When We Found Home. Susan Mallery
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“All of it. Moving from Los Angeles, that she’s only been here a couple of months. Carl and Angelina.”
“Who are Carl and Angelina?”
“It’s really not important.” She touched his arm. “She’s going to be okay. That’s what’s important, Malcolm. Focus on that and let the rest take care of itself over time.”
He nodded at her tote. “That’s the kitten?”
“Uh-huh. I’ll take care of it until Keira’s better.”
He got the implied message. That of course his sister would be keeping the damned kitten that nearly got her killed, although at this point, the kitten was the least of it.
“I need to call Carmen and get her medical records,” he said.
“The housekeeper?”
“Yes. Thank you for staying with her.” He felt like he should say more, but couldn’t think what.
“It’s fine. She’s sweet and I was glad to do it. She shouldn’t be alone.”
Malcolm thought of Keira’s large suite of rooms at the far end of the hall. If she wasn’t at school, she was alone most of the time. Sometimes she even ate dinner by herself. He should do better, he told himself. She was only a kid. It was just...
“Why did you call me the asshole brother?” he asked, suddenly remembering what she’d said when he’d first arrived. She couldn’t possibly know enough to judge him.
Delaney flushed. “Sorry about that. I was surprised to see you.” She looked away then back at him before digging in her tote and handing him a phone.
“It’s Keira’s,” she said. “She never refers to you by name.” She pointed to the phone. “It’s, uh, in the contacts.”
He pressed a couple of buttons, then scrolled through the info. Sure enough, under the As—Asshole Brother. So much for having to guess how she felt about him.
“I need to call Carmen,” he repeated.
“Go ahead. I’ll stay here in case she wakes up.”
He nodded and walked out of the room. Delaney would stay for now, but then what? At some point he was going to have to deal with Keira himself. He glanced at the phone. Apparently that day of reckoning had just arrived.
Monday mornings were Callie’s favorite time of the week. From eight until eleven, she could be anyone she wanted. A princess, an astronaut, or just some housewife filling a few empty hours. The cats at the shelter didn’t care about anything but the fact that Callie changed out their litter boxes then spent time brushing them.
There was no way she could have a pet herself, but working at the shelter allowed her to get a little feline love in her life. There were plenty of head butts and purrs, as if the cats were thanking her for what she’d done.
When she’d first applied to volunteer, she’d been delighted not to find the ever-present felon question on the application. She’d taken the orientation class and had offered to clean out litter boxes. Not glamorous work, but satisfying all the same.
She liked coming in and finding out one of the older cats had finally found a good home. She was happy to work with the more crabby residents, taking extra time with them. On the first Monday of every month, she carefully slipped a twenty-dollar bill into the volunteer collection can by the locker room. It wasn’t much, but it was a significant part of her weekly spending money and the most she could do.
When Callie finished her shift, her T-shirt was covered in cat hair and she had an impressive scratch on her arm from a new kitty. He might be upset now, she thought as she washed her hands before leaving, but if he was still around next week, she would win him over.
She signed out, then started for the bus stop. She’d barely made it halfway across the parking lot when she became aware of a sleek black car keeping pace with her.
The vehicle was too nice to belong to the kind of criminal who would want to steal her battered secondhand backpack and there were plenty of people around should she want to scream and run. Even if she got abducted, someone would probably capture it on video.
With that not-very-comforting thought uppermost in her mind, she stopped, turned to the vehicle, put her hands on her hips and yelled, “What do you want?”
The car came to a stop beside her and a woman in her midthirties rolled down the window. She was well dressed and looked concerned.
“Oh, crap. I scared you, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I was on the phone with my kid who’s trying to convince me he’s sick enough that he can’t take his history test and I totally wasn’t paying attention. I’m the worst. I’m sorry. Are you Callie Smith?”
Callie relaxed. “Who are you?”
“Shari Martin. I’m a lawyer.” The dark-haired woman grinned. “I stopped working to have kids and let me just say, getting back into the real world isn’t easy. Word to the wise, don’t do it. Children are not worth the trouble.” She shook her head. “Look, there I go again. This conversation isn’t about me at all.”
Shari got out of her car and handed Callie a business card. “I really am who I said I am. I need to talk to you. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”
Callie’s radar went on alert, even as she told herself she’d done nothing wrong. She’d served her time, lived in the halfway house the exact number of days she was supposed to, filled out all the paperwork and didn’t have so much as a jaywalking ticket.
“What is this about?”
Shari’s friendly expression softened. “Your grandfather on your father’s side. He’s been looking for you, hon. I’m hoping he’s found you.”
Callie felt her legs go weak. “That’s not possible. There is no...”
No father? Of course there was a father—she hadn’t hatched—but what she knew about him was sketchy at best.
Her mother had met a charming salesman at a convention. She’d been one of the models, as much on display as the product she was selling. Jerry Carlesso had walked over, smiled and introduced himself. According to Callie’s mother, that had been the end of it. She’d fallen wildly, madly in love. Three months later, she’d turned up pregnant and Jerry had taken off.
He hadn’t wanted anything to do with his daughter. He’d sent child support on and off, had never visited. Callie knew next to nothing about him. As for a grandfather, there was no way.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said firmly, raising her chin.
“So the name Jerry Carlesso doesn’t mean anything to you?”
Callie had a bad feeling her expression gave her away.
Shari nodded toward her car. “There’s a nice little place about three blocks from here. We’ll have coffee and split a Danish. That way neither of us have to count the calories. I’ll talk, you’ll listen, then you can make up your mind about what you want to do.”
Callie thought about how she finally had her life together. Okay, things weren’t great, but she was doing fine. She was saving money, working her jobs and in time, she would figure out how to be more than what she was with the albatross of her conviction hanging around her neck. She didn’t need anyone, ever. That had become her rule to survive. She was completely and totally on her own.
Only when Shari held open the passenger door, she found herself walking toward the car. Before she could get her scrambled thoughts together, they were pulling out on the street and then it seemed silly not to go in and get coffee and a Danish and hear Shari out.
It