When Love Comes Home

They changed planes in Atlanta, and on that last, short leg of the trip, he avoided personal conversation by discussing business, beginning with a particular form that she needed to sign. He’d mentioned it before, but she’d been in too much shock to really understand at that time.

“In other words,” she said, after he’d gone over the whole thing once again, “if I sign this, we’ll be pressing charges against Nolan in South Carolina as well as Arkansas. Is that correct?”

Pleased that she’d grasped the concept this time, he reached for an ink pen. “Exactly.”

“But I’m not sure that’s what I ought to do.”

His hand stopped with the slim, gold-plated barrel of the ink pen still lodged within the leather loop provided for it. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not sure I want to prosecute Nolan.”

Grady’s tongue seemed to run away with him. “Why on earth not?” he demanded. “The man kidnapped your son!”

The spike-haired lady across the aisle turned a curious gaze on them, and Grady realized he’d raised his voice.

“You think I don’t know that?” Paige said with some asperity. “Believe you me, I know what it’s like to miss your child with every fiber of your being, minute by minute, hour after hour, day after day after week after month…. And I realize that I’m about to do the same thing to Nolan that he did to me. The pain of that may be punishment enough.”

“That’s not the point,” Grady told her urgently, doing his best to keep his voice down. “This is about protecting you and Vaughn.”

“That is the point,” she insisted, sliding into the far corner of her seat and folding her arms. “I can’t let this be about retribution, and right now, for me, it is.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to. Suffice it to say that I’ve been seeing a counselor for some time now, and she, along with my Christian ethics, warn me against seeking any sort of vengeance.”

“What about what’s best for your son?”

“I think this is what’s best for my son,” she stated firmly. “Nolan is his father. Do you think he wants his father punished? I don’t think so.”

“I would,” Grady insisted. “Knowing he kept me away from my mother, I surely would.”

Paige shook her head. “You only say that because you can’t see the other side. You haven’t been a parent. You don’t know what it means to put the welfare of your child first. I’m sure Dan would understand what I’m trying to say.”

That stung, far, far more than it should have. She was correct, but that didn’t keep Grady from feeling great alarm on her behalf. As far as he was concerned, allowing Nolan Ellis to walk around free was a reckless and frightful thing for this woman and her son. His every instinct screamed for prosecution on every possible level, but all he could do was point out the legal loopholes that she would be leaving open if she failed to follow his advice.

She listened, but he could tell that he wasn’t convincing her. Frustrated, he searched for a way to compel her to accept his reasoning.

“No one would blame you if you locked him up and threw away the key!”

“That’s beside the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“Doing the right thing.”

For a moment he could only stare at her, wondering if she was for real. “This is the right thing.”

She stared back and finally said, “I’ll pray about it.” With that she turned away from him.

Confounded, Grady watched her bow her head and retreat into herself. He’d made his best case, giving her good, solid legal advice, but he might as well have saved his breath. Obviously they didn’t communicate as well as he’d thought.

This wasn’t the first time his legal advice had been rejected, after all, not by a long shot, but he’d never been more disturbed about it.

Popping his seat back again, he folded his arms and shut his eyes, determined to finally catch a few minutes of rest or at least some peace.

Both would prove to be in very short supply.

They touched down at the Greenville-Spartanburg International Airport at a quarter past eleven that morning. After renting a car, they drove to the Greenville County Sheriff’s Department where Vaughn waited, having spent the previous night in a group foster care facility. Grady had not pressed Paige for a decision about prosecuting Nolan, which was good since she truly didn’t know what she was going to do.

Now that the moment to see her son again—after three years, six months and one day—had finally arrived, Paige was so nervous she felt ill. Pressing a hand to her abdomen and surreptitiously gulping down air in an effort to settle her stomach, she walked through the heavy glass door that Grady held open for her. They met briefly with a polite, efficient uniformed officer who checked their paperwork and led them through a narrow hallway to a private conference room.

Her heartbeat grew louder and the knots in her stomach pulled tighter and tighter with every step that she took, so that by the time Grady paused with his hand on the plain, brushed steel doorknob, she could barely breathe.

“Ready?” he asked softly.

Reminding herself that Vaughn might be ambivalent at first, she pulled her spine straight and nodded. As that heavy, metal door swung inward, she began to tremble. Grady pushed into the small, crowded room. She practically ran over him, suddenly so eager that she could not contain herself.

Everything registered at once: pale walls, pale floor, pale, rectangular table flanked by lightweight metal chairs with blue, molded vinyl seats. A green-and-white bag with some team logo printed in red sat in the center of the table, stuffed so full of clothing that it couldn’t be zipped. Two women—one young, white and plump with a brown ponytail, the other African-American, slender and slightly older—occupied two of the chairs on the near side of the table.

Across from them sat a boy, a stranger, who shot abruptly to his feet.

Paige’s first thought was that they’d made a mistake. This could not be her son. He stood at least as tall as her own five feet, with no trace of the bright copper-blond hair that had crowned her baby boy. Instead, the thick, fine locks falling haphazardly over his brows, tangling with the thick lashes rimming his warm brown eyes, was a rich auburn. Then he tossed his head defiantly, and she caught a glimpse of a jagged scar just above his right eyebrow, the scar he’d gotten tumbling headlong off the porch into the shrubbery.

“Vaughn!”

How she got around the table she didn’t know, but when she threw out her arms, he flinched and backed away. She’d been told to expect this, and yet disappointment seared her trembling heart. Sucking in a deep breath, she forced her feet to slow.

It was like approaching a feral animal, once domesticated but now wild. He seemed uncertain, but she sensed that he definitely recognized her. Carefully, her lips quivering, she slipped her arms around him. Perhaps it wasn’t wise, but she had to, had to, hold him, if only for a moment.

“Mom,” he whispered in a voice she would never have recognized and yet somehow knew.

Only with great effort did she manage not to sob, but stopping the tears completely was impossible. She smiled through them, cupped his slender, oval face in her hands, pulled it gently forward and laid her forehead to his as she had so often in the past.

“Thank You, God. Thank You. Thank You.”

Chapter Three

Vaughn let her hold him for a time, but then the two women at the table introduced themselves, and he pulled away. The young one was a caseworker with Child Protective Services, the other a Victims Services agent with the county sheriff’s office. After making themselves known, they seemed content to sit back and observe, leaving Paige to focus once more on her son.

He had backed into the corner of the room, his arms tightly folded across his chest. It was not a good sign. Paige tried not to take offense. It was only to be expected. He’d spent the last three-and-a-half years with his father. He was bound to be confused. She couldn’t help noting that he was a handsome boy whose shoulders were already broadening, and now that she got a good look at him, she realized something else.

“You look like my dad.”

He frowned. “No, I don’t. I look like my dad.”

“You’re built like Nolan,” she agreed quickly, aware that she was tiptoeing through a minefield here, “and you have the same coloring, but that’s my father’s chin and nose you’ve got.” He bowed his head, as if rejecting anything she might say. Paige gulped and searched for some way to meaningfully engage him. “Do you remember your grandfather?”

Vaughn snorted, glancing up at her sullenly. “’Course. I wasn’t that little when he died.”