Читать книгу A Family For Daniel - Anna DeStefano - Страница 8

“YES, MR. WESTING.” Amy nodded to herself, making adjustments to the project plan she was walking the Kramer Industries IT director through. “I’m confident your CEO will be more than pleased at the closing meeting on the thirtieth.”

She withdrew a spreadsheet from her folder and slid it across the desk toward Phillip Hutchinson. The senior partner’s slow nod as he reviewed the plans she’d sacrificed months of her life to produce, and his begrudging, “It all looks on target to me, Jed,” were as good as a standing ovation.

“Good.” Papers shuffled on Westing’s end of the line. “Now, let’s walk through the support contract again.”

“Yes, sir.” Amy dug out another set of papers. Lord, it felt incredible to be on top of her game. To be staring down the pressure and to have the right answer at every turn. To finally be in control of something, when the rest of her life was such a disaster.

“Let me fax you the schedule that details the two options.” She handed Mr. Hutchinson the paperwork. “Take a look at—”

The cell phone at her hip started doing the cha-cha.

She grabbed it, grateful beyond words that she’d remembered to turn the thing to Vibrate. At the top of Phillip Hutchinson’s list of meeting dos and don’ts was no, absolutely no, cell phone interruptions. But her cell was her connection with Becky and Gwen until she could bring her daughter back to Atlanta. Forget Hutchinson’s rules.

The man’s annoyed stare locked on to Amy. Her heart chose that moment to begin beating in her throat. She yanked the phone from her waistband, giving up any pretence of subtlety.

“Ms. Loar?” Mr. Hutchinson prodded.

The display revealed Sweetbrook’s area code, but it wasn’t her mother’s number.

“Ms. Loar!” he demanded under his breath.

Damn. What was it she’d been saying to Westing?

The phone buzzed in her hand.

Becky! Something must have happened. Was that the number for the Sweetbrook hospital?

“I’m sorry.” She passed her notes to Hutchinson. “I have to take this call.”

“I’m faxing you those support schedules now, Jed.” Hutchinson activated the fax machine at his elbow, his voice resonating professionalism. His eyes, however, raged with disapproval.

She forced herself to walk calmly from the room. She closed the door behind her and thumbed the Talk button on the still-shuddering phone, leaving her flawless spreadsheets, the countless hours she’d spent running and rerunning the Kramer numbers, to speak for themselves.

“Hello?” she said.

Please God, let Becky be okay.

“Hello?” an oddly familiar masculine voice echoed. “I was calling for Amy Loar… Reese. Amy Reese?”

“This is Amy Loar.” She garbled her words as she sank into every mother’s nightmare. Something might have happened to her child, and Amy was hundreds of miles away. “What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing’s wrong, everything’s fine,” the man reassured her. “I mean, not exactly—”

“Who is this?” She finally took a full breath, as the initial edge of panic receded.

“Amy, it’s Josh…. Joshua White.”

She stared at the phone, a rush of childhood memories consuming her.

There was Josh, smiling and forever young, surely the handsomest senior class president ever elected, delivering his valedictorian speech at their high school graduation. Voted most likely to succeed. Brilliant. The only son of a wealthy Southern family whose forefathers had founded Sweetbrook over two hundred years ago. Josh had been so far removed from the reality of Amy’s own childhood that the fact that they’d hooked up as kids and stayed friends through high school was still a mystery to more people than her.

And then she remembered the last time she’d seen him. His expression had darkened with disappointment, his voice angry and hurt as he passed his small-town judgment on her pending marriage to a man he didn’t think was good enough for her.

“You’re marrying him for all the wrong reasons,” he’d said. “He won’t make you happy.”

“And you’re an expert on me and what makes me happy,” she’d retorted.

“I’ve gotten pretty good at watching you throw the important things in your life away in your pursuit of success, yes.” His hands had shook as he cupped her cheek. “It makes me sad to see you putting so much faith in this guy and his money. His promises that this better life of his in Atlanta will make you happy. It makes me… It makes me want to show you what you could have if you came back to live in Sweetbrook.”

And before she’d known it, the anger in the eyes of the man she’d secretly had a crush on for years had heated into something new, something that felt as forbidden and thrilling as the kiss that had followed—

“I’m the principal of the elementary school in Sweetbrook,” Josh said in the here and now.

“I… I know who you are, Josh.” She checked her watch. “It’s ten o’clock at night. And I’m in an important meeting.”

