Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)

Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6) Page 14

“That was an unqualified disaster,” he said, keeping his voice low. I could only agree.

“Is there any chance Evelyn could f ind another foster home for Casey?” he asked.

“I…don’t know. I suppose I can call her.” I hated the thought, but one more meal like this and we’d be at each other’s throats. Brad looked as discouraged as I did. “I guess we should let her stay until the end of the week.”

We’d brief ly discussed keeping her until classes were f inished, but that was out of the question now. The current situation wasn’t working. I’d had no idea that two children could take such an immediate and uncompromising dislike to each other. Cody, I could understand. Casey had been thrust upon him without warning. If there’d been time to talk to him beforehand, I was sure he would’ve welcomed—or at least accepted—her. And I suppose Casey’s attitude sprang from a natural defensiveness, given her background. Cody was in bed by nine and while Brad went in to say goodnight and hear his prayers, I decided to check on Casey. I hadn’t heard a peep out of her since she’d gone into her room and closed the door.

I knocked quietly, waited a moment and when there was no response, I let myself in. “Casey?” I whispered. I could see that she was already in bed, facing the wall. Either she was asleep or pretending to be; I assumed it was the latter. Coming all the way into the room, I bent over and laid my hand lightly on her back.

She jerked away from me. I stood there for several minutes, wondering what I should say. A dozen possible remarks swirled around in my head. I felt terribly inadequate to console her, and yet I knew I had to try.

“How many foster homes have you been in?” I asked her. She didn’t answer.

“More than f ive?”

Casey nodded.

“I want you to meet my friend Alix. She was a foster kid, too.”

“Who?”

The question brought me up short. I hadn’t really expected her to respond. “Alix,” I repeated. “She took a knitting class from me soon after I opened my yarn store. She knit a baby blanket in order to satisfy some community service hours she was assigned by the court.” I’d offered to teach Casey, too, but she’d declined, claiming she wasn’t interested.

I waited for a comment or another question, and when none came, I said, “Alix works at the French Café across the street from me now.”

Silence.

Apparently that one-word question a few minutes earlier was all the response I was going to get. “You’ll be with a new family soon and you can settle in there.”

Again nothing.

“Remember, if you want to learn to knit, I’ll be happy to teach you.”

Casey scrambled closer to the wall as if the very idea of me teaching her anything disgusted her. After a few more minutes, I tiptoed out of the room, feeling frustrated and depressed. Brad met me in the hallway outside the bedrooms. “How’d it go?” he asked.

“Badly. What about Cody?”

“He wants her gone.”

I nodded. “I feel terrible for her,” I said. “I just wish there was something I could say or do that would help. She’s upset about being removed from her last foster home and the fact that she has to be with us.” The home where she’d been earlier had been closed by the state because of some code violations. Evelyn hadn’t provided more than the scantiest details. I didn’t know what the circumstances had been, and I couldn’t ask Casey.

“I don’t think she’s a bad kid,” Brad murmured as he headed for our bedroom. “Unfortunately, she just isn’t a good f it for us.”

“It’s only a couple more days,” I reminded him, not for the f irst time.

While Brad showered, I slipped into my nightclothes and climbed into bed. I’d been looking forward to teaching Casey to knit. I suppose it was naive of me to think I could initiate some sort of communication with her through knitting. I’d seen it work so well with others that I’d been hopeful, despite her unambiguous refusal. I picked up the book I was reading—a biography of C. S. Lewis—

which I thought was laudably ambitious. I generally read every night before I fall asleep; Brad does, too. I f ind it comforting to lie beside my husband, each of us with a book in our hands. I see it as a period of calm and intimacy, and as the perfect metaphor—

together, yet individual—for our marriage.

It wasn’t long before Brad joined me, his hair still wet from the shower. I smiled at him and began to speak, then paused when I heard a noise.

“Did you hear that?” I asked in a low voice. He glanced up from his book. “Hear what?”

I listened hard, then shook my head.

A moment later I heard it again. “Brad?”

“It’s nothing.”

I wasn’t so sure and was just about to go and investigate when Chase started to bark.

“There’s someone in the house,” I said in a hoarse whisper, trying to hide my panic. There’d been a rash of home invasions in the news lately and an intruder was the f irst thought that came to me.

“I locked all the doors,” Brad said.

“I know,” I told him, but he was already out of bed, reaching for his pants. “Stay here,” he instructed me.

“Should I call 9-1-1?” I asked, surprised by how tightly my throat muscles had constricted.

“Not yet.” He creaked open our bedroom door and turned on the hallway light.

Unable to remain passively behind, I followed him and quickly discovered the same thing he had. Casey’s bedroom door was open.

“Casey!”

Brad called her name, hurrying down the narrow hallway. I rounded the corner into the foyer and saw that my husband had taken hold of the girl’s arm, his face f lushed with anger. “I caught her walking out the front door,” he said accusingly.

“Casey?” I said. “Were you running away?”

