Free Silk and Stone by Deborah Smith Page B

back and stood. “I have to go. I promised my kids a gallon of French vanilla.” Sarah looked away again, her eyes shadowed and distracted. “They need something to cheer them up, and that’s the best I can do.”
    Frannie rose anxiously. “What’s wrong?”
    “Their grandmother died a couple of weeks ago.” Sarahhesitated, frowning. “I think, in some ways, they needed her more than they need Hugh and me. She always seemed to know what they were thinking.” Sarah and Frannie traded a somber look. “Do you ever look at Samantha and wonder if she sees the world in a way you can’t quite understand?”
    Frannie’s shoulders slumped. “All the time. All the time.”

Chapter
            Five

 
    T he western drive across the state from Durham to the mountains took several hours. Alexandra kept the big gray sedan to the back roads, to stretch the drive out as long as possible. Time for her to talk Frannie into an agreement.
    The car moved smoothly through the rolling piedmont, past broad pastures dotted with cattle and through small heartland towns with aged brick courthouses. The trees were budding; everything had the delicate patinas of new greens, and the dogwoods scattered in sunny spots along the road were at the full peak of their white blooms. Alexandra glanced occasionally at Frannie, who stared straight ahead, oblivious to the pretty scenery, her hands clasping a sweating paper cup of melted ice and cola, her blue sweater hanging ajar around her rumpled pantsuit. Frannie was inconsolable.
    Samantha lay asleep, curled on the car’s deep leather rear seat, one arm around the new doll Alexandra had given her. The week of medical tests in Durham had not been wasted, Alexandra thought. The expensive pediatric specialists had confirmed the brilliant conclusions made by army medical hacks.
    Samantha did not talk. She was extremely bright and alert, had extraordinary motor skills for a three-year-old, and was unhampered by any discernible physical or emotional problems. She was potty-trained, fearless, and ate like a horse. She made a variety of noises and imitated animal sounds, which had led one doctor to joke that perhaps she’d invented her own language and simply expected everyone else to learn it.
    Alexandra liked that whimsical idea—the notion of her niece molding others’ expectations to fit her own. She liked the child’s amazing, self-possessed grace, the clear spirit in her blue eyes—in short, the qualities that Tim lacked, qualities that reminded Alexandra of herself.
    She was now convinced that Samantha was the child she deserved to raise.
    Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, and her heart pounded.
Careful, now
, she told herself.
Don’t be obvious
. “I wish I could cheer you up,” she said to Frannie.
    Her sister dropped the drink cup into a small vinyl trash bag hanging from the car’s ashtray, then pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Those specialists were my last resort.” Her voice was hollow. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell Carl they couldn’t help us. What it might do to his feelings for me.”
    Alexandra cleared her throat. “I have a suggestion. It’s not a perfect plan, but if you’re willing to consider it—”
    “What?” Frannie swiveled toward her. “I’ll consider anything at this point.”
    “It would mean a hard decision on your part.”
    “Tell me. Please.”
    “If you don’t go back to Germany—if you’ll stay here, where there’s access to the best care money can buy, I’llpay for Samantha to have speech therapy. You know, the doctors said that was an option. Regular one-on-one sessions with a therapist.” Alexandra hesitated tactfully. “It might take weeks. It might take months. But surely, in time, it would work.”
    Frannie sank back and hugged herself. Alexandra cast a furtive look at her. She appeared to be lost in agonized thought. Alexandra added, “If Carl wants what’s best for Samantha, I know he’ll