by Karen Young
“Turn it off, Nick.”
Another resigned sigh, but he complied. “What’s up?”
“Just what I was about to ask.” She glanced around the room. “Did you finish the biology project?”
He dropped the earphones on the table beside his bed. “Today’s Wednesday. I’ve still got another day.”
“Nick, it’s an important project. Your grade will depend on the quality of the work. James Morton won’t cut you any slack. Sloppy work will get you a bad grade…and you don’t need another bad grade in biology.”
“It’s a piece of cake, Mom. Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you.”
“I’m concerned that you’ll embarrass yourself, not me. You haven’t even started it. You know—” She stopped. After being accused of lecturing from both Nick and Ted, Rachel knew she was wasting her breath. “Instead of a lecture, here’s a promise, Nick. If you don’t get that report in on time and get a decent grade, there will be consequences.”
“Like what?”
“Like no driving, no getting that watch your dad promised you, no new CDs for a whole year, no dates.”
“For a year?” He looked outraged.
“Oh, I’m kidding, you dopey kid.” She leaned against his chest of drawers and folded her arms. “Why are you making me think up threats, Nick? Just do the report, get it behind you and then you’ll have the whole weekend in front of you to enjoy. I know you don’t want to spend Saturday finishing it and getting a letter grade less than if you’d turned it in on time.”
“I’ll do it, I’ll do it.” He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. “Speaking of the weekend, I’ve got plans.”
“Such as?”
A hint of excitement showed in his eyes. “Robbie Sims invited me to go to his folks’ cabin on Lake Ray Hubbard with some of the team. It’s an overnight thing. It’s really cool. They’ve got a pool and I’ve seen pictures of his dad’s party boat. We’re leaving Friday after practice. And I know you’re gonna ask about adults being there. Robbie said his dad’s coming.”
She frowned. “Who else besides Robbie?”
He shrugged. “Mack Turner, Leo Smallwood, Kyle Burgess, Jason Pate and Steve Morgan. Maybe others, but that’s who Robbie said.”
“That’s most of the varsity baseball team,” she said with surprise. “Anyone else who isn’t varsity?”
“Will Smythe.”
“Oh, Nick, I don’t know…”
“Mom!” Ticked off, he got up and stood facing her from across the bed. “Do you realize what a cool thing this is? The place isn’t like our chintzy lake house, it’s like a…a sportsman’s paradise or something. I’ve heard the guys talking about it. I can’t believe I’m getting a chance to see it.” He set his jaw stubbornly. “I’m going, Mom.”
“I know about it, Nick. What I don’t know is why you’re being invited with a bunch of ball players who are two years older than you. I really don’t think—”
“I know how you think. You’re so cautious you’d probably still hold my hand when I cross the street if I let you. I’m not a baby anymore. I’ll have my cell phone if I get in trouble.”
And from the look on his face, it would have to be something just short of a murder on the scene to make him call. “You mentioned Will Smythe, but not Ward. Since he’s your best friend, surely they invited Ward?”
“No, they didn’t. And it’s because Coach is still putting in extra time with him.” Nick bent and popped out the CD he’d been listening to. “And I wouldn’t be asked if I hadn’t quit.”
“Why is that, do you think?”
A slight lift of his shoulders. “To the rest of the team, it looks like sucking up to Coach,” he said, bending to select another CD.
“But neither one of you asked for special coaching. It was Monk’s idea.”
“Yeah, well, I had enough of it, but Ward’s still hung up on beating Jimbo at his own game.”
She nodded, reluctant to push anymore. Having Nick open up this much was heartening. “Let me discuss this overnight thing with your dad, okay?”
“No, Mom.” He tossed the CD case on the bed and looked at her with defiance in his dark eyes. “I’ll talk to Dad. And if he says I can go, it’ll be settled. Right?”
She hesitated, knowing that to hold out would push Nick’s anger to another level, which would drive yet another wedge into her relationship with her son. Better to save that battle for another day. “Right, Nick.”
