“And five. She hasn’t forgotten. She reminds me of things we did together when she e-mails me. She’s shy with me because we haven’t seen each other in a while. That’s all.”
Linnea knew he was telling the truth. Before Tess’s death, she’d seen Hanna light up for him, snuggle trustingly against his side. She’d heard her niece’s giggle and looked outside to see them coming up the street from the school, two blocks away, pretending to steal a soccer ball from each other. Matt had been good to her.
“For one week a year,” she whispered. Then said more loudly, “You were hardly ever here.”
For an instant his eyes closed, veiling his response to her accusation. Then his lashes lifted to reveal a fierce stare. “She had parents. I have a job.”
“What were you going to do if you got custody? Take her away to Kuwait? Or wherever you were going next?”
“You know I wouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly.
“How am I supposed to know?” Her voice wanted to tremble, but she forced herself to go on anyway. “Have we ever had a conversation before?”
She’d said that before. I don’t really know you. He’d tried to claim the fault lay on both of their sides, and maybe there was some truth in it. He was the kind of man who intimidated her. If he had ever tried to talk to her, she’d have probably spooked like a skittish cat. But the truth was, he hadn’t. She suspected he had hardly noticed she was there.
Linnea was a little shocked to realize how much she resented his indifference, even though she hadn’t actually wanted him to talk to her. At least, she didn’t think she had. But maybe…She was confusing herself, and none of that mattered anyway. Hanna mattered.
“You have no idea how much I regret that now,” he said, gravel in his voice. As if, perhaps, he was ashamed of himself. He sighed. “Linnea, can we start again? We have to put a visitation schedule in writing. But I had no intention of jumping into it. I don’t want to scare Hanna. I want to take it slowly. Maybe she’d enjoy a movie. Dinner at McDonald’s. If you have a schoolyard nearby, she might like to kick the soccer ball. We used to do that.”
Now she was the one who was ashamed. “I remember,” she said, so low she wasn’t sure anyone but Matt heard her.
He was still looking into her eyes, but his expression had changed. “Will you help me become friends with Hanna again?” he asked.
Linnea felt herself nodding. “I would have, you know.”
“If I hadn’t been such a jackass.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “No, don’t say anything. You don’t have to.”
“Then I won’t.”
His smile was full-blown now, if still wry. She felt odd, dizzy, as if she’d twirled several times and now nothing looked the same. Not that she hadn’t seen him smile before, but for other people. Never for her. If he had…
I would have been even more frightened of him, she realized, still dazed. Because he smiled as if he meant it, with intimacy, warmth and surprising self-deprecation. His smile was utterly unlike her brother’s far more charming one.
“What’s this decision making we’re supposed to discuss?” Matt asked, his gaze not leaving her face.
Margaret cleared her throat. “Ah, that’s the kind of decisions parents usually make together. What school a child will attend. What church, if any. Sunday school. To vaccinate or not. To skip a grade if it’s called for, to seek tutoring if needed. Practical matters, personal values, the rules a child has to abide by.”
He seemed to be waiting for her. After a minute, Linnea said, “Do you object to my moving her to a local school after the break?”
Matt shook his head. “That seems logical unless there’s some compelling reason to keep her where she is.”
“She hated her after-school care.”
“The Rolls Royce of preschools?”
Linnea blinked. “Is that what Tess called it?”
“It’s what I called it. Tess bragged about the Spanish lessons…Or was it French? I don’t remember. The educational walks where the children were invited to notice architectural motifs. The plays they put on—”
“Hanna especially hated the plays. She was too shy to enjoy being in the spotlight. But of course she had to be included, so she always got stuck being the tree or something.” Her tone of loathing was a dead giveaway. She had always been the tree in elementary school plays, too.
Matt was laughing, but gently, as if he sympathized. “When I got home from school, I liked to climb a tree. Or maybe lie on my stomach and read a comic book.”
“It wasn’t as if Tess and Finn had any choice but to put her in after-school care—”
“No. But she won’t miss it.”
