Forever Your Girl Read online

  He rips one down, and beneath it is a sign emblazoned with my name and my title of grand marshal. “There. Now take the other signs down while I rev up the Eldorado.”

  “But this is the perfect opportunity for my campaign,” Maxine protests. “Me, riding with the famous Katie Parker Scott. Who wouldn’t vote for that?”

  Sam slips off his sunglasses. “Me, that’s who. And if you think I didn’t notice the T-shirt gun, you are mistaken. With your luck, you’ll take out someone’s eye.”

  Maxine sighs. “No, this one has a scope and sights. So easy to operate even Katie here could do it.” She pats my shoulder. “And she will. In between throwing out quality candy and Maxine Dayberry bumper stickers.”

  “Let’s go!” A burly man yells as he walks down the road, clutching a clipboard and inspecting each car. “In Between Fourth of July Parade kicks off in three…two…one.”

  Patriotic music begins, and I see cars begin to slowly crawl forward.

  “No time to unload any of our supplies,” Maxine says. “Let’s hop in before they take off without us.”

  I join her in the back seat, my vintage gingham skirt swishing around my legs. “Ow. That’s hot.”

  “Yeah, that’s the price you pay for luxurious, vintage leather.” Maxine flops a towel in her seat beside me. “Old things can’t all be perfect.”

  Sam shoots his wife a look in the rearview. “Don’t I know it.”

  “Just drive, you geriatric stud muffin.”

  Five minutes later, after everyone else has gently rolled on, Sam puts the elongated car into drive, and we ramble on.

  I toss candy and wave, feeling every bit like a Meghan Markle or Kate Middleton. Minus their inherent grace. And model good looks. And with the addition of a bug in my mouth.

  “It’s a new day with Maxine Dayberry!” my grandmother shouts, tossing candy to waiting kids.

  “That’s some quality chocolate you’ve got there.” I notice she’s sharing an expensive brand from a local chocolatier.

  “I can’t afford cheap stuff when so much is on the line. My opponent, Gus McGillicuddy, cannot win this election. He has the personality of a lint roller.” And with that, she digs into a canvas bag, grabs a wad of something, and lobs it like a hand grenade. “T-shirts for my sweeties!” She throws more, with an aim any pro baseball team would envy. “That’s a nice poly-cotton blend. Preshrunk. Won’t change—like me. I see you, Mr. Dinkus. Here’s an XXL just for you. Oops, sorry about your nose!”

  As I smile and wave my arm like a beauty queen, I study the faces of the people lined up and down the street. People I know, people I grew up with. There’s Angie Frazier, who manages the night shift at Tucker’s Grocery. I see her twin sister Stephanie Goines who runs the post office and knows everyone in town by name. Mr. Fisher, my junior English teacher. The pastor of the Methodist church who lives a street away from my parents and sings when he waters his lawn. Mark Jacobson, a boy I graduated with who now runs a tax prep service downtown. They wave at me as if I’m queen for the day, and though it’s a bit discomforting, it feels good to be so accepted and loved.

  We pass by my old drama teacher Ms. Hall who cups her hand over mouth and yells, “You’re In Between’s pride and joy!”

  Maxine waves back. “Thank you, dear!”

  I laugh and throw Ms. Hall the truffles Maxine thinks she’s hidden in the seat.

  My grandmother’s arm comes within an inch of my nose as she chunks another T-shirt. It nearly takes out a toddler. “You wanna tell me what’s going on with you?”

  “Tammy Nelson’s baby almost got himself a knee replacement? Also, I swallowed another bug, and I’m sweating through my dress.”

  Maxine digs in her bag and hands me a water bottle. “I mean with this wedding business.”

  Why does she keep asking me that? It’s certainly not helping the nerves. “I’m fine.”

  She lobs a candy bar and beans the interim mayor right between the eyes. “Sweetcheeks, if I was about to marry Charlie Benson, I’d be grinning from ear to perfectly aligned ear and bragging to anyone who’d listen.”

  “Excuse me for being humble and subdued.”

  Maxine cackles and slaps my leg. “We’re not talking about your bust line. We’re talking about your pre-wedding demeanor.”

  “It’s a lot to take in.”

