The lights were low, and soft new-age jazz played in the background. He should be relaxed.
“And how many times has she been wrong?”
“Every one of them. She steps outside her position, she apologizes and life goes on. Until it happens again. She’s a damn good teacher, Suze, I’d hate to lose her, but she butted heads with a powerful man this time and I don’t know how long I can keep explaining things away.”
“I mean about the kids, Mark,” Susan said, her voice filled with compassion—whether for him or her friend, he wasn’t sure. Knowing Susan, it was probably a bit of both. “How often has she been wrong about the kids?”
In a way, he resented her generosity. Meredith Foster deserved anger tonight, not compassion.
“She’s good with the kids, no one’s arguing about that.”
Susan straightened up on the edge of the couch, facing him. “How many times have her predictions turned out to be true?”
“I honestly couldn’t tell you,” he said. “The point is irrelevant. Anyone can guess and be right fifty percent of the time.”
“I’d bet my retirement fund that her percentage is closer to eighty or ninety than fifty.”
He highly doubted it—but he couldn’t prove either of them right without a hell of a lot more work than he had time for. Meredith Foster was stepping outside the boundaries of her position and she could cost both of them their jobs. If she’d wanted to psychoanalyze, she should have gone into psychology.
“What about Amber McDonald?”
“Who?” He opened an eye to glance at Susan. Other than her current choice of topic, she was good company. He was glad she was there.
“That little girl two years ago. She was being sexually abused by a family friend and no one suspected anything until Meredith came forward.”
She was Amber Walker now. Her mother had remarried and moved the child to a different state. Last he’d heard, she’d joined Girl Scouts and was starting to socialize a bit.
“Amber must have told her something,” he said.
“Testimony revealed that she’d been threatened and manipulated so completely that she couldn’t even tell the police, her mother or counselors about it—not even after the guy was arrested.”
He’d forgotten that. It had been a minute detail compared to the anguish everyone—including Mark—had experienced over the incident. That event had branded within him a fierce need to protect his daughter. He’d carefully screened the four teenage girls who were permitted to sit with Kelsey. And at no time, under any circumstances, were these girls to have anyone over when they were in his home. If there was an emergency, the police were to be called. Followed by him.
“Meredith felt it, Mark,” Susan said, her brow creased. “I know it’s hard to grasp, this gift of hers, but that doesn’t make it any less real.”
He stared at her, not sure what to say. He’d suspected that Susan put credence in Meredith Foster’s fantasies, but she’d never before actually come out and said so. They’d managed to avoid conversation on the subject until now.
He respected her right to believe whatever she believed. She just wasn’t going to convince him. It wasn’t logical.
“Has she ever known stuff about you without first being told?” he asked. He was somewhat curious to hear the answer, but he also hoped to show her the hole in her theory. Meredith and Susan had been friends since they were fifteen years old—having met at a church youth function and found common ground in their non-traditional lives.
“All the time.”
Mark’s eyes opened wide at her response. Susan was a medical doctor, for God’s sake. A scientist.
“Ten minutes after Bud died, Meredith was at my door. I was still in shock, hadn’t called anyone yet, and there she was.”
“You said she stopped by often during the last days of your husband’s fight with leukemia.”
“She did. But she always called first to see if Bud was awake. She didn’t want to impinge on what little time we had left together.”
“So maybe she was in the area.”
Susan shook her head. “She knew, Mark. She didn’t knock, she just used the extra key, came in and found me on the bed beside him sobbing….”
Mark’s throat tightened as Susan’s eyes filled with tears. He could see her need to believe—he hurt for the anguish she’d been through, and cared enough to let the rest go.
Pulling her against him he held her while she cried, rubbing her back, wanting to do whatever he could to ease a grief that he understood would be with her always. Three and a half years had passed since Barbie had walked out on him and Kelsey, and the ache still throbbed as intensely as ever during the dark hours.
“THESE ARE BAD MEN.”
