Читать книгу The Prodigal's Return - Anna DeStefano - Страница 11

“JENN, YOU’VE HAD BOYFRIENDS, right?” Traci Carpenter asked over the plate of fries she and Jenn were devouring. At seventeen, Traci probably saw Jenn’s twenty-four years as so far over the hill, boyfriends would be a distant memory.

“It’s been a while.” So much for putting Neal Cain out of her mind. “But I think I remember boys.”

The church’s youth activity that weekend was a trip to Freddy’s, Jenn’s favorite place to eat in Rivermist. She was the leader of this sprawling band of youth and energy, so she got to pick where they met. Freddy’s had a laser jukebox, cheap junk food and plenty of booths for the teenagers to commandeer. The perfect way to kill a few hours before a handful of the kids had to dress for that afternoon’s varsity basketball games.

She’d volunteered to revamp the church’s floundering Saturday activities after it had become clear there was no chaperoned place Rivermist’s teens would be caught dead hanging out in. The church leaders, fresh out of creative ideas, had agreed to let Jenn give it a try—as a lay leader only, they’d tripped all over themselves to point out.

Now under her leadership, the kids were opening up to the idea of being part of a crowd that had something more constructive to do than cruising or partying the weekend away. And the satisfaction of working with them had Jenn hooked in a way she should have seen coming.

Traci Carpenter had been shadowing Jenn for a couple of Saturdays now. Always there, always angling to sit closer. Always the last one hanging around when things wrapped up. The signals weren’t that tough to read. The girl had something to say, something to talk about. She just hadn’t worked up the nerve before now.

“So, how long did it take before your boyfriends…” The teen twisted the straw in her milk shake. At Traci’s insistence, she and Jenn were sitting several booths away from the rest of the kids. “I mean, once you’d gone together for six months or so…”

“Haven’t you and Brett Hamilton been dating for a lot longer than six months?” Jenn swiped a fry through the ketchup, using her best girlfriend voice. At least she was pretty sure that’s how girlfriends gossiping about boys sounded.

“This isn’t about me and Brett.” Crimson flooded Traci’s cheeks.

“Of course not.”

“I have this friend,” Traci whispered. “And she’s seeing this older guy. You know, older. More sophisticated.”

The fry halfway to Jenn’s mouth stalled. “And…your friend and this sophisticated guy are doing what, exactly?”

“Well, you know….” The girl’s nonchalance clashed with the way she nervously kicked the table leg between them. Blond and blue-eyed, she was wearing a high-fashion ensemble no doubt bought on one of her mother’s shopping excursions to Atlanta. “What do you think they’re doing?”

Jenn popped the fry into her mouth. Kept her expression free of anything but casual interest. The label of church leader fit her social-worker training like a sweater shrunk once too often in the dryer. But giving teenagers a back door into discovering what they believed was right up her alley.

This conversation, if nothing else today, she could handle like a pro.

Another look across the restaurant, and Traci leaned closer. “So, some of the girls and I were wondering. If my friend needed some advice, or maybe something like birth control, or…whatever…could she come to you?”

Jenn silently processed the complications and conflicts this conversation was headed for. Information, she reminded herself. Never make a decision without all the information you can get your hands on.

She cleared her throat. “Can your friend talk with her parents?”

“Not about stuff like this. Her parents are stuck in the dark ages. They’d never let her see this guy if they knew how old he is.”

“How much older are we talking?”

“He’s in college.” The plate of fries was the only thing Traci would look at now. “Well, he was.”

“He graduated?”

“Not…not exactly. He dropped out.”

Of course they were talking about Traci and not a friend, and her “older guy” was probably in his early twenties at most. But it still sounded as if she’d set herself up for some huge disappointments if Mr. Wonderful didn’t pan out. And something already had the girl worried. Teens didn’t just up and talk to adults about stuff like sex and protection. Jenn never had when she’d been in Traci’s shoes, not until it was too late.

