But as Anya hurried to catch up with Jack’s rapid pace, she noticed spiderwebs festooning the corners of the front windows. Surely the elderly lady would keep those wiped clear if she were physically capable of it.
The door flew open and a young girl’s eager face appeared, her red hair in thick braids. “Uncle Jack!” She threw her arms around him with such enthusiasm that he had to step backward.
“Tiff? I can’t believe that’s you.” After hugging the girl, he took a long look. “You’ve grown into a young lady.”
She smoothed down her navy blazer and tan skirt, evidently a school uniform. “Come in.”
“Somebody’s blocking my path,” he teased.
“Okay, okay.” As Tiffany danced inside, her gaze fell on Anya. “Is this your girlfriend? She’s pretty! And you’re handsome, isn’t he, Anya?”
“Most of the nurses seem to think so,” she replied, slipping into the room behind them.
Inside, Rod’s eyes glittered in the light from the chandelier as he greeted them. Surely those couldn’t be tears. Anya had never seen the sardonic anesthesiologist show so much emotion.
The rectangular room encompassed both living and dining areas and had antique-style furnishings. Dusty curio cabinets displayed a charming collection of china plates and cups, while a built-in counter in the dining area held a nativity scene. As the girl’s grandmother approached, her small, arthritis-curled hands revealed why she hadn’t packed the holiday decorations or removed those outside spiderwebs. Why didn’t her married-to-a-billionaire daughter spring for a housekeeper?
“Anya’s a nurse who works with Rod and me,” Jack explained as he introduced her to the grandmother, Helen Pepper. Slim and silver-haired, Helen wore a mint-green embellished top and pull-on pants that would be easy for those gnarled hands to manage.
“I’m very glad to meet you,” she told Anya earnestly.
Anya took the extended hands gently. “You have a beautiful home.”
“Anya was kind enough to give me a ride,” Jack added. “Since Rod commandeered my car.”
“When I heard my little girl’s voice on the phone, I couldn’t think about anything but rushing to the rescue,” his uncle admitted. “It’s a good thing the CHP didn’t clock my speed on the freeway.”
“I’m sorry I had patients, or I’d have driven you,” Jack said. “Tiff, I want you to know that Rod moved heaven and earth to try to gain custody, or at least visitation. These past few years have been torture.”
Tiffany nodded vigorously. “I was convinced Mom and Vince must have lied to me.”
“Lied about what?” Jack asked.
“Well, I didn’t get it at first. I was only six.” The girl took a deep breath. “They told Amber and me our dad rejected us because we weren’t really his.”
The anguish on Rod’s face tore at Anya’s heart. “They dared to say that after I nearly went bankrupt fighting them in court?”
“That’s not only a lie, it was cruel to the girls,” Jack observed.
“I’m sorry I didn’t speak up sooner,” Helen said. “I always felt like I was walking on eggshells when I visited them. Please, everybody, have a seat.”
She gestured the group into the living room, its walls brightened by colorful framed floral embroideries. She must have loved creating them before arthritis crippled her hands, Anya thought.
“Why did you stop visiting, Grandma?” Tiffany nestled beside Rod on the couch. “You hardly come anymore.”
Helen lowered herself gingerly to the sofa. “My hip got so bad, I can’t travel.” To the others, she said, “I don’t mean to complain. Portia hired a limo to bring me for Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
“Big of her,” Rod muttered.
It seemed to Anya that everyone was avoiding the central question of why this child had run away. However, being a not-very-invited guest at a family crisis, she held her tongue.
“How’s your little sister?” Jack beamed at his niece, apparently as overjoyed to see her as she was to see him, Rod and her grandmother. “Amber must be ten now. She was a bold little thing. I’m surprised she didn’t come with you.”
“Don’t give them ideas,” Helen said tartly.
“Oh, she isn’t bold anymore,” Tiff said. “She’s shy.”
“Unlike somebody I know.” Rod quirked the girl a smile. “Sweetheart, as Jack said, I fought for both of you.”
“I figured you must have.” Tiffany lifted her chin proudly. “I kept remembering you reading us bedtime stories and cracking jokes, and the older I got, the weirder it seemed that you stopped caring about us.”
“I always cared!”
“How’d you get his phone number?” Helen asked. “I’m sure your parents don’t keep it around, although I guess kids can find anything on the internet these days.”
“Mom and Vince only let us use computers for schoolwork.” Tiffany made a face. “They won’t let me have a cell phone either. My friend’s big brother dug up Daddy’s phone number.”
Rod tweaked one of Tiffany’s braids. “You should have called before you left home, squirt. Taking the train by yourself, that’s scary.”
“It was fun,” the red-haired girl proclaimed. “And if I’d called, you might have said no.”
Jack regarded her sternly. “Tiff, what if he’d been out of town? Dangerous people hang around train and bus stations watching for runaways. Please don’t take a chance like that again.”
“Then you’d better give me your number, too,” she replied, then added mischievously, “just in case.”
“Sure.” Fishing a prescription pad from his pocket, Jack began writing on it. “Honey, call me before you put yourself into a potentially dangerous situation, okay?”
“I’ll try.”
“Don’t just try.” He also gave her a business card. “That’s my office number. If for any reason you can’t get through on my cell, make sure the receptionist understands it’s an emergency.”
He certainly was acting fatherly, or like an uncle, Anya thought. Another woman in her situation might be thrilled, but to her it raised a whole bramble bush of unwanted possibilities. If he cared this much about his nieces, how might he feel about his own child?
“I hate to bring this up, but I have to call your parents and let them know you’re safe,” Helen said.
“Not yet!” Tiffany begged. “I’ll go home on Sunday, okay?”
“It’s only Thursday, and you’ve already missed a day of school,” her grandmother chided.
With obvious reluctance, Rod backed Helen up. “They’ve probably notified the police. We’ll all be in trouble if we don’t report your whereabouts.”
“They’re mean.” Tiffany slouched down. “If my grades aren’t perfect, they ground me for a whole weekend. They make me play soccer because that was Vince’s sport. I had to drop dance class, which is my favorite.”
“Too many organized activities,” Helen commiserated. “It’s not healthy.”
Anya wondered how Tiffany would have responded to her family’s demands. At twelve, Anya had hurried home every day after school with her seven-year-old triplet sisters, assisted her disabled mother, cleaned the house and fixed dinner.
Her older brothers had