Family Fortune. Roz Fox Denny

in Baton Rouge. Felipe reportedly had family in the Atchafalaya Swamp; he spoke only French, and Crystal had never seen anyone visit the boy. Barry Hodges needed more specialized care than was available in Vidalia; he had a cousin in town who visited occasionally. Moses Brown, the last of the six to be admitted, never mentioned family; he hardly said boo. Crystal knew he liked the picture of Caleb Tanner only because Moses had immediately tucked it into his pillowcase. Nurse Pam said that was where he squirreled away his few treats. Crystal had heard that Moses was Jamaican. One of a large family. He’d been injured playing street ball. Which specific sport, she didn’t know. Surgery hadn’t rescued his pitifully small body from pain-that she did know. It’d be a while before they scheduled him for physical therapy.

      The orderly hung up the phone and turned. “Dr. Snyder ordered this young man to start upper-body exercise today. That way he’ll be able to balance on the bars in two weeks when they cut off his cast.”

      Skipper’s eyes glazed in sudden fear. He grasped Crystal’s hand. “I’m scared it’ll hurt. Will you come with me?”

      She glanced at the orderly. “Is that permissible?”

      Gibson hitched a shoulder. “It’s a big area. If the PT who’s scheduled to work with Skipper has any problem with you being there, he or she will ask you to wait outside. There’s a nice waiting room. We do a lot of outpatient work, as well as inpatient care.”

      “Then I’ll go.” She smiled at Skip, who still had a stranglehold on her fingers. He didn’t let go, either, which made it awkward when Gibson tried to transfer the boy to the wheelchair. The man worked around the inconvenience. He kept up a line of banter without making Skip feel like a baby for needing to hang on to someone. For all his size, the man was gentle.

      “You’ve obviously been at this job awhile,” Crystal said.

      “Six years. I hope to be a physical therapist someday.”

      “It’s a tough course, I understand,” she murmured sympathetically.

      The man rolled Skip’s chair into the hall. “It’s finding the time and money to take classes. I have a family to support.”

      “No wonder you’re so patient with Skip. You have children.”

      “Yes. And I’m responsible for two sets of parents who are getting on in years.”

      “That’s rough,” Crystal said. “The broadcasting company I work for ran a series recently on what’s being called the sandwich generation. I caught part of it. Mostly people talking about the difficulties involved in juggling care for both.”

      He grinned at her. “I wish they’d talked to me. We bought a big house in town. All of us live together. My kids know their grandparents. They’re learning early about love and compassion and helping out around the house. If you ask me, it beats the alternative of growing up in small isolated families.”

      Skipper leaned back in the wheelchair so he could look up at the man who pushed him. “Your place sounds neat. I don’t s’pose you have room for one more?” The wistful tone of his voice caused Crystal to tighten her hold on his hand.

      “I’m afraid all the beds are taken,” Gibson said lightly. He raised a brow at Crystal as if wondering what he’d inadvertently stepped into.

      “Skip is in foster care,” she informed him. Then, speaking to the boy, she asked softly, “You like living at Sandy’s, don’t you?”

      “She and Mark are okay,” he said listlessly. “There’s a lot of kids and the house isn’t very big. And Mark doesn’t like us to make noise. Sandy says he takes complaints from customers all day. When he gets home he wants peace and quiet.”

      “But they treat you well?” she pressed.

      “Yeah. Mark don’t hit any of us like Leroy did at my last house.”

      “Good. Because if you were having problems, I’d call Rachel.”

      His face brightened. “I forgot you know my caseworker real well. Ms. Fontaine is nice. Not grouchy like some of ’em are.”

      “That’s because she’s walked the walk, kiddo. She was a foster child in the house where I live. André Lyon, my boss, would’ve adopted her, but her mom refused to sign the papers. Lucky for Rachel, her mother agreed to permanent foster care. Rachel said the move to Lyoncrest changed her life. She knows the system can work, Skipper. Promise me that if you ever have problems, you’ll let her know at once.”

      “Sure. Okay. Wow!” His voice rose excitedly and he tugged on Crystal’s jacket sleeve. “Isn’t that Cale over there?”

      Gibson had wheeled Skipper’s chair to the doorway of a huge room that reminded Crystal of a fancy gym. She couldn’t begin to identify all the equipment, but Tanner worked at one machine that seemed designed to strengthen his upper body. Crystal didn’t want to stare. However, she couldn’t seem to help it. Caleb was bare to the waist. Ridges of muscle stood out across his shoulders as he hoisted himself from the seat of his wheelchair using nothing but his arms. Sweat glistened on his skin. A few drops pooled like tears in the rough hair that fanned his broad chest. The thatch of light brown narrowed before it met his navel. Beyond that, Crystal could only guess. And guessing made her uncomfortable.

      “Well, isn’t it him?” Skip hissed, his eyes huge and eager.

      Crystal wet her lips and cleared her throat. “Y-yes, it certainly is.”

      “Wait’ll I tell the guys! He looks terrific. He don’t have a cast on or nothin’.”

      As if sensing he was under scrutiny, Caleb glanced toward the door. The minute his eyes met Crystal’s he lost concentration and relaxed his grip on the rings.

      Even across the room they heard the slap of his butt as it hit the vinyl seat of the wheelchair hard. Crystal flinched. Her teeth snapped shut and she closed her eyes, imagining the pain. Next the air curdled from his harsh expletive.

      Skip’s cheeks paled. “I think that hurt him bad, Crystal. I guess maybe he’s not doin’ as good as he looks.”

      “Healing bone and muscle takes time,” she murmured.

      The therapist assigned to Skip walked up just then and blocked Caleb from Crystal’s view. But not before she saw him grit his teeth, tune her out and reach up to repeat the exercise. Logically Crystal knew that the other woman with a clipboard, the one who stood beside Caleb, must be his therapist Crystal wanted to scold the woman for assigning Caleb tasks that obviously hurt him.

      Crystal didn’t know how long Skip’s therapist had been talking to her when she realized they were both staring at her and that some response was required. “Excuse me,” she said. “I must have zoned out for a moment.”

      The young woman grinned. “I understand completely. All the women who work here have been drooling ever since Gib brought Caleb in. All except me. I like nerds. One football jock is the same as the next. It’s body by Mattel, brains by Brio.”

      The insult didn’t go over Crystal’s head, but neither did she crack a smile. And when the therapist shrugged and looked at her with pity, Crystal had to wonder why she felt like retaliating on Tanner’s behalf.

      “Gib said Skipper asked to have you stay for his therapy session,” the PT said, getting down to business. “I don’t mind. Gib’s bringing you a chair. We’re starting Skip with basic upper-body testing. This session is more or less to evaluate his muscular strengths and weaknesses. Boring stuff, really.”

      “Will I hafta do what Cale’s doing, ma’am?” the boy asked apprehensively. “He’s really hurting, don’t you think?”

      Crystal followed Skip’s troubled gaze. Indeed, Tanner seemed to be struggling. Veins stood out in his forearms, as did the cords in his neck. His therapist chewed gum and looked on. “His PT will call a halt if Tanner tries to overdo it, won’t she?” Crystal asked.

      “Tanner’s