“I see.” The friendly note drained from his voice. “Your mother mentioned you kept late hours at the office, but I thought by now you might have time to talk.”

“I’m trying to close a deal with an important client.” Amy’s cheeks singed at the censure she couldn’t believe she was hearing in his voice.

“What I’ve called to discuss about Becky is equally important, I assure you,” he reasoned, “or I wouldn’t have bothered you.”

As if taking time for her daughter was too much of a bother. Amy’s spine stiffened.

Maybe he had seen Richard for the snake he turned out to be long before she’d wised up. Maybe Josh had been right all along, that her big plans for her life in Atlanta wouldn’t make her happy. But he didn’t know her anymore. He couldn’t begin to comprehend the kind of trouble she was digging herself and Becky out of. Or how much she despised herself for each minute she couldn’t be with her child.

“How did you get this number?” she asked, biting back her favorite childhood label for him when he was being a pain—butthead.

“Gwen gave it to the school when she registered Becky. I have it here in your daughter’s file.” He was full-on Principal White now, his voice as formal and as superficially polite as hers. “Just at a glance, I’d say the behavior problems and incidents Becky’s racked up in just the month she’s been with us constitute an emergency by anyone’s standards. In case you weren’t aware of what’s been going on down here, I wanted to bring you up to speed.”

“I’m aware of everything that’s happening with my daughter. I talk with her every night,” Amy snapped. “I’m very interested in her life, and I stay as involved as I can be.”

“I wasn’t judging you, Amy.” He sounded genuinely hurt.

“Sure you were.”

She’d been down this road before. For months now, as a matter of fact, ever since the mothers of Becky’s friends first learned about Amy’s increased hours at Enterprise after the divorce. The frenzy of unsolicited concern and advice that had ensued—after dance practice, at the car-pool stop to and from school, after birthday parties and sleepovers—had made Amy’s decision to remove Becky from her exclusive private school even easier. They couldn’t afford the tuition any longer, and Amy didn’t need the daily reminder of how badly she was failing as a mother, no matter how hard she tried.

“I called to discuss Becky’s issues at school,” Josh offered, his tone edging toward reasonable. “Not to comment on your priorities as a mother, or your relationship with your daughter. I’d like to help.”

“Look.” Amy unclenched her jaw. Chided herself for overreacting. The man was just doing his job. She glanced at her watch again. “I’ve already spoken with my mother, and I’m just as concerned as you that Becky’s having difficulty in school—”

“Then you’re planning to be here Friday?”

“What?”

“For the SST meeting.”

The door to Mr. Hutchinson’s office opened. The senior partner stepped partially into the hall.

“Ms. Loar, I need you in here.”

She raised a finger to signal for another minute. Turning her back as the door closed less than gently behind her, she gritted her teeth against the screaming tantrum that would be a really bad idea.

“Josh, I’d be happy to stop by the school as soon as I wrap up my project here. I don’t know what this SST meeting is, but Friday’s out of the question, I’m afraid.”

“And I’m afraid we can’t put this off.” His statement resonated with the same determination she’d once admired. Only there was an unforgiving edge to Josh’s controlled manner now. A harshness at complete odds with the easygoing charm that had tempered his personality when they were kids.

“We’re just going to have to put it off.” Amy took a calming breath. “I appreciate your call, and I’ll make an appointment with the school secretary for a few weeks from now—”

“You don’t understand. We’re having the meeting Friday, with or without you. If you can’t make the time to be here, we’ll do what we think is best for Becky in your absence.”

His disapproving tone snuffed out Amy’s last attempt to keep the conversation polite, just as it had that night over ten years ago when he’d decided he knew what was best for her life.

Privilege and money had smoothed Josh’s every step from childhood. After college, he’d returned to Sweetbrook to take his rightful place in his family’s legacy of service and philanthropy to the community. He was principal of Dr. David C. White Elementary School, for heaven’s sake. She’d heard his marriage had fallen apart a year or so ago, but beyond that it seemed his life had worked out exactly according to his master plan. How could he possibly understand what it was like to fight and struggle, and all the while know you’re stuck in a no-win battle you might never escape from?

“I do appreciate your courtesy.” She nearly choked on the words. “But how exactly do you anticipate having a parent-teacher conference without the parent present?”

Butthead!

