Her hand had wrapped around his and gradually tightened as he explained.
“A few years ago I talked to a nurse who worked there at the time and she remembered that my mother named me and held me for a few minutes and the next thing they knew she was gone. My records showed that my mom was a suspected addict and when I entered the system there was no one who wanted to adopt a baby with possible drug issues passed on from the mother.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Maizy looked so sad, he didn’t have the heart to tell her that the same nurse had told him that his mother had shown up at the hospital morgue a few days later, dead from a drug overdose. Strangely, at the time he’d heard that news, it had been painful, but along with the hurt had come a sense of closure. If she hadn’t abandoned him, he might be dead, too. He rubbed his fingertips against his forehead, willing the memory away.
“So I’m Spencer Ketchum, born to Jane Doe in 1977, father unknown. I went into foster care and was taken in by a family who cared for me until I was seven when that foster mom suddenly passed away. They had several foster kids and that dad just didn’t cope well with her death and we were returned to the state.”
“Do you remember her?”
“Vividly. She was nice. They let us attend her funeral but I don’t think I fully understood my situation until I was placed with another family that wasn’t as nice. I was beat on by some of the older kids and the mom and dad were too busy to listen or to help…or maybe to even care. I learned to watch my back.”
“Were you with them long?”
“A few years. They got in some kind of trouble with the state and I was removed and placed in another one when I was eleven, which is where I met Heath. We were the same age. Life at home sucked but we had a great coach at school and I think he could tell we were picked on and he got us lifting weights.”
“So he helped you get stronger. That’s good. I’m glad someone was there for you,” she said, punctuating her thought with a single nod. “It hurts to hear that you were mistreated.”
“Coach was a good guy. Later that year, Cody came to live in that home. He was older than us and much bigger already. He used to take up for us until our growth spurts finally hit and we put on a little muscle. It became easier to defend ourselves then. Not all of the choices we made were good ones and the home we lived in had a zero tolerance policy and they gave all three of us the boot. By then we were thirteen and Cody was fourteen. They placed us together, with Jean Goodman, and everything changed.”
He smiled when he felt her relax and she looked up at him with her expressive eyes. “And she was nice to you?”
“Hell, no,” Spencer said with a chuckle. “She was a mean mom. But we knew without a doubt that she loved us. She didn’t treat us like burdens or a meal ticket that she had to put up with. She made sure we didn’t skip school and she helped us learn at home. She taught us how to handle money and to live on a budget. Heath and I were always a little hyper and she did her best to keep us engaged so we didn’t get in trouble. She kept all of us involved in sports and taught Heath to cook and she taught me about plants.”
“What about Cody?”
“She helped him to become a leader, to channel his energy into not only working hard but working smart. When he was ready, she helped him get a job with a reputable friend of hers who taught him construction work, and eventually all three of us worked for him. When the construction business took a downturn we switched things up and went into club security. With our talents and physical attributes, it made sense. We visit Jean on a regular basis. Far as I’m concerned, she’s my mom.”
“That explains…”
“Explains what, baby?”
“That explains why you’re so reserved, I suppose. I noticed that you hold back from outwardly showing your feelings.”
Spencer let out a long sigh, deciding she didn’t need every detail. “Yeah…I guess home number two, and three, taught me that showing my feelings could get me beat on worse than I already was. I also got tired of becoming attached to people and then having them ripped out of my life at the whim of the state or the foster parents. Not conducive to a happy life, you know?”
She nodded and kissed his chest. “I think you smile much more frequently now.”
He squeezed her and kissed the top of her head, enjoying her unique fragrance. “Because I have more to smile about.”
She reached a hand up to stroke his shoulder and giggled when she encountered a handful of her abundant black curls instead. “Every time I come over here I wind up going home with wild hair sticking up everywhere.”