Читать книгу: «Family by Design», страница 2

“Good.”

Maddie blinked.

“A dedicated caregiver is the best medicine any patient can have.” J.C.’s tone remained mild. His gold-flecked brown eyes were more elusive. “I’ll call you when I have the results. Should be about two days.” With a nod, he left.

Maddie wasn’t certain what to think. Plopping the palm of her hand against her forehead, she wished she could travel back in time a few minutes. This doctor was a road of hope for her mother and she’d just insulted him. Refusing to consider that her defensive reaction could have anything to do with her attraction to him, she bit down on her thumbnail.

Catching sight of the technician, she tried to shove the thoughts away and decided it would be easier to tame an infuriated horde of wasps.

J.C. strode down the familiar corridors toward his office. The sandy-beige walls were lined with portraits of the hospital’s founders and patrons. But he wasn’t looking at any of them. He wanted to kick something, preferably himself. Maddie Carter had been on his mind since the day they’d met. He’d sensed an empathetic soul. One who could understand what he was going through.

A tall, slim man in a white coat plopped himself in J.C.’s path. “Someone put cactus needles in your scrubs?”

J.C. immediately recognized the voice. “Adam.”

His colleague and friend Adam Winston tugged at the stethoscope looped around his neck. “I don’t normally drive into tornados, but from the look on your face, I think you might need some help getting out of the storm.”

“Just a mild gale.” J.C. exhaled. “Put too much thought into a nitwit notion.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

“Don’t you have rounds?”

Adam shrugged. “Not for another hour.” Amiable, persistent, often brilliant, Adam wasn’t going anywhere without an answer.

J.C. summarized his two meetings with Maddie. “That’s it,” he concluded.

Adam’s knowing look was both confusing and annoying. “Uh-huh.”

“Don’t try to make something out of this.”

Whistling, Adam winked, then briefly shook his head. “I don’t need to. You’ve got that covered.”

J.C. clenched his teeth. Realizing he had, he made himself relax.

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that this woman’s under just as much strain as you are?” Adam continued. “When she saw you instead of the tech, she probably thought her mother had suffered another stroke. Wouldn’t be the first time a test triggered one.”

“I’m sure she’s stressed.”

“Are you? Have you checked out the situation? Does anyone help care for the mother? Or is she on her own?”

Remembering that Lillian had said Maddie was an only child, J.C. didn’t reply.

“If she’s the full-time live-in caregiver, you know she could be ready to crack.” Adam twirled the end of his stethoscope.

J.C. hadn’t asked about the details of Lillian Carter’s care. Had he done what he’d despised in others? Judged without knowing the facts? Worse even, judging at all?

Chapter Three

J.C. pulled into the semicircle driveway at the front of the Rosewood Community Church school. He was late. Again. Didi had picked up Chrissy a few times for him, but she was busy. Besides, he couldn’t expect his employees and friends to sacrifice any more than they already had.

The school was nearly deserted. Only the teachers’ cars remained in the parking lot and a few kids were kicking a ball on the playground. Chrissy sat on the steps, clutching her backpack, looking lost.

Poor kid. First she felt deserted when her parents died; now she felt just as abandoned by him. Turning off the car, he got out to meet her halfway. Her face was more than sullen; fear and vulnerability were just as apparent.

“Chrissy, I’m sorry. No excuses. I’m late.”

Although she tried to control it, her lips wobbled. “I know.”

“How about a big chocolate shake at the drugstore?” The old-fashioned marble fountain was one of Chrissy’s favorite places.

“Uh-uh,” she replied, shaking her head.

J.C. would have reached for the child’s backpack so he could carry it to the car, but she still clutched it like a lifeline. She’d had the backpack with her at the pajama party, untouched by the poisonous carbon monoxide. Untouched by what had changed her life forever.

J.C. wished he could think of something to distract her, to ease the pain from her face. But fun hadn’t been on the agenda for quite a while now.

Chrissy settled in her seat, scooting forward suddenly, pulling up a bag that was wedged beneath her. “What’s this?”

“Some trial medications for a new patient. I’ve been meaning to drop them off …” But every time he thought about it, he pictured Maddie’s anger.

“Why don’t we go now?”

He stared at his niece. “You want to go?”

She shrugged. “Nothing else to do.”

Except a mountain of dictation, articles, more work than he wanted to think about. “Right.” But the stop would distract Chrissy. “Nothing else to do.”