Kelsey Shepherd leaned over on the stained couch to whisper to her mother. Two scary-looking old guys had come in from the garage door and they were putting something in the refrigerator. Kelsey thought they were gross.
Dad would kill her if he knew she was there with them.
Smiling, Barbie was shaking her head. “They’re fine,” she whispered back quickly and Kelsey stared at her. Was her mom okay? Even after all these times seeing her, she couldn’t get used to the short, choppy hair and no makeup and sloppy clothes. She remembered her mom being beautiful.
Of course, maybe that was just kid stuff.
“Don, sweetie, come on over and meet Kelsey,” Mom said. She squeezed Kelsey’s hand so hard her fingernails cut into Kelsey. “Kelsey, this is Don.”
The bigger of the two men, the one with the beard that mostly covered his mouth and made it so you couldn’t tell if he was smiling or getting ready to spit, came over, his big boots making a lot of noise on the tile floor, which, as far as Kelsey could tell, covered the whole house.
“Hi there!” he said, rubbing Kelsey’s head. She wanted to jerk away but she was afraid to upset her mom. Her mom wasn’t doing so good today. She was in one of those moods where she could be happy and then all of a sudden cranky.
“Hi,” she finally said, leaning into her mother.
“So your mom here tells me you’re in fourth grade.”
Another squeeze of her hand. “Uh-huh.”
“You like your teacher?”
I’d like it if you’d go away. “She’s okay.”
“You get good grades?”
“Uh-huh.”
Did Mom really live with this guy? When she could have Daddy?
“I’ll bet you have lots of friends, a pretty girl like you.”
Kelsey felt creepy. She wanted to leave.
Her mother’s nails bit into her hand again, reminding Kelsey that she hadn’t answered.
“Uh-huh.” If she didn’t love her mother so much, she’d never come back to this place, for sure. She hoped Mom wouldn’t make her. She liked driving around in the car more—even if it was old and rusty and had ripped seats and a bad smell.
“Cool.” Don smacked his lips, leaned down and gave her mother a wet, messy kiss that lasted so long she could smell that he stank. He slid a finger through the hole in the thigh of her mom’s jeans. Just when Kelsey was going to jump up and leave, Don stood and went out the garage door. Kelsey listened for a car, hoping he was leaving, but there was only quiet.
Mom let go of Kelsey’s hand and gave her a hug and a soft kiss like she used to do at bedtime. Kelsey almost had to wipe it off. She didn’t want any spit from that awful guy on her, anywhere.
“You remember that ‘fluffy puppy’ book we used to read?” her mom asked, like she’d read her mind or something.
“Yeah.” Kelsey still had it.
“Remember how the cover was all stained and torn?”
“Yeah.” She liked it that way.
“The story was still the best, huh?”
What was even better was that her mom remembered. And was talking like those days were important to her, too. “Yeah.”
“Well, that’s how Don and his friend James are. They’re kind of rough-looking
on the outside sometimes, but inside they’re the best.”
Oh. Well, she hadn’t looked at the puppy book in a long time. It was probably covered up with her puke and stuff.
“He has yellow teeth.” The hand running through her hair stopped.
“Coffee stained is all. Don’s a truck driver and has to stay awake all night sometimes.”
“Daddy drinks coffee.”
Her mother didn’t say anything. She never seemed to listen when Kelsey mentioned Daddy, but Kelsey kept trying anyway. Her mom put both arms around her, pulling her close and Kelsey forgot all about her dad. If only she could come home from school every day and have her mom there waiting with a hug—the way Josie’s mom waited for them.
“James has a daughter your age,” her mom said, and Kelsey didn’t feel as good. If all Mom was going to talk about was those men, then Kelsey shouldn’t have come. Didn’t she realize that Kelsey’d be grounded for a year if she was caught here? Daddy thought she was at Josie’s house, which she would be in time for him to come pick her up.
