Family by Design. Bonnie K. Winn
was so intense J.C. didn’t try to reason with her. Instead, he quickly backed out of the driveway, then sped from the neighborhood. Once past the familiar streets, he pulled into a space in front of the park. Unhooking his own seat belt and then Chrissy’s, he gently guided her from the car to a bench beneath a large oak.
Still shaking from the remaining gulps of tears, she allowed him to drape an arm over her shoulders. When she was tiny, he would have popped her in his lap, pulled a dozen silly faces and made her giggle. He felt completely ill-equipped to comfort her now.
Patting her arm, he waited until the last of her hiccupping gulps trailed to an end. “I’m sorry, Chrissy. I wouldn’t have gone to the house if I’d known it would upset you.” He paused. “I was hoping it would make you feel better.”
She shook her head so hard that her light brown hair flew unchecked from side to side. “I never, ever want to go there again.”
“After some time—”
“Never!” she exclaimed. Her lips wobbled and a few new tears mixed with the wash of others on her cheeks.
J.C. patted her knee. “I thought you might like to live there again, get out of my scruffy apartment.”
“No!” she cried again, burying her face against his shoulder. “I can’t!”
J.C. imagined he could hear the child’s heart actually breaking. “Then you won’t.” He would have the contents packed for storage, then rent out the house in case she changed her mind later. “And if it starts bothering you, we won’t go by the print building, either.”
Chrissy pulled back a bit so she could look at him. “It’s not the same.”
“No?”
“Daddy’s work didn’t hurt them. It was the house.”
Logic wasn’t a factor. Just the raw feelings of a wounded child.
“Okay, then.”
“We could move in there,” she suggested hopefully. “To Daddy’s work.”
The first floor of the building had been occupied by the business. And there were two apartments above it. Jay’s parents had lived in one until they passed away.
“No one’s lived in those apartments for a while,” he explained. More important, they wouldn’t have any immediate neighbors. Even though his bachelor apartment was small, at least in his complex, Chrissy was surrounded by people. He didn’t like the idea of her being alone in a big building on Main Street when he had to make night calls at the hospital. A few proprietors lived above their businesses, but not in the building next to them. And the Wagner Hill House was on a corner next to a side street that bisected Main, so there wasn’t a second adjoining neighbor.
“We could fix up the apartment,” Chrissy beseeched, kicking her feet back, dragging them through the grass. “And live on top of Daddy’s print shop.” The apartment was above the business on the second floor, but he knew what she meant.
Blair, a nurse who worked at the hospital, lived in his apartment complex and so far J.C. had asked her to listen for Chrissy when he had to leave her. But it wasn’t a comfortable situation. He worried the entire time he was away. What if Chrissy woke up and was scared? What if there was a fire? The possibilities were endless. But he couldn’t hire live-in help to share their small space. As it was, he was camping out on the sofa so Chrissy could have the only bedroom.
And babysitters weren’t pleased to be phoned in the middle of the night. The few who had reluctantly responded once didn’t respond again. Not that J.C. blamed them. Who wanted to get up at two or three in the morning to babysit, not knowing if they would have to stay an hour or the rest of the night? What they really needed was sort of a combination housekeeper and nanny who lived in. But Chrissy had run off every single one he had hired, resenting anyone she thought was trying to take her mother’s place.
“I’m afraid we can’t live in the Main Street building.”
Chrissy sniffled. “Then are we going to stay in your apartment?”
J.C. glanced up at the cloudless sky. Rosewood’s tranquility had always been a peaceful balm. But now he wasn’t certain there could be peace anywhere. Lord, we need your help. Chrissy deserves more than just me. Please help us find the answer.
Sighing, Chrissy leaned her head against his arm, her soft weight slumping dispiritedly.
Please, Lord.
Chapter Two
Maddie pulled one of her numerous tins of tea from a shelf in the pantry. “Sure you don’t have a preference?”
Samantha Conway, Maddie’s best friend and one-time neighbor, shrugged. “Surprise me. How many blends have you made now? One hundred?”
“Afraid not.” She placed the tin on the table. “I have ideas for twice that many and space for less than thirty.” Collecting two porcelain cups and saucers she added them to the table.
“So, did your mother like J.C.?” Samantha questioned.
“You were right all along. I should have taken her sooner,” Maddie admitted. Samantha had raved about J.C. ever since he successfully treated her paralysis. Now Samantha walked with only a cane. She had been urging Maddie to see him about Lillian’s worsening symptoms long before their G.P. had made his recommendation. “He’s already ordered new tests and altered her medications.” Swallowing, Maddie remembered the touch of his hand when he gave her the slip of paper.
“Earth to Maddie,” Samantha repeated. “Something on your mind?”
“Of course not.” Trying to sideline her friend’s curiosity, Maddie got up and retrieved the electric kettle. Pouring water into their cups, she set the kettle on a trivet.
“Um, I hate to complain,” Samantha began, “but we don’t have any tea in our cups.”
Maddie shook her face in tiny rapid nods. “Where’s my head?” Because she used loose tea leaves to make her own private blends, she also used individual cup strainers. She put one on each of their cups, then added a scoop of tea leaves. She’d made so much tea over the years that she didn’t need to measure the amount.
Samantha fiddled with her cup. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Why?”
“For one, the strainer’s sitting over the water, so I’m guessing the tea leaves aren’t actually wet and …” She looked intensely at her friend. “The water’s cold.”
“Cold?” Maddie frowned. “It can’t be cold. I just got it from the kettle.” Poking her finger in the cup, she expected a hot jolt. Cold water and limp tea leaves. Great. “I hope the kettle’s not broken.” But as she checked the adjustments and made sure the base was plugged in, Maddie couldn’t remember if she’d actually pushed the On button.
“Okay, give,” Samantha urged. “You forgot to put the tea in the tea? And then you forgot to turn on the kettle? That’s not like you.”
“I suppose it’s been a stressful day.” She recounted the mishap with the morning bath water, how flustered she’d been trying to get them to the appointment on time. “I felt like my accelerator was stuck,” she explained. “Filling in all the forms like a maniac as fast as I could, trying not to cause more delay …”
Samantha leaned back, studying her. “Just the letdown after an adrenaline rush?”
“I suppose so.”
“Funny. You have at least one crisis a week with Lillian, but you’ve never offered me a cold cup of water that hasn’t even swum close to a tea leaf.”
Maddie waved her hands. “Then I’m having an off day.”
“You haven’t