Although they both knew she would miss her mother. Terribly, awfully and forever.
“Church is up to you,” he said. “I tend to believe in vaccinations.”
She nodded. “Me, too.”
“What did we miss? Does she need tutoring?”
Linnea was smiling, just a little. “No. Her reading is way ahead of grade level. But not so far that anyone has suggested she skip ahead.”
“Then…?” He looked at Margaret.
She suppressed a smile of her own. “I think we can agree that decision making will be by consensus.”
“Dispute resolution?” his attorney said.
“Put down whatever is standard,” Matt said. “If we have a problem, we can all meet again.”
“Visitation schedule?”
“Let me see it,” Linnea said. She turned the piece of paper he pushed across the table so she could read it. Really, she supposed it wasn’t unreasonable. He wasn’t asking for any more than a divorced father would presume was his right. Of course, he wasn’t Hanna’s father, but then she wasn’t Hanna’s mother, either. It felt funny, though, to realize they were standing in for those roles.
“This is fine,” she said, “as long as you’ll take it slowly. Not…push Hanna to do something she’s not ready for.”
“You have my word,” he said quietly.
Meeting his eyes, Linnea took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes.” The one word sounded so bald, she added, “Okay.”
“Are we done?” Matt asked, turning a look of inquiry and possibly even impatience on both attorneys, his and hers.
They exchanged a glance. “Why don’t I write it up?” Margaret said. “I’ll fax it to you for comment.”
“Works for me.” Shelton spread his hands. “That was easy.”
“For Hanna’s sake, that’s the way it needs to be,” Matt said.
Overwhelmed by her jumble of emotions, Linnea picked out only the surprising bit of hope she’d found: perhaps they could at least pretend to be allies after all.
“For Hanna’s sake,” she echoed.
CHAPTER FIVE
FRIDAY NIGHT AFTER THEIR meeting at the attorney’s office, Matt called and suggested that, if it didn’t rain Sunday, he take Hanna to the nearest school to kick the soccer ball around.
“That sounds fine,” Linnea said, “except that I didn’t think to grab the ball the last time I was at Finn’s house to get more of her clothes. I don’t even know where they keep stuff like that. The garage, maybe?”
“I’ll buy one,” he said.
“That’s probably a good idea. Would you like to stay for lunch?”
“Thank you.”
Hanging up, he thought about how excruciatingly polite they had been to each other. God willing, they could keep it up.
He’d lost, and he was lucky Linnea was being as nice as she was about that visitation schedule—or, to put it another way, the measly amount of time he was to be allowed to spend with his niece. He was determined to be equally decent, but the truth was that his goals hadn’t changed. He had every intention of raising Hanna. As far as he was concerned, the commissioner’s ruling was a glitch, a temporary obstacle.
And even though he’d come to realize that he liked Linnea, he was going to use her to gain Hanna’s confidence. He wondered if Linnea believed she’d
won for good, or whether she guessed they’d end up opponents again.
Matt hadn’t intended to get a job for now; he was on leave from Parker-Sinclair, hadn’t even used up his long-accumulated vacation time. With that and his investments, he could certainly afford not to work for a good long while. But seeing Hanna one day this week, two another, left one hell of a lot of days in between. He’d go nuts, twiddling his thumbs. Truthfully, he was thinking of turning that leave into a resignation anyway. Even if—when—he was given custody, he wouldn’t want to haul Hanna all around the world, Kuwait City this year, Buenos Aires the next, who knew where the one after that. The rootless lifestyle had suited him when he was on his own. He had coworkers who did bring their families along, and some of them seemed happy enough, considered it an adventure. But he believed kids should be rooted. And Hanna had always struck him in particular as a kid who needed to know where she belonged. She wasn’t an adventurer.
Even he’d been growing tired of the frequent, drastic moves. He was thirty-three years old, and he’d never owned a house. Never planted a garden. His friendships had been transitory, close only until the next move sent him to a different part of the world.
