Greyhound Therapy

Chapter 1

T HAT WHICH DOESN’T KILL a man makes him stronger, or at least more stubborn. James Kingman had never been inclined to ask for help. Now, nearly a year after the deaths of his wife and only child, he was even more determined to go it alone. The son of working class parents, James had put himself through college on a track scholarship and by working weekends at Pizza Hut. He hadn’t received any financial assistance from home. James’s father had made it quite clear that college education was neither an entitlement nor entirely necessary. James bankrolled law school by tutoring undergrads and securing a limited amount of federal aid.

Now, alone on a crisp spring Rocky Mountain morning, James muttered a few choice words and prepared for battle. Man against machine. He would get the damned trailer on the hitch, or die trying. Either way, he’d be better off. James took a deep breath, braced one shoulder of his tall angular frame against the back of his Ford Explorer, and pushed.

It barely budged. James lowered his point of leverage and threw all his weight into it. Vessels bulged in his temples as he held his breath to bear down and shove for all he was worth. The vehicle’s hitch eased forward ever so slightly. The trailer assembly abruptly dropped down and snapped into place. Gotcha! James gave the connection a rigorous shake, reasserting his triumph over the stubborn contraption.

James wiped his brow on his sleeve. He looked toward the empty house, finally settling his deep-set brown eyes on the large oak door with the small shiny brass cross on its front — the cross he’d mounted the day he, Megan, and little baby Madison first moved in. Goosebumps rose up and spread down his arms, causing the hairs to stand on end. His chest suddenly felt tight. His heart pounded faster when it should have been calming. Something was wrong. James took a seat on the bumper of his SUV. He leaned over, resting elbows on knees, and worked to get enough air. James pressed a hand over his sternum. Memories of his father’s heart attack flooded into his consciousness. He looked up and spoke to the heavens.

Really? At thirty-five? Hooking up a damn trailer?

James straightened up, closed his eyes, and tilted his head back until it rested against the rear window of his Explorer. Oh, what the hell? Bring it on! I didn’t sign up for this anyway. He waited. The intensity of the moment gradually drained away. The pounding pulse slowed. Breathing came easier. After a minute or two he opened his eyes and shook his head. No such luck. No. It was much worse. The cold, inflexible sound of metal locking against metal had shocked him into recognition of a terrible truth. He was leaving. He was leaving them.

His sister, Anna, had warned him there would be moments like this. He had dismissed her concerns. Now, as he sat in the driveway and prepared to leave their home for good, the sound of Anna’s voice reverberated in his head. You have to let them go, James. Easier said than done.

James took a moment to survey the acre they had called home. He scanned the expansive, manicured yard that surrounded the white-and-brown Tudor-style house. The large white For Sale sign posted alongside the mail box stood out like a sore thumb. His shoulders drooped a bit at the sight of the smaller red Price Reduced placard tacked on top.

The eerie quiet was interrupted by the occasional, seemingly irreverent tinkle of a wind chime. James’s thoughts wandered to the way it used to be, the way it was supposed to stay forever. Far down the driveway he could see Madison riding toward him on her new yellow and blue Big Wheel. Her chubby legs churned the pedals of her birthday gift as fast as she could make them go. Memory of her toothy, dimpled grin brought pressure back to his chest. James inhaled deeply, making a conscious effort to slow his breathing.

Farther down, past rows of fragrant flowering plum trees, he envisioned Megan pruning her treasured roses — anniversary presents from him. A light breeze pushed through the garden, gently swaying an empty swing suspended from the branches of the grand old willow. Many a carefree evening had been spent pushing Maddie in that swing. Higher, Daddy, higher! her excited command echoed in his mind.

Suddenly, it was all too much. James squeezed his eyes shut as if closing them could make the vivid mental images fade away. Sorry, he whispered. I’ve got to go. I won’t forget you — ever. Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes as he climbed into his Explorer and prepared to leave for northern Idaho. He turned the key in the ignition, placed his car in drive, and started off. He didn’t look back.

James remained focused on the road ahead, purposely neglecting to observe all the lasts as he left town; the last drive through the gates of Willow Estates, the last time he would pass their favorite breakfast spot on 63rd Street, one final swerve around the pothole that had grown over the long winter. As he merged onto Diagonal Highway 119 on the outskirts of Boulder, a vibration in James’s pocket preceded the melody of When the Saints Go Marching In – his sister’s ringtone. He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and slid his thumb across the screen.

