A Family To Cherish (4 page)

“Are you saying I'd have a replacement for Caitlin?” said Barbara thickly.

“Come off it, Pam. You can't replace a child,” said Doug through clenched teeth.

Pam raised her chin defensively. “I know that,
Doug. That's not what I meant. It's just that you and Barbara are both so fond of children, I thought you might enjoy having a child in your home again.”

Not on your life!
Barbara wanted to shout, but she resisted the urge. “Are you telling us you don't want to take Janee?” she asked instead.

“You know us,” said Benny. “Pam and I decided right up front, no kids, ever. With both of us working twelve-hour days, what could we give a kid?”

Love, for a start,
thought Barbara. But a dark reality struck home. That was something she herself wasn't ready to give. She had loved one child once. She couldn't imagine ever loving another.

“Besides, you work at home, Barb,” said Pam. “A child wouldn't upset your routine. You could still give your piano lessons.”

“Listen, this is a moot issue,” said Benny, raising his large, square hands like a referee. “I believe Nancy is going to get well, so taking care of the kid will be a temporary arrangement. You can handle that, right, Barbara?”

Barbara pretended not to hear the question. At the moment, with Nancy's life hanging in the balance, Barbara had all she could handle just sitting at this table carrying on a simple conversation and trying to keep her sanity.

Doug reached across the table and cupped his hand over hers. “No one's making any decisions about Janee tonight,” he said firmly. “Let's all try to get a good night's sleep—and see what tomorrow brings.”

A
t dawn Barbara was awakened out of a deep, dream-filled sleep by the phone's shrill ring. She raised up groggily on one elbow, trying to comprehend where she was. This wasn't her room or her bed. Nothing was familiar. Then, as Doug grabbed the phone and sleepily barked hello, Barbara remembered with a spine-chilling shudder. Reality was worse than her troubled dreams.

She mouthed the words
Who is it?
But Doug waved her off, his expression grim. “Yes, I understand, Doctor,” he said solemnly. “I know you did all you could. Thank you.”

He hung up the receiver and turned to Barbara, his features stoic. But as she stared at him, his stony face crumbled and he began to weep. “She's gone, Barbie,” he whispered.

She moved quickly over to his side of the bed and
enveloped him in her arms. His chest was bare and his skin cold to her touch. She wanted to say,
It'll be okay; Nancy just slipped away with the angels in her sleep. We'll see her again someday.
But she knew Doug didn't want to hear such platitudes now, any more than she had wanted to hear them when Caitlin died, even though they were true. She and Doug clung to each other, rocking together with a slow, agonized rhythm. The sobs rose in his chest, and she could feel them in her own breast.

They had wept like this four years ago, but then somehow they had broken apart and gone their separate ways, burying their grief where the other couldn't find it. Why had it happened that way? Why had they bottled up their tears and retreated behind separate barricades as if they considered one another, rather than death, the enemy.

“At least she went peacefully in her sleep,” said Doug in little more than a whisper. “There was no one like her, Barb. She was so full of life.”

“And she never wasted a moment of it, darling.”

Doug nodded. “If only we could all be like her.”

“Maybe that's her legacy. We can try to be.”

Doug released Barbara, got up and put on a shirt, his fingers working the buttons as he said, “I'd better start making some phone calls. We've got a lot of arrangements to make.”

“First you'd better call Pam and Benny at the hotel.”

“I will. Put on the coffee, okay, Barb?”

“You need more than coffee, Doug. I'll fix something. Eggs. Cereal.”

“Anything. I'm not hungry.”

She drifted through the living room to the kitchen, her eyes moving over Nancy's things—her paintings, her belongings, all the ordinary odds and ends that defined her life.
I don't belong here,
Barbara thought.
I shouldn't be intruding. Surely Nancy will walk in at any moment and say, “Don't disturb my things. Don't dismantle my life. I'm not really gone.”

A ridiculous notion, Barbara realized as she put on the coffeepot and browsed through the refrigerator. But then, wasn't that exactly the attitude Barbara had maintained for four years—never allowing anything or anyone to disturb Caitlin's room, as if she might come back at any moment and reclaim her things?

A wave of emotion rocked through Barbara like a tidal wave. She stumbled over to the small oak table and sat down, putting her head in her hands, allowing the sobs to wash over her. It struck her that she wasn't just weeping for Nancy and Paul; she was crying again for her own daughter. Why was it that every heartache and grief always brought her back to this one, leaving her mourning again for Caitlin as if it were the very first time?