“The Student Support Team meeting is for Becky’s benefit, not yours,” he explained. “It’s a little more formal than you sitting down for a chat with her teacher. Your daughter’s facing some tough challenges, and she’s going to need all the help she can get. I’ll be there Friday, along with her teacher, Mrs. Cole. So will our staff counselor. Together, we’ll come up with a set of strategies that we hope will help school become a more successful experience for Becky.”

“What challenges? What strategies? Becky’s upset because of the hours I’ve had to keep the last few months. Because she blames me for how my marriage ended.” Amy clasped the pendant dangling around her neck. “My daughter doesn’t want to be in Sweetbrook, so she’s acting out a little more than usual at school. I’ll be there in a few weeks, then she’ll settle back in here with me. Don’t you think you’re overreacting with this SST thing? Becky’s going to be fine.”

“She may not be, Amy. Not without some help.” Josh’s concern radiated across the crackling cell connection. Gone was the all-business principal who couldn’t keep his intrusive opinions to himself. In his place was the friend whose shoulder Amy had cried on the summer her puppy had died in her arms after being struck by a car. Gwen had been at work, Amy hadn’t had anyone else to turn to, and Josh had been there, as always. Steady, certain, unflappable. “Her teacher’s concerned that part of Becky’s acting out may stem from frustration over a learning disability—”

“What learning disability?”

“The purpose of the SST meeting is to discuss Mrs. Cole’s suspicion that Attention Deficit Disorder may account for some of Amy’s disruptive behavior in the classroom.”

“Attention Deficit…” The muffled sound of the conference call going on behind her faded. Her surroundings shimmered to a hazy white. “I don’t understand….”

“We think Becky may be dealing with ADD, on top of the other issues you mentioned earlier.”

On top of the other issues…. The words clamored through Amy’s head. Issues that were her fault. On top of Becky losing her family and being separated from the life and home that were all she’d ever known. On top of her needing Amy the most, just when it was impossible for her to be there for her little girl. On top of all that, Becky might have—

“ADD?” she whispered. She didn’t know exactly what that meant, but she knew enough to be scared. She covered her mouth with a shaking hand. Tears threatened, blurring everything around her. “But I had no idea…. How…?”

“It’s going to be okay, Amy,” Josh said. “We’re going to figure this out.”

His reassurance was like a lifeline, and she found his use of the word we wasn’t as offensive as it should have been, given the way he’d been subtly pointing his finger at her moments before.

“Ms. Loar.” Phillip Hutchinson was standing beside Amy. She had no idea how long he’d been there. “Mr. Westing has another question about the payout schedule. I need you to walk him through it.”

The man was all but tapping his foot for her to hop-to.

“I…” Amy fought for words, fought against the sensation that her world was slipping out from under her.

“Amy, can you make the SST meeting?” Josh’s voice sounded in her ear, cornering her, pressing for an answer with as much tenacity as her boss.

Her daughter or her career? Amy’s plans to manage both had never seemed more unattainable.

“I’ll be there on Friday,” she croaked into the phone, ending the call before Josh could say another word.

She turned to Mr. Hutchinson and squared her shoulders.

“I need to take a few days off.”

“You can’t be serious.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got a nervous director in there, and you’re meeting with their entire senior management at three tomorrow. You’re not going anywhere.”

“I have a family emergency. I’m leaving in the morning, as soon as I can wrap things up here. I’ll be gone until Monday.” She was already working out the details in her head. She’d spend tomorrow afternoon with Becky and Gwen, meet with Josh and his staff on Friday, get things back on an even keel over the weekend, then return to Atlanta by Sunday evening to catch up before the new week started. “I can conference in on tomorrow’s meeting. The rest I’ll find a way to do from Sweetbrook on my laptop and PalmPilot.”

“Sweetbrook? Where’s Sweetbrook?”

“In South Carolina. It’s where I grew up.”

And it was the one place, despite all her plans to leave it behind, where she’d last felt safe.

She brushed past him and stepped into his office, pushing aside thoughts of everything but the corporate director who needed to be placated before she could do anything else. Lucky for Amy, reassuring nervous clients was turning out to be one of her greatest talents.

If only her and her daughter’s problems were as easy to resolve.

“CAN I GET YOU ANYTHING, Mr. White?” Mrs. Lyons asked Josh the next morning.

Josh lifted his head from his overflowing desk, trying not to be annoyed.

