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  Especially their wives and children.

  Allyson breathed out long and slow. She could put the pressure on Wendy, make her take a lie-detector test or have her handwriting scrutinized to see if it might be possible that she—and not an erroneous prisoner—forged Rip Porter’s name.

  But what was the point?

  If her theory was correct, they could prosecute Wendy, maybe even send her to prison for a few years. But the boy would still belong to Rip. And that was the one part of the story that did ring true—until he’d been released from prison, Rip Porter knew nothing about having a son. The name on the paperwork did, indeed, look different from the signature he’d supplied them that morning.

  So how would it help having Wendy sent away?

  If Rip was going to get custody, if the boy had to leave his home and start a new life in another state with people he didn’t know, then Wendy should be part of the formula. The boy would need a mother, wouldn’t he? Someone to watch out for him if Rip’s rage ever returned?

  No wonder sleep wouldn’t come.

  By tomorrow afternoon she’d have her answer about Rip’s handwriting, whether the county expert thought his name had been forged. Then the judge would follow the established protocol for a situation like this. He’d grant custody to Rip and Wendy. And in a very short time, the boy’s idyllic life would come to a screeching halt.

  She closed her eyes and pictured her own children. Tavia with little Harley . . . Travis . . . Taylor. How would they respond if someone called and said that life as they knew it was over? That they would have to leave and go live with another family, never to look back again?

  Allyson did not cry often. She had seen too much, gotten too hard to get emotional over every case that didn’t turn out right. Usually it was the temporary custody, the times when a child was making progress with a foster parent only to be placed once more with a natural parent—a drug user or rehabilitated convict. Heartache was part of the job.

  But now tears spilled from her eyes and onto her pillow.

  Something about this case made her think of her own father, the man she’d loved and lost to cancer so many years ago. A series of sobs shook her. “Daddy . . . I still miss you. Tell me what to do.” It wasn’t right. Somewhere in Florida, a little boy who had known from birth a very special relationship with his parents was likely going to lose them both. Not because of cancer. But because the system was about to fail him utterly.

  And that—more than anything that had come across her clean desk in the past decade—was enough to make her weep.

  Chapter Eight

  Beth sat next to Molly on the bench that faced the park swings. Joey and Jonah were racing, seeing who could swing the highest.

  “I love this.” Beth breathed in through her nose and smiled. “Those two boys are going to be best friends.” She glanced at Molly. “Can’t you just feel it?”

  “Yes.” Molly leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees. “Every time they’re together.”

  The older kids were riding their bikes on the path that circled the park. School was out, and it was the middle of June. Humidity had hit—but not to the point of being unbearable. Blue skies, eighty degrees, and a light breeze made the South Florida afternoon feel perfect. The heat from earlier in the month had eased, and they all looked forward to their twice weekly morning visits to the park. That morning Beth had called Molly, the way she’d done every Tuesday and Thursday since they unloaded the moving van. “Up for the park?”

  Molly laughed. “Joey’s been bugging me about it since he woke up. Let’s bring a picnic.”

  Already the kids had been playing for almost an hour.

  Beth leaned back. “Know what I was thinking?”

  “Uh-oh.” Molly looked over her shoulder at Beth and winced. “This isn’t about church, is it?”

  The question hurt. Beth hadn’t brought up church since the barbecue; she’d made a promise to stay away from the topic. She felt her smile fade. “Thanks.”

  “What?” Molly was quick with an apologetic tone. She put her hand on Beth’s shoulder. “Hey, don’t get mad. I’m sorry.” She giggled. “I’m just teasing. You’ve been very good about the whole church thing.”

  “Okay, then. Give me a little credit.”

  “I will.” Molly angled herself so she was facing Beth. “What were you thinking?”

  Beth took a minute to transition. When she spoke, some of her enthusiasm was gone. “I was thinking how the two of us were a lot like Joey and Jonah. When we were little, I mean.”