The Carter home wasn’t far. J.C. had copied their address on the sample bag. Located in one of Rosewood’s oldest neighborhoods, the house was an unimposing Victorian. Neither grand nor tiny, it spoke of the families that had inhabited it over the generations. The yard and flower beds were tidy, the porch and driveway well swept. But he noticed the aging roof and the peeling paint on the second-story fascia and gables.

An aged but inviting swing flanked two well-worn rocking chairs on the wide porch. It was quiet as they climbed the steps, then knocked on the outer screen door.

Within just a few moments the door swung open. Taken aback, Maddie stared at him, then collected her voice. “Dr. Mueller, I wasn’t expecting you.” Her gaze shifted to include Chrissy. “Hello.”

Chrissy ducked just a fraction behind him. J.C. put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “This is my niece, Chrissy.”

“Good to meet you, Chrissy.” Maddie pushed the screen door back. “Come in. I just put the kettle on.”

Chrissy looked up at him in question.

J.C. patted her back. “Actually, we just stopped to drop off samples of a new medication for your mother.”

“Do you have time for tea?” Maddie asked, not a bit of the anger he remembered anywhere in sight.

He glanced down at his niece. She didn’t look averse to the idea. “I guess so. Thanks.”

“Mom’s in the living room,” Maddie explained, leading the way from the small entry hall. She glanced at Chrissy. “In a house this old, they used to call the front room a parlor, but ours isn’t the elegant sort.”

Looking intrigued, Chrissy listened quietly.

“Mom? Dr. Mueller stopped by to have tea.”

Lillian sat in a faded green rocker recliner. Seeing her guests, she brightened. “I love meeting new people!”

“This is Dr. Mueller’s niece, Chrissy,” Maddie began.

Lillian clapped her hands together. “Oh, my! You look an awful lot like my Maddie when she was your age.” She patted the chair next to hers. “Come. Sit.”

Chrissy’s normal reluctance dimmed and she crossed the room. “I thought you knew my uncle James.”

Lillian smiled. “Perhaps I do. You’ll have to tell me all about him.”

Chrissy looked at him, then turned back to Lillian.

“He’s a doctor. And he’s real busy.”

J.C. flinched.

“I imagine you stay busy with school.” Lillian’s gaze landed on the ever-present backpack. “Just like my Maddie, always did her homework straightaway.”

Chrissy stroked the pink bag and halfheartedly shrugged. “Sometimes.”

Lillian’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Sometimes we baked cookies first or built a playhouse.”

“You built a playhouse?” Chrissy asked in wonder as Lillian dug into the purse that was always at her side.

Lillian produced a roll of Life Savers and offered them to Chrissy. “Sure did. My father thought a girl should know how to use a hammer and a saw. He liked to make things with his hands, so he taught me in his workshop.”

Chrissy swallowed. “My dad did, too.”

Lillian patted her knee. “Sounds like we had wonderful fathers.”

Strange. It was as though somehow Lillian sensed Chrissy’s father was gone, as well.

J.C. heard a whistle from the other side of the house. No doubt the teakettle. Considering, he watched his niece, saw that her attention was entirely focused on Lillian. Pivoting, he followed the sound of the fading whistle to the kitchen. A carpet runner covered the oak floor in the long hall; it also muffled the sound of his footsteps.

He paused beneath the arched opening to the kitchen. Maddie was scurrying around the room, pushing strawberry-blond hair off her forehead with one hand, reaching for a tray with the other. Seeing that it was perched on one of the higher shelves, he quickened his pace. “Let me get that for you.”

Whirling around at the sound of his voice, she looked completely, totally, utterly flustered.

“Guess I need to stop doing that. Coming up from behind, surprising you.”

Her throat worked and her blue-gray eyes looked chastened. “I feel terrible about how I reacted the other day. It’s just that Mom’s gotten so fragile, and …” Moisture gathered in her eyes and she quickly wiped it away. “I’m so afraid that the next stroke …” Again her throat worked, but she pushed past the emotion. “I know she needs these tests—”

J.C. lightly clasped her arm. “Being a caregiver is the most stressful job I can imagine. Do you have enough help?”

“Help?” Maddie nodded. “Samantha relieves me so that I have some extra time when I run errands, but she has her own family to take care of. Neighbors and people from church sit with Mom, too, when they can.”

He’d reread the file and knew that Lillian was widowed. With no siblings, did that mean that Maddie was the sole caregiver? “It’s important that you have time for yourself.”

