On Christmas Eve Read online

  Good heavens, that was high for a grown girl. She glanced back at the girl with concern.

  “You have a high fever,” Lucy said quietly. “We’ve got to get that down. Can you take ibuprofen? You’re not allergic or anything?”

  “I’ve had that before. It’s okay,” Zoey said.

  “Good. This works well on a fever.” Lucy measured out the dose and gave it to Zoey with a glass of water.

  “Now sit up and have some tea,” Lucy encouraged her. “I put plenty of honey in it for your throat.” Lucy took the water glass and carefully handed over a mug of hot tea. She also set a box of tissues and some throat lozenges on the bedside table.

  She watched Zoey sip the tea. She seemed to like it.

  “I’m going to leave this water for you. Try to drink some during the night. You shouldn’t get dehydrated.”

  Zoey set the mug down on the table. “What are you, a doctor or something?”

  Lucy couldn’t tell if she was being snide or not. “I’m a nurse.”

  “A nurse? Gee, I thought you were just a waitress.”

  “That’s just my hobby,” Lucy said, knowing she wouldn’t get the joke. “Do you need anything else? Would you like to look at a magazine or a book before you go to sleep?”

  “I have my tunes.” The girl showed Lucy her compact music device. Lucy couldn’t tell the difference between an MP3 and an iPod—or a pea pod, for that matter. But when the girl plugged the buds in her ears and got that certain, spacey expression, Lucy knew she was off in music land.

  And will be off in dreamland in about five minutes, Lucy predicted.

  “I’m just down one flight if you need anything. Last room on the right,” Lucy explained as she headed for the door. “I’m going to look in on you later to make sure your fever is down. Don’t be scared if you see me come into the room.”

  Zoey nodded. Or maybe she was just nodding to the beat of her music? Then she slipped down under the covers again and closed her eyes.

  Lucy went down to her own bedroom and began to undress, guessing that Zoey was already out like a light. Just as well. The best thing for a fever is sleep. If the girl was still this ill tomorrow, she would have to see a doctor.

  Lucy knew that she would also have to make some calls to the local social service agency and see what they had to say about the situation. If the girl was really sick, she might need to stay another day. Unless there was someplace else for her to go.

  Someplace besides that imaginary aunt. Lucy doubted there was any truth to that story at all.

  When Lucy came out of the shower, she heard Charlie downstairs, rattling around the kitchen. He would soon come up and drop into bed, then fall asleep like a stone. Then get up tomorrow at the crack of dawn and start all over again.

  He did work so hard. Lucy had to grant him that.

  Charlie would not like the idea of Zoey staying a minute longer than Lucy had promised. But Lucy decided she wouldn’t bring it up tonight. She’d had enough arguing for today. It was best to just take it one step at a time.

  She found the thriller she was reading. It would come in handy tonight. She needed to stay up to check on Zoey and make her drink more water.

  Why fuss so much over a complete stranger? That’s what Charlie was going to say, and Lucy had to wonder herself. She didn’t know why. Maybe this girl had been in trouble or was on her way to more. But sitting here now, Lucy did feel sure that she had made the right choice. She had done the kind and decent thing.

  “What wisdom can you find that is greater than kindness?” She remembered that quote from a college course she took a few years back. Some French philosopher—Jean-Jacques Rousseau? Lucy thought that was the one.

  Well, whoever said that had been right. There was no greater wisdom. She felt sure of that.

  CHAPTER THREE

  LUCY WOKE WITH A KNOT IN HER NECK. SHE OPENED HER EYES AS she rubbed the spot and realized she had fallen asleep in a living room chair. The book she’d been reading had slid off her lap and the lamp beside her was still on, though early-morning light filtered through the curtains.

  She checked her watch; half past six. Time to wake the boys. Jamie didn’t leave for school until eight, but C.J. had to catch the bus at seven fifteen. She knew that Charlie was already gone and was surprised he hadn’t woken her up when he left the house. He was probably so mad at her for staying up to take care of Zoey, he wasn’t talking to her right now.

  Or he wouldn’t be by this evening, Lucy reasoned, when she told him Zoey had to stay. Lucy had tried to get Zoey’s fever down all night with little success. The girl was quite sick. It was more than just a cold, and Lucy knew that Zoey would have to see a doctor.

