Kids by Christmas Page 6

  Carrie? But all Carrie knew was that her sister’s marriage hadn’t been good. To this day, Suzanne had managed to evade any conversation about what had really gone wrong. She didn’t think she could bring herself to tell the whole bitter history, not right now.

  Despair washing over her, Suzanne pictured Jack and Sophia on Sunday, imagining having their own bedrooms. How would they handle being told, Gosh, sorry, forget those bedrooms you were dreaming about, we’ll have to try to find you another adoptive family?

  Right that minute, Suzanne felt cruel at having given them hope, and worthless. Exactly, she realized, what Josh wanted her to feel.

  TOM WAS SURPRISED TO GET a call that evening from a woman who introduced herself as an adoption counselor at the agency where Suzanne had been approved.

  “We’re following up on some information we recently received,” she said, “and I’m wondering if you’d be willing to meet with me.”

  Keeping an eye on the steak he’d just put on the broiler, Tom shrugged, then realized she couldn’t see him. “Yeah. Sure. Anything I can do to help.”

  They established that he wasn’t available during the day. He told her he could be home by five, and she said, “Tomorrow? I hate to hold up her application any longer….”

  He didn’t like the way the sentence trailed off. Hadn’t Suzanne told him her application already was approved? What was the deal?

  “Tomorrow’s good,” he said into the silence.

  He’d heard Suzanne coming home a while back, so he knew she was there. He was tempted to go over and ask why all of a sudden this social worker wanted to talk to him, but what if she didn’t know? He didn’t want to alarm her. Anyway, he’d never actually knocked on her door before, and after the way he’d kept popping up over the weekend, he didn’t want to seem too pushy.

  No, wait and hear what this is about, he counseled himself. It was probably just a formality, them finding out what the neighbors thought of her and the plan to add a couple of kids to her household.

  But the next evening, he realized within minutes of the social worker’s arrival that the visit was no formality. A middle-aged woman with short, graying hair, this Ms. Stuart sat on one end of his sofa and opened her notebook with the brisk panache of a detective ready to interview a suspect.

  “Mr. Stefanec, I’m not sure if you’re aware that the police were called to Ms. Chauvin’s home twice several years back.”

  Three and a half years back. He didn’t correct her. “I called them,” he said.

  Her back straightened. “Ah. Well. Ms. Chauvin gave me permission to talk to her near neighbors. I’m sure you can understand our concern about placing children in her home given a possible history of domestic violence.”

  “Her husband was a son of a bitch. Pardon me for my bluntness. I called 911 when I heard him make threats. I was afraid for Suzanne’s safety.”

  She scrutinized him. “Are you friends with Ms. Chauvin?”

  He shook his head. “We’re neighborly. I don’t know her well. I’ve never been in her home.”

  “Her ex-husband insinuated that she, too, had trouble controlling her temper.”

  Tom made a sound of disgust. “Yeah, that sounds like him. You’ve got to understand. I don’t know if he ever hit her, but he belittled her constantly. I heard him yelling if she had friends over, if she wasn’t home when he thought she should be, if she smiled at another man. He fought like hell to keep her under his thumb. When she stood up for herself, he lost it. I called the cops to make sure she didn’t get hurt.”

  “And in what way did she ‘stand up for herself’?”

  “Not by violence. She refused to give up some friends he didn’t like. He called them names.”

  “You heard that much?”

  “It was summer. I was out back on my deck, their windows were open.” He was losing patience. “Ms. Stuart, I feel like I’m violating Suzanne’s privacy. She’s a nice lady. In the case of her husband, she was too nice. She’ll be a great mother.”

  Without having written a word in her notebook, his visitor closed it. “That’s exactly what I was hoping to hear, Mr. Stefanec. I’m required always to err on the side of protecting the children, but in this case I had difficulty imagining Ms. Chauvin even raising her voice.”

  “When she did, she sounded scared,” he told her. “My impression is, she’s a gentle woman who was trying real hard to hold her marriage together.”