Hey, little sis. What’s up?

Just calling to see if you got off all right, Anna answered.

Four years younger than James, Anna Kingman had followed her big brother’s footsteps into law school. She lived in Phoenix and specialized in water-rights law.

I’m on my way. Not much to hold me up, James replied.

"How are you doing?"

Good, James lied. Why? Do I sound ill or something?

I was worried this morning might be difficult for you, emotionally.

James rolled his eyes. The feelings thing again? Shifting slightly in his seat, he collected his thoughts. It’s time to MOVE on, don’t you think? Almost a year now.

I wasn’t implying …

I know, James interrupted. Just don’t go there. Starting fresh., remember? My own private Idaho. Got to be less hectic than Boulder.

I’m just concerned, James.

James let out a sigh. "How can I help you with that?’

Okay. Like you said, fresh start. But less hectic? You really think so?

James snorted. Well, from my read of the local paper, it seems wolves are the biggest villains on their list, with Democrats a close second. The hottest debate in Cedar Falls seems to center on whether they should spruce up the city park – too costly a price tag for some of the ‘fixed income’ set. Anyway, I’ve got to get on with it. Get up there and figure out if this gig with the Attorney General’s office is a colossal mistake.

Anna paused before responding. Seriously? I can’t tell if you’re kidding or really having second thoughts.

James chuckled. I’m okay. Really, I am. I mean, I had a healthy client base and a good reputation with the justices in Boulder. I threw it all away for this job in Cedar Falls. But hey, life’s too short for second-guessing. Huh, Sis?

You didn’t throw it all away.

James arched his eyebrows. How do you figure?

Anna sighed. We’ve been through this. That same ‘good reputation’ is what landed you the new job in the first place.

Yeah, yeah. You should’ve bagged basketball and been a cheerleader. Go team! It’ll be your fault, you know, if this doesn’t work out.

Okay, big brother, I’ll play along. How exactly will I be to blame?

For keeping me from blowing my brains out after Meg and Maddie died. It would’ve been a whole lot easier.

James … Anna’s voice softened, its tone gently scolding. If that’s the best you can do for a thank-you, then I guess you’re welcome. But you didn’t answer my question.

A nervous laugh escaped James. Got your lawyer hat on, do ya? I think what I was trying to say, in a backward sort of way, is I hope I’m making this move for the right reasons. It’s not always greener on the other side. I’m sure they have their share of drunk drivers up there, too.

Anna didn’t respond.

You still there? James queried.

I’m here. I was just thinking few things in life are all good or all bad.

James pulled the phone away and briefly squinted at it before returning it to his ear. What’s that supposed to mean?

"The new job, far away from Boulder, will give you a fresh start — a break from all of the reminders and memories … and …"

And what?

AND you’ve always been good at running from your emotions. The accident didn’t change that.

Chapter 2

J ULIE LANGDON FLINCHED, STARTLED by the ringing of the telephone. Her finger accidentally directed the arrow on the laptop screen to select cut instead of paste. Damn it! Thanks a lot, Ron. You better have a good excuse . She reached out and picked up the receiver for her land line.

Ron?

Hello. Is this Mrs. Ronald Langdon?

Julie glanced at the caller I.D. It showed an 800 number. Crap! Too late now.

Nope. The name’s Julie, but I’m waiting for another call.

Will Mrs. Langdon be home later this evening?

Julie clenched her jaw muscles, exhaled deeply and considered her response. Don’t think so. She ran off with the UPS guy. I don’t know where you’re calling from, but from where I’m sitting, it’s getting a little late for sales calls.

Julie slammed the phone down into the charging platform. Just after she hung up, her cell phone chimed from somewhere deep in her purse, announcing a text had arrived. She dug through the cluttered purse, pulled out the phone, and opened the text from her husband.

Hey, Stef! Can Big Ron come over to play with the twins?

Julie furrowed her forehead. Two problems. One; her name wasn’t Stephanie. Two; she was quite certain twins wasn’t referring to anybody’s children.

Julie rubbed her temples and had a seat at the kitchen table. She took a couple deep breaths, then looked again at her phone to verify the sender. No mistake, it was Ron’s number. Julie searched for options. Drew a blank.

