“And that was last night while I was out with her father,” Susan said, resuming the climb.
“Yep.”
“Did she mention me?”
“We didn’t talk about you specifically,” Meredith said carefully, hating the fact that her friend felt such a lack of confidence in this area. It was so unlike her.
“So she could’ve just been happy to be with you.”
“Suze,” Meredith said, taking the few long steps that would put her in touching distance of her best friend. She set a hand on Susan’s shoulder, turned her around and looked her straight in the eye. “You’re going to blow this if you worry too much. Just be you, pay attention to her and don’t fake it.”
“How sure are you that’ll work?” Susan’s softly spoken question showed a vulnerability that few people knew existed.
And Meredith wished she had a better answer. “Fifty percent.”
“You think it, but you don’t feel anything at all one way or the other,” Susan translated.
Meredith nodded and Susan went back to climbing.
“HERE, BARBIE, have some.” Barbie rolled her head sideways on the couch to put her lips to the pipe Don was holding out. She took a long drag, held her breath and then slowly exhaled. And waited for it to work. She hadn’t moved from the couch since she got up that morning—hadn’t even showered. She just didn’t have the energy. Was afraid to try.
Don sat down beside her and she showed her gratitude with a smile. She’d heard James leave a few minutes before, and had hoped that meant she wouldn’t be left to sit here alone with her torment.
“You going to tell me what’s got you down?”
She hadn’t planned to.
But the good feeling was all gone, leaving her with nothing. “I don’t qualify for free legal aid,” she told him. “You make too much money.”
“But we aren’t hitched,” he told her. “It’s for low income.”
“Only for some services. I gave her up without a fight, so I don’t qualify.”
She might as well die. She’d had the best of life. There wasn’t anything else to look forward to.
Don reached under her T-shirt and found a nipple. She didn’t really care. He could play with it if he wanted to. She wasn’t going to get turned on.
He held the pipe to her mouth again and she inhaled. His thumb rubbed back and forth. Nothing.
She thought about driving over to the elementary school, but it was Sunday afternoon. No one would be there. Besides, she was afraid to get in her car alone. She might wreck it and then she’d have to spend the night in jail, and that was one place Barbie knew she’d never survive.
Don pulled her away from the couch, lifted her shirt, exposing her skin to the cool air in the room and then set her back. She glanced down at her breasts, took another toke from the pipe and watched as he suckled her. She kind of liked how that looked, being touched. And the way he pulled on her nipples sent tiny shards of feeling lower down.
But then she remembered what she’d learned from the lawyer’s office and she pulled her shirt down.
Don didn’t even frown. He just took another deep toke and sat back.
“It’ll be good for us to have her around,” he said, almost to himself, but she knew he was really talking to her. “Give us respectability.”
That sounded nice.
“Hire a lawyer, Barbie. Just make sure you find the cheapest one you can.”
She lifted her head. “You mean it?” The elation that shot through her was such a relief it made her cry.
Don nodded, and grinned.
And with that she climbed on top of him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ON TUESDAY AFTER WORK Meredith came home, collected the mail—and frowned as she saw the letter with an unfamiliar return address. Sensing that her life was about to take a hard turn, she slowly slid open the envelope. It was from an upscale law firm in Tulsa. She read the letter once, carefully slid it back into its envelope and put it away in the drawer of the desk in her spare bedroom—apart from the bills waiting to be paid.
Wrapping imaginary arms around herself, pretending she was stepping into a great big “bubble” made up of cotton and coolness, she poured a glass of wine, drew a hot bath and soaked until bedtime.
THE PHONE WOKE HER at six-thirty the next morning.
“Get dressed. I’m on my way over.”
“Mark?” Her vision was blurry and she could hardly see through reddened eyes. She’d cried for some time after she’d finished her wine the night before.
“Susan’s coming here to stay with Kelsey and take her to school.”
She sat up, trying to ignore the thickness in her head. She knew better than to drink wine on a school night. “What’s going on?” She forced a normal tone into her speech, though the effort cost her.
“You don’t take the newspaper.”
And that had never been a reason for her boss to visit her at home before seven in the morning. He wouldn’t say any more, just gave her ten minutes to make herself decent.
She used up five of them filling the coffeepot to the brim, turning it on and waiting for the first cup to drip before she put the pot back under the filter to catch the rest. If it took her more than the five minutes she had left to shower, Mark Shepherd was going to have to wait.
MARK’S EXPRESSION WAS GRIM when Meredith opened the door to him in a calf-length jumper patterned with hearts and flowers. She didn’t think the two minutes she’d made him wait at her front door was cause enough for his obvious upset.
“Can I get you some coffee?” She was on her third cup already and had a scalded tongue to show for her haste. But at least her head wasn’t quite so foggy.
“Please.” Dressed in dark brown slacks and a white-and-brown striped Oxford shirt, he followed her to the kitchen, a folded copy of the Republic clutched in one hand. His sandy hair was still damp at the ends.