He and Daniel had to make it home on time this afternoon to whip the house into shape for their Family Services caseworker. This was their fourth home visit since Josh had been awarded temporary custody after his sister, Melanie’s, death, and they needed to demonstrate they were making progress bonding as a family. Josh couldn’t be running late because of paperwork, which meant he didn’t have time to humor one overly attentive school secretary.

In the past, Edna Lyons had always been efficient. But she’d become downright doting since Melanie died and Josh had taken responsibility for Daniel. She’d progressed from straightening and organizing everything in sight to hovering, which she was doing right now.

She reached to restack the personnel folders he’d thumbed through earlier, as he considered applications for the vacant math-specialist position. He slid them out of her reach.

“Stop coddling me, Edna.” He sat back and smiled as she huffed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re behind, is what you are. Have been for months. Both here and in that mansion your family calls a home.” She scooped his wrinkled suit jacket off the chair he’d dropped it onto, smoothed the material and hung it on the coat rack. “You just don’t know how to ask for help.”

If only there was any real help for Josh’s situation. He’d sold his own home after the divorce and moved back to the house he’d grown up in. His father, drifting through the final stages of Alzheimer’s, hadn’t even known his wife and son by that point. Josh’s mother, frailer at sixty-five than most, thanks to the devastating toll Alzheimer’s took on caregivers, had been at her emotional and physical wit’s end. Josh had finally talked her into moving with his dad to an assisted living center about an hour away, in Demming, so the professionals there could help her handle the progression of his father’s disease.

Melanie had come back to town with Daniel somewhere in the midst of it all, the drama that always swirled around her adding to the strain of their mother’s anxiety and Josh’s messed up life after his divorce. And now they were all gone, all but Daniel. Josh visited his parents as often as he could, and he spoke with his mom each week. But all he’d tell her was that things were fine in Sweetbrook. He refused to burden her with either his or her grandson’s problems. The woman had enough on her hands.

The lack of a family support system wouldn’t have been a problem in the past. Growing up with emotionally absent parents had taught him independence from the cradle. After his divorce, he’d turned to his work and the kids at school to keep him busy. But now he also had Daniel to consider, and the boy’s need for love and attention escalated more each day.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he made himself say out loud as he got back to work. He hadn’t asked for this kind of responsibility, but it was his nonetheless. Turning his back on his sister’s child was out of the question.

“Oh, it’ll be okay,” Mrs. Lyons agreed in a not-so-agreeable voice. “Once you find a nice young lady to help you make a home for that nephew of yours.”

“I don’t need a nice young lady. What I need—” He initialed the page before him and flipped to the next, grunting at the memory of the string of helpful local women who’d tried to step in where his ex had left off “—is to get these pay sheets approved in time for you and everyone else to receive your checks on Friday.”

“I heard Mary-Ellen Baxter’s Tiffany is in your Sunday school class. Mary-Ellen—”

“Edna, have you by any chance started your own dating service?” He was only half teasing, and a bit too much of his irritation slipped into his voice.

“What?” She was a study in female indignation. At least she was no longer hovering. “I was only—”

“You were trying to fix me up with your best friend’s single daughter.” He dropped his pen, folded his hands and forced himself to smile at the good-intentioned woman who had caught him sneaking out of class in third grade without a hall pass—thus landing him his only stint in detention. “And while I appreciate you looking out for me—”

“I was looking out for the child.” She pulled off dignified and embarrassed like a champ. “If you want to spend the rest of your life alone, that’s your business. But that little boy needs some stability.”

“You’re a good woman, Edna Lyons.” And she was. Gray haired for as long as he’d known her, always dressed in floral prints that did her Southern heritage proud. Tough on the outside, she possessed a marshmallow-cream center the kids in school rarely got a chance to see. “I appreciate you looking out for Daniel. But dating someone I don’t have a prayer of connecting with right now wouldn’t end well for anyone.”

The good-intentioned people of Sweetbrook had discreetly arranged for him to meet a parade of local beauties at the church potluck dinner, or the Wednesday night trip he always took to the grocery to stock up for the week. Even at the school’s Spring Fling a month ago. All of them were perfectly nice women, but none right for him. Because he wasn’t interested. Not after losing Lisa and so much of what he’d thought the rest of his life would be built around. There wasn’t a woman on earth who’d tempt him to go there again.