Following her husband’s previous fling, she had retreated to her mother’s house. That only made things worse. Her mom wasted no time delivering the I told you so. Her mother’s sole advice — Leave the bum.

This from the woman who ran my father off without batting an eyelash? No. She would not go crawling back to her mother again.

She glanced to the living room. Chloe, her precious three year old daughter, was engrossed in a television show and safely out of earshot. Julie dialed her sister.

Hello? Leslie’s voice was sleepy — more coarse than normal.

Les? I’m sorry. Were you sleeping? Julie tried, unsuccessfully, to hide the cracking of her voice.

Julie? What’s the matter?

I’m sorry to bother you. It’s Ron. He just sent this creepy text.

Creepy text?

Something vulgar about fondling some chick’s breasts — Stephanie’s, to be specific. Sent to me by mistake.

What the hell? her sister responded. Wasn’t it just a few months ago you let that fuck-head move back in?

Damn short honeymoon, huh? Julie broke down. After sobbing for several seconds, she collected herself. This is stupid. I’m sorry, I didn’t need to bother you with this.

No. No, that’s all right. You okay? He didn’t hit you again?

No. Julie shook her head emphatically, as if someone was watching. Anyway, I know I should just call him. But I’m afraid to say what I’m thinking — that we’re done. Julie paused. On the other hand, I don’t want to be like Mom — always the victim. I’d hate myself for that.

Listen, Julie. I want you to hear this. You are nothing like Mom. Nothing. In some ways it’d be better if you were. You know, a little less responsible. But this is different. Ron isn’t towing the line. You have the proof, for God’s sake. And it wouldn’t be the first time he was unfaithful. Dad never did that.

Julie nodded and wiped tears from her cheeks. I know. You’re right. I just need to call him and let the chips fall where they may. She paused. Thanks for being a good ear.

Forget it. It’s not like you haven’t done the same for me about a million times.

Julie used her free hand to massage the base of her neck. Thanks again. She started to hang up. Then, another thought. Les?

Yes?

Just tell me straight. Am I being naïve if I don’t leave him?

I think you need to figure out what’s going on. Then sleep on it. If anyone in our screwed-up family always does the right thing, it’s you. And you know I’ve never been one to pull punches. I’d let you know if you were being stupid.

Promise? Julie asked.

Promise. Now call him.

Julie mulled over what her sister had said. She’d always prided herself in being responsible. So, if she always did the right thing, why did she get treated this way? Her mind raced with memories of her tumultuous marriage; the fight in Vegas, the passionate second honeymoon in Kauai, his mid-tour furlough when he gave her chlamydia. Wasn’t that special? She looked over her shoulder to the living room. Little Chloe sat cross-legged in the overstuffed armchair, twirling a wisp of strawberry-blonde hair around a finger, her eyes transfixed on the television screen and Big Blue Bear. Julie shook her head, as if trying to dislodge her last thoughts from her consciousness.

Julie rolled her cell over and over in her hands. She needed to call Ron. But what should she say? Several options came to mind but none seemed quite right. Julie gritted her teeth and dialed her phone. She tapped her foot on the floor as she waited for his answer. Come on, Ron. Pick up your phone!

He answered on the fourth ring.

Hello, Dear. I’m still here. I’ll be home in the next half hour or so.

Where exactly is ‘here’?

The Corner Pocket. Where else?

You messing around again?

A deep breath was loudly exhaled. Not this again.

Just answer the question! But you should know you sent the text to me, not ‘Steph.’ Something about playing with her twins?

Silence.

Well, Big Ron?

She’s just some chick who was playing pool a couple tables down. We were just screwing around. It’s nothing to get all worked up about.

You’ve been drinking. I can hear it in your voice.

What do you want from me, Julie?

I want you to quit drinking. And unless ‘Steph’ can come up with a picture of two kids who look an awful lot alike, I don’t want to see you tonight.

Chapter 3

B O BOWERS SLOUCHED IN his chair near the back of the classroom at Western Peaks College, feet propped up on another chair, heavily tattooed arms folded across his chest. The angry scowl on his acne-scarred face only partially conveyed the depth of his hatred for the people of Bellingham – or all of western Washington, for that matter. He’d never been to his uncle’s place outside Cedar Falls, but it had to be better than this God-damned liberal, Obama-loving hellhole. Idaho, his uncle assured him, was God’s country — one of the few places left where you wouldn’t be discriminated against for being a white man. If Bo had his way, he’d be there tomorrow. As he sat and waited for class to begin, stares from the other students burned holes into his skin. The seats closest to him remained conspicuously unoccupied, as if he was contagious.