“Last month, James stayed up all night sewing trim on a dance costume his daughter needed for a competition she was in.”
Kelsey nodded. A dad who sewed. That was cool. But one who looked all dirty and long-haired and tattooed like James?
She wanted to ask if his daughter had tattoos, too, but she was afraid that Mom would switch back to being cranky again. Even as old as Kelsey was now, that part of her mom still scared her.
CHAPTER TWO
“HI, MS. FOSTER, come on in. Daddy said you were coming. Can we do some more of that yarn stuff like we did last time?”
Meredith grinned at the petite little girl with long, straight dark hair. Her face was often solemn, but right now she was smiling profusely. “Hi, Kelse,” Meredith said, stepping through Mark Shepherd’s front door, a denim bag over her shoulder. “Yes, I brought plastic canvas and yarn. I thought we’d make a butterfly bank for your room—how’s that sound?”
“Cool! I got that new comforter, too,” the child said, closing and locking the door before skipping ahead in front of Meredith. “You know the purple and pink one with butterflies?”
“I remember,” Meredith said, completely comfortable with Kelsey. If only her father were already gone and Meredith wouldn’t have to suffer through even a few minutes in his company.
“You want to see it?”
Did she want to run the risk of running into Mark in the bedroom hallway?
“I do, but can I put this down first?” She slid her bag down her arm.
“Oh.” Kelsey’s expression was momentarily blank as she glanced at the bag. “Sure. I forgot. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize, honey.” Even before she’d had Kelsey in class the year before, Meredith had adored this child. She was sensitive and aware and far more responsible than most kids her age. Meredith missed seeing her every day.
Heading for the kitchen where they’d sit at the table and work on their project with the little TV mounted beneath a cupboard playing one of the Doris Day movies she’d brought, Meredith set her bag down and waited. Once Mark was on his way, the tension would be gone.
“I love your jeans,” Kelsey said, plopping onto one of the wooden kitchen chairs. “I wanted some with beads like that, only instead of flowers they had butterflies, but Daddy said all that stuff would come off in the wash anyway.”
Oh, great. She was already in the doghouse with this man and now she either had to lie and say that the jeans fell apart when she washed them, or she would have to tell his daughter he was wrong about that. She bent to pet the calico cat that was weaving itself in and out between her legs.
“Are you and Daddy fighting again?” Kelsey’s pert nose wrinkled as she glanced over at Meredith.
“Why would you ask that?”
“You are, aren’t you?” Kelsey frowned. “He said Susan asked you to come over tonight and usually he asks, and since he sees you at school and all, it’s not like he couldn’t get ahold of you. I figured that meant you were fighting again.”
As the cat wandered off to investigate something more interesting, Meredith dropped down opposite Kelsey, hating the tightness she was feeling just beneath her rib cage. It meant she wasn’t relaxed—and it was uncomfortable. “Your father and I don’t fight.”
“Well, you don’t maybe. I don’t think you’d ever have a fight with anyone. But he sure gets mad at you.”
So much for keeping things between teacher and principal.
“Do the other kids at school know that, or are you extra smart?”
“I think it’s just me, ’cause I live with him,” Kelsey said, her adult-sounding assurances so touching.
“Well…” Meredith took a deep breath and sent up a quick request for assistance, please. “Sometimes I get a little carried away when I try to help, and your dad doesn’t want me to lose my job.”
“How could you? He’s your boss.”
“Yes, but the school board is his boss and if they told him to fire me, he’d have to do it.”
“Are they going to tell him that?”
“No, sweetie, they aren’t,” Meredith said, with a cheerful smile, crossing her fingers. “Your dad just worries a lot sometimes.”
“I do not worry.”
Swinging around, Meredith stood up and saw Mark in the doorway behind her. His snug-fitting jeans and long-sleeved white shirt distracted her for a moment—but only for a moment.
“You worry all the time,” she told him. “About everything.”
