by Karen Young
“Such as?”
“Well, Coach is running a really competitive sports program. That might explain it. I don’t know whether or not there’s more pressure than you’d expect, considering,” he said, back to staring at his drink. “Maybe it’s ‘out of the ordinary,’ like you say, maybe not. Maybe it’s that they’re taking steroids. Wouldn’t be a big surprise, you gotta know that.” He thought of Ferdy and B.J. He’d bet his new cleats that they’d been popping steroids like candy this season. “They say steroids make you act all kinds of weird ways,” he told Cam. “Is that what you were getting at?”
“I don’t know what I’m getting at, Nick. Yet.” He raised his drink and drained what was left in the can. “Tell me about Jimbo, Ward’s brother.”
“He’s cool. Really cool. A great athlete. Smart, too. He’s gonna be a lawyer after his baseball career is over.”
“Does he ever reminisce about his days here at Rose Hill High?”
“Not when I’ve been around, but with Ward, maybe.”
“Have you ever heard him mention my son, Jack?”
Jeez. Nick found it tough to hold the man’s gaze. “No, sir. Never.”
“Don’t you think that’s odd, seeing they were best friends?”
“Yeah, I even mentioned it to Ward once, but he brushed it off. Said with Jack…you know, gone now, Jimbo sort of closed down on that. He took it real hard when Jack…when he was told about Jack.”
Cam nodded, just a quick dip of his head. Nick had a feeling that talking about Jack was something he didn’t do often, but he was on some kind of mission that forced him to go there. As Cam shut down his shop and turned off lights, Nick pushed up from the sawhorse, tossed his drink can and headed with him out of the garage. Monday, at school, he was gonna see if he could pick up on anything…weird. With Cam’s questions bouncing around in his head, his own suspicions didn’t feel so off-the-wall. He’d had a funny feeling lately, but nothing definite enough to put a label on. So, except for backing off the special coaching, he’d ignored it. Now, after talking with Cam, he was thinking his instincts might not be so off-the-wall after all. Wouldn’t hurt to keep his eyes and ears open. See what turned up. Whatever, he was positive that Cam, for one, did think something was going on.
What the heck could it be?
Rachel heard the whine of a power drill coming from the garage and guessed that Nick and Cam were back, doing whatever else was necessary to secure the shelves to the wall. She thought about going out and pretending she could be of some help, but short of holding a screwdriver and passing it to whichever of them needed it—or fetching beer or soda—she would be useless. Instead, she took another sip of wine, settled back against the soft cushions and continued to indulge herself by surfing the TV channels. She almost never had an opportunity to watch what she preferred. Even on the rare times when she had a couple of hours to kill, she usually gave in to Kendy or Nick or her mother, all of whom seemed to care more than she did about what was on the tube. Now, stretched out on the sofa with her wineglass balanced on her tummy, she found the cooking channel and watched Emeril go about concocting a really incredible meat loaf, of all things.
Keeping the volume low, she could hear Nick and Cam in conversation. Nick had never been as big a chatterbox as Kendall, but in the company of Cam, he became almost gabby. And he laughed, for which she was profoundly thankful. He’d had little to laugh about since his father left. Cam’s low chuckles were less frequent, but the two seemed to be enjoying each other. It should be Ted out there with Nick, she thought, but after the scene with Francine, she feared his spotty interest in Nick and Kendy might sputter out altogether.
Losing interest in Emeril’s meat loaf, she muted the sound altogether and took a sip of wine. Even before Ted had chosen to abandon his family, he’d shown little interest in spending time with his children. She’d bought into his excuse that, as a physician, he had precious little free time, overlooking the fact that when he did manage time off, he usually spent it doing something apart from his family. But had she ever really taken Ted to task over it? It was troubling to look back and see that she’d been as passive about his neglect of Nick and Kendy as she’d been about his neglect of her. Seeing that now, it shouldn’t be a surprise that he viewed her passivity as disinterest. As boredom. Taking it one step further, was it so surprising that he’d looked around for someone who did care? Had Francine’s admiration felt as good to Ted as Cam’s support felt to her?
