Sometimes, with all the upset in her own life, it was hard for Hannah to concentrate on the problems of the families — mostly women and children — on her schedule but, as often happened, she found herself pulled, once she got to work, into the shattered lives which presented themselves to her. This evening, she found herself trying to explain how the school was going to handle an attention deficit-disorder diagnosis to a young woman who looked on hopelessly as her son jiggled and jumped around, letting out little shrieks, compelled to touch everything in Hannah’s office. The young woman had dark circles under her eyes, and was visibly missing several teeth. Meth addict, Hannah thought, although she tried to avoid jumping to conclusions about people. But after twenty years of working for family services, there were patterns that could not be denied. Even when she jumped to conclusions, she tried not to judge her clients too harshly. Life was tough for a single mother, especially when her child had special needs.
‘Marcus,’ cried the scrawny mother, really only a girl, ‘if you don’t sit down this minute I’m gonna grab you and wail on you.’
Hannah frowned. ‘Wailing on him is not really the answer, Shelby Rose. He can’t really control it.’
The girl looked at Hannah with wide, frightened eyes. ‘Well, I can’t stand it much more. He never shuts up.’
The phone buzzed, and she excused herself and picked it up. ‘Hannah Wickes,’ she said.
‘Miz Wickes,’ whispered Deverise, the receptionist. ‘I know you have a client with you but this caller says they need to speak with you right away.’
‘Who is it?’ Hannah asked.
‘A Ms Granger for you.’
‘OK,’ said Hannah, her heart thudding at the realization that it was Sydney’s daycare provider. ‘Thanks.’ She turned calmly to Shelby Rose. ‘I’m going to have to take this,’ she said.
Shelby Rose looked at Hannah helplessly. ‘Is that it?’
‘You have to contact the school about handling Marcus’s medication. And come back in two weeks and let me know how he’s doing. You may see a great improvement.’
Hannah could tell from the look on the girl’s face that she didn’t want to leave the safety of the office. Out in the world, Marcus was a never-ending juggernaut of nervous energy, and the potential for disaster was everywhere. Hannah pointed to the phone. ‘I’m sorry but I have to speak to this person.’
Shelby Rose grabbed Marcus roughly by the arm. ‘Come on, we’re goin’,’ she said, and practically dragged the protesting child out of the office. For a moment, Hannah felt guilty, but then, she couldn’t find it within her to care as much about her clients as she did about her daughter. She pressed the blinking white button and drew in a breath.
‘Hannah Wickes.’
‘Mrs Wickes? This is Tiffany Granger.’
Tiffany ran the daycare where Hannah dropped Sydney off in the morning, on her way to work. It was a small group of kids and Tiffany had them in her home, which was outfitted to accommodate their every need.
Hannah was galvanized by the sound of concern in that soft Southern accent. ‘What is it? Is Sydney OK?’
‘Well, yes, she’s OK. But her mom was supposed to come pick her up about an hour ago, and she’s still not here. She’s not answering her phone.’
Hannah felt her face flood with color. She glanced at the clock. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I wouldn’t bother you but my first-grader has a play at school tonight, and I don’t want to miss it. I called Mr Wickes’s cell but he said he’s in St Louis on business.’
‘Yes, he is. I’m so sorry about this. Look. I will come right away. But it’s going to take me half an hour to get there. If you need to drop her off I can arrange . . .’
‘No,’ said Tiffany calmly. ‘I can wait. We’ll see you when you get here.’
Hannah returned her phone to her pocket, grabbed her light jacket, and headed out the door.
‘Mom-mom,’ Sydney cried, and rushed to embrace her grandmother.
Hannah picked up the toddler and held her close.
‘Here’s her backpack,’ said Tiffany.
‘I’m really sorry about this,’ Hannah said.
‘It happens,’ said Tiffany, a short, compact young woman who wore her hair skinned back in a tight ponytail, so that her round white face looked like a moon. ‘Signals get crossed.’
‘Sydney’s mother hasn’t called?’ Hannah asked worriedly.
Tiffany avoided Hannah’s gaze, and began to clear up the living room, putting toys into a plastic laundry basket beside the taupe-colored recliner that faced the large flat-screen TV. ‘No, ma’am,’ she said. ‘Haven’t heard from her.’
Hannah gazed at the young woman tidying up the room, her clothes neat, her ponytail smooth. Tiffany had two children herself though she couldn’t be more than twenty-five. She radiated competence and calm.
‘I’ve tried to call her,’ said Hannah. ‘There must have been an emergency at the hospital.’
Tiffany was placing a series of hollow plastic boxes, one inside of the other.
‘Maybe so,’ she said carefully. ‘It happens now and then.’
Hannah nodded. ‘Guess that’s why they call it an emergency room.’
‘Well, I know her work at the hospital keeps her very busy. And I’m sorry I pulled you away from work but I didn’t know what else to do. There was no one else I could call to come get her. What with that fellow, Troy, dying in that . . . explosion . . .’
Hannah frowned at her. ‘Troy? What about him?’
Tiffany’s white complexion turned vaguely pink. ‘Now, Mrs Wickes, I know we have never discussed this but I just want you to know for the record that I don’t believe for one minute that Lisa had anything to do with that
