Second Time's the Charm
Abraham watched her, his little fingers moving. By the time the song was done he was sitting calmly on Jon’s hip—looking around as though waiting for the adults in the room to figure out what they were doing so he could get on with his day.
“Thank you.” Jon didn’t know what else to say.
Lillie smiled, rolling up the sleeves of her white oxford. “Abe and I met last week,” she said. “Didn’t we, buddy?”
Abe stared.
The slender woman, only a few inches shorter than Jon’s six-foot height, held out her hand.
“I’m Lillie Henderson.”
“Jon Swartz,” he said, meeting her gesture with his free hand. And...getting a stab to his gut. It had been too long since he’d touched a woman’s skin. In any capacity. “You work here?”
“Yes and no.” The woman’s smile was unwavering. And all-encompassing. He just didn’t have time to fall under her spell as his son had done. He had to get to work.
“I’m a freelance child life specialist,” she said, as though he knew what that meant. “I have a small office at the clinic in town, as they pay the largest part of my salary and take up the brunt of my time, but I work out here at the day care and with some other private clients in the field, as well.”
“In the field?” He didn’t have time to be ignorant, either.
“Doctors’ offices outside of the clinic, the funeral home, schools. I go anyplace a child might need support getting through trauma.”
He nodded. And noticed that the entire time she’d been talking, she’d been softly rubbing the top of Abe’s hand.
“You ready to come with me and play for a while?” she asked the boy, switching her focus from father to son without missing a beat.
Prepared for the next onslaught, Jon tensed. And felt his son lean toward the arms outstretched in front of him. Without so much as a peep, the little boy made the switch from Jon’s arms to Lillie’s.
Acting as though he and Abraham had intercessions from heaven every day, Jon nodded and slid his free hands into the pockets of his jeans. Did he just leave now?
The woman, Lillie, was running a finger along Abe’s lower lip. “Let’s see if we can find you some juice, shall we?” she asked, and as the toddler nodded, she turned and headed through a door on the opposite side of the office leading into the day care. Just before the door closed behind her, she glanced over her shoulder at Jon, winked and was gone.
With no time left to spare, Jon hurried out to the front desk, confirmed that Lillie Henderson was permitted to have physical custody of his son and left.
But not before making one very clear determination.
He had to see her again.
* * *
LILLIE PULLED INTO the parking lot of the Shelter Valley Clinic a little past three on Thursday afternoon. She was early. Bailey Wright’s blood work wasn’t scheduled until four, but she wanted to make certain she was there to greet the six-year-old when her mother brought her in.
Bailey’s doctor suspected the little girl might be anemic and the six-year-old was deathly afraid of needles. Lillie’s job was to explain the blood draw procedure to the little girl in nonthreatening, nonfrightening terms―the pinch and pressure she would feel―and then to support her through the procedure, distracting her from anything and everything that upset her.
If Bailey tensed, the procedure would hurt. Lillie was there to see that the child stayed relaxed.
Her cell phone rang and she answered immediately, as always. “Lillie Henderson, can I help you?”
“Ms. Henderson, Bonnie Nielson gave me your number.” Bonnie, the owner of Little Spirits Day Care, had her permission to pass out all of her contact information. “This is Jon Swartz. You helped my son, Abraham, this morning.”
The gorgeous guy who’d had his ass whupped by a two-year-old.
“Yes, Mr. Swartz.” She and Bonnie had talked about Jon and Abe over lunch. Bonnie thought Lillie could help the single dad. Lillie wanted to try. For Abe’s sake. “Thanks for calling.”
“I owe you a huge thank-you,” the man said. “Abe’s going through a rough time with separation anxiety right now, but his pediatrician says it’s all part of the terrible twos. He assures me we’ll get through it.”
“Of course you will.” Grabbing her bag, she locked her car and, entrance card in hand and ready to swipe, headed toward the service door at the back of the clinic.
“I just didn’t want you to think he’s like that all the time.”
The man was on the defensive, she ascertained, distracted by the even timbre of his voice when she should have been 100 percent focused on his son’s issues.