The few conversations in progress during the moments before the professor arrived were unusually muted. At exactly ten o’clock, Mr. Lieberman strode into the classroom. The students’ voices quieted even more. All eyes were on him, examining his demeanor for a hint of what might follow. As per routine, he proceeded directly to his desk in front of the classroom.

The professor snapped open the brass clips on his weathered leather briefcase and pulled out a copy of the student newspaper. Peering over the top of reading glasses, he scanned the classroom until his eyes settled on Bo. Paper in hand, the professor marched down the center aisle of the classroom and stopped directly in front of him. He glared down at Bo, holding the paper up in front of him like an exhibit at a legal proceeding. The two locked eyes. For a moment, neither one flinched. The professor finally slapped the newspaper down on Bo’s desk, ending the stalemate.

I’ve already spoken with Dean Baird about your racist article, Mr. Bowers. I’m not sure how you snuck it in, but that’s beside the point. The dean asked me to send you to his office. Immediately! The professor pointed to the door, then turned and walked back to the front of the classroom.

Bo remained firmly in place, showing no inclination of going anywhere. Back at his desk, the professor shuffled frenetically through his notes. His cheeks and forehead flushed a brighter shade of red. Previously hushed voices were now silent. The students seemed to await the professor’s response to Bo’s blatant disregard of his authority. After more fumbling with his papers, Professor Lieberman stared back at Bo. Lips pursed tightly, he exhaled forcefully through flared nostrils.

I’m only going to say this one more time, Mr. Bowers. You have an appointment with the dean.

Bo rolled his eyes and shrugged. I heard you the first time, Professor. But, as you know, I have a prior engagement.

Professor Lieberman clenched his jaw, baring his teeth. That’s enough! I’ve had it with your attitude. You will leave my classroom this instant, or I’ll call security and have you escorted out.

All eyes shifted to Bo. Nothing. A few of the students closest to Bo squirmed in their seats. Bo settled deeper into his chair.

Very well. Have it your way. Professor Lieberman flipped open his cell phone and started punching keys.

Bo sprang from his chair and shoved his desk aside, causing a high-pitched, nails on chalkboard, scraping sound. He stomped toward the door. Just before exiting the room, Bo turned around and addressed the class. Apparently that supposed freedom of the press our professor constantly raves about applies only to a select few. Bo circled a finger around the crown of his head as if outlining an imaginary skullcap. Torah-rollers like him, for example.

Bo turned and left the room. The loud crack of the door slamming behind him provided an effective exclamation point. Before anyone had taken their eyes off the door, Bo flung it back open and poked his head inside the classroom. Just curious, Professor, who fucked up the finish on your shiny new Caddie?

Chapter 4

J AMES SAT BOLT UPRIGHT in bed, drenched in sweat, startled out of sleep by another vivid nightmare. The traumatic dreams were coming with increasing frequency and intensity. Once again it was the recurring theme of Megan and Madison in peril with him nearby, somehow paralyzed and unable to respond to their cries for help. This time they were trapped in a burning house, separated from him by a red-hot wall of flames. James shook his head as he considered the cruelty of it all — his own mind conjuring up haunting nocturnal screenplays, unnecessarily adding drama to an already horrible memory.

Immediately after the accident, James had found some small solace in the knowledge they hadn’t suffered. Now, thirteen months after a drunk driver turned his world upside down, the violent dreams threatened to deprive him of that small comfort. He looked at the bedside clock. Almost six. Time to get up, anyway. With a shake of his head, James stood and shuffled to the bathroom.

It was a cool, sunny Monday morning in Cedar Falls, Idaho. Entering his fifth week with the Idaho Attorney General’s office, James was finally settling into a routine. Despite regular interruptions in his sleep, the structure of his new job had begun to provide a sense of normalcy and comfort to his days. His attention to the morning schedule was soon interrupted by the high-pitched beep, beep, of the calendar alarm on his cell phone. James located the sleek black device on his bedside table. He picked it up and poked at the cartoon image of a calendar. Julie Langdon back, the reminder read.

