A Child's Wish

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Right. Any woman would notice that. “So?”

  “Sexual attraction is physical,” Susan said slowly. “For me, it doesn’t last much past the first kiss or two. To be in love, there has to be that added spark, you know? The feeling that lasts after the orgasm is over, making the moment, the lovemaking, go on and on and on.”

  “The kind that makes your heart leap every time the person walks in the room, even after you’ve been married for fifty years,” Meredith said. It was a theory that her head “knew,” but her heart had never “felt.”

  The only time her heart had leapt at the sight of another person had been when Mark Shepherd had shown up in her classroom to yell at her—and love had been the furthest thing from her mind.

  “It’s what you felt with Bud, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re sure you just didn’t give Mark—and yourself—enough time?”

  “No.” Susan’s reply was so baldly honest Meredith’s eyes teared over.

  “Then call him.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Come on, tune in. Let me feel her. Meredith was experiencing spurts of emotion from Susan, but couldn’t get the calm feeling long enough to distinguish them clearly from her own—or to decipher them.

  “Because. It’s not right.”

  “Why not? He loved you, Suze. He asked you to marry him. I’m sure he’d love to have you call him back and say you’ve changed your mind. He’s not the type to hold grudges or…”

  “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “Suze, if this is fear, I’m going to come over there and throttle you.”

  The long silence that followed almost had her hanging up and getting her keys.

  “He’s not in love with me.”

  Meredith couldn’t listen to that. “Of course he is. Any fool could see that he adored you….”

  “When we made love, he had someone else on his mind, too.”

  Meredith’s nerves weakened with panic and her chest filled with guilt.

  No. Absolutely not.

  “Who?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “Then how do you know…?”

  “I did ask that much.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wasn’t thinking about him, either.”

  Her heart was beating faster than it should be. “Who were you thinking about?” she asked, at the same time wondering how anyone could be in the middle of making love with Mark Shepherd and have any ability to think at all.

  “Bud.”

  Her breathing slowed. “Oh, Suze, that’s natural. Mark’s the first.”

  “Like I said, he wasn’t thinking about me, either, Mer.”

  “So, he was married a long time, too. Besides, guys’ minds wander, don’t they? They fantasize a lot more than we do.”

  Susan laughed. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Yeah, me, neither,” Meredith admitted, grinning. But she sobered quickly. “I’m worried about you.”

  “Me, too, a little.” Susan’s despondency worried her. “But I’ve learned an important lesson these past months.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t want to live my life half-alive.”

  “I love you, Suze.”

  “I know. I love you, too.”

  Meredith couldn’t hang up. “You sure about that?”

  “Completely.”

  “No matter what?”

  “No matter what.”

  The swirls on the ceiling were making her dizzy. Meredith closed her eyes. “I kissed him.”

  An excruciating pause followed.

  “When?”

  “Last Saturday night. After that whole Kelsey episode.” When visions of Mark’s eyes, his mouth coming closer swam behind her eyelids, Meredith opened them. Getting dizzy staring at the ceiling was better.

  “Did you sleep with him?”

  “Of course not! He’s yours. He loves you and you love him. Or maybe you do. I don’t know,” Meredith turned onto her side, curled into a fetal position. “I’ve been dying inside ever since, Suze. I’d never, ever be disloyal to you. Not ever.”

  “I know.”

  “But I was. It was only one kiss. I didn’t mean it to happen. He didn’t, either, for that matter. I know it sounds crazy, but it really was an accident.”

  “Where were you?”

  “In the kitchen. I was leaving.” She began to squeeze the tension out of the back of her neck.

  “What happened afterward?”

  “We both admitted it wasn’t sexual and swore it would never happen again. I don’t know what was wrong with me, Suze.” She paused and when Susan said nothing, she continued. “I’ve tried a time or two this week to convince myself that I was just feeling your feelings. You’d left upset, and I usually tune in to you when you’re upset. But I don’t know. Especially now that you’ve broken up with him….”

  She was rambling. She could hear it. Could feel the nervous energy singe her body beneath the skin.

  “I just had to tell you,” she whispered. “I couldn’t stand that I’d wronged you and that you didn’t know. If nothing else, there has to be honesty between us. You’re not only my best friend but the sister I never had. You’re my family.”

  “It’s okay, Mer,” Susan finally said. “Truly. I’m almost as curious about you and Mark as I am hurt. To think of the two of you together, when I was at home trusting you to be taking care of Kelsey and nothing else….”

  She’d hurt Susan. Meredith could feel the tears on her face, but she didn’t wipe them away. They were the penance she would always pay—inside if not out.

  “And I think that’s just further confirmation that I’m not in love with him,” Susan continued slowly.

  “Or maybe it’s just that you’ve been my friend too long to hate me, so you’re trying not to.”