  The caseworker smiled and rose to her feet. “Thank you very much for your time. You’ve been a big help.”

  He stood, too. “You’re welcome. I happened to be out in the yard and met Jack and Sophia the other day. They seemed like great kids.”

  “Yes, they are.” She buttoned her coat and slipped on gloves, then after a few more words of thanks departed.

  Going to the living-room window, he pulled aside the drapes and watched her walk down the driveway, hesitate at her car, then continue the few steps on the sidewalk to Suzanne’s driveway and up it. He hoped like hell that meant he’d tipped the balance. He didn’t like thinking how devastated Suzanne would be if she wasn’t allowed to adopt.

  Letting the drapes fall, he went to the kitchen to figure out something for dinner. At least a couple of nights a week, he made himself cook. Living alone shouldn’t mean existing entirely on prefab meals that could be nuked in the microwave. Tonight, though, he chose a frozen chicken pot pie.

  He’d just finished eating it and throwing away the container when his doorbell rang. He wasn’t altogether surprised. Without realizing it, he’d been listening for footsteps on the porch.

  Earlier, he’d left the porch light on, and now he opened the front door to find Suzanne shivering in jeans and shirtsleeves on his doorstep.

  “You don’t have a coat on.” He stood back. “Come on in before you freeze.”

  “I didn’t expect to get cold going twenty feet.” She scooted past him and hugged herself while he shut the door.

  “Cup of coffee?” As pinched as her face was, he was getting a bad feeling he should put a dash of whiskey in it. Maybe he hadn’t tipped the balance.

  “Oh, I shouldn’t stay.” She was back to avoiding his gaze. “I just came over to thank you.”

  His worry subsided. “Nothing to thank me for.”

  “Yes, there is. Whatever you told the caseworker was enough to change her mind. I think—” her teeth worried her lower lip “—she wasn’t going to let me have Jack and Sophia.”

  “You’re still shivering. Sit,” he ordered. “Some coffee will warm you up. I have it ready.”

  “I don’t want to be a bother….”

  “You’re not.” He went to the kitchen, leaving her standing in the middle of his living room.

  When he returned a minute later with the two mugs, a sugar bowl and a carton of creamer balanced on a large platter serving as makeshift tray, Suzanne was sitting on his couch, just about exactly where she had the last time she’d been here, and just as uneasily.

  In fact, she shot up at the sight of him. “Oh, you didn’t have to—”

  “I wanted a cup myself.”

  “Oh.” She sat back down, barely perched on the edge. “Well, thank you.”

  Damn, she was beautiful. She had the kind of face that would still be beautiful when she was eighty, so perfectly were her bones sculpted. With her smooth dark hair, big brown eyes and slim, delicate body, she could have been on the big screen. Instead, she lived next door to him, fueling a few idiotic fantasies.

  He added a dash of cream to his own cup and stirred. “I thought you said you’d already been approved.”

  “I was. But then Melissa noticed no background check had been run for some reason. So she went ahead, and the two domestic-disturbance calls popped up.”

  “I take it she called your ex.”

  Stirring her own coffee, she kept her head bent, hair screening her face. “Yes. He could have defused the whole thing and didn’t. We…we had problems, but I thought—”


  Tom raised his brows. “That he’d remember you with enough fondness to help you out?”

  She lifted her head to expose a twisted smile. “Something like that.”

  “I heard his language when he came home and found his stuff in the driveway. Didn’t he break your front window with a rock?”

  She ducked her head again. “The thing is, we met in the sixth grade. We were high-school sweethearts. You saw the bitter end, but there were good times.”

  He wondered. Had there been good times only because she’d been compliant?

  “Some men don’t take rejection well.”

  She looked up at him at last, her cheeks as bright as a twelve-year-old girl’s who’s been experimenting with makeup. “I’m really embarrassed that you heard our fights.”

  Enlightenment dawned, and Tom felt particularly dull-witted. Was that why she shied away from him the way she did? Because she was embarrassed?

