A Child's Wish

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “Do you think about her a lot?” Was she pushing for Susan’s sake?

  “Not as much as I think about you.”

  She stopped breathing. Stared at him. Certain she’d misunderstood. If she hadn’t, they had a major problem here.

  “Because of the hearing,” he added softly, taking a step closer, his gaze still fastened on her, compelling her not to look away. “And Kelsey.”

  She nodded. Yes. In terms of work. And his daughter. Mostly.

  Reaching out a hand toward her, Mark untangled the hair from around her fist. “I’ve always been a short-hair man.”

  Her hand dropped. “I’ve always had long hair.”

  His lips came closer and she meant to move. Wanted to move. Was afraid to move in case she went in the wrong direction. As his head lowered, she knew she was running out of time. Her mouth parted. She tried to tell him stop.

  And took his lips on hers instead. Ah. The feeling. So good—like water in the desert. She didn’t have to try so hard, fight so hard.

  With a hand on the back of her head, Mark cradled her, kissing her slowly, his mouth moving gently against hers until she needed to cry with the fullness of it. And then the pressure increased, seeking from her, and she opened to him, not just her mouth, but herself, all of her. Sliding her arms around his waist, she clung to him, pulling herself against him and him against her. He filled her grasp, his sides and back a perfect match to the curve of her arms, his stomach and chest warm and solid against hers.

  He was a part of her. Right for her.

  Kissing her again and again, Mark left no space for doubts, fears, rationalizing.

  He pressed his pelvis against hers and she reveled in his hardness, wanting to laugh, to cry, to strip off her clothes and be a part of him forever. Her whole body simmered with a desire so deep she knew she’d never recover. She was going to suffer the pangs of wanting him for the rest of her life.

  And then she felt his butt beneath her hands. She’d wondered so many times what it would feel like. It was firm, muscled—and this was far too intimate. She was touching Mark Shepherd’s butt. Her boss’s butt.

  Meredith pulled away. “I’m sorry,” she breathed heavily. “So sorry. I should never have done that.”

  His eyes were only half-open, his breathing heavy, too. Somehow that made the situation worse. And better.

  “I did it,” he said. “It’s not your fault.”

  A far cry from the man who was constantly chastising her for misbehavior.

  Shaking, Meredith turned, pushed the hair from her face, grabbed her bag. “Does it matter whose fault it is?” she asked, fear snaking through her, replacing the sultriness of desire. “We’re in trouble, Mark. We just broke the law.”

  He chuckled, but didn’t look any happier than she was. “We didn’t break the law.”

  “We broke policy!” She strode to the door and back, her hands around her middle. “How can I stand up there in front of those people in eleven days and convince them that I’m not guilty of moral turpitude, while I’m lying to them?”

  “Hey.” He grabbed her elbows, keeping distance between them as he stopped her. “Slow down, Meredith.” He just stood there, holding on to her until she glanced up at him.

  “It’s okay,” he said.

  She searched his eyes for answers she didn’t have. And wasn’t sure he had, either.

  “Policy states that we cannot be involved in a sexual relationship. We are not. One kiss is not a relationship.”

  “That was the second time.”

  “A sexual relationship requires a lot more than kissing, Ms. Foster.”

  He was right about that. “But we keep doing it and…”

  “We won’t.”

  “We said that last time and—”

  With a finger to her lips, he said, “Meredith, it doesn’t mean anything.”

  He wasn’t attracted to her. Why had she thought any differently? This was Mark. She drove him crazy. Pissed him off more often than not.

  “It’s just because we know we can’t,” he continued. “It’s human nature, you know. You always want what you can’t have and then the minute you have it, you don’t want it anymore.”

  He didn’t want her. Good. That was as it had to be. Anything else was insanity—and she was not in a position to appear anything but perfectly sane.

  “You think that’s what it is?” she asked. Please God, let that be all. I don’t want him. I just want what I can’t have. I can live with that. Recover.

  “It’s what it has to be.”

  “So we’re safe,” she said, needing to pull away from him so she could start getting over him. “I won’t be lying when I tell the board that I’ve done nothing that contravenes policy.”

  “You won’t be lying.”

  Meredith nodded. Tried to smile. And left.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “KENNY, I can’t do this anymore.” Kelsey held out the little brown paper bag and wished she’d thrown it in the trash. Except that what if someone found it there and got hurt by it? Or figured out that she’d put it there? What if they found out it was drugs and did fingerprints like on television and knew it was hers?

  “You have to,” Kenny said. “If you don’t, someone’s going to tell on you and you’ll be in big trouble.”

  She dug the toe of her tennis shoe into the dirt. “Who’s going to tell, Kenny?” Only him. Mom wouldn’t. And she wouldn’t let Don, either. “Besides, if you do, you’ll get in trouble, too.”

  “Not if I just tell that I’ve seen you over here.”

  With tears starting to come, even though she was trying really hard to hold them back, Kelsey stared up at him. “Would you do that to me?”

  “I wouldn’t wanna,” he said, and looked down. “But don’t you get it, Kelsey? You get to see your mom. I don’t get to see my dad at all. We need this money.”

