such as it was, had fallen apart. Ben had broken a kitchen window with an awesome but slightly misdirected two-base hit and Jack had been staying out of Roscoe’s way. Roscoe Brauer had been the fourth man in his mother’s life that he recalled, and the worst.
When he was three, his father had died somewhere over the desert when the light plane he was transporting illegal drugs in experienced engine failure and crashed.
After that, his mother had taken up with Miguel Ochoa, who’d kept her supplied with cocaine. Elizabeth Corazon—they’d called her Corie—Ochoa was born when Jack was four. She’d been pretty homely, but had grown a little prettier and been a complete pain in the neck. She’d broken every toy Jack owned.
Miguel, who’d been a relatively nice guy despite his occupation, left a year later after many prolonged arguments with Jack’s mother. That had begun her serious descent into despondency and mindless addiction to methamphetamines.
Cassidy, or Cassie, had been born the following year, the result of his mother’s brief and tragic relationship with a counselor who’d tried to help her and fallen victim instead to her charm and beauty when she was sober. It was brief because she’d lasted less than three months in the rehab program, and tragic because Donald Chapman had left.
His mother had played a game with the Department of Human Services people. She had been sober when they’d visited and able to express sincerely her desire to keep her children, a declaration they’d believed because it had played into their mission of keeping families together. But when they’d left, it was back to life as usual.
A drug dealer named Roscoe Brauer was her next conquest. Or, rather, she’d been his. Roscoe had been big and menacing. Jack had avoided him whenever possible and kept Corie and Cassidy away from him.
Though Brauer had been a nasty piece of work, he’d been a good provider and, unlike the times their mother was without a man, there had been food to eat, oil for the furnace and clothes for school.
Until she’d killed him and the girls had been sent to their fathers. Because Jack had been fatherless and, then, motherless—Charlene had signed away all rights to him—he’d been adopted by the Palmers.
Impatient with himself for thinking about the past instead of going forward—such as spending time looking for his sisters—Jack closed the door behind him and went back to the house.
But it wasn’t easy getting his head out of the past. He didn’t understand why he’d successfully suppressed his childhood most of his life and now, finally, when he was free of the army and able to do what he wanted, all he could think about—and have nightmares about—was his childhood.
He put a mug under the Keurig and went to the refrigerator for the take-out ribs he’d bought for dinner, since Ben and Sarah were going to be out. The self-indulgent rehashing of his past stopped now.
* * *
A LIGHT RAP on the back door was followed by Sarah poking her head around it. A waft of fragrant September air swept in as though she’d brought it.
Jack took a moment to appreciate how pretty she was. Her light brown hair, usually tied up in a knot or caught back in a ponytail when she was on her way to see her clients, was flying free. It highlighted the beautiful shape of her face, her smooth, eggshell-delicate skin and her blue-gray eyes. She smiled, her lips a moist rose color. He experienced that arrhythmia again.
“Ben home yet?” She stepped into the kitchen, her pink dress dropping to a vee just above her breasts, hugging her waist and moving gracefully around her knees. A covered casserole sat on the flat of her hand.
“No. What’s that?” he asked.
“Broccoli, chicken and potatoes in a light cheese sauce.”
He smiled with difficulty. Even cheese sauce couldn’t save broccoli. “Thanks, but I’m having ribs tonight.”
“Jack...”
“Sarah, the army has set me free, and while I appreciate your efforts to make me healthy, I started back to work today—well, I cleared out the carriage house—and think I deserve to spoil myself.”
She shifted her weight and studied him consideringly. He tried not to notice how the fabric of her dress moved with her, clinging here, swirling there. “What are you having with it?”
“Potato salad.”
“From the market?”
“Yes.”
“You know that’s as much mayonnaise as potato.”
“I do.” He smiled widely. “And I don’t care.”
“There’s some leftover three-bean salad in the refrigerator. Would you consider having that instead?”
“No. And I’m probably going to add a brownie. You have to deal with it, Sarah.”
She shook her head with disapproval in the face of his unapologetic smile. “If your cardiovascular system is still functioning tomorrow,” she said, “I’d appreciate your help with something. If you don’t mind that it’s Saturday.”
“Sure.” He went to the kitchen table and pulled a chair out for her, then sat across the table. “What do you need?”
She sank smoothly into the chair. “The seniors in Beggar’s Bay have to move their center. They’ve formed a nonprofit and would like to buy a building the city is offering for sale. Would you look at it with me and see what you think?”
He thought a minute. “I’d be happy to, but you should have the building inspected. You’ll want experts to check for mold, pests, whether or not the heating system is sound, the plumbing and electricity are...”
“I think our lawyer’s already arranged for that, but I’d just feel better if someone I know would look at it and talk to me about it in words I understand.”
“Why are you responsible?”
“I’m not, really. I’m just nosy. Thorough. If I’m going to help raise money for the seniors to buy it, I’d like to make sure it isn’t going to collapse around them or make them sick.”
“Sure. What time do you want to go?”
“Sometime in the afternoon...”
“Okay, I’ll pick you up.”
“I have a meeting with my insurance agent and I’m not sure how long it’ll take. Can I come for you?”
“Are you a good driver?” he teased.
“At least as good as you. I’ve never had a vehicle blow up around me.”
“Good. Probably not a lot of IEDs on Main Street.”
She looked immediately apologetic. “Sorry. That’s nothing to joke about.”
Watching her expression, he thought of how she was usually cheerful and kind, though he noticed quick changes of mood sometimes, the sudden dimming of a smile. He’d like to know what was behind that. “It’s all right,” he said gently.
Suddenly he wanted to know more about her. “Working with seniors can be rewarding, I think. Is that why you got into nursing?”
She was silent for a few moments, then, apparently deciding she could trust him with the truth, said, “No. When I graduated I went straight into pediatrics.”
“Wow. That’s the complete opposite.”
She laughed. “My first day at Puget Sound Children’s Hospital, I walked down the corridor and paper airplanes, balls, various missiles were flying about. The children were sick, but not quiet. That gave me a laugh and encouraged me.”
Jack watched as that dimming took place.
“But...caring for children is sometimes worse than there are words for, you know?”
She