When Love Comes Home

He’d been five and inconsolable. The memory of how he’d cried for his grandpa wrenched her heart. Had he cried like that for her? She wouldn’t ask, for both their sakes.

Chairs scraped back as first the Child Protective Services caseworker and then the Victims Services agent rose. “I think we’ve heard all we need to,” the VS agent said, her dark face parting in a smile that was half congratulatory, half sympathetic. “You should have some paperwork for us.”

“The desk officer has it,” Grady replied.

“Yes, of course.” She stepped forward and addressed the boy. “You take care, Vaughn. Happy Thanksgiving.”

He did not so much as acknowledge her words. The CPS caseworker skirted the table and hugged him.

“Cheer up, honey. It’s going to be okay.” He nodded glumly, but didn’t speak. She patted his shoulder and turned to Paige. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“A very happy Thanksgiving,” Paige murmured, clasping the woman’s hand. “Thank you both from the bottom of my heart.”

“Just doing our jobs,” she said.

The two women quickly exited the room. The instant the door swung closed, Vaughn all but attacked. “What happens now?”

“We’re going home, son,” Paige said gently. “I thought you knew that.”

“I know I gotta go with you,” he declared, his voice breaking with the weight of his emotion, “but it’s not my home, not anymore. What I mean is, what happens to my dad?” He started to cry. “They got him in jail! He always said you’d put him away if you found us. That’s not right! He doesn’t belong in jail!”

“Don’t worry,” she urged, pulling him into her arms again. She couldn’t let herself be hurt by his concern for Nolan. What counted now was putting Vaughn’s fears to rest. She knew what she had to do, had known how it would be. Taking a deep breath, she firmly stated, “I have no intention of pressing charges against your father.”

“That may not be wise,” Grady warned, but she shook her head at him, convinced that she was right in this.

As much as she believed Nolan had wronged her and their son, as much anger as she’d carried with her over their separation, no good would be served by punishing Nolan legally.

“Does that mean they’ll let him go?” Vaughn asked hopefully. “I’ll leave with you if they’ll let him go.”

“You’ll go with her anyway,” Grady pointed out to Vaughn, pitching his voice low. “You don’t have a choice. Paige, you need to think about this.”

“I have thought about it.”

“We need to consider this carefully,” Grady argued.

“My mind’s made up, Grady.”

“For pity’s sake, Paige!” Grady Jones erupted, and that triggered Vaughn.

“It’s none of your business!” he shouted at Grady, then rounded on his mother. “What’s he got to say about it, anyway? Just ’cause he’s your boyfriend or something, that doesn’t—”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” she exclaimed, grasping the boy by the tops of his arms. “He’s my attorney.”

“One of your attorneys,” Grady corrected smartly.

“One of my attorneys,” she snapped, glaring at him over her shoulder.

Vaughn shuffled his feet and bowed his head, muttering, “It’s still none of his business.”

“It’s not his decision, but it is his job to advise me,” Paige pointed out calmly.

“For all the good it does,” Grady muttered.

Paige ignored him, looking to her son, who asked, “So Dad can go home?”

“I can’t say what the South Carolina authorities will do,” Paige told the boy, “but your dad won’t stay in jail because of me, Vaughn, I swear it.” Sliding one arm around his shoulders, she turned to face Grady. “Can the South Carolina authorities keep him if I don’t press charges?”

Grady clenched his jaw and looked away, but then he answered. “No.”

“What about the state of Arkansas?”

He fixed her with a level stare. “They may want him held for failure to pay child support.”

She could feel Vaughn trembling beside her and lifted her chin. “What if I speak in his favor, petition for leniency on his behalf? Forgo the back payments?” Grady was so clearly appalled by the mere suggestion of her intervention that she felt her temper spark.

“That would not be wise,” he rumbled.

“That is not an answer to my question.”

“You haven’t thought this through,” he insisted.

She took that to mean that her intervention on Nolan’s behalf would likely result in him doing no time. She turned back to her son. “I’ll keep him out of jail,” she promised.

Vaughn slumped with obvious relief. Paige put on as bright a face as she could manage and announced, “Our plane doesn’t leave until almost three, so Mr. Jones made lunch reservations for us at a hotel downtown.”

Vaughn put on a sullen face and grumbled, “I’m not hungry.”

“No? But it’s Thanksgiving, and you love turkey. I know you do. Especially the drumstick.” He made a face at that, and she supposed that his delight with drumsticks at Thanksgiving dinners past seemed babyish to him now. She quickly went on, changing the subject. “We should be home before nine this evening.”

He lifted his head, looked her in the eye. “My home’s in South Carolina.”

She felt her heart drop, but swallowed down the part that seemed to have lodged in her throat. “But Nobb’s your home, too,” she said softly. “You’ll see that if you just give it a chance. I’ve missed you so much, Vaughn, more than you can possibly know, and we’re going to work everything out, I promise.”

He said nothing, just ducked his head, sighed and dragged his feet toward the door with all the enthusiasm of a condemned prisoner on his way to the gallows. Pushing aside her heartache, Paige reminded herself that this was to be expected. Only God knew what adjustments they had in store for them, but then only God could make them a family again.

Grady determined that he would not let his own dissatisfaction with Paige’s decision not to prosecute her ex-husband color the meal. He was furious with her, worried about her and just generally disgruntled, but after an hour or so in the boy’s icy, hostile company, he decided that his mood was definitely the brighter of the two.

Paige, for all her quiet joy and steely determination, could not lighten the atmosphere. Nevertheless, she tried, commenting gently on the quality of the food and the service, remarking what a treat it was not to have to cook Thanksgiving dinner for herself, asking quiet, neutral questions about Vaughn’s life, most of which he answered with as few syllables as possible.

Did he like school? Sometimes.

What was his best friend’s name? Toby.

Favorite junk food? Barbecue potato chips.

Last book he’d read? Didn’t know.

She appeared to take no offense at his sullen, almost belligerent replies. When the meal arrived she prayed over it, simply bowed her head and began, as if it was perfectly normal.