“And she has rituals with her food.”
“Yes. She makes these little designs and stuff. I thought maybe it was something about security or so.”
“It may be. Does she throw up a lot?”
He was startled.
“Never that I have noticed. You're not thinking about bulimia, are you?”
“It could be, Kitt.”
“That's serious business.”
“Yes. It is becoming important that she come in here, Kitt. We don't want this to get out of hand. If she has lost as much as fifteen pounds, we need to get her into therapy now.”
“I'll try. I'll pay attention, but I don't think she's been throwing up. Just not eating well.”
“Let's not jump the gun. She may indeed have poor appetite. Meanwhile, get in touch with her doctor and with the school nurse.”
“The fun never stops, does it?”
He drove home in a cloud of gloom. Blessed with a ravenous appetite and an overactive metabolism, he'd always been mystified at the devastation some athletes wreaked in their lives through starvation. By now he had learned just enough about the secret workings of the human mind to know that in seeking comfort and healing many people nearly killed themselves in the byways of self-consolation and compensation. The pool of self-destruction was bottomless, and Kari had already dipped into it with drinking, rebellion, and now perhaps an eating disorder.
When she knew he was in the room, she'd make pointedly loud remarks on the phone, about his goody-goody crap and his efforts to ruin her life with stupid rules. “It's his way or no way,” she sneered into the telephone. “Can't ruin the public image of the great Kitt Buchanan with demon alcohol in his house. And please, don't let him hear any naughty words! Like it was his life!”
She's not the Kari you knew. She's mouthy and she wears arctic-insulation makeup, tar-and-feather mascara and spandex shorts. She looks like a little slut. She's becoming what Jeff told her she is.
And now he'd found Linda, but Kari wouldn't see her, so nothing was going to get resolved. He couldn't afford to blow a lot of money just to unload on somebody. Maybe the parent group would help. What a life. Twenty-five years old, and he was going to a tough-love teen parent outfit to get pointers from other losers. At least it was free.
The whirr of voices squeezed the room like a pressure bandage holding together a mass of strained, bruised, throbbing muscles, numbing them for a time until pain flared and you pushed and pinched and mashed it back down. For a time there was a frozen monotone about it, nothing he could pick out, just the dull, tired murmur of defeat and disappointment. It was almost exhilarating to hear a voice breaking through in anger or desperation, and he quickly scanned the room for the speaker, because there, at least, might be a will that wasn't broken.
His first urge upon entering the classroom had been to run from the hopelessness that seemed to ooze from this crowd. The discussion leaders walked in and introduced themselves. They were a married couple, both psychologists, and the fog of defeatism seemed to lift just a little with the crisp, upbeat greetings.
It was his first experience at the program and he felt out of place. Most of the parents were twenty or thirty years older than he, and he noticed the glances of half-recognition. For now he'd decided to stick with the Granger alias. Earlier he'd attended a couple of sessions of parents of abused children, the only man there, enveloped by suspicion and antagonism. He'd felt humiliated and very much the enemy, because nobody had seemed entirely sure that he wasn't there as a Trojan horse. Most of the time he'd felt like the accused, to blame for all the ills of teenage womanhood. The exchanges in the group had often been raunchy and hostile, and he couldn't bring himself to go back, preferring instead to see Linda and read tirelessly all that she recommended to him.
He‘d made the classic mistakes already, but at least he was beginning to understand, and in telephone discussions with Tess he began to grasp the reality of Kari's guilt and her loss of self-esteem. A counselor might be needed to help sew up the slashes of yesterday, but he seemed to be the only adult left who'd have some substantial input in Kari's today and tomorrow.
He looked around the room. A battered lot. After a general session the class broke up into smaller discussion groups, and Kitt found himself assigned to a cluster of eight or nine people who set up a circle of folding chairs on the far side of the room. For now, they exchanged only first names and he cursed himself for having a name that didn't blend in well. Newcomers were expected during their first session to briefly lay out their parenting problems, whereas the program veterans reported on progress or setbacks. To his relief he was not the only single parent there, albeit by far the youngest. One father told of a fifteen-year-old who was stoned most of the time and violent the rest. Several had kids in gangs, on drugs and alcohol, with binges of violence. He heard parents agonizing over crime and promiscuity, parents physically and emotionally terrorized by their children. Being a father was going to be such fun some day. Will I ever feel that way again? Once fatherhood had meant cute kids and bright teenagers. Here it was about gangbangers and street thugs and hookers and druggies. The Life and Health classes at the tennis academy had it all wrong. No better contraceptive than meetings like this.
His turn came soon enough, and he stumbled over his first few sentences, but then got hold of himself and explained his problems very briefly.
“So you're saying this kid you're raising was abused by her dad?” questioned one mother, her voice dripping with distrust.
“That's right.”
“None of us have it right yet, but we're honest with each other,” she said. “That's the first thing in this program. No stories about problems of ‘a friend’ or ‘a relative’.”
He got to his feet and his anger rose to just below the surface.