  “I was raised better than to have knock-down, drag-out fights with my husband that all the neighbors can hear,” she continued, her cheeks if anything getting brighter.

  “Far as I could tell,” Tom said, voice laconic, “the only way you could have avoided those fights was to do everything he wanted you to do.”

  Her hands were curled into fists. He bet her nails were drilling into her flesh.

  “You heard a lot, didn’t you?”

  Tom’s brows drew together. “Enough to know I didn’t like your husband. I’m betting I wasn’t the only neighbor cheering when you threw him out.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Really.”

  “God.” She uncurled her fingers to press her hands to her hot cheeks. “Melissa wouldn’t say, but… Was it you who called the police?”

  He tensed, instinct telling him his answer would make or break any possibility of friendship between them. But how could he lie?

  “I didn’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “That’s why you called?”

  “I was afraid for you.”

  Her eyes closed, luxuriant lashes fanned on her cheeks. Almost inaudibly, she said, “I always thought that you, or whoever called, just wanted us to shut up.”

  “No.” He couldn’t help himself. He stood and went to the couch, sitting beside her although he didn’t touch her. “I should have said something then. I’m sorry.”

  She let out a breath that made her body shudder and turned toward him. “That last time, he did hit me.”

  Tom swore.

  “I lied to the policeman who came to the door. I agreed that it was just raised voices. But I made up my mind then that I couldn’t live that way.”

  “A couple of those times, it was all I could do not to come over. But I thought it might make things worse for you.”

  “It would have. He got mad one time when I smiled and waved at you. Wanted to know when we’d gotten so friendly. If you’d intervened, he would have thought it was because…” She couldn’t say it.

  “He was an idiot.” A nice way of saying Josh Easton was a jackass. One of the world’s luckiest men, too stupid to know it.

  “Anyway.” Her cheeks were still hot, but Suzanne Chauvin smiled at Tom. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad you heard as much as you did. And I’m so grateful you spoke up for me tonight.”

  That smile, shy and sweet, flattened him.

  “Like I said, you’re welcome.” He sounded so gruff, he hoped she didn’t take it as unfriendly.

  “You saved my life.”

  He shook his head. “Another agency would have seen reason and approved you.”

  “But I wouldn’t have gotten Sophia and Jack, and I think now it has to be them. Thanks to you, it can be.”

  He opened his mouth to protest again, then thought, She wants to make you a hero, let her. That could be good. Really good.

  “Are you sure you’re ready?” he asked.

  “Am I rushing?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes, you just know the right thing to do.”

  “I think that’s it.” She sounded amazed. “I do know. Oh. I can hardly wait for Saturday!”

  He and she were so close to each other, he saw the wonder in her eyes, the fine texture of her skin, the whorl of her ear decorated only with a gold stud. Out of left field came a sudden deep ache of envy because the glow wasn’t for him. What was that about? They were neighbors, no more, no less. At least she wasn’t afraid of him anymore, but Suzanne had never shown even a flicker of interest in him as a man. He’d be an idiot to ruin their increasingly friendly relationship by coming on to her.

  Nope, someday Suzanne Chauvin would bring home a new husband along with the kids. She’d give Tom sunny smiles when they both happened to be out in their yards. Which beat the days when she’d skulked around avoiding him.

  “Right,” he said. “Let me know what I should pick up and where.”

  “Thank you.” Suzanne held out a hand.

  He looked down at it. Like the rest of her, it was fine-boned. They shook, with him thinking, This is the first time I’ve ever touched her.

  She got to her feet as if energized, said, “Thanks for the coffee, too. And for mowing my lawn, and listening to me.”

  “What are neighbors for?”

  Another smile, more thanks, and she was gone, leaving him pretty damn depressed for a man who’d just become a hero.

