Forever Beach by Shelley Noble Read Free Book Online Page A

hers, guiding her movements, steadying her touch. Other times, she was all thumbs with springs popping out in all directions, minuscule screws rolling into oblivion.
    At those times, no amount of patience, cajoling, or cursing would make a timepiece run again. Those were sad times, something Sarah considered a personal failure. Then she wouldremember all the times Sam had patiently helped her through a repair. Even when she messed up, he would undo what she had done and say “try again.”
    She adjusted the task lamp over her head, put on her loupe magnifiers, and settled down to the minutiae of clock repair. Within minutes she was totally absorbed, her hands steady as she worked.
    When Sarah finally shut down for the night, it was after midnight. And that’s when she realized Reesa hadn’t called back.
    It was too late to call her. Social workers carried heavy caseloads and got little sleep. Sarah tried to be the exemplary foster family and not bother Reesa unnecessarily. She chuckled at herself. Sarah Hargreave trying to be exemplary . . . in a good way. After all these years she was sometimes still surprised at how her life had turned out.
    She was only sorry that Sam hadn’t lived to know Leila. He would have made the perfect grandfather. It seemed like Sarah was always losing someone, someplace, some thing.
    She mentally smacked herself. That was so much bull. She’d been lucky. So lucky. And she was thankful for every day, even when it wasn’t such a great one. Sam had taught her that, too.

Chapter 4
    R eesa Davis on line one, Ms. Cartwright.”
    Ilona looked at the intercom. A call from Reesa Davis first thing on a Friday morning boded bad news.
    â€œShall I tell her you’ll call her back?”
    Ilona waffled. Reesa Davis was known in pro bono circles as the “Warhorse,” which was a misnomer if ever there was one. To Ilona a warhorse was a shiny, black, sleek-muscled thoroughbred. Reesa Davis was more of a bulldog, short, squat, tenacious, five feet of chubby middle-aged Italian with permed hair, ill-fitting suits, and boxy shoes.
    â€œI’ll take it.” Ilona pressed speaker and picked up the brief she’d been reading. “Reesa,” she said by way of hello and turned the page while she waited for Reesa to work her way through the niceties before getting to the reason she called.
    Ilona picked up a pen and circled a clause in the divorce papers. Over the husband’s dead carcass.
    â€œ. . . already applied for adoption.”
    Ilona scribbled a counterpoint in the margin.
    â€œ. . . talking about reunification.”
    â€œRights terminated?” Ilona asked and struck out two more lines. This guy had a lot of nerve, but nerve wouldn’t get him a nickel in the courtroom.
    â€œ. . . But now she’s changed her mind.”
    Ilona paused with the pen poised above the brief. “If the kid’s in the adoption pipeline, what are you doing on the case? Where’s the adoption caseworker?”
    â€œThe foster mother and I have become friends . . . once I was off the case. As a friend, I want to make sure nothing’s left unturned. I’m asking you as a colleague.”
    â€œYou think she should have the kid.”
    â€œNo question.”
    â€œFax over her paperwork, and I’ll take a look. I’ve got to tell you I’m pretty busy these days, my pro bono calendar is beyond heavy.”
    â€œJust talk to her, I think you’ll like this case.”
    â€œSend her file over and make an appointment. Can I assume you’ll accompany the foster family?”
    â€œSingle mother, but yes.”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œThanks, Ilona. I appreciate it.”
    â€œThat’s what I’m here for.” Ilona hung up and tapped the pen on the paragraph she’d just circled. Then she tossed it on the desk and buzzed her secretary. “Mona, get Sid Ferrelli on the phone.” She leaned back in her desk