Читать книгу No Matter What - Janice Johnson Kay - Страница 10

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.”

“Really.” He continued to stand there, rocking subtly on the balls of his feet, watching her. Cars pulling up to the curb were having to maneuver to get around his pickup.

She greeted more people. There he stood. Exasperation and something that felt a little bit like panic finally made her turn back to him.

“Mr. Ward, I’m afraid I need to be available to other parents. And I’ll have to go inside soon. If you’ll excuse me…?”

She would have said his face was expressionless, but now it became really expressionless.

“Of course,” he said. “Sorry. I wanted… It doesn’t matter. Poor timing. Hope the evening goes smoothly.” He nodded and walked away, climbing a moment later into his pickup and accelerating away from the curb without once looking back at her.

I wanted… What?

An ache in her chest told her she should have guessed he needed to talk to her about something specific. Of course he hadn’t hung around only to make disjointed, meaningless conversation. Probably he had hoped to discuss Trevor. What else could it be?

Why in heck hadn’t she asked him, as she would have any other parent, whether he needed to talk? Suggested they arrange an appointment instead of icily dismissing him?

Oh, but she knew why. He intimidated her. He made her feel things she didn’t know how to handle. She could talk alone with the father of any other student in this school district without once thinking of him as a man. But with Trevor Ward’s father… She couldn’t forget he was a man. Attractive, enigmatic and probably unavailable, assuming she could even imagine herself wanting him to be available, which she didn’t.

Ugh. She didn’t lie even to herself very well.

* * *

WAY TO STRIKE OUT, Richard congratulated himself. But, God, had he behaved like an idiot, or what? Standing there shuffling his feet, sneaking peeks at the object of his adoration—who was trying to do her job and had absolutely no time to chat with him, never mind flirt.

It appeared he’d lost any touch he’d ever had. Richard couldn’t believe he’d done that. He hadn’t intended to. He had never consciously decided, When I see her again, I’ll ask her out. No, when he saw her out front of the gym greeting arrivals, impulse had overcome him and next thing he knew he’d been standing beside her trying to think of something to say.

So, of course, his conversational foray had been to accuse her kid of breaking his kid’s heart. He flinched at the memory. Really slick.

He’d been surprised Trevor wanted to go to the dance at all, far less was willing to accept a ride from him. Not that he’d done so gracefully; when Richard offered, Trev had given a typically sullen, one-shouldered shrug that said, louder than words, whatever. One of his favorite words in the English language. So favored, he’d learned to convey it wordlessly. Still, he had accepted. Of course, he hadn’t talked during the short drive, but he had actually muttered a “thanks” before he jumped out. A word Richard would have sworn Trevor had deleted from his vocabulary.

Home again, Richard found the house felt empty and too quiet, a ridiculous thing to think when he’d lived here alone since his divorce but for the kids’ visits and his own two, year-long tours in Iraq. Then, living in barracks with other National Guardsmen, he’d have given anything to be home in his quiet, empty house. He had nothing to complain about.

He turned on the TV but found nothing interested him and turned it off. He’d never been one for noise for its own sake. The sound of canned voices did not make him feel any less lonely.

Richard set down the remote and looked around his living room. Funny that he hadn’t realized he was lonely. The kids were on his mind a lot, sure, but that wasn’t the same thing. By logical extension, he thought, I could call Bree, but reminded himself it was Friday evening and she was sure to be out. Hell, Lexa probably would be, too. He’d be stunned if she didn’t already have another guy on her string. Maybe two or three. He knew from pictures of her with the kids that she’d stayed beautiful. Maybe Davis hadn’t been paying enough attention to her. Could be he’d gotten too wrapped up in work. Alexa needed to have a man completely besotted with her or she’d look for another one who would be. Eventually Richard had come to feel sorry for her, so insufficient unto herself. She had to see a dazzling reflection of herself in someone’s eyes to feel as if she was worth anything.

