Catching Serenity Page 3

  As far as his guardian, Jackson didn’t know whether it was her quiet demeanor—not aloofness, exactly, but more a reserved quality—or the sunglasses she hadn’t removed, but something niggled at his brain. It might drive him crazy until he figured it out. If he figured it out. Nothing sinister, by any means, but something out-of-the-ordinary. He only hoped they’d return so he could dig a little deeper. If Mrs. Johnson decided to bring Justin again, she’d need to complete some of the new patient forms. It had nothing to do with money and everything to do with state and federal compliance, often the bane of his existence.

  Bringing the session to a close, Jackson rose to his feet, smiling at the child. “Would you mind reading a book in the lobby for a few minutes while I talk with Mrs. Johnson?”

  The boy tilted his head and gave him a curious stare. “She’s not—”

  “Honey, do as he asks, please.” Quickly crossing the room, she ruffled Justin’s dark curls. “We’ll leave the door open, and I’ll be right here if you need me. We won’t be long.”

  “I think there’s several Dr. Seuss books,” Jackson said, walking him to the doorway. “Mrs. Lange, could you please find Green Eggs and Ham for Justin?”

  “Sure thing.” The good-natured woman smiled and motioned for him to follow as she led the way toward the rack of books. “Let’s see what we can find. We have Horton Hears a Who if we can’t find the other one.”

  When he was settled with a book, Jackson gestured for Mrs. Johnson to take a seat again as he moved behind the desk. “Justin seems to be a very healthy and well-adjusted child. Why exactly have you brought him to see me?”

  The glasses stayed in place, but Mrs. Johnson bowed her head and twisted her fingers in her lap. “He’s been sheltered his entire life. It’s time to get him out in the world, meet kids his own age, have fun and go to school. He’s also a sensitive child, and he might need help to make the adjustment.”

  Fair enough. “May I ask where he’s been?”

  Mrs. Johnson sighed. “Living in a mostly adult world and I’ve homeschooled him.”

  “I take it he lives with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve raised him?” Her nod was almost imperceptible. “How long?” When she didn’t answer, he persisted. “Since he was a baby?”

  She hesitated and finally nodded, offering nothing more. Where were the child’s parents? He’d let it go and hope it’d be revealed in a later session. “Why do you think now’s the time for a change?”

  “The environment in New York was getting somewhat...oppressive, and I thought it was in Justin’s best interests to leave. I love it here in Croisette Shores and always have.” As if afraid she’d let something slip unaware, Mrs. Johnson lowered her head again. “I think this town might be a good place for him.”

  “A safe place?”

  She jerked up her head, and Jackson wished he could whip the glasses from her face so he could look her in the eye. He’d struck a nerve. Good. He’d no doubt strike a few more before he was done. Not being able to look someone in the eye when he spoke with them drove him nuts. Combined with evasive answers, this conversation was like his worst-case nightmare when it came to dealing with a patient’s guardian.

  “Why do you say that?” The muscles in her jaws tensed and she stilled her fingers.

  Jackson leaned across the desk, purposely keeping his voice low. Time to play hardball. “For starters, the name Johnson isn’t exactly original. You won’t remove your sunglasses, a pretty good indicator you’re hiding something, but whether physical or otherwise, I have no idea. You can’t sit in the chair for more than a few seconds without fidgeting and you’re measuring your words carefully so you won’t reveal what you don’t want me to know.” He sat back in the chair. “Look, it’s not my job to figure out your motivation. It is my responsibility to help Justin. But in order to do that, you’re going to have to work with me. I hope you’re willing to do that.”

  Instead of slamming him—and admittedly, she had every right—Mrs. Johnson remained in the chair. The lines around her mouth were drawn, the lines on her forehead more evident, but she hadn’t bolted, a promising sign. She had her charge’s best interests in mind, and that was key. Was it a subconscious test? Perhaps, but unfair or not, she’d passed and that pleased him.

