The boy looked toward the house, where a lanky man with a dark blond beard looked out from behind a glass storm door covered in paper snowflakes and gummy Christmas clings.
Do you mind staying here? In the car?
“We’re not going anywhere.”
And then Matthew was in the house, the three of them inside the Volvo, alternating between idling the engine so the heater would work, and sitting with the cold pressing in on them.
“He’ll be fine,” Abbi said. “He will.”
“Relax,” Benjamin told her, pushing up the armrest so she could slide over against him. He draped his arm over her, and she rested her head against his chest.
There were two of him now—Benjamin before Silvia, and Benjamin after. He’d have been a liar if he said he still didn’t think of her every day, still didn’t get angry he had to give her back. The Whalens were sending a photo of her every week. At first Benjamin deleted them from his inbox without opening the e-mail. Then curiosity overcame him, and this dark-eyed, apple-cheeked cherub smiled at him from the computer monitor, two teeth poking up from her bottom gums. Jared asked them to visit, but neither he nor Abbi were ready for it. Not yet. The summer, they said. Maybe on her first birthday.
The front door opened again, and Matthew waved, gesturing for them to come inside. “He wants us,” Abbi said, and Benjamin heard the relief in her voice, and they ran from the car, through the sleet, into the Savoie home, where Matthew waited for them, not alone.
My sincerest gratitude and appreciation to all who helped in my research for
Watch Over Me
:
Tishia Chambers, who patiently and honestly explained her experiences as a deaf woman in a hearing world.
Officer Denny Pottebaum of the Sioux Falls Police Department, for his expertise regarding child abandonment laws.
Shirlena Freund, Kelly Kingrey-Edwards, Joy Maynard, Mellymommy, Manda Troutman, and Shanna Wright, for answering my foster care questions; Loretta Tschetter, for her South Dakotan eyes and ears; Rebecca, for her personal insights into familial relationships within the Indian culture; the Alport Syndrome Foundation; and all those men and women who have served in Iraq and Afghanistan, and have bravely posted their stories on-line so others might know they are not alone.
A huge thank-you to my editor, Karen Schurrer, who endured the verb tense-change nightmare with me; to Dave Long, for his keen insight and chauffer service around Dallas; to Noelle Buss and her marketing magic; and to all those at Bethany House Publishers who work not only on my behalf but on behalf of the Kingdom.
My thanks to Bill Jensen, my agent and one of my biggest fans. To everyone at Redeemer Church, Greater Glens Falls Christian Home-schoolers, and Gentle Christian Mothers who uphold me in prayer. To Sharon and Krista, for welcoming Jacob into your homes each week. And to Jo, Marilyn, and Kay, just because.
To my parents, for their never-ending love and support, and for learning to share. To Jacob, for grudgingly agreeing to let me dedicate this book to him—I adore the person God is growing you to be. And to Chris, without qualifiers, for allowing Him to use a silly little card to do a “wicked awesome” thing.
A past winner of Associated Press awards for her journalism, CHRISTA PARISH now teaches literature and writing to high school students, is a homeschool mom, and lives near Saratoga Springs, New York. Her first novel,
Home Another Way
, was a finalist for the 2009 ECPA Christian Book Award for fiction.