Suddenly, his last memories of Amy Loar muscled aside the images of the other women. Memories of Amy laughing with him, kidding him, making his day lighter just because she was in it. Then of her mouth, soft and giving, melting beneath his. Melting away the anger and surprising hurt he’d felt at the thought of her marrying another man. He’d pulled her into his arms, wanting to hold on to something he hadn’t realized he’d needed until that moment. And just for a second, it had seemed as if she was as lost in their kiss as he was. Then she’d shoved him away, almost crying, saying she would never forgive him for what he’d said. For what he’d done….

With a shake of his head, he shifted to the edge of the chair and picked up the next time sheet.

You’ve got no time for daydreaming, man. No time for regrets about the past.

The mistakes he wracked up each time he tried to help Daniel and failed, filled more hours than he had in a day.

“I’ll take care of these, at least,” Edna said, a note of resignation lingering in her voice as she picked up the mail from his out-box and turned to go. “Do you want me to see that you’re not distur—”

“Got a minute for me?” Doug Fletcher popped his head in, bringing Edna to a skidding stop.

She scowled up at the school counselor, clearly arming for battle. No one entered the principal’s office unless she announced him first. But at Josh’s approving nod, she turned away without a word.

“You have a curriculum meeting in ten minutes,” she called over her shoulder. “You don’t want to be late again.”

Doug chuckled at her retreating back.

“You’d better watch your step for the next few days. She’ll have her eye on you.” Josh scanned and initialed the sheet before him. “What’s up?”

“I just got a call from Barbara Thomas.” Doug closed the door, then sat in one of the guest chairs. “She was asking for an update on Daniel.”

Josh began stacking the unsigned reports it was clear he couldn’t finish before his meeting. “We have a home visit scheduled this afternoon.”

“Are things getting better outside of school?” his friend and colleague asked. Doug Fletcher was a top-notch counselor. The best. One of those people who could listen to you recite the alphabet and make it seem as if you were delving into inner truths he found fascinating.

“I’m starting to wonder if things ever will get better,” Josh finally let himself admit. “Living with me, adjusting to this school—” he spread his hands “—none of it is getting any easier for Daniel. He still feels out of place. Like he doesn’t belong here, no matter how much I try to convince him he does.”

“He’s hurting, Josh. The kid just lost his mother, and he was already having difficulty relating to people before that. I suspect it’s an ongoing problem.”

“Yeah. Dr. Rhodes thinks the same thing.”

“Because of the father?”

“We’re not sure. Melanie claimed the man was abusive, and the more I’m around Daniel, the more I’m convinced something happened.” Josh’s fists clenched at the thought of some asshole raising a hand to his sister and her son. “But Daniel won’t talk about any of it, so we can’t be certain.”

“It would explain a lot of the acting out. The behavior that pushes people away before they get too close.”

“Yeah, or maybe he just doesn’t want to be here.” Josh’s fists clenched again. “I’m not exactly family man of the year right now.”

“You’re doing fine,” his friend countered, repeating Josh’s earlier assurance to Mrs. Lyons. Doug somehow managed to sound as if he meant it. “Just take it slow and give it some time.”

“Yeah.” Josh nodded.

His intercom buzzed long and loud, Edna’s I-told-you-so signal that he was going to be late for the curriculum meeting, after all.

He threw his friend a long-suffering look as they stood to go. “Thank heavens we have all kinds of free time around here.”

AMY PULLED UP THE driveway of her mother’s place a little before three. Gwen Loar’s tiny house looked more like home to Amy than her high-priced loft in the city ever had.

She dragged her garment bag from the ’95 Civic she’d purchased after trading in her Lexus, picked up her briefcase and nudged the trunk closed with her elbow. A wisp of a breeze lifted her bangs, a welcome relief from the early spring heat. Sweetbrook seemed overly warm after the milder temperatures in Atlanta. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of home.

There was a time, while she was in college, that she’d made it back to this place as often as possible. Then Richard had literally stumbled into her at the University of South Carolina, in the midst of a recruiting trip his legal firm was conducting on campus. She’d been a business major and not at all interested in a career in law. But Richard had been solid and steady, and magnetically handsome.

In his late twenties, he’d been on his way to becoming his firm’s youngest partner. Determined to win Amy’s affection from the moment she’d sloshed her Coke all over his expensive suit in the student union café, he’d pursued her relentlessly, insisting they’d make a good fit. Flattered and awed by the success he wore so comfortably, she hadn’t stood a chance once he turned on the formidable charm that had weakened the resolve of some of the most cynical juries in the South. Her mother had tried to warn her she was rushing into marriage. Even Josh had tried. But she’d been so sure Richard was her future.