  Her deep sigh was audible. “He has close relatives in Croisette Shores he’s never met. It’s time.”

  “What’s your relationship to Justin?”

  She lifted her chin and squared her slender shoulders. “I love him. Isn’t that enough?”

  That much was obvious, but it’d do. For now. “Is Johnson your real last name?”

  “No.” It was barely more than a whisper. He was surprised she’d allowed that much.

  “Are you in the Witness Protection Program? Be honest. Whatever you tell me won’t go beyond these walls.”

  The corners of her mouth lifted. “Heavens, no.”

  “Good. Then why all the secrecy?” Lightening up and taking it easy on the woman would be advisable, but as long as she seemed willing to answer, he’d keep asking.

  “All will be revealed in due time.” Looking down at her lap, she smoothed a hand over her skirt. “I don’t mean to sound mysterious, Dr. Ross, but I’m asking you to trust me.” She visibly swallowed. “I assure you I have that child’s best interests at heart.”

  “Can you tell me his last name?”

  She tilted her head with a sharp movement. He’d apparently startled her. Jackson released a sigh. “Fine. I’ll list it as Johnson for now. Are you planning on settling permanently in Croisette Shores?”

  “I want to make sure he likes it here before making any definite decisions.”

  “Have you made contact with his relatives, arranged a meeting?”

  “Not yet.” She half-rose from the chair. “I have another appointment now, but I appreciate your time and trust I’ve answered your questions sufficiently to warrant another visit.”

  Jackson nodded and that odd sense of relief filled him once more. “Please make an appointment with Mrs. Lange. She’ll give you some paperwork to fill out.” That might intimidate her. “Give me what information you can, the basics, and I’ll take it from there.”

  “Very well. Thank you, Dr. Ross.”

  He nodded. “Thanks for coming and bringing Justin. He’s a great kid and I’ll try to help him in whatever way I can.”

  She paused by the door. “Yes, he is. I’ll see you again.”

  After saying goodbye and recording his observations, Jackson glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes. That’d give him plenty of time to walk the four blocks to the coffee shop and meet his decorator with the intriguing name. Serenity something-or-other. She came highly recommended by their mutual friend Charlie Mathias. In actuality, he’d only met Charlie since he’d been in town, but he’d known instinctively the man’s word was as good as gold.

  Heading out into the sunshine a few minutes later, in the direction of Martha’s Cup & Such, Jackson’s thoughts wandered to the beautiful blonde woman he’d spied when he’d gone back to the cottage for lunch and taken Freud for a quick run on the beach. Purposely tossing the Frisbee in her direction hadn’t been the brightest idea, but it’d caught her attention. She’d seemed friendly enough but then promptly cut him off from further discussion. To be fair, she’d appeared deep in thought and Freud had startled her.

  Hopefully, he’d have another opportunity to meet her. For whatever reason, he suspected she was a local of the area and not a short-term visitor. That thought encouraged him. Tomorrow, he’d jog on the beach again with Freud. He’d go every day, both for his own health and so Freud could expend all that excess, pent-up energy. Next time, he’d find the opportunity to meet her and share a conversation. After all, Croisette Shores wasn’t that big.

  ~CHAPTER 3~

  Serenity filled Ginseng’s water dish and carefully lowered it to the kitchen floor.

  “Thanks for letting her back in,” Clinton s
aid when she returned to the family room. Ginseng plopped down beside the recliner, watching her with big, sad eyes and resting her head on crossed paws.

  “Are you getting out every day and walking Ginseng?” Serenity sat again in her mother’s chair, marveling how it smelled faintly of her honeysuckle-scented lotion, even now. A glance at the fraying threads on the edge of the seat brought unexpected tears. Funny how mundane or seemingly insignificant things could trigger memories of Mama in any given moment. Perhaps her tears were more a concession to the idea she might really be gone. Gone.