  Molly straightened and leaned back against the bench. She watched the boys, how Joey encouraged Jonah, spouting a series of pep talks and instructions. “Yeah. I can see that.” She laughed. “Joey is sort of bossy.”

  “Not bossy.” Beth angled her head, her eyes on the boys. “He cares about Jonah. Like he’s personally responsible for Jonah’s well-being.”

  Molly looked at her. “I was like that with you?”

  “When we were little, yes.” Beth crossed her ankles and stretched out her legs. “I can remember when we were learning to ride our bikes.” She giggled, the hurt from Molly’s earlier remark entirely gone. “Remember those burnt orange bikes with the white stripes on the sides?”

  “And the white tassels flying from the handlebars?”

  “Right.” Beth looked up and watched a pair of blue jays land in a maple tree twenty yards away. “Anyway, you were seven and I was five, I think. You were learning to ride a bike, so I wanted to learn, too. It didn’t matter if I was young.”

  “We had training wheels, right?”

  “Right, but that summer Dad took them off.” Beth could see them, scared to death about the prospect of riding two-wheelers. “Anyway, he worked with you first and then, I don’t know, he must’ve gotten a phone call or something. He told you to keep practicing. He’d be out in a minute to teach me.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Molly faced her again. “I remember now. As soon as he was in the house, I climbed off my bike and ran to you.”

  “Right. You said you didn’t want to ride without me.” Beth laughed and looked at the boys again. “Instead of practicing, you ran alongside me and after a few runs I was riding like a pro.”

  “But when I climbed back on my bike, I got about three wobbly feet and crashed to the ground.”

  Beth giggled. “Exactly.” She watched the boys slow down, jump off the swings, and run for the merry-go-round. Joey was leading the way. “You weren’t bossy. You were just looking out for me.”

  “The way you looked out for me when we were older.”

  “Yeah.” Beth smiled at her. “Like that, I guess.”

  Just then the boys came running toward them, each shouting and pointing at the other. Jonah got his words out first. “He won’t let me have a turn pushing the merry-go-round! He says I have to stay still and enjoy the ride.”

  “Joey . . . that’s not very nice.” Molly brushed her knuckles against her son’s face. “What have we taught you about sharing?”

  “Yeah, but I’m taller than him, Mommy.” Joey pointed back at the merry-go-round. “I can push ’cause I’m a big boy. Jonah’s a little boy.”

  “Am not!” Jonah stuck his tongue out at Joey. “I’m older than you! So you’re a little boy, Joey!”

  “Mom . . .” Joey held out his hands, pleading with Molly. “It’s better to ride, anyway. I’m just trying to be nice.”

  “Why don’t you boys take turns?” Beth patted Jonah on the back. “You’re both big enough to push. Let’s see how that works out.”

  They looked hesitant, but they ran off anyway. Halfway there, Joey tapped Jonah on the shoulder and stuck his tongue out. “There,” they could hear him say. “That’s a payback.”

  Both women laughed. “Of course, there was plenty of that between us, too.” Beth sorted through her lunch bag for an apple. “I remember the time when the dog ate the head off your Barbie. We were maybe ten and twelve. Remember that?”

  “
How could I forget? I stole your Barbie head to replace mine and tried to pretend like nothing was wrong.”

  “Only my Barbie had a headband that matched her dress.” Beth took a bite of her apple and chuckled. “Must have been pretty easy for Mom to solve that one.”

  “I never was a very good liar.”

  “No.”

  The clouds were gathering faster, darkening the sky. They’d had thunderstorms nearly every day since their family landed in West Palm Beach, and today’s forecast was for more of the same. “Looks like a storm.”

  “Better move this picnic to my house.” Molly stood and collected her things—the lunch bag and the mesh net with Joey’s sand toys. She motioned to the older kids. “Want me to tell them?”

  “Thanks.” Beth grabbed her bag and peered at the sky. Lightning pierced the closest clouds. “We better hurry. I’ll go start the car. The kids can throw their bikes in the back. “ She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Come on, boys! Let’s go—storm’s coming.”