“Emeril has finally stooped to making meat loaf?”
“Oh!” Startled, she made a grab for the wine before it tipped over. Cam stood in the doorway, palms tucked in the back pockets of his jeans. The sweatshirt wasn’t as neat as it had been earlier today, so how was it that looking scruffy and rumpled only made him seem more appealing? Thinking it brought her up straight on the sofa. Thoughts like that could lead to more dangerous ones.
“Don’t get up,” he said, crossing the room. “I’m not staying. I just wanted to—”
“Would you like something? Beer? Some wine?” Flustered, she fumbled for the remote and turned the TV off.
“No, thanks.”
“I didn’t realize you and Nick were done out there.” Dinah’s den was not as roomy as the one in the house she’d shared with Ted, and Cam, well above six feet, broad-shouldered and so…male, seemed to fill it. Especially from her vantage point looking up at him from the sofa. And she’d slipped her shoes off, too, which made her feel even more rattled. Where the heck were they?
Cam scooped them out from beneath the ottoman. “It was just a matter of screwing a few brackets into the wall. It didn’t take long.”
“Well, thanks for doing it, just the same,” she said, and bent over to slip her shoes on. Glancing beyond him to the kitchen, she saw no sign of her son. “What happened to Nick?”
He smiled. “I think he’s taking a shower.”
“And not before he needed it.” Rachel reached for a cushion and curled herself into the corner of the sofa. “Well, don’t keep me waiting. What did he tell you?”
“Not much other than a vague feeling that something’s not right, almost the same thing you said yourself.”
“That’s all? Nothing he’s seen, nothing he’s been told?”
“He’s reluctant to believe anything negative about the sports program because it means so much to him. Same thing for the coach, I think.”
“He and Ward both have their hearts set on being part of Monk’s core elite. I wish he had the same burning ambition to do well in class.”
“Dissecting frogs versus the challenge of playing ball? No contest, Mom.” He rose from the ottoman and crossed the den, checking the kitchen to see that Nick hadn’t returned, then came back. “I know when you counsel those kids that you’re bound by the rules of your profession to keep everything confidential and I respect that. So, I hope this doesn’t violate your code of ethics, but I need to ask. Is Ward the boy you mentioned earlier today, the boy you’re concerned about?”
She sat up, laying the cushion aside. “No, he’s not. Why do you ask?”
“Nick mentioned the way Ward has changed lately. Says he’s moody, has a hair-trigger temper now and, according to Nick, that’s out of character. Plus, I don’t think Nick would have mentioned Ward in that context if the changes hadn’t been pretty noticeable.”
“Funny you should mention Ward,” Rachel said, frowning. She rose quickly from the sofa and set her wineglass on the coffee table. “I saw him at the gym when I went to see Monk. He was red-faced and obviously uncomfortable that I caught him.”
“Why? What was going on?”
“He was supposed to be in class. Of course, it was Monk who’d pulled him out of class, which made it legitimate, if not wise. Ward said Monk was a very busy guy and it was plain that he’d convinced him—and maybe Nick as well—that their ‘special coaching’ took precedence over class work.”
“It’s irrelevant as far as Nick is concerned. One thing I did lear
n. He found the courage to tell Tyson thanks, but no thanks. He won’t be on the receiving end of special favors from the coach. It took a lot of guts, Rachel.”
“Yes, it did. And I’m not sure he would have been able to do it if you hadn’t encouraged him. So, thanks.”
He shrugged off her thanks. “I think I’ll have a talk with Monk Tyson myself,” he told her. “See if I pick up any of those vibes you and Nick seem to feel. If something is going on, I’m not going to sit on my hands and wait until we have another tragedy. And I promise to see you afterward and fill you in.”
“I want to know everything, no matter how trivial it may seem,” Rachel said. “Promise me.”
“You have my word on it.”
She pushed her hair back from her face, knowing he could see that she was upset. “This is very…troubling, isn’t it, Cam?”
