A Family Like Hannah's. Carol Ross
the knot of tension cinch even tighter in his chest. How could that tiny suitcase hold everything Lucas owned in the entire world?
Tate frowned at the woman standing nearby, the woman who had given birth to him. He refused to call her mom. She’d never earned the title.
“Penny, where are the rest of Lucas’s things?”
She blinked as if surprised by the question. “Well, Tate, this is it. This is all of it. You’d be surprised how much you can pack in one of these soft-sided suitcases.”
“This isn’t even the suitcase I sent him, and I’ve sent him enough to fill twenty suitcases. Where is his skateboard, his tablet, the movies and games, the game system...? His baseball glove?”
Penny swiped a casual hand through the air. “You know how kids are. They break things, grow out of things, lose things...”
It dawned on him then. A hot flash of anger bolted through him. “You sold his stuff?”
“Just what was I supposed to do? He couldn’t eat that baseball glove. Kids are expensive, not that you’d know anything about that while you’ve been living the high life and I’ve been stuck here taking care of him. Do you have any idea how hard that has been on me?”
Now she sounded like the selfish, defensive, passive-aggressive, alcohol-and drug-dependent mother he knew and despised, yet continued to care about. Out of some twisted sense of obligation or responsibility or...something.
“What did you spend the money on I sent you every month to take care of you both? Why did you fight me for custody?”
“He’s my grandson.”
Tate narrowed his eyes menacingly, waiting for her to answer the first question even though he knew she wouldn’t. They both knew very well what she’d spent it on.
“You mean your meal ticket?”
“Lexie left him with me, remember?”
Shards of grief and guilt and anger took turns jabbing at him. But not because of anything Penny said, but because he hadn’t been able to save Lexie from their mother’s poison. He had survived, and even though he hadn’t been able to save his little sister, he was determined to save her son. His nephew.
His jaw flexed so tightly he could barely speak. “Don’t talk to me about Lexie.”
Penny crossed her bony arms over her chest, her face twisted into an ugly scowl. “I know you blame me, Tate. Just like you’ve always blamed me for every bad thing in your life and Lexie’s. But it’s not my fault she died, you know? I didn’t pour those drugs down her throat. She never did know when enough was enough. Nobody’s perfect, not even you. You don’t know how hard it is, but you’ll see and then you’ll be begging me to take that kid back—”
He had learned long ago not to engage with his mother. You can’t reason with irrational and he couldn’t fix her addictions, although he kept trying.
He interrupted sharply, “Where is he?”
She pinched her lips together as she lifted a finger and pointed down the hall.
He took a few steps before turning to face her again. “Viktor is waiting right outside the door to take you to the rehab center. After you get out this time you’ll have two months of expenses paid. That’s it. Do you understand? I can’t—I won’t—enable you anymore. I don’t want to see you, hear from you, or even hear about you ever again.”
She pitched her voice high and dramatic as she tried to squeeze out some tears, “But you’re my son and you can’t keep Lucas from me. He’s my only grandchild—”
“It’s official now. I have legal custody. Lucas is my responsibility. He is no longer your free ride. Do you understand? When you get out, do not call or contact us in any way.”
“Where are you going?” she cried.
Tate ignored her and went to find his nephew. There were only two doors positioned along the dim hallway of the sparsely furnished apartment. The first contained a small filthy bathroom so he continued on. He found Lucas in the next room sitting on a dirty, rumpled sleeping bag atop a bare mattress lying on the floor. The room smelled faintly of mold and urine. Shockingly few items were scattered around—a brown paper bag, a clothes hanger and a bright orange plastic bucket with a large crack in the side.
Lucas held a book clutched to his chest. He looked up when Tate walked in and he hoped he wasn’t imagining the spark that lit amidst the weariness in the child’s arresting blue eyes. A mix of love and relief and anger swirled within him as he studied the pale, forlorn face of his nephew, the only thing left of his sister, Lexie.
He knelt in front of the tiny boy with coal-black hair that so closely matched his own and wondered if, at six years of age, he should be so small.
“Hey, buddy.”
“Hi, Uncle Tate.”
“You ready to hit the road?”
He nodded. “Do I need my sleeping bag? I can’t zip it up anymore because the zipper’s broken.”
“Nope, you’ll be sleeping in a real bed with sheets from now on.”
Lucas’s bland expression told Tate he’d heard similar promises before. Empty promises, broken promises, nights without a warm bed and days without food; memories he recalled all too well from his own childhood with Penny, before Viktor had taken him away.
“Uncle Tate, you won’t leave me in the dark, will you?”
The fear in his voice seemed to pierce Tate’s very soul. “No, Lucas, I won’t.”
Placing a hand on each of the boy’s thin shoulders, he caught his gaze. “Lucas, I know other people have told you things before that weren’t true. Made promises they didn’t keep. But I’ve never done that, have I? Made you a promise I didn’t keep?”
He shook his head and whispered, “No.”
“Well, I’m making you another one right now. I will never leave you. From here on out—it’s me and you and Viktor, okay? We’re a family. No matter what.” Tate silently vowed to do whatever was necessary to make a family for Lucas, even though he wasn’t sure what one was exactly.
Lucas nodded and climbed to his feet and Tate thought that a child of six-years shouldn’t look so tired and...broken. Tate reached for him and Lucas threw his hands around his neck and squeezed. The rush of love he felt was so intense he almost couldn’t contain his sob.
* * *
HANNAH JAMES STEERED her SUV up her friend Edith Milner’s long driveway. As she neared the massive architectural masterpiece of a home, she immediately spotted the tire tracks in the fresh dusting of snow. She was happy to see the renters had finally arrived.
She parked her car, climbed out and headed around the side of the house along the covered sidewalk. Edith had informed the management company that Hannah would be caring for the atrium in her year-long absence, absolving the renters of having to worry about the exotic plants or the koi that lived in the atrium’s indoor pond.
Unlocking the door to the breezeway, she planned to slip in unnoticed and check on the plants and feed the koi without bothering anyone. The hallway to the right connected the atrium to the house. She turned left and pushed the button to open the pneumatic door. A blast of warm, humid air greeted her. She’d been coming here for nearly two years now, but she still couldn’t get over the magic that Edith had managed to create in this remote Alaskan setting.
Edith and her husband had built their five-thousand square foot home nearly two decades ago, but Edith had only added the atrium after her husband of forty-two years had passed away.
Hannah took a moment to admire the atrium’s inviting niches. The bluish-green light glowing through the fat panes of tinted glass. The mosaic tile floor sparkled in muted pastel colors, a perfect setting for the wrought