If he got a job locally, bought a house, his chances of gaining that custody would improve. The commissioner had sounded doubtful when he’d asked if Matt would still be around in the near future. He wouldn’t leave any room for doubt the next time he stood up to make his plea.
He’d have rather put off thinking about making his stay here in Seattle permanent until after Finn’s trial, but he’d learned that was unrealistic.
“It could be a year away,” Delaney had told him the last time they talked. “The prosecutor’s office will keep you updated, but I gotta tell you, even if one side or the other isn’t asking for delays, the wheels of justice move slowly. Why do you think police reports are so detailed? We need our memories nudged by the time we’re called to the witness stand.”
A year? Matt imagined all of their lives on hold. Not only Finn’s—as far as Matt was concerned, that son of a bitch should be in prison while he prepared for trial—but everyone else involved was in a kind of limbo. Hanna most of all. Looming over any plans Linnea or Matt made for her was the possibility that Finn would somehow walk, and want his daughter back. Even a plea bargain could result in a very brief sentence—a year or two, say—and if the charges were reduced, Finn might have the possibility of regaining custody of Hanna. Matt was counting on Finn to refuse to accept any offers for a plea bargain. As long as the charge remained a felony, he’d never be able to practice law again, and then what would he do with his life? And, by God, the DA’s office had better not reduce Tess’s murder to a misdemeanor.
Matt swore aloud, his voice harsh in the quiet hotel room. He could live with having lost this opening battle to Linnea. But to ensure that Hanna never spent another night under her father’s roof, he’d do whatever he had to.
He was careful to arrive at Linnea’s place at ten on the nose. Yesterday he’d picked up a kid-size soccer ball and one of those nets to carry it in. He had it under his arm when he walked up to the door.
Linnea was friendly and chatty when she let him in. Hanna hovered ghostlike in the background again.
“Hey,” he said. “You ready to go blast the ball into the goal?”
Linnea had to pry answers out of Hanna again. She didn’t remember how to play. No, Mom hadn’t put her in soccer.
“’Cause Mom had to work,” she said, so softly he could hardly hear her.
“I’ve seen soccer leagues going on around here,” Linnea said. “But they seem to end by November, with the weather getting so crummy. Maybe there are spring soccer leagues. We can find out. What do you think, Hanna?”
Hanna ducked her head and shuffled her feet.
“There’s a school just three blocks that way,” Linnea told him, pointing. “I don’t think the soccer fields are being used on Sunday.”
He kept his voice easy. “What do you think, Hanna Banana?”
She smiled a tiny bit at the nickname that used to make her giggle. Then she tugged at Linnea’s hand, making her bend down so that she could whisper in her ear.
Linnea looked dismayed. “Oh, honey. I was going to get some housecleaning done and start lunch while you two had fun.”
This time he wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t even disappointed. He liked the idea of Linnea coming with them. He wanted to see the brisk November air bring color to her cheeks. Maybe she’d laugh. He had never seen her give a real belly laugh.
He felt a little uneasy at how much he wanted her to come, but encouraging her was the right thing for a lot of reasons.
“Why don’t you join us?” he said. “I’ll play goalie. You and Hanna can try to get one by me.”
She searched his face. “Are you sure?”
He smiled. “I’m sure.”
“Well, then…” She tugged her niece’s ponytail. “You two will have to wait while I change shoes and grab a sweater.”
While she was gone, Hanna stole peeks at him. “Is that my soccer ball?”
He shook his head. “Your aunt Linnie didn’t know where you kept yours.”
“Mommy said balls shouldn’t be in the house,” the little girl whispered. She was silent for a moment. “Aunt Linnie says you remember Mommy when she was my age.”
Sudden pain compressed his chest and he had to swallow before he could speak. “Yeah. I do.”
“Did she play soccer?”
He shook his head. “Your mom danced. She was really good. She did ballet and jazz and tap. When she was really little, she said she was going to be a ballet dancer when she grew up.”
“How come she didn’t?”
