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“Me,” she said softly. “It’s me, okay?” Her voice rose there at the end.
He caught her arm and turned her to face him. Her eyes were darker than usual, almost purple like storm clouds could be. She was so beautiful, he wanted to kiss her, but when he started to bend toward her she took a step back.
“I need time. I’m a little freaked, okay?”
Shock slammed him, like a fist in his gut. “Freaked about what? Me?”
“I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”
He waited, but she’d clammed up.
“And now you don’t want one?”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a minute. Her hands gripped the cloth handle of her dance bag so tightly her knuckles shone white. “I do, but…”
“You don’t.”
“I do! I just wish…”
He knew what she wished, and it made him mad. “That we could hold hands? Maybe kiss each other but keep our tongues in our mouths? And our clothes on?”
“Maybe.” She swallowed, and now her eyes held appeal. “Sometimes.”
Angry and hurt and he didn’t know what else, Trevor backed up yet another step. “I thought you were grown-up. My mistake to hook up with a little girl.”
Her chin came up. “I’m not a little girl.”
“You know what?” he said. “Let’s forget about all of this, okay? There are plenty of girls who want me. Ones who are ready for something real, not make-believe like playing with Barbie dolls or having a tea party for your stuffed animals.” The cruelty came easily. Slice and dice. He told himself he didn’t care about the way her eyes dilated or she panted with shock. “Run along to your dance lesson, little girl.” He was walking backward now, opening distance between them. “See you around,” he told her with deliberate carelessness.
She gasped, whirled and ran, leaving him feeling bloody even if he was the one doing the slicing. Bitch, he thought. She played me. I hope she’s crying. She deserves to get hers.
He wanted to go smash windows. Faces. Something. No more Cait to make him feel normal. Warm.
Who cares? he told himself. Who needs her?
CHAPTER THREE
MOLLY PAUSED IN THE HALL outside her daughter’s bedroom door, cocking her head to hear music or a voice. Nothing. Probably Cait was listening to her iPod while she worked on a school assignment or talked with friends online or texted. After a moment she knocked. “Cait?”
The “Yeah?” didn’t sound very encouraging, but Molly opened the door, anyway. How things change. Six weeks ago she’d have been welcome anytime in Caitlyn’s bedroom. Now she had no idea what was happening in Cait’s life. Maybe today Molly could get her to open up.
Sure enough, Cait sat cross-legged on her bed, an earbud in and her smartphone in her hands. She looked up with an expression that said, Why are you bothering me?
Molly sat at the foot of the bed, anyway. “Is something going on with you and Trevor?” she asked bluntly. “I haven’t seen you with him lately.”
“Bet you’re really sorry, aren’t you?” Resentment gave a razor edge to every word.
“I’m sorry for anything that hurts you. Please believe that, if nothing else.”
Dark smudges surrounded Cait’s eyes. Heavier than usual makeup, or had she rubbed her eyes, forgetting that she wore mascara? Wanting to reach out to her, Molly restrained herself.
Cait shrugged. “We broke up, so I guess you can go out and celebrate.”
“Honey…”
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” Cait stared wildly at her. “Especially not with you.”
Molly flinched at the sheer venom and knew her daughter saw it. She wanted to say something parentlike, wise, understanding, but her mind was a giant blank. After a moment, she nodded, stood up and left the room without saying another word. She heard the sob behind her as she closed the door, but she didn’t stop, felt no temptation to go back.
She went to her own room and sat in the easy chair where she often read. It had to be ten minutes before she was calm enough to feel rational. Mostly rational. Right at this moment, she couldn’t figure out how parents went on after scenes like this and looked at their children with love. She couldn’t even figure out why this particular scene had hurt so much. All she knew was that it had.
On instinct she changed to running clothes, including the iron maiden bra she had to wear when active. She’d use the middle school track. She was less likely to be recognized there than at the high school. She ought to be putting on dinner, but if Cait got hungry tonight she could feed herself. Molly didn’t even knock on her daughter’s door on the way out to tell her where she was going.
She found the track deserted and, after stretching, began to run. Slowly at first, then pushing herself harder and harder. She was on the third mile before she recognized the stew of emotions inside her as a sense of betrayal. The person she loved the most had turned on her, and all the child psychology she could summon, all the reason, didn’t seem to help.
She doesn’t really hate me, no matter how it sounded. How it looked. I know better. I know if I’m patient, when she’s eighteen or twenty she’ll return to me, my loving daughter. I know that. I do.
Hormones. Pulling away. Cait’s behavior was typical. Probably more typical than the way she’d breezed through the usually difficult middle school years.
I’m an adult. I’m the parent.
Yes, she was. But did that excuse Cait?
She was running all out now. Too fast, her lungs heaving. The slap of her feet on the track was all she heard.
I love her.
I don’t deserve this.
Finally she had to make herself slow, then walk. Her eyes stung from sweat and her thigh muscles felt like jelly.
