by Jane Toombs
“It seems to me Russ used to dig a hole in the dirt with his heel,” she said as she dropped five of her marbles into the ring.
“That’s another way to play,” David agreed.
“Betty thinks it’s neat your brother raises horses,” Sarah said to Amy.
Amy smiled at her. “Me, too.”
“Okay, as youngest, Sarah gets to shoot first,” David said.
The girl carefully positioned her shooter on her thumbnail, with her forefinger keeping the marble from rolling off, then flicked her thumb, sending the marble flying into the ring where it knocked two of the smaller marbles out of the ring boundaries.
“I get to keep those,” Sarah cried.
“I can see you’ve been practicing,” Amy said.
“Daddy taught me. But he’s lots better.”
Then it was Amy’s turn and she bent over to position her marble.
David, in back of her, wound up with an unexpected view of more of Amy’s rear end than he could deal with when her shorts pulled up to reveal the soft white flesh of part of her buttocks. The sight went straight to his groin. Damn. He might be angry with her, but that sure as hell didn’t prevent him from wanting her more than ever.
Remembering what he’d said about the winner of the marble game getting to finish what they’d started in Gert’s attic was no help at all. Swearing under his breath, he rose abruptly and stalked across the lot toward his apartment, very faintly hearing Amy asking Sarah if there was something wrong with him.
“I’ll be back,” he said over his shoulder.
Little did she know.
Chapter Thirteen
Three evenings later, Amy’s doorbell rang. “Who is it?” she called.
“It’s me. Sarah.”
Sarah, alone? Surprised, Amy opened the door. “Come on in,” she said.
Sarah slipped inside but wouldn’t sit down. “I can’t stay ’cause Daddy won’t know where I am if he wakes up. He’s taking a nap in front of the TV.”
“Is something the matter?”
“It’s about Betty. I keep telling Daddy, but he’s sort of stopped listening. She can’t come to violin lessons any more ’cause her mother had to have that operation and her father moved away, so they don’t have any money.”
“That’s a shame,” Amy said. “I’ll call Mrs. McBride right now and see if I can do something to help.”
“I miss Betty.”
“Of course you do.”
“I have to go in case Daddy wakes up.” Sarah was out the door before Amy could say anything more.
When Cary answered the phone, her voice sounded so weak that Amy grew alarmed. “I heard you had an operation,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“They had to take out my gallbladder. Everyone says recovery is so much easier with laser surgery, but I just can’t seem to get back on my feet. And I have to, so I can go back to work.”
There was no way Amy was going to pry into Cary’s husband’s absence. “What kind of work is it you do?”
“I’m a medical secretary for a Gardnerville group. I’ve already taken so much time off sick that I didn’t have much left and it’s up tomorrow.” She began to cry.
That did it for Amy. Prying or not, she said bluntly, “Sarah says your husband moved out.”
“Yes, he did.” Cary spoke between sobs. “He hasn’t sent us any money yet and I don’t know when he will. There’s the rent and food and Betty needs clothes for school.” Her sobbing prevented her from going on.
“Hang in there while I see what I can do,” Amy told her. Then she called Gert and explained the problem.
“A medical secretary? I just might have a solution for work. You know Eunice has been hinting she’d like to retire so she and her husband can travel more in their motor home. I wonder if Cary McBride would be interested?”
Eunice was Gert’s receptionist, and Amy knew she was staying on only until Gert decided to find a replacement. “I can ask Cary,” she said. “It’d be more convenient for her to work right in town.”
“Cary could come in part-time when she feels well enough so that Eunice could orient her, and then go full-time when she’s recovered.”
“Thanks, Gert. I’ll let her know.” Amy broke the connection and stared down at the phone. Should she risk calling David? She shrugged and punched in his number. Since he was already angry with her, what did it matter?
“Severin.” He sounded a bit hoarse, as though the call had roused him from his nap.
“This is Amy. I wondered if you knew what’s happened to Betty’s mother?” Without waiting for a response, she went on to tell him the problem, not saying Sarah had told her.
“So that’s what Sarah was going on about,” he said. “I should have paid more attention.”
“Gert’s going to offer Cary a job,” she said, hesitated, then plunged on—after all, he was a lawyer even if he didn’t intend to practice his profession. “Is there any way you can think of to get her husband to send her support money?”
“The feds have a dead-beat dad law on the books to help the states find the guys and collect the money. Nevada has its own law as well. I’ll look into it.”
She wanted to ask more questions to make him go on talking, just to hear his voice, but forced herself to end the call. “Thanks. I know Cary will appreciate whatever you can do.”
She sighed as she put the phone down, feeling more bereft than she’d ever felt before—even after she’d caught Vince with that graduate student. David’s businesslike tone of voice had convinced her it really was over between them.
In the morning, David called Judge Maguire, found he had some free time and dropped by to see him, leaving Sarah in the waiting room with a book to read.
“Nevada’s got a damn good dead-beat dad law in place,” the judge told him. “With the Internet it’s easy enough to find the bastards these days. Collecting is harder if there isn’t a clear divorce settlement where the child support amount is down in black and white, but it’s not impossible, even if he’s still married but has taken off and isn’t contributing to the support of his children. The main problem is the mothers don’t know how to go about getting help to force the men to pay up. No lawyer is going to make a bundle pursuing dead-beat dads, so even if the mothers can afford to hire one, few are interested.”
