“I’ll get to that. What do you remember about that day?”
“I…I don’t know. For some reason, I thought I was mad.”
“You also mentioned being angry with Mr. Johnson.”
Raising her head, eyebrows drawn together, the breeze swirls her hair around her face. “Yeah. But—” She sighs. “I don’t remember why.”
“Your class worked on a lab that day. Blood typing.”
She stops, taking my arm to halt me, too. “Yeah.”
“You thought your results were wrong.”
“I did?”
She doesn’t know. I could stop right now—no. I can’t. It’s the right thing to do. “Yes, sweetheart. You were upset with Mr. Johnson.” I take her hand again, drawing in a breath before jumping. “But the results weren’t wrong. When I tried to explain…you knew…I mean…” My explanation trails off into uncertainty. Not over whether I was going to finally tell her the truth, but how.
“I don’t get it.”
Be honest. “You knew that if the results were right, then you couldn’t be Dad’s biological daughter.”
My heart beats heavy in my throat, and I can’t breathe while I wait for her reaction.
She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Nose scrunched up, she looks at me as if she must have misunderstood. Shaking her head, she stares at me, willing me to deny it with her eyes.
“It’s the truth.”
“But then…”
“I didn’t know, Tay.”
“No,” she gasps. “I…but Dad…” Tears well and spill over, trailing down her wind-pinked cheeks.
“You were angry and took off in the car to go to Dad. But before you reached him, the accident happened.”
“No. I’d remember. How could I forget that?”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” I press my hand to my heart, as if that will ease the pain in my chest. Everything that happened to her is my fault.
“You…you cheated on Dad?”
I can’t bear the look on her face, the same look of disgust that still haunts me. “It’s not that simple.”
Face red, tears coursing down her cheeks, she backs up. “I hate you. Do you hear me? I hate you,” she screams, throwing her shoes down before taking off.
“Taylor.” It takes a moment to get my legs to work. “Stop, Taylor.” I chase after her but slip on the sand and land hard. Scrambling back up, I see the tail end of her sweatshirt as she reaches the parking lot.
It’s like I’m reliving the day of her accident all over again.
* * *
Paul
“That’s it then,” I tell my staff. “It looks like we have a plan for VBS and the weekend camp-out. Any other questions? Concerns?”
Becky flicks a strand of blonde hair off her face and repositions herself. “Can we revisit this next week? I have to firm up a few things before I’ll feel confident that it’s under control.”
“Sure.” I look at Dorothy. “Can you add VBS onto next week’s agenda?”
She nods.
“I guess we’re done. I appreciate all the hard work.”
Gathering up my notes and iPad, I say my good-byes as everyone files out of the room, leaving only Mark, me, and the lingering scent of greasy pizza behind.
“I guess we’re all set.” Mark snatches up the trash can and begins clearing the table of napkins and paper plates.
I grimace. “It seems that way. But every year, we scramble to be ready on time.”
“Becky’s on it this year. She’s not dealing with so much personal stress.”
“I hope so.” I can relate to the marital issues that plagued her last year.
“So…” Mark draws out the word. “Have you heard from Drew Simpson?”
Just his name’s enough to sour the pizza in my gut. “No. But remember when I thought someone came in that day?”
A look of confusion crosses his face.
“With Alexis?”
“Ah. Yeah.”
“It was Michael.”
“What?” His expression brightens. “But that’s great. You have a witness.”
Plopping my briefcase onto the table, I shake my head. “He only saw enough to incriminate me. Didn’t stick around long enough.”
“That’s…rough. He knows you didn’t do anything, though.”
“Afraid not.” I check my watch. “Look, I’ve got a meeting with his history teacher, so I gotta go.”
“Must be tough filling in while Corey’s gone.”
“She’ll be home soon.” My stock answer whenever anyone brings her up. What else can I say? I have no idea when she’s coming home? No idea if she’s coming home?
The drive to school takes less than ten minutes, then another five to find Mr. McGinty’s classroom. Corey’d know right where it is. I’m at a disadvantage. I’ve never met the man, let alone been to his classroom.
I check the room number on the door against my scribbled note. If I didn’t have the room number right, I’d know I was in a history class the moment I entered. Posters line the walls: presidents recognizable by sight—Washington, Lincoln, Kennedy—Civil War battles, a history of the American flag. Desks form haphazard rows that appear to have been quickly abandoned, and the back wall is jammed with what appears to be textbooks.
What’s the saying, youth’s wasted on the young? How many kids get that the possibilities are endless? Instead, they take life for granted. I know I did.
“Are you Pastor Shaffer?” A man, Mr. McGinty, I assume, stands from behind an old oak desk, smile on his round face. Middle-age paunch, curling salt and pepper hair. Late 50s maybe?
“Mr. McGinty?”
Hand out, he walks toward me. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. Bob’s the name.”
I return the handshake. “Paul. And no, I don’t think we’ve met. My wife generally handles…” I flick my hand to indicate the school. “Anyway, she’s out of town.”
