A Family For Christmas

She’d thought he’d left without stopping in to say goodbye.

Not that he was required to do so. But he’d been in court that morning. She’d just kind of expected, since she’d been a rather major part of this journey with him and his family, that he’d fill her in.

She’d kind of expected him to let her know how lunch went with Joy, too. Instead of taking his new-to-him granddaughter overnight right away, they’d decided to try several more day outings first. Because he was from Florida, not familiar with Santa Raquel and staying in a hotel, Lila had been more involved with him than she might otherwise have been.

Most of her participation, however, had been exactly what she’d have done for any other child who’d just lost all of the family she’d ever known in a horrifically traumatic experience.

“I sent my regrets for this evening’s gathering,” Edward was saying. “You got a minute, or would you like me to catch up with you later?”

“Of course I have a minute.” Pushing aside the forms, Lila set down her pen and rose. “Have a seat.” She indicated the couch and took the armchair perpendicular to it. Her families always came first.

“I’ve just left Joy,” he said. Lila was not pleased by the rush of...lightness...at his remark. He’d come straight to her. As though they were somehow partners in the whole Mantle/Amos trauma.

In a sense they were, of course, partners. With boundaries. Professional boundaries.

Her only job was to facilitate as happy an outcome as she could. To be looking out for Joy’s well-being first and foremost.

She wasn’t faltering there. Joy came first. It was just...she cared, more than she felt comfortable with...about Joy’s grandfather’s feelings, too.

A widower whose only child was missing and presumed dead, the man was completely, utterly bereft.

Lila knew what that felt like. The loneliness. The burying of your own daughter. The loss of family. Of love.

And this wasn’t about her.

Edward wasn’t saying anything. He’d just left Joy. And was sitting in her office, on her couch, his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together.

The doctor who’d, overnight, left his practice in Florida to fly to California to find his daughter and take charge of his granddaughter, was clearly at a loss.

He’d come to her.

Her job was to comfort.

Leaning forward, Lila touched the top of his hand. Touching was not her job. She sat back but had his attention.

“Tell me about lunch with Joy.”

She needed to know what had happened in court that morning, too. Shawn Amos, Joy’s father and Cara’s husband, was supposed to have been indicted. And Chantel Fairbanks, a Santa Raquel detective and a member of the High Risk team that had been formed through The Lemonade Stand to help prevent domestic violence deaths, had put in a request for a meeting with the inmate before he was transported back to prison.

Chantel had wanted to speak with Shawn Amos, one on one, alone in a courthouse conference room, to see if she, a female alone, could get any more of a reaction out of him than any of the officers—both male and female—who’d questioned him repeatedly at the police station and in prison. But Joy came first. Edward had taken her to lunch.

“Not much to tell,” Edward said, looking at her, then back at his hands that were plastered together. “I took her to Uncle Bob’s.” A burger joint on the beach with an oversize sandbox. A favorite with most of the Santa Raquel kids Joy’s age. “When I asked her if she wanted to play in the sandbox, she shook her head...” His tired gaze settled on Lila and she couldn’t help but look for the light of quiet strength she’d come to associate with him. Finding it, she nodded at him to continue, clasping her own hands together to keep herself from reaching for him again.

“Did she hold your hand as you walked inside?” Lila asked. They’d been working on it all week. Edward holding out his hand to the little girl. Repeatedly. Hoping she’d take it.

He shook his head.

Joy went with Edward when she was told to do so. But she’d only ever spoken directly to him when she’d been defending Julie Fairbanks—a TLS volunteer whom Joy seemed to have adopted as a surrogate mother. She’d told him that he could not be her grandfather if he didn’t believe that Julie was the author of the children’s books Joy had clung to since arriving at the Stand.

Julie had penned—and drawn—the stories, but until Joy’s announcement, only the child and a few others had known that the twenty-nine-year-old philanthropist was also a successful author.

Until Julie worked with Joy, the little girl hadn’t spoken a word after she’d been brought to The Lemonade Stand. Julie, through Amy, the character in her books, had connected with the child enough for her to tell them that she’d witnessed her father beating her aunt and mother. That her mother had told her aunt to take Joy and run, and that the aunt had hidden with the child behind an old dog pen. From there, Joy had seen her father haul her mother away by her hair.

The aunt, Mary Amos, had then run with Joy to the neighbors for help, after which the woman had been rushed to the hospital where she’d later died.

Joy spoke to those caring for her at The Lemonade Stand now. She spoke to Julie and to Hunter, Edward’s nephew, fairly regularly, too. Spoke when spoken to. Or to make requests. But other than when she was at Edward’s and crying out for others, she never spoke to Edward.

“I ordered a burger and fries, and she ate every bite,” he said in the reserved way he had, taking his time.

Lila could see how strangers might see Edward as somewhat cold. And had no idea why she was so certain that a solid core of warmth ran deeply through him.

“That’s good, Edward.” Lila’s job was to help this family help the child, she reminded herself as she leaned forward, too, needing the widower to know he wasn’t alone. “If she wasn’t somewhat comfortable with you, she wouldn’t have a healthy appetite.”

“I took her to the toy store. I told her she could have anything she wanted.”

“Did she pick something?”

He shook his head again. “We walked every aisle.”

“That must have taken a long time.”

His grin made her heart leap. Because she needed so badly for this family to find healing. “Two hours,” he told her. “She touched a lot of things, studied some, but each time I asked her if she wanted it, she shook her head.”

“We don’t know what kind of conditioning she’s had,” Lila quickly pointed out, not wanting to let go of that smile. “Oftentimes, after an abuser has hurt his victim, he overcompensates by buying things.”

Edward nodded. “I know. I’ve read everything you’ve given me since Cara first went missing weeks ago. I just... I’ve never so much as frowned at Joy, so I didn’t think...surely children of abusers have others in their lives who buy them things just because they care about them.”

“Most do, of course. But until you win Joy’s trust, you aren’t, in her mind, in the category of those who care about her.”

He knew what they were dealing with. He, like everyone else caring for Joy, was in counseling with Sara Edwin, one of the Stand’s full-time counselors.

“When we got back here, I read to her. She sat next to me and watched as I turned the pages.”

“Amy books?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Lila nodded.

“I couldn’t bring myself to leave her.”

“Did she seem distressed, having you there?”

“No.”

“Then this is progress.”

His gaze was direct this time. “I know. But I fear that I’m being selfish, as well. If I’m staying because I can’t bear leaving, is it her I’m putting first, or myself?”