  She went upstairs and woke the boys, knocking on each of their doors. “Jamie, hon? Time to get up,” she called into the first bedroom. “C.J., are you up yet? You’d better get moving. You’re going to miss the bus again.”

  If C.J. was late one more time, he was going to get detention. She couldn’t figure out what took him so long in the morning. He certainly didn’t torture himself over his outfits; a T-shirt and jeans were all he needed. Maybe it was the shaving, she thought with a secret grin. A painstaking, manly ritual, though he hardly needed to bother.

  She went up the next flight to the guest room and peeked in the half-closed door. Zoey was sound asleep. At some point during the night, Lucy had propped her up on extra pillows and set up a vaporizer to aid her breathing. Zoey had slipped off the pillows and now lay curled on her side, one hand gripping the edge of the blanket and tucked under her chin.

  Her skin looked pale as paper in contrast to her dark hair. Lucy touched the girl’s forehead. She still felt feverish. Zoey couldn’t have another dose of ibuprofen until at least nine, so sleep was the best thing for now.

  Her backpack was still on the bed, pushed to the bottom of the mattress. The zipper was open and most of the contents had spilled out. Lucy didn’t mean to be nosy, but she couldn’t help noticing a long, shiny purple leather wallet. It had a small window in the front for ID. Lucy picked it up and saw Zoey’s photo on what looked like a school ID. The name below the picture read Elizabeth Dugan. Elizabeth? Lucy nearly laughed out loud. That was a long way in the alphabet from Zoey. And the last name Zoey had given her—Jones—that was obviously an alias, too.

  Lucy glanced at the address. Gloucester. Zoey had come quite a ways on her own. Lucy wondered why. There had to be someone in Gloucester wondering about the girl, worrying where she was. The ID didn’t give a phone number, but Lucy would try to find that on her own.

  Zoey rolled onto her back and coughed in her sleep, gasping a little for air. Lucy put the wallet back in the bag and waited until the girl settled down again. Then she left to fix the boys’ breakfast.

  Lucy had packed up both lunches and given Jamie his cereal, toast, and juice by the time C.J. came clomping downstairs in his huge sneakers. He swept into the room, poured himself a tall glass of juice, and gulped it down.

  “How about breakfast? Have some cereal at least,” Lucy coaxed him.

  “No time.” C.J. took a bite from Jamie’s toast, and Jamie punched him in the ribs, which C.J. ignored. “Can you give me a cereal bar?”

  Lucy found the box and gave him two. She tried to buy the healthy kind with less sugar and a little protein. But it still wasn’t real food. “I wish you would leave yourself time to eat some healthy food in the morning. It’s the most important meal of the day.”

  “So I’ve heard, Mom.” He rolled his eyes while tugging on his jacket and shoving books into his backpack.

  “Listen . . . before you go, I need to tell you something. We have a houseguest. She was only going to stay the night but she might still be here when you get back from school.”

  “A houseguest? Up in Nanny’s room? Who is it? Do we know her?” Jamie asked.

  “Her name is Zoey. I just met her last night—at the diner. She’s a teenager, about your age, C.J. She’s sick and she didn’t have a
place to stay.”

  “Where are her parents?” Jamie asked.

  “I don’t know,” Lucy said honestly. “I don’t know if she even has any.”

  “So you just . . . brought her home? Like a stray cat or something?” C.J. asked her.

  Just like his father. Well, almost.

  “It wasn’t like that. And don’t be so smart,” she scolded him. She thought it best not to explain the skipped check incident. “Your father and I could see she needed help, so we offered to let her come here. I hope to heaven that some responsible adult would do the same for you if you ever needed help,” she told her son. “Kids get themselves into trouble. They don’t mean to. They don’t know any better. They’re just kids.”

  “Good point, Mom.” C.J.’s mouth was full of cereal bar. “I’m going to remember you said that next time I screw up and you and Dad freak out on me.”

  Lucy shook her head and kissed his cheek. She practically had to get up on her tiptoes, he was so tall now. “You’d better go, mister. You’ll miss the bus.”

