The Quiet Child

by Debra Salonen

  “No, he wouldn’t have. I wouldn’t have let him.”

  He snickered softly. “I know. But I wasn’t used to having someone else fighting on my side. Everything happened so fast between us—we met, fell in love, moved in together, got engaged and bought a house. I think at some level I knew I’d eventually blow it…and I did.”

  “We both blew it, Mark. I knew you were nervous about how fast things were progressing between us, but when I have an agenda…look out. Just ask my sisters,” she said with a soft snicker. “When we used to dance as the Sisters of the Silver Dollar, I was a real diva. We wore the costumes I picked out, did the numbers I wanted. I swear that’s one of the reasons we stopped performing together. That, and Dad’s death.”

  She sighed deeply and sat up. “Life has a way of teaching us lessons we need to learn. I still like to run things…obviously, but now I try to listen to other opinions, too. So, if you’re more comfortable with a pillow between us tonight, I say, ‘No problem.’”

  She leaned sideways to pick up the full-length body pillow she sometimes slept with.

  Mark looked at it then let out a groan. “I don’t think so.” He pulled it from her grasp and sent it flying. Then he kissed her with passion so familiar, so well-remembered, it was as if their years apart had never happened.

  Later, satiated and complete, she snuggled against him. One errant thought crossed her mind. We forgot to use a condom. She tensed for a moment then let out a sigh. Oh, well. My PMS should mean no chance of getting pregnant. Plus, her doctor had told her it might take months before her body was back to normal and she could try in vitro. Conceiving a child tonight would border on the miraculous.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Alex woke up before her alarm went off. She slid out of bed, being careful not to disturb Mark, who was asleep. On his belly. One hand curled under the pillow.

  When they’d first been together—in his early years in the police force, she’d teased him about keeping a gun in that hand. He’d never denied it, but she’d known it wasn’t true. Even then, she’d had a sense that he wasn’t a cop at heart.

  She gathered the clothes she’d set out to wear today, then showered and dressed in the spare bathroom, which afforded more privacy and was less likely to wake Mark. After checking on Braden, who looked as peaceful and serene as his father, she went into the day care’s kitchen and made coffee.

  Rita and the two younger aides would be arriving soon. Alex’s lesson-plan book was open on the desk. She’d made sure the day’s craft project was set up the night before. Over in the story nook, the felt-covered easel was waiting for her reading-readiness lesson. The casual observer might think her day—her life—was well organized and on track.

  But they’d be wrong. Inside, her stomach was a ball of nerves, her mind was bouncing all over the place and she had a dreadful fear she might break down and cry if someone said the wrong thing.

  Hormones, she told herself. And lack of sleep.

  She poured a mug of coffee then walked back to her private rooms to wake up the person responsible for her missed hours of rest. What have I done? Where do we go from here? The last question, she realized, was her biggest concern.

  She and Mark had made love. The old feelings that they’d cautiously avoided these past weeks had come back full force. The sex was just as hot as she remembered. They cared about each other—deeply. But neither had mentioned the word love. Which made sense considering how crazy their lives were at the moment.

  We need to step back, she decided. Take it slow. We can be friends. Our relationship should be professional. I’m his child’s teacher. He’s a client. Yes, she told herself firmly, that is the only way to handle this situation.

  “Good morning,” she said, closing her bedroom door behind her.

  “In here,” a deep, husky voice called from her bathroom. “I didn’t think you’d want me running down the hallway in my Skivvies, so I used your shower. Hope that was okay.”

  The door was partly open. She went closer, not sure she was ready to see him in his Skivvies. “Of course. I brought you a cup of coffee.”

  “Thanks. Come on in. I’m decent.”

  The steamy, man-scented air made her knees wobble. She wasn’t used to sharing her space with another person—especially someone so…masculine. And desirable.

  “Here.”

  “Um…” he said, taking the cup from her. “Smells great.” He took a drink then put it on the counter to finger comb his still-wet hair. “Is Bray up?”

