by Jade Kerrion
“Did it make you feel relieved?”
“Not really. The law can say what it wants, but it doesn’t dictate what’s in the heart. Aria spent a long time asking about her mother, and probably still thinks a great deal of her. What if Lynnette decides that a teenager is less work and more interesting than a toddler and comes back when Aria’s fourteen?”
“She won’t go off with a stranger.”
“It’s not a stranger; it’s her mother. I do what I can for Aria, but there’s stuff I just don’t get, things that she probably won’t feel comfortable telling me. Charlotte—my sister—does what she can, but it’s not the same, is it?”
Sheridan shook her head. “No one ever quite replaces a mother, but it takes more than giving birth to make a woman a mother.”
“That was the right thing to say.” His faint smile widened into a grin. “Why are you not a lawyer?”
“By the time I got my GED, it felt a little too late to head down a path that would require another seven years of school. Besides, I love art. Fashion’s an extension of it—the ultimate body art.” She rummaged in her tote bag for her sketchpad and pencil. The warmth of Tom’s body brushed against hers as he leaned close, watching as her pencil darted over paper. Quick, dark lines. Long, smooth strokes. The subtle blending of carbon against pulp to create shadow over light. Almost immediately, the likeliness of Aria took shape; the high forehead, the pout of her lips, even the cynical slant of her eyebrows.
“It’s beautiful,” Tom said. “You make it look so easy. Do you work in any other mediums?”
She nodded. “Crayons, watercolor, acrylic. Tried most of them, but always fell back on paper and pencil. Sometimes, all I want is that quick memory.”
“And the iPhone doesn’t work for you?”
She laughed. “The camera lens is objective. You can dabble with light and exposure, and slap on colored tints, but what it sees is all that’s there. A drawing, on the other hand—” She tore the piece of paper from her sketchpad and handed it to Tom. “—captures the past and the future. It immortalizes what we see, what we dread seeing, and what we hope to see. It uncovers the soul.”
“Of the subject or the artist?”
Her smile wavered. His insight pricked her emotional armor. “Both, I suppose.”
He stared at the drawing of Aria, and Sheridan wondered if he saw the same thing she did—a lovely young girl whose vibrant, strong personality was cherished and supported by her father. Did Aria know how lucky, how blessed she was?
Probably not. The luckiest have no idea how dark and cruel the world can be.
“Are you all right?” Tom asked.
She yanked her thoughts away from the lingering darkness of her memories. “What?”
“You looked a thousand miles away.”
She only smiled.
“Back in Montana?”
Sheridan stiffened, but if he noticed, he said nothing. He continued, “Sometimes, I wonder if I can recreate the happiness of my childhood by bringing Aria back to my old Bronx neighborhood, but the logic of better school districts in Manhattan keeps winning out. I don’t know what it was about my old home. Perhaps it was how everything felt smaller. Within those few blocks, we knew everyone. It felt real somehow. Here, in Manhattan, you wonder how much of what you see is a show, and how much of what’s left is real.”
“Not much, I think.” Sheridan traced patterns in the sand with the toe of her boot.
“Was it hard coming from Montana?”
“To be honest, I hardly remember my first week in New York. The following three months were a blur. The first year was wretched. I didn’t have any qualifications that would have made me a better hire than anyone else, and that’s when I realized that hard work and a great attitude wasn’t enough.”
“How did you get your lucky break?”
“I met someone, and I reminded him of the woman he loved. He was irrationally good to me. He took care of me until I figured out how to take care of myself. We were friends for many years; in fact, we’re still friends, but we’ve gone our own ways. He eventually married the woman he loved and adopted her daughter.” She nodded at Eva.
“That’s her?” Tom studied the toddler. “You could pass for her mother.”
“Because I look like her mother.” Sheridan smiled. “I was saved by virtue of having blond hair and blue eyes.”
“I’m sure there was more to it than that.”
She shrugged away the old nibble of hurt. Besides, it shouldn’t have bothered her that Nicholas only saw in her the physical image of the woman he had loved. It had been her lucky break, and Nicholas had been good to her. He had given to her what he could give, and if his heart had not been available, how was that his fault? He had loved Marisa long before he met Sheridan, yet it rankled that she had him for five years and…nothing. Nothing had happened. Five years, and she hadn’t been able to reach him emotionally.
Her first major relationship and she had gotten an F.
She released her breath in a soft sigh. “Why do relationships fail?”
Tom chuckled, the sound low and sad. “Do you want the objective answer or the subjective answer?”
“Both.”
“The objective answer is that not every relationship will succeed and that there are too many variables at play to pin down the blame.”
“You sound like a mathematician.”
He grinned boyishly. “I aced math. Logic, too.”
“I’m sure you did. What’s the subjective answer?”
“That love blinds us and some relationships are doomed to fail before they even start, but people try anyway.”
“Why?”
“Just because.” Tom shrugged. “What else is there to do? Watch reruns on cable TV?”
“That is an exceptionally unromantic view, even coming from a lawyer.”
“I’ve had all my illusions knocked out of me. Can’t afford to entertain them, not with a six-year-old child watching and judging.”
