He stepped back.
Go away, go away, go away
. It should be comforting to know he watched her sleep. Her daddy cared enough to watch her sleep. But right now, she wanted him to go back to bed. He didn't close the door, but the light in the hall went out. Still she didn't move. She made her breath sound sleepy, even though it wanted to rush.
Tick. Tick
. The clock on her bed stand. Were those long spaces seconds?
Don't move. Wait
. Her stomach hurt. Whatever was in there wanted out. Another creak. Shuffling in Dad's room. Water running. Her breath slowed without her working so hard. After so many ticks she ached from listening, a soft snoring started up again.
She swallowed. Tomorrow she'd take care of everything. He'd never know. But what was he doing with a box full of Sofie?
T
he flashing of his message machine caught his eye when Matt walked in. The quiet house tempted him to leave it until morning and simply savor the time he'd had with Sofie. Now that Ryan no longer needed him, no one had trashed the kitchen or cluttered the house. No one waited for answers he didn't have.
He went into the bathroom, then into his bedroom to stretch out and replay each incredible hour of the day. But instead of lying down, he headed back to the kitchen and pressed the message button.
"Matt, it's Sybil. Join us for a drink. Murphy's."
"Too bad I missed it," he muttered. He hadn't had this much attention from Sybil since . . . ever. She liked the bad-boy types. Like Lance. Earrings. Attitude. What would she think if she knew Lance worked miracles?
The second message started.
"Yeah . . . uh, Matt, this is Dirk
Brant. Need you to come down to the hospital and take custody of
Annie Price."
His stomach lurched as the officer continued briefly. The call had come over an hour ago, but he was the only available caseworker. Cassinia had extended her leave as her mother's decline accelerated. No point leaving just to turn around again for the funeral. They had fences to mend if they could.
He got his keys and headed for the door. This shouldn't be any different from other cases, but the parallels stunk. Donald Price, a church member, well known in the community; the youngest, weakest child taking the brunt of the abuse. At least Vivian didn't match the pattern—a lush and meth head. Anyway, it didn't matter. He had a little girl waiting.
The hospital reflected the quiet of the hour. He made his way to the curtained cubicle where a nurse's aide held the sleeping toddler. He'd have to hear about her injuries before he could take her out of there, and the ER doc met him almost immediately.
He said, "She has a medial fracture of the left humerus." It had been cast and strapped to her body by an impossibly small sling apparatus. "Probable concussion." The man rolled her slightly in the young aide's arms. "Contusions here and here." He straightened. "They say she fell down the stairs. That these grip marks came from panic when they tried to catch her."
"They?"
He shrugged. "They're backing each other up. I'm not sure how the story hashed out in the end. Check the police report."
"Could she have fallen?"
"It happens."
"And that could explain the injuries? All of them?"
The doctor looked back at the child. "No history? It's possible."
"But this is a third strike," Matt reminded him. "What do you think happened?"
"I think she got tangled up in a scuffle and dropped down the stairs. I think they waited awhile before coming. Ms. Price didn't look good herself. Said she slipped getting to Annie."
Vivian Price wasn't his problem. From what he'd seen, she did her share of bruising the toddler, might even have shielded herself with her daughter. Matt looked for a long moment at the fair-haired waif. He had to take physical custody, place her in a foster home. Damage was being done to the other children, he knew only too well, but with no visible evidence of abuse and no further incidences of neglect, they had no grounds to act on their behalf. Only Annie. He reached and with utmost care lifted her from the aide's arms.
"She just fell asleep." The aide seemed reluctant to surrender her, though anyone who worked as hard as she did without much compensation had to have a caring heart.
Annie stayed asleep as he tucked her head over his shoulder.
The doctor finished writing. "This second concussion is near enough the first that the previous bump may not be healed. You'll need to wake her every hour. Check her pupils and responsiveness. If she doesn't wake completely, throws up or seems dizzy and disoriented, bring her in."
