“I’ve opened Pandora’s box.”
“I told you to get a lawyer or a private investigator. You could have at least let one of the guys on the force run a sheet on Peter Hallock.”
Marie compressed her lips and tried to ignore the storm of emotions raging inside her. She hadn’t wanted to get anyone else involved. She didn’t have money to hire professional help, and it felt creepy to ask one of Jack’s old buddies to pull strings. Any number of them would have done so in a heartbeat. Now she wished she would have.
“What’s he—your real, biological son—like?”
Marie flopped down on her brown tweed couch. She gave Ricky a vague smile as he came out of the bathroom. “Go get your jammies, Rick. It’s bedtime.”
“So?” Sandy prompted as Ricky disappeared into his room.
“He’s beautiful, Sandy. Beautiful. His eyes are blue, but they’re shaped just like Jack’s. His mouth is, too. He looks like a cherub. He’s a few inches shorter than Ricky, but maybe a bit stockier.”
“What did they name him?”
“Luke.” She closed her eyes. “My day was a disaster. How was yours?”
“Rehab went well. They’re pushing me to join an independent living group. Do you think I’m ready?”
“I think you will be soon.” Marie accepted the race-car-printed flannel pajamas she’d made and helped Ricky into them. Ordinarily, he’d try to change all on his own, but after a long, trying day, he’d come out to seek her help and reassurance. She gave him an extra hug after she buttoned his shirt.
While Ricky stayed in the living room with them, she and Sandy took care to discuss Sandy’s future instead of the catastrophic events of the past week. Marie wanted to shield her son from as much of the ordeal as she could until the adults all managed to iron out the issues. She’d never imagined her sweet little tyke would be in the line of fire as he’d been today. The memory left her shaken—and more than willing to distract herself with the exciting prospects opening up for Sandy.
“My physical therapist said I’ve stabilized,” Sandy said as she whizzed in and out of the kitchen. She brought a pair of Red Delicious apples.
“You’ve worked hard,” Marie praised. “I’m really impressed by how much you can do.”
They discussed the merits of such a plan as they shared the apples with Ricky for a bedtime snack. Marie tucked him into his bed. He mumbled a nighttime prayer and fell asleep at once.
The minute Marie came back into the living room, Sandy demanded, “Okay. Now that he’s in bed, give me the scoop.”
“I’m in big trouble.” Marie sank onto the couch, stared straight ahead at the brick fireplace and sighed. “Peter Hallock is rattled. From what I gather, he’s an administrator at a hospital—powerful. Rich, too.” She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “To top it off, he’s possessive. When I left, he told me to take good care of Ricky until he can.”
Sandy’s jaw dropped. “You have to be kidding me!”
“Nope.” Marie wearily propped her feet up on the coffee table.
“He’s nuts! What did you do?”
“I got out of there as fast as I could.”
“So he’s going to be ugly?”
“I can’t say. It wouldn’t be fair to judge that yet. Sandy, I’m just sick about it all. I know he is, too.”
“What’s his wife like?”
“He’s widowed.” Other than that fact, he hadn’t alluded even once to his wife. Marie tried to rub away her headache and wanted to pretend nothing had happened. “Let’s get you ready for bed. You know, I didn’t see Brent when I came in. I wanted to thank him for helping you.”
“I thanked him.”
Marie stopped and gave her sister a searching look. “Oh? That sounds interesting.”
Sandy grinned. “We thought so.”
“What are you telling me?”
“He asked me out to lunch after church. We’re going on a picnic. He said he’s tired of pretending to be my buddy. His kiss backed up that claim, too.”
“Wonderful!” Marie gave her a hug. “What will you wear?”
They chattered about that issue as Marie helped Sandy transfer from her wheelchair to bed. She’d learned all of the necessary skills to take care of Sandy since she’d hurt her back in a freak surfing accident. With the passage of time and rehabilitation, Sandy had regained most of the use of her arms. She needed to build up more muscle strength so she could move herself independently, but she was nearly to the point of being able to care for herself with a minimum of help.
Marie changed and crawled into the other bed in the same room. As she curled up under the blankets, she tried to block the image of a large, mahogany-haired man reaching for Ricky.
You take care of him until I can. Until I can… His words kept echoing in her mind. Marie shuddered and dragged the covers up higher.
She sensed Peter Hallock dearly loved children. The protective urge he’d shown at the outset with Luke now extended toward Ricky, too. What had he meant, the Hallocks are never losing another child? Had there been a kidnapping? A murder? Was Luke safe? Tired and worried as she felt, Marie didn’t sleep well.
Peter’s nerves stretched taut. Darlene took their baby when she left him; yesterday, as Marie left with Ricky, the landslide of feelings and memories nearly buried Peter. Peter tried to book a flight to Orange County last night, but the galling fact that John Wayne airport closed at ten each night foiled his plan. This morning’s whole flight down seemed to go in slow motion, and Peter got unaccountably impatient with the rental agency when his car wasn’t ready as promised.
He swerved and focused his attention on the road again. Marie had better be an easygoing hostess, because he was dropping in without warning. If he called again, he’d only put his foot in his mouth. He even missed the freeway turnoff to her place and needed to backtrack.
Marie lived in an older tract neighborhood where it looked like an unimaginative architect had taken a pair of cookie cutters to design only two floor plans. Places of this vintage invariably needed upkeep, but most carried the air of being well-tended.
Peter pulled up to the curb and gave the pink, purple and white flowers edging her yard an assessing look. The mailbox out in front of her house bore a shiny gold icthus. Instead of steps, a wooden ramp led to the front door. Painted along the widest side beam was a verse he recognized. “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” Clearly, yesterday’s lunchtime prayer wasn’t a mere ritual. Marie lived her faith. Good thing she does. Only God will be able to solve this for us.
He swept Luke out of the car seat, strode up the ramp and rang the doorbell.
Tired of being confined by the flight and his car seat, Luke wiggled. “Want down.”
“Okay.” Peter set him on the porch, and he immediately scampered off and grabbed for a marble-blue plastic ball that rested against the garage.
A young woman in a wheelchair opened the door. Her beaming smile and “Hi!” took Peter off guard. So did the sight of Marie, barefoot, in a pair of walking shorts and a cherry-red T-shirt. Oblivious to his arrival, she and Ricky screeched and giggled as she chased him into the corner with the hose attachment of a noisy vacuum cleaner. Peter’s uneasiness evaporated.
“Can I help you?”
He