  SATURDAY’S OUTING WAS FUN. Both kids were either on their best behavior or were basically well-mannered children. Jack got bored at Linens ’n Things once he’d picked out his own comforter, but he trailed along without complaint while Sophia agonized over the look she wanted for her own room. Then they lugged bulging bags out to the car, had lunch at the nearby Spaghetti Factory, and visited a couple of thrift stores where they were lucky enough to find one nice desk and a dresser with a mirror that Suzanne could afford. The dresser needed refinishing, but she and Sophia agreed it would be beautiful once it was glossy instead of scratched and chipped.

  The clerk agreed to tag and hold both pieces of furniture until Tom could pick them up.

  “I’ll keep looking this week when I get a chance,” Suzanne told them, back in the car. “If you’ll trust me.”

  The desk was to be his. Jack had seemed awed enough to have his own. “Sure,” he agreed without hesitation.

  After a moment, Sophia nodded, too. “Can we help paint our rooms?”

  “They won’t be ready to move into if we wait,” Suzanne warned.

  “Jack is too little to help anyway.”

  “I’m not!” he declared, his belligerence immediately fading. “But I don’t really want to paint.”

  Suzanne looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. “Then I’ll start with your room.”

  He gave a triumphant glance at his sister. “Okay!”

  She looked less pleased now, but said only, “Can I pick out the color?”

  Rodda Paint loaned out a metal ring strung with a sample of every paint color they carried. It was a wonderful kaleidoscope, from pastel to jewel-bright and back again. Suzanne had hurried over there after closing yesterday and signed it out.

  Now she said, “I have samples at home. And I made cookies, so we can have a snack and then see how the colors look with your new comforters.”

  “Cool!” they declared.

  Jack, it developed, didn’t much care. He gave a cursory glance at Suzanne’s suggestions and said, “I like that one. No, that one. Or that’s okay.”

  She laughed. “I’ll surprise you.”

  Sophia was pickier. Although she liked pink and purple, her tastes didn’t run to unicorns and lacy pillows and girlie stuff. She’d seemed dazzled anew at being able to choose any comforter or bedspread in the store, in the end settling on one that looked exotic with a crazy-quilt of silky fabrics that might have come from Indian saris.

  Now, she finally decided on a sherbet-orange color for her walls that picked up a minor note in the comforter.

  “It’s going to be
gorgeous and sophisticated,” Suzanne said, putting a sticky note on the sample so she’d remember.

  “You can paint it if you want to,” Sophia told her. “I don’t mind.”

  Suzanne smiled at her. “I can hardly wait to have you here.”

  “I think Mrs. Burton wants to get rid of us. She’s been grumpy.”

  “I’ll talk to Ms. Stuart and see if there’s a plan yet.” Suzanne hadn’t said anything about the close call and didn’t intend to.

  Both heard the horn sound outside. Sophia didn’t move. “I guess that’s her.”

  “I guess it is.”

  Jack had been sprawled on his stomach on the floor engrossed with crayons and paper that Suzanne had provided. He jerked and said, “I ruined my picture,” with tears in his voice, and crumpled the drawing up. “I wish she wasn’t here.”

  “At least we’ve started getting your rooms ready,” Suzanne said, voice artificially cheerful.

  “Yeah.” Sounding glum, Sophia stood up. “Come on. We gotta go, or she’ll get mad.”

  “I hate Mrs. Burton!” Her little brother stood, kicked the crayons lying scattered on the floor, and didn’t seem to notice that a couple broke as they bounced off the molding.

  Suzanne opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. There’d be time enough when they lived here. This transition had to be really hard for them. What were a couple of broken crayons?

  She walked them out, saw that Mrs. Burton did indeed look grumpy, and thanked her effusively for bringing the children over. “I have so few days off. I really appreciate you making it possible for me to spend time with Sophia and Jack even when my timing might not be the best for you.”

  The foster mother’s face relaxed. “Oh, it’s no trouble. Next weekend?”

  They agreed, in the absence of hearing anything from Melissa, on the following Saturday.

  “Thank you,” she said again. “Bye, kids!”

  She stood in the driveway waving until the car turned the corner at the end of the block. She felt both elated at how the day had gone and let down now that Sophia and Jack were gone. She was ready to bring them home, not visit them once a week.