  “No. I thought I’d let you do the honors—in case he’s disoriented. Plus, it will do him good to see you. He was pretty worried about you last night.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “No, but I could tell.”

  His smile was friendly and teasing. “Your Gypsy mind-reading abilities kicking in?”

  “My years of teaching.”

  “Oh.” He reached out and took her arm, drawing her closer. “Is it time?”

  She resisted for half a second. “Time for what?”

  “The morning-after talk. You’re regretting last night.”

  He knew her well. “Not exactly. It’s just that we both have our hands full at the moment, and embarking on a new relationship—”

  “Or rekindling an old one,” he put in.

  “Right. Well, either one probably isn’t a smart thing. Maybe after the holidays…when things slow down, we can reevaluate how we feel—”

  His sharp laugh took her by surprise. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “I know how I feel, Alex. The same way I felt when I asked you to marry me. That never changed, even though I tried to pretend it had. Tracey knew the truth. Why do you think she hated you so much?”

  “I…I didn’t know she did. At least, until Odessa told me.”

  “Oh, yeah. We fought about you all the time. One of the many marriage counselors we saw said that in Tracey’s mind you were a living ghost. No matter what I did, she never believed that I loved her more than you. And do you know why?”

  Alex shook her head.

  “Because I didn’t. God knows I tried, but I couldn’t. You were—you are—the one, Alex.”

  He made it sound simple. And, deep in her heart, Alex knew the same was true for her, but she couldn’t say the words. Not now. Not when she finally had her life in order.

  Mark’s sigh brought her attention back to him. “But, I wasn’t any great prize nine years ago when we met. Your father was quick to point that out—and he was right. Now, my life is even more out of whack. A psycho ex-mother-in-law who terrorizes people in the middle of the night. A job that I’m in danger of losing. A kid who’s probably completely screwed up because of his mother and me.” He made a caustic sound. “So, if you’re here to ask me to leave, I will.”

  “Last night was…well, it felt too good to be true. Just like before. That sort of fairy tale–destiny thing, but, Mark, I don’t trust that anymore. If we couldn’t make what was between us work when we had it easy, then how can we expect to succeed now?”

  “You’re absolutely right. And you deserve better, Alex. That’s why I never called you after Tracey and I split up. I failed you once, and I’m not going to put you through that again. Since the meth-lab fire is still under investigation, I can’t work. Since I’m not working, there’s no reason for Braden to keep coming here. If things ever go back to normal after the first of the year, we’ll make other day-care arrangements.”

  There was more to say, but the sound of her employees entering the building told her she needed to cut this discussion short. But she wasn’t about to let her personal life create any additional trauma for Braden.

  “No,” she said sternly. “I mean, yes—you and me. We should step back. Think about how to handle this. We have enough stress in our lives without…” She realized she was rambling, repeating her doctor’s orders. “But we can’t let this affect Braden. He needs his routine. He’s comfortable here. He’s made friends—Maya and Luca adore him
. That’s a big deal at this age and a giant personal step for your son. Let him continue to come here—at least until we close for the holiday break.”

  “P-pul-please, D-D-Daddy.”

  Alex spun around. Braden was standing a foot away, completely dressed and ready for school. His hair was sticking up in places and his shirt wasn’t tucked in, but he had his backpack in one hand and his coat in the other.

  Alex moved aside so Mark could reach his son. “Hey, Bray. I didn’t see you there, bud. Miss Alex and I were having a talk. I wasn’t sure we should come back here after what Grandma Odessa did last night. She shouldn’t have come here, Braden. It’s against the rules that the judge set up to keep you safe. I didn’t think it was fair to put Miss Alex in the middle of our problems.”

  Miss Alex. The name made her want to cry, but she understood why he was using it—to distance himself and Braden from the mistake Alex and he had made.