“I’m not sure how much I can help your friend, since I don’t know her,” she reasoned out loud. “But I do know what I’d tell you or any of my girls if I learned you were getting into a relationship like the one you’re describing.”

Defensiveness crept across Traci’s expression. “If you’re going to tell me that good girls wait and that I’m…that my friend’s going to hell if she doesn’t, don’t bother. I’ve heard it all before.”

“No, I’d be the last person to preach that to you.”

Qualifying what it meant to be good was one of the most overused weapons adults wielded. Guilt and recrimination didn’t get the job done. That kind of moral certainty pushed kids away, instead of teaching them to honor themselves and the responsibility that goes along with making their own decisions.

When she’d been Traci’s age, hadn’t she gone out of her way to do the exact opposite of her parents’ by-the-book vision for her life? Culminating in getting herself pregnant in an alcohol-induced haze with a boy she couldn’t even remember.

Honesty. Information. Trust.

That’s what Traci needed from someone. And it looked as if Jenn had just been volunteered.

“I’d ask a good friend like you to be very careful.” She weighed each word before she said it. “Teenage boys, even older guys, don’t always see relationships the same way teenage girls do.”

“He’s not just interested in sex.” Freckles stood out in sharp contrast with the flush spreading down Traci’s neck. “He’s not that kind of guy. It’s just that…”

“All I’m saying is that he might not have as much at stake in this as your friend does. I’d want her to think carefully before she did anything she couldn’t take back.”

“And if she’s already thought it through?”

Traci’s certainty geared Jenn into action. “And she doesn’t want to talk with her parents?”

“Not a chance.”

“Then your friend has to protect herself. I’d like to have the chance to talk with her. Very real consequences come with what she’s doing. But nothing’s more important than making sure she protects herself.”

“What…what if her guy doesn’t want to use protection?”

“That’s a deal-breaker, sweetie.” Jenn’s hands curled into fists above her knees. She was advising the only child of one of her father’s senior deacons about safe sex. Nothing like jumping off a cliff without a parachute.

But conversations like this were exactly why she’d chosen the work she did. They were unpredictable. Priceless. Life-changing.

“That would leave you…” she began. “It would leave your friend unprotected from infectious disease. Things like AIDS.”

“What about the pill?”

“The pill doesn’t protect you from disease, Traci.”

“But, what if he’s sure he’s clean?”

“What if he’s lying?” Jenn managed not to snort. Barely.

“He’s not.”

“How can you be sure?”

“He says he’s never been with anyone but her, okay!” Traci pulled her legs up, drew her knees to her chest and locked her arms around them. “He says she’s his first.”

“And you believe him?” Jenn blurted out before her brain overcame her shock at the girl’s naiveté.

Her social-worker mojo couldn’t have picked a worse time to bail.

“Fine. Forget I asked.” Traci scooted to the edge of the booth.

“Wait.” Jenn caught hold of her arm. “I’m sorry, all right? But you’ve got to admit, you’ve laid an awful lot on me for a Saturday lunch at Freddy’s. Give me a chance here.”

Tension trembled down Traci’s arm.

“I don’t want to see you or your friend get hurt,” Jenn pressed. “And if you weren’t a little worried about that happening, why did you come to me for advice?”

“Are you saying you’ll help me?” The teenager looked every bit the scared seventeen-year-old she didn’t want to be. “You’ll help me, and you won’t tell my folks?”

“So, we are talking about you. Not a friend?”

“Yeah.” Traci’s head dropped. She slid back into the booth.

“But we’re not talking about Brett?” Jenn’s stomach churned.

“No.” Traci shook her head and stared at her lap. “He still thinks…I mean, everyone still thinks we’re together. But it’s over.”

“Then why are you still dating him?”

“This other guy, he lives in another town. It’s not like we can get together here. If I broke up with Brett, how would I explain where I’ve been when I…you know…”

“When you’re with your other guy?” This upstanding, almost virginal college dropout who was letting Traci lie and sneak around, but who only had her best interest at heart.

