Forever Beach (3 page)

I tried to smile 'cause we don't look anything alike.

“Just watch your back and hang tough. You can do it. I'll write to you every week.”

“Promise?”

“Promise, and you write, too.”

“Every week,” I told her. I was afraid I was going to cry. Worse. I was afraid Nonie was.

I'd never seen her look like that. She was the tough one, the knowing one. The kick-ass one who didn't take shit from nobody, the one who always had my back

But today, right before she turned away, I saw something I'd never seen before.

Nonie was scared.

I watched her walk away. She didn't look back; I was glad 'cause I didn't want her to see me crying. You couldn't cry, or they'd be in your face, the other kids. But that day I couldn't stop. I can feel them trying to get out of my eyes now. But I push them back, or maybe I just don't have any tears left.

I kept my promise. I write every week. I wait for the mail every day, but nothing comes. Mrs. J feels sorry for me, I can tell.

She's always coming over to me saying, “You're a pretty girl, Sarah, and smart. Don't you worry, you'll get placed somewhere nice, too.”

I don't want to get placed. I want Nonie to write and say she's convinced her wonderful, rich new family to take me, too.

“She's probably busy getting used to her new life. Be patient.”

I almost laugh. That's one thing you learn if you don't learn anything else. You don't have a choice about being patient . . .

A
KNOCK ON
the window made Sarah jump. She blinked. She couldn't have been asleep, but she felt disoriented. For a moment she'd been somewhere else, some other time. Being patient. Like now.

Another knock. She turned on the ignition and lowered the window.

Wyatt Monroe braced his hands on the top of the car and leaned in toward her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Not really. I don't know.”

Wyatt smiled at her, which was more than she deserved. They'd been friends for years. More like friends with benefits . . . until recently. She'd pushed him away since she began fostering Leila. Leila had been afraid of men when she first came home with Sarah. She'd taken one look at Wyatt and screamed until she made herself sick.

He was a big guy, tall and muscular, with dark hair, dark eyes, a skin tanned to a deep olive from his work on the water rescue team. And though he was always kind to Leila, he could be a little intimidating.

Sarah had made him leave; he was pissed at the time, but she could tell he was also relieved. He hadn't signed on for anything more than a good time.

But Leila had been back on an adoption track for months now, and Wyatt had slowly become a part of their life again. Leila began to warm to him, then actually accepted him. Wyatt seemed comfortable with the two of them, and Sarah had begun to breathe. And now, just when it was supposed to be smooth sailing ahead, Carmen changed her mind and could wreck everything. When would Sarah learn that there would never be smooth sailing for her?

“I thought the adoption had gone through. Instead, the bio mother wants visitation rights, and the court granted them.”

“Again? What is wrong with those people?”

Sarah shrugged.

Wyatt peered into the backseat. “Where is the little one?”

“At Karen's. I had to call my caseworker and I didn't want to upset her.”

He opened the car door.

“I need to get back.”

“You can take ten minutes for yourself. Sit on the boardwalk with me and regroup.”

Sarah shook her head.

“Sarah. Don't start pushing me away again. It isn't good for any of us.”

She reached for the ignition. “I can't.”

“You can. You just won't.” He shut the door before she could even think about changing her mind. “You're not doing yourself or Leila any favors by being wound this tight all the time. Take a good look at the work you do, how many clocks have come in for the same damn reason. Wound so tight they broke.”

“I'm sorry.” She put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking place. Had to slam on the brakes as two kids on bicycles pedaled past.

Sorry,
she thought—Sorry to the kids and sorry to Wyatt—he was a good man. He was still standing there, watching her. She just needed to concentrate on making Leila happy right now.

Sarah knew she tried too hard to keep everything under control. She didn't know why. The one time she
had
let fate intervene, it had brought her to Sam Gianetti and his love of old clocks. And her real family.

Why was it so hard to trust someone now?