  “Meredith.” Susan’s tone was sharper. “It’s okay.” She sighed. “I really mean that. Even if you’d slept with him and I’d been madly in love with him, it would be okay, because I know you. I know your heart and your intentions and I know without a doubt that you would never consciously or willingly do anything to hurt me. Whatever happened between you and Mark was because it was meant to happen. It was stronger than you were. And I gotta tell you, woman, that’s pretty strong.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She sniffled, almost welcoming the tears.

  “Let it go, Mer.”

  “Not until you say you forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  Meredith blinked back more tears. “Yes, there is.”

  “No there isn’t, but I forgive you anyway.”

  “How can you?” Her question wasn’t idle. She truly didn’t understand.

  “I have no idea, but I do. And you’d do the same for me.”

  Meredith quieted. Her whole body slowed down and the tears stopped. “You’re right about that,” she said, feeling calm inside for the first time in a week. “I know you, too, and I know you’d never consciously hurt me, either. You do the best you can.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s what I did, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, now get some sleep and call me in the morning.”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  Meredith was smiling when she hung up the phone. It was a full ten minutes before she realized she hadn’t told Susan about the radio talk show. At the moment, Larry Barnett’s negativity didn’t seem important.

  Susan knew the worst and still loved her.

  “HEY, DADDY.”

  Shaving cream on his face, Mark glanced up in the bathroom mirror to see his daughter, still in her Care Bear pajamas.

  “Morning, Kelse.”

  She climbed up onto the vanity, watching as Mark rinsed his razor, her foot kicking the cupboard. It felt good to have her back.

  “What’cha doing today?”

  “You and I are cleanin
g house, going to the grocery store and then it’s your choice,” he said. It was what they did most every Saturday—other than when he’d had preset plans with Susan.

  She nodded, and Mark could see that her little face was unusually serious.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She answered too quickly. And her voice was a little high. His radar signaled trouble.

  Razor midway to his face, Mark stopped. Studied her. He’d thought, with Susan out of the picture, Kelsey would be back to normal. Unless she knew he’d talked with Mr. Brown yesterday. Kelsey’s teacher had given him the troubling news that his daughter’s grades had dropped considerably over the previous two weeks. Mark had assured Rod Brown that the problem had been attended to.

  “Mr. Brown came to see me yesterday.”

  Kelsey’s foot stopped swinging.

  “He says you’ve been having some problems with math and spelling.”

  She shrugged. “It’s dumb stuff.”

  Shaving with some difficulty, since he needed to give his daughter a serious stare, Mark said, “No, madam, it is not, and I believe you know that.”

  He caught her chin, which was dropping toward her chest. “Are you having problems with it?” he asked. “Do you and I need to spend some extra evening time on homework?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Her gaze met his. “Yes.” Mark’s heart melted at that sweet glance. He finished shaving. Wiped his face. And leaned against the sink.

  “I think I might be partially to blame for this, Kelse,” he said. “I was so busy trying to get you to accept Susan, for your own good, that I wasn’t paying attention to how you were actually feeling.”

  She looked confused, but continued to peer up at him. He wasn’t sure how to help her grasp what he didn’t completely understand himself.

  “Anyway,” he said when nothing else came to him. “I suspect your grades falling had to do with Susan and me. What do you think?”

  She glanced away. Nodded. And Mark lifted her up. Cradling her in his arms as he had when she was much younger, he kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m sorry, pumpkin.”

  “I’m sorry, too, Daddy. I won’t ever yell at you like that again.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “I don’t ever want to be that angry with you again. I didn’t like it at all.”

  “Me, either.”

  She still looked forlorn and Mark figured it would probably take more words and more than a few days to get fully past the misunderstanding. In the meantime, he had a radio show to listen to.

  That was another problem. One he suspected it would be just as difficult to solve.

  “CAN YOU TELL US, Doctor, how many patients you’ve treated who think they have psychic ability?”

  Meredith stood in her kitchen, coffee cup in hand, listening to the portable radio on her counter. She’d been there fifteen minutes and had yet to fill the cup.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  Thank God. The psychologist had an impressive list of credentials. In Oklahoma and beyond. Apparently he’d written several books that were used in psychology classrooms at many of the nation’s top universities.

  “Because the number is far too large to count,” he added, and weight dropped like lead in Meredith’s stomach. “Many of the psychosomatic illnesses I treat, as well as various psychoses, cause delusions of psychic ability. It’s common for people suffering from mental illness to claim psychic counsel as a motivation for their actions. Many, many crimes are committed in the course of such delusion.”

  “What happens to these people?” Talk show host Delilah White had just the right amount of concern in her voice.

  “Many of them, if they’re brought to trial, are found not guilty on grounds of diminished capacity and are committed to psychiatric confinement.”

  The cup in Meredith’s hand slipped, shattering on the floor at her feet and spraying her ankles with tiny shards of porcelain. She bent to clean up the mess. Picked up the biggest pieces before going for the broom. Her ankles had dots of blood on them now. She’d deal with them later.

  Clever of Barnett, really. Implying through his expert witness that there were many like her and that her “kind” needed to be committed, because they were a danger to society. Clever, too, in that he hadn’t really come out and said so. Because that would be slanderous.

