Chapter 17
“I HAVEN’T BEEN this nervous since I sang at the inaugural ball of President White.” Keely stood behind the sliding back door of a simple ranch house in a suburb of Tulsa, staring out into the greening, fenced backyard.
Four-year-old Zoey sat on a red tricycle in the grass.
“You’ll be fine, Keely,” Alicia Robbin said from behind Keely. Zoey’s social worker had met her at the house.
Maybe a good thing, because Keely sort of wanted to turn around and run.
But Marnie Schultz, Zoey’s foster mom, gave her a warm smile.
She stood beside Keely, arms folded, her smile gentle, her brown hair curly around her head.
She wore a pink pullover, a pair of jeans, a pair of sneakers, a little muddy on the bottom.
The picture of a mom, at least in Keely’s head, including the worry in her eyes.
Yeah, well, maybe rightly so. Keely wore leggings, her white Prada Cloudbust sneakers, and a Versace gold puffer jacket, her blond hair back and covered with a black Dior baseball cap. Quintessential Bliss.
Yeah, clearly she hadn’t thought this through.
Except, she had, really—spent the past three days pacing her apartment, talking with Goldie, her lawyer, and Bryce’s representative.
Bryce had written a request that his daughter go back to Keely, had it notarized and filed. So maybe he’d known her answer before Keely had.
On paper, and on the plane, and in her heart, it made sense.
Right now, however . . .
“You don’t have to have a perfect voice to make a beautiful song, Keely.”
She didn’t know why Vic—or maybe her mother—had decided to walk into her head with that, but she blamed Marnie, who leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and said, “Just love her. That’s what she needs.”
Right.
And wow, Zoey was cute in real life. Her blond hair longer than the last photo that she’d seen, but now French braided down the sides. She wore a pink jacket, flowered stretch pants, and cute yellow boots, now grimy with the spring mud, despite the grassy yard.
“What if I completely screw up her life?” Her voice still betrayed the damage she’d done to it in Alaska, although the pain had lessened.
Marnie gave a short laugh. “Oh, I have no doubt you’ll make mistakes. We all do. But this isn’t just about her. It’s about you too. Being a mother is costly, and wonderful, and challenging, and amazing.”
And words from Vic found her . . . “Nothing happens . . . that isn’t designed by God . . . to know his love more.”
Marnie’s gaze landed on her. “You look so familiar to me. I don’t know why. Have we met before?”
“Do you have teenage daughters?”
She shook her head.
Keely lifted a shoulder. “I’m a singer.”
“Oh, that might be it. My husband loves country music.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“What do you sing?”
What did she sing? Maybe nothing, after the meeting with her laryngologist. “Prolonged inflammation, scar tissue, permanent hoarseness . . .”
“Oh, you know. Songs about love and life . . .”
“Are you a folk singer?”
The words stirred up the memory of her sounds from the kitchen at the community.
“Sort of. But I think I’m taking a break.”
“Well, having a four-year-old can do that. But it’s worth it. We’re going to miss her. We’ve only had her for a couple months, but she’s made her way into our hearts. I wish we could adopt her, but . . . well, clearly God was saving her for you.”
The words caught her, filled her.
“You should know that she hasn’t spoken since she came to us. I thought it might be the trauma of the accident, but . . .” She shrugged. “Sometimes it takes a while for a child to find their voice again after their life is so drastically altered.”
Keely nodded. “I get that.”
Outside, Zoey pushed the trike forward, only to have it fall over in the stiff grass. She landed on the grass, rolled off the bike.
Started to cry.
“Oh,” Marnie said and leaned up. Then she looked at Keely. “C’mon. This is where you step in.”
“No, I . . .”
“If you’re going to adopt her, she needs to start coming to you.”
Right. But she stood frozen as Zoey started wailing, so Marnie headed out the door, took off at a fast clip, rounded the bike, and swooped Zoey up. “You’re okay, sweetie.” She held her a moment, then wiped her tears. “C’mon. Let’s try that again.”
Zoey clung to her a moment, her big blue eyes wide. Then she cast a look at Keely.
Keely’s entire body seemed to convulse, and then—
Love. It simply poured through her, heat and fire and . . . peace. So much peace.
This . . . this was her song. Finally. Perfectly. And she hadn’t realized her lack until the abundance poured into her bones, but . . .
This was abundance. God pouring out his love in the struggle.
“Hey, Zoey,” Keely said, walking up, her voice soft. “My name is Keely. Can I help you ride your trike?”
Zoey looked back at Marnie, who nodded at her. “She’s safe.”
Safe.
And as Keely knelt next to Zoey, holding the trike for her as she climbed on, she heard, “Stay safe, Keely.” Her father, standing at the door, before she left for college, watching her with something she couldn’t place in his eyes.
Maybe it was love.