He skimmed her face with eyes that echoed her concern. “Yeah. But we may be seeing trouble where there is none.” His gaze drifted to the window where dusk had now fallen. Outside, the sights and sounds of evening were coming alive. The neighborhood, almost picturesque in its simplicity and innocence, was settling in for the night. If there was evil, it was well hidden.
Cam glanced at her wineglass. “I think I will have some of that wine, if it’s not too late.”
“Not at all.” She found herself smiling as she went to get it. She wasn’t sure why she’d been so flustered when he’d first appeared, except that she’d been intensely aware of Cam ever since that impulsive hug in his kitchen. She told herself her reaction was perfectly understandable, considering she hadn’t been in the arms of any man except Ted for eighteen years, but still—
Carrying both her wineglass, which she’d replenished, and his, she made her way back to the den and handed it over. But his smile, she noticed now, had faded away. “What’s the matter?” she asked, handing him the wine.
“Nothing, just the opposite. I was thinking….” Running a hand over the back of his neck, he looked down at his feet. She could see the tension in him and wondered if there was something more he’d learned from Nick and it was so awful he needed a drink to tell her. “You were right, what you said in the kitchen.”
“The kitchen?” She looked at him blankly.
“Yeah, this afternoon. About Cara.”
“Oh, that.” She nodded, feeling relief and a little surprise. Talking about his ex-wife had been her idea, not Cam’s, and he’d hated it. She couldn’t imagine why he’d bring it up again.
“I’ve decided to try seeing her.”
She smiled, thinking he looked as if he’d rather drink turpentine. “I think that’s a great idea.”
He hooked a thumb in the belt loop of his jeans and looked immeasurably more relaxed. “Yeah, it’s possible that once she sees it’s me, she’ll refuse to tell me anything…if she’ll even hear me out. Our divorce wasn’t exactly amicable.”
“Is there such a thing?”
“Probably not.” He looked as if he’d figured that out long ago. “I reacted pretty viscerally when I found out she was having an affair. I was insulted, humiliated and mad as hell. I went through all the stages you psychologists talk about and then some. I didn’t give a damn that she and that particular guy broke up even before our divorce was final and she probably would have agreed to try to fix whatever was wrong in our marriage. But no, I was too pissed off to feel anything except righteous rage. I just wanted her out of my life.” He met her eyes as if he expected her to be shocked or disgusted. “I don’t think anything she could have done at that point would have been enough to change my mind.”
“Infidelity is a horrendous problem to overcome in a marriage.”
He smiled then, somewhat. “Is that the psychologist talking or the voice of experience?”
She took a sip of wine. “Both. And I don’t think anything Ted could do or say at this point would be enough to make me change my mind, either. I’m still just so damn mad at him for doing this.”
“Just don’t let your anger blind you to the needs of your kids, Rachel. That’s where Cara and I screwed up.”
She searched his face, sensing more than words of wisdom from someone who’d been there and done that. “Why? Did Nick tell you something else that I should know?”
“No, nothing. This isn’t about Nick, it’s about me and my awkward attempt to share what I did wrong.” He glanced at the sofa. “Can we sit down?”
“Yes, of course.” She went over and did exactly that, but he sat on the edge of the ottoman facing her, his wineglass dangling between his knees.
“I guess I’m just getting around to admitting that while I was nursing my pride, I lost sight of the fact that I wasn’t the only one who was hurt.”
“Jack,” she guessed, pleased to see that he appeared to be working his way out of a long period of denial.
“Yeah.” He studied the wine. “This business with Monk’s athletes has me thinking a lot about my son.” His mouth went soft with sadness. “Which is something I’ve avoided since he…since I lost him.”
“I can only imagine how hard it would be for me, God forbid,” she said gently.
“I don’t know if Cara can tell me anything to shed any light on what might have been going on with Jack, but I’m going to give it a shot.”
“Good for you.”
“I was obsessed with getting answers when it first happened,” he said, again with his gaze fixed on the wine in his hand. “But after a while and so many dead ends, my initial belief that there was something more to Jack’s death than a simple suicide faded.”
“That’s understandable when everybody was convinced that it was a simple suicide.”