Took him long enough to figure that out. But then, good God, he’d been only months older than Trev was now when he made his seventeen-year-old girlfriend pregnant. Mind-boggling thought.

Grimacing, he reached to turn on his computer. At least if he worked, he could accomplish something concrete. Bree’s dad might be an electrician, but he was a pretty damn well-to-do one. He planned to have his bid for the electrical work on a small strip mall in Monday morning. No time like the present to finish it up.

* * *

IT WASN’T FULL DARK WHEN the doorbell rang Sunday night, but Molly knew who she’d find on her doorstep. The little ghosts and robots and princesses came out early.

She usually enjoyed Halloween and had been determined to try to enjoy this one, too. West Fork was the kind of town where it was still safe for children to knock on doors begging for candy. Too bad Cait had already ruined Molly’s favorite part of the holiday—carving the jack-o’-lanterns. They’d done it together since Cait was big enough to draw a face on the pumpkins with her marker and help spoon out seeds and slime. This year, when Molly announced that she’d bought two pumpkins, Cait had said flatly, “Wow.”

“You don’t have dance tonight. I thought this would be a good evening to carve them.”

Her daughter only shrugged. “I don’t feel like it.”

Without another word, Molly had marched downstairs, spread newspaper on the table to contain the mess and done it herself. She didn’t have a grain of Cait’s artistic ability, though, so hers were simple—triangular eyes, noses, wide mouths with missing teeth. But, by God, they had jack-o’-lanterns, one on the porch steps and the other on the railing.

Not half an hour ago, she’d lit candles inside them. Wrapped candy was heaped in a huge ceramic bowl on a side table by the front door, ready to hand out. She’d gotten dinner on the table early—although not as early as she’d planned—so they’d be ready. Cait had even come down when she called.

She then sat pretending to eat, head bent so her hair shielded her face, responding in monosyllables if at all to Molly’s one-sided chatter. The few glimpses Molly had gotten of Cait’s face had scared her. She’d been starkly pale and utterly withdrawn. Something was wrong. Even more wrong.

In irritation, Molly thought, Sure, there is. Something earth-shattering like Trevor acquiring a new girlfriend. She was getting exasperated enough at Cait’s histrionics to keep her from panicking. The sound of the doorbell was a relief.

She opened the door to a cry of “Trick or treat!” and found two small faces grinning up at her. The little girl wore a remarkably clever horse costume—she was a palomino with a shining golden mane and tail—while the boy was a pirate.

“Happy Halloween,” she told them, dropping candy into their proffered orange buckets and waving at the dad who hovered on the front walk. Another group was already turning up toward her porch.

She hadn’t quite finished dinner, but that was okay. Maybe Cait would condescend to take a turn. At least that didn’t involve interaction with her mother, the enemy. And she hadn’t said anything about going out.

To Molly’s surprise she appeared from the kitchen and grinned at the latest group. “Wow, you’re so cute. And you’re scary!” she said, handing out the candy. She mimicked fear at a Frankenstein. Giggling, the two carefully climbed down the porch steps to rejoin a shadowy adult figure—Mom this time?

Studying Cait carefully, Molly thought there was still something odd going on. Did she seem…frenetic?

Wow, I’m getting paranoid.

“You should have seen the horse,” Molly said, closing the door and smiling at her daughter. “The costume was pretty amazing. Almost better than yours.”

Cait rolled her eyes. “Which you designed and sewed by the sweat of your brow. And yeah, I remember you had bandages on every finger by the time you were done creating the tail. How could I forget? You’ve only bragged about my purple horse costume nine million times.”

“I hadn’t even thought of it in years,” Molly said, as evenly as she could manage. “I apologize for mentioning it. Will you get the next trick-or-treaters?”

Cait yanked open the closet and grabbed a parka. “I have to go somewhere.”

Molly had started toward the kitchen, but now she turned back. “Have to?” When there was no answer, she asked, “Where and with whom?”