She laughed, a mirthless sound. “Hmm.”

Spotting the cups on the table, he took her elbow, guiding her to the table. “Let’s sit for a few minutes.”

“But your niece—”

“Is taken by your mother. Best Chrissy’s acted in a while. Tea smells good.”

Distracted, Maddie glanced at the tabletop. “It’s probably the vanilla you’re smelling.”

J.C. sat in the chair next to hers. “Who else helps you take care of Lillian?”

“Just me.”

J.C. knew that endless caregiving could suck the life from a person. And Lillian had required home care for nearly a decade. “Have you lost some of your relief help?”

“Never had any.” Picking up the sugar, she offered it to him.

“But when do you have time for yourself?”

She lifted the porcelain strainers from their cups. “I don’t think of it like that. This is my life, my choice. It’s hard for other people to understand.”

“What about before Lillian’s strokes? You must have had plans.”

An indecipherable emotion flashed in her now bluish eyes and then disappeared. Had her eyes changed color? Or was it a trick of the light?

“That’s the thing about the future,” Maddie replied calmly. “It can always change. So far, mine has.”

Since J.C. had witnessed that she wasn’t always a serene earth muffin, he sipped his tea, wondering exactly who the real Maddie was. “This is unusual. Don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything quite like it.”

“The tea’s my own blend,” she explained.

“How did you come to make your own tea recipe?”

She chuckled, some of her weariness disappearing. “Not just one recipe. I blend all sorts of teas.”

“Same question, then. How did you start making your own tea?”

“I’ve always been fascinated by spices. I can remember my grandfather telling me about the original spice routes from Asia and I could imagine all the smells, the excitement of the markets. So my mother let me collect spices and we’d make up recipes to use them in. Then one day I decided to add some fresh nutmeg to my tea.” Her cheeks flushed as her enthusiasm grew. “Mom always made drinking tea an event—using the good cups, all the accessories. Anyway, Mom bought every kind of loose tea leaf she could find so I could experiment. For a time our kitchen looked like a cross between an English farmhouse and a laboratory. After college I planned to open a shop where I could sell all my blends.” She leaned forward, her eyes dreamy. “And I’d serve fresh, hot tea on round bistro tables covered with white linen tablecloths. Oh, and little pastries, maybe sandwiches. Make it a place people want to linger … to come back to.”

“The tea shop your mother said should be smack dab in the middle of Main Street?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Did you ever get a shop set up?”

Maddie shook her head. “I was investigating small business loans when Mom had her first stroke, the major one. Luckily, I’d graduated from U.T. by then.”

“Have you considered starting the business? Using part of the profits to hire someone to stay with your mother while you’re working?”

“Our funds aren’t that extensive. I took enough business classes to know I’d have to factor in at least a year of loss before we’d show any profit. Or just staying even. Doesn’t leave anything for caregiver salaries. Besides, Mom’s happy with me.”

“Don’t forget I’ve got a building that needs a tenant if you change your mind. Plenty of room for a shop and tearoom.” He swallowed more of his tea. “What about the senior center activities we talked about? That would fill several hours a day.”

Maddie’s smile dimmed. “As the first step toward a nursing home?”

“Nothing of the kind. If Lillian responds to her new medication, she could well enjoy spending time with people her own age.”

“Her friends have been loyal,” Maddie objected. “People stop by fairly often to visit her.”

J.C. studied the obstinate set of her jaw. “But not to visit with you?”

Maddie looked down, fiddling with the dish towel still in her lap. “People my age have young families of their own to take care of.”

A situation he knew only too well.

“It’s difficult for someone who’s never been in this position to understand,” Maddie continued. “I’m sure you’re busy with your work … and it probably consumes most of your time, but I can’t walk away from my mother. It’s not some martyr complex. It’s my choice.”

“And sometimes there isn’t a choice.”

Maddie scrunched her eyes in concentration. “Your niece? Chrissy? You said something about how she was behaving. Is there a problem?”

J.C. explained how he’d come to be his niece’s guardian. “I don’t blame her for acting out. She’s lost everyone she loves.”

Unexpectedly, Maddie covered his hand with hers. “Not quite everyone.”

He stared at her long, slender fingers.

“Dr. Mueller? J.C.?”

“Sorry.” He pulled his gaze back to hers. “Chrissy’s been fighting with some of the girls at school, her grades are slipping.” And she was miserable.