  The show went on painfully. Larry Barnett had given his spiel at the beginning. Nothing new or original there. And after Delilah White had thanked each guest, Barnett added his own sickening bits of humble gratitude.

  First was the book-writing therapist, then a child psychologist to talk about what a vulnerable age eight was and how a child’s perception of his parent could be permanently damaged if the evidence was strong enough to sway him; and about how kids thought of their teachers as godlike, often believing that everything they said was true.

  The psychic was the worst. She admitted that she made a good living predicting futures over the telephone—and that it was all in good fun. That she didn’t think anyone really believed what she told them.

  A brain surgeon followed, talking about the fact there was no proof that humans possessed any kind of psychic ability. He lost Meredith, and she supposed most of his audience, with his talk of monitored brain waves and neural reactors, but his doubt about anyone who claimed to find truth without tangible, measurable input was crystal-clear.

  Meredith’s phone rang, but she didn’t answer it. Instead she went for the broom. Couldn’t find it. Cleaned up the powdery remains of the cup with a paper towel. And then, with the towel still in her hand, sat down on the floor.

  Delilah White invited listeners to call in. One after another, citizens expressed their outrage at young children being exposed to psychic teachings in the classroom. At the shocking fact that young children were being taught by someone who wasn’t stable. There were the usual diatribes about society and what it had come to. Open-ended questions about where it would all lead.

  And as was common with radio talk shows, there were other people who supported Meredith’s right to believe what she believed, and to speak of what she believed as long as she didn’t teach it as part of the curriculum, as long as she didn’t hurt anyone.

  “Not hurt anyone?” Larry Barnett piped up. “How can an accusation of abuse not be harmful?”

  “I’m sorry, listeners, but I agree with Mr. Barnett on that one. Clearly harm has been done here. The question is, what is the Bartlesville public school system going to do about it?”

  Clearly harm had been done. Only one side had been heard. There’d been no trial. But judgment had been made. Meredith jumped up. Grabbed the phone. Dialed the number that Delilah White had been repeating ad nauseum.

  She had to try six times to get through, and then she was asked to hold. But only until she said her name.

  “We have Ms. Meredith Foster on the line, ladies and gentlemen. Ms. Foster, I’m sure our listeners are eager to hear what you have to say.”

  “I am a teacher of children,” Meredith spoke slowly, quietly, with great effort. “I teach the board-approved curriculum—and only that. For the past four years, my students have scored significantly higher on aptitude tests than any other third-grade class in Bartlesville. As a teacher of young children, I am often exposed to emotional outbursts or withdrawals, as children this age haven’t yet learned to filter or control their feelings. Because of this, I’m often aware when they’re struggling. Any time unusual behavior occurs, I go straight to the parents. My only other option is to remain silent, and I believe there are more parents out there who care enough to want to know what could potentially be going on in their child’s life than those who don’t want me to speak of anything but ABC’s.”

  “But, Ms. Foster, in the most recent incident, I’m told the student didn’t give you any information. That, in fact, you inferred that there might be a problem and on evidence as flimsy as a sense of…knowing…you w
ent to the boy’s mother with claims of child abuse.”

  “I’d like to ask Mr. Barnett, why, if he’s so concerned about his son, he’s making a public issue of the fact that I thought the boy was unhappy. It seems to me that all this attention would be more damaging to a child than anything I said in private to his mother.”

  “My son is used to living in the public eye, Ms. Foster.” Barnett’s tone remained placidly, warm, congenial. “And he’s the reason I’m pursuing this matter. I want Thomas to know that I have nothing to hide. Emotional abuse is insidious. By its very nature, one cannot be sure one is suffering from it. That being the case, once the claim was made I had to do everything in my power to assure the boy that he was not a victim.”

  The man was good. Which was why he was a D.A. Why on earth had she dared take him on? How could she possibly have believed she might win?

  “Ms. Foster? Do you deny that you claim to use some kind of psychic ability in your work with your students?” Delilah White again.

  “I am no psychic.” Meredith stared at the paper towel in her hand. If she squeezed it, she’d cut her hand. Bleed. She should throw it away. “I have no abilities that every single one of you doesn’t also have. I am merely perceptive. An opportunity we all have.”

  “So you perceived that Mr. Barnett, a man whose actions have been thoroughly scrutinized over the years as he rose to important positions within the state, was abusing his son?”

  “I believed that the father of one of my students—”

  “Former students…” Barnett interjected.

  “—was causing emotional distress to his son.”

  “Based on your perception,” the interviewer said.

  “Yes.”

  “The child never said a word to you about it.”

  She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes. “That’s correct.”

  “Uh-huh, well, thank you for calling, Ms. Foster. We have other listeners on the line…”

  She heard a click. And a dial tone. She’d just helped Larry Barnett tighten the noose around her neck.

  The show had another half hour to go.

  Meredith tossed the paper towel in the trash.