by Karen Young
Cam had just slapped a lid on the skillet where his red sauce bubbled and spat when Rachel knocked on his back door. First Nick, now his mom. His plan to distance himself from his neighbors, these neighbors in particular, was going to require something with more teeth in it. But hell, he needed to talk to her about the kid, anyway.
On his way to let her in, he grabbed at a wet sponge and dabbed at several tomatoey splotches on his shirt, but succeeded only in doing more damage. Tossing the sponge in the sink, he motioned her to come in as he pulled the shirt off over his head.
“Is this a bad time?” she asked after a startled glance at his naked torso.
“No, I was just painting myself with red sauce,” he said, heading for the laundry area just off the kitchen where his once-a-week cleaning lady folded clean clothes. Pointing to the breakfast nook, he said, “Have a seat while I try to find a shirt. It’ll only take me a second.”
“Thanks, but I’m not staying. I just wanted—”
“How about some wine? I’m having spaghetti, so it’s Chianti.” His head emerged from the neck of the pullover on his way back to the kitchen. “It’s pretty good.”
“The spaghetti?”
“No, the wine.” He took two glasses from a hanging rack. “I bought a couple bottles on the recommendation of the guy at the liquor store, thinking he ought to know, and he did.”
She was still standing. “No, really, I just came over to—”
“Here, try it.” He set her wineglass on the table and touched her shoulder, urging her to sit. “I was just thinking of giving you a call,” he told her. “I wanted to talk to you about Nick.”
She sighed and seemed to wilt a little. “I know. I’m sorry. That’s why I came. I don’t know why he seems so determined to pester you. As soon as I realized he’d been over here, I let him know—again—that he is not to drop in on you like that. But he—”
“He doesn’t pester me. He talks. I listen. I’d send him home if it was a problem.” Knocking him out of six or eight pages of his work in progress was a problem, but he found he didn’t want to tell her that. For some reason.
She looked puzzled. “Then what is it you wanted to say about him?”
He slid the wine closer to her hand and pulled out a chair for himself. “Did you know that Monk Tyson is giving him special coaching?”
“Yes, of course. He’s thrilled over it.”
“When is the last time the two of you talked about it?”
“Talked—” She made a small, uncertain gesture. “Not lately. I know he’s just as wild about baseball as most of Monk’s athletes. Why? What makes you ask?”
“Something he said today about feeling uneasy—his word, not mine—about the situation. He’s aware of the advantages in accepting special treatment from Tyson, but now he’s thinking of the drawbacks. He didn’t tell me anything specific, but I’m guessing he’s had a taste of sour grapes from some of his teammates. He’s considering backing off and he’s braced for Tyson being very unhappy about it.”
She rose. “I appreciate you telling me. I’ll have a talk with him.”
Without getting up, Cam caught her hand and gently urged her back into her chair. “I wish you wouldn’t do that. First, he’ll think he can’t trust me to keep what he tells me private. Second, he said his dad doesn’t have time for him right now and he’d planned to get Ted’s take on the situation sometime during the weekend outing. I guess, being male, I’m sort of a stand-in,” Cam said, rubbing his neck and giving her a wry look. “Do you really want to take that away?”
“No, of course not.” With her fingers pressed against her brow, she sighed. “Divorce. It’s such a mess.”
“Yeah, he had high hopes for the weekend.”
Not looking at him, she fiddled with the stem of the wineglass. “So he confided his problems with Tyson, trouble with his teammates, his unhappiness with Ted and…what else?”
“That almost covers it.”
She glanced up at him. “No details of the breakfast from hell?”
He chuckled. “He may have made a comment or two about Francine’s shortcomings.”
Shaking her head, she simply sat for a moment. “It has been one of those days.”
“Good reason to drink up.” He lifted his glass toward her. “Here’s to a better tomorrow.”
“Well, it has to be.” She took a tiny sip of Chianti. “Hmm, you’re right, this is good.”
“Uh-huh.” He found himself relaxing back in his chair. “Want to talk about it?”
“Then I’d be the one pestering you, not Nick.”
“No, actually you won’t, since I owe you one.”
She frowned. “What?”
“I was rude—” He paused. “Hell, I’m trying to make amends. Here it is. I admit I was more than rude when I barged into your office five years ago. As a psychologist, you must have guessed I was angry and grieving—”
“It happens.”
“And I took it out on you.”
She gave a forgiving shrug. “It’s okay. I’ve had worse.”
“Then you’re a saint for not shooting somebody before now.” His smile was slightly off center. “So, go ahead, pester me.”
With a similar half smile, she ran a finger around the rim of the wineglass, but then her face sobered. “I guess Nick told you the plans for the weekend with Ted didn’t work out. It’s especially troubling that it ended the way it did, since, from what you tell me, he needed more from Ted than a couple of days of fun. I knew he was upset, but I needed to talk to Ted first, and when we were done, Nick had disappeared. Besides, I’m not sure he would have opened up to me as he did you. It’s hard to get him to tell me anything lately.”
“His reaction was more about Kendall than himself. He’s protective where his little sister is concerned, and the way Nick told it, Ted screwed up there royally.”