“What about your babysitter? Do they get on well?”

“We’ve been through a parade of sitters and housekeepers. Can’t keep one.”

Concern etched Maddie’s face. “Can I help? She could spend afternoons with us. Does she go to the community church school? We’re in easy walking distance.”

“Don’t have enough on your plate?” J.C. was dumbfounded. Maddie claimed she wasn’t a martyr, but …

“It’s what we do.”

He felt as blank as he must have looked.

“You know, here in Rosewood. She’s a child who needs any help we can give her.”

It was how J.C. had been raised, too. “Maybe from people who have the time. You’re exhausted now. I’m not going to add to that burden.”

The fire in her now stormy-gray eyes was one he remembered. “It’s not a burden. I realize my situation isn’t for everyone, but it works for me. And I have enough energy to spare some for Chrissy.”

She was pretty remarkable, J.C. decided. Even more remarkable—she didn’t seem to realize it.

Chapter Four

J.C. stood in front of his sister’s closet in her far-too-quiet home. Fran’s things were just as she’d left them. Not perfectly in order; she was always in too much of a hurry to fuss over details she had considered unimportant. No, she’d lavished her time on her family, especially Chrissy.

A cheery yellow scarf dangled over an ivory jacket, looking for all the world as though Fran had just hung it up. Anyone searching through the rooms would never conclude it had been a scene of death. Instead, it looked as though Fran, Jay and Chrissy could walk in any moment, pick up their lives.

Fran would be laughing, teasing Chrissy and Jay in turn, turning her hand at a dozen projects, baking J.C.’s favorite apple crumble, inviting friends over.

There hadn’t been an awful lot of time to ask why. Why had they perished? Especially when each had so much to give. Caught up in trying to care for Chrissy, the questions had been shelved.

J.C. was on borrowed time even now. He had thought he could make some sort of inventory of the house so that he could set things in motion, have the important contents stored, the house rented. But he couldn’t bring himself to even reach inside the closet.

Other people survived loss. As a doctor, he’d seen his share and then some. But how did they take that first step, put the gears in motion? Fran had managed when their parents passed away. She had thoughtfully sorted out mementos for each of them, things she had accurately predicted he would cherish. Now, he needed to do the same for Chrissy.

His friend Adam suggested hiring an estate service, one that could view everything with an eye to its current or future value. To J.C., the process sounded like an autopsy. Backing away from the closet, he tore out of the room. Striding quickly, he passed through the living room, then bolted outside. Breathing heavily, he sank into the glider on the porch, loosening his tie.

The breeze was lighter than a bag of feathers, but he drew in big gulps of air. He’d never been claustrophobic, but he felt as though he’d just been locked in an airless pit. He pictured Chrissy’s stricken face. Maybe it wasn’t so illogical that she wouldn’t step foot in the house.

Lifting his head, he leaned back, his gaze drifting over the peaceful lane. School was in session, so no kids played in the yards or rode their bicycles in the street. A few houses down, Mrs. Morton was weeding her flower bed and a dog barked. Not that there was much to bark at. Extending his gaze, he spotted a woman pushing a wheelchair on the sidewalk across the street. The color of her hair stirred a note of recognition.

Maddie Carter? Shifting, he leaned forward, focusing on the pair. It was Maddie, pushing Lillian’s wheelchair. Although Lillian could walk, she tired easily. Combined with the mental confusion, he understood why Maddie chose to use the chair.

They were within shouting distance when Maddie glanced across the street. Recognition dawned and she leaned down to say something to her mother. Walking a few feet farther, Maddie detoured off the sidewalk via a driveway and used the same method to reach the front of Fran’s house.

Trying to tuck his emotions beneath a professional demeanor, J.C. walked down the steps.

Apparently he wasn’t completely successful.

“What’s wrong?” Maddie greeted him, her eyes filled with sudden concern. Today her eyes picked up some of the green of the grass, rendering them near-emerald.

J.C. straightened his tie, but couldn’t bring himself to pull it into a knot. The strangled feeling from being in Fran’s house hadn’t dissipated. “This is my sister’s house.”

Understanding flooded Maddie’s expression. “Are you here by yourself?”

J.C. nodded. “Chrissy won’t come back.”

“What can we do?”

He glanced at the wheelchair. “Your hands are full enough.”