  Joey and Jonah hesitated, and for a moment it seemed they might complain about having to leave. But instead Joey jumped off the merry-go-round and tore across the sand for the grassy field adjacent to the play area. “Come on! Look at all the dandelions!”

  “Just a minute.” Molly jogged toward Beth’s older kids and yelled for them to come to the car. Then she turned back to Joey. Just a month ago, the entire grassy field had been dotted with bright yellow dandelions. But now the ground looked like a million fuzz balls. When the boys raced across the field, they stirred up a cloud of seeds. Joey and Jonah giggled and ran back to Beth and Molly.

  “There’s a kabillion dandelions at this park, did you know that, Mommy?” Joey took Molly by the hand. “A super-kabillion.”

  “Yeah.” Jonah skipped in alongside Beth. “They’re fun to race through.”

  In the distance, another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. “Okay, boys,” Beth picked up her pace. “Time to run.”

  They piled into Beth’s van just as the first raindrops hit the windshield. “Whew.” Beth slid her key into the ignition. “That was close.”

  The older kids took the back seat. “I had the most laps.” Cammie sounded proud of herself.

  “Did not.” Blain made a face at her. “I lapped you three times.”

  The debate continued. In the rear-view mirror Beth could see Joey staring wide-eyed out the window. “I love storms.”

  “Except at night.” Molly gave Beth a wry look. “He’s in bed with us as soon as the first clap of thunder hits.”

  Joey leaned forward. “Yeah, Mommy, but that’s because storms are ’posed to be shared.”

  “Right.” Jonah nodded, his expression serious. “I like sharing storms with my mommy and daddy, too.”

  The conversation remained comical all the way to Molly’s house, through her garage, and into the kitchen. While they spread out their lunches on the dining room table, Beth savored how good life felt. Her sister was once again her best friend. And their little boys were on their way to the same sort of friendship.

  Still, there was something missing, something Beth didn’t dare bring up. And as Molly went to check the phone messages, Beth said a silent prayer. God . . . please give Molly a reason to need You. I won’t bring it up . . . so give her a reason, God. Please.

  The kids were situated at the table, but the message light was flashing on the answering machine. Probably a salesperson. Jack would’ve called on her cell phone, and with school out there weren’t many calls that needed her attention. Still . . . she wanted to check.

  A burst of thunder rattled the windows, but Molly didn’t mind. Lightning storms were a part of life in Florida. She’d grown up with them, and by now she rather liked them. They made her lakeside home feel safe and warm, like a cocoon against the elements.

  She pressed the message button and waited.

  “You have one new message,” the automated voice announced. “First message, sent today at 10:31 a.m.”

  The message started. “Hello . . .” The caller hesitated. “This is Allyson Bower. I’m a social worker in Ohio, the one who handled the placement of your son.”

  Immediately Molly hit the volume button, bringing the sound down so that it was barely audible. Joey knew nothing about his adoption. Not yet. They were waiting until he started kindergarten to tell him something simple and straightforward.

  Across the room, the message had caught Beth’s attention. She stood and looked at Molly as if to say, “What’s the problem?”

  Molly waved her off and lowered her head so she could make out the rest of the woman’s words. “I tried to contact the social worker in Florida who handled your case, but she’s not with the department any longer.” The woman released what sounded like a painful breath.

  “Anyway,” the message continued, “something’s come up. I need to talk to you as soon as possible. I leave the office at two o’clock, so if you or your husband could call back this afternoon or tomorrow morning, I can update you about what’s going on.” The woman gave her name again and a number. Molly stopped the machine and saved the message.

  Her heart slammed about in her chest like a frenzied pinball. What was the woman talking about? What could possibly have come up? The adoption file had been closed since Joey was six months old. The paperwork was signed, the courts had agreed, and that was all there was to it.

  So who was this Allyson Bower, and how had she gotten their number?

