A Family To Share

At times, he wondered if making the move from Tulsa to Fort Worth had been wise. He was willing to do anything—anything—to help Larissa. All the doctors and literature said that Dr. Stenhope was the foremost authority on detachment disorders in the entire southwestern part of the country, but Stenhope’s treatment didn’t appear to be making any headway with Larissa. She certainly hadn’t offered him the level of counseling and advice on parenting that he’d expected. Yet, he’d had other reasons for making the move—specifically, Laura’s parents.

He was too tired to even think about the Conklins right now. Sometimes he thought he was too tired to breathe. Nevertheless, he still had papers to look over and dinner to clean up after, if hot dogs and canned corn nuked in the microwave could be called dinner.

Off to the kitchen, he scraped ketchup from the plates and stacked them in the dishwasher before wiping down the table, floor and wall. Larissa’s table manners left much to be desired, but he dared not do more than sit stoically while she slung food around the immediate vicinity. He could imagine what she’d do if he actually reprimanded her.

After the domestic chore was accomplished, Kendal moved to the home office that he’d set up next to his bedroom and opened his briefcase. Rubbing his eyes, he settled down behind the mahogany desk to peruse the documents that had been handed to him that day. The new office was up and running, but they weren’t yet fully staffed, so these days he wore several hats as far as the business was concerned.

Any other time, he’d have been thrilled that things were going so well, but now he had more pressing matters on his mind, so much so that the numbers just didn’t want to compute tonight. After a couple of hours, he gave up and went to check on Larissa.

She didn’t even look peaceful in her sleep. Her eyes twitched beneath her closed lids, and her mouth was constantly pursed. As if she were aware of his disappointment, she sighed and flopped from her side onto her back. Her little hands flexed and then she sighed again and seemed to relax. Kendal bowed his head.

God help her, he thought. Please help her.

He meant to say more, but the words wouldn’t come out. They felt too trite and repetitive to make it beyond the ceiling, let alone to God’s ear. That, too, was his fault. His mom used to say that if he felt far from God, he was the one who had moved.

He missed his mom.

Ironically, that was something that he and his daughter had in common, if only she could know it. His own mother died when he was twelve, having contracted a viral infection that had attacked her heart, and the sadness had never really left him. He understood Larissa’s pain more than she could possibly realize, but that seemed of little value at the moment.

Slipping out of her room, he wandered around the dark, silent house. In the few months that they’d been here, he’d come to like this place, situated as it was in a safe, gated community on the eastern edge of Fort Worth. The residents could bike or run around the common green or even ride horses and picnic beside the small lake or creek. There were tennis courts and a weight room, too, but no community pool, as most of the homes, including this one, had their own.

When he’d purchased the property, he’d envisioned Larissa having pool parties and class picnics in a few years. It made a nice contrast to imagining his daughter institutionalized, which was what he really feared would happen.

Too exhausted to keep those fears at bay, he shut himself into his bedroom, where he collapsed onto his pillow. The house felt cold and empty, even though he could hear the central heater running and knew that Larissa slept just across the hall. Or was it that the coldness and emptiness were inside him?

He didn’t know how this had happened. He’d never meant to move so far from the God of his youth, never expected to be so unhappy in his marriage, so inadequate a father. Only God knew how desperately he wanted to fix it, but he simply didn’t know how. He tried again to pray, but he’d said the words so often that they no longer seemed worthwhile.

Gradually, he began to slide toward sleep. As he felt his body relax, his rebellious thoughts turned to a subject he had hoped to avoid: Connie Wheeler.

The minister’s wife was a kind, considerate woman. She was also lovely—all soft, dainty femininity. He sensed a gentle, willing spirit in her. Larissa was certainly taken with her, and she seemed to have a way with the child. Was it possible that she could somehow help them? Maybe, he mused, as awareness drifted away, that was why God had led him here, to this place and to that church.

He slept on that hope, more comfortable than any pillow, and by morning it had become a notion with a life of its own, a growing part of his consciousness. He tried not to give the idea more credence than it deserved, but throughout the difficult morning, he found himself returning to it, clinging to it, comforting himself with it, even praying that it might be so.

