Chapter Ten
When Billy awoke the next day, it was to the most dangerous sense of home. He was in Roxie’s bed again. She wasn’t beside him, but he smelled lavender on the pillowcase and heard the river off in the distance.
He rubbed his chest. Home. It kind of stuck right there.
He hadn’t had this feeling for a long time. He’d lived most of his adult life, moving from job to job and town to town. After spending yesterday with Charlie, though, and last night on the roof with Roxie, he realized he wasn’t settled yet.
Hell, he’d even had a coherent conversation with his mother.
Growling under his breath, he rolled onto his back. It was a hell of a sentiment to grip him now that he’d made his decision to cut his ties with Cobalt City.
A rhythmic tapping noise caught his attention, and he frowned. Roxie had been in a weird mood last night, all quiet and introspective. Flipping back the covers, he got up and strolled to the open doorway. Catching the doorframe overhead, he stretched.
“You’re up early.” His voice sounded groggy.
“Mmm.”
All her attention was on the computer in her lap. Her legs were tucked underneath her, and her hair tumbled around her shoulders. Fresh from bed and without makeup, she looked sexier than most movie stars.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Trying to figure out when the last new moon was.” She finally glanced up at him, and her gaze zeroed in on the erection that had been a big cause for him waking. “Speaking of beating the bushes, I want to do that today.”
He grinned. “Well, get over here.”
The expression on her face went deadpan. “Not that. I want to do some more digging into my past. You went out asking questions to find your mother. I want to go to the library, the newspaper, the courthouse, and anyplace else that might make sense.”
“Okay.” He frowned. “But now?”
They’d slept the night away again. He’d really been looking forward to morning sex.
“You know what they say about the early bird,” she teased as she set the laptop aside and scurried for the shower.
“No,” he murmured, following her. “We’re night owls. Remember?”
* * * * *
If the Internet search had been fruitless, the in-person kind wasn’t much better.
They visited the library first, but neither of them found anything in the microfiche.
The Cobalt Courier hadn’t done a story on identical triplets being born.
They failed to find any pertinent info in the records at the courthouse, either.
In the end, they combed through books, files, and databases around town and came away with very little.
Finally, there was only one place left to try.
And it was the one place guaranteed to put them both in a cold sweat.
Billy covered Roxie’s hand where it lay on the rental truck’s console. Neither of them had yet made a move to leave the vehicle. “You okay?”
She made a noncommittal sound, staring straight through the windshield at the drab gray building in front of them.
The square concrete office structure had no character, no flourishes that made it unique or approachable.
It sat atop a knoll, staring down at them.
Even as adults, the Social Services building seemed imposing and unyielding.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.
He’d come to this point in his search for his mother, the one where he could have forged ahead or dropped everything. Finding “Uncle Wade” hadn’t been easy, but he’d known the supplier could probably give him the best info on where to find her—or where else she might be scoring her meth.
Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t walked into that little room behind some rundown appliance shop. Would ignorance have been bliss? His jaw certainly could have done without the pounding it took that day.
“They’ve been dragging their heels too long.” She shot him a quick look. “You don’t have to come, though.”
“The hell I don’t.” He didn’t care if she was going in there to volunteer for Meals on Wheels; she wasn’t going to face those people alone. He inhaled purposefully, making his lungs expand. Years had passed. Personnel had surely changed. Hopefully the policies were better, too.
Right. And pigs had started flying. He’d spent nine years in the system.
He’d believe it when he saw it.
“It’s my life,” she reasoned. “I won’t allow them to give me the runaround any longer.”
“Okay.” He kept his feelings reserved. If she wanted to back out, he’d have no qualms about moving on. Sometimes it just might be best not to open Pandora’s box.
Only this woman had more guts than most race car drivers he knew. She clicked her fingernails nervously, but then grabbed the door handle. She was halfway across the parking lot before he could get out of the truck.
Catching up with her, he slid his hand around hers.
She clutched him right back.
“Feet still hurting in those new boots?” he asked.
“Old boots.” She shot him a sideways glance. “How can you tell?”