  Yeah, she’d thought about that for a long time and just didn’t know what to do.

  “It’s not a big deal, I promise,” he said now, taking hold of one of her hands. She liked how that felt, a hand a little bigger then hers but not as big as an adult’s so that it swallowed hers up. “For drugs, the trouble you get in depends on how much you have. And there’s not much here.”

  “How much?”

  “Only an ounce,” he said. “Just over a thousand dollars’ worth, and my dad says they won’t do anything to us for that except maybe put us in counseling. My dad says prosecution costs the state a lot of money and they have too many bigger cases to worry about.”

  She didn’t know about any of that stuff. And she didn’t want to know.

  “My dad wouldn’t lie to me, Kelsey, and he wouldn’t get me in trouble. Just like your mom. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. She loves you too much.”

  “Do you know my mom?”

  He nodded. “I met her once with my dad, before they took me away from him.”

  She felt a little better inside. “Did you like her?”

  “’Course,” Kenny said, brushing his hair away from his face. “I wish she’d been my mom.”

  Wow. Kelsey smiled. She was pretty special. And lucky, too. She just had to be a big girl and help them all be happy again.

  And quit worrying about going to jail.

  “Do they whip you in jail?” she asked Kenny. She’d thought of it last week when Timmy Dorien had to go see her dad for spitting at Mrs. Melrose and her teacher told them that in the old days principals would take a strap to a student for such behavior.

  “Nah,” he said. “I’ve been there once, when my mom thought I stole a stereo and reported me to the police.”

  Staring at him, Kelsey asked, “Did you?” Kenny knew so much stuff.

  “’Course not. My dad gave it to me, only I wasn’t supposed to be seeing him.”

  “Were you in kid jail?”

  “Juvenile detention is what they call it.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “Just overnigh
t. The judge believed me about my dad, especially because he came to court and told them he bought it and showed them the receipt.”

  “What was jail like?”

  “Not so bad,” he said, but she had a feeling he wasn’t telling her the whole truth about that. “The worst part was taking a shower without doors and having to wear their stupid clothes and slipper things.”

  “You don’t get shoes?” She squirmed her toes in her tennis shoes. She loved her shoes.

  “Not where I was,” he said. “But I got a cot. And my own locked-in place so I felt safe.”

  “Were there lots of bad kids there?” She was scaring herself, but she just kept thinking about jail and she had to know.

  “I dunno,’” he said, shrugging. “Don’t worry, you aren’t going there,” he told her. “Ever.”

  Kelsey really wanted to believe him.

  “If I ever did go, would you come visit me?”

  “If I could.”

  She was glad. She started to feel funny standing there, looking at him.

  “Well, ’bye,” she said quickly and scrambled through the bushes.

  If only she could be in third grade again. Things were so much better then.

  MEREDITH FOUGHT with herself all the way to Mark’s office. When he’d called Saturday to tell her he had the chart done, she’d had more than twelve hours to castigate herself over their kiss the night before. Twelve hours to convince herself she couldn’t see him outside school again.

  When she’d insisted, they’d arranged to meet on Monday as soon as Macy left for the day. She’d waited in her classroom for Mark’s call, doing every relaxation technique she could think of. Breathing. Picturing a serene place. Relaxing one body part at a time. Clearing her chakras.

  She rounded the corner of her hallway, heading down his.

  None of her tricks worked. She couldn’t calm down. Kelsey was in trouble. She couldn’t get away from the feeling. She’d known it at lunch today, though the little girl explained away her cranky mood by saying she’d been yelled at by her dad that morning for forgetting to feed Gilda.

  That didn’t sound like Mark. Or anything that would really upset Kelsey, either.

  His office door was open. She could see the light spilling out into the hall.

  Ever since school let out, Meredith had been consumed with an inexplicable fear. One panic attack after another. Over innocuous decisions such as what color ink to use for the spelling papers she still had to grade from Friday’s test. And whether or not she should carry her bag with her to Mark’s office or come back and get it afterward.

  She recognized the sensations. Breathed her way through them. And was worried sick. She needed to talk to Mark. And knew that if she did, he wouldn’t believe her. He’d just get pissed off again.

  He’d probably refuse to attend her hearing next week.

  He was behind his desk, typing something on the computer. He’d worn a blue short-sleeved polo shirt today. It looked good with his hair.

  Which was in disarray.

  “You ready?”

  He barely glanced up. Rolled from the computer stand to his desk. “Sure, come on in.”

  So much for the attention she’d paid to her sedate navy suit and pumps—not to mention the time it had taken to get the twist in her hair. He didn’t even notice the hands-off message she was sending.

  “I made a couple of copies for you.” He slid a folder across the desk. Meredith picked it up. Sat.

  “You might want to look at it.” The humor in his voice drew her out of herself enough to look at him. Grin back.

  And when he said, “It’s okay, Meredith, really,” her heart did a little flip-flop.

  She hadn’t gotten over wanting forbidden things yet, but she was working on it. Maybe by the next time she saw him.

  Flipping open the folder, Meredith searched first for the bottom line. The graph was nice, the color-coordinated lines a fine touch, but…

  She read the numbers in the boxes at the bottom. And to the far right, the percentage.