Sheridan studied Aria. Now that Tom mentioned it, Aria seemed particularly watchful, casting frequent gazes over to Sheridan and Tom. Combined with her perpetual pout, the slant of her brow and her narrowed eyes, Aria was no cherub. If there ever were a candidate for resting bitch face, it would be Aria. Yet, in spite of it, or perhaps because of it, the child was beautiful, her natural prettiness enhanced by the air of arrogant aloofness.
Like a model.
Sheridan straightened. “You mentioned that Aria likes clothes.”
Tom nodded.
“Have you ever considered modeling?”
His eyebrows shot up. He glanced at Aria and then chuckled. “You really think my legs are that good?”
Sheridan swatted his bicep with her sketchpad. “No, really. I think you could score big points by opening that path to her. She’s got the style and grace to pull it off, and you could negotiate free clothes as part of the photo shoot. It’ll be a win-win all around.”
“But modeling? I mean—”
“Quite different from an escort service,” Sheridan said drily. “The kids’ industry is especially protected. The companies are watchful; they can’t afford bad press. In fact, your biggest threat is other parents. Modeling has a well-earned reputation for being backstabbing and cutthroat.”
“I’m a lawyer, just one step up from organized crime, at least in most people’s minds. I’ve got this down.”
“I’m sure you do. If you decide to look into it, I can get you connected. I know lots of people in the industry.”
“I…appreciate it.”
She glanced at him. “You sound uncertain.”
“Just wondering where this is going. I’m a lawyer. My brain’s always trying to figure out, ‘What’s the angle?’ It’s an occupational hazard.”
She stiffened. “I didn’t realize you’d take offense to me passing your daughter’s name along, with your permission, of course.”
“I’m not; I mean, I’m grateful. I just…” He sh
rugged. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. Why would you do it for me?”
Because Aria could be her.
Not “her” her. Of course, Sheridan knew perfectly well the difference between Aria and the daughter she had given up. Her little girl, too, was six years old—perhaps not perfect like Aria—but she was perfect to Sheridan, and it was enough.
“Sheridan?” Tom prompted quietly.
Sheridan realized she had been silent for too long. Had she been staring at Aria the whole time? She drew a deep breath; it shuddered through her with a pain so sharp it had to be real. “Why can’t people just do nice things for other people?”
“They can and do, but rarely without a motive,” Tom said. His eyes were intent on her. We’ve known each other for all of…” He glanced at his watch. “Four hours. So, why?”
She frowned at him. “Basic courtesy doesn’t need a reason.”
“What you’re offering to do extends far beyond basic courtesy. We both know that. Every action has a motivation. What’s yours?”
“Wow, you really are a lawyer.”
“I’ve been for several years now. You can’t insult me with it anymore.”
“Do you analyze everything people say and do?”
“I try. The one time I ignored the facts and the warning signals, I got burned.”
“Your wife.”
“Ex-wife. I was blind. I had no reason to be caught off guard, except that I thought love would be enough; it wasn’t. Now, I ask and I challenge, because it’s not just about me.” His glance flicked across the yard to Aria who was kneeling down beside Eva to pet a goat.
“Fair enough.” Sheridan tried not to feel offended. “Is it enough to say that you seem like a nice guy and I want to help out?”
“Why me?”
“Do you get this personal this fast in a relationship?”
“Do we have a relationship?”
His question stung. “I had hoped we were building a friendship, but perhaps I was mistaken. Maybe you’re right. Maybe there’s something to asking and challenging before egos—” and hearts… “—get put on the line.” She shoved her sketchpad into her bag and stood.
“No, wait. I’m sorry.” Tom grasped her wrist gently, and pulled her back to do sit beside him. “I was an ass. I got so defensive I forgot my manners. And you’re right, basic courtesy doesn’t need a reason. It’s just…” His shoulders stiffened. “I don’t really know how to act around you. I thought behaving like it was a date was the right thing to do, and then you told me, it wasn’t, and now, I…I’m just confused.”
Her chuckle was a sad sound. “Behaving like a date was the sweet thing to do, and it was so wonderful it caught me off guard. Having low expectations kept me protected, and I instinctively tried to push you away.”
“I’m…not looking for a relationship.”
“Friendships are relationships, Tom.”
“You know what I mean. I’m not looking for…more.”
She was silent for a moment. “I know.”
He drew a deep breath before exhaling in a sigh. Sheridan braced for the inevitable farewell and held her breath when he began to speak. “I have to walk Aria out of the zoo to meet Charlotte. They’re going shopping. It won’t be long; probably twenty minutes. If you’re not in a rush, I can come back and we can grab lunch here at the zoo or wherever you like.”
She gaped at him.
He looked away. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. I just—”
“No. It’s okay. I think we agree that the situation’s confusing. Eva and I would love to have lunch with you.”
His eyes cleared. “Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He called for Aria, supervised his daughter’s hand washing, and then escorted her away from the kids’ zoo with a final glance over his shoulder at Sheridan.
What am I doing? Sheridan’s hands clenched into fists. Tom was a client who had made it clear he wasn’t looking for anything from her. What had possessed her to step over the boundaries she had so clearly and firmly established for others?
