“Your daughters aren’t sick, Mr. Ryan. They’re looking for attention.”
Jacob froze. He knew he wasn’t good at relationships, but surely he wasn’t failing his own daughters.
“I give the girls more attention than most kids receive in a household with two parents,” he said, knowing he was right. He spent all of his free time with them. It had to be enough.
“I know you do. You’re to be commended for the effort you put into being a father. The girls benefit greatly from your guidance and love. But they’re girls. And I suspect that they need some feminine influence, too.”
Jacob gritted his teeth. “Before you suggest it, I’m not about to go out and find another wife just to be a companion to my daughters. They’ve done all right without one for the past four years. This is probably just another stage they’re going through. I’m sure it’ll pass like the others have.” Jacob stood up. “I’ll talk to them about visits to the nurse. I can assure you it won’t happen again.”
“Sit down, Mr. Ryan.”
Jacob took one look at the woman’s serious expression and sat.
“Alison is organizing her teacher to death. As you know, this is the first year she’s been separated from her sisters, and she’s lost without them. Instead of playing with the kids in her class, she spends her days making suggestions about what the other students should be doing and trying to help the teacher give them their instructions.”
“She’s always had a lot of initiative. That, combined with her incessant drive to organize, is going to serve her well in life.” He knew he sounded rather pompous, but he didn’t need this. His triplets were the one thing he’d done right.
“Initiative is good, I agree, but not when it’s taken to such an extreme. Not only is it disruptive to the rest of the class, but we’d be remiss to ignore what appears to us to be Alison’s cry for help. Last Friday, she sneaked out of the lunch room, tricked her way into the staff lounge by saying she had an emergency and proceeded to inform her teacher that they needed to rearrange the classroom seating—put the students in alphabetical order, she said—and if the teacher liked, she’d be willing to stay in at recess to help her do it.”
Jacob shrugged, wondering if the principal wasn’t overreacting a bit. “So she’s a little obsessive. We’ll work on it. I fail to see how this points to a need for female guidance.”
“Not even when Alison’s plan would’ve given her a recess period alone with her teacher and put her in the seat right next to the teacher’s desk?”
Jacob rubbed his forehead. He hadn’t realized that Allie was so fond of her teacher. “Like I said, I’ll talk to them.”
“Jessica’s crying has become much too frequent.”
There was more? Jacob stared at the principal as worry crept past his defenses and started to knot his stomach. He was facing what every parent dreaded—a child with problems. Only apparently he had three of them.
Ms. Wilson came around to the front of the desk, crossing her arms. “The reasons for her tears are always different—bumping her leg on a desk, catching her finger in the pencil sharpener, getting a bad grade on a paper—but the pattern is always the same. With a hug from her teacher, the tears stop immediately. Lately it’s been happening almost daily. We believe that Jessica, like her sister, is reacting to a need for a woman’s love.”
“Maybe. Or maybe—”
“She’s more forgetful than normal, too. She’s had to get her lunch money from Alison three times in the past week, and she’s forgotten several assignments. I’m afraid her grades are dropping, Mr. Ryan.”
“Jessie’s a normal seven-year-old girl. She’s taken up with fantasies right now, but just wait until she’s reading chapter books. She’ll be more studious than both of her sisters, mark my words.”
“I’m not saying any of your children are abnormal, Mr. Ryan. I’m saying they’re sending out signs and it’s our job to recognize. Meghan has become almost reclusive. In class she refuses to work or play with anyone but Jessica. And if Jessica’s busy, Meghan occupies herself on her own. She resists any attempts her teacher makes to include her in games with the other children.”
Jacob’s gut clenched. This wasn’t something he could rationalize away. He’d been concerned for a while now about Meggie’s holding herself apart. He’d tried to give her some extra attention, to cuddle her a little more, but nothing seemed to be working.
At a complete loss he stared at Ms. Wilson. Meggie’s behavior worried him. Unlike Jessie, who lived in a dreamworld much of the time, Meggie seemed just plain lonely to him, which was ridiculous considering she had two identical sisters around her practically twenty-four hours a day.
“A couple of weeks ago, the teacher put her arm around Meghan while she was explaining a math problem,” Ms. Wilson continued. “Meghan jerked away and told her teacher not to touch her—ever.”
Jacob studied the pearl buttons running the length of Ms. Wilson’s blue-flowered dress. He had a problem. Okay, he’d faced that much. Now what was he going to do about it?
“Have the girls said anything to you about the tryouts for the spring play?” Ms. Wilson asked, returning to her seat.
Jacob shook his head, surprised by the change in subject. “Come to think of it, they haven’t. Which is odd, since that’s all they talked about over Christmas break. They love acting.”
“They’re very good at it, too,” Ms. Wilson said with a nod. “And that’s why it concerned us when they started telling anyone who’d listen that acting is dumb.”
“My girls are saying that? But why?”
“I suspect it has to do with the costumes. The school doesn’t have money for costumes this year. Instead of canceling the play, we decided that each actor or actress would be responsible for his or her own costume. And to keep things fair, they all have to be homemade.”
