Blame it on Cupid

by Jennifer Greene

  On the other hand, Merry realized she was hardly in a position to criticize. Her hair was in straggly pigtails, her feet bare, and her old tee and jeans were covered in paint. Pink paint. In fact, the open can and brush were still dripping in the back room, undoubtedly starting to dry out. “I apologize for all the messes. After Charlie left for school this morning, I started painting in the spare room—”

  “Yes. Whatever. I’m here because I’ve been hearing a number of disturbing things that I feel we should discuss.”

  “Oh? Charlie’s doing great in school. Would you like some coffee? Or tea?”

  Mrs. Innes wanted tea. With milk. And she was one of those bag dunkers…the kind who dunked and dunked and dunked the bag, instead of just letting the darn thing stew in the hot water.

  The kitchen had breakfast dishes heaped in the sink, a dishwasher still loaded up, and a floor that wasn’t going to win prizes for sterility—all of which Mrs. Innes made a point of noticing.

  Merry had no doubt the situation was going to get worse.

  A few days before—in fact, all her life—she’d been an incurable optimist who could find the bright side in a tornado cloud. But these last days, well…Charlene had wakened Saturday morning with a toothache. Finding a dentist on the weekend was a pistol, particularly as Charlene didn’t like her dentist and only wanted to go to a dentist who was into “no pain.” Fine. Merry had asked half the neighborhood before identifying a name, then got lost driving there—which was nothing compared to how lost she’d gotten coming home. By the time they’d gotten back home, Charlene was sick to her stomach and Merry found two messages from Jack. He was driving the boys back to his ex-wife’s, would catch up with her when they could.

  It was like that. Phone tag. One crisis after another. Naturally she expected Jack needed some private dad time with Cooper, and that took precedence over anything else. But in the meantime, she was worried about both Cooper and Charlene, and she hadn’t slept in an unknown number of nights because of Jack.

  That was the Jack who didn’t trust her. The Jack who appeared to definitely not want any type of serious relationship, since he contradicted her when she’d tried to tactfully bring it up. And Merry had already told herself, several dozen times, that she’d never believed they had a future together. Her own mother had indelibly ingrained the lesson that she didn’t matter enough for people to stay—or specifically, for people to love her enough to stay.

  So she didn’t expect permanence from anyone, and certainly shouldn’t have from a guy she’d probably never have met if they hadn’t chanced on living next door to each other. All night, two nights in row, she’d told herself that only an idiot would build a few rolls in the hay and sympathetico conversations into the potential for a lifelong deal. She wasn’t an idiot. She was just the kind of person who always did things five hundred percent.

  And then paid the price for it.

  “I’ll be making a formal report to the judge this Friday.” June dunked the tea bag a few more times. “As I believe you were informed from the start, you’re in a probationary position as guardian. Whether Mr. Ross established you as his choice of guardian or not, the welfare of the child is the court’s final responsibility, especially in circumstances as unusual as this.”

  “I understand that.” Merry had poured coffee for herself, but she hadn’t taken a sip, couldn’t imagine her stomach tolerating anything right now. She was trying to sit across from Mrs. Innes and act as if everything was okay. But it wasn’t okay. In fact, darn well nothing was okay.

  Not only were dirty dishes heaped in the sink, but laundry was visibly piled on the laundry floor, and the massive canvasses of finger painting draped all the walls instead of Charlie’s famous nouveau art. And cripes, none of that stuff mattered. But June Innes’s expression did.

  Merry felt as fidgety as a child called into the principal’s office. She wasn’t afraid of June. The woman just always made her feel as if she were absolutely alone, with no one between her and a rotten black abyss.

  “Since you made this extra visit,” she said, “I assume you want to tell me what you plan to advise the judge.”

  “Yes. But first let me ask you, how you would evaluate how the child is doing.”

  Merry sensed a trap, but still felt that honesty was the only way to answer the question. “Charlene isn’t a run-of-the-mill kid. I don’t think any child is. But Charl is…so special. She’s ultra-bright, but she’s also more self-contained than most other kids. I think overall, her dad’s love gave her an incredibly sound foundation, but right now…”

  “Right now?” Mrs. Innes pressed.