The next three days were among the busiest, the most hectic and exhausting Barbara had ever expe
rienced. Together with Pam and Benny, she and Doug packed up Paul and Nancy's belongings, carted crates to Goodwill and put the furniture in storage. Doug and Benny notified people, handled the business matters, and made funeral arrangements, while Barbara and Pam spent time at the hospital with Janee, assuring her she would be fine and they would take good care of her.

On the third day they attended the double funeral in the morning, followed by a brief grave-side service at the nearby cemetery. They received condolences from Paul's and Nancy's many friends at a luncheon reception put on by their church; then they met with the probate attorney late that afternoon.

Jonathan Wallace, a distinguished, gray-haired gentleman with a small goatee, had been Paul and Nancy's attorney since their first year of marriage. After offering his sympathies and inviting the two couples to sit down across from his huge mahogany desk, he got right down to business. “Your sister and her husband had a living trust,” he said, opening a maroon portfolio and extracting several official-looking documents. “I won't bore you with reams of details. You can read the papers at your convenience. Essentially, Paul and Nancy left a modest estate. However, they had a sizable life insurance policy which will provide a generous trust fund for their daughter, Janee. They specified that in the event of their death, Janee be placed with you, Dr. and Mrs. Logan. If for some reason you are not
able to become Janee's legal guardians, they wish her to be placed with the two of you, Mr. and Mrs. Cotter.”

Pam spoke up. “Mr. Wallace, we've already talked about it and agreed that Barbara and Doug should take the child. I work full-time for an accounting firm and part-time for my husband, so I'm hardly ever home. But fortunately Barbara works at home giving piano lessons, so she'll be available to care for Janee.”

A tremor of alarm spiraled through Barbara's stomach. “Wait a minute. We may have talked about this, but nothing was decided.”

Doug reached over and seized Barbara's hand. “What are you saying, Barb? You know Nancy wanted us to have Janee. We gave her our promise.”

Barbara's alarm turned to frantic butterflies, their fluttering wings doing a number on her digestive system. If they didn't let up, she was going to be ill. “I can't,” she said shakily. “I just can't do it.”

“Barbara, are you saying you won't take Janee?” challenged Pam, her voice shrill. “Are you forcing her on us? You know we never wanted kids. Not our own or anyone else's. We've made no bones about it.”

“I—I'm just saying—”

“I would think you'd be glad to have another little girl in your home,” said Benny in his booming baritone. “Man alive, Barbara, she's the same age
your girl was. What more could you ask for? I mean, is this a coincidence or what?”

Tears stung Barbara's eyes. “My heart aches for Janee, but it's not the same, and you know it.”

“Of course it's not the same,” said Doug, squeezing Barbara's hand. “But Janee's all alone now. Someone's got to take care of her. It might as well be us.”

Barbara searched his eyes. “Do you really think we can do it?”

“I don't see where we have any other choice, Barb. We'll make it work. We promised Nancy.”

“You were a terrific mother, Barb,” said Pam, her tone now sweet and cloying as honey. “And you'll be a great mother again. Just give it a chance. You'll see.”

Barbara had great misgivings as she and Doug drove to the hospital the next morning to pick up Janee.
How do I do this?
she wondered as they walked down the corridor to Janee's room.
How do I play Mommy to a child too young to understand what has happened, a child who wants only her own mother and father, the two people she can never have?

“It'll be okay,” said Doug, slipping his arm around Barbara's waist as they walked. “You know the old saying—All things work together for good.”

“That's not just a saying. It's from the Bible,”
she said, thinking how long it had been since they had studied the Bible together.

“I know that,” said Doug. “I once knew the verse by heart.”

She looked up at him. “I'm scared, Doug. What if she doesn't want to go with us? What if we're all miserable together?”

“Don't borrow trouble, Barbie. It'll work out. Remember what you used to say—trust the Lord.”

“I did trust Him,” she murmured, “and look where it got us.”

He stopped and stared at her. “What's gotten into you, Barb? You never used to talk like this.”

“You know the answer to that as well as I do.”

“It's my fault,” he muttered. “Isn't that what you're really saying?”

“Of course not.” She turned her gaze away, not wanting him to see her pain. “It's not you, Doug. It's everything.”

“It's Caitlin. Always Caitlin.”

“All right, yes. You're right as always. I keep asking the same questions and there's never an answer. Why would God take away the daughter we loved and give us a child we hardly know? Is He punishing us? Laughing at us? It's such a terrible irony.”

“Maybe good will come of having Janee in our home, Barb. We have to give it a chance.”

