“Is it only Sierra?” his mother asked softly. “I thought that maybe for the first time since Cassia…”
“I thought so, too,” he admitted. “But there were too many complications. We couldn’t make it work.”
“Oh, Jon.”
He couldn’t handle the pity in her eyes. Straightening, he said, “Did I tell you the Dispatch is going to endorse me? Don’t know about the Times yet. It’s early, but every little bit helps.”
She brightened, made appropriate exclamations, and then remembered she needed to get the baked beans in to heat. Subject changed successfully.
Nothing resolved in his head.
PUSHING ASIDE his empty bowl, Jon opened the Seattle Times to the local section. This was Friday, so he set aside the sports page along with the advertising inserts. Once upon a time he’d followed UW football as well as the Seahawks more closely. Lately he had time only to skim postgame articles in case the subject came up when he was at one of his political events.
“What in the hell was the coaching staff thinking, sending in that junior quarterback instead of Hensel?” someone would say.
He could say knowledgeably, “The kid didn’t do that badly, considering. Face it, the season’s lost anyway. Why not give him some seasoning?”
Like he gave a damn.
He reached for his coffee as Sierra plunked down a bowl of cereal on the dining-room table and pulled out her chair.
“Good morning,” he said, glancing up to see that she wore cartoon-printed flannel pajama bottoms that hung low on her hips and a thin tank top that clung to her small breasts. Jon averted his gaze uncomfortably. He didn’t like even noticing his daughter had breasts. This was the kind of thing a father usually grew into. Or maybe they were all uneasy with any awareness of a daughter’s sexuality. How was he supposed to know?
He took a long swallow of coffee. Forget the Times. He had to be out the door in twenty-five minutes, and he still had a couple of calls to return. He groped at his belt and realized he’d left his BlackBerry upstairs by his bed. He started to stand as she flopped herself into her chair.
“I asked Lucy if I could have dinner at her house tonight.”
Jon’s attention snapped to his daughter, who was staring defiantly at him across the table. “What?”
“I thought I could go over there after school and stay for dinner.”
“What did she say?”
Her lower lip protruded. “No. Of course. She knows you’d say no.”
“Because her mother will be there.”
Sierra glared at him.
He hated that pout. It irritated him and made him feel guilty all at once. “She’s right.”
“Why?” she cried. “Why do you even want me living with you if you don’t know me at all?”
Jon struggled for patience. “How does my saying I don’t want you sitting down to dinner with a woman who’s been a drug addict for thirty years mean I don’t know you?”
“Because you should know I’m not going to become a druggy just because I meet one.” The way she looked at him was damned near as scathing as Lucy’s last stare had been. “Do you know how many kids at the high school use? Everybody goes to parties. I know two girls who are pregnant and another one who had an abortion this summer. Somehow I haven’t gotten pregnant yet.”
Not an announcement he wanted to hear. Okay, he knew sixteen-year-old girls got pregnant. Ones a lot younger than that did. Thirteen-, fourteen-year-old runaways were picked up for hooking all the time. But this was his daughter. Jon gritted his teeth.
“I’m well aware that Lucy’s mother doesn’t have a contagious virus. That doesn’t mean I think it’s okay for you to spend time with a woman like that.” Even he knew he sounded like a prig. He didn’t need Sierra’s incredulous stare to tell him.
She pushed her cereal bowl away. Milk slopped onto the quilted place mat and pooled on the wood surface. “I love Lucy.”
“I know,” Jon said quietly. “And I know you don’t understand.”
“I thought I wanted a real dad, but I wish I’d never looked for you. Lucy is my family,” she spat, and jumped to her feet. “Not you!”
He closed his eyes briefly and groped for self-control. And, maybe, a touch of insight about what Sierra needed from him.
Lucy, tell me how to handle this. Tell me what to say.
She’d know. He had no doubt she would.