  C.J. grabbed a banana and headed out the back door.

  Jamie took one last spoonful of cereal and got up from the table. “How long is Zoey going to be here, Mom?”

  “I’m not sure,” Lucy said. “I’m going to bring her to Dr. Harding today. She has a fever and a cough. I guess she might stay a day or so.”

  “Can I say hello to her?”

  “She’s still sleeping, honey. You can meet her later, when you get home from school.”

  Jamie nodded. “It’s all right if she wants to try my video games. I don’t mind. She might get bored sitting around all day.”

  Lucy smiled at him. “I’ll tell her you said that.”

  While Jamie went upstairs to dress Lucy found the phone and dialed information. She asked for a listing for the Dugan residence on Anderson Street in Gloucester, the address she had seen on the ID. The operator said there was no listing for that name at that address. There was one listing for that last name at a different address, but when Lucy dialed the number, she heard a recording that said the phone had been disconnected.

  So much for catching up with the girl’s family. That probably wasn’t going to happen unless Zoey—or Elizabeth—gave her the phone number.

  After Jamie left for school, she went upstairs and got dressed. Then she headed up to the guest room again. At first Lucy thought the girl was still asleep, but as she walked closer, Zoey’s eyes flickered open.

  “What time is it?” she asked in a croaky voice.

  “Let’s see . . . getting close to nine,” Lucy answered, glancing at her watch. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay. I feel better,” Zoey insisted. She pushed herself up in the bed and then began coughing so hard, she nearly doubled over.

  “That cough sounds bad. You need to see a doctor. You could have pneumonia,” Lucy said. She had spotted all the textbook symptoms—a loose, hacking cough, fever, chills, and last night, Zoey had complained of shortness of breath and pains in her chest. Lucy wouldn’t have been surprised if the girl was too weak to make it to the bathroom on her own.

  Zoey shrugged and swung her feet to the floor, then squeezed her eyes shut. Feeling a little dizzy, Lucy suspected. The girl grabbed her pack by one of the straps. “I don’t have pneumonia, and I don’t need to see a doctor. It’s just a stupid cold.”

  “Yeah, a really stupid one,” Lucy agreed. She couldn’t force Zoey to visit Dr. Harding if she didn’t want to. “Are you hungry? I’ll bring you something to eat. How about some tea and toast? Or a poached egg?”

  “A poached egg? Gross!” Zoey made a face. Lucy nearly laughed at her.

  “Okay, how about hard-boiled then?”

  “I hate eggs. They’re . . . yucky. Some toast would be good. I guess I am a little hungry.”

  A good sign, Lucy thought. “Coming right up. You stay up here. I’ll bring a tray.”

  “Okay. I’m just going to use the bathroom.”

  Zoey rose and glanced at Lucy over her shoulder. The long, baggy T-shirt came down practically to her knees, making her legs look like long white stalks. With her ponytail flopping plumelike to one side, she seemed delicate and birdlike.

  “I left you a robe. It’s on the back of the bathroom door,” Lucy told her. “I’ll be right back.”

  The bathroom door snapped shut, and Lucy headed for the kitchen. She could have predicted Zoey would refuse to visit Dr. Harding. Lucy decided she had brought it up too soon; she would try again, after breakfast.

  Lucy had just set up the tray with tea and toast when she heard a crash in the hallway, near the front door. She ran to the foyer to find Zoey, fully clothed in jacket, jeans, and boots, crumpled in a heap on the floor. A side table that held a big ceramic bowl had toppled over, and the bowl had broken into several pieces.

  Lucy ran to the girl’s side, nearly stumbling over the ever-present backpack, which had fallen nearby. She knelt down and lifted Zoey’s head. The girl’s eyes were closed.

  Lucy lightly slapped her cheek. “Zoey, can you hear me? Wake up. Open your eyes.” Lucy’s tone was firm and clear. She was trying hard not to sound hysterical. That was one of the first things they taught you in nursing school.

  Zoey’s eyelids fluttered, then finally opened. She raised her hand and touched her head. “What the . . . what happened to me?”

  “Looks like you fainted. What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “I was coming down the stairs . . . and I felt sort of dizzy and hot all over. Everything started spinning, so I grabbed on to that table . . . and then I don’t remember.”

