The Soldier's Secret Child

The boy wrapped his arms around upraised knees. A tear leaked out and he backhanded it away. “I can’t make it up. Don’t have any money.”

“I might have some chores you could do,” Lacey said, easing backward so she wasn’t directly between Charlie and Vito. “Especially if you and your foster dad are going to be living here.” As soon as she said it, she regretted the words. “Or living nearby,” she amended hastily.

She liked Vito, always had. And she adored his grandmother, who clearly wanted her family gathered around her. But Lacey had been planning to have the next few months as a quiet, calm oasis before opening her guesthouse. She still had healing to do.

Having Vito and this boy here wasn’t conducive to quiet serenity. On the other hand, young Charlie seemed to have thrown himself on her for protection, and that touched her.

“Can we live here? Really?” The boy jumped up and started hopping from one foot to the next. “’Cause this place is cool! You have a tire swing! And there’s a basketball hoop right across the street!”

Vito stood, looking at her quizzically. “The grown-ups will be doing some talking,” he said firmly. “For tonight, we’re staying out at the motel like we planned. But before we go back there, I want you to apologize.”

The boy looked at Lacey, then away, digging the toe of a well-worn sneaker into the dirt. “I’m real sorry I broke your rooster. It was an accident.”

She nodded, getting to her feet. “That’s all right. I think I can find another one kind of like it.”

Her own soft feelings surprised her. Generally, she avoided little ones, especially babies; they were a reminder of all she couldn’t have.

But this boy touched her heart. Maybe it was because his reaction to breaking the rooster was so similar to her own reaction when she’d broken the lamp. Hide. Don’t let the grown-ups know, because you never know what disaster will happen when grown-ups get upset. She’d been fortunate, found by her grandma and father instead of her mom. Come to think of it, her brother had probably gone to them on purpose. He’d wanted her to get in trouble, but not from their volatile mother.

Lacey was beyond all that now, at least she thought so, but she still identified with the feeling of accidentally causing disasters and facing out-of-proportion consequences.

“And the other question you have to answer,” Vito said, putting an arm around Charlie’s shoulders lightly, ignoring the boy’s automatic wince, “is how you got down here when you were supposed to be staying with Valencia.”

Lacey moved to stand by Charlie, and her presence seemed to relax him.

“I asked her if we could take a walk,” Charlie explained, a defensive tone coming into his voice. “When we came by here, she started talking to the people and I came inside. I just wanted to look around.”

“You’re not to do things like that without permission.” Vito pinched the bridge of his nose. “You have another apology to make, to Valencia. And no dessert after dinner tonight.”

The boy’s lower lip came out, and Lacey felt the absurd impulse to slip him an extra piece of wedding cake.

An accented voice called from the other side of the yard. “Charlie! Charlie!”

“You run and tell Miss Valencia you’re sorry you didn’t stay close to her. And then wait for me on the porch.”

As the boy ran toward the babysitter’s anxious voice, Lacey looked up at Vito. “In over your head?”

“Totally.” He blew out a breath. “What do I know about raising kids?”

“How’d you get into it, anyway?”

“It’s complicated.” He looked away, then back at her. “Listen, don’t feel pressured into having us stay at your guesthouse. I don’t expect that, no matter what Nonna says. And you can see that we’d be a handful.”

She looked into his warm brown eyes. “I can see that. And I honestly don’t know if it would work. But what are you going to do if you can’t stay here?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.” He rubbed his chin. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Let me sleep on it. It’s been a crazy day.”

“Of course it has, and I’m sorry to add to that.” They headed toward the rest of the guests, and he put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. It was an innocent gesture, a friendly gesture, the same thing he’d done with Charlie.

But for some reason, it disconcerted her now, and she stepped away.

Something flashed in Vito’s eyes and he cleared his throat. “Look, tomorrow Charlie has a visit with his birth mom up in Raystown. Let me take you to lunch. We can talk about Nonna and the possibility of Charlie and me staying here. Or more likely, how to break it to Nonna that we won’t be staying here.”

She’d planned to spend the next afternoon cleaning up and recovering from the wedding. “That’ll work.”

“The Chatterbox? Noon?” His voice was strictly businesslike.

“Where else?” She wondered why he’d gone chilly on her. “I’m looking forward to catching up.”

And she was. Sort of.

* * *

The next morning, Vito pulled his truck into the parking lot at the Supervised Visitation Center and glanced into the backseat of the extended cab. Yes, a storm was brewing.

“Why do I have to do this?” Charlie mumbled. “Am I going back to live with her?”

“No.” He twisted farther around to get more comfortable. “We talked about this. Your mom loves you, but she can’t do a good job taking care of you, and you need to have a forever home.” He’d practically memorized the words from the foster parenting handbook, and it was a good thing. Because apparently, Charlie needed to hear them a bunch of times.

“Then why do I have to visit? I wanted to play basketball with Xavier, that kid from the wedding yesterday. He said maybe I could come over.”

Vito pulled up another memorized phrase and forced cheer into his voice. “It’s important for you to have a relationship with your mom. Important for you and for her.”

The whole situation was awful for a kid, and Krystal, Charlie’s mother, wasn’t easy to deal with. She’d neglected Charlie, and worse, exposed him to danger—mostly from her poorly chosen boyfriends—way too many times.

Someone who hurt a kid ought to be in prison, in Vito’s mind, at the very least. But he had to keep reminding himself that Krystal was sick.

“You’ll have fun with your mom,” he said. “I think you guys are going to go out for lunch in a little while and maybe over to the lake afterward.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.” Charlie crossed his arms and looked out the window, making no move to get out of the car.

Vito looked that way, too, and saw Krystal getting out of the passenger side of a late-model SUV. Maybe things were looking up for her. He’d only met her a few times, but she’d been driving a car noticeably on its last legs.

The SUV roared off, passing them, with a balding, bearded, forty-something guy at the wheel. Vito looked back at Charlie in time to see the boy cringe. “What’s wrong, buddy?” he asked. “Do you know that guy?”

Charlie nodded but didn’t say anything.

Krystal strolled over to the back stoop of the Center, smoking a cigarette. Vito wished for a similarly easy way to calm his nerves.

He wished he knew how to be a father. He’d only had Charlie full-time for a month, most of which they’d spent in Cleveland, closing down Vito’s previous life, getting ready to move home. Charlie had been well and truly welcomed by the Cleveland branch of Vito’s family, though everyone had agreed on waiting to tell Nonna about Charlie until the foster care situation was definite. If everything went well, he’d be able to adopt Charlie after another six months and be the boy’s permanent, real father.

Learning how to parent well would take a lifetime.

Vito got out of the car. The small, wire-supported trees around the brand-new building were trying their best, sporting a few green leaves. A robin hopped along the bare ground, poking for worms, and more birds chirped overhead. It was a nice summer day, and Vito was half tempted to get back in the truck and drive away, take Charlie to the lake himself.

But that wasn’t the agreement he’d made. He opened the passenger door and Charlie got out. His glance in his mother’s direction was urgent and hungry.