  Her dad pulled a cigarette from the pack. Probably for effect, he’d waited for her to come back inside. Clamping it between his lips, he curled his fingers around a lighter with a scene of Croisette Shores, the kind sold in the tourist shops down by the waterfront. The years of firefighting had left his palms callused and his hands were gnarled from encroaching arthritis. “So, where’d you get the start-up capital for this business of yours?” he said. “I don’t think I’ve heard the answer to that one yet. Did you get a small business loan?”

  Serenity turned her head as he inhaled a long drag before blowing out a smoke ring. Insinuation wound its way into his words and she struggled to keep her voice calm. “No loans. I’ve lived frugally and worked part-time while I went to school. I used public transportation and lived with three roommates in student housing to save on rent. Money I didn’t need to survive went straight into my savings.” She’d anticipated her dad’s questions and rehearsed that speech to where she could spout it in her sleep.

  “Good girl.”

  “It’s called doing what I needed to survive and hang onto what shreds of sanity I had left.” Biting her lower lip, she avoided the intensity of his gaze.

  Clinton grunted, one of his longtime aversion tactics. “This is an old town, Serenity. You know that. They don’t call it ‘historic’ for nothing. Don’t know how many people will want the services of some fancy decorator.”

  She tried not to smirk. “Businesses and homeowners still need to update sometimes, Dad. This house is a classic example. Unlike some people, I can’t sit around and dwell on the past.” She closed her mouth. Best not to alienate him and that last statement sounded a lot more sarcastic than she’d intended. She’d given him enough to chew on for one afternoon and hoped she hadn’t already pushed him too far.

  Thirty minutes later, armed with a lecture about the likelihood her business would fail in an uncertain economy—especially in a town the size of Croisette Shores—Serenity gave her father a kiss on his temple. Dutiful yes, but she appreciated the fact he cared enough to voice his concerns. His skin felt a little warm and clammy and she pressed the back of her hand across his forehead.

  In a surprise move, Clinton clasped his thin, wiry hand around hers and held on tight. Touched by the unexpected show of tenderness, she glanced down at their joined hands. The blue veins in his hands were prominent and the misshapen knuckles had to be painful.

  “I should have stopped you from running off before.” Tired eyes met hers and softened.

  “You couldn’t have stopped me, Dad.”

  Clinton released her hand from its vise-like grip, something else left over from his firefighting days. “You always were stubborn, like your mama, but you’ve got a strong backbone, and that’s stood you well. Pretty as a picture like Elise, too, with all that long blonde hair and big blue eyes. Sure to break a good man’s heart.” Another raspy cough escaped, and he turned his head, bringing a fist over his mouth. Thankfully, this one didn’t last long, only a few seconds. “I’m glad you got her looks, not mine.”

  “Admit it, Dad. You miss her.” She stopped short of tacking on the word, “too.” As mad as she was at Mama, she’d been a good mother until the day she simply...disappeared. The not knowing was the worst thing of all. Like sensing you have cancer but not having a diagnosis. All over again, she silently promised herself and her father she’d find answers so they could have some kind of closure and move on with their lives.

  The horizontal creases marching across Clinton’s brow deepened. Leaning his head against the chair, he squeezed his eyes tight and pinched the bridge of his nose. The cigarette was still clenched between his fingers. “God help me, I do.” Opening his eyes, he lowered his head to meet her gaze straight-on. “There’s days when I don’t want to go on without her.”

  What possessed her to bring up the subject of her mother when she had an appointment to keep in less than twenty minutes? Getting all emotional wouldn’t be the best thing before meeting a potential client. “I inherited things more important than looks from you, Dad.”

  “Yeah? Like what?” How she’d missed his smile, the one that hinted of the handsome man he’d once been. Then he spoiled the image by taking another deep drag from his cigarette.

  “For starters, how to save money for what’s most important,” she said. “Not to judge someone based on the color of their skin, their bank account or what they do for a living. How not to take anything or anyone for granted.”