Her hand was on the doorknob when he stopped her. Turning back, she saw he was waving a notebook he’d fished out from under the bed.
“The biology thing,” he said. “It’s done. I finished it an hour ago.”
It was almost dark when she finally started across the lawn to see what Cam wanted. Light spilled from the windows of his house and she was reminded again how much she liked it. Secretly, she understood Kendy’s fascination with its nooks and crannies, as well as the possibility of an ancestral ghost. Climbing the stairs now to the porch, she admired the richly glowing colors in the fanlight above the door. As an example of Cam’s handiwork, it was really impressive. She was reaching to push the old-fashioned doorbell when the door suddenly opened.
“Oh, hi,” she said, caught off guard. She stared at his face, its masculine planes and angles exaggerated by distant light from the street lamps. Interesting and sexy, she thought, echoing her mother’s assessment. Her own heart, she realized, was beating too fast and she forced herself down to earth. Next thing, she’d be buying into her mother’s ridiculous fantasies.
“I was just admiring the beautiful fanlight,” she said. She could hardly tell him she was admiring him. “Nick tells me you’re doing the stained glass work yourself.”
“Yeah, it’s fun. Come on in.” He reached for her hand and pulled her across the threshold. As soon as she was in the foyer’s full overhead light, his eyes swept her from the top of her head to her toes and he gave her one of his rare smiles. “You do nice things to those jeans.” And she was suddenly flushed and breathless again.
“Have you had dinner?” he asked.
“No, but—”
“Great. A chance to redeem myself. How does this sound? Gazpacho to start and portobello risotto with crab cakes for the main course.”
Rachel stared at him. “You’re kidding. The last time I was here, you told me you weren’t much of a cook.”
He grinned. “Actually, I’m not. And yeah, I’m kidding.” With his hand at the small of her back, he ushered her through the house to the big country kitchen that she’d always admired. “I have two dishes besides steak—spaghetti and lasagne. Tonight, it’s lasagne. I hope you don’t dislike pasta. And please don’t say no. You’ve already refused my spaghetti and another rejection will have me thinking it’s not my cooking you dislike, it’s me.”
“I thought you wanted to talk to me about…something,” she said, giving the table a confused look. He’d set it for two, complete with a centerpiece of Dinah’s camellias and candles. Now she wondered if her mother had been in on this and if that snack she’d mentioned had really been unavailable. “You didn’t mention having dinner.”
“I didn’t?” He gave himself a bump to his head with the heel of his hand. “Well, I should have. So, now that you’re here, how about some wine?”
“Will I need it?”
“I’m no world-class chef, but my lasagne’s not that bad.” He held up two bottles. “White or red? I recommend the red.”
“I wasn’t talking about food,” she told him. “Are you softening me up to make a complaint about Nick or Kendall?”
He stopped, set both bottles down. “What gave you that idea? How else am I gonna get cheap labor when I begin reroofing my house and Kendy’s set to perform an even more important favor for me?”
“Like what?” Rachel asked faintly.
“She’s boning up on how to exorcise the ghost of my cheatin’ ancestor.”
Rachel lowered her head, pinched the bridge o
f her nose with two fingers and fought the urge to laugh. When Cam set out to charm, he didn’t do it halfway. “Red,” she said.
“Excellent choice.” Opener at the ready, he bent to the task of uncorking the bottle of—she glanced at the label—a really good cabernet.
“We’ve finished off the Chianti, have we?”
“I’m told by the same guy who recommended it that we won’t be disappointed in this one, either. But if you are, there’s more Chianti in my wine cellar.”
“You have a wine cellar?” He certainly had been busy turning this old house into something special.
“Sure, on the shelf above the washer and dryer.” He worked the cork free, then pointed in that direction. “There’s a special place between the detergent and the Spray ’n Wash. Have a look.”
She propped her hands on her hips. “What is going on, Cam?”
