A Family For Christmas. Tara Quinn Taylor
energy. So unlike her. If things persisted, maybe she’d call her doctor.
The Stand was unusually busy. They’d added twenty more beds over the past year and still were almost filled to capacity. So much violence. So much pain.
It was no wonder she was tired.
And yet...with her right hand hovering over a signature line, she paused, took hold of her mouse in her left hand and opened a private folder on her computer. From day one she’d been saving pictures—taken with permission and for her personal use only—of recovered residents, survivors who were living happy, productive lives. Some of them for the first time.
As her gaze passed from one to another, she was filled again with the same sense of peace, knowing that she was not only where she was needed, but where she needed to be. Wanted to be.
Her gaze came to rest on the digital picture collages she’d made of the children who had come through the Stand—some with their mothers and a few alone. Looking at those smiles settled her entire being. She hadn’t been able to save her own little girl. But there was no doubt in Lila’s mind or heart that from her place in heaven, her own sweet girl watched over every single one of the TLS children. Lila and her baby girl were in partnership on this one.
People thought she lived alone. That, other than work, she spent her entire life alone. She knew some of her closest associates had concerns about her lack of outside life. She knew that, with loving hearts, they wondered about her. And every day, when she went out on the premises and offered smiles, when she brought calm to traumatic situations and gave peace to destroyed hearts, she also knew that she wasn’t alone. That she didn’t live alone. She and her baby girl, her precious daughter who’d only made it to the age of twelve, were in this together...
A knock sounded on her office door, and the pen she’d been holding over a form left a jagged mark on the signature line.
“Come in.” With her left hand still on the mouse, she quickly clicked out of the folder.
An impressive-looking suited man stepped halfway into her office. His short graying hair was impeccably in place, as was the silk tie inside his buttoned jacket. His features, while handsome, weren’t outwardly remarkable. Her stomach jolted anyway.
“Edward! I thought you’d gone. You have your dinner tonight...” Dr. Edward Mantle had been invited by a group of doctors he’d met at a recent hospital charity event to join them for their biweekly boys’ night out.
She’d thought he’d left without stopping in to say goodbye.
Not that he was required to do so. But he’d been in court that morning. She’d just kind of expected, since she’d been a rather major part of this journey with him and his family, that he’d fill her in.
She’d kind of expected him to let her know how lunch went with Joy, too. Instead of taking his new-to-him granddaughter overnight right away, they’d decided to try several more day outings first. Because he was from Florida, not familiar with Santa Raquel and staying in a hotel, Lila had been more involved with him than she might otherwise have been.
Most of her participation, however, had been exactly what she’d have done for any other child who’d just lost all of the family she’d ever known in a horrifically traumatic experience.
“I sent my regrets for this evening’s gathering,” Edward was saying. “You got a minute, or would you like me to catch up with you later?”
“Of course I have a minute.” Pushing aside the forms, Lila set down her pen and rose. “Have a seat.” She indicated the couch and took the armchair perpendicular to it. Her families always came first.
“I’ve just left Joy,” he said. Lila was not pleased by the rush of...lightness...at his remark. He’d come straight to her. As though they were somehow partners in the whole Mantle/Amos trauma.
In a sense they were, of course, partners. With boundaries. Professional boundaries.
Her only job was to facilitate as happy an outcome as she could. To be looking out for Joy’s well-being first and foremost.
She wasn’t faltering there. Joy came first. It was just...she cared, more than she felt comfortable with...about Joy’s grandfather’s feelings, too.
A widower whose only child was missing and presumed dead, the man was completely, utterly bereft.
Lila knew what that felt like. The loneliness. The burying of your own daughter. The loss of family. Of love.
And this wasn’t about her.
Edward wasn’t saying anything. He’d just left Joy. And was sitting in her office, on her couch, his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together.
The doctor who’d, overnight, left his practice in Florida to fly to California to find his daughter and take charge of his granddaughter, was clearly at a loss.
He’d come to her.
Her job was to comfort.
Leaning forward, Lila touched the top of his hand. Touching was not her job. She sat back but had his attention.
“Tell me about lunch with Joy.”
She needed to know what had happened in court that morning, too. Shawn Amos, Joy’s father and Cara’s husband, was supposed to have been indicted. And Chantel Fairbanks, a Santa Raquel detective and a member of the High Risk team that had been formed through The Lemonade Stand to help prevent domestic violence deaths, had put in a request for a meeting with the inmate before he was transported back to prison.
Chantel had wanted to speak with Shawn Amos, one on one, alone in a courthouse conference room, to see if she, a female alone, could get any more of a reaction out of him than any of the officers—both male and female—who’d questioned him repeatedly at the police station and in prison. But Joy came first. Edward had taken her to lunch.
“Not much to tell,” Edward said, looking at her, then back at his hands that were plastered together. “I took her to Uncle Bob’s.” A burger joint on the beach with an oversize sandbox. A favorite with most of the Santa Raquel kids Joy’s age. “When I asked her if she wanted to play in the sandbox, she shook her head...” His tired gaze settled on Lila and she couldn’t help but look for the light of quiet strength she’d come to associate with him. Finding it, she nodded at him to continue, clasping her own hands together to keep herself from reaching for him again.
“Did she hold your hand as you walked inside?” Lila asked. They’d been working on it all week. Edward holding out his hand to the little girl. Repeatedly. Hoping she’d take it.
He shook his head.
Joy went with Edward when she was told to do so. But she’d only ever spoken directly to him when she’d been defending Julie Fairbanks—a TLS volunteer whom Joy seemed to have adopted as a surrogate mother. She’d told him that he could not be her grandfather if he didn’t believe that Julie was the author of the children’s books Joy had clung to since arriving at the Stand.
Julie had penned—and drawn—the stories, but until Joy’s announcement, only the child and a few others had known that the twenty-nine-year-old philanthropist was also a successful author.
Until Julie worked with Joy, the little girl hadn’t spoken a word after she’d been brought to The Lemonade Stand. Julie, through Amy, the character in her books, had connected with the child enough for her to tell them that she’d witnessed her father beating her aunt and mother. That her mother had told her aunt to take Joy and run, and that the aunt had hidden with the child behind an old dog pen. From there, Joy had seen her father haul her mother away by her hair.
The aunt, Mary Amos, had then run with Joy to the neighbors for help, after which the woman had been rushed to the hospital where she’d later died.
Joy spoke to those caring for her at The Lemonade Stand now. She spoke to Julie and to Hunter, Edward’s nephew, fairly regularly, too. Spoke when spoken to. Or to make requests. But other than when she