A few years ago the question might instantly have been a cause for concern. “Lots of people have tattoos these days,” Meredith replied. “It’s kind of the in thing for college students, and lots of moms are getting little ones on their ankles and other places. And you’ve seen girls at the mall with them on their lower backs, haven’t you?”
The girl nodded, her hair falling around her shoulders.
“It’s more accepted now, so people are changing their opinions about tattoos and a lot of quite regular people are getting them.”
“They might be good people?”
“Right.”
“And say, maybe, someone was greasy and dirty looking… It could be that he was just working in the garage, huh?”
“Could be. But unless you know that he was in a garage, I’d be careful there. Someone who doesn’t have good hygiene might be wonderful inside, but it might also be a sign that he or she is down on his luck—which could make him desperate. Or it might mean he has no respect for the human body, in which case you don’t want to go anywhere near him.”
Kelsey’s features relaxed, but Meredith’s stomach didn’t.
“Okay?” Meredith asked.
Kelsey nodded, sliding down until the covers were up to her chin.
“You have some stranger bothering you?” Meredith had to ask.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I just heard someone talking about judging people and it didn’t really make sense to me, is all.”
Thank God for that. Kelsey Shepherd had already been through enough in her young life. And so had her dad.
AT TEN AFTER TWELVE Meredith heard Mark’s automatic garage door start to open. She yanked on her ankle-length hikers, tied the laces and grabbed her bag, which was packed and waiting. And then she reached for the remote control and turned off the TV.
“Hi,” Mark said, coming in and dropping his keys on the brass plate on the counter.
“Hi.” Meredith looked at the keys rather than at Mark. If his hair was mussed or he had that satisfied look in his eyes, she’d die of embarrassment.
“I know it’s late, but you got a minute?”
Her gaze darted to his. “Sure.” Her stomach was still uncomfortable, but she’d lain down after Kelsey went to bed and it was better than it had been before.
“In the living room?”
Odd, but…okay.
The first time she’d ever been in Mark’s living room, three years ago for a retirement party for one of the teachers, she’d been impressed with the simple, elegant gold, brown, maroon and green decor. The room had the feeling of a cozy fall day, right down to the coasters on the plain oak coffee table. Rather than choosing the love seat or the sofa, Meredith chose the autumn-colored wing-back armchair. It only sat one. No awkwardness there.
“What’s up?”
“I need your help with Kelsey.”
Meredith’s stomach tensed again. “What’s wrong?” The little girl had been happy enough that night.
“Nothing, when she’s with you.” Mark’s words weren’t quite resentful, but his frustration was evident.
“She’s not okay with you?”
“Yeah.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t seem to like Susan and I don’t get it. Susan’s kind and gentle and she wants so badly to be Kelsey’s friend.”
Settling back into the chair, allowing her bag to slide down her arm and onto the floor, Meredith nodded. “I know she does.”
“I’m sure it’s just because Kelsey resents having to share me, but I have no idea what to do about it. I make certain that she and I still have at least three nights a week alone and on at least another two, she’s included in whatever plans Susan and I make.”
If only more parents tried that hard. “So what do you want from me?”
She could take Kelsey to her house to spend the night, or even a weekend now and then, but that wasn’t going to solve the problem.
“To see what you think. I couldn’t talk to you about this at school, of course, and most of the time you’re around, it’s with either Susan or Kelsey there.”
Thank goodness for that. She wasn’t sure how long she and Mark could last without fighting, if they spent much time together by themselves. She had a tendency to piss him off.
“I guess I was hoping, since Kelsey seems to adore you, that you’d be able to talk to her or something. Or maybe have some insights as to what I might do.”
Meredith wasn’t sure what to say. Susan was her closest friend—a lot of times in her life she’d been Meredith’s only friend. She would be loyal to Susan until death. So would it be disloyal to talk about her behind her back if she was attempting to help Susan get what she’d said she wanted?
Waiting until she felt calm inside, until she felt the doubts fall away, to be replaced by the certainty that she’d learned long ago to trust, Meredith let the quiet of the room settle around her.
And then with more confidence, she said, “Susan never learned how to interact with kids.”
Yes, it was okay to say that. “She wants to be Kelsey’s friend but she has no inner direction, nothing instinctual, not even a memory to draw on to tell her how to be a friend to someone that age. Which makes her feel awkward and insecure, and so she forces things. Kids can tell when people aren’t being natural with them and they respond with a defensiveness that’s mostly unconscious.”
That was how it felt. Pretty much.
Mark thought for a minute, hands rubbing slowly against each other. They were nice hands. Big. Dependable-looking. Meredith had seen them gently wipe away tears, tenderly hold shoulders, sign papers and applaud success.
“I understand,” he said at last. “But I still have no idea what to do about it.”
“I’m not sure, either,” she said. “Except to keep doing what you’re doing. The more they’re around each other, the more Kelsey’s going to be able to see that Susan’s a good person and perhaps start to trust her a bit. And the more Susan will learn what a nine-year-old kid’s about and start to relax, which will help Kelsey trust her.”
