan boy home with him and suddenly become equipped to father him.
“Can we have some time to think about this?” Leslie’s question brought a surge of cool relief. “Until tomorrow?”
“Of course.” Jim stood. “I have copies of the will for each of you. For obvious reasons Cal wanted its contents to remain undisclosed until now. Read it over and give me a call when you’re ready.”
Kip accepted his packet and escorted the women out into the cold Ohio day, Jim’s parting words ringing in his mind. Call when he was ready? He’d never be ready.
JONATHAN STOOD in the doorway of the upstairs bathroom, watching as Nana braided Kayla’s hair. Her fingers moved real fast over and under and on top and around, and the hair just went into place. He wasn’t ever going to be able to do that. ’Specially not with his little sister squirming the whole time.
“What’s gonna happen to us?” He kinda felt like throwing up as he waited for Nana’s answer. But he had to find out, didn’t he? If he was the only man now…
“I don’t know, child.”
He could see himself in the mirror. His face, which was just a boy face, was there. And his hair was boy hair, too, and Nana cut it a lot, so the red color that was like Daddy’s didn’t really show. His skin was always the same though he prayed till he fell asleep that he’d wake up with light skin like Kayla’s, instead of dark like Nana’s and Mama’s. The older kids at school weren’t going to call her zebra and skunk and white chocolate and swiss roll and salt and pepper and a bunch of other things he didn’t know what they meant.
“It’s because I’m black, isn’t it?”
“What’s that, boy?”
“Why they don’t wanna know me and Kayla? Because I’m black and they don’t want no half ’n half.”
Jonathan jumped back from the door when Nana dropped her comb and whirled at him. “Don’t you never say nothin’ like that again, boy, you hear me? Not ever.”
Jonathan nodded. And stayed real quiet. He knew better than to talk back to Nana when her face got all pointy like that.
But just ’cause he didn’t say nothin’ didn’t mean he wasn’t thinkin’ it. So…he’d wait some, but if he got too scared about his baby sister and stuff, he’d just shove as much as he could carry in his special backpack that Daddy and him went to get for school, and go far away, so they wouldn’t be thinkin’ bad thoughts about Kayla ’cause of him. Kayla’s skin looked almost the same as Daddy’s. They’d like her fine.
He’d bet that old crying lady that Nana said was Daddy’s mama could make her fingers do Kayla’s braids. ’Course she was old, but pro’bly she had a sister like Nana’s who wanted to take care of her and would take care of Kayla, too.
“CAN I GET YOU SOMETHING to drink?” Leslie stood behind the wet bar in her mother’s family room Friday evening. Clara was at a friend’s house for an impromptu gathering of the six or seven women who’d raised their children together and supported each other through all the following phases of their lives. Which left her and Kip alone—both guests in her mother’s house.
“Bourbon would be great.” Kip flipped on the switch for the gas fire, leaning an arm on the hand-carved mahogany mantel as he stared toward the flames. He’d said very little since leaving the attorney’s office that morning.
Not that she’d been all that communicative, either. She’d spent most of the afternoon listening to Clara. Helped deal with the myriad details of closing down a life. And spent a couple of hours on the phone with Nancy, checking on details at work.
“Rocks or no?”
He didn’t glance up from the fire.
“Rocks, please.”
After getting his drink, she poured herself a glass of Riesling. Her mother had redecorated this room since Leslie had lived at home. It didn’t look anything like Leslie remembered. And still, she was uncomfortable here.
Shrugging off things that had no rightful place in her life, or mind, she handed Kip his drink, losing herself for the briefest of seconds in his compassionate brown gaze.
Until she had to look away. She curled up on the end of the plush rose-colored sofa closest to the fire, instead. She hadn’t been warm since she’d arrived in Ohio.
“I keep thinking about those kids in foster care….” Kip’s voice trailed off as he once again stared into the gas flames that bounced almost rhythmically, creating the same splashes of amber and gold color over and over again.
“Foster care?” She hadn’t meant to come across so defensively, but his comment took her completely off guard.
He turned holding the bourbon he’d asked for but not yet touched. “Isn’t that where orphan children go these days? Into foster care?”
The chill that had been surrounding her for days intensified, leaving her adrift, alone in an Alaska-like wilderness.
“You don’t intend to honor Cal’s wishes.” All day long, in the confusing array of possibilities that had tortured her mind, she’d never once considered that they wouldn’t somehow provide for Cal’s children.
