The Baby Cop. Roz Denny Fox

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СКАЧАТЬ from examining this foster placement, I assure you it won’t work. I found Jeremy Smith’s case history most interesting.” Squaring her shoulders, she started up the walkway.

      Curious, Ethan followed. “Interesting how?” he challenged. “Because of the way he’s done a one hundred percent turnaround in the time he’s lived with my parents?”

      Her hand raised to knock on the door, Regan glanced back, giving Ethan a cool look. “Interesting in that I watched students in this neighborhood get off the school bus a while ago. It made me wonder why you would place an African-American child in an all-white neighborhood.”

      Ethan, who’d just leaned forward for a better whiff of Regan Grant’s spicy exotic perfume, stopped dead. “What exactly are you trying to say? It doesn’t take an Einstein to note the marked decrease in Jeremy’s encounters with the law since he came here.” He glowered at Regan, then spun to see that Jeremy hadn’t heard her statement. Fortunately the kid had found another basketball and was practicing free throws.

      “You mean it never occurred to you that the boy might be intimidated at being ripped from his ethnic roots?”

      Ethan’s arm tightened on the ball he still held. Of all the things she might have taken him to task for—like the flouting of procedures or the nepotism angle—the battle she actually chose floored Ethan. Almost as suddenly as he’d tensed, he felt an urge to laugh. He couldn’t wait to see how she’d react when Jeremy set her straight.

      “Well, nothing to say for yourself, I see.” Regan again raised a fist to knock. “Those are the types of considerations trained social workers know to look for when deciding on placement. We take the whole child into account.”

      Ethan blocked her knock by reaching over her shoulder to shove open the unlocked door. “Mom,” he yelled. “I’m showing Ms. Grant into the living room. She’s here for your Family Assistance appointment.”

      “I like the foster families I work with to call me Regan,” she said while attempting to shut Ethan outside. “I’ll wait right here in the entry until Elaine comes,” she told him.

      Her obvious efforts to get rid of him didn’t deter Ethan. “In this house, Family Assistance appointments involve everyone, Regan. I see my dad has driven in. He’ll bring Jeremy.” Ethan’s smile was charming if not slightly provocative. “I’m so glad you want to use first names. Calling you Ms. Grant sounds so stuffy. And now you’ll call me Ethan, of course.” Taking her arm, he propelled her into a homey room that held two leather couches, each with a matching chair. A large beehive fireplace took up all of one corner next to an arched north-facing window, which let in the afternoon sunlight. Family pictures covered the largest wall and spilled over onto every available surface in the room. School photos, mixed with graduations, weddings and christenings. At least four school pictures of Jeremy hung among the others.

      Regan, who’d grown up in a divorced family, estranged from her mother all these years, found the Knights’ gallery fascinating. Her dad, who’d had custody of her, was a busy executive. Regan had spent her formative years in boarding schools. Summers she lived with Great-aunt Roberta, a terribly allergic soul who kept a pristine dust-free house. Possibly why Regan herself maintained an orderly apartment.

      Elaine Knight and her husband, Joseph, walked in together. Short and plump, yet still youthful-looking at fifty-eight and after bearing nine children, Elaine immediately noticed Regan’s interest in the photographs. She passed the coffeepot and plate of cookies she was carrying to her husband, who hadn’t changed out of his county sheriff’s uniform. Hooking an arm through Regan’s, Ethan’s mother proudly walked her through a family rundown.

      “Hey, cool, Mom. You made my favorite cookies,” Jeremy announced, lumbering across the living room in his untied size-thirteen sneakers.

      Elaine glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “There’s milk and juice in the fridge, Jeremy. I also left an entire plateful of cookies on the kitchen counter just for you.” Turning back to Regan, she said, “Otherwise the rest of us wouldn’t get any. My three older boys could take or leave raisin-filled cookies. Jeremy would have me make them three times a week.”

      Turning from the wall of photos, Regan set her briefcase on the coffee table. “I only see three boys in your family portrait, Elaine. Have you lost a son?” she asked softly, her eyes filled with sympathy.

      Elaine’s brow crinkled in consternation. “Why, no. We’ve been exceptionally blessed in that way.” Her husband, too, appeared puzzled.

      Ethan, busily pouring coffee into the mugs his dad had set on the table, smiled as he handed Regan her cup. “I think Mom meant three boys older than Jeremy.”

      Lips pursed, Regan accepted the cup and sat. “Jeremy isn’t your son.”

      Joseph Knight, a big man who wore his uniform well, ran a hand through his full head of still-black hair. “He’s been our son for the last five years. And we’re as proud of him as we are of Matthew, Jacob and Ethan,” he said, reaching out a hand to catch Jeremy’s wrist. The gangly boy tumbled down on the couch beside him.

      “The folks wanted to adopt Jeremy,” Ethan said, passing Regan the plate of golden-brown cookies.

      “Really? I didn’t see mention of that in the file.” She bit into the cookie as she removed a folder from her briefcase and flipped through it.

      Ethan studied Jeremy a moment. The boy had begun to crack his knuckles. “Maybe Jeremy ought to supply the particulars.”

      “My mom…my real mom, she threw a royal fit. She don’t want me, but she don’t want nobody…uh…anybody else to adopt me. Mom and Dad Knight made me understand how she might not want to turn loose of me. And Anna…uh…Mrs. Murphy talked to her about me legally changing my last name to Knight. As kind of a compromise, she said. Anna was gonna file the papers, but then she died.”

      “You want to change your name?” Regan scribbled on the file. “I take it you’d like to live here permanently despite the racial incompatibility in the neighborhood?”

      “What racial incompatibility?” Elaine, Joseph and Jeremy said simultaneously.

      They looked so genuinely stupefied by her question that Regan, who choked on her cookie, turned to Ethan for clarification. He, in turn, deferred to Jeremy.

      “But…but all my friends are welcome here,” Jeremy blustered. “Besides, Tony Garcia lives three houses away. And Bill Washington’s on the next block.”

      Joseph Knight leaned thick wrists on his knees. “Either Ethan or I take Jeremy to the Boys’ Club once a week to mingle and play basketball. The school he attends is nicely integrated. And our daughter Erica has an adopted Vietnamese daughter.”

      Regan held up a staying palm. Yet it was to Ethan that she looked when she stammered out an apology. “I’m sorry. But…but…such issues matter in some placements. Jeremy is obviously happy here and quite well-adjusted.” She closed the file, tucked it into her briefcase and snapped the locks. Rising, she thrust a hand toward Joe and then Elaine. “Those cookies were the best I’ve ever tasted. I don’t blame Jeremy for wanting them three times a week.” Regan extracted a business card from her purse and passed it to Elaine. “If you share recipes, I’d love a copy.”

      Ethan’s mother beamed and so did he. His dark eyes roamed over Regan’s face and settled on her lips, where a cookie crumb still clung. He tucked the fingers of both hands into his pants pockets СКАЧАТЬ