by Karina Bliss
“Yes. But don’t worry, he’ll be fine.” Miss Browne looked back to him for confirmation. Heartsick that his daughter obviously saw him as her enemy, Joe could only manage a nod. For the hundredth time he wondered how they’d come to this. At the door, Kaitlin hesitated, then inadvertently twisted the knife. “I’m sorry you had to get involved, Dad.”
“I’m not,” he said, but she’d already gone.
Feeling exposed under Miss Browne’s continued scrutiny, he got up and strode to the window. September was San Francisco’s warmest month now that summer’s blanketing fogs and biting winds had finally given way to blue skies and moderate temperatures.
But like the kids in the playground, Joe dressed in layers and wouldn’t dream of abandoning his suit jacket. Every local knew the weather could turn on a dime. “So what didn’t my ex-wife tell me?”
“Kaitlin hasn’t been doing homework. Her grades are suffering. She’s inattentive in class, even miserable. And at home, too, according to Nadia.”
Blindly, Joe watched three boys use their drink bottles in a water fight, laughing as they dodged arcs of water. He might be first call when the media needed an expert to comment on commercial real estate, but he was dyslexic when it came to emotional problems.
“And then there’s the graffiti,” she added.
He spun to face her. “My daughter wouldn’t do that. Hell, she’s so law abiding she makes me clip my seat belt before I start the engine.”
“She admitted she carved her name in her desk and on a Monterey pine in the play—” Miss Browne broke off with an arrested expression. “Of course, it makes sense.”
“What does?”
“Kaitlin Fraser…she’s announcing who she wants to be.”
“Excuse me?”
Her teacher looked at him with a glint in those Bambi eyes. “Let me be frank, Mr. Fraser. You’re the problem with your daughter.”
He folded his arms. “And what’s your basis for that sweeping statement?”
“She told me.”
Joe’s heart sank. Rock bottom was deeper than he’d thought.
Only six months earlier, he’d discovered that the beloved grandmother who’d raised him had been the other woman in a love triangle going back sixty years. And that the married man involved, Robert Carson, had fathered two of his grandmother’s three children, including Joe’s father, Adam. Which meant his dad had gone from being the son of a war hero to the unacknowledged bastard of a philanderer.
Two strokes later for his father, Joe was still picking up the pieces. And now this.
“Kaitlin overheard you talking to Nadia about having less contact,” Miss Browne said softly.
Joe’s response was instinctive and heartfelt. “Shit.” He realized he’d sworn out loud and apologized. “That’s not how I wanted her to find out.”
“I see.” Miss Browne seemed to choose her next words very carefully. “I was hoping she’d misheard.”
Formulating tactics, Joe barely registered her disapproval. “Thanks for telling me,” he said abruptly, and strode toward the door. “I’ll deal with it from here.”
“Now you’re doing it to me,” she complained. “Mr. Fraser, walking away does not solve problems.”
Stung, he released the door handle and turned around. “For your information, Miss Browne, I’m always the last man standing.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Yet you’ve just admitted you intend to walk away from your daughter.”
“Because it’s too painful to lose her by degrees!” Damn, why had he let her provoke him into saying that? Exhausted, he passed a hand over his face. “Look, it’s complicated. But believe me, my daughter’s interests come first.”
Head tilted, the teacher assessed him. “I believe that you believe that.”
His patience snapped. “With all due respect, Miss Browne, what qualifies you to lecture me? Because it sure as hell isn’t experience.”
She stood up. “You mean apart from an ability to listen and keep an open mind?”
Was it his imagination or did everything she say contain a barb?
“I may look young,” she continued, “but I’m twenty-six and I’ve been a teacher for five years. Prior to coming to the States on a teacher exchange program I completed extramural papers in counseling and family therapy.”
As she talked, she put a hand under his elbow and steered him back into the room. He found himself distracted by her fragrance, subtly evocative of spring. “I’ve been counseled myself,” she finished, “so I understand your trepidation.”
Joe stopped dead. “My trepidation? And if you need counseling, then why are you even teaching?”