  “You blacked out. It’s the fever. You’re probably sicker than you think, young lady.” Lucy sighed. “Come on, I’ll help you back to bed. You aren’t going anywhere—except to the doctor.”

  She thought Zoey would argue again, but the girl either felt too weak or had finally given in. Lucy led her back upstairs and helped her undress and get into bed. Zoey was quiet, almost docile, the fire gone from her dark eyes. For now, Lucy thought.

  Lucy sat on the edge of the bed and handed her a glass of water. “You need to drink more fluids.” Zoey took a sip of water. “So, where were you headed? Sneaking out without saying good-bye?” Lucy asked bluntly.

  Zoey met her glance, then looked away. “I didn’t want to bother you. . . . I have to get going. I was going to write you a note or something,” she added. “Honest.”

  “Yeah, sure. So is the Queen of England—when she gets around to it.” Lucy paused, watching her. Zoey looked so sick, it was difficult to be too tough on her. But the girl obviously considered her a complete pushover.

  “Listen, sweetie, I don’t know you and you don’t know me. All you know about me is that I’m softhearted, taking in a kid like you for no apparent reason, no questions asked. So you probably think I’m a real sucker. But waiting tables for years and working in a big hospital, I’ve seen a thing or two. Now, let’s get the truth. Your name isn’t Zoey Jones. It’s Elizabeth Dugan, right?”

  The teenager looked shocked—then indignant. “Great. You were snooping through my stuff while I was sleeping. It doesn’t take the FBI to figure that out. Did you empty my wallet, too? Guess I have to check everything.”

  She leaned down to grab her pack off the floor, but Lucy stopped her.

  “Calm down. Of course I didn’t steal your money. Do you have any? Last night you said you didn’t even have seven dollars, remember?”

  Zoey sat back against the pillows and crossed her arms over her chest. Her expression was hard and infuriated. Lucy could tell she felt cornered. But maybe that meant they were getting somewhere.

  “Hey, kid, I stuck my neck out for you. My husband didn’t really want you here. But here you are, and plenty sick, too. So it looks as if you need to stay for a few days—unless your parents or some other adult guardians somewhere are looking for you. What’s the real story?”

  Zoey stared straight ahead and let out a long breat
h. She was stonewalling, pretending Lucy was invisible. Lucy held her ground. “You ought to just tell me. I can go downstairs and get on the phone and find out, one way or the other. Someone must have called the police by now if you ran away from home.”

  Zoey nervously picked at some threads on the edge of the blanket. “Not home . . . a foster home. There’s a big difference,” she said finally. “I hate that place. It’s horrible. I bet those jerks didn’t even notice I’m missing. Please don’t send me back there.”

  “Where’s the foster home—in Gloucester?” Lucy asked.

  “No. In Beverly. I used to live in Gloucester, a long time ago. Before my real family split up.”

  “Oh.” Lucy didn’t know what else to say. Zoey sounded angry but also fearful, and Lucy didn’t want to send her back to a place that scared her. Still, Lucy knew she was going to have to call someone—some county office, social services? She would ask Dr. Harding. He’d probably know what to do.

  “What are you going to do now?” Zoey looked up at her. “Send me back?”

  She might have to go back, Lucy realized, once they reported the situation. But Lucy didn’t want to tell Zoey that. It might send her running out the door again.

  “I really don’t know what’s going to happen. Once I find out, I’ll be honest with you. But you’ve got to start being honest with me. Can you do that?”

  Zoey met her glance then gave a reluctant nod.

  “Okay, then. I think you have an upper respiratory infection. Maybe even pneumonia. You need to see the doctor today and get some antibiotics. Be honest, don’t you feel awful?”

  Zoey lifted her chin, getting ready to deny it, but a coughing fit doubled her over. “I . . . I feel like something stuck to the bottom of a shoe,” she admitted when the coughing let up.

  “I’m not surprised,” Lucy said sympathetically. “I’ll bring you something to eat. Then I’m calling the doctor’s office. We’ll figure the rest out later.” Lucy got up from the bed and headed for the door. “And I’d better not catch you sneaking out again.”