Page 46 of The Dating Charade

He couldn’t imagine living with that uncertainty.

But there was one thing Jett knew. “I want them to have everything my sister and I didn’t have, and should’ve. We’ve lived firsthand through a childhood example of how it shouldn’t have been. It haunts me to imagine Dakota or Drew, now TJ, going through that too. But . . .” It pained him to be so honest, so selfish. “I just don’t want that to mean giving up my life. I was prepared to be the fun uncle who dropped by. I wasn’t prepared for this.”

Rachel’s look turned, a steady dose of empathy breaking through the face that had heretofore shown nothing but routine and protocol. “You said you have an aunt in South Carolina.”

Jett nodded, this conversation making him feel that all-too-familiar sense of suffocation.

“Talk to her. There’s nothing selfish in placing your niece and nephews in the care of a loving relative, especially if you feel you are unfit for the financial and emotional strain of taking on three children. Perhaps she can be the kind of caregiver these children need. And, worst-case scenario, if she can’t take them in, I don’t think I’ll have too much trouble finding a foster placement. Plenty of foster parents out there would jump at the chance to give children this young the bright start they deserve. Just this morning I met with a single woman who dropped everything in her life to take on three emergency placements—one a fourteen-year-old.”

“Does she want three more?” he said, smiling lightly at the joke, then shaking his head.

Foster care for his own kin. The very words were painful. No doubt compounded by the days of disrupted sleep, he felt overly emotional, raw. He was coming face-to-face at last with the realities of his situation, and after an hour with a professional the answer was as clear as muddy water. Could he talk with his aunt and uncle, the mildly close relatives he saw every holiday, whom he made a point to visit about every six months? His aunt had her own realty business, her own grown children, even a couple of grandchildren. They already had a full-time life set up just as they wanted.

But then, so had he, hadn’t he? Or rather, he was at the brink of having the life he’d always wanted—settling into a great job in his old town, starting a relationship with Cassie. Whereas his aunt and uncle had already lived a long and full life and were now enjoying the fruits of their labor, he was just on the cusp of his. To have it soiled, quite literally, by his niece and nephews—cute as they might be—wasn’t fair.

Then again, none of this was fair. Not to the kids. Not to him. Not to Trina.

Not to anyone.

Foster care wasn’t an option. Letting Dakota and Drew and TJ walk into the arms of someone outside his bloodline wasn’t an option. If it came to that, he would just do what he needed to do.

His aunt, however, was another story. He’d call her today, and maybe, just maybe, reclaim his life.

He stood. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Rachel.”

“Thank you for seeking me out.” Standing, she followed him out. “I’ll e-mail you some of the information about our programs. And if or when your sister returns, please have her contact the office. It would be far better for her to come to us than for us to have to find her. In the meantime, if I come across something of benefit to you, I’ll be in touch.”

13

Cassie

“Move over, laddies, you’re blocking this old lady’s view.”

Several youths in dark-gray and green plaid jackets stood huddled in front of the row of elderly women and men. It was five to seven and it looked like everyone in town had come trooping through traffic and frigid temperatures for the show. Which wasn’t surprising, as the Christmas parade was one of the local highlights of the year.

One of the boys cocked a brow at Donna Gene then slowly started to move. They weren’t moving fast enough, evidently, because she—seated in a lawn chair—picked up her umbrella from the ground and began prodding them.

“Okay, Ms. Donna Gene. That’s good, I think they’re moving along.” Cassie grasped the tip of the umbrella and lowered the weapon.

With their combined powers, Girls Haven Leadership Club had managed to secure an excellent block for the event, and with twelve lawn chairs and wheelchairs in place for their elderly patrons, the girls had grabbed their plastic bags and dispersed among them. Most of the Leadership Club service projects were thought up by the girls themselves, demonstrating creative planning, budgeting, leadership, and logistics, but this one—gathering a list of shut-ins from Cassie’s church and chauffeuring them to the most beloved community event of the year—was hers.

Cassie felt the tug on her collar and looked down to the honorary teen-club member in her arms. Kennedy, who had picked out her own winter wear, was a Pepto-Bismol commercial in her thick pink coat, pink snow pants, pink boots, pink mittens, and pink hat. One arm wrapped around her empty pink basket. “Where’s the candy?”

“It’s coming soon. See?” Cassie pointed to the two high school girls bouncing in their short-skirted dance uniforms, each holding up one side of the Gatlinburg Christmas parade sign. “They’ll be throwing candy any minute.”

“Here, sugar. Take one of these to hold you over.” Donna Gene put her hand out, holding up a peppermint.

Cassie hesitated, having experienced the condition of Donna Gene’s home when they helped the woman and her elderly friend out to the van this evening. Still, Kennedy’s face blossomed at the sight of it, and there was no going back now.

“That’s very kind. Can you say thank you, Kennedy?”

Kennedy, with great difficulty from her bulging coat and mittens, took the candy between both mittens. “Thank you.” She opened her mouth wide as Cassie tore open the wrapper and popped the mint in for her.

Trumpets and drums sounded together, and Donna Gene smiled and turned her face to the oncoming band. “It’s no problem. I must’ve had that swimming in the bottom of my purse for years. Oh, look.” Her plump hand dug into what appeared to be a black snakeskin purse straight from the 1950s. “I found another.”

Cassie alternated Kennedy, who was already sucking away at her mint, to the other hip. “Oh no, no. This is just enough. Thank you.”

Everybody watched in anticipation as flutists marched past and groups of ten-year-old ballerinas danced heartily across the road. Clowns in white-and-red faces passed candy out to eagerly awaiting hands and bags. Antique cars and waving homecoming queens. Floats, whether of the duct-tape-and-stringed-lights-on-a-truck-bed variety or robust themes of the Grinch sponsored by a large electric company, played jingles loudly through speakers.