  “And like I told your dad,” Alex said, “I appreciate the offer, but it’s not your fault your grandmother doesn’t follow the rules. I really hope you can continue to come here, at least until school lets out for the holiday break.”

  “Alexandra?” a familiar voice called from the hallway. “Your students are arriving.”

  “Mom?” Her mother had returned from her whirlwind trip to Detroit so late Alex hadn’t expected to see her this morning. “I have to go,” she said, stepping away from Mark. “I’m sure what your father decides will be for the best, but Braden, if I don’t see you later, have a happy Christmas, okay?”

  She gave the little boy a hug and ran from the room, praying her ever-observant mother wouldn’t see her unshed tears.

  Three hours later, after a rousing rendition of “Jingle Bells”—complete with fourteen pairs of sleigh bells, Alex was outdoors supervising the play yard. She was pushing the M&M’s, as she privately called Maya, Morgan, Madelaine and MacKensie, on the swings while the rest of her students wore off a little pent-up energy on other jungle-gym equipment.

  Every year the craziness of the holiday season seemed to get worse, even though she did her best to keep the more commercial aspects out of the classroom. Her students read books that celebrated the various religious traditions that took place in the final weeks of December. She used the arrival of the solstice to study the planets and seasons. Many of her stories and lessons stressed the joy of giving, but still, the frenetic buildup to the big day slipped into everyone’s life.

  “I wanna Snowboard Barbie, a My Little Pony barn and a new bike,” Morgan announced.

  MacKensie’s list of must-haves was twice as long, and Maddie was making a valiant effort to top it.

  Alex hoped Santa was listening—because she wasn’t. Not really. She couldn’t stop thinking about Braden and Mark. What if Odessa tried to steal Braden from his school?

  “You could call him.”

  Alex startled. She hadn’t heard her mother approach. “Mom. You know I hate it when you sneak up on me,” she said sharply, giving MacKensie another push.

  Maya, who was dragging the toes of her glossy black Mary Janes in the sand beneath her swing, tossed back her head, giggling. “Gramma was standing there a long time, Auntie Alex. Didn’t you see her?”

  Alex felt her face heat up. “I guess not, sweetie. Sometimes mothers can make themselves invisible. That’s how they know when their kids do something wrong.”

  The other little girls’ eyes went wide. “She’s teasing,” Maya reassured them. “Let’s go play with Parker and Preston.”

  All four girls jumped off their swings and raced across the yard to the slide area.

  Alex’s mother followed them with her gaze and sighed. “Don’t you wish you had a little of that energy?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Alex snapped, immediately regretting her snarly tone.

  “Did someone not get enough sleep?”

  “Someone slept fine.” For the few hours when she’d closed her eyes. “Someone has a lot on her mind.” The part she wasn’t in the process of losing. “How did you sleep? Or should I ask, with whom did you sleep?”

  Yetta’s eyebrows lifted in surprise then she smiled. “That sounds like something Grace would have said in an attempt to deflect attention away from her guilty conscience.”

  Alex agreed. She normally wasn’t testy or defensive, but, then, she usually didn’t have anything to be testy or defensive about. “Sorry. I assume Zeke told you about our crazy night, but that’s no reason to take it out on you. Especially considering you’re here volunteering when you’re probably still on Detroit time. How was Grace and everybody?”

  Yetta put an arm around Alex’s shoulders and squeezed. “Now, that attempt at changing the subject was much more like the Alexandra we all know and love.”

  “Mom, why don’t you use anyone’s nickname?”

  “Stubbornness. Your father and I chose each of our daughter’s names with care. If I’d wanted you to be called Alex, I could have named you that. Instead, we chose Alexandra, after your father’s great-great-grandmother.”

  “Really?” Alex said in surprise. “I thought I was named after some famous Russian princess or czarina or whatever the heck she was.”

  “A myth your father encouraged sometime after Katherine’s birth, I believe. Someone—possibly Claude—mentioned noticing a certain underlying pattern to your names, and Ernst jumped on the idea.”

  “Why?”