The childish hurt had faded, replaced by a crushing sense of failure. What was she doing in a profession for which she was obviously so ill qualified? She cringed at the superiority she’d felt as she counseled parents from her own lofty height as the mother of the perfect child. To think she’d dared when she knew so little about being a parent or even a teenager. She certainly hadn’t been a usual one herself. She had never been able to rebel.
Who was I to talk? she marveled. And then, No wonder Richard Ward looked at me like that.
She felt stiff and slow and older than her thirty-five years when she got back in her car and started for home.
* * *
CUTE LITTLE CAITLYN Callahan seemed to be a thing of the past. So far as Richard could tell, there wasn’t another girlfriend, per se, although there were certainly girls. Trevor was coming home smelling of cigarettes first, then booze and finally pot. They had one ugly confrontation after another. Richard wondered if there were still military-style boarding schools.
It was nearly the end of October, which meant midsemester grades would be coming out. Richard warned Trev that if he was failing, he’d lose his cell phone.
He had always believed you taught your kids your values, then trusted them. When treated with respect, people were more likely to push themselves to meet expectations, he’d been sure. Worked for employees, should work for kids, right?
The day he searched his son’s bedroom was a low. The very necessity made him admit that Trevor was in real trouble. That, as a parent, he was in real trouble.
He worked quickly, efficiently, trying not to let himself think too much about the way he was violating Trev’s privacy. Drawers first—underwear and socks, shirts, jeans. Nothing untoward. Closet—mostly unused sports equipment and shoes in a jumble on the carpeted floor, a few jackets carelessly hung, unpacked boxes on the shelf. Richard lifted those down, one by one, but found them still taped shut and identified in bold black marker—Trev’s Summer Clothes. Trev’s Ski Parka, Quilted Pants Etc. Trev’s Books. And so on. He put them all back where they’d been. Moved on to the desk.
There he found precious few signs that school assignments were being completed, but a few returned quizzes and tests that gave him hope. Apparently Trevor had been advanced enough in school that the routine work was a gimme for him. Maybe enough to save him with passing grades?
It was a sad day when that was all he could hope for.
Actually, that wasn’t the only positive. He also failed to find any drugs. So the pot he’d smelled probably hadn’t been Trevor’s. He didn’t find any cigarettes, either. Or even matches or lighter. Maybe Trev hadn’t gotten as stupid as he’d feared.
He did find a couple of magazines featuring naked women in lewd poses, but those weren’t any surprise. What teenage boy didn’t have some under his mattress?
Once he was sure Trevor’s room looked the same as when he’d entered it, Richard went downstairs to his home office and refuge. He sat behind his desk to brood. His mouth curved wryly as he remembered those long-ago days when he, too, was a teenager and unable to think about much besides girls and sex. His curiosity had raged from the time he was maybe eleven or twelve. Mom wouldn’t have touched the topic with a ten-foot pole, but Dad had sat him down for a few awkward conversations that were less than informative. Mostly he’d tried to drive home a singular point—be very careful not to get a girl pregnant. Richard grunted. Dad must have felt as much of a failure when Lexa turned up pregnant and Richard had to give up college to marry her as he did now, unable to understand or reach his own kid.
His smile died as he wondered whether Trevor was actually sleeping with those ever-present girls. Another thing Richard hadn’t found, come to think of it, was condoms. Huh. How would Trevor react if his father presented him with the gift of a box of them? Or would that seem too much like a green light to go crazy sexually, so long as he wore the condoms?
Another question to which he had no answer. He could imagine Trevor’s reaction if his father tried to sit him down for a conversation about safe sex.
Did Molly Callahan know her daughter was no longer seeing Trev? If so, she no doubt felt profound relief. Or had she ever known Caitlyn was seeing Trev? It wasn’t as if kids dated the way they once had.
He grunted again. Yeah, of course she’d known. Maybe she wasn’t a cast-iron bitch; maybe she’d seen his son as a threat to her daughter. Richard knew how he’d feel if Bree were seeing a guy with Trevor’s behavioral issues. Maybe Ms. Callahan had some excuse for her hostility.
A part of him wished he knew for sure. He was uncomfortable to realize she’d surfaced in his thoughts not because she was Caitlyn’s mother, but because he had been thinking about sex. Something he hadn’t had in way too long. Hadn’t even especially wanted, except in an easy-to-dismiss way when a woman momentarily caught his eye. Casual sex had gotten to be less satisfying at his age, and after the disaster that was his marriage he’d never been sure he was willing to go that route again. Trust once decimated was difficult to resurrect. Most women would want to start a family, too. Been there, done that, and less than satisfactorily. He couldn’t see himself starting all over. So he’d found himself dating less and less often, with the result that opportunities to take a woman to bed came rarely.
I’m thirty-seven years old, and I’ve consigned myself to middle age. I didn’t even notice it happening.
Being a full-time father to Trevor seemed to be hastening the process.
But a picture rose in Richard’s mind’s eye again of Molly Callahan, pushing that cart out of the grocery store. She’d looked ten years younger in jeans and a snug sweater, hair in a ponytail. He could close his eyes and see her. The way the jeans had fit over her long legs and firm, full ass, the sweater over breasts that would be more than handfuls even for a man with big hands. The pink painted on her cheeks by chagrin, the shame and vulnerability in her eyes when she’d called after him to apologize, if obliquely, for her rudeness.