“I…I’m afraid to keep sleeping with him without protection, but my mom knows every doctor in town, and he doesn’t like condoms.” Traci’s expression begged Jenn to see the sense in her desperate, messed-up logic.

“So you’re already having unprotected sex.” Jenn held her breath and hoped for a miracle. “For how long?”

“A month—” Traci picked lint from the paper napkin she’d wadded into a ball “—maybe two.”

It was all too obvious, suddenly, what they were really talking about.

“When was your last period, Traci?”

Tears welled in the teenager’s eyes.

Well, damn.

“Have you taken a home pregnancy test?”

“N-no.” Traci wiped at her eyes. Chewed on the corner of her mouth. “I…I didn’t want to…”

“You didn’t want to know?”

If only blissful ignorance were as effective as prophylactics.

“Are you going to help me?” the teenager asked, her voice full of a little girl’s fear. “I don’t know what to do. And I thought you of all people would…you know, understand. Will you help me?”

Contradicting impulses left Jenn speechless while she did some of the fastest thinking of her life. If she tried to talk Traci into going to her parents, she’d lose this battle before it began. That was a discussion for another time, when the girl didn’t already look ready to bolt for the door. She could tell the Carpenters herself, but to the teen that would be the worst kind of betrayal. And that would blow Jenn’s shot at damage control.

And let’s not forget my father and my sparkling new fresh start. And what he and his congregation would expect her to do as the sensible, conservative, levelheaded leader she’d agreed to be when she’d taken the volunteer position with the church’s teens.

Helping Traci on her own meant breaking the trust of everyone around her. Keeping the girl’s secret, even for a few days, might cost Jenn a whole lot more than her job working with Teens in Action.

But none of that could compete with keeping the girl and her baby safe. And if Jenn were the only adult Traci was asking for guidance, that meant the next words out of her mouth could only be—

“Of course I’ll help.” She covered Traci’s hand with her own. “I’ll do whatever I can, on one condition. You leave the door open to talking with your parents.”

“If you tell them, I’ll run away. I can move in with my guy anytime I want—”

“I’m not going to tell anyone anything. But you might need to, if—”

“Jenn, Traci.” Brett Hamilton headed toward them from the other side of the restaurant. “We’ve got to get ready for the game.”

Giving her watch an annoyed glance, Jenn squeezed Traci’s hand. “I’m going to set up an appointment for you with a friend of mine who works in the free clinic in Colter. I’ll get you in first thing Monday. They open at ten.”

Traci pulled her hand away as the all-state center she’d gone steady with since freshmen year drew closer.

“Promise me you’ll keep the appointment.” Jenn scribbled her cell number on a napkin and shoved it into the teenager’s hand, in case the girl had lost the card she’d given all the kids their first Saturday together. “You can call me anytime you need to. I’ll even take you to the clinic if you want.”

Traci glanced nervously at Brett.

“Promise me you’ll see the doctor,” Jenn pressed. “We have to be sure—”

“Okay, I promise.” Traci shoved the napkin into her jacket pocket a second before Brett reached their table. “But I’ll go myself.”

“You ready?” Brett gave Traci’s cheek a noisy kiss.

“Yeah.” Traci edged around him and headed for the door without looking back.

With a wink and a shrug for Jenn, Brett trailed after her.

Jenn lagged behind as the kids paired up and piled back into their cars. She paid her bill and tried to swallow the bitter taste of French fries and foreboding. Just once, couldn’t she catch a break in this town?

Some in the church had been concerned, her father had said, when she’d taken on the floundering teen group.

Concerned.

After all, given her history, was she really the kind of person they wanted influencing their impressionable children? The facts were what they were. She’d been a runaway. An unwed teen mother. She was only a slightly older version of the girl who’d turned to the parties and addictions to obliterate the self-hatred and emptiness she’d only made worse. She’d destroyed her relationship with her parents and had almost cost her father his church.

