The Red Gloves Collection (17 page)

“Interesting, huh?”

Billy-G’s gruff voice interrupted Casey’s thoughts, and he dropped the paper to the counter. “Yeah.”

“So?”

Casey folded the paper in half and slid it a few inches from him. “So what?”

“Whadya think?”

“I think you ask too many questions, Billy-G.” Casey stood up and gave his friend a half smile. “I also think it’s time I get going. I’ll be back for a few hours around dinner.”

“I knew it.” Billy-G’s smile held a knowing.

“Knew what?”

“You’re gonna call.”

Casey shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay.” Billy-G gave a few soft chuckles. ‘You do that.”

Casey turned to leave, desperate to appear noncommittal. The idea was too fragile, too new, to expose it to the light of open conversation—even with someone like Billy-G. He needed to play it out in his mind first. Important decisions were always that way for him, taking root and growing in the hidden places of his heart before making their way out into the open.

Casey turned around before he left. “Great job today, Billy-G.”

His friend peered at him over his shoulder through the small window that separated the kitchen from the front counter. “Make the call.”

“See ya.” Casey raised his hand and headed toward the front door.

Under his arm was a folded-up newspaper. And stirring across the barren plains of his heart was something he hadn’t felt in a little more than two years.

The early-morning winds of hope.

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
he bad guys were getting the upper hand.

The first part of November was always this way, and Megan was suddenly too busy to worry about real love or long-ago summers or even her own lonely son. Crime was up 11 percent from a month ago, and Megan had two murder-one cases spread across her desk. Months like this could make or break a prosecutor, and Megan wouldn’t be broken by anything.

Besides, things were okay at home. Jordan’s behavior had improved some, and she was making a point of lying down with him for a few minutes every night before he fell asleep. Maybe that was all her son had needed, after all. A little more one-on-one time.

The idea was as comfortable as a bed of nails.

Who was she kidding? It was like her mother kept saying. Jordan needed a man in his life, someone to wrestle with him and lift him onto his shoulders and take in a basketball game with him every now and then.

“You work too much,” her mother had told her the night before. “You’ll never find a father for Jordan with your schedule.”

The comment had made Megan’s cheeks hot, and Jordan’s letter to God came to mind as it had nearly every day since she’d read it. “I’m not looking for a father for Jordan. Life doesn’t work that way.”

“It could, Megan.” Her mother’s voice was softly persistent. “It could if you’d look for it.”

Megan huffed and planted her hands on her hips. “You didn’t exactly go looking for a father when I needed one.”

Her mother had been silent for a moment, and a handful of emotions flitted across her eyes. Shock and anger, shame and regret. “I was wrong, Megan.” She stood and took a step toward her bedroom. “You’re young. Don’t make my mistakes all over again. It’s not fair to Jordan … or yourself.”

The conversation had played again in Megan’s soul several times that day, even as she held conversations with judges and researched precedents for her current cases.
Don’t make my mistakes all over again. It’s not fair to Jordan … or yourself.

Megan pushed back from her desk and drew in a sharp breath.

It was nearly six o’clock, and she had two more hours of going over briefs and depositions before she could go home. The office was quiet, most people gone except for a few evening clerks and an occasional assistant, finishing up whatever assignment had been passed down from one of the district attorneys.

She stood and headed down the hall to the break room. A cup of coffee would clear the cobwebs, stop her from thinking about her mother’s words and her son’s sad eyes and the letter he’d written to God. It wasn’t her fault things were such a mess. She and George hadn’t exactly been given a choice about how their lives had played out.

The break room was empty. Megan went to the coffeemaker, grabbed a tall Styrofoam cup, and poured herself some coffee. She opened the freezer door on the refrigerator, took two ice cubes, and dropped them into her cup. She liked her coffee black and lukewarm. Hot coffee took too much time to drink.

She was holding her cup, stirring the ice cubes with her little finger, when her eyes caught something on a folded section of the
New York Times.
Someone had placed the paper beneath the coffeemaker, and it had collected a circle of brown spots around the base of the pot. A headline showed near the top, and without meaning to, Megan read it.