Bob nods. “So I heard. Have a seat.” He motions to a chair beside his desk and resumes his previous position. “How’s Taylor doing? Michael tells me Corey took her to a friend’s. Monterey, is it?”
“Carmel.” I’m at a disadvantage here—the odd man out. “Taylor’s recovering very well, thanks for asking. Do you know Corey well?”
He shrugs. “I had her substitute for me a few times. Wish we had more like her.”
Had I ever given much thought to this side of Corey? Beyond the fact that it took time from what I needed from her? Beyond how it affected me?
“Taylor was in my class a couple years ago. I wish we had more like her, too.”
“Yes, I’m sure. She’s our easy kid.” He probably doesn’t need me to tell him. If he had Taylor, the comparison is a no brainer.
“Easy isn’t always better.”
The response surprises me. “Meaning?”
“I’ve been teaching almost thirty years. Michael’s a stand-out.”
Is that good or bad? “How so?”
“He’s intelligent, funny, and has untapped potential.”
“For?”
He shrugs. “Whatever he wants to do with his life. Right now, that’s photography.”
I smell setup. “Oh, I see. Michael’s got you advocating for this asinine summer camp idea.”
“Worse than that.”
“Oh?”
“That asinine idea was mine in the first place.”
It takes a moment to remove my size twelve foot from my big mouth. “Look, I appreciate your interest in my son, but you don’t know what we’ve had to deal with over the last year.”
He leans forward, folds his hands on the desk. “I know he trashed an elementary school last year and that he’s done everything short of truancy to flunk out of school.”
“Then why are you so quick to advocate for him?”
“I’m sure you’ve noticed in your line of work that things aren’t always what they seem.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Michael won’t tell me wh
at precipitated last year’s foray into delinquency except that he reacted out of anger toward you.”
I close my eyes and blow out a breath as the truth hits me in the gut. How could I have not seen it? It’s bad enough I didn’t put two and two together last year, but after our argument the other night?
“I didn’t ask you here to lay a guilt trip on you about camp. Just thought you should know what you’re facing.”
“And I appreciate it.” I stand and extend my hand. “More than you can know.”
Bob returns the proffered handshake. “He’s a great kid.”
“Yes, he is. It’s just too bad I needed you to remind me.”
As I walk back to the car, my mind replays every heated discussion Michael and I have had since last year. He never said outright that his attitude was in reaction to anger toward me, but had I been listening…had I stepped out of my own self-centered world long enough to make the connections—
“Paul?”
The exuberant greeting pulls me from my thoughts. Bill Hamilton crosses the parking lot toward me. “Hey, Bill. They let you out of the office now and again?”
“Only if I'm on my best behavior. I hear Taylor’s doing well.”
Retrieving the keys from my pocket, I nod. “We feel very blessed. It could have been so much worse.”
He pats me on the back as he passes. “That’s almost word for word what Corey said.”
“You talked to Corey?”
Bill stops and turns. “Yeah. Last week when she called to accept the job offer. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to have her as part of the team.”
Team? What team?
* * *
Corey
Panic lodges in my throat, cutting off my air supply, as I drive up one street and down another, eyes scanning for Taylor. Just this morning, as we left her rehab appointment, she’d walked out in front of a car speeding through the parking lot. I yanked her back and lectured her, yet again, on the importance of focus.
Who’s going to pull her from danger now?
With trembling fingers, I wipe at the tears blurring my vision and turn right. Oh, God, please keep her safe. I’ll do anything You ask. Just please, please keep her safe. If something happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself.
My cell phone rings through the car speakers—Tricia—and I fumble to push the correct button on the steering wheel to connect it. My heart beats triple-time with hope. “Is she there?”
“No, Cor. Sorry. The police are, though. They say she has to be gone twenty-four hours. I tried to explain it to them, but—”
“Put ʼem on the phone.”
A rustling, then, “Mrs. Shaffer?”
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“Officer Lambert. I appreciate your situation, but we can’t—”
“You can, Officer Lambert.” My voice cracks, and I swallow the tears down. “My daughter suffers from traumatic brain injury. She’s supposed to have 24-hour supervision.”
“Unless she’s in immediate danger—”
“Are you not listening?”
“Excuse me?”
“Under the best of circumstances, she has focus issues. She received some devastating news, which is why she ran. She could get hit by a car or picked up by some pervert.” Speaking it out loud makes it so much more real. More possible. More likely. “Please,” I sob. “I need your help. If something happens to her—”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “We’ll see what we can do.”
Voices mumbling, then Tricia’s back on the line. “Corey?”
“Are they going to do something?”
“Yes, sweetie. They’ll alert the patrolmen about her special circumstances and start an unofficial search. You must be more persuasive than I am. Maybe I should be out looking, too.”
“No. If by some miracle she shows up at the house, you need to be there.”
“Did…did you call Paul?”
I shudder at the thought. “Not yet. There’s nothing he can do from there, so no sense in worrying him.” Or in giving him more ammunition.
“But Taylor may call him.”