  “Right now, she’s doing fine—on the surface. Her grades are terrific. She’s become involved with a variety of interests outside school as well. Sports, hobbies, friends. But—” Merry hesitated, thinking maybe she didn’t have to be totally honest…. Yet to be less just didn’t seem right. “I don’t believe she’s really dealt with her dad’s death. She’s not the kind of person to easily show emotional feelings, heaven knows, not like me. But I think there’s a pocket of hurt deep inside her that she just isn’t ready to let up for air yet.”

  June couldn’t have sat up straighter if there was a spear sticking up her behind. “I believe I instructed you several times to take her to a grief counselor.”

  “I understood that you were advising that. Not forcing it. And I wasn’t against the idea, Mrs. Innes, but Charlene was.”

  Ms. Innes took out a pencil, started thrumming it on the table. “She’s the child. You’re supposed to be the one who decides what she does and doesn’t do. She’s in no position to know what she needs.”

  “To a point I agree with you. But to a point I don’t. She’s not a baby. She’s been raised very independently and has very definite ideas about what she wants and needs—”

  “And you’d know this because you raised so many children yourself?” Without giving her a chance to respond, June continued. “The school claims she’s still running around in those outlandish clothes. Her father’s clothes. Men’s clothes.”

  “She is. Some of the time.”

  “And she’s still wearing her hair in that mannish style—”

  “Most of the time. Not always—”

  “Yet you still haven’t taken her to a counselor. And you’re still letting her call herself a boy’s name.”

  “Charlie was her dad’s name. The clothes were her dad’s clothes. It’s not the same thing as a gender issue. It’s about her father—”

  Mrs. Innes sighed. “You said that before, but you seem to think it’s an acceptable excuse. She’s doing some very unhealthy, abnormal things.”

  “Wait a minute. Please.” Merry’s stomach started churning acid. “I don’t know what your definition of ‘normal’ is. But I’m aware Charlene isn’t necessarily doing ‘standard’ things, but she’s not a standard kid. I’ve been trying to listen to her. To her heart. To her feelings. To respond to what she seems to need—”

  “And that sounds very nice,” Mrs. Innes said flatly. “But I had questions about your judgment before this. It’s not just her hair and appearance. It’s not just the lack of grief counseling. But her father seemed to have chosen such a completely inappropriate person to parent his daughter. You’re young and single, so you’re bound to get involved with someone and shake up her life all over again. You presume to make decisions when you have absolutely no parenting experience or psychology or experience with children. And when I contacted the school—I was told, well, for one thing, there were rumors about your having a pajama party that included boys.”

  “I was right here. In fact, so was a neighbor. All night. There wasn’t a minute that wasn’t supervised. I just—”

  “Furthermore,” Mrs. Innes continued, as if she hadn’t spoken at all, “I was informed that you not only allowed the child to skip school on Friday, but that you encouraged her. Even that you were frank with the school office about what you were doing.”

 
“Wait. Could you just wait for one second? You’re absolutely right that I told the school what I was doing. I had no reason to lie. I was taking her to the Smithsonian. It was an educational day. She probably got more out of it than she possibly could in regular classes—”

  “You still took her out of school.”

  “Because I thought she needed something special. Because I keep trying to find ways to bond with her, to build trust.” Merry wanted to go on, but darn it, she felt a brisk stab of guilt. She could defend taking Charl to the Smithsonian forever and a day, but truthfully, she’d originally thought up the outing to help Cooper. And Mrs. Innes didn’t have to sense weakness to pounce.

  “You think you build trust with a child by breaking the rules? By having her see that an authority figure in her life just arbitrarily ignores the rules? And that is the problem, Ms. Olson. You’re not an authority figure. You don’t appear to have any desire to be in that role, yet a child of that age needs exactly that.” Ms. Innes stood up and plucked her purse straps to her shoulder. “I’m not trying to be unkind.”