“He really did open up to you, didn’t he?” She rubbed a spot between her eyes. “He had good reason to be angry with his dad. Ted seemed more interested in defending Francine than in looking out for Kendy.”
Cam nodded. “So he came over here to vent a little. I’ve got no problem with that.” If Jack had found someone to vent to, he might be here today.
She sighed again. “But frankly, he’s doing more than his share of venting lately. Some of it’s just the normal angst that comes with being fifteen years old, I suppose, but a lot of it is reaction to the divorce. I’m trying to be patient, but—”
“From what I see, he’s a good kid,” Cam said.
“He is.” There was a small, soft smile on her face now. “In spite of mood swings and rebelliousness, which I understand, I’m basically crazy about him.” She looked away, troubled. “That’s why it’s so hard to understand Ted’s—” She stopped herself, gave a brief shrug. “I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear me vent, too. If you really are okay with Nick coming over to talk, it’s a good thing. I’m glad he feels he has someone other than me. Being female, there’s a gender gap, as you might imagine. Ted, of course, is preoccupied with the lawsuit,” she added, “plus, he’s trying to figure out what he’s going to do about getting reestablished in another practice, so he has practically no time left over for Nick and Kendy.”
“His loss,” Cam said.
Their eyes met and lingered and, for a few long moments, drifted into territory that had nothing to do with kids or Ted. Cam was making a prolonged study of her face, thinking her coloring—pale ivory skin and true black hair—made a striking combination that any model would envy. He’d never seen eyes quite like hers, either, so light a brown that they looked like amber. For a moment, he indulged himself by wondering what the rest of her looked like. Rachel, meanwhile, found herself thinking of her reaction when he’d answered the door half in, half out of his shirt. She’d only glimpsed his bare torso, but it had been enough to give her a jolt, a purely sexual response.
She stood up abruptly. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your dinner.”
“At least he used to,” she said, heading toward the door. “I reminded myself of that last week when I learned he failed to turn in a biology assignment and made two D’s on math quizzes.” Mystified, she raised her shoulders in a shrug. “He used to love science and ace math.”
“A lot going on in his head,” Cam suggested.
“And a lot going right over Ted’s head,” she said, showing outrage for just a second. A beat later, her brows were knitted in a frown. “I know you won’t believe this because Ted’s being such a jerk lately, but he wasn’t always such a…a—”
“Jerk? Just one more question,” he added, not waiting for her reply. “Did Francine really pinch Kendall hard enough to make a bruise?”
“Yes!” The thought of it had Rachel’s ire rising again. “And I was ready to show her how it feels, but Ted was sneaky enough to let her escape in his car after dropping him and the kids off.”
He smiled, leaning against the doorjamb. “Somehow I can’t see you in a catfight. It would be more like you to give her a piece of your mind, then suggest she have counseling to manage her anger.”
She hesitated, frowning at her hand on the doorknob before looking up at him. “May I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“By giving her a piece of my mind, I assume you mean lecturing her, which Ted has already accused me of doing. But suggesting counseling for anger management, is that a bad thing?”
“No.” He studied her face, sensing he’d hit a nerve. “What kind of question is that? Why would you think it’s bad?”
“I don’t think it’s bad to try to avoid violence. I think it’s, well, civilized, I guess. After all, I am a psychologist. Positive dialogue is what we’re supposed to suggest to resolve conflict, isn’t it?”
“When you can get the parties involved to talk, I suppose it is.”
“Well, there’s the problem,” she said with a note of irony. “Lately, it seems to me that the people I’m dealing with prefer hitting first and talking later.”
“Who’s hitting whom?” he asked in a sharp tone.
She put a hand to her cheek. “What am I doing? This is so inappropriate.” What could she have been thinking, she asked herself. The man was Nick’s confidant, not hers.
“Who is hitting whom, Rachel?”
“Families in crisis have episodes when people simply explode,” she explained, “and as much as it bothers me, mine is no different.” She turned to go. “I’ve said more than I should have. I need—”
Cam stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Nick was on a tear today when we talked, but the only violence he mentioned was Francine pinching Kendall. Was there more?”
She’d gone this far, Rachel thought. She may as well finish it. “Nick said some rude things to his dad. Ted came at him and I don’t know what would have happened if they’d actually connected, but I stepped between them. I was sickened at the thought of them coming to blows. What was Ted thinking? Would he have used his fists to hit his son? Besides being taller than Nick and much heavier, how unthinkable is that?” She plowed ahead, now on a roll. “This is not the first episode, either. The day that Walter found out about the affair, he came to our house and he and Ted actually did come to blows. They were like two animals, thrashing about in the sunroom, crashing into a glass table, breaking things. Ted got a black eye and Walter reminded me of a…a pro wrestler! It was terrible. Nick had to help me break it up. Kendall saw it all, too. She took pictures!”
“Cute,” he muttered.