  “To bolster your self-esteem. Our heritage is so often poorly portrayed by the media and in movies. He had many negative experiences while growing up—early cases of racial profiling, you might say. Ernst felt that if you thought of yourself as princesses, you would stand proud in the face of any teasing you might encounter.”

  “What about the story he told us of his ancestor who fell in love with a prince and had his baby?”

  Yetta pursed her lips. “Who knows? It could have happened. The Romani were never big on written records.”

  “And most were creative storytellers, like Dad.”

  Alex checked her watch. The sunny day begged more play time, but they still had a number of things that needed to get done today. She blew her whistle and watched her students race to the door and form a shaky line.

  “Alexandra,” her mother called when Alex was a few steps away.

  “Yes?”

  “One of your father’s great-aunts back east had a painting of the first Alexandra, the woman who was supposed to have loved the prince. She was very beautiful. In fact, she looked a lot like you. It’s not surprising that a man would risk everything to be with her—even if society deemed that such a union was wrong.”

  Alex wondered if there was some underlying message in her mother’s comment, but she pushed the thought away. She needed to stay in the present. Her students required her attention, and doing her job was what paid her bills.

  MARK HAD BEEN GRATEFUL to get Zeke’s call shortly after dropping Braden off at school. He’d walked the boy inside to explain the situation about his son’s grandmother to the principal then returned to his truck, without any real direction or purpose.

  He’d just made up his mind to return to his apartment and watch television when his cell phone had rung.

  “I’m headed to a stakeout. Wanna come?” Zeke asked. “As a very unofficial observer.”

  Mark hadn’t hesitated. “Hell, yes.”

  “I’ll pick you up at your place in thirty minutes.”

  That had been four hours ago. Since that time, they’d driven to Searchlight, a small, dusty oasis about fifty miles south of Vegas. Directly east was Lake Mojave, where Mark recalled relaxing on a houseboat that summer when he and Alex had been dating. As tempting as it was to linger over those memories—especially after spending the night in Alex’s arms—he narrowed his focus to the two-story dump of a motel where Odessa and her boyfriend were supposedly holed up.

  He took a drink of the bitter, lukewarm coffee he’d picked up at the casino a few blocks down the stree
t.

  A quick glance at his watch told him Alex’s preschool class was probably just ending. Parents would be lined up to greet their kids, oohing and aahing over the latest masterpiece their progeny had produced. Braden had missed out on that whole experience.

  Alex had been right when she’d said Braden was showing signs of improvement since he’d started attending the Dancing Hippo. On the way to school that morning, he’d actually said a few words instead of grunting or shrugging his shoulders. The stutter was still pronounced, but, at least, he was trying, Mark thought.

  Which is why he should continue to go there, even if Alex and I can’t figure out this thing between us.

  As if tapping into Mark’s private thoughts, his companion behind the wheel said, “I saw your truck parked behind Alex’s this morning. Something I should know about?”

  “Maybe if you were her father.”

  The snide remark landed between them like a loaded gun.

  Zeke let out a wry chuckle. “Good point.”

  Mark sank a little lower in the seat. “No. That was a stupid thing to say. Seems to be the only thing coming out of my mouth lately. I know you care about Yetta and her family. You have a right. More of a right than I do, actually.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “Well, it’s true. If Ernst were alive, he’d have been waiting at my tailgate this morning with a cup of coffee and a baseball bat.”

  “Really? Why?”

  Mark grinned. “‘Cause he always liked coffee in the morning—strong and black. And the bat was a great intimidator. Not that I ever saw him use it.”

  Zeke rubbed the side of his nose and let out a sigh. “Ever since I started seeing Yetta, I’ve been hearing stories like that. The Gypsy King was larger than life. Like Elvis. He’s never quite left the building, if you get my drift.”

  “Yeah. I understand. Even eight years later, I kinda feel like he’s looking over my shoulder, scowling. He didn’t have too many good things to say about me.”