“I’ve seen Abraham a couple of times over the past week,” she assured the harried father who, in all fairness, sounded completely calm. “He’s a very sweet, responsive boy,” she added, because it was true. “Except when he’s, as you say, exhibiting anxiety.”
“Usually he’s a prince,” Jon Swartz said as though they had all the time in the world, which she didn’t. Curiously, she didn’t tell him so. “He does whatever I ask of him.”
“He’s not a discipline problem at the day care, either, if that’s what’s concerning you. He does what he’s told, when he’s told. He doesn’t have altercations with the other children. But he has been experiencing seemingly inexplicable moments of extreme anxiety.”
Tantrums that in no way seemed to be a result of temper upsets. And because, a couple of times, they’d happened in the middle of the day, she wasn’t sure they were separation related, either.
“Mrs. Nielson suggested that I call you. She says that, as part of your work for her, she asked you to observe Abraham. She says you’re certified at what you do. And I need to know, do you think my son has a problem?”
“I think he’s struggling and I’d like to help, Mr. Swartz.” Holding her phone with one hand while she swiped her card and quickly pulled open the door with the other, Lillie lowered her voice in deference to the office suites opening up off both sides of the hallway.
From a therapeutic masseuse to an orthopedic surgeon, a dentist, several general practitioners, counseling services and three pediatricians, the Shelter Valley Clinic was home to more than forty health care professionals—including Lillie.
“I’d like a chance to speak with you. Is there a time we could meet?” she asked the father who’d been on her mind for much the day.
“With or without Abraham?”
“Without would be best, but either is fine. I understand that you don’t have a lot of free time. I will make myself available to fit your schedule. Early morning, late evening...”
She didn’t mind the long hours. She didn’t mind time off, either.
“I’m a little in the dark here about what we have to discuss.”
She’d reached the small room designated for Bailey’s procedure and had to go. Had to get the room ready for Bailey. She didn’t have time to explain what she, as a child life specialist, did.
“I’m trained to help little ones deal with anxiety—from trauma, separation or even just the stress inherent in learning to share. I’m at the day care a few hours every week, and Bonnie calls me in more when she thinks I can help. She’s noticed Abraham’s escalating stress in your absence and asked me to observe him. I have some ideas where he’s concerned,” she said, still on the phone when she shouldn’t be. Pulling stuffed animals out of her bag, she placed them around the room.
“You want to talk professionally?”
“Yes.” Her work was her life. Professional was pretty much all she was. The purple bear with the heart on his chest toppled over and she righted him.
“I can’t afford another bill right now. If he’s sick or exhibiting some symptoms that concern you, I’ll get him to his pediatrician immediately.”
“I don’t think your son is sick.” She was fumbling this entire conversation. Which wasn’t like her at all. “I’m talking about observations, not symptoms...” Placing the portable music player in a corner of the room, she scrolled through songs until she found the lullaby she wanted—soft, soothing.
“...and Bonnie pays for my services,” she added. Occasionally she took on private clients, but she made most of her money from the clinic, which used her services on behalf of its young patients. Shelter Valley schools called her in on occasion. And she got the weekly stipend from Little Spirits, too, but only because Bonnie wouldn’t let her work there without pay. Lillie had more than one client that she’d helped on a pro bono basis. And that was nobody’s business.
Turned out Jerry Henderson, Kirk’s father, had had different ideas than his son regarding Kirk’s mistress, Leah. And Lillie, Kirk’s wife. Lillie’s divorce settlement had been generous.
Which was nobody’s business, either.
Lillie could hear voices at the end of the hall. It sounded like Bailey’s mother.
“I have to go right now, Mr. Swartz. But I’d love to talk more if you’re interested.”
“I’ll be at the university in the morning,” he said. “I have a break between classes from nine until ten. We could meet there if you’re free.”
She had a procedure at the clinic at eight. And another, a PICC change for a little preemie who’d been released from a hospital in Tucson, at ten-thirty. “I’ll do my best,” she told him. She could make the date if the procedure at eight happened on time and without problems, and if she left the university by a quarter to ten.