R
EESA
D
AVIS WAS
out of breath by the time she'd followed the four police officers up the three flights of stairs to apartment 3G. The hallway was stifling and smelled like urine and smoke and mold.

She tried to breathe shallowly. She'd been a caseworker for years, but sometimes, things just got to her. This was getting to her.

She'd been sent to a neighbor's apartment earlier. The neighbor had found one of the boys in 3G scavenging food from the trash bins. She'd taken him in and fed him while she called Child Protection.

My God, he looked like he'd come from a prison camp. So thin that his arms were almost skeletal. His cheeks and eyes were sunken like an old man. He said his name was Pete. He'd sneaked out the fire escape to find food for his brothers. The baby wasn't crying anymore.

Reesa had called in a Dodd removal—no court order. The neighbor was frightened, and Reesa had promised to come get Pete as soon as the other two were safely out of the apartment. But it had taken an hour for her to get the go-ahead and for the police to arrive.

The four officers stood back; Reesa stepped up to the door and knocked. Waited for a count of four. Knocked again.

“Ms. White? It's Reesa Davis from the Child Protection office. May I come in?”

Reesa could feel the officers ready themselves for a forced entry. Nobody liked to have to do that. You never knew what you'd find on the other side of that locked door.

Reesa knocked again. “Ms. White? You need to open the door now.”

No response.

Reesa knocked again louder. “Ms. White, I need to see the children. If you don't open the door, we'll have to use force to enter. And you will probably be taken into custody.”

Finally she heard a chain being slipped out. The door opened a crack. And a hollow-eyed woman stared out at her. “Go away. There's nothing wrong here.” She started to close the door.

There was something terribly wrong. Suddenly the woman was yanked away from the door, but before it could slam shut, the officers forced their way past Reesa and into the apartment.

There was screaming and sounds of fighting. Reesa waited outside for the all clear. Minutes later, as two of the policemen dragged a man out and toward the stairs, a third officer motioned her in.

Ms. White sat on a sagging couch. Her face was chalky gray. Greasy strands of hair hung limp at her shoulders. Skinny arms clutched at her middle as she rocked back and forth, whimpering, “Whatcha done with Darrell?” The neighbor had said she was in her thirties, but she looked much older.

Reesa looked quickly around the room. It was disgusting. And hot. An oscillating table fan did little more than push around the stale air and odors.

She should take pictures, but at the moment she was more intent on finding the two children. She crossed the stained shag carpet. Drug paraphernalia was strewn across a coffee table, and beer cans littered every surface. She walked past the kitchen area that was being used for storage or maybe garbage. It didn't look like a place where food was prepared. Definitely a firetrap.

One officer stayed guarding the door, keeping one eye on Ms. White. The other followed Reesa across the room.

She stepped into a second room and gagged. Behind her, the policeman said, “Shit.”

He was right. The place smelled like a sewer and was sweltering. It had to be in the nineties.

There were no lights on, so she groped along the wall and found a switch. The light didn't work.

“Can you open a window?” she asked, then covered her
mouth and nose with her hand, while the officer groped his way across the room. He tore away a blanket that they'd tacked to the window frame and forced open the sash, which let in a little air and enough light to show an unmade bed, stained and encrusted with filth, and a boy curled up in a ball, looking at Reesa with dull eyes.

He was so malnourished he couldn't even be afraid.

Reesa had to force herself to move closer. This was the worst situation she'd seen in a long time. If ever.

She didn't sit on the mattress but leaned over to the boy, careful to keep her clothes from touching anything.

“Hello, sweetheart, I'm Mrs. Davis, and I'm going to take you to get some food.”

His eyes closed.

“Sweetheart?” Reesa said quietly.

The boy's eyes opened slowly, blinked as if he were emerging from a hypnotic trance.

“Honey,” Reesa said. “Can you tell me where the baby is?”

Nothing.

Reesa looked around; there was a crib, but it looked like it was being used as a laundry basket. She didn't want to look more closely, but she had to find that baby.