And…
No. Meredith refused to acknowledge her inner “awareness.” So what if she’d been shown a picture, a flash only, of her and Kelsey together. Then together again somewhere else. That didn’t mean it was real. Or even if it was, that she had to take heed of it.
And…
“And I think that it might help if, instead of always calling teenagers to sit with her—girls who are trustworthy and will keep her safe, mind you, but kids who don’t really see Kelsey as anything more than a chance to earn a few extra bucks—you call me. Or let me take her to my place for a night. That way she won’t feel like a castoff.”
Her life’s purpose was to help kids. She knew that. Any kids. Anywhere. Any way she could. It wasn’t so much a choice as a conviction that she wouldn’t be happy any other way. Helping kids completed her.
“I can’t ask you to do that. You have a life.”
“You aren’t asking. I’m offering. And it’s up to me how I spend my life.”
“Why would you give up your weekend for me? I’m not even that nice to you.”
“You’re not un-nice to me.” She should have left the television on. Of course, that would be out in the kitchen, which wouldn’t offer much distraction in here. “Besides, I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Kelsey and Susan.”
He nodded. And relaxed. And when she realized she knew that, her own tension grew. She didn’t want to know any more about him than anyone else knew. Especially when all she experienced were random feelings without explanation and minus a name tag so she couldn’t even be sure of the source. But someone in this room had just relaxed, and it wasn’t her.
“I’ll think about it,” he said. “Thank you.”
Time to go. Meredith grabbed her bag as she stood, moving as quickly as she could for the door without looking as if she was running. He was right beside her, reaching for the doorknob—and no
t opening it.
Meredith didn’t like the way his tired, yet…something…look made her feel. All edgy and, oh, maybe…she didn’t know what. Just more. Was it him? Her? Both?
“In all the months I’ve been seeing Susan, I’ve never once heard of you out on a date,” he said.
“So?”
“I’m surprised. You’re a beautiful woman….”
And thirty-one. Her clock was ticking—slowly, granted, but still ticking.
Yet, if he thought she was beautiful…
“Thanks.”
She moved toward the door. It didn’t open. His hand was solidly on the handle. Hell, it was solid, period. Reassuring. Capable. She’d never thought much about men’s hands before.
“Why don’t you?”
Meredith’s first priority was to get out of there. She needed space. Peace.
“I find that my life’s happier that way.”
“Are you gay?”
In today’s world it was a reasonable question. “Does it matter?”
“No!” He stepped back. “Of course not.” And then… “Are you?”
She debated her answer. If she’d been gay, this intense awareness of him would never be an issue; never be discovered or even suspected.
“No, unfortunately, I’m not,” she said.
“Unfortunately?”
Yeah, she’d stepped right into that one.
Meredith shrugged, catching her hair in the strap of her bag. As she reached up to pull it out and slid her hand into the beaded back pocket of her jeans, she decided to tell him. Maybe then she could escape and go home. Where she was safe.
“It would’ve saved me a lot of heartache.”
“How so?”
“I was engaged.” It wasn’t something she talked about. And out of respect for her, Susan wouldn’t have told Mark, either. “Frank was kind and smart, witty, good-looking. Motivated. He got along well with his family. And with my mother. I trusted him.”
She stopped, her chest tightening as she fought the memories.
“He had an affair,” Mark said softly, his eyes darkening. “What an idiot.” He leaned back against the door.
“No, he didn’t,” Meredith said. “I wish he had. It would’ve been a lot easier to deal with, because that would have been his problem, his weakness and not mine.”
“So what happened?” Mark folded his arms across chest.
Solid chest. Strong. Reliable. Firm.
“He didn’t show up at the wedding.” A woman’s worst nightmare. Or at least hers. And it had come true.
Sometimes she still couldn’t believe it had really happened. Surely that whole part of her life had merely been one of those nightmares that seemed so real you had a hard time distinguishing fact from fiction.
“The church was full. My mother had spent far too many thousands of dollars on flowers and food and photography and a band and invitations. I was there in my dress, my friends all around me in theirs…”
“Damn!”
Mmm-hmm.
“I waited not one hour but two,” she said with a twisted grin. As soon as she could actually laugh when she told this story, it would no longer have the power to hurt her. Maybe three lifetimes from now.
Which was why she never told anyone. Susan knew, but then she’d been the woman in the soft purple maid-of-honor gown, holding Meredith up as she walked sobbing from the church.
People who’d known her then knew. They’d all been there. Witnesses.
“Did you ever find out why?” Mark didn’t touch her, but she thought he wanted to. Or maybe it was just that she wanted him to. Wanted a man to find her worth the effort.
She nodded, and stood with her chin held high. “There was a letter for me taped to the front door of our apartment. He’d moved all his stuff out while I was at the church waiting—”
“Cold bastard!”
Meredith smiled a little at the interruption, nodding. She never should have started this, and now she was having to force herself to breathe.
“What did it say?”
“That as much as he loved me, he couldn’t handle a lifetime of living with me. I’m too much.”
“What does that mean?”