James had yet to meet his counterpart at the Department of Children and Family Services. Julie, having covered the workload by herself most of the past year, had repeatedly delayed taking leave. James’s start-date had been timed to cover his future colleague’s well-deserved vacation. James had heard nothing but good things about Julie and looked forward to meeting her.

James shoveled down his cereal, the usual crunchy oat clusters topped with thinly sliced bananas, while perusing the sports section of the local Cedar Falls Tribune. The Colorado Rockies didn’t receive much coverage in the paper, so the Mariners were fast becoming his de facto team. They weren’t proving to be a comparable replacement. Five games back and only May, James muttered while shaking his head. He checked his watch, gave a cursory glance at the box scores, and stashed the paper in the recycling bin. After hastily tying his favorite gold tie and checking the result in the bathroom mirror, he grabbed his briefcase and gym bag then headed out the door.

It was a short drive to the office. Compared to Boulder, Cedar Falls had no traffic to speak of, especially at seven in the morning. Navigating the nearly vacant streets, James reflected on how Bobbi, the office secretary, was convinced the influx of Californians would soon create gridlock on the streets. A bumper sticker on her car read, Welcome to Idaho, NOW GO HOME! Consideration of the contrast between the serenity of the morning commute and Bobbi’s angst about traffic brought a smile to his face. If she’d only spent a morning in REAL gridlock. As he pulled into the parking lot of the Department of Children and Family Services, James noticed Bobbi’s white Pontiac Grand Prix, parked in her favorite spot under the maple tree. If anybody beat James to the office in the morning, it would be Bobbi.

Bobbi Harden was definitely her own person. At forty-seven, twelve years older than James, she was still quite the specimen. Blessed with the sturdy, voluptuous frame of a Nebraska farm girl, she kept herself in good shape and could have passed for someone in her mid-thirties. Bobbi had been with the department for nearly fifteen years. During her time with Child Protective Services she had seen a number of hotshot attorneys come and go. She didn’t mind telling anyone who would listen what she thought of each one of them. James recognized from the start it would be important to keep on her good side.

Bobbi was sitting at her desk, coffee in hand, when James strolled into the office. She looked toward James and a broad, big-toothed smile spread across her face.

Good morning, James. Don’t you look sharp today?

As opposed to what? My typical frumpy look?

Bobbi laughed. Now, you know that’s not what I meant.

"I figure this job deserves some degree of formality. James pointed to a stack of custody termination folders located on the corner of Bobbi’s large desk. Even if most of the parents don’t seem to give a damn about what we do."

Bobbi looked up at James and grinned. You’re a good man, Mr. Kingman. We may just keep you. Ready for another exciting week at the department!?

You know it, James responded, his sarcastic tone matching Bobbi’s. Nothing gets the juices flowing quite like ripping a kid away from his delinquent parents.

Oh, I could think of a few things. Bobbi shot him a mischievous smirk.

James adjusted his tie. I guess I set myself up for that one. He cleared his throat. On a more serious note, is the Morgan case still a go for tomorrow?

"As far as I know. But it is Judge Berlin on this one. You never know for sure until you get everybody in the courtroom, Bobbi cautioned. The old codger hates termination cases."

Really? So it’s not just me then? I was starting to get a little paranoid.

Bobbi shook her head. He’s even been known to micromanage Julie’s cases. Her eyes lit up. Speaking of Julie, I need to do the introductions.

She’s here already? I didn’t see any other cars in the lot.

Bobbi gave a slight nod as she took a sip of coffee. She usually rides her bike to work. And not just any bike. Bobbi shook her head. One of those that cost as much as a good used car. She turned away and motioned for James to follow. James caught up with Bobbi as she turned the corner. Bobbi led him down the hall and stopped just outside the office that had Julie Langdon etched into a metallic nameplate.

For the first time since James had started working at the Department, the door to this office was ajar. James peered through the opening and observed an attractive woman sitting at her desk with her back to the door. Long strawberry-blonde hair, tied neatly back in a chignon at the nape of her neck, gave her a youthful yet professional look.

Bobbi rapped her knuckles on the door. Good morning. Are you available for an introduction?