After her graduation, they’d married in Atlanta, and she’d gone on to become the most promising of the young up-and-comers at Enterprise Consulting. Then Richard’s arguments that they should have a baby sooner rather than later had begun. And with the arrival of Becky, Richard’s passion for controlling Amy’s life had shifted gears.

He didn’t like the way it looked, having a nanny raising his daughter. Amy was too wrapped up in her career. Her place was at home, taking care of him and their child. It wasn’t as if they needed the money she made. She’d clearly had her priorities out of place, he’d told her.

And so, by the time Becky was in preschool, Amy’s career had morphed into little more than something to occupy herself while Becky was gone during the school day. Amy had passed up one career opportunity after another, even though she’d been more than qualified. She’d watched her peers’ careers eclipse her own, while she was relegated to doing busy work on projects she’d rather have been leading.

She’d consoled herself with her family. With her husband’s money and the financial security that had exceeded her dreams. Richard had assured her she had every reason to be happy. She was privileged. They were the envy of everyone they knew in Atlanta’s supersuccessful business community. No matter that she became more and more terrified of her husband with each passing day.

When she’d finally woken from the haze of her abusive marriage, she found she’d been living a thinly veiled nightmare that was going to get worse before it got better. Not only did she have to find the strength to stand up to a man she’d let trample her dignity and self-esteem for years, but her best shot at financial independence was finding a way to be taken seriously in the world of corporate business, where she hadn’t competed in years. And Amy hadn’t just done this to herself. She’d dragged her daughter through hell right along with her.

How could she have been so wrong about what life had in store for her? Every mistake she’d made had been entirely her fault, because she hadn’t wanted to see the truth in the people and things she’d built her happiness around.

Becky was right to blame her for being too much of a coward to leave Richard sooner. Amy had stayed too long. Her daughter had seen and heard too much.

“Amy!” The front door flew open. Her mom rushed out, arms wide. “You came. Why didn’t you let us know?”

Amy dropped everything a split second before she was engulfed in her mother’s sweet-scented hug. She couldn’t hold Gwen close enough.

“I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to get away,” she explained. “I had a lot to take care of this morning. As it is, I’m waiting on a conference call my assistant’s patching through to my cell.”

She straightened the collar of Gwen’s faded oxford shirt.

“This was Grandpa’s, wasn’t it?” She smiled at her mother’s shrug. “That’s one of the things I love about you, Mama. You never stop wearing hand-me-downs, no matter how many new outfits I buy you.”

“I adore my old things. They’re like memories I get to carry around with me all day.” Gwen lifted Amy’s garment bag and headed toward the house. “It might do you some good to look through your old closet. I bet there’re lots of treasures hiding in there.”

“Yeah. Everything will be just swell, as soon as I throw on a pair of my skintight jeans from high school.” Her briefcase in hand, Amy followed in her mother’s wake. “Is Becky home?”

“Got off the bus about ten minutes ago.” Gwen held the door for Amy to enter in front of her.

“Did things go better today?” Amy took the garment bag back and set it aside.

“She’s in the kitchen having a snack. You should probably ask her yourself.”

Amy turned from studying how much the walls of the tiny living room needed fresh paint. “That bad?”

“About the same.” With another sigh, her mom lead the way the few steps to the kitchen.

Becky was snacking on milk and a plate of Gwen’s freshly baked cookies.

She looked so grown-up. So beautiful. So much like her father, with her dark hair and eyes, and her olive complexion. Had she gotten taller in the few weeks Amy had been away? Amy thought back to her last overnight visit, a hurried Saturday full of trying to help Becky understand why things had to be this way for now. Amy couldn’t conjure up a clear picture of how her daughter had looked then. All she could remember was Becky’s tears and shouts, and her own fear that her best was never going to be good enough.

“Hey, baby.” She knelt beside Becky’s chair.

Vacant eyes lifted, then shifted back to the plate. Becky dunked a cookie into her glass.

“I missed you.” Amy ran her hand down her daughter’s delicate arm.

“Whatever.” Becky pulled away from her grasp.

Amy glanced over her shoulder. Gwen’s slight smile encouraged her to continue.