“That's easy for you to say. You're gone all the time. I'll be the one at home every day with Janee.”

“I'll make time for her. For you. I promise.”

They had reached Janee's room now. Barbara paused in the doorway and looked up at her husband, hoping his strength would sustain her, as well. They exchanged brief smiles and went inside.

Janee was sitting up in bed, cross-legged. A young nurse with rosy cheeks and French braids was helping her dress, pulling an undershirt over her head. “There you are, sweet pea. Now we have a pretty little dress for you to wear. Isn't that the cutest thing? You're going to look so pretty when you go home.”

Barbara crossed the room and stood at the foot of the bed. “Well, look at you, Janee,” she said in her most animated voice. She felt as if she were performing, or worse, auditioning, with her very life at stake. “Sweetheart, you look like Cinderella going to the ball.”

The child looked up guardedly, her face framed with silky flaxen curls, her large cerulean eyes filled with doubt. “I'm not Cinderella. I'm Janee. I'm going home.”

“Yes, you are,” Barbara said brightly. No sense in telling her whose home she would be going to. She would find out soon enough.

Doug joined Barbara at the foot of the bed and drummed his fingers on the metal rail. “You know what, Janee? You're going to fly in a big airplane. Won't that be fun?”

The nurse helped Janee into a pink taffeta dress
with ruffles and lace. “Janee has been our favorite patient, Mrs. Logan,” she said as she buttoned the dress. “We're going to hate to see her go.”

“We appreciate all you and the other doctors and nurses have done for her,” said Doug in his efficient, professional voice.

“It was the least we could do, Dr. Logan, considering what this poor child's been through.” The young woman paused, a shadow darkening her attractive features. “Does she know?”

“Not everything,” said Barbara. “In time.”

The nurse fluffed Janee's curls. “Well, I'm going to get a wheelchair to take Janee down to your car. Hospital policy, you know. You might look around, Mrs. Logan, and make sure you have all of Janee's things.”

Barbara went to the small closet and opened it. Janee's sweater hung on a hanger, but otherwise the closet was empty.

“There's a plastic bag of her things here on the dresser,” said Doug. “I'll check the drawers, too.”

“Most of her things should be arriving at the house about the same time we do,” said Barbara. They had given away the bicycle, and toys too large to mail. They could always buy her some new things later.

Janee grabbed up a scruffy teddy bear with button eyes, which was lying on the pillow beside her. She hugged the bear tightly against her chest. “We're going bye-bye, Zowie,” she chirped.

“We sure are,” said Barbara, “and won't we have fun!” Maybe this wouldn't be so difficult, after all. Janee seemed happy enough to be with them. Maybe, just maybe everything would go smoothly. But a moment later Barbara realized she had assumed too much too soon.

“Where's my mommy?” Janee asked, jutting out her lower lip.

Barbara and Doug looked at each other, and she inhaled sharply. No, this wasn't going to be easy for any of them. She put down the guardrail and sat on the hospital bed beside Janee. “Do you remember what Aunt Pam and I told you yesterday, Janee?”

Janee shook her head, her eyes lowered, her long lashes shadowing her cheeks.

Barbara ran her fingers through the child's soft, shiny curls. “We told you your mommy and daddy had to go away. Remember?”

A tear slid down Janee's round cheek. “I want my mommy.”

Barbara's throat tightened. “I know you do, honey.” She slipped her arm around the girl, but Janee wriggled away.

“I want my mommy!” Janee said in the shrill tone that clearly preceded a tantrum. “Where's my mommy?”

The nurse returned with the wheelchair and lifted Janee gently into it. “We're going for a ride, Janee,” she said in a light, singsong voice. “We're going to travel around the world.”

Barbara and Doug quickly gathered Janee's things and followed the nurse and wheelchair out the door and down the hall. Outside, the nurse wheeled Janee over to their rental car, helped her into the back seat and buckled her belt.

“Do you want me to sit back there with you, Janee?” asked Barbara.

Janee shook her head and clutched her teddy again. “No, I got Zowie. He's my friend.”

Barbara nodded. “Well, if you feel lonely, honey, you give Zowie a big hug.”

They drove in silence to the airport, Barbara aware of a sudden exhaustion seeping into her bones. So much had happened in such a short time, and now, even though they were returning home, nothing would ever be the same again.

Once they boarded the plane, Janee seemed to perk up a little. They gave her the window seat, and she gazed out at the planes taking off and landing. “Look! All the big airplanes in a row,” she told Barbara as their airliner taxied onto the runway.