“All counselors are obliged to undergo personal therapy.” With gentle pressure she propelled him forward. “You have to know your own shortcomings in order to deal effectively with other people’s.” Damn it, the woman was doing it again.
Joe saw a definite glint of amusement in her eyes. “Let me guess,” he said sourly, “your shortcoming is charging in where you’re not wanted or needed.”
“No, I’m usually needed,” she said cheerfully. “I’m told I suffer from a lack of diplomacy, Mr. Fraser. Something we have in common.” She patted the seat of the chair and, reluctantly, Joe sat down.
He felt as if he was fighting with a rubber sword. Every time he thought he’d made a hit, it bounced back on him. But however guileless she acted, the woman had a dimple that gave her away when she was trying to hold back a smile. He narrowed his eyes. “You’re the kind of person who’d try to pat a tiger through the zoo bars, aren’t you?”
She grinned. “They’re so cute.” She walked back to her desk and sat down. The male part of him noted Miss Browne had great legs. “Now on the subject of feelings—”
“I’m not good at them,” he interrupted.
“Nothing that a little practice can’t fix, surely?”
He had been practicing; it hadn’t been enough. He and Kaitlin could barely communicate. He’d put it down to the incompatibility of a ten-year-old girl and a twenty-nine-year-old workaholic. He’d always thought if he was patient, sooner or later their planets would realign. Then Doug had come into her life. With Doug, Kaitlin was animated, giggling…happy. And Joe needed his little girl to be happy.
“The old ‘If at first you don’t succeed’ motto?” he said with acid politeness. “Right up there with ‘Those who can’t, teach.’”
She smiled. “You know what my definition of a cynic is, Mr. Fraser? An idealist who gave up.”
“I’ve never been able to afford the luxury of idealism, Miss Browne. I’ve been supporting a family since I was nineteen. And before you accuse me of it, I didn’t give up on my marriage. My wife did.”
“I imagine it was because you didn’t love her, but loved someone else,” she said briskly. “Kaitlin mentioned it. And that you only got married because you had to. And that you’re a workaholic. Honestly, it’s not surprising that little girl wonders whether you really love her.”
For a moment Joe could only stare at her. “Do you talk to all your kids’ parents like this?”
Her eyes widened. “Of course not. Most of them don’t need an intervention as badly as you do.”
Joe felt as if Alice had pushed him down the rabbit hole. “You’re one of the strangest people I’ve ever met. I’m amazed the school even lets you near children.”
“I expect you’re always apologizing for thoughtless remarks,” she said kindly. “Fortunately, I can see past the rudeness. What I think, Mr. Fraser, is that you’re having a crisis of parental confidence because you perceive Doug as more suitable for the job.”
“He is more suitable for the job.” Goaded by her frankness, Joe dropped his guard. “Look, it’s selfish to insist on spending time with Kaitlin when she’s so obviously unhappy about it. The best thing I can do for my daughter right now is to back off and let her settle in with her new family. We’ll still see each other.”
Miss Browne shook her head. “
She wants to keep spending Sundays with you.”
“She’s a softhearted kid who feels sorry for me.” Torturous to say, tortuous to believe, but Joe wouldn’t flinch from the truth.
If only he’d worked less and eked out more time for his family. But his childhood had made financial security an imperative. His wife and child would have the best. And Nadia had never complained. Joe hadn’t even known she’d been unhappy until she’d told him she wanted a divorce.
All he knew was that since then his clumsy attempts to forge an independent relationship with his daughter had been disastrous.
“Perhaps Kaitlin was following your lead,” said Miss Browne. It took a moment to remember they’d been talking about his daughter feeling sorry for him!
“Are you accusing me of self-pity?”
“If the hair shirt fits…”
With an exclamation of disgust, Joe stood up.
“I can help you with your daughter, if you’ll let me.”
He hesitated, despising himself for his neediness. Lately he was a blind man stumbling through a minefield of emotions, his own and other people’s. How low was rock bottom that he would even consider taking hope from this crazy woman?
