son-in-law driving her grandson cross-country on a motorcycle. She approached her grandson and crouched down to gaze at him face-to-face. A layer of dirt and grime covered his features and the dark curls on his head were matted, but the blue eyes twinkling back at her were the same color as Frank’s. “Do you know who I am?” she asked.
“You’re Grandmom,” he answered, squaring his little shoulders. “Dad told me.”
Duke nudged the boy with his knee. “Go on. Give her a kiss hello, boy. Time’s a-wastin’.”
Brian flinched, but obeyed his father and planted a kiss on her chin. “Hi, Grandmom.”
Judy closed her eyes for a moment and melted with joy. She kissed him back. “Hi, yourself. Is your mommy here, too?”
“Candy’s not here. She’s back in the hospital. Again.” Duke spat the words without giving Brian a chance to respond.
Concerned, Judy stood up, but before she could ask for a full explanation, Duke shoved an envelope into her hand. “What’s this?”
“Papers. Legal papers. You’ll be needin’ ’em if you’re gonna raise him. I can’t tell you exactly where Candy is stayin’, ’cause I don’t know, so don’t bother tryin’ to grill me.”
She turned the envelope over and over in her hand. “I don’t understand. If Candy is back in rehab, then why—”
“I’m leavin’ Brian with you. I don’t know whether or not she’ll ever show up for the boy, but until she does, you need the papers to put him in school and stuff.”
She edged closer to Brian and put her arm around his narrow shoulders. “Why?”
Duke snorted. “Kid’s six now. He started school last year, and Candy—”
“No. I meant why are you leaving Brian with me? Why aren’t you going to wait for Candy to come home and raise him? You’re her husband and his father.”
He shrugged. “Havin’ a kid was Candy’s idea, not mine. Doesn’t look like she’ll be able to take care of him anytime soon. Besides, I got plans now, and he’s not part of ’em.”
When Brian tried to squirm free from Judy’s grip, Duke nailed the boy to the spot with a glare that sent shivers down her spine. “You behave, boy. Don’t make me come back if I hear you’ve been bad.”
Brian froze and his features paled.
Judy held him tight. She did not know whether to throttle her idiot son-in-law senseless for being such a brute or for abandoning his own flesh and blood. She was even tempted to thank him for bringing her grandson home to her, instead of leaving him to get lost in the maze of foster care. Without giving her a chance to do anything, however, Duke simply got on his motorcycle and drove off.
He never looked back.
He never even said goodbye to his son.
Ginger King and her husband, Tyler, emerged from their house with their cooler packed and ready to leave for some tailgating with their friends from church before today’s doubleheader baseball game between the Philadelphia Phillies and the Chicago Cubs. To her surprise, they ran straight into their daughter Lily, and her eight-year-old son, Vincent.
At thirty, Lily was their youngest child. A single mom, she and Vincent lived in Chicago where she taught elementary school. She had never spoken of Vincent’s father or even revealed his identity, and she had not been home for a visit for nearly two years. Their oldest son, Mark, was in Nashville recording demo tapes and waiting for his big break into country music, while their middle child, Denise, enjoyed life as a flight attendant, headquartered in San Francisco. All were still single, but it was Lily who Ginger worried about the most.
Ginger squealed with delight, hugged her grandson with one arm and her youngest child with the other. “What a surprise! I can’t believe you two! What are you doing here?” Without giving either one the chance to answer, she tussled Vincent’s hair. “Look how tall you’ve gotten. Don’t tell me you’ve become a Cub fan and Mom flew you here from Chicago for the doubleheader today. We were just headed over to the stadium,” she gushed. She knew they would have to ditch those plans now, but her excitement at seeing Lily and Vincent quickly erased her disappointment.
Vincent blushed. “You know I don’t like baseball, Grams.”
Ginger winced. As endearing as the term Grams might be—it was better than Grandmom—yet she was still tempted to look around, as if Vincent were talking with someone else. At fifty-five, she felt and acted twenty-five. She was too young to be a grandmother, by