“How do you take it?” She reached for the least girly mug she could find. It was purple and beige with green vines, but at least there were no hearts or flowers on it.
“Black, no sugar.”
Straight up. Her kind of coffee.
She poured, and then carried his coffee and hers to the table. Sat down. And then there were no more niceties to distract her.
Ignoring the coffee, Mark opened the paper. “Read it and then we’ll talk.”
Eyes purposely averted, Meredith said, “Can’t you just tell me what it says?” Obviously the news wasn’t good, otherwise a phone call would have sufficed. Whatever this was about, it would be easier to take with a middle man there to dilute the negative energy.
“It’s a full story this time, rather than an editorial.”
Barnett strikes again. She’d known he would, of course.
“They interviewed him, and also quoted from your aired interview.”
“Let me guess. They twisted what I said.”
“The words sound odd when taken out of context.”
She sipped her coffee. Wrapped her fingers around her mug, comforted by the warmth. She concentrated on that. And on the comfort of her yellow kitchen, the familiarity of the flowered utensils hanging on the wall. The softly woven amber, yellow and orange placemats.
“That’s not the worst of it,” Mark said, his words clipped. “Apparently you got a letter?”
She froze.
“You might have mentioned it.”
“I just got it. Last night after work.” Dear Ms. Foster. She’d read it twice and now had the whole damn thing memorized. But then, it wasn’t very long. I am writing on behalf of my client, Lawrence P. Barnett, JD, to request that you resign from your position at Lincoln Elementary school immediately. My client feels that such an action on your part would help to restore faith lost in him by those in the community who are aware of your accusations regarding Mr. Barnett’s treatment of his son. If you choose not to comply with this request, we will be forced to pursue the restoration of my client’s reputation by othe
r means. Sincerely…
“So it’s true.” Mark sighed. Sat back with his arms crossed over his chest. His hands, which were so gentle, capable and strong, were tucked in on either side where she couldn’t see them.
“What does the paper say about it?”
He glanced at her, his dark eyes showing compassion for the first time that morning. “That he asked for your resignation.”
“Does it also say that he threatened further action if I don’t do as he demands?”
“He did?” Mark sat forward. “Do you mind if I see the letter?”
Of course she did. It was humiliating, difficult even to touch. She retrieved it anyway, handing it to him, envelope and all. And rinsed out the coffeepot while he read.
“This is definitely a threat.”
“I know.” Drying her hands, she came back over to sit with him.
“And it’s telling that the paper doesn’t mention that.”
“Probably.”
He folded the letter, returned it to the envelope and met her gaze. “I don’t like threats.”
“Me, neither.” She tried for a grin. “Especially when they’re aimed my way.”
He glanced down and then, with his head still lowered, looked up at her. “What do you intend to do?”
He wasn’t going to like it. “Nothing.” She’d done all there was to do. “I have a contract, Mark. I can’t be fired without proper—and documented—justification, a hearing by the school board and a chance to defend myself. If I’m made to leave I can sue the school district, and at this point I’d win hands down.”
“He’s not giving up, Meredith.”
“I know that.”
“And you think it’s good for the school—the kids—to draw this out?”
Meredith had to focus in order to breathe. Deep breaths, slowly, in and then out. Tension was normal to her. If she let it take control, however, she’d make poor decisions.
“There are many things at stake here.” She started speaking slowly, after she’d collected her thoughts. “My reputation is one of them, but not the most important factor. Since it’s an easy place to start, however, I’ll begin there. Resigning now would be tantamount to an admission of guilt. And what would that do to my chances of getting another teaching position?”
He said nothing, his thumb tapping against the rim of his mug. He appeared to be engrossed with the action.
“Would you hire someone who came to you with a forced resignation on her record?”
She took his silence for a no.
“Second, and neither is this the most important thing, it’s just plain wrong to let a bully win.”
“This isn’t the school playground.”
“Third…you know what he’s doing, don’t you?”
He glanced at her, his eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Why don’t you just support me? The impression came—and went. Mark was Mark. He believed what he could see. And the fact that he was there, sitting in her kitchen at seven in the morning, was his way of showing support. He was there even though he thought what she’d done was wrong.
“All this ruckus, Mark… Do you think he’d be spending so much time and energy on one schoolteacher, if he didn’t have something to hide? Think about it. He moved his kid to another school, so Tommy’s not going to be affected by me. Why does he care—for the other kids? Has Larry Barnett ever shown one iota of concern for the children in this community? He says it’s to protect his reputation, but he was the one who made the whole thing public! If he’d kept his big mouth shut, no one would’ve known about this except Ruth Barnett, you and me.”
“And anyone his wife might have told. She believed you. He was afraid she might pursue an investigation,” Mark said slowly, as though following a new thought.