Disoriented? She was two years old. How could she be anything but? She might remember him from the first time he'd removed her from the house, though more likely having some huge guy shaking her awake in the middle of the night would scare her to death. "Okay. Car seat?"
"We have one checked out for you at the front."
"Thanks."
Before exiting the parking lot, he knew he wasn't taking Annie to his empty house. Sofie could say no, and might, but he drove to the villa anyway. The house was dark, but light poured from the small window in the shed. Someone was up.
He debated locking Annie in the car while he asked, then kicked himself for thinking it. No matter how safe it seemed, no place was safe enough. Cradling her against his chest, he reached the shed and knocked.
Rese opened the door. The smell of fresh wood surrounded her, and curls of it stuck to her jeans. She hadn't put down the chisel. She looked from him to the child.
He swallowed. "I need to ask a favor."
"Who is she?"
"Annie Price." Lance and Sofie had participated in the foster training and their approval had come through, even though Diego had left before it did. There were others he could have contacted, but . . .
Rese tossed the chisel to the workbench and brushed the wood shavings off her hands. "Bring her inside."
They went in through the kitchen and down the hall to the front room. Rese glanced over her shoulder. "Wait here. I'll see if Lance is still awake."
He doubted it. He'd been surprised she was. He stood at the bottom of the stairs while she knocked at the first door on the landing. A different door opened, and he heard Sofie.
"What is it, Rese?"
Rese turned. "Matt's here."
"What?"
"He has a little girl—"
Sofie rushed into view. He hadn't thought how this would key into her past, only that she'd be a soothing presence to Annie. But Sofie stopped, stunned, at the top of the stairs. He wished with everything in him he'd thought his decision through.
She gathered herself and came down, Rese on her heels. "What happened?"
"She got banged up in a family squabble."
Pain washed Sofie's features. "She's so little."
"It's the little ones that get it." His arms tightened reflexively.
Sofie looked into his face. "What's her name?"
"Annie."
"Is her arm broken?"
He nodded. "She may have fallen down stairs. Mom's a meth addict; Dad gets angry."
Sofie leaned in and breathed the child's scent. Tears sparkled in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't think."
She slipped Annie from his arms. The child's eyes fluttered. A soft whimper. Sofie soothed her. "What's there to think about?"
He loved this woman. "She'll need temporary placement as this gets sorted out."
"Of course."
"I'd have kept her at my place tonight, but she's got a concussion and needs to be checked every hour." He touched Annie's little hand. "I thought some big guy waking her all night might be more than she could handle."
Sofie's mouth pulled sideways. "You're not the stuff of nightmares."
"Should be just this night on the concussion."
Lance came down behind Sofie, sleep rumpled in a T-shirt and flannel pants. "You okay with this, Sof?"
She nodded.
"Sure?"
"Yes." She shot him a sharp look.
Only half as sharp as the look Lance shot him. The protectiveness was back, that tension between his family and someone who might pose a threat. He hadn't considered Annie a threat, but given Sofie's past, maybe he should have. At any rate, he fit the bill.
"If you need anything, Sof, come to me." Lance touched Annie's dangling hand with one that had closed a cleft palate.
Matt couldn't help wondering how much it took for a miracle. Had something happened already?
They all climbed the stairs to Sofie's room, and she laid Annie down on her bed. The toddler opened her eyes, fear and confusion rising in their blue depths.
"Hi there, Annie. I'm Sofie."
The tot's eyes darted to Matt and the others, then back.
"I'm going to take care of you tonight, honey."
With one arm, Annie tried to push up from the bed.
Sofie helped her. "See, that's Matt and Rese and Lance." She stroked the curve of her little back. "And you can sleep right here with me. I won't let anything happen."
Please, God
.
Annie whimpered. Sofie eased her down, caressing her head and neck until she fell back to sleep. She looked up and caught Lance's extreme concern. Understandable. Turning back the clock, with her fair hair and blue eyes, Annie could be Carly.
She formed a smile. "It's okay."
He knew it wasn't.
Matt couldn't have realized the resemblance, but he had to be catching the drift. When Rese and Lance went out, Matt approached the bed. "I needed to bring her somewhere."