Zoey held the handlebars, and Keely bent low behind her. “Put your feet on the pedals. I’m going to push.” The little girl looked up at her, eyes wide.
“I won’t let you fall. I promise.”
Zoey turned back and put her feet on the pedals.
“I promise.”
Oh, Dawson. But she bit back the memory of his voice and pushed Zoey around the yard. The little girl finally put her feet on the bar and just hung on.
And laughed.
The sound trickled into the air, warm and sweet, like the smells of the springtime day. Maybe Keely could do this.
At least she could give it her very best.
They came to rest back at Marnie’s feet, and Zoey got off the trike. Headed over to the slide attached to a small playset.
Keely followed her, stood at the bottom to catch her when she came down.
“I’ll go pack her bag,” Marnie said.
“Don’t—”
Suddenly Zoey came sliding down the ramp. She flew out, faster than Keely anticipated.
Keely caught her, stumbling back with her weight.
They went down in the grass with an umph.
Zoey jerked in her arms, hard.
Wet grass soaked into Keely’s leggings, and Zoey started to cry.
Oh—oh! “Hey. Hey . . . it’s all good. It’s all . . .”
Zoey looked up, as if searching for Marnie.
Keely sort of wanted Marnie too.
“I won’t let you fall. I promise.”
She sat up. Set Zoey in her lap. “You’re all right,” she said softly. Zoey was still snuffling, her eyes wet.
And somehow, the song simply rose inside her, a hum, then the words, almost a whisper . . . “You’re never alone, wherever you might be. Close your eyes and breathe, feel the warmth from me.”
Zoey stared at her, captured, her snuffling slowing.
“That’s pretty.” Marnie, from behind her. Clearly she hadn’t left.
“It’s just a little thing I’ve been working on.” She turned to Zoey. “Wanna try again?”
Zoey nodded. Oh, Keely liked her spunk.
She got up, climbed the ladder. Keely stood at the bottom, arms open.
Zoey kept her gaze on her, climbed on the slide, and then pushed off.
Keely caught her, grabbing her up, twirling around.
Zoey laughed.
Oh, she could live forever on that sound.
“Did you like that?”
Zoey nodded, then pushed to get down and ran back to the slide. She climbed up the ladder again, her gaze on Keely.
Grinning.
She turned to see if Marnie caught it, but the woman had left them alone in the yard.
Huh. But maybe they’d be okay.
Keely caught her daughter again, this time bracing herself, and then again, and finally Zoey ran for the house. Keely spotted Marnie standing at the open door.
“Do you two want lunch?” The worry in her eyes seemed to have vanished.
“I’ll have to text the airfield and tell them we’ll be late.”
“We’ll make it quick, then.”
They came inside and Marnie had made grilled cheese sandwiches. Zoey climbed up on a stool that slid up to the Formica counter, but Marnie shooed her off to wash her hands.
Note to self. Wash hands.
Marnie poured Zoey a glass of milk. “She loves grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken nuggets, and she hates oatmeal.”
“Me too.”
Marnie raised an eyebrow. “Are you related to the family? Because . . . maybe Zoey is who you remind me of.”
Huh. “Sort of. I’m a family friend.”
“Oh, so like an aunt?”
“Maybe.” Someday—maybe, hopefully—Mommy.
Zoey came running back, climbed again on the stool, and scooped up the sandwich.
Marnie walked over to a chair at the kitchen table.
“She came with a backpack.” She lifted the pack, a horse on the front, fringes on the side.
“I bought her new clothes, and she spent Christmas with us, so she has a couple toys in this bag.” She gestured to a large paper shopping bag. “Sorry, I wish she had more.”
“I got this,” Keely said.
She pulled up a stool next to Zoey and ate the grilled cheese sandwich Marnie had made.
“Yes, I believe you do,” Marnie said, arms folded, a hip against the counter.
She glanced at Alicia, who nodded.
Keely had rented a car and purchased a car seat, and Alicia helped buckle Zoey into the back, handing her a small stuffed panda. “You’re going to go with Keely. And she’s going to take very good care of you.” Marnie glanced over at Keely in the driver’s seat.
Keely nodded. “I promise.”
Then Marnie stepped in and kissed Zoey’s forehead, closed the door, and backed up to stand in the driveway, hands around her waist. She didn’t even bother to wipe her tears.
Keely pulled out and hadn’t gotten to the end of the block before she spotted Zoey’s lip quivering.
Oh no.
“Zoey. Do you . . . like music?”
Zoey clutched her panda, buried her face in it.
At the stop sign, Keely picked up her phone, connected the car to Bluetooth, and pulled up her playlist. Clicked on her Heartstrings and High Notes album, because why not?
She’d written many of the songs while pregnant with Zoey.
“Okay, kiddo. Let’s sing.”