“And what would that matter, if he wasn’t guilty? It would’ve been done quietly, and then—assuming nothing was found—the issue would’ve disappeared and as he’d done all through the process of their divorce, he’d have claimed that she was emotionally overwrought. It’s his M.O. Make everyone else look bad in order to look good himself. It’s always the other guy who’s messing up because it couldn’t possibly be him. After all, he’s the district attorney.”
Meredith stopped, a bit embarrassed by her evident bitterness. She’d assumed she had a better handle on herself. On the whole Barnett situation. After all, she’d drowned him in half a bottle of wine.
“If I’m guilty of wrongdoing, so much so that I end up losing my job, he looks innocent. He’s an injured victim, deserving of sympathy and support.”
“What exactly are you saying here?” Mark asked, sitting forward, forearms on the table.
“He’s abusing his son, Mark. I’m certain of it.”
He shook his head. “You have no proof of that, Meredith. You can’t keep making potentially slanderous statements without any proof.”
“I’m telling you, not the Republic.”
She needed his help if she was going to be able to have the time to fight this. She had to keep her job.
“If I resign, the episode will go away and Barnett will continue to harm his son. The next article we see on this topic could be about Tommy’s suicide. Or his murder.”
Mark said nothing.
“I have a fourth reason.”
Mark’s lips quirked, almost as if he was holding back a smile. “I’m not surprised.”
“I’m a good teacher, Mark. And I have the test scores to prove that. How does it help the kids if I leave so close to the end of the year? Chances are good they’ll end up with subs over the next two months until school is out.”
He nodded and she took her first easy breath. She could do this, if Mark was behind her.
And not just because he had her job in his hands.
“There’s going to be a scandal, I get that,” she acknowledged. “But there’d be a scandal either way. We’ll just have to do what we can to minimize it, where the kids are concerned.”
“And how do you suggest we do that?”
She was leaning forward. And so was he. His face was close, his gaze connected with hers. And when she felt herself being drawn even closer Meredith stood, taking her cup to the sink.
What in the hell was the matter with her? The man was practically engaged to her best friend. And he was her boss. How could she forget that? Forget herself?
Was her own reaction all she was feeling? Or had Mark been part of it, too? Was she feeling his feelings? Or just losing her mind?
“I’m not sure how to do that,” she told him, a little shakily.
“It would appear that we have two options.”
She spun around when he spoke. His voice had come from just behind her. She hadn’t known he’d left the table.
She sucked in her breath. “Which are?”
“Either we fight fire with fire and go to the paper with your kids’ test scores, your evaluations, with character references from all over the city…”
Only inches separated them, but Meredith couldn’t move again. “Or?”
“Or we do the opposite. We act like it’s a nuisance, like we aren’t the least bit concerned. We keep it in perspective. Carry on with our jobs, business as usual.”
That felt right.
She motioned toward the newspaper on the table behind him. “People are bound to talk after this.”
“That doesn’t mean we have to engage in dialogue with them.” He sounded so sure, all of a sudden, and Meredith actually believed she could go to work and do her job. “If your resignation would imply your guilt, then the fact that you aren’t resigning should have the opposite effect.”
In a perfect world.
“I think we should say something to the kids,” she told him quietly. “At least the ones in my class. And probably to their parents, too. They’re getting the other side, and it’s only fair that they hear our reassurances.”
“I’m not opposed to that.”
“I think you sh
ould be the one to do it.”
He watched her for long seconds. “Let me think about it.”
He hadn’t said no.
“If I do call some kind of meeting, you should be there, too.”
“Okay.”
“I can downplay Barnett’s spin on this,” he continued slowly, frowning as he looked at her. “His public attack on you is inexcusable. But…” He paused and Meredith knew she wasn’t going to like what was coming. Mark’s nearness was starting to suffocate her. His approval meant so much—she was beginning to recognize that it meant more than it should—and his disapproval was hard to take.
Her awareness of him was also tricky. Barnett’s threats would be moot if she suddenly developed a hankering for her boss. District policy on sexual relationships between colleagues at the same school was perfectly clear and completely unflexible.
“I’m not sure how I explain your initial action. We both know what I think about that. I’m pretty much on Barnett’s side there.”
“So I’ll do that part,” she said quickly, before everything began to go backward. “I did fine on the news. You said so yourself.”
“It’ll need to be soon.”
“I agree.”
“I’ll see if I can set up something with the parents tomorrow morning before school.”
“Fine.”
“Seven-thirty work for you?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, then glanced at his watch. “We need to head out or we’re going to be late.” He didn’t move.
She stared back at him.
“You’re a lot of trouble, Meredith Foster.”
The words I’m worth it popped into her head and she kept them there.
“I have to go with my conscience, but I’ll do what I can to help you.”
“Thank you.”
He lifted a hand toward her face—stopped midway and let it drop. “Don’t thank me yet,” he told her, turning away and reaching in his pocket for his car keys. “It might not be enough.”
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