Of course, he’d been so miffed at her instant rejection, he’d then been rude. He could imagine what she’d think and say if he called and asked her out to dinner.
Since that was a clear impossibility, it might be best if he kept assuming she really was a bitch, instead of suspecting she might have some excuses for coming across that way.
* * *
THE HIGH SCHOOL HELD an annual harvest dance, Halloween with its pagan connotations being verboten. It was the first dance of the year, which meant freshman girls in particular giggled and talked about little else when clustered at lockers. This year’s was to be held on Friday night, two days before Halloween.
Molly dreaded dances. Even when they’d had an open, loving relationship, Cait had hated knowing her mother was there, however much Molly swore, cross my heart and hope to die, that she didn’t look for her daughter, tried not to see her even when she did, did not memorize what boys she danced with. Of course, Molly perjured herself when she swore, because she couldn’t help keeping a watchful eye out for her own kid. It was behavior out of her conscious control. Someday, when Cait had children of her own, she’d understand, Molly told herself.
Caitlyn announced at the last minute that she wasn’t going to this dance.
“You can dance with your friends,” Molly suggested helplessly.
Expression mutinous, Cait shrugged. “I don’t feel like going.”
“Trevor probably won’t be there. Seniors usually don’t bother.”
“I don’t want to. That’s all.” She gave a nasty smile. “You have fun, Mom.”
As usual, Molly planted herself out in front of the gymnasium as reassurance to parents and warning to kids. Most of the students arrived in clusters, many from the parking lot. Others, especially the freshmen and sophomores, were dropped off by parents. Molly paid no particular attention to a black pickup pulling to the curb until Trevor leaped out. He hurried away, undoubtedly anxious to disassociate himself from his dad.
Molly made a point of smiling at him. “Trevor. Glad you came.”
Instead of staring his usual challenge, his gaze touched hers with alarm and skipped away. He ducked his head and hurried past her into the gym.
Hmm, she wondered. What was that about?
She glanced back to see that the pickup was still there. In fact, Richard Ward had gotten out and was walking toward her. The night was cold and he wore jeans, work boots, a flannel shirt and down vest. His eyes were shadowed by the artificial outdoor lighting, but she thought they were wary.
“Ms. Callahan.”
“Mr. Ward.” She turned her head to smile at some students. “Sarah, Danielle, Micayla. Have fun.”
“Chilly night to have to stand out here,” Richard remarked.
“Yes, it is.” She’d pulled out her wool peacoat for the first time and had the collar turned up over a scarf wrapped around her neck. She even wore gloves. She could see her breath. His, too, come to think of it.
He remained silent as she spoke to more kids and waved greetings at a couple of parents. She saw out of the corner of her eyes that he’d shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. When there was a momentary lull, he spoke. “I keep expecting to hear from you.”
She faced him. “Trevor hasn’t been in any more fights, thank goodness. We had some vandalism, but as far as I can tell he wasn’t tied to it. Which is not to say he doesn’t still worry me.”
“Me, too.”
Well, that was honest. It didn’t so much surprise her as make her aware anew of how badly she’d misjudged him. After seeing him earnestly making the rounds talking to Trevor’s teachers, she’d been forced to realize that he did care about his son and was, in fact, taking full parental responsibility. He still made her uncomfortable, but that wasn’t his fault. Seeing him only reminded her of how poorly she’d handled that meeting—and probably the phone call preceding it.
Okay, and then there was the fact that he reminded her for the first time in a long while that she was a woman, with a woman’s needs. Right now, for example, she was painfully aware of his size, broad shoulders, dark, tousled hair and the angles and planes of his face that made it look…austere. Although that might not be the bone structure. Molly had a feeling this man was suppressing a whole lot.
“I gather he and your daughter aren’t an item anymore,” he said after a minute.
“Yes, so she tells me.”
“Did she say why?”
“No.” Molly frowned and really looked at him. “They’re young. Pairings don’t usually last long.”
“Maybe not.” He rocked back on his heels. “I met Trevor’s mother in high school. Dated her the last two years, and married her.”
She opened her mouth and then closed it. She didn’t know why she was shocked that he’d told her so much. It hadn’t been a throwaway, making conversation kind of comment. Had he really gotten married at eighteen? She was horrified whenever she heard about students graduating and getting married right away.
Not that she could say much, married at twenty and a mother at twenty-one. Yes, but see how that had turned out. Maybe it’s why she was horrified by the idea of it happening to anyone else.
“But you’re divorced,” she heard herself say, and winced.
“I didn’t say it was a good idea. Only that some high school romances get serious.”
She nodded.
“I have the impression Caitlyn hurt him.”
Oh, so that was why he was loitering at her side? Wanting to blame her daughter? Molly’s anger fired right up. Maybe her first impression was right after all; maybe he was the kind of parent who always wanted to blame someone else.
“Funny,” she said sharply. “I have the impression he hurt Cait. She didn’t even come tonight.”