"I'm glad you did." But the ache in her chest felt like knives.
"If it's too much . . ."
"It's not." She looked back at the child, tears burning. "It's just so wrong."
"I shouldn't have brought her here. Let me—"
"Stop. Just because it hurts doesn't mean I want you to change it." She willed him to get it. "I want to do this. Do you understand? I
want
to."
He nodded. "All I thought was how good you'd be for her."
Because he didn't know. He thought it was Eric who'd messed up her life when it had been her choice to question, to argue. Her choice to risk losing her little girl.
"You should go. She'll be fine."
He hesitated, but she pressed him out. "Good night."
He drew himself up. "Good night."
When he'd closed the door behind him, she slipped into bed beside Annie. The soft, shallow breaths whispered in her ear as she lowered her head to the pillow near Annie's. What was wrong with the world? She rested her hand on the child's arm and cried herself to sleep.
Rese settled back behind her workbench. Lance had followed her to the shed and paced it now with the caged energy she'd seen before. He would want to talk it out. He always did. They could hardly have turned Annie away, but it had him seriously worked up.
She rested her hands on the bench. "Okay, what."
He turned back the other way, shaking his head. "She's a dead ringer."
"What?"
"Annie. She looks just like Carly at that age."
"Oh." No wonder he'd looked at Matt as though he'd like to take him down. "Do you think Matt knew that?"
He caught his hands in his hair. "I don't know what Matt knows or how he thinks or what he wants."
She gave up believing she could work and went over to him. "Maybe it's good. Maybe she needs to do this." When he didn't immediately agree, she rested her hand on his arm. "I mean, I didn't want you crashing into my life and plans, but I've come to terms with it."
He cupped her elbows with a crooked grin. "Get-outta-here. I'm the best thing that ever happened to you."
"Best painful, annoying—"
"Fagedda-bout-it." He slid his hands around her waist and kissed her.
She kissed him back. "Nonna says everything according to God's will."
He settled his hands in the crook of her neck. "When did you get so wise?"
"I always have been. You just wouldn't admit it."
He laughed. "Okay, okay. So what do we do about this little girl?"
Good question, but she'd given up trying to anticipate the turns each day could take. "People seem to think we have something to offer."
"Do we?"
She shrugged. "It worked out well for Maria and Diego. Maybe you can . . . help Annie too."
He pulled her into a hug. "Maybe we all can."
C
arly raised her head from the toilet and wiped her mouth. "I can't go, Daddy."
He rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a look of concern and frustration. "I can't leave you here alone, and I don't know anyone yet to trust you with."
She pushed up from the floor, holding her stomach. "I'll stay in bed and sleep. I could sleep three days. You can call me every hour." She looked into his doubtful face with the sorriest one she could make. "Please, Daddy. I'll die if I throw up at school."
He softened. "I'm worried about you. These stomachaches—I should take you to the doctor."
"You have to work. Maybe tomorrow. Grandma even said I have a weak stomach."
His eyes narrowed. "Grandma doesn't know anything."
Bad move. "I just want to stay in bed."
"You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Carly?"
She let all her hurt and frustration show. "Daddy."
He pulled her into a hug. "Of course you wouldn't." He stroked her hair. "You'd never lie to me. You know how wrong that would be."
Her stomach squeezed tighter. She wasn't lying. Not really. He had to believe her. He had to.
He sighed. "I'll figure something out. Let's tuck you in. What can I leave you to eat?"
"Nothing. Maybe some crackers."
"Animal crackers?"
She was too old for them, but Daddy kept buying them because she couldn't quite say so. "Okay." She climbed into bed and pulled up the covers. "I love you, Daddy." And she did. That was what hurt so much. Her stomach squirmed. Maybe she really was sick. Maybe she was totally messed up.
She wanted to cry every time she realized she didn't remember how Sofie looked. She wanted to remember. She had to. She could not put the box back without seeing every picture, without putting Sofie's face where the blurry feeling of her remained.