Another Way Home Read online

  “I don’t know,” Danae said, taking a sip of her tea. “Did he ask about her again when you were putting him to bed?”

  “Yes, but he seemed pretty sleepy. Hopefully he’ll fall asleep, and by morning we’ll have an answer if he asks again.”

  Danae shook her head. “It’s just so inconsiderate of her.”

  “You’ve got that right,” he said. “As if it wasn’t enough that she asked us to keep him for almost four days—and over a holiday.” He winced. “I’ll feel bad if we find out she was in an accident or something. But it’s pretty presumptuous of her to just expect that we’d take him another night.”

  “Without even calling.” Danae put her empty glass in the dishwasher.

  He drained his glass and handed it to her across the island counter. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it. Might as well get a good night’s sleep. We can deal with it in the morning.”

  Danae seemed not to have heard him and grumbled out loud. “I would have rather she just asked us to keep him tonight in the first place. At least then we could have enjoyed having one more night with him.”

  He agreed. This being in limbo was no fun for anyone. He went around the island to where she stood at the sink. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed the back of her neck. “Let’s go to bed.”

  She leaned back against him and he felt her body relax. “Mmmm . . . That’s a good idea.”

  Together, they went through the house turning off lights and checking the door locks. She followed him up the stairs to their master suite across the hall from the nursery where Austin was.

  He stopped at the door and pushed it open enough to peek in. Austin lay on his back, his arms over his head, his little mouth slack in sleep. He sensed Danae behind him and turned to her with a smile. “He’s a cute little snot.”

  “He is. And not a care in the world.”

  Dallas stepped into the room and pulled the quilt up around Austin. He sensed Danae at his side and pulled her to him. They stood there, arm in arm, watching Austin sleep. And again, he felt himself moving closer to Danae’s dream of filling this house with children. Let it happen, Lord. Please. For my sweet wife’s sake.

  She lay her head on his shoulder and sighed. “I sure hope she shows up in the morning.”

  “She will.” She’d better.

  But . . . He wasn’t sure why, but he was starting to get a bad feeling about this whole thing.

  * * *

  Danae tossed and turned half the night. Finally, after Dallas’s alarm went off and the drone of his shower lulled her back to sleep, she got in another good hour. She was just stirring again when he appeared in the doorway of their room.

  “You awake? I’m heading to work. Austin’s still zonked, so you might as well sleep in as long as you can.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Give me a call after you hear from Misty, would you?”

  “Sure.” She stretched and hunkered down beneath the blankets again. “I’ll call the shelter a little later. She probably just got in late last night and they didn’t want to call and bother us.”

  “I hope that’s all it is.” But Dallas sounded skeptical.

  She listened to the distant hum of the garage door going up, then back down. She was wide awake now, and started to push back the covers, but just then, Austin burst through the doorway, giggling.

  She patted the bed, and he crawled up in it with her as he’d done the last two mornings. He burrowed under the covers until only the mop top of his head stuck out. She tickled him and he escaped to the end of the bed, taunting her to tickle him again.

  She reveled in this “bonus” morning with the little boy. But the thought of Misty—and the realization that it was almost eight thirty and still no one had called from the shelter—sobered her. “We’d better get you dressed and get some breakfast in you.”

  “How’s come?”

  “So we can get you back to your—” Her cell phone rang on the nightstand beside the bed. “See there,” she crowed. “I bet that’s her now.”

  Austin’s eyebrows went up in a comical slant, and he watched her as she answered the call.

  The caller ID said Cape Haven. “Hello?”

  “Danae?” It was Berta. Something was wrong.

  She turned slightly away from Austin. “Hi, Berta. Is . . . everything OK?”

  “You’d better come in. And don’t bring Austin. Can Dallas stay with him?”

  “He already left for work. What’s going on?”

  “Can you call him?”

  “Berta, what’s happened?”

  “We have a . . . situation with Misty. She’s in jail.”

  “Oh, no. For what?”

  She heard a commotion over the lines, and Berta’s muffled voice. Finally she came back on. “Just get here as soon as you can. If you have to bring Austin, I guess we can work something out.”

  “Berta?”

  The phone went dead. What on earth?

  She hung up and called Dallas. It went straight to voice mail and she left a cryptic message, eyeing Austin as she did. He was still watching her, his dark head cocked to one side, as if he knew this concerned him.

  Her phone rang again as soon as she hung up. Dallas. Thank God.

  “Hey, babe. Sorry I missed your call.”

  “Stay here for a minute, sport,” she told Austin. “Hang on, Dallas.” She crawled out of bed and slipped into the hallway, speaking just above a whisper into the phone. “I don’t know what’s going on, but Misty is in jail.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know. Berta wants me to come in to the shelter but not to bring Austin.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.” His tone expressed the dread she was feeling.

  “I know. Is . . . is there any way you can come home?”

  “Oh, man. I’m swamped after the holidays and I was supposed to meet with—” He stopped abruptly, then let out a long sigh. “I’ll be there. Give me about fifteen minutes.”

  “Thank you.”

  She turned to see Austin standing in the doorway. He looked so forlorn it tore her up.