But all the challenge had left her expression. Instead her smile was so understanding he had an urge to lay his head on her lap and weep for everything he’d lost. But Joe wasn’t that kind of man.
“I always thought—” he paused to clear his throat “—that the reason I wasn’t good as a father was because I never had a good role model. But Doug lost his dad young and he’s a natural with my daughter.” Joe hauled in a breath, then made the hardest, most painful concession of his life. “I think Katie’s better off without me.”
Miss Browne’s gaze never wavered. “As Kaitlin’s dad, you’ll affect your daughter’s life for good or bad, and right now she sees your wanting to leave as a sign you don’t care.”
“Of course I care,” he said harshly.
“The situation’s not irredeemable. I can help you,” the woman repeated.
He remembered when he’d had that kind of unshakable confidence. Before his divorce, the return of his prodigal father and the shock of discovering his heritage was a lie. “What are you suggesting?”
“A four-day school camp, seventy-five tweens and—” the dimple flashed “—me.”
TENSE AND UNHAPPY, Kaitlin sat in the passenger seat of her father’s BMW, staring out the window at the passing San Francisco cityscape. Dad navigated midafternoon traffic with one hand while he told Melissa’s mom on his cell phone that Kaitlin had got into a situation at school and wouldn’t be staying at their house as arranged.
“I think it’s better if she stays with me tonight, Yvonne.” A cable car clanged into sight and he paused, waiting for it to pass.
Normally, Kaitlin would wave and smile at the tourists clinging to the end poles, their cameras swinging from their necks as the trolley lumbered up Nob Hill.
Miss Browne told her the States was the friendliest place she’d ever visited, but Kaitlin watched CNN every morning as she ate her granola, and she knew some countries thought the last president had been a bit pushy. She felt an obligation to help the new one.
Kaitlin was going to be a diplomat—after she’d been a missionary—because she was good at including kids that mostly got ignored, either because they were shy or geeky or odd. Knowing herself to be a borderline case, she took this responsibility very seriously. Miss Browne had once told her she had a kind heart.
Right now she didn’t feel kind. She felt…scared and…bewildered…sulky and defiant. These feelings had been plaguing her for some weeks, and when she was in their grip she wasn’t Kaitlin Fraser who did all her homework and was a nice, quiet girl. She was someone she didn’t like very much.
The cable car rumbled into the distance; Dad resumed his conversation with Melissa’s mom. “No, Yvonne, don’t worry about returning her overnight bag. We’ll drop home…by her house for clothes. Katie, do you have a key?”
She nodded, still staring out the window, because she could feel a prickle of tears behind her eyes. She hated reminders that he didn’t live with them anymore even though it was two years since he and Mom had gotten divorced. But she didn’t want Dad to see her being a baby. She’d caused enough trouble today.
Since they’d left the school grounds he’d already fielded four calls from clients and staff, and one of them had been mad that he wasn’t available. She could tell because Dad always got cold and calm and reasonable when someone was yelling at him.
Like Mom.
Kaitlin couldn’t remember them fighting when they were married—not like Melissa’s parents, who seemed to yell at each other all the time. But Mom was getting mad at Dad a lot lately and telling him to be a better father. But then Mom was doing heaps of things differently since the divorce.
Like getting a career as a professional organizer and doing salsa classes with Doug. And being happier. Most of the time Kaitlin preferred how Mom was now, but sometimes—like today, when she really needed her—she wished she still had a stay-at-home parent.
“So your mother gets back from the Sacramento conference around three tomorrow,” Dad said when he’d ended the call to Yvonne. He disapproved of Mom working, which was odd because he’d set up some maternity leave thing at work and said he’d bankroll Kaitlin’s presidential campaign.
Kaitlin started to feel sick. Only last week she’d promised Mom she’d stop getting into trouble. But her anger had boiled over before she could control it.
“Do we have to call Mom right away? I mean, she has to know and everything, but couldn’t we call her tonight instead of bothering her during the conference?”
