Chapter 1

The true feeling of sex is that of a deep intimacy, but above all of a deep complicity. -- James Dickey

"Mike, I really need your help," Deanne started as soon as Mike picked up the phone.

"What is it this time," he said.

He could hear the relief in her voice, "Mike, you guys are the best. I have a sixteen-year-old who lost her entire family in a car wreck."

"Jesus," he said. "Is she hurt?"

"No. She was at practice and the family was coming to pick her up. A driver dialing a number on his cell phone went over the yellow line at sixty miles an hour."

"Fucking cell phones," Mike fumed.

"This kid has been through hell the last couple days and I don't want her in a group home. She needs a good family. She's with neighbors at the moment," Deanne said.

Then it hit Mike; they had been talking about a she. "Uh, Deanne. I'm single now."

"What?"

"Cyndi walked out on me. She found a boy toy she likes better," Mike said trying to hold back the pain.

Deanne heard the pain in his voice, "Oh, Mike." Hell, if she wasn't already married, she would have asked him to marry her. He was the best husband she knew. What the hell could Cyndi be thinking? Some women were never happy, the Prince Charming syndrome.

As a social worker placing kids, she knew thousands of families, from the horribly dysfunctional to the supposedly normal. She was stunned by Cyndi's stupidity. But she still had a problem. "Mike, I know the protocols. Normally, I wouldn't place a girl with a single man. I suppose technically you are still married. But you and Cyndi have helped what, half a hundred kids, and half of them have been girls. I need you to help this kid just until we can find something more permanent. She attends Oak Crest High School. That's walking distance from your house. She grew up in that neighborhood. I don't want to change things for her if I don't have to. I'm sure it will only be for a few days. Some family will volunteer. Please, Mike."

This was usually true. Most kids had been with them for a few days until Social Services could find a relative to take the kids or until the parents convinced Social Services to give the kids back. It was usually drugs or alcohol that led to kids being put into a foster home. Maybe it was an accusation, unsubstantiated, of molestation. It was a hell of a way to get even with a neighbor you disliked. "God damn it, Deanne. You always know how to get to me," Mike grumped.

"Mike, I don't. The truth is you just can't not help someone in real trouble. Your problem is too big a heart," she said.

He laughed. "Okay, if the girl is okay with it. The room is ready. I won't even need to paint it. It's already pink," he said laughing.

"She's outside my office with all of her bags packed. I'll be over in a few minutes," Deanne said.

"Her bags packed?" he asked.

"You are a peach," Deanne said, deflecting the question.

"A plucked peach, sounds like. See you in a few," he said.

Mike quickly went round the house picking up and straightening. He hoped this really would be for a few days. He remembered one kid who was only supposed to be with them for a few days. It turned out to be for four months. But she had been a good kid and they hadn't minded. With no kids of their own, Cyndi had loved being a temporary mom. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe her boy toy would somehow get her knocked up even though the doctors had told them the problem wasn't with him. Maybe the biological clock had ticked past him. He wiped away the tears as he threw some magazines away.

The front bell rang. When he opened the door, there was Deanne, a tall attractive woman in her bright red business suit, giving him her patented 1,000 watt smile which was highlighted by her dusky skin. Beside her was a beautiful young woman. Most kids who wound up in the Foster system were young. He wasn't used to seeing a girl like this one. She was a brunette, bangs cut straight across, and longish hair.

Mike couldn't help but give her the full male inventory look. Her lips were full, eyes green, skin flawless, breasts full, waist small, and her hips completed the hourglass. In short, she may have been young but she took his breath away. He stood aside as they entered each carrying two large bags. Mike grabbed one from Deanne and one from the girl and led them down the hall. "This way," he said. As he hefted the bags he quipped, "You didn't mention she collected bricks and was bringing them along."

As he put the bags in her room, Deanne said, "Caryn, this is Mr. O'Neal. And never mind his sense of humor."

"Hello, Mr. O'Neal," she said.

He took her hand, "Please call me Mike. I'm glad to have you." He gestured at the room. "Make yourself at home. The drawers are all yours." Deanne motioned and he followed her, leaving Caryn to get used to her new place.

"Thank you, Mike. I know this is probably a tough time for you." He nodded. "You're a saint. I'm sure one of her friends' families will volunteer. I wouldn't be surprised if she is gone before she finishes unpacking." Caryn came down the hall. "Everything okay?" Deanne asked.

"Yeah." To Mike, "Your house is beautiful."

"Thanks. It's yours now," he said trying to make her feel comfortable.

She nodded and looked around. Her eyes lit on his plasma screen TV which covered a significant portion of the wall. "Wow," she said.

He laughed, "That's my toy, for watching football. It's almost like being there."

Deanne asked Caryn, "Are you going to be okay?" She nodded. "Then I'll be going. I have the keys to their house so if she needs anything, let me know." He saw her out the door. By her car, Deanne stood for a moment. "Look, I know it might be a bit uncomfortable with her being a teenage girl. If anything weird or unusual comes up, call me. Even at home; you have my number." He nodded. Deanne hugged him, "You are one of the good ones." She jumped into her car, waving as she drove off.

Mike took a deep breath and went back inside. Caryn was still standing in the front room. He asked her, "Do you want anything to drink?"

"No, thanks."

"Okay, I have found the best thing is to set up the rules right away. It makes it easier that way." He also knew that it gave the kid a feeling of stability in what had been an out of control world. At least they had some rules. She sat and Mike sat on the couch with her. Caryn looked pensive as he went through the normal rules: clean up your own mess, call if you are going to be late, etc. When he reached the end, she looked relieved. "How do those sound?"

"Just like my parents," she said.

"Good," he said smiling. "Caryn, I want you to think of this as home. You aren't a guest here. You are part of the family and I'm going to act that way. Don't be surprised when I ask you to help with the chores."

She nodded and smiled, "You sound just like my dad." A look of loss crossed her face. "I guess we have something in common. Mrs. Walton told me about your wife. I'm sorry. We both lost families. I hope, well, maybe we can help each other."

Mike was surprised. It was a very perceptive thing for her to say. She might even be right. "I hadn't thought of it that way. I guess we both did lose our family." He looked up to see tears start in her eyes and in one of those intensely human moments his heart went out to her in shared pain and grief. Both felt their own loss and the other's loss. Mike held up his arms and Caryn rushed into them. They held each other, their arms shielding them from the impersonal world which only seemed to cause hurt. For those moments inside their arms, they were protected and comforted. They cried: each sobbing, each feeling the pain and yet, in some strange way, comforted by the sharing of the pain, letting their pain join the other's pain and somehow be whisked away by it.

The tears stopped, the sobbing abated, and yet they held each other. Mike felt himself rocking the girl, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. Touch, the most basic and most powerful of the senses, the thing we all need in moments like this, calmed and filled them with contentment. Caryn felt secure for the first time since she had been picked up by the police at her school and whisked away to a hospital, only to wait and wait and wait until a neighbor had taken her home after the doctor told her no one had survived the accident.

In his arms, Caryn came to feel this is a good man. She could have stayed like that forever. For Caryn, there was a deep connection with Mike; he had become her family in those few intense moments, though she didn't even realize it. Mike felt something a little different. He felt her body pressing against his, her breasts pressing into his chest. His body knew this was a desirable woman and it responded. Mike felt it and slowly broke the arm lock in which they held each other. Although neither knew it yet, the healing of both had started.