“‘With whom.’ God, Mom.”

She crossed her arms. “You didn’t mention a party.”

“I’m not going to a party, okay?” Cait exclaimed with that new ugliness. “It’s like six o’clock. It’s not even dark! What’s your problem?”

“I asked where you’re going. Is that so unreasonable?”

“Yes! You don’t trust me at all.” She flung open the door, startling a solitary Mutant Ninja Turtle who had been reaching for the doorbell. He scuttled back a few steps.

“Trick or treat?” he whispered.

“Here!” Cait grabbed a whole handful of candy bars and dumped them in his bag so hard it rattled. “I’m going,” she told her mother, and took off down the steps, yelling over her shoulder, “Deal with it.” The parent waiting on the sidewalk took a step onto the grass to let her tear by. The flashlight the woman held wobbled.

“Thank you,” the little one mumbled, and Molly pulled herself together enough to say, “Happy Halloween.”

Then she shut the door, all her pleasure in the evening gone. Boy, did Cait have a real talent for puncturing every happy moment these days, as if she sensed and resented her mother’s mood. Depressed? Has a headache? Good enough, I’ll give her a break. Cheerful, optimistic? Hell, no. I’ll flatten her.

She’s being a teenager, that’s all. You’re taking it ridiculously hard, Molly told herself. Cait had spoiled her up until now, that’s all. Good heavens, she wasn’t using drugs—at least that Molly could tell—she hadn’t reeled home drunk yet, she wasn’t being dropped off at all hours by boys who screeched up to the curb outside the house. Also, as far as Molly knew, Cait was even keeping her grades up. So she’d become snotty, sulky, secretive and all too frequently angry. Not that unusual.

Deal with it, Molly thought with near humor.

The doorbell rang again, and she found a smile for the next round of children.

By eight-thirty, she was tempted to blow out the candles and turn off the porch light. Any trick-or-treaters now would be teenagers, and she didn’t feel all that obligated to offer them candy. On the other hand—her gaze strayed to the bowl—she was bound to be tempted by the leftovers, and she struggled with her weight enough without ripping open Butterfinger or Snickers bars uncontrollably only because they were there.

She cleared the table in the long lull and began loading the dishwasher. Most of their dinner had to be scraped in the garbage. Molly had scraped quite a lot of food in the garbage lately. Cait seemed to enjoy throwing her scenes at mealtimes. Hey, Molly thought, maybe she should weigh herself. Could there be a silver lining to all this? It had seemed as if the waistband of her navy blue skirt was rather loose this morning.

Unlike her heels, which she still wore in her hurry to get dinner on the table. On the thought, she kicked them off. One flew halfway across the kitchen, the other only a few feet. She wiggled her toes, decided she’d ditch the panty hose as soon as she’d finished cleaning up the kitchen and reached for a dirty pan.

The doorbell rang. She jumped, remembered why it was ringing and turned, stepping automatically around the open dishwasher door. At which point, she planted a foot on the pump lying on its side and stumbled back into the kitchen trash container, which she’d pulled out from the cupboard to make cleanup easier. Even as she swore, it toppled over, spewing the uneaten food, crumpled wrappings, cans that should have gone in recycling, and…what was that?

She stared, disbelieving, at a little white stick with a bright blue dot at one end. Buried at the bottom of the garbage amidst carrot peels.

Suddenly frantic, she crouched and dumped out the rest on the kitchen floor. The doorbell rang again, more insistent. She ignored it, scrabbling through the trash. A brown paper bag held something, half-squashed. With shaking hands, she pulled it out. A home pregnancy test kit. Open. A second stick slid out and plopped onto a glob of leftover casserole. Molly turned it over and saw that it, too, had a blue dot. It only took her a minute to find the instructions. If no color appears, you are not pregnant, she was informed. If color appears, you are. Simple.

Dizzy, she dropped to her knees. All she could think was, My fifteen-year-old daughter is pregnant. Oh, dear God.