He’d poured the wine, which he now offered her. She took it and let him guide her over to the cushioned seat in the bow window. He waited until she was sitting down to take a seat himself. “I’m on a mission of mercy.”
Sipping wine, she glanced over the glass at the beautifully set table. “Whatever it is, it wasn’t necessary to go to such elaborate extremes just to ask. What do you need from me?”
“A very big favor, but not for myself. It’s for Pete and Marta.”
“Pete and Marta? You’re on a mission for Pete and Marta?”
“You knew I was going to see our new police chief. I did—a couple of days ago. But he’s a shrewd operator. Seized the opportunity to grab a favor in return. He’s having a housewarming. He’d like Marta to come and he figured there’d be no chance if he asked her outright.” He set his wine on the floor and crossed an ankle over one knee. “You and I are invited and he’s hoping you’ll be able to talk Marta into joining us.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll try,” she said with some disappointment that he’d been more or less forced into escorting her. In spite of her effort not to, it looked as if she was buying into her mother’s fantasies. Time to stop it. “When is this important event?”
“Friday night, around seven.”
“Okay, but only if Dinah’s willing to stay with Kendy. Nick is going to be out Friday night,” she told him. “An overnight thing on Lake Ray Hubbard.”
“Understood,” he said, nodding. “So, I’ll pick you up, then we’ll swing by for Marta and the three of us can go together,” Cam told her. “That way, when the evening’s over, you and I will leave and Pete will drive Marta home.”
“Ah.” Indeed, Pete was a shrewd operator. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep from him the fact that Marta had already decided to have that dialogue with Pete, although she wasn’t yet ready to say she would—or could—forgive him.
“So, what do you think?”
“It’s a plan,” she said. “But I wouldn’t presume success just yet if I were Pete. Marta’s very bitter and rightly so. What he did was beyond the pale.”
“He told me she caught him in bed with another woman. He was pretty frank about it. Said it was a stupid thing to do.”
“And hurtful beyond anything he could have done. I don’t know if Marta can ever get beyond it enough to risk trusting him again.”
“But you still think he deserves a second chance? It surprised me when Pete said you’d tried to get Marta to reconsider.”
“Not exactly to reconsider. I just thought they should talk about what happened before deciding their relationship was over.”
“You’re the one who said infidelity is one of the most difficult problems to overcome in a relationship. Have you changed your mind?”
“No, but Pete and Marta weren’t yet married, and the purpose of the engagement period is to work out problems before they cause major catastrophes. They skipped that step, and then when Marta rushed into marriage with Jorge Ruiz, it was too late.”
“What was he like?”
“Jorge? A nice guy, quiet and shy. There wasn’t a kinder, gentler man in the state of Texas.”
“Safe, was he?”
She gave him a chiding look. “He was a very nice man.”
“Boring. And Marta hasn’t had a significant other since ol’ Jorge died?”
“No.”
Cam bent over to pick up his wine. “And now, looking back after all this time and water under the bridge, you still believe there’s a chance this marriage can be saved?”
“Relationship. Not marriage. And I don’t have a crystal ball,” she said, sensing something more in his questions than friendly interest in Pete and Marta’s situation. “But what do they have to lose just by talking?”
“I don’t know. No damn way it could have saved my marriage,” he added.
Or mine, she thought, studying the etched pattern on her wineglass. She guessed it had belonged to his mother, as did many of the things that were placed about in the house. She looked up into his face. “And since we’ve agreed to do this small thing for Pete and Marta, the rest is up to them and we’re out of it, okay?”
“Hey.” He put up both hands. “I wouldn’t be doing this much if he didn’t have me over a barrel.”
“You haven’t told me what you’re getting in return for escorting Marta and me, if anything.”
“The pleasure of your company, for one thing,” he said. “And I’m not sure whether the other is helpful, but I did get copies of the initial report of the first cops on the scene at the hotel where Jack…died, and the medical examiner’s report. Not here in Rose Hill. It happened in Angelina County.”
