“What hospital is the aunt in? And what’s her full name?”
“Mary Amos. Unmarried. Twenty-seven years old. She works at a gift shop down by the Ventura pier. She’s at Ventura County Medical Center.”
With a Bluetooth earpiece keeping him connected to his father, he took the details on his phone. “And what’s Edward’s last name again?” Betty was a Rafferty now. Until she’d married John, he’d had no reason to know her as anything but Betty.
“Mantle.”
Like Mickey Mantle. He remembered now. Dr. Mantle.
“The little girl, Joy, how old is she?”
“Seven.”
He took down Edward’s cell number, flight and hotel information next.
“Got it,” he said, keys in hand, phone in his pocket, as he headed for the door. “Tell Edward not to worry. And to call me when he gets in,” he said before he clicked the earpiece and started another call.
As he waited for Brett Ackerman to answer, his dad’s effusive thanks echoed through his mind. Bothering him, oddly enough. This was serious stuff, and he wasn’t doing anything but making a phone call.
The doctors in the world healed pain. The cops punished those who created pain. And Hunter...he was the guy who had a lot of contacts and knew how to put on a good party. Who could always be counted on to lighten the mood.
He was the fun guy.
Not the lifesaver.
JULIE HAD THOUGHT about Hunter a great deal on Monday. Only because she was bracing herself to hear from him. Hoping she hadn’t given him any hint of how much she’d enjoyed being at the festival with him. Afraid he’d turn on the charm even more.
Secondary to that fear was the fact that she’d been at a crowded public festival for more than an hour without a panic attack. She wanted to celebrate her progress, but was too busy worrying that her lack of anxiety had been due to him—that she’d been so taken with him she was distracted from her usual sense of discomfort.
When she got up Tuesday morning to find the late-night email from him, telling her that he’d signed the girls’ group, she was relieved that there was no need for a phone call now. She’d see Hunter at Thursday’s meeting—a dress rehearsal for the acts they’d be showcasing at the following week’s gala—and then one more time, at the gala itself. After that, she’d be done with him.
Yes, she was relieved about all of that.
No matter what Lila McDaniels said, she was not hiding from life. She was living the life she’d chosen for herself. A life of giving.
Of making the world a better place for children who weren’t growing up with the kind of privilege she had. For children who didn’t always understand the world around them. Just...for children in general, because children brought her joy.
Being a child had brought her joy.
And she spent time with victims of abuse because she felt comfortable with them.
Still, she hesitated when she saw Lila’s number pop up on her cell Wednesday morning. She’d been about to leave the house, heading to LA for a lunch meeting with a couple of board members of the Sunshine Children’s League. Among other things, the league supported a home for children awaiting adoption, and Julie was on a committee that was planning an October Open House, for later in the month, with food trucks, Halloween fun and tours of the facilities guided by the kids themselves. They were hoping to attract prospective parents for older children.
She made it through three rings before picking up.
“Hello?” In her studio, she looked over the current work in progress, a drawing on her easel—and the words that went with it on the table with her watercolors.
It’s okay to have a day that goes wrong in every way.
The drawing showed a glass of spilled milk, a broken toy and a chubby-faced little girl frowning at a big jelly stain on her shirt.
“I need your help.” Lila’s first words, after a quick hello, made her stomach hurt.
“Of course. What do you need?” She’d step up. No matter what. The alternative, to stay locked away in her fairy-tale world, wasn’t right. Or enough.
You didn’t die from anxiety. Not her kind of anxiety anyway. And even if you did, she’d rather die than be dead alive.
Lila told her about a little girl, Joy. A new resident at the Stand whose father was abusive and whose mother was missing—presumably taken by the father. The seven-year-old had been with them since Monday night, but so far hadn’t said a word to anyone. Or even nodded or shaken her head. She followed instructions.
And she stared vacantly.
Except when it came to Julie’s book about a little girl, Amy, who was afraid of her own shadow—Amy’s Shadow.
“I’m not sure she reads the words, but Sara and the women whose bungalow Joy’s staying in, until her aunt’s out of the hospital, have read it to her several times. And whenever she’s not being told to do something else, she’s got the book in her hands. Sometimes turning the pages. Sometimes just holding it.”
Tears flooded Julie’s eyes. She used to think her sensitivity, her drama and intense emotions, made her special. Then they’d made her fragile.
Which was why she hated when her feelings took over.
There wasn’t time for that right now.
“Can I see her?” Julie asked. She might not be a counselor, but she’d studied child development. And she knew Amy, the girl with the shadow, very, very well.
“That’s why I’m calling. I was hoping you could make time this morning.”
The Sunshine League meeting was important. But it could go on without her. The others could fill her in on any decisions made in her absence.
Within half an hour, she was sitting in the front room of one of the larger bungalows on Lemonade Stand grounds with Joy, a small-boned, dark-haired girl. The child’s big brown eyes were filled with a blankness that tore at Julie’s heart.
Vanessa, one of the adult residents of the bungalow, sat across from them, thumbing through a magazine. The television was on, a family sitcom playing softly in the background.
Sara Havens Edwin was in the kitchen with the older woman who’d agreed to have Joy stay in her room. Hannah was a grandmother of two. And as soon as she got legally disengaged from her abusive second husband, she was going to be moving across the country to live close to her grandkids. If her own kids had had their way, she’d be there already.
Hannah had insisted that she had to get healthy before she took up life with her kids. Julie had spent an evening with her the week before, baking cookies. And listening. What she’d figured was that Hannah needed time to find herself again before she dared to join the grandchildren she adored.
“Would you like me to read to you about Amy?” Julie asked, hands in her lap. Joy didn’t reply. She didn’t offer the book. And Julie didn’t take it from her.
She just started talking. About Amy. About some of the things behind what was on the page. Things that Julie, as the author, knew. Things that hadn’t made it to the page. She explained all of Amy’s thoughts and feelings.
Sara had come into the room and was now sitting several feet away. Hannah was there, too. Listening. Vanessa was no longer reading. The TV still droned softly.
Julie tuned it all