“I’M SORRY, MR. KRAYNICK. I appreciate your candor and your intentions here. I understand your situation, but unfortunately, I can’t give you access to the baby. It does appear, by these documents, that you and the mother’s baby could be half brother and sister, but…”
Frustrated beyond belief, Rick already knew what the woman—State Worker Number Four—was going to say. He’d been hearing the same news, in various versions and from various people, for the past three days, which was why that morning he’d finally used the information he’d been given at the cemetery.
Ever since he’d heard from that young girl that his sixteen-year-old sister had had a baby, he’d been unable to think of anything else.
The city’s social services network had verified that the infant existed. But they couldn’t possibly expose a baby girl to a complete stranger on his word that he was family. It didn’t help matters that he’d admitted he’d never even met his sister.
He’d hoped producing his birth certificate, to compare with the one they could get for Christy, would verify their relationship. Would change things.
Turns out birth certificates were pretty easy to duplicate. And alter.
“What about DNA testing?” he asked now, as he faced the middle-aged black woman who at least smiled with compassion, as opposed to state worker numbers two and three. “If I prove I’m her biological uncle, then I can start adoption proceedings, right?”
State Worker Number One, on Saturday morning, had been too new at his job to do anything other than worry about getting things right.
Monday’s worker had given Rick nothing but repeated explanations about the way San Francisco’s system worked. Yes, the city was the official guardian of the child. The city had custody. But the child’s welfare and care were given over to a private organization.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Tuesday’s worker replied with a slow shake of the head. “We don’t have the money to provide DNA testing and—
“I’ll pay for it.”
“Do you have any idea how far backed up the state’s labs are?” she asked. “They’ve got criminal evidence waiting to be tested. It could take months before you get any results. Certainly weeks.”
“And how long will the baby be in foster care?”
The woman scanned the file for a moment. And looked up at him, eyes filled with sympathy. “Probably not long.” She didn’t elaborate. But Rick had a feeling she knew more than she was saying.
“So how do I get them to hold off doing anything with her? At least until I can prove we’re blood related?”
“You could go to court. Petition for a hearing. That might put a stay on an adoption. If you’re interested in adopting her, I’m fairly certain they’d give you some time. Would you like to fill out an adoption application?”
“Yes. Please.” He didn’t ask himself what he was doing. There was no question here. If the orphaned child was a member of his family, she belonged with him. He’d take care of her. Period.
The kind woman handed him a sheaf of papers. “You can start here,” she said. “But there’s no guarantee of anything. While it’s true the state of California always tries to place children with family if at all possible, even if it’s proved that you’re the child’s uncle, it’s possible that someone else equally qualified could step forward.”
Equally qualified? As in, also blood related?
Was that what the woman had read in the file? Was there someone from the baby’s father’s side?
“It would help so much if you’d known the baby’s mother. If you’d spent time with the child…” If you’d been around to help your sister when she’d been pregnant and struggling, Rick figured the lady was thinking. “But walking in cold like this, after the fact, it’s hard to believe you’ve suddenly developed the kind of love it takes to raise a child.”
His mother was the reason Rick had never known about Christy. Okay, so he hadn’t been in touch in years. He had been in touch since Christy’s birth. A couple of times.
His mother. She’d seen the baby. Was that what this woman had just read? That Nancy Kraynick was petitioning for custody of Christy’s little girl?
Surely not.
Pray God, not.
“Or if you were her father…”
He’d been a father. A damn good one.
“Our emphasis has to be on the children. On their long-term well-being. And really, the decision at this point isn’t even ours. You’d have to contact WeCare Services. They’re the organization in charge of Carrie’s case.”
His fight wasn’t with this woman. She’d done more to help him than anyone else in the past four days. She’d just given him the name of the organization that employed Sue Bookman.
Another official contact.
Taking his paperwork, he thanked her and left.
He had to find a way to see the child. Not to convince a court to let him adopt her because he’d seen her, but because he had to see his little sister’s baby. Especially if she could be adopted out before he had a chance to petition for her himself. He had to know she was okay.
And to promise her that, somehow, whether she was adopted or not, he would not abandon her. He was not going to take any chances that another life would be lost.
According to Chenille Langston, his sister’s fifteen-year-old friend who’d talked to him at the grave site, Christy had loved and wanted this baby enough to “stay off the junk” during her entire pregnancy.
Out in his car, Rick checked his cell phone again, waiting to see if the Bookman woman had called him back. Seeing the empty message box, he dialed his lawyer.
Chapter Four
WHILE HER FIRST INSTINCT was to grab Camden and run, Sue left the baby in her cousin’s arms, falling in beside her parents, behind Belle and Uncle Sam and Aunt Emily, as they all made their way down the hall to the lawyer’s office suite. Joe had been in conversation with his father as she’d left.
Probably just as well. Sue and Joe just didn’t seem to have that much to say to each other these days.
The room was furnished with expensively upholstered couches for two, four of them, gathered around a central, cherry table laid with eight packets. A ninth chair, a high-backed desk chair, filled one of the corners of the meeting area.
Luke and Jenny were the first to sit. Sam and Emily took the couch next to theirs. That left two couches. One for Belle and Camden? The other for Sue and Carrie?
Belle sat, settling the sleeping baby boy more comfortably against her.
Sue preferred to stand.
Uncle Sam had opened the packet in front of him. Was shifting through papers as though he owned them all.
The papers. And the people in the room, too.
As Belle said, it wasn’t as if Grandma’s money was a big deal compared to his own bank account. Okay, so the house, built for a pittance back in the ’40s, was probably worth a million or more, but then Uncle Sam’s house would probably sell for that in California’s current market. And other than the house, the most valuable thing Grandma had was the diamond necklace Grandpa had given her when they’d married. It had been his mother’s, a gift from his father. And his grandmother’s before that.
Sue lost track of how many generations the necklace had been in the family, how many greats it went back, but she loved the story that went with the cherished piece. Had never tired of hearing it.
It