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Entering the kitchen, he found Grace at the stove. With the bacon sizzling on one electric eye, she busily poured whisked eggs into a hot skillet.
“What can I do to help?” he asked.
“Put on some coffee and fix the toast.”
As he set about preparing the coffeemaker, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
She kept stirring the eggs, focusing her attention on the job at hand. “What more is there to say?”
“I guess you’re right. Until we know for sure if those little bodies are Blake and Shane, then …” He didn’t know whether he hoped they were his son and Grace’s son or if he hoped they weren’t.
She lifted the skillet and spooned the scrambled eggs onto two plates, then set the skillet aside. “You’d think that after all these years, it wouldn’t still hurt so much.”
Wayne poured fresh water into the reservoir and punched the On button to start the coffee brewing. He moved closer to Grace and slid his arm around her waist.
She closed her eyes. Tears trickled down her cheeks.
Wayne turned her in his arms, reached up, and wiped away the tears with his fingertips. He leaned down and kissed her closed eyelids as his unshed tears caught in his throat.
Zoe hadn’t said a word all the way home, and the minute they entered the house, she headed for her room.
“We need to talk,” J.D. told her.
“I don’t want to talk.”
“Too bad. Come back here and sit down.”
Zoe plodded reluctantly from the hallway into the living room and slumped down on the sofa.
God, he didn’t want to do this. But he had to do it. He was Zoe’s father.
“What you did today—running off with Dawson—was not only irresponsible and thoughtless, it was dangerous,” J.D. said, doing his level best not to raise his voice.
Zoe remained sullen and silent.
“I expect you to acknowledge what I just said,” he told her.
She lifted her downcast gaze, her eyes bright with anger and a hint of tears. “It’s all your fault.’
Stunned by her accusation, he stared at her as he tried to figure out her illogical reasoning. “How is it my fault that you slipped away from Jacy’s aunt, who, by the way, was worried sick about you, and ran off with a boy who’d been drinking? How is it my fault that you could easily have been killed in a car wreck because he was driving drunk? And how is it my fault that you and Dawson were picked up by the police?”
“Because … ’cause …” She swallowed her tears. “If you’d just let me date Dawson, let him come here and let me go out with him—”
“You are fourteen years old. That’s too young to be dating.”
“My mother was dating when she was fourteen!” Zoe shouted.
“Yeah, and see how she turned out.” The moment the words left his mouth, J.D. wished them back. Maybe Carrie had been a very untraditional parent, maybe she’d been irresponsible and flighty, but she had been Zoe’s mother.
“How dare you say that about my mom!” Zoe shot up off the sofa. “She was a better parent than you are. At least she loved me.”
When Zoe ran out of the room, he cursed softly and called himself a few choice names, idiot heading the list. Why was it that no matter how hard he tried to do the right thing where Zoe was concerned, he always wound up making a mess of things?
Because you don’t know the first thing about raising a teenage girl. Because Zoe knows that you really don’t want her and that even though you should love her because she’s your daughter, you don’t.
Tam didn’t like it when Marcus was away, but in his job as a TVA engineer, he had to travel on a fairly frequent basis. Their apartment seemed so empty without him. He had phoned to let her know he had arrived safely and promised to call again in the morning before she left for work. The luckiest day of her life was when she met Marcus Lovelady, and the second luckiest day was the day they got married. He was such a good man. Kind, considerate, and reliable. And he loved her with his whole heart.
They had discussed having children and she knew that at thirty-four, her biological clock was ticking faster and faster. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to try to combine motherhood with a career. Although Marcus would be as wonderful a father as her own dad had always been, she doubted she could ever be half the mother her mama was. Besides, she wasn’t sure she deserved to be a mother. Not after …
That was over fifteen years ago. You were barely eighteen.
Tam poured herself another glass of Merlot, flipped on the TV, and kept the sound muted as she sat in her favorite easy chair. She glanced down at the wedding band and one-carat diamond on her ring finger.
She admired and respected Marcus. And she loved him. But had she cheated her husband by marrying him when she would never be able to love him with her whole heart? If she could give him a child, would that make up for the fact that she would always be in love with another man?
Oh, dear Lord, don’t think about him. He isn’t a part of your daily life and hasn’t been for a long, long time.