Jacob was beginning to get the picture. Out of necessity he’d mastered a lot of skills over the past several years. But he knew nothing about sewing. And his daughters were well aware of it. He’d made it into something of a joke so they wouldn’t feel as if he was incapable of caring for them.
“You got any suggestions?” Jacob asked, meeting Ms. Wilson’s concerned gaze. The bottom line was, he’d do whatever it took to keep his girls happy.
She folded her hands together. “One you may not want to hear, Mr. Ryan. From several things the girls have said, their teachers and I believe they’re blaming themselves for the fact that there isn’t a mother in their lives. I’m not suggesting you rush out and get married, but apparently you aren’t even in the habit of bringing your dates home to meet them. They think it’s because they’re too much trouble.”
Jacob felt sick. All he’d hoped to do was protect his girls from further desertion. He’d had no idea they’d misconstrued things so completely. “I’ll talk to them,” he said again.
“You need to do more than talk, Mr. Ryan. If you don’t have a current woman friend to introduce them to, hire a housekeeper, but I wouldn’t put this off.”
“I have a perfectly good housekeeper. Nonnie Moore has been keeping house for fifty years and she’s good at it. She comes in twice a week like clockwork, and any other time I need her to help out. They have a baby-sitter, too. Laurie’s a nice responsible teenager and she loves the girls.”
“They’ve mentioned Laurie, and I’ve seen Nonnie a time or two when she’s come for the girls. I assumed she was their grandmother. Apparently she doesn’t hear as well as she used to.”
“She’s seventy-five years old, but she takes excellent care of us.”
“I’m not doubting that, Mr. Ryan. But a seventy-five-year-old woman is hardly companion material for three lively seven-year-olds. And a teenager, however sweet, can’t give the guidance of a grown woman. I must tell you, the next step we take here on an official leve
l is the school counselor.”
“Are you threatening me?” Jacob asked, rising to his full six foot one.
“Absolutely not,” Ms. Wilson said, not intimidated by Jacob’s glare.
“No one’s going to take my daughters away from me. You can call in all the officials in the state. Call in the whole army if you want but my daughters stay with me. I’m a good father, and I’ll hire the best lawyer in the country if I have to to prove it.”
Ms. Wilson’s thin hand descended on Jacob’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I wish all fathers were as conscientious, as caring, as you are, Mr. Ryan. The last thing the school wants to do is break up your home. We’re only trying to help avoid more serious behavioral problems somewhere down the road. Your daughters are young. They’re psyches are still being molded. Now’s the time to give them the very best in all possible ways.”
Jacob nodded, covering the principal’s hand with his own. “I’ll talk to them,” he said.
CHAPTER TWO
MICHELLE KEPT HER EYE on the little black ball. Her arms ached, her lungs were burning, but her gaze never wavered. The court echoed as the ball smacked against the front wall. Michelle dove, flinging her racket out to her right just in time to see the ball fly over her outstretched arm as she landed with a crash on the wooden floor.
“Nice match, sweetheart. You gave me a run for my money on that last set.” James Walker reached out a hand to help his daughter up off the floor.
Michelle grinned ruefully. He was barely even sweating.
“Someone’s got to keep you in your place,” she said, rising and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before she gathered her gear. “Meet you out front in twenty minutes?” she asked, water bottle, racket and towel in hand.
He held the door open for her. “Make it fifteen, and I’ll buy you a soda.”
“You’re on.”
Michelle turned toward the women’s locker room but not before she’d seen the appreciative glance a young woman in the hall had sent her father’s way. At forty-eight, James Walker would have been considered quite a catch if he hadn’t already been caught thirty years before. Tall and lean, he still had a full head of blond hair that blended well with the few strands of gray that were starting to filter through it. Ever since Michelle could remember he’d attracted attention from the opposite sex, but not once had it crossed Michelle’s mind to wonder if he might be interested in following up on some of those glances. After thirty years of marriage, James Walker was still so entranced with his wife it would have been laughable if it weren’t so sweet.
* * *
“HOW WAS YOUR GAME?” Grace Walker asked as her family came in through the back door forty-five minutes later. Gray-haired and plain, she was busy at the counter chopping vegetables for the Mexican feast the three of them shared every Tuesday evening after James wore Michelle out on the racquetball court.
“I would’ve beat him, but I decided to be nice today,” Michelle said, giving her mother a kiss.
Grace’s gaze met her husband’s, her soft blue eyes alight with humor. “Did you trounce her?”
He smiled, leaning down to kiss his wife before helping himself to the pile of shredded cheese. “It won’t be long before she’s trouncing me,” he said, stealing one more lingering kiss from his wife before he left the room.
“Right,” Michelle said. “The day I win my first game with Dad, I’m going to announce it on the air.” She filled a glass with ice and popped the top on a can of diet cola.
Then she hoisted herself onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar and asked, “So how were things at the clinic?” Every Tuesday afternoon, while Michelle and her father battled it out on the racquetball court, Dr. Grace Walker donated her time to a free clinic in a part of L.A. that tourists never saw.
“Busy as usual, but nothing too terrible turned up. A couple of ear infections, a strep infection and the usual cases of head lice. All easily remedied.”
