Children’s Connection was accessible from the hospital by an elevator and a glass-walled walkway. Laurel was actually on her way to the cafeteria when she impulsively switched directions and headed for the foundation instead. She would just pop in for a few minutes to see how things were going, she promised herself.
As late as it was, not many employees would be there, but maybe Morgan had stayed late that day. If he was there, he could bring her up to date on the status of the cases she had been working.
She stepped into the blue-and-white tiled reception area, confirming that the receptionist had already left for the day. The room was decorated for comfort, with plenty of seating, tables arranged with a variety of magazines, and lush plants in large containers. The colors were muted pastels chosen to set visitors immediately at ease.
She shared an office with Maggie Sullivan, another caseworker, who wouldn’t be in this late. She decided to check her desk for messages or correspondence that might have accumulated in her absence. She had just moved in that direction when she crossed paths with her least favorite co-worker.
An accountant for the foundation, Everett Baker was in his early to mid-thirties. His dark hair was disarrayed and he had a nervous habit of clearing his throat and shifting his dark eyes away from whoever was speaking to him. Though she had heard he was very good at his work, he tended to be a loner who mingled little with his associates and seemed to make a deliberate effort to blend in with the office furniture. Laurel had tried on occasion to make conversation with him, but she had rarely been successful at drawing more than a few words out of him.
All of her social worker’s instincts, combined with her own background, told her that Everett was a man with a lot of heavy baggage. A troubled, maybe even abusive, past. It was something about the way he held himself, as if he were almost anticipating the next blow. But that tiny glimmer of insight—which, for all she knew, could be completely off base—didn’t make her any more comfortable around him.
“Leaving for the day?” she asked, settling on meaningless small talk.”
He nodded. “I thought you were on leave.”
“I jus
t dropped in for a minute to check my messages.”
“How’s your boy?”
Rather surprised he’d asked, she replied, “He’s doing well. Thank you for asking.”
“Yeah. Well, see you around.”
It was only after he had let himself out that Laurel found herself wondering why he’d been coming out of a hallway that was nowhere near his own office. But because she had so many problems of her own to worry about for now, she quickly pushed odd Everett Baker out of her mind.
Jackson didn’t know what had gone on between his wife and his mother while he’d been at work, but the tension between them was unmistakable that evening. More so than usual, anyway.
“Tell me the truth, Dad,” he said in frustration as he and his father took a walk around the garden late that evening. “What’s going on with Mom? She’s been acting…well, weird.”
They had left Donna in the waiting room, visiting with some ladies from her Sunday School program who had stopped by the hospital to deliver a fruit basket and ask if there was anything else they could do for the family. Seeing her friends had brought the first natural smile to Donna’s face that Jackson had seen in several days.
“Oh, you know, Jay. She’s worried about the boy.”
Carl was lousy at prevarication. Jackson slanted a frown his way. “C’mon, Dad, I know something’s going on. Is Mom sick?”
“No. She’s not sick.”
Jackson nodded, reassured that his dad was telling the truth that time. “So what is it?”
“If there’s anything bothering your mother, it’s really up to her to discuss it with you. Not my place to talk behind her back.”
“I just want to know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“You’ve got your hands full right now. Your mother will talk to you when—or if—she’s ready.”
“Just one more question, okay? Is it something I’ve done? Have I hurt her in some way?”
Carl reached out to pat Jackson’s shoulder roughly. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Jay. Your mother couldn’t be prouder of you, and neither could I, for that matter. A man couldn’t ask for a better son.”
Jackson stopped in his tracks, giving Carl a hard stare. “Are you the one who’s sick?”
Carl sighed. “I’m not sick. Can’t a man pay a compliment to his son without getting attitude?”
“Well, yeah. But you’ve gotta admit that was a pretty flowery speech coming from you.”
“You just remember what I said. And remember I meant every word of it.”