She gazed down at the living room carpet. “You don’t want me here and I don’t want to be here.”

“Where would you go?”

She looked up at me then, her eyes f lashing with anger. “What do you care?”

“We do,” I insisted, stretching out one arm but careful not to touch her. “Running away never solved anything. Listen, we’re all going to try harder. It would help if you gave us a chance, too, you know.”

Cody was up now, standing blurry-eyed with Chase beside him, watching us. Casey stared at him and he stared back.

“It’s only until Friday,” Brad promised, and it was as much a promise to her as it was to us. “Can you last that long, Casey?” he asked.

She gave him the same silent treatment she had me.

“You should stay,” Cody said.

I wanted to hug my son for his generous heart. I knew it had taken a great deal for him to say those words. I’d never loved him more.

“Friday—another two days. If you can stick it out, so can we,”

Brad said, trying again. “Can you do that?”

Reluctantly Casey nodded.

“Okay, agreed.” Brad sounded relieved. So was I.

“No more of this, right?” I said.

Casey met my eyes, then Cody’s. “I’ll stay, but I won’t like it.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

With that Casey went down the hall, past Cody and Chase, and into her bedroom, closing the door hard. After she was gone, Cody returned to his own room, holding Chase by the collar. Brad slid one arm around my waist and I leaned against him as I tried to absorb what had just happened. I’d noticed that Casey had made enough noise to alert us to her escape plans. That told me she didn’t really want to go. She wanted us to stop her. For the f irst time since her arrival, I started to think I might actually understand this rejected child. I prayed we could prove to her that we did care.

All of us, even Cody.

Chapter 10

“Hutch” Hutchinson

Gritting his teeth, Hutch hung up the phone after speaking with his attorney, John Custer. He could feel his blood pressure rising. John, who’d been a longtime friend and conf idant of his father’s, had suggested a settlement offer to the nuisance lawsuit. The woman who’d f iled was in her forties. Her ridiculous claim was that Mount Rainier Chocolates had caused her to gain weight; furthermore, because she was overweight, she was viewed in a prejudicial light by prospective employers. But Hutch hadn’t forced her to consume his candy. She was the one who’d chosen to overeat.

What had happened to self-discipline? Hutch wondered as he often did these days. It wasn’t as if he’d added an addictive element to his chocolate or crammed them into her mouth. As far as Hutch was concerned, if he gave in to this lawsuit he was making himself—and every other candy manufacturer—vulnerable to a thousand more. This lawsuit was an opportunistic attempt to repeat what had happened with the tobacco companies years earlier. What he really wanted, he decided as he leaned back in his off ice chair, was for this woman to withdraw her suit. But there was no chance of that, since the plaintiff—no doubt encouraged by her attorney—saw the suit as an opportunity for easy cash. Gail tapped politely at his door.

“What is it?” he asked, far more waspishly than he’d meant to. His assistant came into his off ice. “I thought you’d want to know your mother just pulled into the parking lot.”

“Thanks.” Hutch nodded and didn’t hesitate to apologize. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“I know.” She forgave him with a faint smile. “That was John Custer on the phone, right?”

“Right.”

“Is everything okay?”

He shook his head. “It looks like this lawsuit’s going all the way to court.” His wasn’t the only company that had been faced with nuisance suits, many of which were settled out of court, as John was quick to remind him. A settlement was easier than suffering through the ordeal of taking the matter to a jury. According to John, juries were f ickle and there were no guarantees. Hutch wished he knew what his father would’ve done. Perhaps he was foolish not to listen to his attorney’s advice.

“Oh, Hutch, I’m sorry,” Gail was saying.

“Yeah, me, too.”

If this lawsuit did end up in the courtroom, the media would inevitably come into play. They might not show him in a sympathetic light, either. His father had once told him there was no such thing as bad publicity, but Hutch wasn’t convinced. And he could do without the stress of this ludicrous situation.

“Should I send your mother in?” Gail asked on her way out the door.

Hutch nodded. He felt protective toward his mother and, as much as possible, tried to spare her any worry. In return, she felt it was her duty to look after him, to enquire about his diet and whether he got enough sleep and had enough of a social life. In most instances Hutch didn’t mind. Lately, however, she’d been on this marriage kick. She said it was because she didn’t want him to repeat his father’s mistakes and bury himself in work.

Bury, in his father’s case, had been the literal truth. The company had killed him, and after his latest medical checkup, Hutch could see that he was headed in the same direction. Well aware of his tendency to work too hard and too long, he was taking measures to prevent that. The knitting class was a good example, along with his gym membership. He cringed, remembering that he’d only been there once, the day he’d plunked down his membership fee. He resolved to start exercising that very afternoon—no more excuses or delays. A few minutes later, Gail opened his door and his mother stepped inside, a frown on her usually serene face. She was dressed for a day on the town, in a crisp lavender pantsuit with a matching purse and shoes. “I haven’t heard from you all week,” she said.