Arranging to meet him outside the student center at nine, or to call him if she couldn’t, Lillie shoved her phone into the pocket of her rainbow-colored scrub top just as an extremely frightened-looking blonde sprite came hesitantly around the corner.
A genuine smile on her face, Lillie moved toward the girl and took Bailey’s small hand in hers. She spent the next half hour engrossed in the six-year-old’s trauma and doing everything she could to make the experience better for her.
Bailey made it through without shedding a tear.
CHAPTER THREE
“GOGGLES ON,” JON said as he stood back from the apparatus he and his lab partner, Mark Heber, had just built inside a safety-glass room at Montford University. If all went well they would soon know how quickly glass would craze when set five feet from a fire started by nail polish remover, and if, in the same amount of time, the same type of standard window glass would craze from a ten-foot distance.
“On,” Mark said, grinning as he joined Jon. “Light the fuse.”
Shaking his head, Jon motioned toward the long piece of fuse protruding from the puddle of accelerant. “It’s your turn,” Jon said.
A little more than halfway through the semester, the two “old men,” as they’d been dubbed in the freshman chemistry lab, had gained a bit of a reputation for the ingenuity, scale and success of their experiments. Jon’s lab partner, Mark, who’d worked as a forensics safety engineer for years without the title, and who was now in school to get the degree that would allow him to officially work in the field, deserved most of the credit.
Mark stepped forward, lit the fuse and ducked as a whorl of flame exploded from the puddle, bursting in front of them.
“Whoops.” Mark wasn’t smiling.
“Guess our calculations were a little off on this one.”
“The velocity of the fire was greater than we’d calculated for the amount of polish remover,” Mark said.
Straight-faced, they looked each other over.
“No singeing,” Jon declared.
“Make a note that idiots should not be allowed to play with fire,” Mark said as they stood, watching their piece of window as the fire burned down.
On the upside, the glass at the five-foot distance crazed—bearing spiderweb-type cracks that would allow arson investigators to determine that the fire had been set by an accelerant and that the glass had been close. The point of their experiment was to help arson investigators determine how long the fire had burned.
The glass at ten feet did not craze.
Another correct prediction.
“Nice experiment, gentlemen.” Professor Wood came up behind them. Several students had found their way to the room at the back of the lab to take a peek.
“A little less velocity,” Jon said, “and we’d have been perfect.”
“At least it didn’t burn out of the controlled area, or burn anything other than the intended substance,” Mark added.
Professor Wood nodded and, without another word, turned and left. “I’ll bet he’ll have some choice words for us when he tells his wife about this one,” Jon said.
“Is he married?”
“Hell if I know.”
Marriage wasn’t something he thought a lot about. Didn’t spend much time thinking about women at all these days. Or he hadn’t until the past twenty-four hours.
“Abe threw another fit yesterday at the day care,” he offered casually as he and his lab partner set to work cleaning up the mess they’d just created. He had half an hour before he was supposed to meet up with Lillie Henderson to find out what she had to say about his son.
“Yesterday was Thursday.”
“Yeah.”
“I thought he only threw fits on Saturdays. When you went to work instead of school.”
Jon had told Mark about the first fit. More than a month before. At work at the cactus jelly plant outside town where Mark, a supervisor, had gotten Jon a job as a janitor. They’d been having lunch.
He hadn’t seen Mark much at the plant since then. After one of the plant’s machines had broken down and Jon had been able to repair it and get it back up in time to make shipment, he’d been promoted to maintenance engineer. A fancy title for a guy who could fix things.
“That theory, that his tantrums were the result of an extra day of day care, proved to be false,” Jon admitted.
Frowning, Mark sprayed water on the metal piece that had held the puddle of accelerant. “You didn’t mention that you’re having more problems with him.”
Jon shook his head and, with gloved hands, lifted the crazed glass and put it in the trash receptacle. “I’m not,” he said. “Doc says it’s just the terrible twos, and from what I’ve read, we’re getting through it a lot easier than some.”