She barely heard him. “So, today I learn about Francine’s cruelty to Kendall. Call me a bit biased, but I thought Ted should have been mad at his lover, not his little girl. So when I say that, Ted tells me I’m prissy and uptight, that it was an accident, to get over it. That he’s nuts about Francine because, even though my IQ is higher, she’s fun to be with, she has big boobs and a nice butt and—get this—when they have sex, he feels he’s died and gone to heaven.” She threw up her hands, then dropped them to her sides in bafflement. “All vestige of sanity has disappeared from my life.”
“C’mere.” Before she realized his intent, Cam had his arms around her, enveloping her in sympathy and warm masculine strength. Instinct made her resist…but only for a heartbeat. Still all het up as she was over the sheer unfairness of life at the moment, the appeal of a friendly hug was simply too much to resist. Tears started in her eyes and she blinked furiously to hold them back. She sniffed.
“Without a doubt, you have the higher IQ,” he told her softly.
She heard the smile in his voice and, turning her nose into his nice, clean shirt, gave a shaky chuckle. “Ted said that, I didn’t.”
“Because you would never boast about your IQ.”
“No, never.” Then, in a bewildered voice she asked, “But what good does having a nice IQ do if you can’t keep a husband?”
“You would keep a decent one without even trying.”
“Thank you.” It struck her that Cam was a very unlikely champion, a man whose marriage had failed, whose son had committed suicide, and who’d lived almost as a recluse for the past five years. Yet in spite of all that, everyone closest to her, Nick, Kendall and even her mother, seemed drawn to him, while to her, he’d been prickly and standoffish from the start…until today. Now, standing in the circle of his arms, she was beginning to appreciate a few of his good points.
“And you know what?” His chin rested on top of her head.
“What?”
“I’d bet my next advance that you are as terrific in the sack as Francine.”
Her smile was shaky, but real. She pulled away from him and walked back to the kitchen counter to get a paper towel. Not quite able to meet his eyes, she blotted her tears away, blew her nose and went back to the door. “I am really leaving now. My dignity is shattered and I’ve seriously undermined my vow to keep Kendy and Nick from pestering you.”
“Relax. They’ll only pester me when I allow it.” As he held the door for her, she brushed past him, head down, cheeks still a little pink. Then, when she was at the bottom of the steps, he spoke. “Just one more question…”
She looked up. “What?”
“Are you absolutely sure Ted’s their father?”
She stared at him for a second, then saw he was joking and burst out laughing. “Thanks, I needed that.”
Ten
Before trying to get anything out of Nick himself, Rachel decided to see what Monk might have to say. On Monday, when he hadn’t responded by noon to her voice mail message, she went in search of him. Leaving the main building right after lunch, she walked over to the gym. Tyson had an office a couple of doors from her own, but as he preferred being on his own territory, he was seldom there.
As most of their discussions—encounters would be more accurate, she thought—were held on her territory, it was the first time she’d seen his office at the gym. She was impressed. The leather couch and plush carpet were expensive. An upscale desk and good art on the wall made it seem more like the domain of an executive than the office of a small town coach. The walls, she noted, were studded with photos of Tyson with various VIPs, as well as numerous awards, some his own, others won by his athletes.
“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” he said after offering her a seat. “You bring bad news. Which one of my boys won’t graduate?”
“Ferdy Jordan,” she told him, having come armed with a plausible excuse for seeking him out, “unless he manages by some miracle to improve in both Algebra II and English.”
He made a derisive sound. “It may be difficult to teach him to read at this late date.”
She sighed. “Monk, I’ve been telling you for months now that he’s in trouble. If he wants to play sports, he has to graduate. To graduate, he must pick up those grades.”
“I’ll get on his butt.”
“You promised to do that at the beginnin
g of the semester when he was in only a little trouble. It’ll be a lot harder now.”
“I’ll line up a tutor. No way his folks would be any help there.” His pencil was doing rat-a-tats on the desk. “Who else?”
“Jason Pate. As always.”
He frowned. “I jacked him up over that DUI in Dallas. Damn it, what’s he done now?”
“I’m not here to discuss his drinking problem. How would we know, anyway? He’s been absent for three days. Haven’t you noticed?”
“No problem here. He’s been dressing out. If he was skipping practice, I’d bench his ass and he knows it.”
“Then see if you can persuade him to attend class with the same commitment,” she said tartly. “Otherwise, he’s another one whose plans for college will be over.” Regardless of what he said, she vowed to talk to Jason herself, even if she had to show up after baseball practice to do it. Which would certainly not win her any points with Nick, she thought ruefully.
“Anybody else? A couple more screwups and I’ll be out of business.”
“Nobody except—” She shifted a bit in the chair, crossed her legs and clasped both hands on one knee. “Since I’m here and we’re talking, how about Nick? He’s very flattered that you’re spending extra time with him. How’s he doing?”
Monk leaned back in his chair, more relaxed now. “He’s doing great. And I’m glad to see you’re interested.”
“Of course I’m interested. He’s my son.”
“Yeah, but I mean interested in his sports career. He’s got a real future in baseball, Rachel. I’ve got him at first, but he’s versatile enough to play other positions.” His gaze sharpened. “He’s okay, isn’t he? Not letting the split between you and his dad mess with his head, is he?”