“You need to ask?” she said, staring up at him. “You’re right there with him, Mark. I’m too intense. I feel too much. And when I experience certain sensations, I act. Even if the situation is one I should probably walk away from. But you know what?” She was feeling a little better. “I’m never going to walk away, not from any of it. I can’t. I am what I am. I’m intense, just as my fiancé said. I feel everything around me, and I’m glad about that. I can’t imagine life without the depth, without the magic that accompanies the pain.” She was on a roll. Perhaps she should do this more often. She could stand on street corners and tell everyone her story.
“I like me.” She finally said it. And stood there shocked. She’d never said that before; never consciously thought about it. She’d never known it.
But it was true.
Life was good.
CHAPTER THREE
“HEY, DADDY.”
Mark glanced up from the bathroom sink on Monday morning to meet his daughter’s sweet brown eyes in the mirror. She was wearing hip-hugger jeans that were getting a little too short, along with hiking shoes and a beige long-sleeved sweater. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail that was decidedly crooked. His heart caught—how he loved this kid. “Hey, Kelse.”
She boosted herself onto the second sink, watching as her father scraped another row of shaving cream from his cheek.
“I fed Gilda.”
“Good girl. Thanks,” he said, while he rinsed the razor. “What do you want for breakfast? Cream of wheat or pancakes?”
She scrunched her chin for a moment. “There’s more dishes from pancakes, so cream of wheat.”
Mark stopped, razor halfway to his face, and grinned at her. “What do the dishes matter?” he asked. “You don’t do them alone.”
“I know.” Her voice was light. Her gaze followed his hand from sink to face and back again—just as it had done most of the mornings of her life. This ritual was one of the best parts of his day.
Before Kelsey, Mark used to shave in the nude. Since his daughter’s birth, however, he’d always had slacks waiting by the shower so he’d be ready to run if she called.
“I forgot to tell you, Lucy’s mom called and invited you over to play with Lucy after school Friday. I can pick you up on my way home, or you can spend the night and I can get you Saturday morning.”
“No, thank you.” The heel of Kelsey’s shoe kicked lightly against the cupboard as she swung her leg. Mark considered telling her to stop. But the wood was dark enough that scuffs wouldn’t show. And anyway, what showed could be cleaned.
“What?” he asked when he realized what she’d said, all thoughts of wood and scuff marks leaving his mind. “You love going to Lucy’s! And you haven’t seen her in a couple of weeks.”
Lucy and Kelsey had gone through preschool and kindergarten together before the other girl’s family had moved across town.
“I know. I just don’t want to this Friday, Daddy.” Those soft, dark eyes glanced up at him. “Do I have to?”
“No, Kelse, of course you don’t. But can you tell me why you don’t want to?” He dried his razor and put it back inside the cabinet. “Did something happen the last time you were there?”
“No.”
“Did you and Lucy have a fight?”
“No.”
“Was her mom or dad mean to you?”
“No.”
Something wasn’t right. “Then what?”
She shrugged. “Nothing. I just don’t want to.”
Short of calling his daughter a liar, which wouldn’t get the desired results anyway, Mark was going to have to leave it at that.
He didn’t like it.
“Turn around, sweetie. Let’s fix that ponytail,” he said, tugging gently on the beige-and-blue holder she’
d chosen and sliding it down the silky length of her hair. Her mother’s hair.
“I’ll call Lucy’s mom first thing this morning,” he said, compelled at least to try one more time. “If you’re sure that’s what you really want.”
She nodded, helping him create another crooked ponytail.
“HELLO?”
“Hi, Mom. It’s me.” Meredith held the cell phone against her ear with one shoulder while she unwrapped a granola bar, which—with a glass of Diet Coke—would be her breakfast.
“Meri, hi!”
Meredith’s mood sank. Too much exuberance. She’d been right to follow her impulse to call. Something was wrong.
She had to leave in five minutes if she was going to get to class before her kids started to arrive. And with third-graders, that was always a good idea.
“I was feeling a little uneasy about you this morning,” she said, holding her unwrapped breakfast in one hand as she put down her drink long enough to haul her school bag up onto her shoulder. The big green M&M emblazoned on the black patent leather was facing out.
“I went out to go to bridge club last night and my tire was flat,” she said. Evelyn Foster, a retired scientist and executive from Phillip’s Petroleum, lived in a nice condominium in Florida in an active-living adult community.
“Did you call road service?” Drink back in hand, Meredith headed for the door. “You got that extended warranty.”
“I know. I called and they’re coming out first thing this morning.”
Hmm. Then…
“Nope, I still feel uneasy. Come on, Mom, I’m late. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Evelyn chuckled. “You know how hard it is having a kid you can’t keep things from?” she asked.
Meredith’s tension eased, but only slightly. “Your kid’s all grown up, Mom. You don’t need to hide things. Come on, what gives?”
She was in her car—a Mustang convertible, which she never drove with the top down.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Evelyn said, drawing out the words in a way that told her they were a lie. “I have to go in for a liver biopsy in the morning.”
Her tires squealed and Meredith stopped fifty feet short of the sign at the end of her block. “What?” A quick, automatic glance in the mirror assured her no one was behind her on the dead-end street.
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