What was wrong with her tonight? Why was she in such a melancholy mood? Why was she thinking about him, remembering …? She didn’t want to think about him, didn’t want to remember the child she had aborted, a child who would be nearly fifteen now, almost as old as she had been when she’d gotten pregnant.
It had all been so hopeless, so impossible. And she had been so completely in love.
The saddest part of all was that he had loved her, too, just as much as she had loved him.
Tam gulped down the remainder of her wine and let the empty glass fall from her hand onto the carpeted floor beside her chair. She closed her eyes and allowed the memories to wash over her, warm and sweet like low tide in the heat of summer.
She could almost feel his lips on hers, feel their naked bodies joined, feel him buried deep inside her. She could hear his voice, deep and sultry, saying her name, telling her how much he loved her.
Tears escaped from the corners of her closed eyelids and crept slowly down her cheeks.
Tam wrapped her arms around her body and hugged herself as she sucked back the tears. Don’t do this to yourself. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
If only Marcus were there she wouldn’t be wallowing in self-pity. But Marcus wasn’t there to reassure her, to make her smile, to remind her of all her many blessings.
Tam got up, grabbed the receiver from the portable phone on the nearby desk, and dialed her best friend’s number.
Audrey answered on the third ring. “Hey there.”
“Are you busy?”
“Not really. What’s up?”
“Marcus left on another business trip this afternoon and I’m lonely,” Tam said. “I’ve been sitting here downing a couple of glasses of wine and am on the edge of a self-pity jag.”
“Want me to come over?”
“Would you?”
“Give me thirty minutes.” Then Audrey asked, “Have you eaten dinner yet?”
“No, I—”
“Drinking on an empty stomach?” Audrey clicked her tongue to make a disapproving noise. “You know better.”
“I have salad fixings.”
“Good. Why don’t you take a shower and put on your pajamas and when I get there, I’ll prepare the salad. I have leftover chicken I’ll bring with me to add to the salad. But until you eat something, no more wine for you. Promise?”
“I promise.”
Tam hung up the phone. Audrey always knew the right thing to say and the right thing to do to help her. Maybe it was because they knew each other so well, because they’d been close friends since childhood. If Audrey thought that Tam wasn’t completely in love with Marcus, she had never said a word. However, she suspected that her best friend knew the truth. She needed to talk to someone, to admit the truth out loud, and who better to be her father confessor than Audrey, her best friend who just happened to be a shrink? Well, a counselor, which was the next best thing to a shrink. Maybe even better.
Audrey parked her Buick Enclave, unbuckled her seat belt, and reached for the shoulder bag and the plastic sack containing the cold chicken she had promised to bring for their salad. Her phone rang. After retrieving it from an outer slot on her purse, she checked the caller ID. Zoe Davidson.
“Hi, Zoe,” Audrey said when she answered.
“Hi, Dr. Sherrod.” Zoe’s girlish voice sounded even younger than her fourteen years. “I—I … uh … You said if I needed to talk, to call you. You probably didn’t expect to hear from me, at least not this soon, but …”
“It’s all right,” Audrey assured her. “I don’t mind that you called. What can I do to help you?”
“You can get me a different father.”
“Oh, I see. I had hoped maybe once you and your dad got home, you might have been able to talk things out and—”
“He doesn’t want to talk things out. He just wants to issue orders. I hate him. And I hate living with him. And he hates me, too. He doesn’t want me. He just keeps me because he knows I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Oh, Zoe, you poor, sweet girl.
The similarity between the way J.D. Cass’s daughter felt now and the way Audrey had once felt about her relationship with her own father was too obvious to ignore. Audrey understood how it felt to believe your father hated you, that he tolerated you because it was his duty, not because he loved you.
“My guess is that your father doesn’t hate you,” Audrey said. “And even if you hate living with him and having to adhere to his rules, you don’t really hate him.”
Silence.
“Zoe, do you think your father would allow you to set up an appointment with me?”
“You mean as one of your patients?”
“Although my specialty isn’t family counseling, I am qualified—”
“J.D.’s the one who needs counseling,” Zoe said.