Larissa didn’t want to eat and didn’t want to take her bath or have her hair brushed. She didn’t want to be changed, and she certainly didn’t want to be dressed. Forcing her into her clothes, he prepared her for the day as best he could. In his desperation, he wasn’t above bribing her.

“Don’t you want to go to nursery school? Don’t you want to see Miss Susan? How about Miss Connie?”

He had no idea whether the minister’s wife would be around today or not, but he’d have promised the child Santa Claus if it would have stopped her from fighting him. But it didn’t help. Larissa remained distraught.

She quieted as soon as they pulled into the parking lot of the day care center, though, and his relief fought with his resentment. His daughter would rather spend the whole day at nursery school, where she wasn’t even particularly happy, than two hours with him. The worst of it was, he’d rather be apart from her, too. As he dropped her off, he was aware of a shameful eagerness on his part. He couldn’t wait to get to the office, where people actually smiled at him and at least pretended to be glad to have him around. He knew what he was doing there, what was expected of him, and he didn’t have to feel that he was inflicting himself on anyone.

How pathetic was he to let a toddler hurt his feelings so much that he wanted to turn away? It was one thing to feel that way about one’s spouse, but one’s child?

Father, forgive me, he prayed, driving away. I know I disappoint You as much as I disappoint her. And forgive me for that, too.

The words seemed to bounce off the windshield and sink heavily into his chest, weighing down a heart already heavy with woe.

Chapter Three

Connie opened the door to the church’s administrative building and smiled at her brother’s secretary, Carlita.

“Hola, Miss Connie.”

“Hello, Carlita. How are you?”

“Muy bien. Do you wish to see the pastor?”

“Yes, I do, actually.”

“Go on back. He’s been in conference with Miss Dabney for some time now. Surely, they are just about finished.”

Connie slipped past Carlita’s desk and moved toward the hallway off of which several offices opened, saying “If they’re still talking, I’ll wait outside the door.”

“If you like, I’ll bring you a chair,” Carlita offered.

Connie shook her head. “Not necessary. Thanks.”

“De nada.”

Carlita went back to her typing, her long, black braid swinging between her plump shoulder blades as she turned her head toward the computer screen.

When Marcus had hired the single mother of four, she had spoken little English, but her need had been great and corresponded precisely with her efforts. Little more than a year later, Carlita was a model of cheerful, dependable efficiency and another of Marcus’s success stories.

Stepping into the hallway, Connie saw that the door to her brother’s office was only partially closed. She paused a moment, bending her head in an effort to discern whether or not the meeting was coming to an end. She hoped that it was. She had made a decision this morning, and she wanted to speak to Marcus about it before she lost her resolve. Just then, a familiar voice spoke with unexpected sharpness.

“But the child is simply unmanageable.”

“When she’s frustrated,” Marcus replied calmly. “That’s what you said a moment ago—that she’s unmanageable when she’s frustrated and that she dislikes men. I’m not sure that’s cause for dismissal.”

“It wouldn’t be if she wasn’t frustrated so much of the time!” Miss Dabney argued.

“All children get easily frustrated. You’ve told me so often.”

“But they don’t all throw thirty-minute temper tantrums on a routine basis!”

“Is she a danger or an impediment to the other children?” Marcus asked, the very model of patience.

Miss Dabney’s answer sounded grudging. “I suppose not, but she demands a lot of time and attention from the staff.”

“I know it’s difficult,” Marcus said soothingly, “but I’m sorry, Miss Dabney I’m not comfortable dismissing Larissa Oakes. Please, can’t you be patient a little longer? Her father is trying to help her.”

“If you ask me, he’s half the problem,” the day care director retorted.

“I’m sure he’s doing the best he can under the circumstances.”

“She ought to be sent home for the day at the very least,” Miss Dabney grumbled, sounding fairly frustrated herself. “She’s simply out of control, and I’m afraid she’s going to make herself sick if she keeps on the way she is right now. In fact, we have her in the nurse’s room.”

Marcus sighed. “All right.” From the sound of it, he picked up the telephone. A moment later, he dialed a number and only seconds later began speaking.