The irony didn’t escape him. He needed her. And yet here he was, telling his teenage daughter Lucy was forbidden to her. That Lucy was someone who made lousy decisions, who couldn’t be trusted. And he knew better, but damn it, damn it, she’d pushed him too far. Why couldn’t she see that? Why wasn’t she willing to relent enough to allow him to back off from his ultimatum, too? How could he, if she wouldn’t?
And yeah, she was right. This was partly about the election. What was he supposed to do, throw it away for love?
“Sierra…”
“Oh, what’s the use?” The teenager raced for the stairs. The thunder of her footsteps sounded as if she was a 250-pound linebacker, not a slight and airy girl.
Jon winced in advance of the door slamming up above.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. That went well. His life had turned into a melodrama. To top it off, he hadn’t made a single phone call, and now if he made any he’d be late. He stared balefully at the mess on the table and realized he had to clean it up before he left.
Swearing, he grabbed Sierra’s cereal bowl and his coffee cup and carried both to the kitchen sink.
LUCY HADN’T ENJOYED the short drive home from work so much in ages. Not, she thought with a pang, since she’d had Sierra chattering beside her.
She and her mother were both excited. Her mom had worked a half day today for Harry Tullis, who owned the used bookstore half a block from Barks and Purrs. A help-wanted sign had gone up in his window Wednesday.
“Will it make things awkward for you if I apply and he doesn’t hire me?” her mom had asked.
Lucy had hastened to assure her that she knew Harry only casually, mostly from the downtown merchants association meetings.
Terry had disappeared down the street and returned triumphant. “It’s only eight hours a week right now. Two half days, but he thinks he might lose his other part-time employee and that would mean more hours.”
Lucy had hugged her mother with genuine pleasure. “It’s just what you wanted—books.”
Seeing her mother’s pleasure made Lucy’s day. Apparently business had been slow this afternoon—no surprise given that it was for Lucy, too. But the absence of customers had given her mom time to browse shelves and get familiar with the stock. Lucy already knew that Harry carried an exceptional local history section as well as an enormous fantasy and science-fiction section. Her mom was delighted by both.
Lucy unlocked her front door and stepped back to let her mother go in first. When she started to follow, she ran right into her mom, who had come to an abrupt stop. “What—”
“It smells like someone’s cooking dinner.”
It did. Like…spaghetti. Which so happened to be Sierra’s specialty. Lucy pushed past her mother and hurried to the kitchen.
Sure enough, Sierra wore Lucy’s voluminous white chef’s apron and was stirring sauce in a saucepan on the stove. She grinned, although her cheeks were suspiciously pink. “Hey. I thought I’d surprise you.”
Lucy crossed her arms and said sternly, “Sierra Lind. What are you doing here?”
Her chin jutted out. “I wanted to come.” She looked past Lucy. “Is this your mom?”
Jon was going to be furious. For once, Lucy couldn’t blame him. “Yes. Mom, meet Sierra, who should not be here. Sierra, meet my mother, Terry.”
“Pleased to meet you,” her mother murmured.
Sierra waved the spoon. Spatters of red sauce flew. “Oops,” she said sheepishly. “Hi.”
“Answer my question.”
Sierra’s chin came up. “I got mad and came
anyway.”
“Does your father know?”
Sierra looked down at her toes, painted as blue as her hair. “I sort of left him a phone message.”
Dear God. “Sort of?”
Defiance flashed in her eyes when she lifted her head again. “I did leave him a message, but I left it on his home phone. I didn’t want to call his cell.”
“Because he answers that.”
Mouth mulish, she shrugged.
Lucy reached for her own phone.
“Don’t call him,” Sierra cried.
“Of course I have to call him. He has a right to know where you are.”
“He’ll find out when he gets home.”
“Which will be when?”
“Who knows? Probably late. He’s, like, never home. He probably won’t even notice I’m not there until tomorrow. If then.”
Whoa. Wait. Tomorrow? Sierra thought she was here to stay?