“I get concerned, with legitimate cause. I do not worry.” He said the words firmly, with a completely straight face.
Meredith burst out laughing. Kelsey’s worried stare settled on her father, until Mark slowly smiled.
Thank goodness. He was finished being angry with her. This time.
“I’m out of here, pumpkin,” he said, resting his hand on his daughter’s head.
She nodded.
“Bedtime is ten tonight, since Meredith is here and it’s not a school night.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t answer the…”
“Door.” Kelsey turned around to grin at her father. “We know the rules, Daddy,” she said with only a hint of condescension.
“Then give me a hug so I can get lost, as you two are obviously eager to have me do.”
Meredith’s throat grew tight as she watched Kelsey jump up and throw her arms around her father’s trim waist. Mark held on for a long moment and then let her go, glancing over at Meredith.
“I don’t know how late I’ll be.”
She didn’t want to think about why—it was kind of embarrassing—but at the same time she was glad to know that Susan was intimately involved. Her best friend was slowly but surely coming back to life.
“Tell Suze I said hi and I love her.”
With a nod, Mark was gone.
An hour later, the muscles beneath Meredith’s rib cage still had not relaxed.
“You feeling okay?” she asked Kelsey. Tongue peeping out one side of her mouth, the girl was intent on following the pattern of squares and colors that Meredith had placed on the table in front of her.
“Fine,” Kelsey said, her needle going through the plastic canvas with quiet deliberation.
Meredith had assumed that as soon as Mark left she’d relax. She’d been fine before she arrived. So what was making her tense? Her own internal radar? Someone else’s?
The fact that Mark and Susan were doing what adults do when they’re alone together—while she spent her Friday evening stitching butterflies with a fourth grader?
“You and Josie getting along okay?” The girls might be suffering from too much togetherness, now that Mark had agreed to let Kelsey go to Josie’s every day after school in exchange for summer care for Kelsey’s friend.
“Yep. We’re best friends now.”
Meredith’s yarn knotted. She hated it when that happened. “You used too long a piece,” Kelsey said, glanc
ing over and then looking back at her own work.
“I know. I make a better teacher than a doer.” She dropped the needle and canvas on the table. “You want a snack?”
“Ice cream?”
“Of course. What weird flavors did your dad buy this week?”
“Butterfinger and rocky road.”
Grabbing three bowls and two spoons, Meredith pulled open the drawer where Mark kept his ice cream scoop. “So what’ll it be for you, young lady?” she asked, scooping a bit of vanilla into the first bowl for Gilda, the cat, who was purring at Meredith’s ankle.
“What are you having?” Kelsey asked without looking up.
“I guess I’ll try Butterfinger. I’ve never had it before.”
“Then that’s what I’ll have, too.”
“DO YOU THINK judging a book by its cover is the same as knowing about people?”
It was five minutes to ten and Meredith was tucking Kelsey into her white-painted canopy bed, pulling up the new comforter. Though it’d been in the fifties all week, the temperature was supposed to drop down to near freezing that night.
“What do you mean?” Meredith asked, sitting on the side of the bed, careful not to disturb Gilda, who’d already curled up and was sleeping soundly. She tried to ignore the tightness in her stomach—too much ice cream, she told herself.
“If a book looks bad that doesn’t mean the story inside is bad. So if people look bad, should we still think of them as good?”
Meredith forced herself to focus carefully on the nine-year-old’s questions and ignore the increasing pain in her gut.
“That’s not a yes or no question, sweetie,” she said. “No, you shouldn’t judge people just by how they look, but people put out messages about themselves—messages you need to learn to read as you go out into the world and deal with strangers.” The words rolled off her tongue without conscious thought.
Kelsey nodded, but her eyes were full of confusion.
“Say, for instance, you see someone who has wild clothes on. That wouldn’t mean that the person doesn’t have a good heart. It might just mean that he or she has artistic taste.”
“What if they have tattoos?”
A Child's Wish Page 2