by Alice Orr
“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Megan went on.
“But I should,” Katherine was surprised to hear herself say.
Megan nodded her cap of sleek, red curls so unlike the thicket of unruly dark-blond waves Katherine had spent what felt like several lifetimes trying to tame.
“That’s what we’ve been led to believe,” Megan said as she poured milk into the bottom of her empty teacup in the English-Irish manner, before adding the tea she’d insisted on having triple-brewed. “Confession is good for the soul. Otherwise, all those daytime talk-show hosts would have to take themselves out into the world and try to find honest work for a change.”
Katherine laughed. “Yes, and what would they possibly be qualified to do?”
“My job, probably.”
“I doubt that.”
Megan was one of the best child psychologists around. Her accomplishments were legendary at Arbor Hill Children’s Center where she and Katherine had worked together for eight months now.
“We digress,” Megan said with a twinkle in her brown eyes. “In case you might think I didn’t notice.”
“When can you ever recall there being anything you didn’t notice?”
Megan feigned intense concentration for a moment.
“I know,” she said. “I didn’t notice that there were three billion calories on this silver whatsis here before I polished its cute little shelves clean.”
She was talking about the three-tiered silver spindle laden with scones, Devonshire cream and tiny cakes that had accompanied tea. As usual, Katherine hadn’t touched a thing. Appetite had been a problem for her ever since she left Chicago and even before.
“So talk to me, girlfriend.”
Megan wasn’t to be denied.
Katherine sighed. “I thought I was working my way out from under, and instead I find myself burrowing in.”
“Out from under what and into what?” Megan licked the last bit of cream from her lacquered fingernails.
“I’d say life, but you’d laugh me out of here for being melodramatic.”
“I’d be sorely tempted to do exactly that.”
“Me too.” Katherine toyed with her teacup. “It’s just that I wanted to keep myself at a distance for a while.”
“At a distance from what?” the relentless Megan chimed in when Katherine hesitated a moment too long after that last statement.
“Hurtful things. I wanted to keep myself at a distance from getting attached in the way that can lead to feeling hurtful things.”
There. She’d said it, and she was only moderately tempted to dissolve into a puddle of tears.
“How successful have you been at that distancekeeping?”
Somebody else might cut Katherine some slack or commiserate with her, but not Megan.
“Apparently, not very successful at all. I seem to have taken on the hurtful-things department as my personal, professional territory these days. I’m getting attached to it, too.”
“You could have said no.”
Not a centimeter of slack, yet again.
“That would have been a violation of the pledge I made to myself when I came here, to start saying yes to things instead of worrying them to death first.”
“Saying yes to life and hiding from it at the same time. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
Katherine laughed. “I was talking about saying yes to professional possibilities, whatever they might be. That’s how I turned out to be an administrator of a public agency when everything I ever worked at up till then had been strictly about making money. But the first job that came up for a budget administrator after I came to town nine months ago happened to be at the Arbor Hill Center. The rest, as they say, is history.”
“I wondered about that. We don’t get too many job applications from MBAs.”
“If you did wonder, I can’t understand your not asking.”
“I try to respect the privacy of my friends.”
Katherine laughed fully out loud at that.
“I’m glad to hear you’ve got a laugh like that in you,” Megan said.
“I guess I’ve been something of a sad sack since you met me.”
“Not so much a sad sack as a workhorse.”
Katherine nodded.
“And the children of Arbor Hill are duly grateful,” Megan said. “That little place of ours has never run so efficiently. You know how to make a dollar do double duty, and that’s just what we need over there.”
“I wish that’s what they’d kept me doing,” Katherine said ruefully.
“You really don’t like this Most Needy Cases Fund selection committee thing, do you?”
Katherine shrugged. The last thing she’d wanted when she took the job at the center was to be working up close and personal with the lives of the kids they served there—or their families, either. She’d signed on as a numbercruncher, no more, no less. The Most Needy Cases Fund was the center’s annual drive to award cash grants to families at the holiday season. Unfortunately, there wasn’t money enough to cover everybody who applied. A selection process was necessary, and that process had sometimes fallen short in the efficiency department in years past. As Megan said, Katherine had attracted a reputation for efficiency in her few months here. Consequently, when the fund-recipient selection committee was being formed for this year’s campaign, the perfect choice to head up the effort was apparently obvious to everyone—everyone except Katherine, that is. She’d tried to say no, but, with first-class persuaders like Megan lined up against her, Katherine’s protests had barely been heard.
“It’s important work,” she said now. She’d had to resign herself to how true those words were and what that meant for her. “Somebody has to do it.”
“But it’s a bummer sometimes.”
“Yes.” Megan had a way of saying the right words when they were most needed. “A definite bummer.”
Katherine would have sworn the Christmas lights strung across the tearoom window dimmed for an instant then, as if they agreed.
“Christmas is only a week away,” Megan said. “After that, the fund campaign will be over till next year.”