  Yeah? That was like saying Attila the Hun didn’t mean to rape and pillage.

  Merry, flushed and shaken, said, “June, I love her.”

  “That’s very nice. And important. But it’s not a magic qualification for being an appropriate guardian.”

  “I understand that.” Merry stood up, too, feeling more desperate by the second. “But I think loving her should matter. I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for her. And I’ve tried to make up for my inexperience with kids by reading a ton…books on grief, on preteens, on only children. On kids who are especially bright. On—”

  Mrs. Innes nodded tiredly. “That reading is very good, too, but books are simply no substitute for experience. Or judgment.” She pursed her lips. “I’ve seen for myself that you’re a very nice woman. Pretty. Lots of fun for a young person to be with. But as far as your capacity to provide direction and guidance, to prepare a child for the future, to establish an environment of security…”

  Although Mrs. Innes didn’t shudder, her opinion on those subjects was clear. As she marched toward the door, she said again, “I am sincerely not trying to be mean. But when I make my report to the judge, I felt it was only fair that you knew ahead where I stood. I believe someone else would be a more appropriate guardian for Charlene.”

  Once Merry let her out, she sank against the closed door, feeling as paralyzed as a cornered mouse, helpless and frustrated.

  They were going to try to take away Charlie?

  Her eyes squeezed closed. There was no question that some of June Innes’s arrows had hit the target. Hadn’t she felt inadequate in this guardian job from the beginning? Wasn’t she inadequate compared to a bona fide experienced mother?

  Her heart whispered a yes, because damn it, a heart had to be honest.

  Yet an image leaked into her mind of June Innes—or someone like June Innes becoming Charlene’s guardian. Someone stiff. Someone who had all the answers. All their answers. Not Charlene’s.

  It was what Charlie Ross had feared all those years ago—that no one would give a damn about his daughter. No one would love her for herself.

  But Merry did.

  She simply couldn’t desert or abandon Charlene to the system—not without a fight. A real fight. A fight to win, whatever it took.

  That thought led to another…

  Jack.

  She may have realized she loved him. But so far she’d run from any kind of painful confrontation with him. It hadn’t seemed that way…just the way it never seemed, all her life, that she always had a good excuse for moving on, rather than call a spade a spade. Running away was running away.

  To win anything she needed in her life—anything she wanted—anything she loved…she had to quit running. Not talk about it. Do it.

  THE TELEPHONE CALL CAME two minutes after Merry had immersed herself in butter-almond bubbles in the bathtub. She couldn’t believe it. She was so tired she could barely think. The day had been nonstop, involving painting and then calls to Lee and then more calls to Lee, then dinner and trying to clean up and carpooling Charlene to the library…she just wanted a good long mindless soak.

  Instead she grabbed a towel and hustled out. She couldn’t ignore the call; she was overdue a return call from both her dad and Lucy. She grabbed the closest receiver, still dripping wet. It was Jack.

  His voice rolled over her nerves like velvet on a shiver.

  “I haven’t been able to catch up with you for love or money,” he said. “Cooper and Kevin are back with their mother, so I’m finally free, but I’m guessing you’re likely tied up with Charlene—”

  “Actually, Charlie’s at the library until nine. Her history teacher set the kids up with this terrific project. He’s teaching them how to research from a variety of sources, by setting up this treasure hunt kind of thing—” Sheesh, what was wrong with her? Her heart was hanging out like drool just to hear his voice, and here she was, soaking wet and shivering and babbling on like a goose. “Anyway, I don’t have to pick her up until nine.”

  “So…you might have time for a drink? Like over at Wiley’s?”

  “A drink?”

  “Yeah. I was thinking it’d be nice to talk somewhere there weren’t kids. Somewhere there weren’t interruptions. And I really want to tell you about my conversation with Cooper. You won’t believe it.”

  He wanted to talk about kids, she thought. Not them. Even so…she was determined to stop running away from the chance of being hurt—or of lying. And the truth, very much, was that she wanted to see Jack—for any reason.

