by Cindi Myers
“And he really likes you.” She took a towel and washcloth from the cabinet over the toilet and laid them on the edge of the sink. “Do you want bubbles?” She picked up the pink bottle of bubble bath from the edge of the tub.
“Bubbles are for girls.”
She stared at him. “But I thought you liked them.”
He pulled his shirt over his head. “I just think maybe I’m a little too old for that.”
“All right.” Marlee replaced the bottle and checked the temperature of the water while Greg finished undressing.
“You like Troy, don’t you, Mom?” Greg asked as he stepped into the water.
“Well, I…Yes, I like Troy.” She found it difficult not to like him, considering how sorry he seemed to be for the pain he’d caused her. But liking him and allowing him to be a part of Greg’s life didn’t mean they could ever go back to the intimate relationship they’d had before Troy was arrested. She’d been too willing to give someone else the responsibility for her happiness then, but she knew better now.
“Troy says I’m a good speller,” Greg said as he rubbed soap onto a washcloth.
“You are. Don’t forget to wash your elbows and knees.”
“I only missed one word and he said it was a hard one.”
“What’s the word?”
“Pen. The kind you write with? It sounds like it should have an I in it, but it doesn’t. It’s an E.”
“But now you remember that, and you’ll spell it right next time.”
“That’s what Troy said. He said we should always learn from our mistakes.”
Had Troy learned from his mistakes? She hoped so. Greg deserved a father he could look up to.
“I’m glad Troy’s coming to my open house,” Greg said. “I want to show him my class and where I sit. And he can meet my teacher.”
She had never known Greg to be this excited about anyone. “Greg, honey, you’ve only known Troy a few days,” she said. “What makes him so cool?”
Greg shrugged. “I don’t know. He just…he really likes me. He treats me like I’m special.”
“Oh, honey, you are special.” She leaned over to hug him.
He squirmed out of her embrace. “You have to say that ’cause you’re my mom. But Troy thought I was special right away.”
“How do you know that, honey?”
“Because of the way he looked at me.”
She felt a catch in her chest. She knew that look.
She’d seen it again this evening in the kitchen, a look Troy had given her when they were young and in love. But she must have been wrong—there was too much hurt between them now to leave any room for love.
“Hurry up,” she urged Greg. “Time for bed.” She checked to make sure he’d washed thoroughly, then helped him out of the tub and into pajamas. After reading a chapter of How to Eat Fried Worms she tucked him in and kissed him good-night.
Restless, she went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. But when she flipped on the light, the first thing she saw was the newspaper clipping Troy had brought, the story about her dad.
She sat at the table and read the article again, then her gaze returned to the photograph. When she was a little girl, she didn’t understand why her father was away so much. When he was gone she would sometimes take the wedding photograph of her parents off the hall table and sleep with it beside her. Her mother, in a white gown and veil, smiled at her father, who looked out at the viewer, black eyes sparkling, hair slicked back, grinning like a movie star.
Age and hard times had stolen those looks. At some point, his nose had been broken and not set properly. He wasn’t smiling in the newspaper photo, and deep lines were etched into his face. But his eyes were the same, dark and alert, with a glint as if he knew a great secret.
Her fingers crumpled the paper. The neighborhood where the fire had occurred was only a few miles from here. Her father was that close.
When she’d thought about him at all, she’d assumed he was still in prison, locked up in Huntsville where he couldn’t hurt her or anyone else. How long had he been out?
She pushed the paper away. It didn’t matter. Her father wasn’t part of her life anymore. She wouldn’t put herself—or Greg—through the pain of being close to someone they couldn’t depend on.
Was she taking the same risk with Troy? She knew there would always be a chance he’d go back to his old ways. Even so, she had a hard time thinking of him as a hardened criminal.
He’d been gentle with her. How had he understood so instinctively what she’d been feeling when Greg asked him for help instead of her?
Could she fall in love with Troy all over again? Her feelings for him before had been so intense, her hurt when he left so great…
No! She was past feeling anything for Troy but casual friendship. The kiss they’d shared this afternoon had been a mistake, a combination of nearness and memories that were best not revisited.
Marlee took a deep, steadying breath. All right, she’d acknowledged her physical weakness for Troy. Now she would just have to guard against it. Given enough practice, and enough time, she could conquer her desires in order to protect herself and her son.
CHAPTER SIX
THE HALLS OF Waterloo Elementary School rang with the cries of excited children and the exclamations of proud parents. Everywhere Marlee looked, she saw men squeezed into child-size chairs, smiling mothers studying stick-figure drawings and children beaming as they showed off their work, their desks, their classrooms, their school.
“Hurry up, Mom!” Greg pulled on her hand, a tugboat towing a barge through a sea of people.
She heard the rumble of Troy’s chuckle as he walked beside her. “Were we ever this enthusiastic about school?” he asked.
“Maybe in first grade,” Marlee said. “I liked school pretty well, at least when I was Greg’s age.”
“That’s because you were smart,” he observed.
Greg led them into his classroom. Mrs. Ramirez was speaking to a group of parents at the front of the room. Marlee began a promenade along the chalkboard, searching the drawings and work sheets for Greg’s name.