“You know nothing about me, but you've tried and convicted me for walking in here. I came because I need help. I don't give a crap what you believe. All I want is some parenting ideas. And from where I sit, this doesn't seem to be the place to get them.”
The middle-aged man next to him shook his head and pulled him down by the arm. “Sit down and cool it, kid,” he said with a sigh. “Everybody here's got a degree in suspicion. We hear too many stories, too many explanations. We're programmed so we don't trust anybody under thirty. How old are you anyway—twenty? Twenty-two?”
“Twenty-five.”
“That puts you in a suspect category right there. You're way too young to be raising a teenager, and I think you'll regret it. But for what it's worth, I believe you. ”
There were murmurs of assent around the circle. Kitt slowly let out his breath.
“So how did you get into this mess?”
“She came to me for help. It's sort of snowballed from there. I could write the how-not-to book.”
“You've got a room full of contributors right here. Point is, lots of people out there are pulling against you. Other kids, adults, sometimes the law.”
His turn passed and as they reached the last parent Kitt sat back, dazed. So this was what he'd gotten into. He'd known the pressure of fame and expectations and demands, but it wasn't until now that he knew stress.
His problems with Kari looked trivial next to those of the woman whose young son slept with his gun and came home drunk three or four times a week to shoot up the place. Twice he'd ripped a few doors off the hinges for emphasis. Or the parents of the girl who at age fourteen had been arrested six times for prostitution and drug dealing and in juvenile detention she‘d been sleeping with the guards and one of the counselors. Another woman had a fifteen-year-old who hit, stomped, punched, and kicked her when so inclined, called her mother obscene names, stole her money, and had two or three boys at a time bring beer and take turns sleeping with her. Kitt's mouth fell open in amazement when the woman admitted she fixed breakfast for the lot. Many were drug cases. In comparison, Kari was a low-maintenance kid. She was no drug dealer or hooker, and she'd never tried to kick or hit him. Of
course, against an ex-pro athlete that would be a low-percentage play. She mouthed off, but not like the kids he was hearing about. What would he do if she got like that? Some of the kids she hung around with weren't a whole lot better. Was this the future?
At home he had trouble concentrating on his studies. He called out to Kari.
“Wanna come run with Thor?”
“I'm going out.”
“You know you're not. Come on, let's go up the trails, stop for ice cream on the way back.”
“That's your thrill, not mine.”
“Do you good. Get in shape.”
She stood in her doorway. He'd expected more belligerence. Would she be there when he got back? In the beginning he'd stuck around, watching her, but he'd decided he couldn't let her manipulate her punishment to become his. She was smart, and she'd shown more than once that she knew how to provoke unforced errors. There were times that he felt trapped by prison walls like those that surrounded his brother.
What if she took off and stayed out again? He'd sort of burned his bridges with his ultimatum. She could call his bluff, stay out, and see how he'd react. Was he a control freak? Kari said he was. But someone had to have something to say about the comings and goings of a thirteen-year-old, and unfortunately he was it.
Crunch time. No more buddy, and no more Mr. Fixit.
“Okay,” he said pleasantly. “I'll bring home some ice cream. Keep the doors locked, will you?”
She stared after him as he left, and he couldn't tell whether her eyes held anger or respect.
“Come on, Thor!”
He came back three hours later, invigorated and happy, and found Kari asleep on the couch. With a sigh of relief he sank down on the piano bench, resting his forehead on his hands. Each night that she didn't rebel was a win.
He got up and put the ice cream in the freezer.
Laura's call surprised him. It was early fall, and it had been six weeks since they had heard from her. Kari's visits to her mother had grown rare, and she always came home irritable and depressed. The last time she'd said something about being the stepchild and moped in her room for two days before he could get a civil word out of her again.
Although Laura had left no doubt that she wanted to minimize her contacts with him, this time she wanted to see Kitt, alone.
“Can you tell me what this is about?” he asked cautiously.
“Not very well over the phone. When is your last class tomorrow?”
“I'm out at one, but—”
“This is important. Can you skip whatever you were going to do and meet me at Scandia's?”
“Scandia's is a little over my budget just now.”
“This one's on me. Please be there, because this is superimportant.”
Good thing Kari wasn't there to hear the conversation. Laura sounded too friendly. Had she found a place for herself and the kids? She seemed happier than he'd heard her in months. Maybe she'd found a job. A few months ago he'd tried to pin her down and she'd said something about her parents making financial maneuvers to give her a substantial lump sum now instead of an inheritance some day in the future. They were going to borrow against their life insurance, and then leave their estate exclusively to Laura's older sister, who suffered from a degenerative disease and would need plenty of care in a few years.
So she was calling the game. For a moment he felt exhilarated and relieved, but the instant fled and to his surprise he felt deflated. It would be great to be able to go on with his life. Still— Kari.
The woman who swept into the restaurant startled him. This was the Laura of old, radiant, expensively dressed, bubbling over with the joy of living. When he rose to greet her, she waved him down.
