A Kiss in Winter Page 33
This was the third time since the summer session began five weeks ago that the preschool had called Eric at work because they couldn’t locate her. It had been a familiar message; Scott was having a “behavior problem,” causing such disruption that the teachers requested he be taken home. Jill had responded to a similar call on at least four occasions.
The staff at the church-housed preschool were sympathetic and had made every effort to help assimilate him into classroom activities; but, they repeatedly explained, they had to consider the other twelve children in the class.
As Eric pulled into the rear parking lot of the Methodist church, his stomach felt as pocked and broken as the ancient asphalt. Weeds of frustration sprouted through the numerous cracks, filling his middle with something poisonous to all of his hopes for his son. This summer preschool program was intended for children who were going to need extra time and attention to catch up; children who would benefit from not having an interruption in the development of their social skills by a long summer break. Even so, it seemed Scott was on a rapid backslide. Eric couldn’t help the feeling of terror that had begun to build deep in his heart, as if he were locked high in a tower watching his son drown in the moat outside his window—close enough to witness yet helpless to save him.
For a long moment, he sat in the car, staring toward the forested mountains shrouded in their ever-present blue mist. In a way, Scott’s mind was concealed from him just like the detailed contour of those mountains. He wished with all of his soul that he could divine the right course to lead his son out of the mysterious fog. The local doctors had varying opinions; from developmental delay (a catchall phrase, he’d decided), to mild autism, to he’ll-grow-out-of-it, to it’s-too-early-to-tell.
Eric was willing to do whatever it took to help his son—if only there was a definite answer as to what that was.
He slammed the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. Then he took a deep breath and tried to exhale his frustration. He would need all of the calm he could muster to deal with what awaited inside.
When he entered the hall that led to the basement classroom, he could hear Scott crying—screaming. A feeling of blind helplessness whooshed over him like a backdraft in a fire. He quickened his pace.
With his hand on the doorknob, he paused, heartsick as he looked through the narrow glass window beside the door. His son stood stiffly in the corner, blue paint streaked through his blond hair and on his face. Mrs. Parks, one of the teachers, knelt beside him, talking softly. Eric saw her hands on her knees; Scott really didn’t like anyone other than his parents to touch him.
Scott ignored his teacher, his little body rigid with frustration. It was a picture Eric had seen before. Still, it grabbed his gut and twisted with brutal ferocity every time.
When he went into the room and knelt beside his son, there was no reaction of joy, no sense of salvation, no throwing himself into Eric’s arms with relief. Scott’s cries continued unabated.
Was this behavior an offshoot of the divorce, as Jill insisted? It seemed implausible, as he and Jill hadn’t lived together since Scott was ten months old. Still, that nagging of conscience couldn’t be silenced.
Mrs. Parks, a woman whose patience continually astounded Eric, said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do but call you.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully and looked back at Scott. “I think he wanted the caps put back on the finger paints. Although I can’t say for sure.” In her hand she held a wet paper towel. She handed it to Eric and got up and walked away. “Maybe he’ll let you wipe his hands.”
Eric took the towel. Scott had become increasingly obsessed with closing things—cabinets, windows, doors, containers—with an unnatural intensity. Anything that he wasn’t allowed to close sent him into an inconsolable tantrum, as if his entire world had been shaken off its foundation.
Jill’s mother said the child was overindulged, spoiled because his divorced parents were vying for his love. Jill’s family did not divorce. At first Eric had bought into the theory. But he’d been careful, watched to make sure they weren’t acquiescing to Scott’s every demand.
“Okay, buddy, can I wipe your hands?” Eric asked, holding out the towel.
Scott’s cries didn’t escalate; Eric took that as permission. He got the worst of the blue off his son’s hands, then scooped him up in his arms and carried him, still stiff and crying, out of the classroom.
Scott wiggled and squirmed, but Eric managed to get him strapped in his car seat. By the time he was finished, Eric had almost as much blue paint smeared on him as Scott did. Before he climbed into the driver’s seat, Eric tried to call Jill again. No answer.
Eric then called the station. When the dispatcher picked up, he said, “Donna, I’m going to have to take the rest of the afternoon off; I had to pick Scott up at school, he’s… sick.”
Eric hadn’t discussed his son’s possible condition with anyone. It was still too new, too baffling. How could he explain something that was currently such a mystery to his own mind?
Donna made a tiny noise of understanding. “No problem,” she said, with overkill on lightheartedness. “Hope he feels better soon.”
Eric realized he hadn’t been fooling anyone.
By the time Jill called forty minutes later, Scott was sitting quietly on the floor of Eric’s living room, playing with his current favorite toy, a plastic pirate ship.
“What happened?” she asked. “I went to pick him up, and they said you’d taken him home early.”
“More of the same. A tantrum that wouldn’t stop.” Eric rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb.