He looked up then, searching her face. “Were you convinced? And it won’t offend me to hear it if you were.” His lips tilted in a smile so brief it almost wasn’t there. “I won’t go for your throat again, I promise.”
She hesitated, her thoughts going back to that time. She’d felt personal failure when Jack died. And absolute shock. So much so, that she’d searched diligently for some other explanation. Why? Like Cam, had she, in the back of her mind, doubted conventional wisdom? “I don’t think I was convinced it was suicide,” she said slowly, thoughtfully, “but I wasn’t entirely certain it wasn’t.” She looked into his eyes. “Does that make any sense?”
“Yeah, it does. You had doubts, how could you not? As you just said, everybody thought it was a simple suicide.” Then he added with a bitter twist of his mouth, “As if there is ever a simple suicide.”
“If I’d truly accepted the cause of death after searching my files and poring over and over the notes of my sessions with Jack, I would have stopped there, wouldn’t I? Instead, I bugged Marta, who’d taught him honors English, I interviewed every one of his other teachers—more than once—I questioned his teammates, I grilled Monk Tyson, really pushed him. I just wouldn’t let it go.”
“So, what did Monk say?”
“The same thing he told you. Stop torturing yourself, get over it. You can’t save ’em all.” She looked disgusted. “He was his usual sensitive self.”
“Gosh, that kind of sensitivity really moves me,” Cam said sarcastically.
“Like you,” Rachel said with a look of regret, “I finally gave up.”
To Rachel’s surprise, he suddenly put out a hand and cupped her cheek. “Don’t look so sad. It’s never too late.”
She felt her throat go tight. She was supposed to find words to comfort him, and instead he was having to console her. “I’m going to go back and try again,” she told him huskily, resisting the urge to capture the warmth of his hand.
“Me, too.” He stood up and handed his empty glass to her. “Thanks for the wine and the…other stuff. I do need to talk to Cara.”
“We shrinks are supposed to listen, not advise. But you’re welcome.”
“I can see myself out,” he told her, already going toward the door. But once he had it opened, he turned back. “I think I may have said this b
efore, but here it is again. Ted Forrester is a damn fool.”
Thirteen
Monday dawned cold and wet. Overnight, Mother Nature had stirred up a storm that dumped four inches of rain after spawning two tornadoes just north of Rose Hill. Taking the weather as a sign, Cam told himself the visit with his ex-wife would probably be a complete and total washout. He’d then spent all day Sunday thinking up excuses why he shouldn’t go, but in the end, he’d known it was the right thing to do. And he owed it to Jack.
His voice, he could tell, had taken Cara completely by surprise. Who could blame her, as it had been five years ago at Jack’s funeral since they’d last spoken? After a polite remark or two about her health and the weather, which had been gearing up even then, he’d told her there was something he’d like to discuss with her…at her convenience, of course. He guessed it was sheer curiosity more than anything else that made her agree. He had noted with some surprise that there had been no animosity in her tone.
Cara had moved to Fort Worth after her marriage to Rosetti, and from the directions she’d given Cameron the night before, he’d estimated an hour-and-a-half drive from Rose Hill. The neighborhood, he thought now, looking it over as he went up the sidewalk to her front door, was nice. It was not the most exclusive area of Fort Worth, but it was one of those neighborhoods with character, charm and trees. Cara’s house was a cottage that, to Cam’s admitted unknowledgeable eye, appeared to date back to the thirties. Quaint, almost a dollhouse, it looked just right in the neighborhood. If there was anything special about it, it was in the landscaping. There was a look that reminded him of Dinah’s passion. Someone had an interest in gardening. If it was Cara, he’d never have guessed it, but gardening as a hobby would have been impractical living as they had in a New York apartment. Maybe it was Rosetti. Not that Cameron would know. Rosetti, as an individual, was then and still was an unknown entity. At the time of Cam’s divorce from Cara, the division of their assets had been a complex, legal maze that her lawyer had negotiated to her benefit. Cam hadn’t objected, knowing she was moving back to Texas and taking Jack with her. Looking at it in a practical sense, he hadn’t wanted Jack to lack for anything. Afterward, when Jack was gone, nothing about Cara mattered.