“New Program Pairs Willing Adults with Grieving Children.”

She stopped stirring and set down her cup. A program for grieving children?

The newspaper was stuck to the bottom of the coffeemaker, and Megan lifted the pot, careful not to tear the article. She slid it out and held it close as she read through it. A children’s club in the city had set up a program called Healing Hearts that would pair adults with children who had experienced the death of one or both parents.

Suddenly Megan didn’t need the coffee. Her hands were shaking as though she’d already had five cups. A program for grieving children? It was exactly what Jordan needed! Megan left her cup on the breakroom counter and took the newspaper back to her desk. The club was probably closed at this hour, but it was worth a try.

She picked up the phone and punched in the numbers. Someone answered on the first ring.

“Manhattan Children’s Organization, may I help you?”

Megan opened her mouth, but no words came. Tears filled her eyes, and with her free hand she massaged the lump in her throat until she could speak. “I… I read about your program.”

The woman on the other end identified herself as Mrs. Eccles. “We have quite a few programs, ma’am. Could you be more specific?”

“Yes … ” Megan found the newspaper once more, and her eyes darted over the text. “It’s the Healing Hearts program. My … my son is a child like that.”

“I see.” The woman’s tone was noticeably softer. “Well, then, the first step is for you and your son to come down and fill out the paperwork, give us a chance to meet you and interview both of you. Then we’ll try to pair your son up with one of our male volunteers as quickly as possible.”

“You have … volunteers waiting for children?” The idea knocked the wind from Megan. Why hadn’t she heard of this sooner? She glanced at the date on the newspaper and saw that the article was nearly two weeks old.

“Yes, ma’am. The program’s quite popular.” She paused, and Megan heard a rustling sound in the background. “Can I sign you and your son up for an appointment?”

Megan thought of all she had to do at work, the depositions and briefs and precedents that had to be studied. An appointment would take time, maybe an entire afternoon. Time she certainly didn’t have. A single teardrop rolled down her cheek, and she dabbed at it with the sleeve of her silk jacket. “Yes.” She sniffed quietly and closed her eyes to stave off any more. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

T
he appointment took place a week later, and four days after that Megan took the call at work. It was Mrs. Eccles, and her voice rang across the phone line like a kind of early Christmas carol. “I have good news for you, Ms. Wright. We’ve found a match for your son.”

Megan leaned back in her office chair and held the phone more tightly to her ear. “You have?”

“Yes. I think you’ll be quite happy with our choice.”

“Is he … is he young or old?” Megan’s voice was breathy, and she could see the buttons on her blouse trembling with every heartbeat. Jordan hadn’t stopped talking about the program since they signed up. “Tell me about him, please. Did he … has he always wanted to help children?”

“Well… ” The woman hesitated. “His story’s a bit different than most.”

Megan’s shoulders fell a bit. Wasn’t that the point of the program, pairing children with adults who had a strong desire to help a lonely boy or girl? “Then … why did you pick him?”

“His wife died a few years ago, delivering their first child. The baby didn’t make it, either.” Some of the cheerfulness faded from the woman’s voice. “He saw the article about Healing Hearts and was very interested. Thought maybe it’d be good for both him and a hurting child.”

Remorse tapped at the door of Megan’s conscience. “Oh.” She wanted to let excitement grow within her again, but it all seemed so sad. “I’m sorry.” How could a man with that type of loss be any kind of positive influence on Jordan? She kicked her doubts back into the closet and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What else? Tell me about him.”

The woman gave as thorough an overview as possible. The man’s name was Casey Cummins. He was thirty-four and ran his own café in Midtown. He was interested in basketball, football, baseball, and anything outdoors, and, because of his job, his hours were flexible.

“He jogs three miles a day and has a master’s in business administration. He’d be happy to help with homework.”

Megan glanced at the murder files on her desk and felt the door to her closet of doubts creak back open. “What about the screening process?”

“We went over that at the interview.”

Megan crossed her arms and pressed her fist into the hollow near her lower rib cage. “I know that, but tell me anyway. I’m a district attorney, remember?” She paused and forced a more polite tone. “Specifically … how did this Casey check out?”