At that moment David learned how it felt to have an epiphany and the magnitude of it stunned him for a moment. The judge was talking about dead-beat dads who failed to supply their offspring with financial support. But what about David Severin? He’d sent child support money without fail, but he’d never so much as tried to support his daughter emotionally until she was unexpectedly dumped in his lap. Wasn’t he another kind of dead-beat dad?
Never mind that he’d made up for it as best he could once Sarah was with him, he’d been one in the past, and he was ashamed.
“You seem deep in thought,” the judge said.
“I’ve decided to go after McBride,” David said. “Once I locate him and force him to pay up, I’d appreciate it if you’d spread it around that there’s now a local lawyer willing to take on all dead-beat dads in the area.”
“You won’t make a decent living,” the judge warned.
David didn’t feel it was necessary to tell him he didn’t need the money, that he’d invested the inherited legacy from his grandfather and was living quite comfortably on the proceeds. “I’ll get by,” he said.
The judge shook his head. “Sooner you than me. If you’re serious about this, contact the Child Support Enforcement Division, they field the complaints. I’ll see that word gets around, too. God knows these poor women need help.”
David collected Sarah from the waiting room and left, feeling as though he was walking on air. He’d found a goal, a lack that needed to be taken care of, one that he had the ability to help solve. In a way, it made him feel a bit less guilty for having neglected his own daughter for more than a year.
“I’m going to try to h
elp Betty’s mother collect money from Betty’s father,” he told Sarah.
“That’s good. Then Betty’ll come back to violin class. I miss her.”
He explained that the money wouldn’t arrive immediately—maybe not even soon, because they had to find Mr. McBride first. Sarah looked so disappointed that he added, “We’ll find a way to get Betty back playing the violin.”
As a start, when they returned home, he called Nell Archer and told her why Betty had dropped out. “Any suggestions?” he asked.
“What a shame,” she said. “Maybe I can help by looking around for a scholarship or a grant. There are some for talented youngsters and Betty does have possibilities, just as your daughter does. What school does Betty go to?” When he told her, she added, “I’ll begin there.”
“Now,” he said to Sarah, “here’s what’s happening. I’m working on getting money for Betty’s mother to live on, Ms. Archer is going to try to find a way for Betty to go back to violin class and Gert is giving Betty’s mother a job.”
“Can I tell Amy when she gets home?” Sarah asked. “Or are you still mad at her?”
How in hell had she picked up on that? he wondered. “I’m not mad at Amy. We just aren’t seeing as much of each other.”
Sarah looked unconvinced. And sad.
“Okay, we’ll both tell her tonight,” he said.
She brightened. “Let’s bring ice cream and chocolate syrup.”
“What for?”
“’Cause then it’ll sort of be like a party, and she’ll know you’re not mad at her anymore.”
Deciding that, whatever Sarah thought about it, ice cream and chocolate syrup wouldn’t commit him to anything, David agreed.
Amy didn’t arrive home at her usual time. Sarah, sitting outside with her father, said, “Maybe she’s not coming.”
“My guess is she stopped by to see Cary’s mother.” That’d be like Amy, whose sometimes tart tongue hid a soft heart.
“I forgot she stops to get stuff at that Chinese place. Maybe she did that, too.”
When Amy finally drove up in her SUV and got out, David said to Sarah, “You’re right. She’s carrying a box from Wong’s Palace.”
Sarah jumped up and ran across the inner courtyard toward Amy, leaving David no choice but to trail after her. He reached the two of them as Sarah was asking, “Did you see Betty’s mother?”
Amy nodded. “She’s feeling better and hopes to come to work at Gert’s office for a few hours on Monday. Betty said to say hello to you.”
Turning to David, Sarah said, “So you were right, too, Daddy.”
Nothing like a kid for putting you on the spot. “We’ve been waiting for you,” he admitted.
“We put the ice cream in the fridge, but I’ll go get it,” Sarah volunteered, and was off across the courtyard before either of them could say anything.
“I was—that is, we were waiting to tell you more about Cary and Betty,” David said.
“With ice cream?” The tartness was back in her voice.
“And chocolate syrup.”
She nodded. “I see Sarah’s hand in this.” Glancing down at the box she carried, she added, “I over-bought, as usual, being a Chinese food junkie. There’s plenty here for the three of us if you’d like to share.”
Since he couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse to refuse, he said yes. What had started out as a simple agreement with Sarah to tell Amy how he and Nell Archer were trying to help Cary and Betty, had somehow escalated into sharing dinner and dessert with her.
In Amy’s apartment, Sarah finished eating first and asked if she could watch a Disney movie on the VCR.
“If it’s okay with your dad,” Amy said.
David nodded—what else could he do?
While they were eating, he’d told Amy about Nell Archer’s plans to get Betty back in violin class, but not the dead-beat dad search, figuring Sarah was too young to hear about it in any detail.