  She called Charlene on the cell so Charlene would know where to reach her, then dug into her makeup bag. There wasn’t dust on it from lack of use, but it came close.

  She wasn’t about to waste too much time—not when it was already seven. But it only took a few seconds to pull on a loose red sweater that skimmed her shoulders, and jeans with heels, then to swish on some mascara and eyeshadow and a splash of bar-red lip gloss.

  After a cooped-up day of worry and hand wringing about June Innes, it felt good to get out in the air, breathe in something different, think something different. Walking into Wiley’s was even better. Maybe it was a neighborhood bar, but it wasn’t all plump guys with beer bellies glooming on the ESPN screen. With half the world divorced these days, it was clearly a neighborhood place for singles to have an easy conversation. Nothing fancy, but the décor was definitely comfortable—knotted pine walls, plank floor, the ceiling decorated in cartoons and jokes, fat blue cushions in the booths.

  Three men glanced up when she walked in, looked her over in a way she’d almost forgotten. She used to do this all the time, but now it seemed like a lifetime since she’d played the game—met a guy for a drink. Indulged in some grown-up flirting. Looked forward to laughing and light conversation and just an excuse to let some chemistry loose on a guy.

  Normally she wouldn’t have minded the looks of appreciation, either, but not this time. She searched the crowd for Jack. He was the only one she wanted to vent any chemistry on.

  She spotted him in a booth by the far window. He was on his feet before she could reach him. There was a snap in his eyes, a kindling when he looked her over. Her heart felt the heady kick. He liked how she looked, was seeing her differently away from a kitchen and a suburban yard.

  She’d wanted him to. Needed him to.

  “We’ve had the hardest time getting together,” he said wryly. The barkeep ambled over; Jack sprang for a Pinot Noir for her, a draft for himself.

  “It’s been crazy at our house, too. And today was the worst.”

  “What happened?”

  “The guardian ad litem made an impromptu visit this morning. She reports to the judge this Friday. I know she’s going to contest my guardianship.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous! Is the woman really that stupid?”

  Jack’s disbelief was like salve for a burn—damn, but she’d nee
ded to hear someone believed in her! And especially Jack. Still, as much as she wanted to tell him the whole story—and scoop up all the sympathy he was willing to give her—it just wasn’t the time or the place. She didn’t want time with Jack to always be about her or her issues. “I’ll tell you more, but just not now. I’ve worried about it so much my mind’s shut down. I honestly need to put it aside for a few hours so I can think about it fresh tomorrow.”

  “If you want my help, or if there’s something I can do—”

  “I know, Jack.” She did know he’d help. Jack was the only one who didn’t see himself as a hero. “And I may ask you. But for right now…I’d really like to hear what happened when you talked to Cooper.”

  He hesitated, clearly concerned about the guardian problem, but then he seemed to honor what she’d asked—which was true enough. Right now all she was bringing to the guardian problem was a sick sense of worry and ten tons of anxiety.

  He chugged a few slugs of his draft, and she leveled the Pinot Noir as he spilled the Cooper story. “You told me to be careful, talking to him. That it was a sensitive problem. So thankfully I was prepared, Merry, but damn it, that little hussy really broke his heart.”

  She knew.

  “I’d like to take her apart with my bare hands. Obviously you can’t save your kids from the hurts that come from growing up. First loves. Rejections. All that. But, Kicker—hell, he was born loving girls, playing them, being played. He likes everything about the game. Somewhere in there he’s got deeper feelings, but overall, what you see is what you get. Where Cooper…”

  “Coop is deep waters all the way,” Merry murmured.

  “Yeah. He doesn’t open up at all unless he feels safe, really trusts. So that little…”

  “Bitch?”

  “I wasn’t going to call a fifteen-year-old girl a bitch,” Jack assured her.

  “Well, in this case the shoe fits. She used and abused him. She knew what she was doing.”

  “No fifteen-year-old kid knows what they’re doing.” He suddenly frowned, and when Merry turned around to see what he was frowning at, she saw a woman walking toward them.