“Both must have been pretty painful,” she murmured.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and drank some wine. “I couldn’t have taken it five years ago when I was making such a big push to get that stuff. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not that I’ve read so many autopsy reports in doing the research of past crimes, but when it’s someone you care about—”
With only a moment’s hesitancy, Rachel reached out and touched his hand. He breathed in a long, fortifying breath, turned his hand and grasped hers. Without actually thinking about her words, and knowing he was probably hungry for any scrap of positive information about Jack, she simply began talking. “Marta considered Jack a gifted student, which, as his father, you already know. She’s tough, too. Her Honors English class is the best and when she says a student is gifted, you can believe it. His father’s son, wouldn’t you say?” She gave him a small smile. “In fact, she shared a couple of Jack’s assignments with me during the first semester. It was unusual, a gifted athlete with an equally impressive talent for writing. That’s why I was so puzzled when he seemed to get off track that second semester.”
Cam was staring at her. “You have something written by my son?”
“No, no. Marta never left anything with me. We just…enjoyed it. We’re often amused by the stuff kids write, but Jack was in a category beyond that.” She paused, aware of something on his face. “You knew he had a flair for writing, didn’t you?”
He released her hand, stood up and moved to the window so that she was looking at his back. “Where are those writings now?”
“It’s possible that Marta kept them.” Lord, he didn’t know. She felt a flash of terrible sympathy. “We can ask, Cam. I hate to tell you, but it wouldn’t be unusual if they’ve been shredded. It was five years ago, and ordinarily, no teacher keeps her students’ papers that long.”
“Not even the gifted ones?” Cam swung about. “Not even if he’s contemplating suicide?”
“We’ve talked about this, Cam,” she said gently. “There was nothing to suggest that Jack was contemplating suicide. That’s why it was such a shock. What he wrote was sometimes offbeat, but such thoughts can stem from any number of emotional issues.”
“My son wasn’t screwed up!”
“I’m not saying he was screwed up, just that something was on his mind.” She sighed wearily. “As a counselor, I can try to show a troubled student a door, but it’s up to him to open it.” She cou
ld see the fingers of his hands flexing and knew he was struggling with fierce pain. “But sometimes trying just isn’t enough.”
She watched him consider that, his face still dark with the memory of losing his son. “Can you tell me anything about what Jack wrote?” he asked.
He appeared ready to ease off, so she made an effort to recall. “As I said, in the beginning, it was quite beautiful, a view of life through the eyes of a boy just on the verge of manhood. It was funny and touching, creative. He missed you,” she said. Risking a glance at his face, she found it stony and his eyes bleak. “But that was normal. There was nothing to signal more than the natural need of a boy to be with his father. But later…” she was frowning, “I remember Marta remarking that his writing had taken a turn that troubled her.”
“And that didn’t send up a red flag?”
She managed a wry smile. “To be a teenager is to be riddled with angst,” she said, “so that in itself wasn’t so unusual. But it caused Marta some concern and when she showed it to me, I agreed. That’s when I first called Jack into my office. I got the feeling that he felt he didn’t need a shrink, that whatever was bugging him, he could handle.”
“That sounds more like the Jack I believed him to be.”
She spread her hands. “You know the rest.” She got up, took a deep breath, set her wineglass on the counter and pulled the hem of the T-shirt down neatly. “Well, thanks for the wine.”
“What?”
“Thank you for the wine,” she repeated, and took a step, intending to go around him, but he moved in front of her, stopping her with just a look from his eyes, silver-gray and intense with the emotion stirred up by talk of Jack. The breath caught in her throat, and she realized suddenly that her attraction to Cam was inching beyond anything she’d reckoned on. As a newly single person, she thought a flirtation with someone as interesting as Cam had been deliciously appealing…in the abstract. She’d been telling herself it could never come to anything. The problem was, she’d forgotten the risks.