“You’re right. I can stand almost anything for a week.” Including the Christmas season itself, she thought, though she was well aware that seven days could feel like an eternity sometimes. “Just as long as they don’t spring anything else on me.”
“Here’s to no more surprises.”
Katherine and Megan clinked teacups. Katherine, while managing another smile for Megan’s sake, noticed the holiday window lights blink and sputter and then click off altogether, as if something in the wiring had gone suddenly awry.
KATHERINE HADN’T TOLD Megan about going back to the office that evening. She’d have taken the opportunity to repeat her lecture on overwork for sure. Much as Megan was one of Katherine’s favorite people in the world, she wasn’t in the mood for being lectured tonight, or for going home to her empty apartment either. She drove from the teashop to Clinton Avenue instead, then the few blocks northeast to Arbor Drive. She parked her car and hurried across the dark parking lot to the brown cement-block single-story Arbor Hill Children’s Center building at the edge of a scruffy field. The baseball diamond and backstop fence were in that field, mostly buried under sullied urban snow, all made invisible by the evening’s overcast sky. There was a streetlight near the center’s entranceway, but it was out of order much of the time. Tonight was one of those times. Vandals or municipal neglect. The light over the center’s entranceway was out, too, making it necessary for her to watch carefully where she was stepping with the not-very-practical high-heeled boots she wore to make herself appear taller than her five foot five. That concentration on the ground was the reason she didn’t notice someone coming up behind her till it was too late.
“It’s not smart for a woman to be out here alone in this neighborhood at night.”
The edge of menace in that voice caused Katherine to spin around too fast on he
r precarious footwear. She felt her slide begin at the same instant she realized there was nothing she could do to stop it. She also knew she wasn’t about to be a victim of this hulk of a man towering over her now. These boots of hers were good for more than falling down. This guy could expect a high heel in the groin as soon as she was on her back and into kicking position. She was already mentally prepared for that defensive move when a startling steel grip halted her fall.
“I’ve seen those stupid boots you wear. It’s a wonder you haven’t taken a header into the asphalt before this.”
Katherine was bracing herself to rake her boot heel down his shin when she recognized his voice, or thought she did.
“Maltese, from Recreation. Is that you?” she asked.
His short laugh was unmistakably derisive, and somewhat annoyed. She had heard from others at the center that Vic Maltese had a way with kids. He respected them and earned their respect in return. But, in her few encounters with him, she’d noticed that just beneath the surface he always seemed to be angry about something. Tonight was no exception.
“You got it right,” he said. “Maltese from Recreation. That must be how you list me in those account books you keep.”
“I’m not an accountant, and you can let me go now.”
His grip was still on her arm.
“I think I’ll hang on to you till you’re safely at the door. We wouldn’t want to lose our top-shelf bean counter to a patch of ice.”
He’d started walking toward the building entrance with her arm clamped firmly in his big hand. She had little choice but to keep up, cursing with every skittering step the boots he had rightly called stupid. Meanwhile, she could feel her dignity about to slip away on a surface as glassy as this parking lot.
“I don’t know where you came up with the idea that I’m an accountant,” she said, doing her best to remain upright and sound like a serious professional at the same time. “My title is Administrative Budget and Program Coordinator.”
Another derisive laugh. “Do you always talk like a corporate report?”
No, Buster, Katherine would have liked to say. Lunkheads like you just bring that out in me.
“Look, Mr. Maltese…”
“Victor. The name is Victor. Everybody calls me Vic. You should be calling me that, too. We’re supposed to be colleagues. Right?”
He said the word colleagues as if it was a joke.
“Yes, we are colleagues.” She deliberately didn’t call him by name, either first or last. She had no intention of letting him take charge of what, for some reason, he insisted on making a debate between them. “And that means your attitude right now is inappropriate. If you have some problem with me, you should come to my office during business hours and we’ll discuss it.”
“Then who’d be here to keep you from tumbling onto your behind in the parking lot?”
Katherine didn’t know what made her want to deck him more, his mocking tone or his mention of her behind.
“Will you let go of me now?” she all but shouted, her irritation echoing across the empty parking lot.
They were at the gated door to the children’s center building. High-quality security gates and window gratings were among the first additions Katherine had to find funds for when she came on staff here. A break-in shortly before she arrived had cost the center plenty. Otherwise, she might not have been able to convince the board of directors that such a large short-range expenditure would pay for itself in the long run. Not that they were stingy types. There was simply too much to be done and too little money to do it with. Right now, she could think of one cost-cutting measure that would definitely win her vote—elimination of the current Recreation Director.
“Consider yourself let go,” he said, still unfortunately uneliminated, and dropped her arm.
“Thank you for your assistance,” Katherine said, brushing away the creases his grip had made in her coat sleeve.
“There you go talking like a corporate report again. You really should try to do something about that.”