Connie bowed her head while the call was being made. She’d heard a commotion coming from the infirmary when she’d dropped off Russell a few minutes earlier, but she’d assumed that a child had scraped a knee or something equally innocuous. Probably distance and a closed door had muffled the sounds.

Remembering how distraught little Larissa had been the previous times that she’d dealt with the girl, Connie felt an immediate, almost visceral, impulse to go to her, but it was not her place to do so.

What, she wondered, would Kendal Oakes do if the church didn’t provide day care for his daughter?

Poor child.

Poor father.

Suddenly, the door swung wide open and Marcus halted in mid-step, jerking his head up.

“Sis! Oh, hi. Did you want to speak to me?”

“It can wait,” she told him, backing up.

He held up a finger, almost in supplication.

“One moment.”

Stepping into the hallway, he addressed the secretary. “Carlita, would you call down to the nurse’s station on the intercom and have Larissa Oakes brought up here, please?”

“Sure thing, boss. Pronto.”

“Thank you.” He turned back to Connie. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Why would you think something was wrong?”

“Well, you usually wait to talk to me at home, that’s all.” He smiled and patted her shoulder. “Let me rephrase that. What’s so important that it couldn’t wait?”

She shook her head, now oddly reluctant to broach the subject of returning to school.

“Uh, nothing actually. We can discuss it later.”

“But—”

“Excuse me if I was eavesdropping just now,” she hurried on, “but is there a problem with Larissa Oakes?”

Before Marcus could answer, Miss Dabney appeared in the doorway, arms folded.

“You’ve seen how she reacts,” the day care director said.

“Yes,” Connie replied, “it’s very sad.”

“Sadder than either of you even know,” Marcus added.

“I know she’s experienced trauma in the past,” Miss Dabney stated, “and I’m not unsympathetic to the child’s situation, but it’s very tiring dealing with these scenes day after day.”

Connie felt sure that causing those scenes was equally exhausting for Larissa, but she didn’t say so out of respect for the director. The whole thing was very puzzling. Connie didn’t know if Larissa was hypersensitive, frightened or just spoiled. Perhaps all three.

“Do you know what set her off this time?” she asked Miss Dabney pensively.

“Davy Brocha’s dad came at naptime and Larissa had picked up this stuffed tiger of Davy’s that he had dropped. Well, Mr. Brocha was in a hurry and maybe he was a little abrupt, but he wanted to take the tiger with him, so he let himself into the classroom, went over and plucked it out of her grasp.” Miss Dabney lifted both hands in puzzlement. “She screamed and fell over backward. You’d have thought he’d shot her. Of course, he wasn’t even supposed to be in there, but with any other child it wouldn’t have mattered. With Larissa, it means at least half an hour of uncontrollable screaming. He tried to comfort her and that just made it worse.”

Concern furrowed Connie’s brow. So Larissa really was averse to men in general, she mused, not just her father.

“I see.”

She didn’t really. What could cause such a reaction in a child so young? Whatever it was, Miss Dabney was right about one thing: Larissa clearly was out of control. Connie could hear her shrieks long before the staff nurse carried her into the office.

“Oh, my,” Marcus murmured, and he hurried forward to comfort the child. “Why are you crying, sweetie? Don’t you know that no one here will hurt you?”

He reached out a hand to pat her back, but Connie stopped him.

“Marcus, don’t.”

He never touched the child, but she twisted out of reach anyway, nearly throwing herself out of the nurse’s arms.

For a moment, it was pandemonium as everyone rushed to contain the thrashing child before she could hurt herself. Then suddenly, a sharp clap brought everyone to a freezing halt.

“Stop that!” Carlita ordered, her hand still on the book she’d slapped down on the desktop.

The sudden silence felt deafening in its intensity. For an instant, they all stood locked in that silence. Then Larissa’s mouth opened up into a howl.

The next instant, the howl became a pathetic burble as the girl spied Connie. She threw out her little arms beseechingly, crying something inarticulate.

Connie did the only thing she could: She hurried to take the shuddering child into her arms.