The young woman turned her head and simultaneously swiveled around in her chair. Of course, she answered with a bright, dimpled smile. Her eyes opened wider when she noticed James standing next to Bobbi. Bobbi held one hand, palm open, toward James — the other, toward Julie.

Julie, this is James Kingman, your new partner in crime. James, Julie Langdon.

Julie rose from her chair and extended her arm for a handshake. Hello. I’m so glad to finally meet you.

Likewise, James responded, reaching for her hand. The touch of her skin sent a spark of warmth, an almost electrical sensation, down his spine. Her hand felt so small and feminine, yet there was a warm confidence in her firm grip.

James’s eyes were drawn to Julie’s pleasant face. Bright blue eyes were set above refined cheekbones. A light dusting of freckles across the bridge of Julie’s nose suggested her hair’s red highlights were natural. Suddenly realizing he was staring, James relinquished his grip on Julie’s hand and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Did you enjoy your vacation? he asked after a brief hesitation.

I did. Thanks. But it’s good to be back. Especially now that I have someone to share the load with. I feel bad I wasn’t here to help get you oriented. I would’ve preferred to ease you in a bit. She looked to Bobbi.

We made her go, Bobbi followed. She’d already postponed her vacation several times.

You left things in good order, James said. And Bobbi helped get me up to speed.

Julie looked James over, sharply attired in his gold tie and blue blazer. I’ll stop feeling guilty then. Her dimpled smile returned. I don’t remember the last time I had a month off.

Relaxing, I bet. James shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He jingled coins in his pockets.

Julie tilted her head and gazed off into the distance. "It was okay …

Not as relaxing as I’d hoped. Still, a much needed change of pace."

For the next few seconds, nobody said anything. Julie’s comments about vacation suggested she had more to say. James sensed this wasn’t the time to pry. He glanced at the stack of papers on Julie’s desk. I should let you get back to work.

I guess it has piled up a bit, Julie responded. But sometime soon we should make time to talk about your first month here. Get your first impressions and maybe share a few tricks of the trade.

Before James could respond, Eric Clapton’s raspy chorus of I shot the sheriff sang out from Julie’s cell phone.

James’s gaze shifted from Julie’s face to the phone on her desk, then back to Julie. Julie dropped her shoulders and tilted her head to the side.

Judge Mitchel. I’m sorry, I better take this.

James signaled his understanding with a nod. Bobbi tip-toed out of the office. James gave Julie a quick wave goodbye and followed Bobbi out, pulling the door closed behind him.

Well, what do you think of your new colleague? Bobbi asked as they walked back toward the front office.

James took a second to consider his response. She seems real nice.

And pretty? Bobbi winked.

James looked away. She certainly wasn’t what I had expected, personable and …

Pretty? Bobbi finished James’s sentence.

Not going there. I was thinking fit, runner’s build.

Bobbi flashed a sarcastic smile. Well okay then, Mr. Politically Correct. I agree she keeps herself in good shape. Unlike most of the losers before her, she doesn’t seem to let the job stress her out.

Really, James responded. And how does she manage that?

She has a life. Bobbi gently thrust an elbow into James’s rib cage and chuckled. When she finally listens to me and unloads that poor excuse for a husband, she’ll be a real catch. Bobbi looked up at James, a twinkle in her eyes.

Where did that come from? Not having a witty response to Bobbi’s tease, James bit his tongue. When they reached the door to his office, James slowed and motioned inward.

Back to work and my apparent non-life.

Bobbi gave another snicker as she moved on down the hall.

Once back in his office, James settled into his comfortable chair and opened his files on The State vs. Angel Morgan. He didn’t get far into his review before he found himself thinking back to Bobbi’s comments and his introduction to Julie. Her infectious smile and the penetrating gaze of her sparkling blue eyes had caught him off guard. Recollection of that simple greeting awakened feelings he hadn’t experienced in ages.

James suddenly felt flushed, his collar tight. His office seemed unusually small and stuffy, short on oxygen. Setting the files aside, James unbuttoned his collar, got up out of his chair, and cracked open the window. His thoughts turned to Megan. He looked at a framed picture of her, propped on the corner of his desk. James picked it up and examined her image. He used his tie to wipe smudges off the glass and stopped just short of using the tie to dry the moisture from his eyes.

Chapter 5

J ULIE BENT OVER AND gave Chloe a kiss on the top of her head, then watched her scamper off