“The way your butt wiggles.”
She let out a snort.
It lightened the mood all the way to the front door of the building.
Once inside, though, they both became quiet.
The lobby wasn’t any fancier than the outside.
One dusty landscape painting hung on the wall with a fake garden of dustier plastic plants underneath.
The building directory showed that the office they needed was on the fourth floor.
All humor left them as the doors of the elevator closed. It clunked as it began rising, and the sounds coming off the old cables didn’t sound safe.
Billy hooked his arm around Roxie’s waist and pulled her back against him. She wove her fingers through his, but he could feel how stiff she was.
“Breathe,” he whispered into her ear.
“Later.”
The light for the fourth floor was burnt out, but the bell dinged loudly when they made it to their destination. Neither of them moved.
For a long moment, they hovered on the precipice between the past and the present.
When the automatic doors started to close, Roxie jumped forward out of his arms. Pushing back the bumper, she opened the doors and stepped out into the hallway. She looked to the right and then the left.
Billy took her hand again. “Room 402.”
If they were going to do this, they might as well get it over with.
They started down the hallway like two kids about to face the principal. When they made it to the door, though, he tugged at her hand. He didn’t need to say anything. With one look into each other’s eyes, they both straightened their spines and pulled back their shoulders.
Kids in the system learned to show no fear, and they weren’t in the system anymore. They were adults now.
Still, they kept hold of one another’s hands as they entered the office.
It was a small workplace, with maybe five people. That was the way things worked, though. So much need, but so few resources. Politicians could never seem to allocate much funding to help those who needed it the most.
A clerk looked up at the sound of their footsteps. She was a mousy woman with heavy glasses and limp brown hair. The eyes behind those thick lenses were tired but sharp.
With a quick pass, she evaluated them for signs of trouble.
Roxie passed muster easily. She was wearing her old boots, but she’d gone conservative for the day.
The femme fatale from the billboard was covered up and toned down.
Billy, unfortunately, hadn’t brought any Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes for this trip, and the inspection put his back up.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked, keeping her peripheral vision on him.
“I’d like to talk to someone about getting access to the paperwork of a child who went through the foster care system,” Roxie said.
“You’ll need to fill out a Form 19-SS/A.”
“I already have.”
Behind those Coke-bottle glasses, the woman’s eyes softened. “It usually takes four to six weeks before a request is fulfilled.”
“It’s been eight.”
“Oh, my.” The woman bit her lower lip. “Can I get your name?”
“Roxanne Cannon.” Roxie efficiently whipped out a copy of the form from her purse.
The clerk adjusted her glasses on her nose. “I really am sorry. Let me dig into this and—”
“Is there a problem here?”
Both Roxie and Billy took a step back when the clerk was interrupted by a sour-faced, pencil-thin man who’d popped into the doorway of the one actual office in the suite.
“No problem,” the clerk said. “They just have some questions about late paperwork.”
The same evaluating look crossed the man’s face as he studied the two of them, only there was no softening of his expression. “Late paperwork?” he asked, his voice clipped.
Billy took an immediate disliking to the man and his bad comb-over. He’d run into the guy’s type time and time again. Tamping down old frustrations, he nodded at Roxie. “She’s been waiting for eight weeks.”
Roxie smiled at the office dictator in a way that was about as real as those plants down on the first floor. “I’ve tried calling and emailing, but your office has been unresponsive, Mister…”
She lifted her eyebrows enquiringly.
“Fenton. Albert Fenton.” He touched the knot on his pea green tie. “Manager.”
Sure, throw the title on there to show people how important you are.
“Please,” he said. “Come into my office.”
“Oh.” Roxie looked at the clerk whose fingers were already flying across the keyboard. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I was hoping to just pick up a copy here in person.”
“No, no. If you’ve been having problems with my staff, I want to hear about it.”
Billy shrugged when Roxie threw a glance back at him. He didn’t want to spend any more time here than necessary, either. He looked down at the clerk, but her hands were now in her lap and she was shooting a fearful look at her boss’s office.
She didn’t seem like an alternative anymore.