  “Don’t you forget those lessons either, girl.” Clinton shifted in his chair. “Why are you really back in Croisette Shores, Serenity? Are you finally here to stay?” Her dad’s voice caught. Coughing again, he thumped his chest a few times. While she waited, she grabbed the water glass and refilled it and then retrieved the remains of scattered newspapers and stacked them in a neat pile on the brick hearth. From the corner of her eye, she saw him take a long drink and empty the glass.

  “I hope you know I didn’t run away from you.” She hesitated. “I just couldn’t—”

  “I know.” His eyes met hers again. “We’ll get through it together.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “I brought your dinner. Cashew chicken from Mr. Wong’s. It’s in the fridge.” She checked her watch. “Listen, I’ve got an appointment soon and should scoot. Do you need anything else before I go?”

  “I’m good. Thanks for spoiling me, girl. Don’t know what made you finally decide to come back, but I’m glad you did.”

  His statement confirmed what she already knew. No way he’d mailed that note urging her to come home. The scrawl was nothing like Clinton’s small, squeezed-together letters. Her trip to the post office last week had proved pointless. The postmistress—a girl from her graduating class named Tina—could tell her nothing other than confirm what she already knew: the Croisette Shores postmark was authentic, but without a return address, there was nothing to go on. Even if Tina did know anything, privacy rules trumped personal relationships. Until someone stepped forward or she figured it out, the sender’s identity would remain a mystery.

  “Croisette Shores is my home, Dad. Always has been.”

  Clinton shook his head. “You’ll have to do better than that. You should have found a rich man in Atlanta to take care of you and give you lots of beautiful babies. You deserve better after all you’ve been through.”

  “People in big cities aren’t immune from heartache, Dad,” she said. “God has nothing personal against us or this town. You could have left, too, you know. Other than memories and a few buddies, you haven’t had much to keep you here.”

  Deep-set eyes met hers again. “I do now.”

  Blinking hard, she stemmed the tears. How could he be so gruff one minute and steal her breath with unexpected sentimentality the next? “God’s been teaching me I can’t run away from my problems. Besides,” she said, patting his arm and sniffling, “you gave me this name for a reason. It’s about time I lived up to it, don’t you think?”

  “Elise named you. I wanted to name you Prudence.” His lips upturned. “Your mama always had a way of convincing me to come around to her way of thinking. But since when did you start thinking about God? Find yourself some religion in Atlanta, did you?”

  “No, not religion, Dad. I discovered faith and a relationship with Jesus. It’s all pretty new, but it’s precious and...special, so please don’t spoil it for me.”

  Instead of sc
offing—or calling it a crutch, as she suspected—he cocked a brow and stared at her for several long seconds. “I’m real happy for you, Serenity, but if the Almighty’s really watching out for you, He wouldn’t have brought you back to this God-forsaken town.”

  Serenity knelt on the floor beside his recliner. “I’m not sure about a lot of things, Dad, but in my heart, I know this is where I belong. I learned that I’m never alone and that gives me an unbelievable comfort. I promise you I’ll find answers so we’ll both know what happened. Once and for all.”

  She hated what he was doing to himself, sitting in that chair hour after hour. Either loneliness or lung cancer would eventually kill him. The saddest thing of all? It’s probably what he wanted, but it wouldn’t happen if she had anything to say about it.

  Cupping the side of his face with one palm, her heart swelled with emotion when he leaned his leathered cheek against it. Rough stubble prickled her fingers and the contours of his face felt familiar—although painfully thin—beneath her hand. As a little girl, she’d put her hands on his puffed cheeks and squeezed until he released the trapped air. Then he’d cover her face with kisses and tickle her as she giggled. As a teenager, she’d teased him about the roughness of his beard and ducked to avoid his kiss. A tear slipped down her cheek, but she let it go.

  “Aw, don’t go and get all female on me,” Clinton said, tugging a handkerchief from the pocket of his shorts and offering it to her.

  Serenity waved it away with a small smile. “No, thanks.” She wiped her damp cheek with the back of one hand. “I didn’t know men under eighty used those disgusting things.”