Once Sarah was in the living room with the movie in progress, Amy said, “What about getting child support money from that rotten husband of Cary’s?”
“Nevada’s got a good dead-beat dad law on the books. I’ll use it to go after McBride,” he said.
Amy said nothing at all.
“You don’t think that’s a good idea?” he asked.
“Actually, I’m afraid to make a comment. You might misinterpret it.”
He figured the tartness in her voice would curdle milk. Ignoring it, he said, “You know Cary better than I do. I plan to talk to her this weekend. Do you think she’ll sign the necessary papers?”
“Would you like me to come with you?”
From past experience he knew getting wives to sign any kind of complaint against their husbands could be tricky. Having Amy, with her expertise, along with him might avoid that problem with Cary before it began. “Thanks. I’d appreciate it,” he told her.
“If you’re going to leave Sarah with Gert, maybe we should pick up Betty and bring her to Gert’s, too. Whether he’s a dead-beat or not, Betty loves her father and she shouldn’t be around to maybe overhear the discussion.”
“Betty loves a father who deserted her and her mother?” The minute the words were out, he shook his head. “Dumb question. If Sarah can love me despite what I did to her, then I can see that you’re right about Betty. Gert won’t mind an additional kid and Sarah will be happy to see Betty.”
On Saturday, after Betty and Sarah were deposited at Gert’s, David and Amy went back to Cary’s house.
“I have to sign papers?” Cary asked after David had explained what he intended to do. “Gee, I don’t know. Bill won’t like that.”
David glanced at Amy and she picked up the ball.
“Of course he won’t,” she said. “Your husband thinks he can get away with deserting his wife and child to spend his money elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere?” Cary echoed. “You mean you think he’s found another woman?”
Amy shrugged. “I have no idea. Many men do, though.”
“I just thought he was tired of us and wanted to get away.”
“Leaving you with no money but what you earn? Isn’t that rather selfish when he knows it’s not enough to cover all the expenses? Didn’t he know you might need surgery?”
Cary bit her lip. “He sort of didn’t want to know it.”
Neither David nor Amy said anything for a time.
At last Cary sighed. “I have to think about Betty. It’s not right for her to suffer, so I guess I will sign those papers.”
“You’re making the right choice,” Amy assured her. “Betty is his daughter and he owes her as good a life as possible.”
By the time they got ready to leave, Cary was looking less woebegone.
At the door, Amy said, “If it’s all right with you, I’ll pick up Betty tomorrow morning and take her with me to a barbecue at my brother’s ranch in Carson Valley. Tell her to wear jeans, because she’ll have the chance to ride a pony.”
“That’s kind of you. I know all this is upsetting her.”
Though David made up his mind he wasn’t going to comment, it troubled him that Sarah would be left out. By the time they reached his truck, he’d gone from troubled to annoyed.
“You didn’t tell me about the barbecue,” he muttered.
“Actually you and Sarah were invited,” she said, “but I didn’t think you’d care to go.”
“And Sarah?”
She gave him a dark look. “I didn’t think you’d want her going anywhere with me,” she said. “After all, I might try to psychoanalyze her.”
A low shot, but he figured he’d earned it, so he merely said, “I don’t feel that way. You’ve been good for Sarah.” To his surprise, he found himself adding, “We’d both like to go to your brother’s barbecue.”
Only so Sarah can ride the pony, he tried to tell himself, but he knew he was lying. He’d badly missed Amy’s company. And more.
Amy stared at him. “You want to go?”
“I don’t see why we can’t be friends.” He knew it sounded lame, but there was nothing else he could think of. An apology was out of the question. He still felt betrayed.
“Well, of course you and Sarah can come,” she said. “I’m not so sure about the rest of it.”
Shut into the cab of the pickup with her, he could, ever so faintly, smell her floral scent, which made him remember other times with her. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to banish the vision of her lying naked in his arms. Would he ever get over wanting her?
“Aren’t you going to start the engine?” she asked.
More than anything, he needed to pull her into his arms and kiss her until the world went away.
“You’re staring at me,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “Have I got lipstick on my teeth or something awful like that?”
“I forgot your eyes were so green,” he said inanely.
Amy shook her head. How was she supposed to reply to something like that? Especially since the words sent a shiver of anticipation along her spine.
What’s to anticipate? It’s over and done with.
Yeah, and turtles can fly, shells and all. You still want the blasted man.
Since she couldn’t seem to look away from him, she had to think of something to break the spell. “If you turn the key on,” she said, “we could listen to music.”
“What if that golden oldie Reno station is playing ‘Dancing In The Dark’?”
He leaned closer as he spoke, having not yet fastened his seat belt. She had hers on so she couldn’t scoot over closer to the door. Not that she could have moved, anyway. She could hardly even breathe. He was going to kiss her and she shouldn’t let him, even though she thought she’d die if he didn’t.
He eased over toward her. “Amy,” he murmured, her name a caress. “Amy, I can’t help it.”
Neither could she. As much as the belt would let her, she leaned into his kiss and was lost. She wasn’t even aware he’d unfastened her seat belt until he gathered her into his arms.
Never let me go. The thought pulsed through her, settling into her very bones.