“That’s probably true and ideally I would counsel both of you, together and separately. But, honey, you need someone to talk to, someone who’ll listen and—”
“And care about me. About how I feel and what I think. Could you do that, Dr. Sherrod? Could you care about me, even just a little?”
A hard knot of emotion formed in the center of Audrey’s chest. She drew in and released a deep, cleansing breath. Would it be a mistake to counsel Zoe Davidson when she knew, even now, that she would become emotionally involved with this young girl?
“Zoe, if I counsel you, it would be my job to care about what you think and how you feel. And I already like you, you know.”
“You do?”
“Well, of course I do.”
“I—I like you, too.”
“Would you like for me to phone your father and ask his permission for us to set up your first appointment?”
“Oh, I don’t know. What if it pisses him off?”
“Why don’t you leave your father to me? I’ll call him in the morning from my office and either he or I will let you know the outcome.”
“Thank you, Dr. Sherrod. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome, Zoe.”
Ending her call, Audrey slipped her bag over her shoulder, picked up the plastic sack, and opened the car door. Before Zoe’s phone call, Audrey’s main concern had been her best friend. She’d heard an odd hint of desperation—almost panic—in Tam’s voice. Now not only was she concerned about Tam, but her conversation with Zoe Davidson had aroused a barrage of mixed emotions. She felt a sense of kinship with Zoe, seeing some of herself at fourteen in the rebellious, unhappy teenager. Her desire to help Zoe went beyond the professional and into the personal realm. Would it be better if she referred J.D. and his daughter to another therapist? Yes and no. It would be better for her not to become involved with either the daughter or the father. But Zoe trusted her. She might not trust another counselor so easily.
All the while Audrey went from the parking area to Tam and Marcus’s apartment, her mind focused on one thing—making the correct decision where Zoe was concerned. It wasn’t until she rang the doorbell several times, waiting a minute or two between rings, that Audrey’s full attention returned to her friend. Tam was expecting her, so why wasn’t she answering the door?
Maybe she’s still in the shower.
Audrey rang the bell again. No response. Just as she reached down into her purse to find her key ring, intending to use her key to Tam’s apartment, the door swung open and Tam stood there smiling, the phone to her ear.
“It’s Marcus.” Wearing her pajamas and a matching knee-length robe, Tam mouthed the words as she motioned for Audrey to enter.
Audrey returned her friend’s smile. While Tam continued her conversation with her husband, Audrey headed for the kitchen. She placed her purse on one of the two bar stools and laid the plastic sack containing the chicken on the counter. After removing an unopened bag of fresh spring-mix greens from the refrigerator, along with cherry tomatoes, a cucumber, and bottled ranch dressing, Audrey set about preparing their salads. She sliced the chicken into small chunks, added it to the salads, and sparingly sprinkled the dressing over her creation.
When she heard Tam laugh, she breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t often that Tam went into a blue funk, but when she did, it was usually a doozie. The last time had been more than a year ago and had been precipitated by two factors—Marcus was out of town and Tam had come face-to-face with her teenage sweetheart—factors that Audrey realized hadn’t been repeated until quite recently.
Still smiling, Tam came into the kitchen. “Marcus said hello and sends his love.”
“Feeling better?”
“Much, thanks.”
Audrey studied Tam briefly, then set their salad plates atop the placemats on the small kitchen table. “Do you prefer herbal tea or water with lemon or another glass of wine?”
“Before Marcus called, I’d have said more wine. But now, I think water with lemon. You get the crackers out of the pantry and I’ll take care of our water.”
Half an hour later, with their meal eaten and the dishwasher loaded, Audrey and Tam curled up together on opposite ends of the plush chenille sofa in Tam’s living room. Each held a cup of herbal tea.
“Want to tell me?” Audrey asked.
Tam glanced down at the cup of tea that she cradled in both hands. “No. I don’t want to tell you. I don’t want to admit what a stupid, ungrateful bitch I am. I don’t want to say it out loud.”
“If you don’t want to, then don’t. But if you think it will help, maybe release some pent-up emotions, then tell me. Whatever you say, you know I won’t repeat it to another living soul. And I won’t judge you.”
“You never have,” Tam said. “My parents think I’m practically perfect. And Marcus … oh, Audrey, he does think I’m perfect.”