“Grandma’s been telling me a little about what’s going on at school. I thought maybe we could talk about it this weekend. Maybe come up with a few ideas for making all this work better for you while you’re here.”

“You’re staying the whole weekend?”

Their gazes connected again. But the doubt and hesitation filling Becky’s brown eyes made Amy wish her daughter was still pretending to ignore her.

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited before now.” She tried a tentative hug. The moment was so awkward, Amy wanted to cry. “I know this has been hard for you. I’d have come home sooner if I could.”

“This isn’t home.” Becky fought free of Amy’s grasp, stumbling from the chair. She spun around, her arms crossed tightly across her neon-pink T-shirt. “Not that I have a home anymore, since you finally worked up the guts to throw Dad out. But I don’t care about the condo or the apartment. I just want out of here.”

“That’s what your mom wants, too.” Gwen stepped to her granddaughter’s side and hugged her shoulders.

Becky melted against her and frowned at Amy. “Whatever. Just let me go back to Atlanta with you.”

“I can’t right now.” Amy struggled to find a way to break through her daughter’s unhappiness. To find different words than the ones she’d already said a hundred times. She was secure in her daughter’s love. She and Becky would be okay once the dust settled. But that didn’t erase the pain her child was enduring now—pain Amy never should have let touch her baby’s life.

“We’ve talked about this,” she said. “I’ve barely moved everything into the new apartment. Our lives are still in boxes. And with this project at work taking up all my time, you’re better off here for a little while longer.”

“Work! That’s all you care about. You don’t want me around any more than Dad does.”

“That’s not true, honey.” Amy longed to be holding her daughter herself. At least Becky was taking some comfort from Gwen. “I care about you very much. I’m doing all this to get us back on track. All I want is for you to be happy.”

“Then get me out of this nowhere place.” Anger laced every word the little girl hurled at Amy. “If you don’t, I’ll run away, I swear. I hate it here.”

“You’re not running away.” Warning bells chimed in Amy’s head. Like most kids, Becky could sense guilt a mile away. And she was a pro at using Amy’s against her.

Time for tough-as-nails Mom to take the gloves off. She pushed herself out of her chair. “Your grandmother’s taking good care of you, and you’ll be back in Atlanta by next month. Back with your friends, and your stuff, and your new school. So please, why don’t we skip the melodrama, make the best of the situation and talk about what’s going on at school instead?”

Becky nibbled on her thumbnail, her outburst momentarily subdued. Amy didn’t know which was worse, bearing the brunt of her daughter’s threats and disrespect, or watching Becky slip into these scary patches of silence.

“Honey, I came down here so we’d have the chance to talk. So I could check on what’s going on with you. Maybe I can help.” She knelt again until she was looking up into her daughter’s beautiful face. “I came because I’d do anything for you. You’re the most important thing in my life, and I don’t ever want you to think differently.”

“Really?” Becky sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Are you really staying the weekend? Grandma said there was some kind of meeting at school tomorrow, but you couldn’t come.”

“Of course I’m staying. We’re going to figure this out.” The memory of Josh saying the exact same thing echoed in Amy’s head. She took Becky’s hand, tugging until the child’s arm loosened and her hand dropped to her side. “I’ll be at the meeting with your teacher tomorrow. But I wanted to talk with you first.”

Her cell phone’s high-pitched chirp made them both jump. Becky jerked away, her expression fracturing into a mutinous scowl. Amy stifled a curse as she checked her watch. It was time for her conference call.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she said as the dratted phone rang again. “I have to take this.”

After gazing apologetically at Becky, she shifted her eyes to her mother, silently begging for some magical solution. But all she found in her mom’s expression was a world of worry to match her own.

Amy stood and smoothed a hand through her daughter’s chocolate-colored curls. “I promise. This evening, after dinner, I’m all yours. No cell phones, no interruptions, just you and—”

“Fine, whatever.” The ten-year-old stomped away. “When you’re ready to fit me into your schedule,” she spat over her shoulder, “I’ll be in my cell.”

As Becky slammed her bedroom door, Amy slumped into a kitchen chair, then answered the still-ringing phone.

“I’m here, Jacquie,” she snarled by way of a greeting, assuming her assistant was on the other end of the line. “Patch me into the conference room whenever you’re ready.”

“That won’t be necessary, Ms. Loar.” Phillip Hutchinson’s voice boomed over the line.