  “Is my mommy dead?”

  She gasped. “Oh, honey, no! Of course not. Why would you think that?” She bent to wrap him in a hug. What kind of world had this poor kid grown up in that he would even ponder such an awful thing?

  She wished Berta had told her more so she could prepare Austin. But what possible reason for being in jail could you talk to a three-year-old about?

  It seemed like an eternity before Dallas finally arrived home. Danae had distracted Austin with breakfast and had laid out his clothes for Dallas to help him with. “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything,” she said quietly as they kissed good-bye at the garage door.

  Driving to the shelter, her mind swirled with a thousand different possibilities. None of them good.

  Nerves on edge, she punched in the security code and went inside. Before she could get halfway down the hall, Berta came from the office and headed toward her. “Thank goodness, you’re here.”

  “What is going on, Berta?”

  The older woman closed her eyes briefly as if steeling herself to deliver bad news. “You’re going to want to sit down for this.”

  19

  Hey, Kurt. Sorry I had to back out on our meeting. We have a . . . family situation I needed to deal with.”

  Dallas was handling work issues from home as well as he could, and he knew his boss understood that he wouldn’t have left the office like this unless it was truly necessary. Still, he felt like he was letting everyone down at work. And yet, looking over at Austin snuggled into the corner of the sofa, watching some kids’ show that Dallas hoped and prayed wouldn’t scar the kid for life, he knew he was right where he needed to be.

  He wrapped up the phone call with Kurt Troyfield as quickly as he could and checked to be sure his phone’s battery had enough charge left.

  He looked at the clock for the
twentieth time in as many minutes. Danae should be at the shelter by now. He wished she’d hurry up and let him know what was going on.

  A screech came from the corner of the sofa and Dallas’s heart went into overdrive. He jumped up and leapt over the ottoman. “What’s wrong, Austin?”

  “I hafta go! I hafta go!”

  “Go where?”

  “Go pee!” He rose to his knees on the sofa, held himself, and did a frantic dance on the sofa cushion.

  “Well, don’t just sit there! Let’s go!” He picked Austin up by the armpits and made an awkward race to the hall bathroom with him. They made it with no time to spare.

  He helped Austin get washed up and dressed. As much as he’d enjoyed helping Danae with the boy during the days they’d babysat him, it made him nervous to be here alone with him. He wasn’t sure how Danae seemed to instinctively know what a three-year-old needed, while he didn’t have the first clue.

  But Austin could almost dress himself, and when they were finished, including shoes and socks, Austin looked like he was supposed to. Zippers in front, shoes on the right feet, and everything right side out. Unless there was something he didn’t know, he was doing good so far.

  He was starting to second-guess himself about letting Danae go to the shelter. Maybe he should have let her stay here with Austin while he went to receive whatever news was waiting about Misty. And yet, even though Misty had warmed to him—enough to feel comfortable with Austin staying with them over Thanksgiving—she wouldn’t likely feel comfortable talking to him about whatever it was that was going on. He couldn’t even guess. Except that it likely involved her abusive husband.

  And that scared him to death. What if Hank was trying to get to Austin through Danae? The thought paralyzed him.

  “Huh, Mr. Dallas? Is it?”

  He pushed through the fog of foolish conjecture and focused to see Austin tugging on his pant leg.

  “Sorry, buddy. Is it what?”

  “Is it time to go see my mama?”

  “Pretty soon. We’re waiting for Miss Danae to call.”

  Why wasn’t she calling? He had a bad feeling about this.

  Really bad.

  * * *

  Danae followed Berta down the hall to the office, where Mary was already seated. The two women exchanged a look Danae couldn’t interpret. Berta waited until Danae was seated before taking the chair across from them.

  “We have a major situation on our hands,” Mary said, looking hard at her. “As you already know, Misty is in jail.”

  Danae leaned forward. “What happened?”

  “She shot her husband last night.”

  “Oh, no. Is he going to be OK?”

  “He’s dead.” Berta spoke the words in a monotone.

  Her breath left her. She scrambled to think what to say, what she could even do. “Did he beat her again? Was it self-defense?” Where would she have gotten a gun?

  “According to the officer who came to talk to us, she shot him in the back. In cold blood.”

  He must have attacked her again. “She seemed like she was doing so well. Why would she do that when she’d finally gotten away?” And yet, she hadn’t really been safe here. Hank had found her here. Probably because Misty had told him where she was. No one seemed to know for sure how he’d found her.

  And Austin. “What . . . what will happen to Austin?” Her voice broke. Surely they wouldn’t make him go back to the family Misty had described as “a bunch of lowlife perverts.”

  Mary cleared her throat. “That’s why we needed to see you, Danae. Misty left a written request that you and your husband take Austin.”

  “What? Take him? What do you mean? When did she leave it?”

  “Apparently, she told the officers they’d find it in her room. Here at the shelter. They searched the room and found the note.” She slid a folder from the stack on her desk and placed it in front of her.

  “But that means . . . Misty planned to shoot him.”

  As if Mary had read her mind, she said, “It’s a tangled mess. Misty turned herself in. She said it was self-defense. There was no witness, but they—the police—are saying there’s no doubt he was shot in the back. And the fact that she left a letter concerning Austin points to premeditation.”