  Ninety. She looked again. Took the time to do the math in her head. And then peeked up at him. He was regarding her with a mixture of anticipation, resignation and discomfort.

  “I was right ninety percent of the time.”

  “You just better hope that Tommy Barnett’s not part of the ten percent.”

  She’d expect something like that from him—seeing only what was right in front of his nose. Tangible. “For my job, yes,” she said. “But it would sure be better for Tommy if he was.”

  She had to call Susan. Ninety percent. She couldn’t believe it. She wasn’t crazy. Or insane. She wasn’t kidding herself.

  Of course, her friend would just say “I told you so.”

  And she couldn’t wait to hear the words.

  She glanced up at Mark again. Surely now that he had the numbers in front of him, he’d see that she was for real.

  Ninety percent. What a relief. What a gift.

  What a frightening, horrible thing. Kelsey’s solemn face swam before her eyes. The little girl knew she was going to be hurt. Badly. She was confused, scared, alone.

  But it wasn’t too late. She was still safe.

  “Where’d you go?” Mark asked, calling her attention back to him. His brows were drawn as he studied her.

  “Nowhere.”

  “What were you thinking about just then?”

  He’d seen the figures. Maybe the timing wasn’t a mistake. Maybe now that he knew she was for real, he’d listen. Maybe they could help Kelsey before it was too late.

  “I’m not sure I should tell you.”

  His frown deepened. “Why not?”

  “Because you don’t want to hear.” Do you? Are you ready to start trusting something besides what you can see and touch? Would you be willing to try, for Kelsey’s sake?

  “Tell me anyway,” he said, leaning forward with his hands crossed on top of his desk. “You could be wrong and I do want to hear. There’s always that ten percent.”

  He was playing with her. He thought this was about them. She wasn’t sure of that, but figured it was a good guess.

  “I’m serious, Mark.”

  “So am I.”

  “I think Kelsey’s in trouble.”

  The words dropped baldly into the after-school quiet.

  “You think it?” His gaze was sharp.

  “I know it.”

  He turned his chair a couple of inches until he was facing the computer more than her. “You were right, I don’t want to hear it.”

  Meredith swallowed. Took a deep breath and made a quick appeal for the appropriate words. She’d come this far; she had to try.

  “Mark, please don’t shut me out. Not yet.”

  Punching a key on his computer he said nothing.

  “I’ve had feelings for a while that she was struggling. But they’d come and go, and there was so much else getting in the way. Susan. You. The Barnett thing.” She was talking too fast, but wasn’t sure how much longer he’d sit there.

  “In the past couple of weeks they’ve gotten much more consistent—and stronger. She’s in trouble, Mark, I’d bet my life on it.”

  “And your job, too?” His gaze swung back to her, steely now. “Would you be willing to lose your job over it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  That seemed to give him pause. For a minute. “You don’t think I mean it—about your job.”

  “I know you do,” she said quietly, feeling more calm than she had in a long time. She was doing the right thing. She knew that now. “I also know that Kelsey’s involved in something dangerous. She doesn’t want to be, but she’s not capable of stopping.”

  He stood up. “I’m not going to listen to this.” Hands on his hips, he swung around to face her. “I watch my daughter like a hawk. I have dinner with her every night. Spend every evening at home. I see her at school. And after school I have her being cared for by a mother I know would tell me if she suspected anything was
amiss, if she didn’t know where Kelsey was. Let me repeat, I know where my daughter is every second of every day.”

  She stood up, too. “Do you?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She’d never seen him this angry—his voice vibrated with it.

  And then it struck her. He was afraid. Of the possibility that she might be right. Of her.

  She looked him straight in the eye. “You’re wrong.”

  Meredith didn’t stick around to hear his reply.

  “MARK, LET ME GET right to the point,” Superintendent Daniels said as he took a seat in the armchair opposite Mark in his office Wednesday afternoon. He pulled up the sleeve of his gray suit jacket and glanced at his watch.

  “The board would like to offer you the head principal’s job at Harris Junior High. Chris Blakely has decided to take early retirement.”

  Mark let out a slow breath, switching mental gears completely. He wished now that he’d accepted the cup of coffee Daniel’s secretary had offered him when he’d arrived.

  “I don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve been over there, but we’ve made a lot of renovations,” Daniels was saying.

  Harris Junior High was a good twenty-minute drive from home. Twenty-five minutes from Lincoln. From Kelsey.

  Head principal at a junior high was a promotion.

  “…bought the lot next door and have added—” Daniels went on to give him enrollment statistics that were impressive. And a salary increase that was substantial.

  “So what do you think?” Daniels asked, smiling as he sat back, one ankle resting on his knee.

  “Why now?”

  Daniels threw out an arm. “I told you, Blakely’s retiring.”

  “Then I guess I should have said, why me?”

  “You’ve got a great career ahead of you with us,” Warren Daniels said, his expression growing more serious. “Junior high is the next logical step.”

  It was. But generally for someone who was a little older than Mark—a little more experienced.

  “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about the possibility.”