The room was half-clean. He had another fifteen minutes before he had to leave.
He’d pulled on his nicer pair of black jeans that morning and had been thinking about looking responsible, respectable, as he’d buttoned up the oxford shirt and rolled the cuffs to just below his elbows.
“He’s never had a problem when you leave him with us,” Mark pointed out. The thirty-year-old, together with his fiancée and grandmother, watched Abe one evening a week, giving Jon time to do whatever the hell he pleased.
Which usually meant homework but he was good with that.
“Maybe it’s the day care,” Mark offered. “Must be something there upsetting him.”
“Tantrums are normal. All I have to do is stay calm, not give in to him and this phase will pass. He’s testing his limits.”
Mark glanced his way for a long minute and then shrugged. “If you say so.”
His doctor said so. And he trusted his doctor.
* * *
JON DIDN’T TRUST Lillie Henderson. He found her attractive. But he didn’t trust her. He didn’t believe in angels. She’d told him that his son was not a discipline problem—Abe followed instructions and got along well with others.
But she’d said they needed to talk.
Like Abraham’s terrible twos were different from everyone else’s?
She’d also said that she’d met Abraham the week before, yet he hadn’t been told about a child expert being called in.
And that had his mind spinning noises he didn’t like.
Was someone making charges behind his back? Questioning whether or not Jon—a single guy in his twenties who worked and went to school full-time—was capable of providing for the needs of a two-year-old child?
Someone outside Shelter Valley?
Had Lillie been hired by someone other than Bonnie Nielson? Hired in secret by an older woman she wouldn’t ever mention?
An older woman with enough money to stay at Jon’s back until she got what she wanted?
The thought could be considered paranoid. He might even be able to convince himself of that if he hadn’t learned the hard way, more than once, about the duplicity of women.
At least, the women in his life.
Even then, he wasn’t afraid of the power of the opposite sex. What scared the shit out of him was his own culpability.
He’d made mistakes. Big ones. He wasn’t kidding himself. His past could be used against him—but only if his present supported the theory that he was still the loser he’d once been.
Had Lillie been hired to watch him? And his handling of his son? Could Abraham’s crying bouts—and Jon’s ineffectiveness in controlling them—be used against him?
One thing was for sure, university scholarship or not, he’d leave Shelter Valley immediately if anyone thought they were going to take his son away from him. Clara Abrams could follow him forever and he’d just keep moving one step ahead of her. She was not going to get Abraham.
Abraham. Named for the mother who didn’t want him, Kate Abrams. Jon’s first mistake as a parent.
His second had been in offering to let Abe’s maternal grandparents meet their grandson.
Abraham might not have everything life had to offer—he might not have designer clothes, or a mother who wanted him—but he did have a biological parent who would go to the grave for him.
Kids needed that.
And Jon was going to see that Abraham got it.
He’d learned a thing or three during his years of growing up in a system that didn’t always listen to the children in its care. He’d learned that the best way to find out what was being planned for you was to pretend to cooperate.
He had to meet Lillie Henderson. He had to appear to agree with her suggestions, whatever they might be—to accept her at face value. He had to pretend he had no suspicions regarding her sudden advent into his life.
And all the while, he’d be watching his back. His and Abraham’s. And be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.
He’d pack the bag again. The one Kate had helped him pack when she’d come to him over a year ago to tell him that her parents—mainly her mother—were planning to take Abraham away from him. She’d only found out herself in enough time to give him a few hours to skip town.
He’d played the disappearing act before. He knew the score.
He’d had to leave another town before Kate had managed to blackmail her mother into leaving him alone.
But Clara was crafty—her daughter had come by the talent naturally—he’d give her that. She could be on the warpath again.
After all, as Kate had told him on more than one occasion during the months they’d lived together, Abramses didn’t give up.
He’d pack the bag. Keep it ready in the closet. He’d put aside enough money to get them by on cash for a while if necessary. With the toddler, he’d need diapers and nonperishable food, too. And a warm blanket.
His mind spun, plans forming with a familiar clarity.