“Not necessary, Kitt. Sit down. You're looking great!”
Amnesia, he thought. This was the woman who'd been calling him a loser and a jerk for nearly a year now. They sat at the table and ordered drinks. Kitt stuck with orange juice, but Laura ordered an expensive liqueur.
“A little early, but I am on top of the world.”
“What are we celebrating?”
“You'll never guess.”
“Better enlighten me then,” he said impatiently.
She looked at him with an expression he couldn't fathom.
“I am getting married.”
“You what!”
The words escaped him before he could think. She smiled.
“I am getting married. Next month.”
“But how—Laura, you've been divorced only—what is it, a week? How can you—”
“I've been separated a lot longer than that,” she reminded him coolly. “You might be happy for me.”
When Laura had first told him about the divorce, he'd thought that even if she went through with it, she might reconsider later. He knew better now. Her affection hadn't survived the change in lifestyle, and her feelings for Jeff had run aground on financial ruin. Kari had hardly been a factor.
His head was reeling. This was final. This was more final than the divorce. The family was really over now, kaput, gone, dissolved. No more Jeff and Laura. Fourteen years of marriage and three children and many, many memories—crossed out by two signatures on a piece of paper. Laura was marrying someone else. He took a deep breath.
“I know it's not the paper boy, so who is it?”
“Henry. Henry Warner.”
“Jeff's friend? The tabloid mogul?”
“Henry is a publisher, yes. What's wrong with that?”
“I thought he was married.”
“You still don't read the society pages, do you. He was divorced three weeks ago.”
“Great timing.”
“There's no need to be insulting.”
“I guess I can't quite comprehend this yet. You already have Jeff out of your system?”
“Life goes on, Kitt.”
During a long silence he tried to encompass this new development. Why had it never occurred to him that this was coming? Laura was ambitious. She'd never been interested in a career, and possessed neither the professional, intellectual, or competitive drive, nor the skills that would have lured her into the working world with or without the financial pressures of the past year. Her aspirations were like Jeff's, but she lacked the vehicle of business experience and interest or the political savvy that had been his ticket to success. Marriage to a powerful and wealthy man was her logical next move.
“Do you love him?”
The sarcasm in his question eluded her, and she smiled with a little shrug.
“I am no starry-eyed eighteen-year-old, Kitt. But I am very, very fond of Henry. We will have a good marriage. We're quite congenial together.”
Probably so. The man was mega-rich.
“I guess there's nothing left but to offer my congratulations. I hope you'll be happy.”
“Thank you.”
“So what happens now?”
“We'll get married in November, and then we're going on an extended honeymoon to Australia, India, and the Caribbean. We'll be gone until sometime in January or February.”
“Wow. Kids staying with your parents?”
“Yes. Henry's hiring someone to take care of them because he doesn't want me tied down. She's a wonderful lady, and she will start out right away, at my parents’ house. That way the burden is not on them.”
“And Kari?”
She appeared relieved that he'd brought up the object of her visit.
“We need to talk about Kari,” she said carefully. “She is my daughter and I love her, but we have become quite estranged during this past year.”
“Go on.”
“Henry and I have discussed the children. You may know he has two sons of his own.”
“They must be older than I am.”
“They are grown, yes. It is not easy for a man to start over once he thinks his child-rearing years are behind him.”
“So he marries a woman with three young children.”
“That's just the point. He loves the lit
tle ones. He wants to adopt them.”
Of course. A new theater. Erase any association with the Buchanan flop. Give'em a nice new stage name. No little smudges on your resume.
“Kari is the problem. He is hesitant about taking on a teenager with a lot of problems. Henry knows I have no influence left with her. After all, you've pretty much let her get out of control, and she hasn't lived with me this entire year.”
“So what's your point?”
“We need to find a solution for Kari. I have a proposal.”
She averted her eyes for a brief moment, then looked at him.
“She looks on you almost as her father. I am prepared to transfer custody to you and make a cash settlement.”
He stared at her in astonishment.
“You were already set to keep her indefinitely,” Laura pointed out. “Adjusting to the new family, to Henry, would set her back. You know she can't afford that. She'd make my marriage very, very difficult. Henry's position in the publishing business would make the situation quite public. He is also in the middle of delicate negotiations with large newspaper syndicates, and he is under a lot of stress. He simply has to have peace at home, and I don't see that happening with Kari there.”
He finally found his voice.
“I may be a little slow here, but are you proposing to pay me to keep her?”
“You make it sound rather commercial.”
“Pardon me for offending your sensibilities. The way I hear it, you don't want Kari. Henry doesn't want Kari. A couple of uncomplicated little kids he can pawn off on nannies, that's okay. But not a troubled kid who might embarrass him. And you want to leave her with me although you think I have basically let things go to hell. Does that about cover it?”
“I might have known you'd twist things around. All right, I'll be honest with you. You're the only one Kari cares about. If anyone can turn her around, it would probably be you. We are willing to compensate you for that.”
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