Maddie patted Lillian’s shoulder in a soothing motion. “My mother always enjoys visiting new places.” She met his gaze. Both knew most anywhere other than her own home was now a new place for Lillian.

The older woman smiled at him kindly. “Young man, you need a bracing cup of tea.”

Apparently even his patient could see his distress. “I don’t have the makings for tea.”

“We do,” Lillian replied, craning her head around and up toward Maddie. “Don’t we?”

“Yes, but maybe Dr. Mueller would like to just sit on the porch.”

“Well, now, I’d like that myself,” Lillian replied.

Shedding his own worries, J.C. offered his arm. “Would you care to sit in the glider?”

She giggled, a young, fun sound. “I always have.”

As he helped her rise from the wheelchair, J.C. imagined she’d had a fair share of male attention in her youth. In ways, he could see an advantage in having only partial memories. Hopefully the bad ones faded and only the good stayed.

Once Lillian was settled on the glider, he pulled two rattan chairs close, offering one to Maddie. With the glider set in gentle motion, Lillian’s eyelids fluttered near closing.

“What was it?” Speaking quietly, Maddie tilted her head toward the house. “Inside?”

J.C. thought of a dozen noncommittal answers. “Everything.”

“It was hard after my dad died,” Maddie sympathized. “You said Chrissy won’t come back?”

“Completely freaked out when I tried,” he replied in an equally quiet tone. “Said she never wants to come back, that the house killed her parents.”

Maddie’s forehead furrowed. “Were you thinking of moving in here, so Chrissy would have all her familiar things?”

“That and because we’re two people living in a one-person tent. So to speak,” he explained. “I have a small one-bedroom apartment and it’s not good.”

“And you’re certain Chrissy won’t change her mind?”

“Absolutely.”

Maddie hesitated. “Are you going to sell the house?”

“Thought about renting it out in case Chrissy changes her mind in the future. But right now … I can’t rent it with all of my sister’s belongings still inside.”

“That’s what got to you,” Maddie murmured. “There’s still a sweater and bathrobe of my dad’s in Mom’s closet.”

The dog down the street barked again. And Mrs. Morton crossed the street to talk to her neighbor.

J.C. barely knew Maddie. Funny to be having this conversation with her. But none of his friends could really empathize. Some had lost a parent, but no one had lost everyone. Certainly no one else had the crucial role of caring for the sole survivor.

Maddie swiped at her wayward hair. He liked the way it sprang back with a mind of its own. “Do you have anyone to help you go through your sister’s belongings?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “No one else will know what’s important.”

“Not necessarily,” she objected mildly. “Thinking of things in categories could help. You can decide if there’s a special garment, like my dad’s sweater, you want to save. If not, then it doesn’t take a personal eye to empty closets. Same is pretty much true for the kitchen with the exception of heirloom pieces. Furniture can be sorted through, or just stored for now. Jewelry, papers, other keepsakes can be packed and labeled for when you feel it’s time to decide about them.”

J.C. sighed. “You make it sound reasonable—”

“It is if you’ll accept help.”

“It’s not a job I can ask anyone to tackle.”

“You didn’t ask. I’m offering.” With her back against the cloudy gray exterior of the house, Maddie’s eyes had changed again. But this time the gray held no storm warnings. “Before you mention my mother, she’ll come with me. I’m guessing there’s a comfortable chair and a television. It’ll be an outing for her that isn’t tiring.”

“For her, maybe not. But you—”

“I can’t believe I look that fragile,” Maddie declared. “To hear you talk, I’m so delicate it’s a wonder I don’t blow away in the breeze.” She held out one hand as though testing the air. “Even in this breeze. You, of all people, should know how good it makes a person feel to help someone. I’d like to help. You’re doing Mom a world of good. I can already see small improvements. Besides, you and Chrissy need to be able to move on. Once this house is rented to another family, it won’t seem so scary anymore.”

“A friend suggested hiring an estate service,” he admitted.

“That might be taking it a tad too impersonal. Do you recall grilling me about who helps with Mom? Now, it’s my turn. Who helps with Chrissy? Who can sort through the house? If that’s you, will it be between appointments and surgeries?”

“And I thought I felt bad being inside the house.”

She laughed, tipping her head back, allowing the laughter to gather and spill like a bright waterfall. “Touché.”

Somehow, his dread had disappeared.

Maddie held out her hand, palm side up, her eyes still dancing. “I’ll need a key.”

“I’m a little nervous,” Maddie admitted, fitting the key in the lock.