Running wasn’t new to Jon.
He’d just been fool enough to hope it was over.
* * *
WITH ONLY A minute to spare to get from the back of the public parking area to the Montford University Student Union, Lillie ran the entire way, thanking her joy of jogging and the serviceable rubber-soled shoes she wore to work for allowing her to sprint half a mile without passing out. She’d texted Jon Swartz, letting him know that she was on her way. She didn’t expect him to leave. She just hated to make people wait.
Spotting him leaning against the trunk of a paloverde tree, she slowed to a walk and took a second to smooth the blouse and jeans she’d put on when she’d changed out of her stained scrubs twenty minutes before. Her hair, in a ponytail, thankfully was still presentable.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, her breath even as she approached.
“No problem. I have an hour.”
Less than that, actually, if he wanted to get to class before it started. At least according to what he’d told her.
Not that it was her business.
Nor were those big brown eyes or the ease with which he held his body. The man was...all man.
And she wasn’t one who generally noticed. Or cared. Except in the most superficial sense.
She would walk away from this meeting and have nothing more to do with him, except as it pertained to his being Abraham’s father. The little guy had been on her mind all week. She couldn’t shake him. Which meant that she had a job to do.
“We can walk toward your class if you’d like,” she said, and without a word, he fell into place beside her. Not too close. But closer than he might have if they hadn’t been on a busy campus sidewalk thronging with students heading to and from classes.
“Bonnie tells me this is your first year at Montford,” she started. She had to get a feel for him if she was going to help him. Her job extended to family support as well as client support. Children needed healthy families.
“That’s right.”
He didn’t sound defensive so she continued. “What are you studying?”
“Premed. I’d like to be a doctor.”
“So you’d transfer after you get your undergraduate degree?”
He shrugged, his satchel riding against his denim-clad hip with ease. “I’ve looked at University of Arizona’s medical school in Tucson, but that’s a long way off. My first consideration is Abraham. He’ll be almost six by the time I graduate. I’m not going to uproot him if he’s settled in. I can always go to medical school when he graduates from high school.”
“So why major in premed?”
He turned, and she had no explanation for what his brown-eyed gaze did to her. “How much do you know about my situation?”
“Not much.” Lillie almost missed a step. Something else she didn’t usually do. “I just know that you’re raising Abraham by yourself. And that your son obviously means a lot to you.”
Jutting his chin, he nodded, his gaze turned in front of them again. His hands in his pockets, he continued to head across campus with the ease of a man who knew where he was going.
“I know that you work at the cactus jelly plant,” she added, wanting to be completely up front with him. The files of the children enrolled at Little Spirits contained the names of their parents’ employers. “And I know that you live in an apartment not far from my house,” she added. The complex was less than a mile from the home she’d purchased the previous year.
“That’s more than I know about you.”
“You’re right, it is. And that can change,” she told him. Her current life was an open book. “I admire what you’re trying to do,” she told him.
Was that why she couldn’t get the two Swartz men off her mind? Why thoughts of little Abe—and his dad—continued to pop up throughout her day?
She hardly knew them.
And here she was pushing services that he clearly didn’t want. Like she needed the work. Which she didn’t.
Another direct glance from him, and she reminded herself to put herself in his shoes, to seek to understand, to listen and find out what he needed so she would know if there was anything she could do. She was not only well trained, she was experienced.
And she knew she could help make his job easier. If he’d let her.
“What exactly is it that you think I’m trying to do?” he asked.
Students jostled against them on both sides, snippets of their conversations filling the air around them. The sun was uncharacteristically absent overhead. Lillie was aware of her surroundings—and not really. The man beside her was an enigma.
“Raising your son, getting a degree and working. It’s admirable.”
“It’s life,” he said. “I fathered a child. I was offered a scholarship—a chance to better myself—and I have to work to buy diapers.”
“Right. You didn’t have to accept the scholarship.”
Another glance. Were they growing sharper? “You’re kidding, right? You’d expect me to turn my back on an opportunity to be able to provide my son with more advantages as he grows up?”