“No,” Dad said. “What if the school’s already left a message or Yvonne calls her?” He held out his cell phone and, reluctantly, Kaitlin took it, knowing there was no budging him. Dad always made such a big thing of accepting responsibility for your actions.
When she was six she’d accidentally left the latch open on the neighbor’s rabbit hutch and it escaped. Dad had docked her allowance until she’d paid for a new one. “It’s not about blame,” he’d said at the time. “It’s about accountability.”
He was kind of old-fashioned like that. Mom said it was because his grandma, Nana Jo, had brought him up after his mother died when he was four, and his dad—Grandpa Adam—had gone to make his fortune fishing crab in Alaska.
Kaitlin wasn’t surprised that hadn’t worked, which made Grandpa Adam laugh. “Honey, you’re smarter at ten than I am at fifty-eight.”
He hadn’t been in her life long, not even a year, but Kaitlin loved him. For his wild stories and his willingness to break rules—like having ice cream for breakfast. But mostly she loved Grandpa Adam for never being in a hurry. For always having time to spend with her.
She and Mom often had him to stay, which was one of the things Mom and Dad fought about. Mom said Dad needed to “get over it,” whatever “it” was.
Except now Grandpa Adam was in some special hospital and Dad said he was still too sick for her to visit. They were going to the hospital later this afternoon and she’d have to sit in the car.
“I just remembered, I need to finish Grandpa Adam’s get well card,” she said.
“Quit stalling and make that call.”
Kaitlin dialed her mother’s cell. To her intense relief it went straight to message. “Mom, it’s Katie. I…It’s all okay now but…” She took a deep breath, then expelled the words in a rush. “I-got-into-a-fight-at-school-nobody’s-hurt-andI’m-not-suspended-and-Dad-came-and-picked-me-up.”
The worst over, she breathed again. “I’m gonna stay with him tonight and go back to school tomorrow. Melissa’s mom knows and everything.” She swallowed. Okay, maybe the worst wasn’t over. “I’m really, really sorry, Mom.”
“Tell her to call me later.”
“Call Dad later.”
They pulled up to the house, a canary-yellow mission-style duplex on t
he eastern side of Russian Hill. Dad had bought it three years ago when he’d made his biggest deal. He was a partner in some important commercial brokerage firm downtown, but all Kaitlin knew was that they gave lame family Christmas parties at Napa vineyards and places that were boring for the kids.
“Got your key?” asked Dad. Kaitlin dug around in her schoolbag and produced it. “Let’s go then.” Inside the front door he stopped. “I’ll wait in the hall, honey.”
She knew it was because it wasn’t his house anymore and he felt funny being there with Mom away, so Kaitlin didn’t argue. Upstairs, she changed out of her uniform into a short-sleeved green sweater and jeans, and combed out her hair, trying not to cry, because if she started she’d never stop.
Her sneakers must have been quiet on the carpet because when she started down the stairs Dad didn’t look up. He was staring into the living room where a bunch of photos sat over the fireplace. He used to be in all of them, but now he was only in one, holding Kaitlin as a baby. He looked so sad that she said, “I have them in my room…the others.”
The family ones when they were all together.
But he only nodded and said briskly, “Ready to go?”
Rebuffed, Kaitlin continued down the stairs with her overnight bag and pink denim jacket.
“We’re going to have to drop by a couple of sites before we go to the hospital,” he said. “And afterward there’s an investors meeting I can’t get out of at the office.” They got back into the car. “Negotiations are at a critical stage. I’m sorry, honey.”
Gesturing to Dad’s seat belt to remind him, she said in a small voice, “That’s okay.” She’d hoped things were going to be different after his talk with Miss Browne, but they weren’t. He hadn’t even asked for Kaitlin’s version of the fight or why she’d done it or anything. At first she’d been glad, now she decided he didn’t care.
“It’s a working day, honey,” Dad said gruffly, “and I have com—”
“Commitments. I know.” She looked out the window, not seeing anything. There was a moment’s silence before she heard the click of his seat belt, then he started the engine.