  “I told you I was kidding about staying the whole week with you and Charlie on the island. I swear I’ll leave with the rest of the family.”

  I was too tired and stressed to tell my grandma I saw her fingers crossed behind her back. The travel agent had made arrangements for Charlie and me to stay seven days on Santisto, while everyone else left on day four. Nothing like spending part of your honeymoon with family.

  “You’ve had two years to mentally prepare,” Maxine says. “What’s the problem?”

  “I just…” Can hardly explain it. “Something feels off.”

  “Like your brain?”

  “Katie! Katie!”

  “Wow, you really do have adoring fans.” Maxine gestures to a woman running toward our car. “Maybe she wants a T-shirt.” She readies her pitching arm.

  “Wait.” I hold a hand to stop her, the noise of the crowd fading away as the woman draws closer. “Oh, no.”

  “Is that a rabid fan? I’m not afraid to be your bodyguard,” Maxine says as the woman nears. “Need me to body-slam her?”

  “Katie Parker Scott?” The lady’s long, raven hair blows around her face, and the angles of her flushed cheeks, as well as her green eyes, look hauntingly familiar.

  She rushes the car, and it’s not until she’s jogging beside the vehicle that I see she’s not alone.

  “Yes?” I manage to say.

  “Do you know who I am?” she yells.

  Words escape me, so I slowly nod and watch the wide-eyed child with her.

  “You have to help me.”

  “I…” My hair loosens from my ponytail as I shake my head. “What are you doing?”

  She lifts up her child, depositing the girl into the warm seat beside me. “I need you to take care of my daughter.”

  “We have a looney!” Maxine yells, searching the crowd for help. “Call 9-1-1.”

  But the police are already here.

  Two cops dressed in crisp navy rush the woman, each taking an arm.

  “Save my daughter,” she yells as they haul her away. “Please save my daughter!”

  “Good heavens.” Sam pushes the brakes on the car, and the leather scrunches as he turns. “What kind of crazy fan would ask you to take her child?”

  I stare at the little girl, pulling her to me as she cries. “One who knows she’s my sister.”

  Chapter Six

  When people ask me about my family tree, I usually tell them it got wiped out in the In Between tornado when I was in tenth grade. That tree was broken, split, and probably hauled off to the paper mill.

  So, to be sitting here now, in the In Between Police Department, with one officer, one grandmother, and one fiancé expecting me to explain this family is not my idea of a pleasant time.

  “I’ve heard this happens to Reese Witherspoon all the time.” Maxine takes a sip of police station coffee, grimaces, then tosses it in the nearby trashcan.

  “Well, someone asking me to take her kid is a first for me.” I cross my legs and bounce a nervous tempo with my leg.

  Charlie rubs the back of his neck like there’s a pain there with my name on it. “You have a sister, and you’ve never told me about her?”

  “It’s fairly new information for me as well.” I try to keep my voice as calm and pleasant as possible for the sake of all the listening ears in the office.

  “How long have you known about her?” Maxine asks, clearly hurt I’ve kept a secret.

  I shrug. “Not long. Can we get back to Officer Kramer’s questions?”

  The police officer types into her keyboard, shaking her head. “You celebrities are so weird.”

  “I’m
definitely not a celebrity.”

  She raises a red eyebrow. “Only celebrities get to be grand marshal of the Fourth of July Parade.”

  “That’s true.” Maxine nods. “Last year, Curly Monroe brought up the rear, and Lord knows he’s a big deal.”

  Officer Kramer gives her a hearty amen. “Huge.”

  “Who’s Curly Monroe?” Charlie asks.

  Maxine snorts. “Only the most famous potbelly pig this side of the Mason Dixon.”

  I bite my lip and go to bouncing my other leg. “I can only hope to aspire to that level of fame.”

  “Curly Monroe can skateboard on two hooves,” Officer Kramer states. “It is a very high bar.”

  “Sorry, I’m late.”

  We all turn at the voice of the new arrival, and when I see the woman walking into the office, I nearly drop the water bottle in my hand.

  “Mrs. Smartley?” As I live and barely breathe, there stands my old caseworker. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d retired.” And lived in another county hours away. Grateful for an excuse to get up and move, I get to my feet to meet her.