“Then he’ll know.” My tone is sharper than intended. “I’m sorry, Trish. It’s just…I’m so scared. What if—?”
“No sense going there. I scanned some copies of a picture I have of her and gave them to some friends. With all of us and the police—we’ll find her.”
“She’s—”
“Hang on. There’s a call coming through.”
Silence fills the space and I reassess my strategy. What if she slipped into one of the shops? I’ll never spot her from the car. Will the police do an on-foot search, or are we just covering the same ground? What are the chances—?”
“Corey? You there?”
“Yes.” Is that excitement in Tricia’s voice? “What’s going on?”
“That was Jonas on the phone. Taylor’s at his church. She’s fine. Upset, but fine. She’s not aware that he’s called here.”
Relief washes over me, at once both exhilarating and exhausting. But Jonas’s? How would he even know to call Trish? It doesn’t matter. “I’m on my way. Can you let the police know?”
“I’m on it.”
Of course, Jonas’s church is on the other side of town.
I take side streets and break about five traffic laws before pulling into the parking lot of Oceanside Presbyterian. My entire body’s shaking as I climb out of the car, and I have to stop and take a few deep breaths. She won’t be happy to see me. In fact, she might just bolt again.
I lock my purse in the car and pocket the keys. If this turns into a battle, I’d better be prepared. Taylor’s got strength and youth on her side, but for the time being, I’ve got wit. Assuming Jonas and Taylor are in the sanctuary, using the front doors might not be the best idea. Instead, I walk around the side and test the door there. Unlocked.
I slip through and ease the door closed, wincing when it squeaks. Low voices reach my ears, but I can’t decipher what they’re saying. I peek into the sanctuary. Taylor sits about five feet from Jonas in the first pew. Her hair, loose from its scrunchie, veils her face. Shoulder’s hunched, head down, she looks as dejected as I feel.
“You don’t truly believe that, do you?” Jonas asks her. “That she’s been manipulating you and your father since the day you were born?”
Taylor shrugs. “She lied to us.”
“Have you ever lied?”
“No,” she mumbles.
“Never?” Jonas’s tone communicates disbelief. “You’ve never told a friend that you like her new haircut, or her outfit, or her boyfriend when in fact you don’t?”
“That’s different.”
“Afraid not. Not if we’re using the biblical standards you claim as the measuring stick for your life. For your mother’s life.”
Taylor looks up, and I step back, so she doesn’t spot me lurking in the back. “Lying to someone to spare their feelings isn’t the same as lying about what she did. About who my dad is.”
“You don’t think your mother kept the secret to spare your feelings? Or maybe your dad’s feelings?”
“No. I think she kept the secret because she knew we’d be upset with her if we knew the truth.”
“And isn’t that the motivation behind you lying to your friends? They’d be upset with you if they knew what you truly felt?”
Wow. He’s good.
“You’re confusing me.”
“Your mother doesn’t strike me as the self-serving type. And I know for a fact this whole mess is hurting her every bit as much as it is you. Maybe more so.”
Taylor tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and glares up at Jonas. If I’m not mistaken, she’s about to unsheathe her razor tongue. Time to take over.
I step into the sanctuary, drawing her gaze. “Hey, Tay. You gave me quite a scare.”
She turns on Jonas. “You called her?”
Jonas doesn’t bother to defend the accusation, but instead stands to greet me. �
�Are you okay?”
I nod. “I am now. Thank you.”
“I’m not going with you,” Taylor says.
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”
“I want to go home.”
“Good, that’s the plan. Tricia’s waiting for us.”
“No. I mean home. With Dad.” The defiance loses some of its heat when her voice cracks and she swipes at the tears coursing down her cheeks. “I mean, Paul.”
“Oh, Tay. He is your dad. Always has been, always will be.” I meet Jonas’s eyes before he leaves us alone. “I know you’re angry and confused. You have every right to be.”
“You lied.”
“I know.”
“You cheated on Dad.” She stares at me as if daring me to deny it.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It happened before we were married.”
“Why?”
I take Jonas’s place on the pew. “I can’t discuss that with you without your dad’s permission.”
“You mean Paul.”
“No. I mean your dad.”
“So…do you know who—?” She focuses on a jagged cuticle.
Better to get it all out in the open. “No. I…no.”
Chapter 32
Paul
A warm breeze flows through the kitchen windows, hitting me with the scent of fresh-cut grass and flowers Corey planted before taking off. Same annuals she plants every spring, but I couldn’t identify one for the life of me. Petunias, pansies, peonies. Whatever they are, they don’t stand a chance of surviving if she doesn’t come home soon.
I thought about calling her last night but needed time to cool down. How could she take a teaching position without discussing it with me? Maybe Hamilton was mistaken. Either way, it’s best not to jump all over her.
Michael and I sit at the kitchen table, both of us pretending to eat the casserole I threw together. We’re about pizza’d out, but my cooking’s not much of a substitute.
“You cut the lawn.” Instead of sounding pleasantly surprised, as intended, I sound suspicious.
Michael grunts a non-answer and moves the noodles around on his plate.
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