“No record of any criminal behavior with either the FBI or the local police. He’s never served time, never been arrested, no history of drug abuse. Never even had a speeding ticket, as far as we can see. He pays his bills on time and has an apartment about twenty blocks from his café. We spent several hours interviewing him here at the office, and of course we had a licensed social worker check out his residence.”

“And … ” Megan hated her suspicions, but after a week of waiting, the whole setup sounded too good to be true.

“We give our volunteers a rating, Ms. Wright. It’s not something we usually share with the child’s parent, but in this case—given your job—I think it might be okay to tell you. Mr. Cummins earned the highest possible marks in all categories. He’s the kind of volunteer we’re desperate for.”

Megan exhaled and felt herself relax. “So, then. When do they meet?”

“Today’s Monday. … The woman’s voice drifted off, and Megan heard her flipping pages. “Fridays are good for him, so let’s try for this Friday, November 14, say three o’clock?”

She shot a look at her own calendar. A hearing would take up most of the afternoon, and normally Megan would use early Friday evening to go over her notes from the past week. Still, maybe there was a way to make it work. “I have to be there, right?”

“Yes.” Megan could feel the woman’s disapproval. “Of course. You’ll come in with Jordan, and the two of you will spend an hour or so getting to know his special friend. Then, if you’re all comfortable with the idea, Mr. Cummins can spend another hour or so with your son either at the club or across the street at the park.”

“Right.” Megan pictured Jordan, the way his eyes would light up when he heard the news. He deserved this; she believed that with all her heart. Work would simply have to wait. “Okay, that’ll be fine.” She killed a heavy sigh before it could escape. “Three o’clock Friday.”

As she hung up, Megan realized something. Already she was looking forward to Friday, to meeting this Casey man and watching the way he might interact with her son. It was a wonderful idea, one that didn’t rely on her dating and coaxing someone into being a surrogate father for Jordan. Healing Hearts was a program based on honesty and need, where expectations and guidelines were spelled out from the beginning.

Jordan and Casey would get together once or twice a week and possibly speak on the phone. All of them would meet with the counselors at the Children’s Organization every month to discuss how the relationship was progressing, and to give each of them a chance to ask questions or air concerns.

Of course it was a good thing, and it was worth every minute of work she might have to forfeit to see that the setup was successful. Megan had planned to wait until after work to tell Jordan about the phone call, but suddenly she couldn’t think of anything else. She picked up the receiver again and dialed her home number. Jordan answered after only a few seconds.

“Hello?”

His young voice filled her heart, and her eyes felt watery. “Hi, honey. It’s Mom.”

“Hi! When’re you coming home?”

“Soon.” She gazed out her window and tried to picture his face. “Jordan, I got a call from the Children’s Organization today. You know… the ones trying to find you a special friend?”

Jordan sucked in a loud breath, and his words were louder and faster than before. “You mean … they found him?”

“Yes … yes, they found him.” A sound that was part laugh, part sob slipped from Megan’s throat, and for a few seconds she covered her mouth with her fingertips. “In fact, I think they found someone just right for you, buddy.”

T
he phone was ringing as Casey slipped through his apartment door and tossed his jacket on the chair. Work had been busy, but the wind gusts were worse than usual. At least once for each of the last ten blocks he’d thought about giving up and grabbing a taxi. But he’d pressed on, and now he was glad. He felt alive and awake, the same way he’d felt since doing the interview with the people at the Children’s Organization.

He hadn’t even been assigned a child yet, and already Healing Hearts was living up to its name.

He darted around the back of his old, worn sofa into the kitchen, and picked up the phone just as the answering machine clicked on. “Hello?” He cradled the receiver between his cheekbone and shoulder and tore the gloves from his hands. The moment his fingers were free, he punched the Off button on the answering machine. “Hello?”

“Yes, hi, this is Mrs. Eccles at the Manhattan Children’s Organization. We’ve matched you up with an eight-year-old boy, and we were wondering if you were available to meet him this Friday?”