Читать книгу Home Again - Joan Elliott Pickart - Страница 10

As Cedar entered her house, she realized she had thought about Mark Chandler and Joey during the entire drive home. That was understandable, she decided, because Mark had been the last client she’d seen that day.

She’d read the form Mark had filled out and learned there were no other relatives on either side of Joey’s family. It was just the two of them, uncle and nephew, and that combination was definitely not going well at the moment.

Cedar closed the door behind her and told herself to leave her two new clients, Mark and Joey, on the porch that swept across the front of the house.

Over a year before she had purchased the old, two-story Victorian house. It had the charm and grace of a past era and she’d been captivated, imagining the marvelous stories the stately structure would tell if its walls could whisper.

In the year since signing the mortgage papers the charm of her home had greatly diminished. Although it had passed the initial inspection and was declared to be in excellent condition, she had spent the past fourteen months tending to one repair after another.

She was seriously considering selling the savings-draining house and buying something newer. However, since her reputation as a child psychologist was growing in Phoenix and more and more clients came under her care, there didn’t seem to be a spare moment in her schedule to explore the market for something else.

Plus, the thought of packing and moving again was more than she could bear. For now she would stay put, but she had mental fingers crossed that the rash of repairs was at an end for a while.

“Oreo, I’m home. Come do your I’m-so-glad-to-see-you thing.”

A large, black-and-white cat strolled into the room, then wove around her legs, meowing loudly.

Was this pathetic? Cedar thought. Was she becoming a classic spinster at thirty-two, coming home to a house that held nothing more than a fat cat to greet her?

Don’t you get lonely at times?

The words Mark Chandler had spoken suddenly echoed in Cedar’s mind and a shiver coursed through her. She reached down and picked up Oreo.

“Hello, pretty girl,” Cedar said. “We’re a good team, aren’t we? We don’t need anyone else living here with us and, no, we don’t get lonely at times.”

Oreo wiggled in Cedar’s arms, then jumped to the floor and ran toward the kitchen.

“But the question remains,” Cedar said, pointing a finger in the air, “as to whether you love me for me, Ms. Oreo, or because I’m the one who feeds you? Do I want to know the answer to that? No, I do not.” She shook her head. “Isn’t this super? Now I’m talking to myself, for Pete’s sake.”

Cedar went upstairs to change into soft, faded jeans and an equally worn Arizona State University sweatshirt. Returning to the main floor, she went into the kitchen, fed a complaining Oreo, then opened the refrigerator to see what might tempt her for dinner.

Mark could only make scrambled eggs, she thought. Why were men so quick to decide that their gender made it acceptable to be helpless in the kitchen? It was no longer politically correct to assume the attitude that cooking was woman’s work. Mark should buy a cookbook and prepare nourishing, well-balanced meals for growing Joey. Cooking, in fact, was something the pair could tackle together, use as a bonding tool. She’d have to speak to Mark about that and—

“That’s it, Mark Chandler,” Cedar said aloud, as she took lettuce and a tomato from a shelf. “Go back to the front porch where I left you. Right now.”

But Mark refused to budge.

He seemed to hover while Cedar prepared her meal of pasta with spicy sauce, a tossed salad and two slices of garlic bread.

He was at the table while Cedar consumed her dinner, then cleaned the kitchen. When she settled into her favorite easy chair that was big enough for two, he somehow managed to perch on the rounded arm of the chair.

Cedar snatched up the book on the table next to the chair, turned on the light and opened the book to where she’d left off the night before. After reading three paragraphs and realizing she hadn’t understood one word, she snapped the book closed and frowned.

What on earth was going on here? she thought. She’d had a date with a dentist a month ago and had forgotten he existed by the time he’d backed out of her driveway after bringing her home.

Why was Mark Chandler, who was a client and automatically not eligible for anything other than professional meetings, consuming her thoughts and managing to have such an intense affect on her? His presence was so palpable, she felt as though she could reach out and actually touch him right there in her living room.

Now there was an enticing image, Cedar mused. Touching Mark Chandler. She had a feeling the chest beneath that faded shirt was rock-solid, as were his arms and those long, long legs. His thick hair just called to feminine fingers to sift through it, then watch it glide back into place. His lips—

“Aakk,” Cedar yelled, as Oreo jumped into the chair and startled her back to reality. “Oh, good grief, Oreo, you scared the bejeebers out of me. But I deserve it because I had no business thinking what I was and…Oreo, give it to me straight. Am I losing it?

“Nothing like this has ever happened to me before and it’s disconcerting to say the least. I mean, really, Mark Chandler isn’t even my type, you know what I mean? I go for the suit-and-tie guys, not dust-covered construction…dudes. So why is Mark capable of consuming my brain and…”

Oreo leaped over the arm of the chair and left the room.

Cedar sighed. “That went well. This whole situation is so ridiculous, my own cat decided it wasn’t worth listening to.