He sat on the edge of a maroon-flowered armchair, his feet on the intricately designed wool rug that covered most of the beige-carpeted floor, his bourbon glass held with both hands between his knees. “Do you?” He sounded as surprised as she felt.
Leslie took a sip of wine. Set the glass on the table. Clasped her hands together, shoulders hunched, and shivered. “I honestly don’t know what I think,” she told him, meeting his eyes. “The problems are so vast I can hardly even begin to make a list of them. I live in Phoenix. You live here. The kids would be separated. If I took Kayla, my mother would only get to see her once or twice a year. Aside from the fact that I’d lose a job I love and my means of support as well, I absolutely cannot move back to Ohio. My home—hell, my life—is not equipped to handle a toddler. The smell of vomit makes me vomit. I know plenty about the world of finance and nothing at all about potty-training. I work long hours, travel. I’ve been known to swear on occasion….”
Hearing herself, Leslie flushed.
Kip was grinning at her. “I don’t think that last one disqualifies you from much of anything—including sainthood.”
In spite of herself, her state of mind and inner turmoil, she smiled back. She’d always loved the times Kip was in their home.
“My brother knew me well,” she said. “He knew there’d be no way in hell I could turn my back on a two-year-old orphaned child, let alone one of my own flesh and blood. Add to that my only brother’s dying wish that I care for his beloved daughter.” She took another sip of wine. “If I desert that child, I’ll lie in bed every night hearing her cry and feeling Calhoun turning over in his grave.”
“You’re one intense woman, you know that?” Kip asked, taking a sip of bourbon. “And you have a way with words, too.”
“So, am I wrong?”
He shrugged. “How would I know how you react to vomit?”
Leslie swirled the wine left in her glass. She had a one-glass-a-night rule, but tonight she’d already given herself permission to break it.
“The thing is, I’m also fully aware that any decisions I make affect you, too.”
“How so?”
She watched him for a moment, trying to remain impartial to the way his short dark hair tried to curl around his head, to the broad shoulders and the muscled thighs in the tight jeans he’d changed into when they got back here that morning.
Leslie was still wearing the gray wool suit she’d had on. She was comfortable in the persona her work clothes gave her.
“You going to tell me it wouldn’t give you a few bad nights if I decide to take Kayla and you turn Jonathan over to the state?” she asked. “I know you, Kip Webster. There’s no way you wouldn’t be thinking of that little boy, not only orphaned and abandoned, but separated from his little sister, too.”
His reply was to finish the rest of his bourbon in one long swallow. Before she could offer him another, he was walking over to the bar.
“And if you do take him and I take Kayla to Phoenix, we’d eventually feel compelled to provide opportunities for them to see each other. We’d have to decide how to handle communication and visits and maybe even have to spend some time together at Christmas. Or at least arrange to let the kids do so.”
She had no idea where any of this was coming from—she supposed from that subconscious part of her mind Juliet was always telling her about. It was leading her to other difficult conclusions, too.
Like the possibility of taking Jonathan as well as Kayla if Kip really didn’t want him. Realistically, how could she even consider that?
When Kip came back with a full glass, he settled on the other end of the couch.
“And there’s another whole issue we haven’t even touched on,” she said slowly, frowning. “It affects our decision, either way.”
“What’s that?”
“These kids are of mixed race. That can create psychological problems if they’re not given the right kind of emotional support.”
“I guess so, but how do you know that?”
Leslie smiled fleetingly. “I spend a lot of time on planes. Reading magazines because I can’t concentrate on business when half my energy’s consumed with keeping the plane in the air.”
“You didn’t read on the way here.”
She could hardly remember the trip. She owed him for her ticket, she was sure, as she didn’t remember buying it, either.
“I took a sleeping pill.”
He sat forward, elbows on his knees as he stared into the fire again. “So tell me what you think about this whole mixed-race thing.”
Leslie leaned an arm against the side of the couch, tucking her feet underneath her. “I haven’t thought about it all that much,” she told him honestly. “Except that I know there’ll be issues. I realize you’re seeing more mixed-race marriages these days, but there are still a lot of small-minded people and raised eyebrows.
“The little I know about black culture is fairly stereotypical and probably not very accurate. African-Americans have their own concerns that we can understand intellectually but not emotionally. These kids face the risk of not being accepted by either group—whites or blacks.”
Kip glanced sideways at her, nodded. “And if we take Kayla and Jonathan, we’ll be facing that risk with them.”
“I wouldn’t even know how to comb Kayla’s hair!”