“I’ll put it on my calendar.”
Katherine didn’t want any conflicts with center staff, but if this guy insisted on being rude and sarcastic, he’d get the same from her in return.
“How about putting me on your calendar, too? Like for right now.”
Katherine fished her key ring out of her coat pocket where she kept it, along with a small money purse pinned to the pocket lining. She didn’t carry a purse most of the time—one of the concessions she made to working on the poorer side of town—and her briefcase was inside her office.
“I told you, Mr. Maltese…”
“Vic.”
“Whatever. The point is, I told you to make an appointment during business hours.”
She turned the key in the lock and was about to push aside the accordion-style gate when Mr. Maltese’s fist clamped around the metal with a belligerent clang.
“You’re here to take care of business. Right? I don’t imagine this is a social call.”
He indicated the dark building and the fact that they were obviously alone. For the first time, it occurred to Katherine that maybe she should be concerned about more than just this guy’s sarcastic mouth. He was a big man, after all, and obviously, from his present behavior at least, something of a brute. Her instincts told her sexual assault wouldn’t be his thing, but she should be cautious anyway.
“Mr. Maltese,” she said in her most authoritative tone. “I want you to leave now.”
“I’ve wanted you to leave ever since they hired you.”
That brought Katherine up short. She’d had no idea anyone felt so negatively about her.
“Why?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“Don’t take it personally. I feel the same way about all you ledger-heads.”
“I told you. I’m not an accountant.”
“Paper-pushers are all the same to me. You’ve got bottom lines where your hearts should be.”
She couldn’t see him sneer in the darkness, but she could hear it in his words. He was standing very close to her, looming like a tall, broad wall between her and escape. She didn’t really know him or what he was capable of. Most of what she’d heard about him had come from the center’s female support staff, all of whom thought he was the hottest thing around. Katherine could hardly agree. She’d never been a devotee of the angry-young-man type. Beyond that, there was something of the wild, restless animal about Victor Maltese. She could feel it in him now. Maybe that turned some women on, but for Katherine it was something to be guarded against.
“Apparently, you have a problem with the way I do my job,” she began, calm and impersonal to keep things cool.
“You’re damned right I do. You’re in charge of decisions here that can make or break people’s lives, and I don’t think you’ve got qualification number one for doing that.” “Are you referring to the Most Needy Cases Fund?”
“You guessed it. I’ve got a real problem with a bean counter running that committee. Who are you to be making the call about which families are in and which families are out when it comes to passing out money that’s needed more than you ever needed anything in your life? What do you really know about these people and their lives? How close have you ever been to where they are? I’d lay down good money that says the only time you’ve ever spent in the street is at one of those cute little sidewalk cafés they opened up for all of you yuppies over in the Pastures.”
Katherine had asked herself those same questions about her personal credentials for the job they’d given her, but she wasn’t going to let this testosterone case know that.
“It’s a bit cold for sidewalk cafés this time of year, Mr. Maltese,” she said.
“Too cold for a lot of things,” he shot back and shook the metal gate with another loud clang before letting go of it. “You’d better put me on that calendar of yours for first thing tomorrow, and the folks I bring with me, too.”
He turned and walked away from her th
en with just enough arrogant street roll in his stride to make her want to scream, “Who do you think you are?” at his leather-clad back. But Katherine was a serious professional so she didn’t.
COYOTE WATCHED them from the field where he was crouched down in the brush. He could tell they were arguing, but he couldn’t make out the words except for Miss Fairchild yelling at Mr. Maltese to let her go. Coyote had been to this place a few times and knew the recreationprogram guy. Last spring during baseball games, he had helped Coyote out with learning how to pitch straight and hard. Coyote had made a point of trying to steer clear of him, anyway. Mr. Maltese was the kind that wanted to be right up in a kid’s business too much of the time. He did it because he thought he was helping out, but Coyote didn’t need that attention. Well, maybe he did need it, but he didn’t want it. Grown-ups who worked in places like this center had a way of getting in your life, messing around with it, then moving on while you were left with the mess. Coyote had seen it happen more than once, and he definitely didn’t need that.
What he did need was this lady’s help. He’d recognized her from the photograph in the newspaper, and he had to find a way to get to her.
After Mr. Maltese walked away and Katherine Fairchild let herself into the building, Coyote waited for a light to come on somewhere inside. Sure enough, a few minutes later, light appeared at the second set of windows from the end of the building. When Coyote got to those windows and peeked very carefully inside, he could see this was her office. But that wasn’t what caught his attention and held it like a magnet to the spot.
At the top of a wire basket on the corner of her desk was a pile of unopened envelopes that must be her mail. About three pieces down in the pile, one stuck out from the others enough for Coyote to see it and recognize what was there—his handwriting, the thin envelope paper from Rite Aid, even a dirt smudge and some wrinkling where it would have gotten wet when he dropped it on the ground.