“You should be.” Samantha rolled her eyes. “I still can’t believe—”

“Other-may,” Maddie resorted to pig Latin to remind her friend of Lillian’s presence.

“Oh, now you remember.”

“I never forgot.” The key to Fran’s house turned easily and Maddie pushed open the door. “Mom, you like getting out, don’t you?”

Lillian smiled. “I like new places.”

Samantha rolled her eyes again. “And it’ll be new for a month of Sundays.”

Maddie elbowed her friend. “I thought you liked J.C.”

“I didn’t expect you to take on organizing his life.”

Maddie flinched. “Do you think he feels that way? And quit rolling your eyes before they fall out of your head.”

“The only one here out of her head—”

Maddie grasped the handles of her mother’s wheelchair and pushed her inside. “How about some TV, Mom? The cable’s still on, so you can watch a movie or Animal Planet.”

Lillian considered. “Have I seen Animal Planet before?”

She watched it every day. “I think so.” Flipping through the channels, Maddie put the TV on an old movie her mother had seen dozens of times. Fortunately, it was new to her each and every time. Uncapping the thermos of tea she’d brought, Maddie poured some in a cup and placed it on the table next to Lillian.

She caught up to Samantha in the hallway, where she stood, leaning slightly on her cane as she studied family pictures grouped over a console table. “Seems hard to believe they just went to sleep and never woke up.”

“I don’t know J.C. well enough to say this, but I think he feels the same way.”

“As though he might wake up one day and find out it was all just a bad dream.” Samantha shook her head. “That’s how I felt about Andy.” Samantha’s brother had died in a plane crash, ending his young life far too soon.

Maddie linked her arm with Sam’s. “What we’re doing, it’s a good way to give back.”

Sam’s voice thickened. “Yeah.” When she had returned to Rosewood paralyzed from a fall, she’d nearly burned down her parents’ entire home. She succeeded in destroying the kitchen. But friends and neighbors had stepped up, rebuilding it, making it even better than before. And in the process, she had reconnected with her old love and now husband, Bret. Sam cleared her throat. “Where do you want to start?”

“Master bedroom, I think. J.C. insists on hiring someone to move the boxes once they’re packed, so I’d like to retrieve the jewelry for his safety deposit box. Then I thought of recording an inventory.” She held up her cell phone. “I can shoot photos of the big pieces to J.C., let him decide what to keep.”

They entered the carpeted master bedroom, feet sinking pleasantly into the deep pile. The four-poster bed looked as antique as the fireplace it flanked. In the curve of the bay window was a cozy reading area.

“Nice,” Sam murmured.

Maddie walked to the open closet, seeing what J.C. had, instantly understanding why it had been so difficult. Although Maddie hadn’t known Fran, remnants of her personality remained.

“What does he want to do with the clothes?”

“Donate them. But I thought we might find one outfit that we’d tuck away for Chrissy.”

“Wonder if Fran kept her wedding dress,” Samantha mused.

“Oh, Sam! That’s perfect! You old softie, I said you’d turned into a romantic.”

Samantha grinned. “Okay. So we’re both hopeless.”

The doorbell rang. A young man sent by J.C. to deliver packing boxes offered his help. Maddie showed him to the dining room where he could assemble the flat cartons.

“Efficient,” Samantha commented, sitting on the bed, folding clothes. “You’re right. Emptying this room first will make it easier for J.C. The longer we put off clearing Andy’s room, the worse it was.”

Maddie crossed the room to the dresser, then slid open the top drawer. A vintage leather jewelry box sat inside. “I’m guessing Fran inherited her mother’s jewelry. Two generations of mementos for Chrissy.”

“Poor kid. I can’t imagine losing my parents now … but when you’re nine years old?” Samantha smoothed the lines of the dress she was folding. “Still, I can’t help worrying about you. Even though you always act chipper, I know the constant caregiving gets to you. And now this …”

Maddie turned to speak, but Sam cut her off.

“I know, I know. Helping people makes you feel better. But face it, even you have to admit this is a depressing chore.”

The jewelry box still in her hands, Maddie stroked it absently. “If you could have seen his eyes …”

Samantha sighed. “It’s my own fault. I just didn’t expect you to wind up …” she waved her hands around “… here.”

Maddie thought of J.C.’s face, the bleak expression, the unexpected spark of hope. Swallowing, she wished it hadn’t meant so very much to her.