  Beth was at her side, her arm around Molly’s shoulders. “Molly, you’re white as a sheet.” She led Molly to a barstool. “What is it?”

  “Joey . . .” Molly couldn’t finish her sentence. She pointed at the boys. “Joey.”

  “He’s fine, Molly. I took out the sandwiches and got them set up. Don’t worry about him.”

  Molly blinked, and her trance suddenly lifted. Why was she panicking? It was only a phone call, right? She straightened and looked at Beth. “That was a social worker . . . from Ohio. Something’s come up. We have to . . . have to call her back.”

  “Okay.” Beth didn’t look worried. “There’s probably some update they need for his file. Isn’t that normal with state adoptions?”

  “An update?” Molly’s heartbeat found a more normal rhythm. “The social workers here in Florida do the updates. Once a year until Joey’s five. After that, it’s up to us to provide information for his file, for the . . . the birth parents.”

  “So maybe the Social Services in Ohio didn’t get the update this time.” Beth still didn’t look worried. “Isn’t that possible?”

  Molly closed her eyes. Yes, that had to be it. Something missing from the file. What else could a social worker from Ohio want with her and Jack? The adoption was as neat as it could be. No loose ends, wasn’t that what her Florida social worker had told her? But a call like this could mean . . .

  She looked at Joey, blond hair and laughing eyes, taking the top slice of bread off his sandwich and licking the strawberry jam. She felt her shoulders relax a little. He was fine; he was theirs. She wouldn’t let herself think about it. She’d known very little about Joey’s birth mother. The woman wasn’t on drugs, and she hadn’t been a drinker. The biggest problem was her husband, a man in prison for domestic violence. According to her social worker, the woman had given Joey up for his safety. She had picked Molly and Jack after looking through profiles from a dozen different states.

  There couldn’t possibly be a problem.

  Beth was saying something, but Molly couldn’t focus. “You’re right. A technicality, something missing in the file.” She forced a quiet laugh. “I panicked for nothing.” She looked at Beth. “We made sure everything was right. No loose ends. That’s what they told us. No loose ends. Nothing to make this a problem down the road when Joey was—”

  “Molly!” Beth took hold of her arm and gave her a shake. “Shhh!” She looked behind her at the boys. “Joey’ll hear you.”

  Molly held up her hands. “I’m fine.�
� She lowered her voice. Had she been talking loud? She steadied herself against the back of a barstool. “Sorry. Everything’s fine.”

  “Okay, then let it go.” Beth’s voice was urgent. “Come on.”

  She searched Beth’s eyes, frantic for a reason to stave off the sudden, intense fear coming at her again. “Nobody would ever . . .” Her voice slipped to a whisper. “Ever try to take Joey from us.” She faced her sister. “Would they?”

  “No.” Beth shook her head quickly. “Definitely not. The adoption was final years ago.”

  Yes, of course. Molly exhaled long and slow. All the reasons that had reassured her moments ago ran through her mind again. The adoption was final years ago. No one would question it after all this time. She ordered her heartbeat to slow down again.

  “Mommy . . .” Suddenly Joey was at her side, tugging on her sleeve. “Are you sick?”

  Molly let go of Beth and sat a little straighter. She looked down at Joey. “No, honey.” She was still catching her breath. “Mommy’s fine.”

  “How come you’re not eating lunch with us?” He pointed back to the table. “It was a’posed to be a picnic for everyone. Even the moms.”

  “Right.” Beth patted Joey’s back and sent him in the direction of the table. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

  “I’m on my second half, Mommy.” Jonah held up his sandwich. “Hurry, okay?”

  Another clap of thunder shook the house. Molly inhaled sharply and gave a quick shake of her head. “You’re right.” She stood and looked at Beth. “I won’t worry about it.”

  “Good call.” Beth spoke the words with certainty and confidence. “It’s nothing—I’m sure.”

  “Right.” She looked at the boys in the next room. Her body felt unsteady, but her breathing was normal now. “I guess I just have a phobia of social workers.”