Larissa wrapped all four of her limbs around Connie and dropped her head onto Connie’s shoulder, sniffling and gasping with her tears.

Marcus raised both eyebrows.

The nurse—a young, normally cheerful woman with an infant of her own—looked from Carlita to Connie and drawled, “One of y’all is a genius.”

The remaining three looked at Carlita, who shrugged and said matter-of-factly, “With my kids, first you got to get their attention.”

“Words of wisdom,” Miss Dabney muttered to Connie, who was rocking Larissa from side to side.

The atmosphere had lightened considerably. Larissa took a deep, shuddering breath, but she was quiet.

“Why don’t we take her into my office?” Marcus suggested softly, lifting a hand.

Keeping her movements slow and gentle, Connie preceded Marcus past Miss Dabney and through the hallway into his private office, where she took a seat in the corner. The day care director followed while Marcus instructed Carlita to expect Kendal Oakes and send him right in. Finally, he joined the two women and the child in his office, skirting around behind the desk between Miss Dabney’s chair and the bookcase.

The room was small but well arranged, and Marcus enjoyed the view of the chapel in the compound square a great deal. The world seemed a fine place from his office window. Marcus often took comfort in the view during difficult moments. He gave himself a brief moment to do so now before turning to his guests.

“You certainly do have a way with her,” he whispered to Connie.

It seemed to him that she had a way with children in general. What a pity that her record kept her from formally working in child care. He’d broached the subject with Miss Dabney early on and had been saddened to learn that Connie’s situation effectively prevented her from being licensed to work with kids in most states, including Texas. He firmly believed that Connie had gotten a raw deal, but what was done was done.

Marcus glanced at the curly-haired toddler who sat with her cheek against Connie’s chest. Larissa was asleep. Obviously, she had exhausted herself with her tantrum. Marcus hoped she wouldn’t become too warm, as she was wearing her coat. Evidently, the nurse had expected Kendal to be there when she arrived with the child.

“She certainly seems fascinated by you,” Miss Dabney said softly.

“I wonder if you look anything like her mother,” Marcus mused.

Connie looked to those blond curls again, murmuring, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“You don’t,” said a voice flatly, just before Kendal Oakes walked through the open doorway.

“Well, maybe a little around the eyes,” he said a few minutes later, leaning forward from the edge of the pastor’s desk. “And I suppose you’re about the same size.”

When he’d first heard the question and realized who it was being asked of, he felt a spurt of denial so fierce that it had momentarily rattled him, but then he took a look at his daughter, sleeping against Connie Wheeler’s chest, and the feeling had fizzled into gratitude.

Larissa seemed at peace for the first time in memory. It had occurred to him that, sitting there together, the pair really could have been mother and child, and for the first time, he let himself really study Connie Wheeler.

She was beautiful.

Laura had been pretty in her own way. When they were dating, he’d thought her facial features were neat and symmetrical; later, they had seemed sharp and cold to him.

He couldn’t imagine Connie Wheeler that way.

He shouldn’t be imagining her anyway, especially not with the good parson sitting right behind him.

Kendal realized that he really liked Marcus Wheeler. Moreover, Marcus and Connie made the perfect couple. Even their coloring was complementary. Both were golden, despite the minister’s slightly darker hair.

Kendal rubbed his hands over his face, appalled at himself, and fixed his mind on his daughter.

“What happened?”

Miss Dabney explained, keeping her voice low, and despair swept through Kendal, followed swiftly by anger.

“I thought parents were supposed to remain outside of the classroom.”

“Yes, they are,” Miss Dabney admitted, “but it’s a rule, not a law, and easily dealt with all in all. Larissa, on the other hand…”

The day care director darted her eyes at the minister.

Kendal closed his eyes, knowing what was coming even before the minister had cleared his throat. Larissa had already been dismissed from one day care center since they’d arrived in the Fort Worth area.

“We may not be best equipped to deal with her,” Marcus said gently.

Kendal swallowed and rose from the corner of the desk, putting his back to the bookcase to face the others.

“I’m aware of Larissa’s…special needs. I told you when we came that she’s in treatment.”