Lucy cleared her throat. “Leaving aside the whole issue of whether you’re a dinner guest or imagine you’re moving back in, I don’t buy it that your father is that indifferent.” Tempting though it was to think the worst of him. “You’re seriously telling me he won’t stop by your bedroom to check on you, even if he comes in late?”
Sierra resumed studying her toes.
“You don’t see him at breakfast?”
“Sometimes,” she mumbled.
“Is he going to blame me because you’re here?”
She looked up at that. “No! I told him you said no. Okay?”
Her mom, Lucy realized, had discreetly absented herself. Suddenly tired, Lucy asked, “Then why are you here?” even though she knew.
“Because I want to live with you, not him,” Sierra cried passionately. “I brought clothes and everything. I won’t go back.”
Oh, man. All Lucy wanted to do was gather this child into her arms and hug her. But how could she? With her agreement, Jon now had temporary custody. She couldn’t imagine what would happen if she tried to defend Sierra’s right to choose where she was going to live.
“Sierra…you have to go back. He’s your father.”
Sierra looked her right in the eye and said, “If you make me, I’ll run away. He’s being stupid and irrational and he has no right. You know he doesn’t.”
“Legally—”
“I don’t care about legally. I’m sixteen. I want to live with you.” She suddenly looked stricken. “Unless you don’t want me.”
Emotion rushed through Lucy like a tsunami hitting the shoreline. Overpowering, inescapable. “You know I do,” she whispered. “You know I love you.”
Sierra burst into noisy sobs, dropped the spoon and flung herself into Lucy’s arms.
Lucy was lost.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JON GOT HOME EARLY to find the house empty. No sign Sierra had ever made it home from school. Her book bag wasn’t flung in its usual spot on her desk, her laptop didn’t repose on her bed. In fact, her bed was made. He stood in the bedroom doorway staring at it. Had she made it even once since coming to live with him?
Feeling a chill, he stepped into the room. No dirty clothes dangled over the rim of the mesh hamper he’d bought for her. No shoes lay wherever she’d kicked them off. The desk was tidy, drawers all closed.
Maybe she’d felt guilty for her outburst this morning and cleaned her bedroom. Put in a load of laundry before she left for school.
Swearing, he slid open her closet door and saw with relief that her clothes still hung in there. Shoes tangled haphazardly on the carpeted floor.
Okay. She’d had some after-school thing and simply wasn’t home yet. She should have called to let him know, but—
As if on cue, his cell phone vibrated at his waist and he glanced down. He tensed at the number displayed on the screen.
Lucy’s.
Flipping the phone open, he said, “Lucy?”
“Jon.” She sounded calm. “I thought I’d better let you know that Sierra is here.”
The headache he’d been fighting all day clamped tighter. “What the hell?”
“I think you’d better come over.”
“To pick her up? Damn straight.”
“She says she won’t go with you.” He swore.
“She made spaghetti. Will you come to dinner and let us all talk about this?”
“You mean let her get her spoiled way?”
“Spoiled?” Her tone bristled. “My fault?”
“If the shoe fits.” He was too furious to care if he sounded less than mature.
“Fine,” she said tersely. “One way or the other, we’ll see you when we see you.” The next second, she was gone.
He slammed his cell phone closed and wondered if she’d done the same. The string of obscenities he let loose didn’t make him feel any better. Lucy thought she was going to win, did she? Jon couldn’t believe she didn’t know him better than that by now.
He detoured by the bathroom and downed enough ibuprofen to kill any pain that was merely physical, then left the house.
The drive wasn’t long enough to allow him get a grip on his turbulent emotions or for his headache to let up. He stalked to the front door and hammered on it.
Lucy opened it and cocked her head. “Are we going to have a scene?”
He hated the way it took only the sight of her to knock him back. Her feet were bare and she wore faded jeans and a bright yellow T-shirt. Her wealth of dark hair cascaded over her shoulders and breasts. He wanted to plunge his hands into it and kiss her until neither of them remembered why he was there.