She stopped in front of a spelling test adorned with a gold star. “I’m so proud of you,” she told her son and hugged him close. Greg was so smart—already a better student than she’d ever been. He’d be able to do anything he wanted with his future—become a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer. All the sacrifices she made now would be worth it to make sure her son never had to endure the same hardships. One day, when he was much older, she’d tell him about his grandfather and her childhood, so he could see how lucky he really was.
“Hey, look at this.” Troy touched her elbow and pointed to a drawing of a stick-figure boy and man on a motorcycle with oversize tires. When Marlee read Greg’s handwriting at the bottom of the page—Me and Troy—her chest felt hollow. Greg used to draw pictures of her and him together. Knowing Troy was her son’s new favorite subject stung.
“Do you really like it?” Greg asked.
“I really do.” Troy cleared his throat. “It’s a terrific picture.”
“I’ll give it to you when we get to take our stuff home.” Greg turned to Marlee. “Can I go say hi to Rachel?”
“All right,” Marlee said. “But stay in this room.”
The boy raced away and she and Troy continued to search the displays for his work.
“Look at that math work sheet.” Troy nodded to another of Greg’s papers. He leaned closer and spoke in a low, confiding tone. “I can’t get over how smart he is. He must get it from you.”
She blushed at the compliment. As they reached the end of the chalkboard and turned to take in the papers tacked to the bulletin boards along the side of the room, she became aware of the curious glances they were attracting from other parents. She recognized many of them from previous school gatherings. They’re wondering who Troy is, she thought. They want to know who he is to me.
She’d spent a lot of time contemplating that q
uestion this week, but still had no answer. Troy was the first man she’d loved. The father of her child—the only man she’d allowed into her life. But he was also the man who’d betrayed her trust. A reminder of a past she’d tried hard to escape.
Yet her physical attraction to him pulled at her like an undertow—combined with the temptation to let him take care of her, as he seemed to want to do. The responsibilities of raising her son and tending to every detail of their lives weighed heavy. The idea of giving up some of that burden was appealing.
But that was no better reason to start a relationship than some fantasy about true love.
She realized Troy was watching her intently, as if trying to read her thoughts. At one time, he’d known her better, more intimately, than anyone else on earth. But not now. Her thoughts and emotions were her own, not to be shared.
Traffic was backing up behind them, so Troy nudged Marlee’s arm and they moved on. “Is my being here going to cause problems for you?” he asked. He must have noticed the curious glances they were getting.
“What kind of problems?”
“Gossip. Rumors?”
“Probably.” She’d never been overly friendly with the other parents, but she was sure they’d noticed she always attended these functions alone. “I guess having a few mothers speculate about the good-looking guy I’m with isn’t the worst thing that could happen to me,” she said. “And Greg’s thrilled that you’re here.”
TROY LOOKED OVER to where Greg and a little girl—his friend Rachel of the missing front tooth—were raiding the refreshment table. The boy had hugged him when Troy arrived at the house, and thanked him for coming. As if anything short of death would have kept him from the event.
He turned back to Marlee, who was still studying him. “So my appearance meets with your approval?” Instead of his motorcycle leathers, he wore khaki slacks and a denim shirt with a Tabasco tie.
“I like the tie,” Marlee said.
It was as close to a compliment as she’d come since they’d reconnected. He felt in danger of busting his buttons.
They completed their circuit of the room and stopped to say hello to Mrs. Ramirez. Greg’s teacher smiled and extended her hand. “How nice to see you, Ms. Britton.” She looked questioningly at Troy.
“This is my friend Troy,” Greg said, rejoining them.
“Troy Denton.” He shook her hand.
Mrs. Ramirez beamed. “I’ve heard so much about you, Mr. Denton,” she said. “You’ve made quite an impression on Greg.”
What could he say to that? For all Marlee’s aloofness, Greg had taken to Troy immediately, almost as if the little boy sensed there was something special about their relationship.
He respected Marlee’s wish to protect Greg from the shock of suddenly learning he had a father, and he understood her reluctance to deal with the uncomfortable questions that would follow. But one day soon he would insist they tell Greg the truth.
“Troy, come meet Sugar and Spice.” Greg tugged him toward the cage that held the class guinea pigs. “They’re both girls,” Greg said. “We had a rabbit that was a boy, but it kept getting out, so it went to live with Rebecca Trovar, who has other rabbits.”
“It’s good they found a home for him,” Troy said. “Do you help take care of Sugar and Spice?”
“Oh, sure. We all take turns. But you have to be real gentle with them, or they get scared.” He stroked one finger down Sugar’s brown-and-white side through the bars.
Troy felt an overwhelming rush of tenderness. His son was kind and smart. While he had long enjoyed the idea of being a father, he hadn’t imagined it was possible to feel so connected to a child he had met only a week ago.
Love was like that, he guessed—mysterious and powerful and defying all logic.
WHEN THEY RETURNED home, Greg ran ahead into the house as Troy followed Marlee to the front door. “Thank you for inviting me tonight,” he said. “I want to be involved in his life that way. Thank you for understanding.”
“You’re welcome.”