“Private care might be best,” Miss Dabney said bluntly.

“I’ve tried that!” he said, struggling not to raise his voice.

The last thing he wanted was to wake his daughter and have her prove how difficult she could be, but the painful truth was that, in the months since her mother’s death, they’d been through four private sitters, only one of whom had seemed able to control Larissa. Then he’d found out that she’d been giving his daughter sleeping pills! That was the closest he’d ever come to becoming violent.

“I’d stay home with her myself if I thought it would do any good,” he admitted bitterly.

“Is there no one who could help you?” Connie asked softly. “No one you could trust?”

Kendal shook his head. He couldn’t ask his stepmother to take over raising his daughter, and he wouldn’t ask his late wife’s mother. That would be the worst possible thing he could do.

All right, not the worst possible. The doctor suggested that residential care might be a solution, but Kendal couldn’t even think of it. His daughter didn’t need to be locked away, for pity’s sake. She must already feel abandoned by her mother. How would she feel if he sent her away?

The idea that she might actually feel relief was almost more than he could bear.

If only he could somehow reach her, make her understand that he loved her and wanted to help.

“I simply don’t know what to do,” he admitted softly.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a look that passed from Connie to Marcus.

“Let’s pray about it diligently for a few days,” Marcus suggested after a moment, “and see what accommodations we can make.”

Kendal nodded, aware of a lump in his throat. It was only a reprieve, of course, and Miss Dabney wasn’t looking too pleased about it, but at this point he’d take anything he could get.

He straightened away from the bookcase and looked to Connie, trying his best to remain impassive.

“Thank you. I’ll take her home now.”

“Let me help you get her into the car,” Connie whispered, sliding to the edge of her seat and starting to rise.

He stepped forward automatically, helping her to her feet with his hands cupped beneath her upper arms. Only when she fully stood up, his daughter cradled against her chest, did he realize that they were standing much too close. Abruptly, he released the woman and stepped back.

Larissa shifted, then seemed to settle once more as Connie carried her smoothly from the room. A glance in the pastor’s direction showed no obvious signs of any connotation other than simple courtesy being applied to his actions. Nevertheless, Kendal felt guilt shadow him as he followed Connie.

The day care director returned to the day care center, leaving the pastor to bring up the rear.

Larissa grumbled when the bright sunlight and cold air hit her, but at least she was wearing her coat. Next time, she might not be. He made a mental note to put a blanket in the car for such occasions.

Opening up the car door, he stood aside as Connie went through the arduous task of getting a toddler into a car seat. Not surprisingly, Larissa awoke in the process. It was too much to hope that she wouldn’t, of course, but once again it meant driving away with his daughter screaming for the woman.

A part of him felt the same way that Larissa did. When he looked into his rearview mirror before turning onto the street and saw Marcus and Connie Wheeler standing there arm in arm, watching his progress, his very soul seemed to plunge to the deepest level of despair.

Marcus placed the bowl of mashed potatoes on the table and took up his fork.

“Looks good,” he said, surveying his full plate. “I always thank God that they taught you how to cook at that group home.”

Connie smiled. “You always find something to be thankful for in every situation.”

“I try,” he admitted, cutting into his pan-grilled chicken breast. “I’m having a little trouble with the Oakes situation, though.”

Connie steepled her hands over her plate, elbows braced against the tabletop.

“Marcus, you can’t just put her out.”

“I know. Unfortunately, I have to do something. I spent the afternoon talking to every other day care provider in the area and all of them said that it isn’t fair to subject the other children to Larissa’s problems, but how do we, as Christians, turn her away?”

“It is such a tragic situation,” Connie commented, looking to her son with deep gratitude. Perhaps her own life had not been easy, but Russell was wonderful.

Thank God for Jolie!

Connie leaned forward and caught a dollop of mashed potato in her hand before it hit the floor. Russell grinned and shook his spoon again, sprinkling mashed potato on the tray of his high chair before tossing the spoon overboard and going after his dinner with his fingers. Connie patiently picked up the spoon, cleaned it and lay it aside. They would practice with it later once he’d knocked the edge off his hunger.