  Danae stared past Mary, trying to make sense of it all, trying to piece together what this might mean for Austin. “Would they let us have him? Even if the letter proves she killed him in cold blood?”

  “We’re trying to figure out what to do. Misty has a court-

  appointed attorney. I suppose it will be up to him. And the state, of course.”

  “Please don’t let them take Austin. Don’t let him get sucked into the system. Please. We’ll do anything. Whatever it takes.” She’d heard horror stories of children being placed in foster care, and then their families—loving families who had the child’s best interest at heart—unable to get them out of the system. Sometimes for months. Or longer.

  “So, you’d be willing? You and Dallas would be willing to take him in until—”

  “Of course. Yes. We’ll take him.”

  “You need to think this over, Danae.” Mary sounded alarmed. “This could get very complicated. I don’t know who Misty has for family. Or who Hank’s survivors are. But there’s surely someone in the family who will want him.”

  “No.” Danae shook her head so hard it hurt. “Misty was clear that there was no one in the family who she would want for role models for Austin. In fact, she called them perverts. She didn’t even want Austin around them. Surely they have to honor her letter?”

  “We’re trying to find out about that.”

  “Do you have the letter?”

  “We have a copy. The police took the original.” Mary rummaged through the folder in front of her and came up with a single sheet of copy paper. She handed it across the desk to Danae.

  It was hard to tell from the copy, but it looked as if it had been written in pencil on a piece of notebook paper torn out of a spiral binder. A memory flashed into her mind . . . Her dad had just taken her down to the Home State Bank in Langhorne to open her first checking account. Dad had made her practice writing a check correctly. He’d warned that she should never sign a check in pencil because it would not be legal—or maybe it was that the details, amount or signature, could be altered. She couldn’t remember for sure, and now she wondered, was that true of a note like this—what was, in essence, Misty’s will?

  She read the brief note, trying to process what it would mean for her. For Austin. For Dallas.

  To whom it may concern:

  My name is Misty Shavonne Morrison Arato. This is about my son Austin Franklin Morrison (we called him Austin Arato but that is not his real name). It is my wish that my son Austin is put in custedy of Dallas and Denay Brooks. I do not want my son to be with any of my family or the family of Hank Arato (also goes by the name of Henry Arato). Hank is not Austin’s real father. His birth father has never had nothing to do with Austin. My son should go only to Dallas and Denay to take care of him if I can’t.

  Misty Shavonne Morrison Arato

  How could Misty do this? Why would she? Had she killed him just for revenge? It had always been clear that she loved Austin. Why would she have risked losing him just for revenge? How could a mother give up her son for any reason?

  The thought startled her. Dallas’s mother had done that too. But . . . that was different. She’d given him up at birth. Dallas never liked to talk about it, and he didn’t know all the circumstances, but from what little he had told her, his mother was still in her teens, unmarried. And it was a blessing . . . he considered it a blessing that he’d been spared that kind of existence and had instead grown up with his adoptive parents. And with Drew.

  Dallas. He didn’t know what was going on. Didn’t know any of this. And he was probably wondering why she hadn’t called.

  But what on earth would she tell him? She couldn’t think straight. She didn’t even know what any of th
is would mean. The only thing she did know was that she would not let Austin go with any of his relatives in St. Louis. She would break the law first, if she had to.

  Berta put a hand on her arm. “This isn’t a decision you need to make now, Danae. It may be out of your hands. It will depend on whether they find Misty guilty.”

  Maybe it was all a horrible mistake, and they’d figure out what happened, and Austin could come back to the shelter with his mama in a few days. And yet, why else would she have written such a letter, unless she knew she would not be coming back?

  “Where did you find Misty’s letter?”

  “It was in the top drawer of the dresser in her room,” Mary said. “Apparently, she told the police where to look for it. And we found it there, just like she said.”

  Berta shook her head. “She must not have thought about the fact that the letter would incriminate her.”

  Danae scooted her chair back. “I need to call Dallas. He’s swamped at work, and he came home to watch Austin.” A wave of nausea came over her. “What do we tell Austin?”

  “He’s three, is that right?” Mary hadn’t spent as much time with him or Misty as Danae and Berta had.

  “Almost three and a half.” Oh, dear Lord, help us. Help Austin. How will we make him understand?

  Berta inhaled deeply, and they both turned to face her. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest that you might want to take Austin to a hotel or to another family member’s house. Some of our volunteers may be questioned. It might be in everyone’s best interest if you guys—and Austin—are unavailable for comment.”

  Mary winced, but then she nodded. “I’m inclined to agree. And if you quote me, I’ll deny it. But I’ll say one thing: I agree with Danae that we do not want that little guy going with either of their families in St. Louis.”

  Danae picked up the note and scanned it again. “If it’s true that Hank isn’t Austin’s father, then his family wouldn’t have any right to him, would they?”

  “It depends,” Mary said. “On whether he legally adopted Austin. Whether he was a legal guardian—although I wouldn’t think that would give his family any rights.” She shrugged.