“She was too tall. In ballet, the men lift the women, so most of the women are tiny. She enjoyed playing basketball, too. That’s a sport where being tall is good. And she loved art.”
“I like to draw, too,” Hanna told him shyly.
“I know. Just a couple of months ago, your mom sent me the sailboat you drew. I was really glad to have it.” Tess had been proud of Hanna’s talent, which he could see, as well. He had a steady hand and a good eye for perspective himself, but none of the creativity that had fired Tess’s art. However young she was, Hanna, he thought, had an artist’s eye. The sailboat hadn’t been the usual static, one-dimensional kid’s drawing. Rather, as an artist she had seen the boat head-on, the sails bulging with the wind, spray flung high by the prow, as if a storm made the seas high. The scene had almost seemed…ominous. Tess didn’t seem to notice, or wonder if the sailboat had represented a force Hanna had seen bearing down on her. He couldn’t swear it had represented any such thing, but the charcoal drawing had made him both proud and a little uneasy. It bothered him now to remember that in his hurry to pack he had left it on the refrigerator, where he’d hung it with a magnet. The rental agent had probably long since crumpled it up and thrown it away.
“Have you been drawing since you came to Aunt Linnie’s?”
She shook her head.
Before he could ask why not, Linnea returned. “Ready?”
She’d changed from clogs to athletic shoes and now wore a heavy sweater over the jeans that clung to her long legs. Hair that had been carelessly bundled back was smoothly brushed into a ponytail that bobbed just like Hanna’s.
“Sure we are,” he said heartily, to hide his discomfiture. Damn it, being attracted to her was more than a little inconvenient.
He gave the ball in its net to Hanna, who began bouncing it off her toes as they started up the sidewalk. Walking a few steps behind, he found himself focusing on the sway of Linnea’s hips and the shimmer of that pale blond ponytail. Her neck was slender, the nape somehow vulnerable-looking as she bent her head to smile down at her niece.
To distract himself, he asked Linnea, “What about you? Did you play any sports?”
She glanced back at him. “I’m afraid I’m something of a klutz. I wasn’t very good at most sports. Swimming
is the exception. In fact, I’m going to get Hanna added to my membership at the health club so she can go with me.”
“But I don’t know how to swim!” Hanna said in alarm.
“You haven’t had lessons?” For God’s sake, what had Tess been thinking? Both of them had been like fish in the water by the time they were Hanna’s age. Summer was for swim lessons. But he knew—she’d been too busy. Matt scowled. Why the hell hadn’t the super preschool had the kids in swim lessons?
“Uh-uh.” Hanna shook her head hard. “I don’t like to put my face in.”
“Well, we’re going to have to take care of that,” Linnea said firmly. “Everybody needs to know how to swim. Besides, it’s fun. We’ll want to go to the beach this summer. When I was your age, Mom took your dad and me to Green Lake a couple of times a week. She’d read at a picnic table and we’d swim.”
She sounded sad, Matt couldn’t help noticing. Because her family was irretrievably broken now, or because that memory wasn’t as rosy as it sounded on the surface?
When they reached the school, they found some boys playing basketball on the paved area close to the building, but the fields were empty. Shouts of triumph and groans carried to the far soccer goal where Matt planted himself.
“A couple of girls,” he jeered. “You don’t have a chance.”
Hanna and Linnea exchanged glances.
“It’s pretty muddy there,” Linnea observed. “If you go down, it won’t be pretty.”
He grinned, even though he’d had the same realization. The day was chilly, but not cold enough to make the mud crusty. Especially considering he wasn’t wearing soccer cleats, slipping was a real possibility. “Good luck,” he said.
Hanna dumped the ball out of the net on the sideline. The two of them whispered for a moment, then separated on the field and began passing the ball back and forth. He crouched, waiting as they neared. Linnea booted the ball, and he leaped and caught it.
“Slow motion,” he mocked.
Already her cheeks were rosy, her eyes sparkling. For a klutz, she moved well. He hadn’t thought to ask whether one of those sports she’d tried out along the way had been soccer.
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