  “Katie Parker, as I live and breathe.” She hugs me, something that would’ve been a complete violation of the Teenage Katie Parker Code of Physical Boundary Protocol.

  Mrs. Smartley and I stayed in touch for years after my adoption in high school, still writing old fashioned letters like we’d done when I was in care. But I’d gotten busy and somehow ran out of time to chit chat with the woman responsible for bringing me to James and Millie Scott.

  “Look at you.” She holds me at arm’s length, her eyes taking in the sweaty sight before her. “My gosh, I love a success story. Reviewing those used to help me sleep at night.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Moved to In Between when my daughter had a baby, and then I retired. I’m filling in while the department deals with some turnover.” She greets Officer Kramer. “Just got through talking to Haven Mitchell. I hear her daughter is here somewhere.”

  “She’s in the break room getting a snack with Chief Higgins.”

  Iola pulls up a chair from a nearby desk. “Give me all the sordid details.”

  “Mom is Haven Mitchell, age 24.” The policewoman reads from a report with a tone reserved for grocery lists and appliance manuals. “At approximately four a.m., we conducted a raid on a property at 939 South Arnica Drive. Inside were Mitchell, her five-year-old daughter, and the owner of the house, Benny Caprizio.”

  “The drug dealer, Benny Caprizio?” Mrs. Smartley inquires.

  “That’s the one. In the home, we found a whole arsenal of guns, as well as twenty-thousand in cash.”

  “Any drugs?” Maxine’s leaned so far on her chair, one small tap would empty her into the floor. “I watch a lot of BBC mysteries, so I might be of help.”

  Officer Kramer locks eyes with Mrs. Smartley, and a silent message is conveyed. “We found a lot of interesting items. Drugs and a significant amount of cash were found in Haven Mitchell’s purse.”

  Mrs. Smartley types notes into her phone. “I missed the part where you lost Haven and her daughter.”

  Officer Kramer clears her throat as a patchwork of pink splotches appears on her neck. “We used flash-bang to gain entry into the house, predictably catching Delgado by surprise, as per our intent. We did not know the home contained other occupants.” Iola does not look impressed with this portion of the story, but the cop continues. “Haven Mitchell and her daughter were apparently in the other end of the house and managed to take off on foot. They sort of eluded us. For a while.”

  Iola looks up from her phone, her wiry gray hair still a bonnet of chaos on her head. “Until Haven approached Katie at the parade.”

  “Something like that.”

  Iola gives one of her classic eye rolls before turning her attention to me. “I hear you have a niece.”

  “News to me as well.” Charlie’s jaw is as taut as fishing pole line.

  Iola pushes up her oversized glasses. “We’ll be taking Haven’s daughter into care.” She gives me a warm look meant to comfort. “Her name is Daisy.”

  Charlie shifts in his seat. “Katie probably knew that.”

  Officer Kramer stacks some papers on her desk a little too aggressively. “Ms. Scott, I’d like to hear how you’re connected to Haven Mitchell.”

  “Haven and I had the same biological father. He left my mom when I was two, and remarried multiple times, has numerous kids all over the country I’d imagine. I’ve never had contact with my bio-dad, but apparently, he raised Haven until his death some years ago. She contacted me by way of my Instagram last fall when the play I was in took off, and I got a little press.”

  Maxine raps her hand on Officer Kramer’s desk to gain her attention. “My granddaughter, Katie, is a theater star in Chicago. She’s about to headline a major show on Broadway.”

  The cop lifts one dark brow by way of response.

  “So, you started communicating with this Haven?” Charlie asks. “You didn’t tell any of us?”

  “We swapped some infrequent emails, traded bio information. Honestly, she never bothered to tell me she had a daughter.” Though she had asked some strange questions about my life and personal beliefs.

  “Did you know you’re the child’s godmother?” Iola asks.

  Lowering the water bottle pressed to my lips, I can only gape in confusion. “Says who?”

  “Haven.”

  “I don’t think that’s how that works.” Give me some credit here.

  Mrs. Smartley wears the unfazed expression of a woman who has seen it all. “We’re going to make some calls and investigate, but Haven says you’re the only family.”