He put his hand on the porch post above her head and leaned toward her. She held her breath, wondering if he would try to kiss her and if she’d be able to pull away.
Instead, he straightened and took a step back. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.
Marlee watched him walk away, waiting to feel the relief she expected, but instead she was confused. She still didn’t know where Troy fit in her life, or what role she wanted him to play. Right now, he was a friend interested in Greg, but how long could he be just that? If she told Greg the truth, would Troy become an even bigger part of their lives? Would he insist on having more of a say in Greg’s future? Could she handle that?
Greg came out of the house, slipped under her arm and hugged her. “Tonight was fun,” he said.
“It was. I’m very proud of you.” She smoothed his hair. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” He was silent a moment, then said, “Do you think Troy is proud of me, too?”
Troy again. “I’m sure he is,” she said. “He commented on how smart you are.”
“He liked the motorcycle I drew, too.”
“I love you, honey.”
“I love you, too, Mom. It was a good night, wasn’t it?” he repeated.
“Yes, it was.” Good if only because Greg was pleased. That was all she wanted—to give her son a safe, stable childhood filled with happy memories—the kind she hadn’t known.
If that meant finding a place for Troy in their little circle, then she would do it. But she wouldn’t let down her guard around him. If he did anything to upset her son or threaten his happiness, she would fight him with everything she had.
IT WAS STILL EARLY when Troy returned to his apartment, barely eight o’clock. He parked the bike and started up the stairs to his unit, then froze at the sight of a dark figure in the doorway.
“Hey, Troy.” His parole office, Bernie Martinez, stepped into the light.
Troy moved warily up the steps. “Hey,” he said. He didn’t bother to ask what Bernie was doing here. As a parolee, Troy was subject to visits by Bernie or other officers of the law at any time. They could search his apartment, test his blood or urine or saliva or question his friends. For the duration of his parole, he was still considered a prisoner of the state, with only limited freedom.
He couldn’t wait until he was no longer confined by such restrictions—when he wouldn’t have the constant reminder of his time in prison. He wanted to put that behind him, but for the next year or two, he was still a convict, and not to be trusted.
“I was on my way home and thought I’d stop and see how you’re doing,” Bernie said.
“Sure.” Troy unlocked the door of his apartment. “Come on in.”
He led the way into the small, sparsely furnished front room. He hadn’t bought much, just a sagging recliner, a coffee table with a radio and a stack of books piled on it. Bernie looked around. “No TV? What do you do in the evenings?”
“I listen to the radio or read.” He dropped his keys onto the counter that jutted out from the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink? A soda or a glass of water?”
“No, thanks.” Bernie shoved his hands in his pockets and followed Troy into the kitchen. “How’s the job going?”
“It’s okay.”
“You making friends on the outside?”
Troy had spent every free minute with Marlee and Greg. They were his priorities now. “I’m all right, Bernie.” He took a can of Coke from the refrigerator and opened it.
“It’s important to establish ties to the community,” Bernie said. “Relationships that don’t have anything to do with prison.”
“I’m doing all right,” he said again, his voice sharper.
Bernie frowned. “Did you ever get in touch with Frank Britton?”
Troy hadn’t even thought about Frank since the night he’d shown Marlee the story in the paper. “No. I saw an article about him in the paper, though. He s
aved a woman from a fire.”
“Yes. Imagine that. Frank a hero.”
Troy nodded. The Frank Marlee had described looked out only for himself. But people could change. Troy knew that better than anyone.
“What about your cousin, Raymond?” Bernie asked. “You ever hear from him?”
He set the soda can down hard on the counter, some of the Coke sloshing over his knuckles. “No. I haven’t spoken to him since we were arrested.” And never would. He hated being reminded of the man who’d brought him so much trouble.
“He just got out. Part of that big push to relieve prison overcrowding. I thought he might be in touch.”
“If he knows what’s good for him, he won’t be.”
Bernie looked around the empty apartment again. “Who do you hang out with?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Who are your friends?”
“I don’t have time for a lot of socializing.”
“What about family? Do any of them live in the area?”
Marlee and Greg were his family now, but that bond felt new and fragile. He hated to make them a part of this ugly side of his life.
“I’m not asking just to be nosy,” Bernie said. “It’s important for you to have a support group. Parolees who have friends and family they can rely on are less likely to return to prison.”
His father had been dead for years. His brother lived on the other side of the country and they rarely spoke. And although Troy saw his mother regularly, they weren’t close. The friends he’d had before had moved on with their lives. When Troy went to prison, he’d disappeared from their lives and they from his.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” he said. “I’m doing okay.”
“Where were you tonight?” Bernie asked.
He hesitated, a lie on the tip of his tongue. But hadn’t he said he was done with dishonesty? “I was with my son and his mother. Parents’ night at his school.”
Troy almost smiled at the genuine surprise on Bernie’s face. “I didn’t know you had a son,” he said.
“He was born while I was locked up,” Troy said. “I’m just getting to know him. He’s a great kid.” He wished he had a picture to show Bernie. Why hadn’t he asked Marlee for one he could keep in his wallet? Not having a photo reminded him of how tenuous his ties to his son were.