She moved toward it and forced herself to peer down through the dirty clothes. The child was there, covered in a T-shirt too big for him, no diaper.

Reesa bit back a cry, moved closer. For a terrified moment she thought she was too late. She forced herself to touch the skin. It was warm; the little mouth moved, a slight sucking motion, so minute a movement that Reesa at first wondered if she was willing it to life. She leaned toward it to make sure; yes, the baby was sucking.

“Officer, call the EMTs. We'll need a pediatric harness and an infant carrier.”

He was still staring at the kid on the bed, his face twisted in the same emotions Reesa was feeling herself. Shock, disgust, compassion.

“Officer!”

He jolted to life. Grabbed his radio and began giving orders as he walked out of the room.

Reesa forced herself to return to the first boy. He was still alive. But for how long?

And rage bubbled up and tore through her.

She tried to force it back down. Tried to remember the times when things worked out, where parents did care and would be reunited, like last week and the Valentis. A couple who had fallen on hard times but who worked hard and who loved and deserved their children.

She stopped herself. She wasn't supposed to make emotional judgments, but today she couldn't help it. She wanted to lash out, yell at that piece of humanity sitting out on the couch, worried about her boyfriend.

A siren whined in the distance coming nearer and, after an eternity, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Reesa waited by the bedroom door and directed the EMTs to where two children lay near death.

She stepped aside, but not before she saw the revulsion on the emergency workers' faces. They recovered instantly. While one prepared the harness, the other two slid the boy onto the gurney.

A second team came in behind them, lugging an infant carrier. They moved toward the crib as Reesa followed the first gurney out of the room.

The mother just sat there sniffling while they hooked Jerome up to an IV. But when the second EMT came out carrying that small bundle, she threw herself off the couch. “What are you doing? Put my baby back! You can't take my baby!”

One of the policemen restrained her as the EMTs strapped the infant carrier onto a second gurney.

“There's one more at a neighbor's,” Reesa told them and started toward the door.

Ms. White broke away from the officer and lunged after Reesa. “You can't take them. You can't take my babies. You bitch! You . . .” She yelled a string of profanity that echoed down the dirty hallway.

Reesa took the stairs down to the first floor where hopefully she would find the oldest boy still alive.

She was almost afraid to knock. But it was her job. “Ms. McKinney, it's Reesa Davis from Child Protection. I'm here to take Pete where he can be cared for.”

Ms. McKinney called, “Coming, I'm coming,” with a thick Jamaican accent.

The chain rattled, the door opened, and Ms. McKinney opened the door. She was an older woman, with white cottony hair, dressed in a faded housedress and slippers. “Poor children. I didn't know. I didn't see until today.” She stepped back to let Reesa in.

“It's not your fault. You were brave to come forward. If you have any trouble because of this, call this number.” She handed the old woman her card. “If you fear for your safety, call 911 immediately.”

“Always fear for my safety here.”

“I'm going to have a colleague of mine give you a call, and see if we can do something about that, okay?”

Ms. McKinney nodded and shuffled back to the kitchen where Pete sat at a scrubbed kitchen table, clutching a loaf of bread.

“Hi, Pete,” Reesa said, trying not to let her voice betray her.

“She said I could have it,” Pete said, nodding to Ms. McKinney. “I didn't steal it.”

“You sure can have it,” the old woman said in a lilting way that in spite of the horror of the situation had a calming effect on both Reesa and Pete.

“Your brothers are waiting for you downstairs, Pete,” Reesa said. “We're going to a place where you can get cleaned up and eat and stay until everything is better.”

Pete shook his head.

“Your brothers are waiting for you.”

“Can't go.”

“Why?”

“Gotta take care of her.”

Reesa froze. “Your sister? Pete, do you have a sister?”

Pete shook his head. “My mama.”

Reesa and Ms. McKinney exchanged looks over Pete's head.