“Did Amanda Blake show up for her prenatal check?”
“Yep. That’s three in a row. We just may get that baby born healthy yet.”
“So you think she’s staying clean?”
Grace shrugged her slim shoulders. “She’s either clean or hiding the evidence miraculously well. The baby’s heartbeat is steady and strong. I think we have a fighting chance.”
“And afterward?” Michelle knew her mother wouldn’t be able to deliver the baby and then just forget it.
“Amanda wants this baby. That’s half the battle won. If she stays clean for the next four months, we’re well on our way to winning the second half.”
Grace finished chopping the onions and lettuce, popped the tortillas in the oven and stirred the refried beans. Michelle got up to set the table.
“Any more word from Frank Steele?” Grace asked.
“Nope.”
Grace brought the condiments, arranged in a sectioned serving tray, to the table. “How much longer are you going to give him?”
“As long as it takes,” Michelle said, putting out napkins.
“Do you think that’s wise?”
Michelle stared at her mother. “How can you ask that, Mom? You of all people know I don’t have any other choice.”
Grace’s brow creased with concern and she reached out to smooth Michelle’s hair back from her face. “I don’t like what this is doing to you, honey. You have no life anymore, no friends.”
“I have a life, Mom. I work out at the gym three times a week, I play racquetball every Tuesday, I have a job I love—a job that lets me go places and meet people—I have my crafts, and I have Noby.”
“Noby aside, those are just activities, honey. They may fill up your time, but they won’t fill you up inside. I’m afraid your soul is going to wither, and one day you’ll wake up and find out it’s gone.”
“I have you and Dad.”
Grace’s lips tightened. “It’s not the same, Michelle. You know it’s not. You used to have so many friends I couldn’t keep track of them. Every time I talked to you, you were running off to help one of them or on your way to a party. You thrive on people, just like I do. Needlework, no matter how beautiful, and jobs, no matter how satisfying, can’t take the place of people in your heart.”
“I gave my heart to Brian. As long as there’s a chance he’s alive, it’s not mine to take back.”
“He has only a part of your heart, honey. What about the rest? What happened to Sarah and Jaime? I haven’t heard you mention either of them in months.”
“I still talk to Sarah, but with her new job, any free time she has she likes to spend with Roger. It’s the same with Jaime. She’s on a husband hunt again and inevitably has some guy in tow. I’m always the odd one out. Believe me, I’m happier at home with Noby than feeling like a fifth wheel every time I leave my house. Besides, I don’t think they understand about Brian. Ever since he was declared dead they’ve been after me to start dating again.”
Grace bent to take the tortillas out of the oven. “And maybe you should.”
“What?” Michelle’s shock was evident in her voice.
“You’re twenty-eight years old, Michelle. Brian’s been missing for more than five years. At some point you’re going to have to either get on with your life or die right along with him.”
Michelle paled. “How can you say that? I finally have word on Brian and all of a sudden you want me to give up on him?”
“The word is three years old, honey.”
“But it’s still more than I had a month ago.”
“I’m just afraid this is going to drag out forever, Michelle, with a word here and there, just enough to keep you hoping. And then one day you’ll realize your whole life has passed you by. You’ve always wanted a family more than anything else—you�
�d be a wonderful mother. But it’s never going to happen if you don’t lay the past to rest and start building a future for yourself.”
“You’re saying I should just call Frank Steele and tell him thanks but no thanks? That I should forget Brian, forget the vows I made to him, the love we shared, and go find some other man to father my children?” Michelle’s voice was clogged with tears.
“I’d never suggest that you forget any of it, sweetheart. I know how much you loved Brian. Your father and I loved him, too. I’m only saying that maybe it’s time for you to consider the possibility that Brian isn’t coming back.”
Michelle looked at her mother. “Would you, Mom? If it was Dad missing, would you give up, ever, if there was one iota of hope?”
Grace held her daughter’s gaze for a long second and then turned away. “If you run low on money to pay Frank’s fees, let us know. Your father and I will give you whatever you need.”
* * *
JACOB WAS WAITING, already in his swim trunks, when the girls got home from school. He knew they’d want to take advantage of the unseasonably warm weather with a swim in the ocean.
“What’s for a snack?” Allie asked as she led the line coming in through the front door of the beach house. Her long dark hair was falling loose from the ponytail he’d put it in that morning.
“I want peanut butter,” Jessie said, following right behind her sister. She was missing a barrette.
“Hi, Daddy,” Meggie said, dropping her book bag on the floor as she headed for the refrigerator. She’d braided her hair sometime after he’d left them that morning. There were straggling pieces sticking out all over her head.
“How was school?” Jacob asked, depositing three granola bars on the table. He reached past Meggie to grab the milk, then shut the refrigerator.
“Okay. Billy Martin spilled his juice at lunch and cried. Only babies cry, don’t they, Daddy?” Allie said as the three girls slipped into their chairs at the table. He used to have a glass tabletop. Now he had Formica. It was a breeze to clean and easily replaceable.
Four Times the Trouble Page 2