His manners? His loneliness?
The connection; the persistent spark of something more between them.
Or had her own loneliness finally gotten to her.
She should take Eva and leave before Tom returned. Lunch with a client—off the books—could only lead to disaster. No wonder Tom was confused. She was too. When was he supposed to pay for her time, and when wasn’t he?
She called to Eva, but the little girl was enraptured by the kid goats and lambs, and would not be budged quickly, at least not without making a scene. With effort, Sheridan finally gathered Eva in her arms and carried her from the kids’ zoo area.
Too late.
She paused as Tom rounded the corner. He too stopped when he saw her obviously preparing to leave, and a rueful smile touched his face. He closed the distance, his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. “I see you have to go. Well, it was a pleasure running into you here at the zoo. Eva, too.” He smiled at the little girl, who grinned back at him, before looking at Sheridan. “You take care. Have a good weekend.”
His tone was friendly and polite, one that casual acquaintances might have used with each other; there was no condemnation in it. His smile was professional, his gaze direct. The pose was almost utterly convincing but for something in his eyes.
Disappointment.
She had seen it often enough in her reflection, etched in her own eyes, to recognize it in someone else.
He had looked forward to spending a few hours with her and Eva with no expectation or even desire for that “something more.”
When was the last time a man had wanted nothing from her but her company?
And how am I supposed to let go of this, of him, if it’s real, if it could grow into something more?
She held out her hand. “Wait, Tom.” Here goes… “Let’s go get lunch.”
A half hour later, over a hot meatball sub, Sheridan asked, “So, why did you choose law when you could have done anything else?”
“Believe it or not, it was for the stability.” Tom chuckled as he bit into his BLT sandwich. “With that many scumbags in the world, I figured I’d always have a job.”
She blinked at him. “That’s your plan for job stability?”
“Many of the world’s jobs are based on assumptions that people are going to keep being screw-ups, intentionally or not. Medicine is premised on ill health. Garbage men count on people generating waste. Your job, too.”
She managed a tight smile. “I suppose so.”
“And how did you get into what you’re doing?”
Sheridan glanced at Eva who was nibbling on a slice of ham she held in one hand and the slice of Swiss cheese she held in the other. “I assume you don’t mean fashion blogging.”
“The other is more interesting.”
“I suppose so.” Sheridan’s appetite vanished, and she set her sandwich down. Tom’s curiosity was natural, even obvious. Why did anyone get into the business of selling herself? “Six years ago, I got off a bus at Grand Central Station with no qualifications and no skills, so I did what I had to do for about a year—not too well, obviously, since I was usually still cold and hungry regardless of the season or the time or day, but I didn’t freeze or starve to death. One day, I was waiting for someone to pay me enough to buy dinner and a cheap room for the night when Nicholas Dragov walked by. He saw me and stopped. He stared at me for so long I was starting to freak out—there are so many crazy people on the streets—but then he asked if I wanted dinner. He bought me a meal that night, and the next, and the next, for an entire week, without asking for anything in return. Then he started giving me money for rent. He told me he didn’t want me on the streets, and I asked him what he wanted in return.
“‘Nothing,’ he said. I told him I really didn’t know how to do anything else. He laughed and told me to go to school. So I did. I enrolled in night classes to take my GED. One
of my classmates had worked her way up from a streetwalker to a paid escort. She taught me how to up my game, raise my standards and my price.”
“But how did you manage to negotiate—” He glanced at the innocent Eva. “—you know, out of it?”
“I met with a lawyer. A good one.” Sheridan smiled. “She wrote the contract and assured me it was iron-clad.”
“So, you’ve never had to…I mean, not since.”
“Not since Nicholas plucked me off the streets. At least not simply to survive. I’m not saying it was easy picking up the pieces of my self-image and rebuilding my reputation, but the second time around, I had a safety net, and it made all the difference. If I’d always had one, it would never have come to this.” Her voice resonated with the pulsing ache in her chest. “We just don’t understand how important it is for children to know they are safe, until lives actually fall apart.”
“There’s more, isn’t there?” he asked quietly.
“Old stuff. Nothing relevant.” She managed a tight smile and picked up her sandwich again.
“I was lucky. I’d always had that safety net, even when I lost my parents. Charlotte. She’s done so much for me. I’d do anything for her.”
The odd defensiveness in his tone made her look up. His eyes seemed troubled, but she couldn’t imagine why. How wonderful for him that his sister had been his line of defense. In the worst times, some families stuck together.
And others fall apart. Mine fell apart, but I didn’t fail her.
Small victories.
Except that it didn’t feel like a victory.
It felt like loss.
Sheridan swallowed hard through the lump in her throat as she looked at Eva.
“What is it?” Tom asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all.”
Chapter 4
In the silence of his home office, Tom slumped in his seat, his fingers drumming against his desk. His outing with Sheridan and Eva that afternoon had been—he drew a sharp breath—in one word, amazing.
Just two adults getting to know each other and enjoying each other’s conversation and company. Breathtakingly simple. No expectations.