“You would think a preschool teacher could handle a two-year-old tantrum without calling parents.”
“Jill”—he took a deep breath—“you know it’s more than that. Dr. Martin—”
“Stop! What if Dr. Martin is wrong? Dr. Templeton saw nothing out of the ordinary in Scott. Why do you insist upon thinking the worst?” Thankfully, she caught herself before she pushed them into their normal angry confrontation on the subject. Her voice became pleading. “Eric, I don’t want him to be labeled. If they treat him like he’s disabled, he’s going to be disabled. He’s just slow to mature. Lots of kids are. He’s just a baby! A friend of Angela’s said she knew a boy who didn’t talk until he was four and he’s making A’s and B’s in school and gets along with everyone. And Stephanie’s daughter has tantrums all of the time. A few more weeks in school and—”
“And what?” Sometimes Eric felt he was fighting the battle for his son on two fronts—against both an as-yet-unnamed developmental disorder and Scott’s mother’s refusal to face facts. “They’ll probably ask us not to bring him back. We need to find a better solution for him. It’s not just the fact that he’s not talking. He doesn’t interact with the other kids. Maybe he needs more structure, like Dr. Martin said.”
“And Dr. Olfson said it’s too early to be sure. None of the experts can even agree! And you want him locked up in an institution!”
“Stop overreacting. You know that’s not what I meant.” He closed his eyes and willed his anger to subside. “We need to find a better way to help him learn, help him cope.”
She sighed heavily. “Let’s give this school a couple more months. Please. Then we’ll decide.”
“I just feel that time is slipping away. The sooner we start, the better his chances.”
“I do not want this whole town talking about Scott as if he’s retarded. He’s not.”
“Of course he’s not! But he’s going to need more help.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I won’t take the risk for nothing. I agreed to send him to school over the summer; isn’t that enough for now?”
“All right.” It was all Eric could do to keep from arguing. It was going to take time to get Jill turned around. “We’ll leave things as they are for a few more weeks. But I think it’s time to start at least looking for options.”
She let it drop, apparently satisfied with her temporary vict
ory. “Since tomorrow is your day, why don’t you just keep Scottie tonight? I have a ton of things to get done. It’d really help me out. I’ll just pick him up out at Tula’s on Friday after work.”
This was yet another tool in Jill’s arsenal of denial—spend less time with Scott so she didn’t have to see what was becoming progressively more obvious.
“Sure. Do you want to say hi to him before I hang up?” Eric spoke to his son every day on the phone, regardless of the empty silence on the other end of the line.
“Sure.”
After holding the phone next to Scott’s ear for a moment while Jill held a one-sided conversation, Eric got back on the line. “I’ll tell Tula you’ll be there at five-thirty on Friday.”
“Okay. You boys have fun.” She hung up.
You boys have fun. As if he and Scott were going to a baseball game and sharing hot dogs and popcorn. Would Jill ever be convinced their son wasn’t like other children?
Eric hung up the phone and stretched out on the floor next to Scott. He’d taken to only setting out one activity at a time for Scott and keeping the background noise to a minimum, as Dr. Martin had suggested. It did seem that Scott was less agitated.
There was still blue paint in Scott’s hair. Eric decided to leave that until bath time—which would develop into a battle of its own; Scott didn’t like to be taken away from whatever he was doing. Changing activities seemed to trigger more than just normal two-year-old frustration.
For now, Eric tried some of the repetitive exercises he’d read about, just to see if it seemed to make a connection. Dr. Martin said sometimes these children needed to find alternative ways of communication—it was just a matter of searching and working with repetition until you found the right one.
As Eric worked with Scott, the light in the room turned orange with sunset. Scott’s pudgy toddler fingers spun the pirate boat in tireless circles. With a lump in his throat, Eric wondered if he would ever understand what was going on inside his son’s mind.
BOOKS BY SUSAN CRANDALL
On Blue Falls Pond
Promises to Keep
Magnolia Sky
The Road Home
Back Roads
Praise for
SUSAN CRANDALL’S
Novels
ON BLUE FALLS POND
“Susan Crandall writes nothing but compelling tales and this is the best yet. I’m moving her to the top of my favorite author list.”
—RomanceReviewsMag.com
“Full of complex characters… it’s a well-written story of the struggles to accept what life hands out and continue living.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub Magazine
PROMISES TO KEEP
“FOUR STARS! Crandall once again tells a heart-warming story of the Boudreau family.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub Magazine
“Touching, well-written.”
—FreshFiction.com
“An appealing heroine… [an] unexpected plot twist… engaging and entertaining.”
—TheRomanceReader.com
“Heartwarming… Crandall deftly takes up where she left off in The Road Home.”
—Booklist
“Another fantastic story by Susan Crandall.”