She’d come back home determined to live down her past and make a fresh start for her daughter’s sake. Now with one simple offer to help a reckless teenager who reminded her too much of herself at seventeen, she was angling for trouble all over again. The kind of trouble that made being seen taking a few bags of food to Nathan Cain a nonissue.

Wrestling open the rusted door of her car, she slid inside and stared at the picturesque world on the other side of the windshield. Fought the childish urge to pick up Mandy at Ashley’s and drive away from Rivermist and the past that seemed incapable of letting her go.

She’d felt a shining moment of strength when she’d stood up to her father that morning. With a snort, she pulled out onto North Street and headed for the Cain place. Had she really grown up and grown stronger over the last seven years, or had she simply gotten better at faking it?

NOW ENTERING RIVERMISt, GEORGIA, the faded sign read in the midday sun. The same faded, beaten-up sign that had been there for as long as Neal could remember.

He was hands down the most unwelcome person to ever enter Rivermist. But somewhere between his apartment and the office that morning, he’d accepted the inevitable. He had to make sure his father was all right. It was time to settle things with the man and this place. So Stephen had taken the Martinez meeting solo after all, and Neal had settled for a soul-searching, two-hour detour down I-75 South.

A part of him hated Nathan for making him care this much again. Another, desperate part needed to see the old man so badly it made no sense. Nothing good could come from letting himself be sucked back into this place. He’d bet his restored ’65 Mustang GT Fastback on it—one of the few luxuries he’d indulged in since regaining control of his trust fund.

Neal winced.

He’d been so certain staying away the last three years was the right thing. Most of him still was. But what if…

Damn.

There was no room in his world for what-ifs. He’d finally accepted his mistakes and he’d moved on. He’d been determined that as much good as possible would come from Bobby’s death, his prison sentence and the lives both had shattered. What-if wasn’t going to make that happen. But second thoughts had hounded him the entire drive over.

Medical what-ifs—all likely candidates for a man his father’s age—that Doc Harden hadn’t confirmed nor denied. What the cranky old doctor had said repeatedly was that Neal should get his black-sheep self home and ask his father what was going on in person.

Neal shoved the transmission into Reverse. Gripping the steering wheel, he fantasized about banking into a steep turn and barreling back to Atlanta and the people he actually could help. Then with a curse, he yanked the gearshift back to Neutral and set the hand brake.

Nathan had refused any but the most basic medical intervention for whatever ailed him. Maybe Neal could talk his father into doing more, the doctor had suggested.

Maybe.

The one useless thing Neal despised more than what-if.

His life was about cold, hard reality. No more destructive emotions. No grand gestures. No time for wishing things were different or looking back to what had been. Now maybe had brought him to a screeching halt on the outskirts of town, unable to keep going for more reasons than just Nathan.

“Jennifer Gardner.”

There. He’d said her name, and it hadn’t hurt a bit.

She’d no doubt moved away years ago. Gotten on with a life that could never have included him. She’d have missed him. Mourned for him. But she’d have moved on by now. And that’s what he’d wanted for her, why he’d refused to answer the letters she’d written to him in prison. Thirty of them in all. Precious ties to the beautiful girl he’d once loved. Letters still kept in the back of his bedroom closet.

Unopened.

Unread.

Impossible to throw away.

With the discipline that came from years of practice, he refused to let her face materialize in his mind. But as always, the perfection of her crystal-clear laugh haunted him.

What if she was still in Rivermist…

With a curse, he revved the idling Ford engine, hating the rush of helplessness that came with the sound. Only a coward would turn back now, but that’s exactly what his instincts told him to do.

Run.

Run just one more time, and leave these people in peace.

Flipping his hometown’s welcome sign the bird, he revved the motor again. But he stayed put, same as before. Not able to move forward or head back. The man he’d become didn’t run. He fought until he found a way to get through whatever was facing him.

So why did the reality of finally being back here have him spinning his wheels and going absolutely nowhere?