  “I think she has a mother somewhere.”

  “To hear Haven tell it, her mom didn’t raise her very well,” Mrs. Smartley says. “But, aside from you, she’s kin.” Iola levels those caseworker eyes on me. Eyes used to persuade, as well as comfort. “Look, Katie, Haven’s probably going to be in jail for a while until this goes to court. She swears she didn’t sell or use drugs, but for the last six months, she’s lived with a known dealer and endangered the welfare of her child.”

  “Chip off the family block,” I mumble.

  “Daisy’s going into foster care tonight.”

  My heart aches at the thought. “That’s terrible.”

  “Haven is begging you to take her daughter.”

  “My Katie can’t be babysitting right now,” Maxine sputters. “She’s got a quickie wedding to plan and a booming career.”

  “We could take her with us.” Charlie’s words are clipped, and though he sits beside me, he feels miles away.

  “No, that’s impossible.” Panic pulses through my tired muscles. “We don’t live here, and I’m not trained. Licensed. Ordained. Whatever you call it.”

  “We have workarounds for family.” Iola’s steady gaze meets mine, and she communicates pages of information in one glance. We both know how this shakes out. We both know the system. The question is, what am I going to do about it? “Haven says her sister’s a big star.”

  My cheeks flame. “Not a big star. More like a medium-sized one in a small constellation. I’m a total Little Dipper.” I swear Iola bites her bottom lip on a grin. “I work six days a week, with strange, late hours. And Charlie and I are moving to New York in weeks. We both start new jobs. I can’t keep Daisy.”

  Mrs. Smartley has never been one to tolerate excuses. “You sure?”

  “Definitely.” Guilt and urgency are twin heat-seeking missiles soaring around me, about to land in one big explosion. “Plus, I’m getting married. Did I mention that?”

  “I think you might’ve.”

  “Yep. Getting married. Getting hitched. Becoming the ole ball and chain. Making it legal. Making an honest woman of myself. Saying I do to—”

  “Where do we go from here?” Charlie asks, eyeing me curiously as if he’d like to check my forehead for a fever.

  “Daisy goes wi
th me,” Mrs. Iola says. “I’ll work all day and evening, calling around until I find an open home who will foster her. If I don’t, the two of us will probably spend the night in the DHS office. She’ll sleep on the couch, and I’ll catch some Z’s in a chair. Then if we can’t find a placement, Daisy will be sent to a girl’s home a few hours away.”

  My stomach lurches with a familiar pang I haven’t felt in years. “The one I lived in before the Scotts?”

  “That’s the one. But it’s improved somewhat.” Iola extracts her car keys from her purse. “They painted it, so probably just like new, right?”

  I will never forget that place. It’s where I met Trina the Knife Wielder, the girl who slept with weapons beneath her pillow. I was never so glad to leave. “Daisy can’t go there.”

  “Maybe we should talk about this in private,” Charlie says. “Assuming my opinion matters here.”

  “Of course, it matters.” On top of everything coming at me, Charlie’s furious. Can’t say I blame him. “Charlie, we can’t care for Daisy. Who would watch her when we work? And then, there are visits and court dates to consider. We definitely can’t bring her back to Texas for that.”

  “We could handle all that remotely.” Mrs. Smartley looks quite proud of this answer.

  That fixes nothing, really. A few court dates are the least of our problems. “We can’t bring her back to New York.”

  “I think we should give it a try.” Charlie acts like this is one of his work negotiations. “You’re Daisy’s family.”

  Maxine pipes up. “I like this idea. I could visit and play the doting grandma. I could even nanny for you in New York.”

  I have to make Charlie see reason. “You can’t be serious about fostering a child.”

  “I’m serious about considering it.”

  “My career’s just taking off, and we’ll be adjusting to life as husband and wife. Mrs. Smartley will find Daisy a good home. She’s a pro at that—the best. And I know nothing about taking care of little girls. My mom fed me Pop-Tarts and Hot Pockets. We’re not ready to be parents for years yet, and there’s simply no way I can commit to—”

  Any remaining words fade away, drifting into the precinct ether as my world shifts like God turned the page of my script and rewrote all the lines.