—RomanceReviewsMag.com
“This is one book you will want to read repeatedly.”
—MyShelf.com
MAGNOLIA SKY
“Emotionally charged… An engrossing story that affirms the best of what families are made, not born, to be.”
—BookPage
“A wonderful story that kept surprising me as I read. Real conflicts and deep emotions make the powerful story come to life.”
—Rendezvous
“An engaging contemporary romance starring two scarred souls and a wonderful support cast… Fans will enjoy.”
—Midwest Book Review
THE ROAD HOME
“A terrific story… with warmth and an instinctive understanding of the heart, this is a book you will want to keep to read again and again.”
—RomRevToday.com
“The characters… stay with you long after the last page is read.”
—Bookloons.com
BACK ROADS
“Accomplished and very satisfying… Add Susan Crandall to your list of authors to watch.”
—Bookloons.com
“An amazingly assured debut novel… expertly drawn.”
—TheRomanceReadersConnection.com
“A definite all-nighter. Very highly recommended.”
—RomRevToday.com
THE DISH
Where authors give you the inside scoop!
From the desk of Robin T. Popp
Dear Night Slayer Fans,
I’d love to tell you that the Night Slayer series was a carefully planned story concept that was years in the making—but it wasn’t. After working on several futuristic novels, the truth is I simply wanted to write a vampire novel. I loved reading them, so why not write one. The problem I ran into was that every story idea I came up with had already been done. I needed a new angle on an old tale.
Hours of vampire research led me to the legendary el chupacabra. I read about the “sightings” and mysterious attacks of this nocturnal creature, and where the facts ended my imagination began. The vampire hero has been done—and done well—by many authors. I wanted something new, but I didn’t want to stray too far from reality, which seemed to limit my options to either a vampire or human hero.
So I compromised and the half-human/half-vampire changeling heroes of the Night Slayer series were born. In my version, an encounter with el chupacabra can result in the creation of either a vampire or a changeling. One is a bloodthirsty, power-seeking evil being and the other is the Night Slayer, wielding the sword of justice and judgment.
Now, the Night Slayer series continues in TEMPTED IN THE NIGHT (on sale now). When Homicide Detective John Boehler is about to confront his suspect in the Exsanguinator cases, he comes across a raven-haired beauty with a sword clutched in her hand. His suspect disappears, John’s charged with murder, the raven-haired beauty won’t stop interfering with his investigation, and there’s a serial killer on the loose that might just be a vampire. And, John’s problems are just beginning.
I hope you enjoy the adventure.
Best,
www.robintpopp.com
From the desk of Susan Crandall
Dear Reader,
A KISS IN WINTER (on sale now) has been brewing in my mind for a good long while. It had to take a temporary backseat to the Glens Crossing Series and ON BLUE FALLS POND and wait its turn. It was polite about it, folding its hands in its lap and crossing its ankles. Occasionally, however, it had to get up and run around the room (or my mind in this case) just to burn off excess energy. It would spin inside my head, banging against its confines, growing more mature and larger as it did (some internal bruising of the author did occur). And, as with many things that have to wait, this book changed its mind about what it wanted to be.
My springboard for this idea was my daughter’s photography. I realized how personal a photograph is, how it bares the soul of the photographer much in the same way as a book exposes the innermost chambers of a writer’s heart. And then, the “what if” games began.
Initially the story idea was steeped in gritty urban suspense, but that was too easy for me to construct (I’ve never in my life chosen the easy path). And that’s not a true Susan Crandall novel: a book about people and emotions and learning to live with what life dishes out. I had to dig deeper into the hearts and souls of Mick, Caroline, Debra and Charles, Macie and Sam. Then I asked myself, “What would challenge each of these people and the way they view their personal worlds the most?” At that point, the book began to take its true shape.
It’s really much the same with each of my novels. They always begin with a tiny seed of an idea and as I begin to write and research, the full story emerges. This way, I get as much pleasure discovering these characte
rs and their stories as you, the reader, does.
I’m currently researching my next novel, and boy am I learning! I’ve been interviewing law enforcement officers, picking the brains of some very talented search and rescue workers, and going out on training exercises with Indiana Task Force 1 K-9 Search and Rescue teams. Let me tell you, the entire process is much harder than I ever imagined. It’s given me fabulous insight for this project. (Check out the photos on my Web site.)
I hope you’ll join me on my next adventure, reuniting Cole and Becca from MAGNOLIA SKY as they reluctantly join forces to find a toddler gone missing from her bedroom in the middle of the night.
Until then, happy reading!
www.susancrandall.net
Thank you for buying this e-book, published by Hachette Digital.
To receive special offers, bonus content, and news about our latest e-books and apps, sign up for our newsletter.
Sign Up
Or visit us at hachettebookgroup.com/newsletters
Contents
Title Page
Welcome
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
About the Author