“Yes,” he said in a hard voice. “Unless Sierra has her things together and is ready to go.”
“We just started to eat.”
“We.”
Color stained her cheeks. “Yes, my mother is here. She’s probably in the kitchen right now jotting down the phone numbers of all the drug dealers she knows. She always made sure I knew where to buy. She was an open kind of mom.” She swung around and stalked away.
Jon had no trouble catching up to her and reached the kitchen on her heels.
Sierra had squeezed in on the far side of the table, wedged where he couldn’t grab her even if he’d been inclined. She met his eyes, her expression mutinous.
He ignored Lucy’s mother, who also sat at the table, his attention all on his daughter. “You couldn’t even leave me a note?”
“I left a phone message.”
He removed his phone from his belt and made a point of staring at it. No messages.
“On your home phone.” Which she knew he scarcely used.
“Sierra, this isn’t an option.”
“Don’t I have any say in my life?”
“Not about where you live.”
“I could go to court and ask to be emancipated.”
A sharp, humorless laugh broke from him. “Claiming I’m abusive?”
Her eyes glittered with anger. “Claiming you’re a stranger who thinks he can take over my life. Your sperm got Mom pregnant. So what? That doesn’t make you my father.”
Beside him, Lucy said, “She’s right. It doesn’t. I’m sorry I ever encouraged this relationship.”
That hurt more than he wanted to admit even to himself. “It’s you two who came to me, not the other way around. None of us can undo it. I take my responsibilities seriously.”
Lucy’s lip curled. “Every girl’s dream. To be one of Daddy’s responsibilities.”
“It damn well beats the alternative,” he snarled, then remembered too late how close to home he’d struck.
Lucy’s face paled.
“Enough!”
Startled, they all stared at Lucy’s mother.
“There is a child here,” she said sharply. “If you’re going to yell at each other, go somewhere else. Otherwise, sit and discuss this like two reasonable adults.”
Jon looked at Lucy’s stricken expression, then at his daughter, whose eyes were glittering with tears. A huge wave of helplessness overcame him. Now what
?
Terry raised her eyebrows at him. “Have you eaten?” she asked in a much softer tone.
“No.”
“Then take a seat. Everyone. Eat.”
He focused on the table and realized it was set for four. Stiffly Jon moved to the chair adjacent to Sierra’s. She didn’t look at him when he sat.
“Would you like something to drink?” Lucy asked him, as cordial as a waitress at the end of a twelve-hour shift from hell.
The county sheriff’s department was over 750 employees strong. How did he expect to be able to handle the job if he couldn’t handle one petite, fiery woman and one defiant teenage girl?
“Milk is fine.”
She poured him a glass and set it at his place without comment, then took her own seat. After a minute, she handed him a bowl of spaghetti.
Jon added sauce, took a slice of garlic bread and some salad. This felt surreal.
Sierra’s hair hid her face from him. She didn’t so much as pick up her fork.
Terry studied him, then said, “I can only apologize for my part in all this. If I’d known how much disruption I was going to be causing, I would have made other arrangements when I was released.”
“I wouldn’t have let you,” Lucy snapped.
Terry didn’t even glance at her daughter. Her eyes held his, and he couldn’t help seeing she meant what she’d said. Her regret looked genuine.
He dipped his head in acknowledgment.
She laid a hand on Sierra’s. “You’re a good cook. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” his daughter mumbled.
“I started a new job today.”
When no one else said anything, Jon felt compelled to be polite, for reasons mysterious to him. “I thought you were working for Lucy.”
“I am, three days a week. And I love it.” She smiled at Lucy. “I’m a huge reader, though, and I worked in the library at the correctional institute. I was hoping to find something in a library or bookstore, and I did. Only a few hours a week, but I can’t think of anything more wonderful than being able to talk about books with customers.” She chatted about the used bookstore that Jon knew was on the same block as Lucy’s store, how she’d be working only two half days a week but it was a foot in the door.
Finding Her Dad Page 19