“Okay, I’m on my own. This is Thursday. I see Mark again on Monday when he brings Joey for his appointment. Between now and then I’ll get it together and knock off this nonsense. Yes, I will, because I am woman…in charge, in control.”

Cedar opened the book to the proper page and began to read, extremely glad there wouldn’t be a test later on what she was supposedly comprehending.

Mark straightened the blanket over a sleeping Joey, then left the toy-strewn bedroom. He wandered down the hall to the large living room and slouched into a well-worn chair he refused to have reupholstered. Picking up the remote from the end table, he clicked on the television, only to be greeted by canned laughter. He shut it off again.

It had been another silent evening in the Chandler household, he thought dismally. No matter how hard he’d tried, he couldn’t get Joey to respond to his chatty questions with more than one-word answers. Joey had just stared at him with those big, dark and so damn sad eyes of his and Mark had finally given up and allowed the kid to finish his scrambled eggs in a silence that seemed to weigh a ton.

“Ah, hell.” Mark dragged his hands down his face, then laced them on his chest.

Mary had trusted him with her son, Mark thought dismally. He and Mary had been so close, and he missed her. At times he caught himself reaching for the phone to call her and hear her cheerful voice. She’d be devastated if she knew how unhappy Joey was in his new home with his Uncle Mark, and disappointed in her brother for being such a lousy father.

“Ah, hell,” he said again.

He’d spent more than one evening sitting here mentally beating himself up because he couldn’t break through the walls that sad little boy had built around himself. Well, now things were different. He’d taken a positive step toward getting help for Joey by seeing Cedar Kennedy.

Cedar.

He liked her name. It was unique and had a nice ring to it. And he liked her smile and her dynamite wind-chime laughter. Her hair was pretty, framing her delicate features with soft blond waves and… Why wasn’t a woman like that married? How stupid and blind were the men in Phoenix, for crying out loud?

Maybe she hated men. Why would she hate men? Had she been badly hurt in the past by some jerk? That was a disturbing thought. He’d like to pop that guy right in the chops for…no, he was getting carried away here. He didn’t have a clue why Cedar Kennedy wasn’t married.

Maybe she’d been too busy establishing her career, just as he had been, to become involved in a serious relationship. That made sense. He’d come right out and asked her if she ever got lonely and she’d thrown that question right back in his lap.

Did he get lonely?

What difference did that make anyway? He didn’t have enough hours in the day to do all that needed tending at Chandler Construction and now he had become an instant father of a little boy who was so miserable, it was enough to break a person’s heart.

Well, come Monday, things were going to be different once he placed Joey in Cedar’s care. He’d do whatever Cedar recommended.

Except what had she meant by saying they’d talk later about his lack of cooking skills? Hey, eggs were good for a kid and there was nothing wrong with hamburgers and pizza.

Cedar. He was definitely looking forward to seeing her again on Monday. She was, he hoped, the solution to Joey’s unhappiness, and he was eager to get this show on the road. His anticipation didn’t really have anything to do with Cedar the woman, no matter how attractive she was. Or how her smile lit up her face, or her laughter.

“Enough,” Mark said, pressing the remote to bring the television to life. “Watch the news, Chandler, and quit thinking.”

“I suppose you want me to give up my baby for adoption just like everyone else. Well, I won’t. I don’t care what you say, I won’t.”

Cedar looked at the sullen fifteen year old who sat opposite her desk. “I didn’t suggest that at all,” she said gently. “I simply asked how you planned to provide for your child, Cindy.”

“I’ll manage,” Cindy said, then began to nibble on one of her fingernails.

“How do you feel about the baby’s father leaving town when you told him you were pregnant?”

“I don’t need him,” Cindy said, dropping her hand to her rounded stomach. “I made a mistake by thinking he loved me, but it’s no big deal. He’d be a crummy father anyway.”

“But you’re not making a mistake by insisting that you can manage to raise a child on your own, without a high-school education?” Cedar said.

“No. I’ll get a job. I can wait tables, or whatever. Waitresses make good tips if they’re nice to the customers. And I’ll get a cute little apartment and fix it up really nice. I’ve done a lot of babysitting, you know, so I can take care of my baby just fine. It’s not as though I haven’t thought this through. I know what I’m doing.”

Cedar nodded. “Okay. I’m going to give you an assignment I’d like you to complete before we meet again next Monday.”

“Oh, bogus,” Cindy said, rolling her eyes heavenward. “What is it?”

“I want you to look in the newspaper for apartments, then enquire about how much money you’ll need to move into a place of your own…such as first and last month’s rent, security deposit, the whole nine yards. Then I want you to find out what waitress jobs are paying these days. Also, call several day-care centers and ask about their rates.

“You do that much, then we’ll work together to figure out the additional cost of diapers, formula, utilities, transportation and on the list goes. Now, before you start to argue with me about this, remember you signed a contract stating that you would cooperate with me one hundred percent.”

“Yeah, right, okay,” Cindy mumbled.

“Good. I’m sure your foster mother is in the waiting room because our time is up,” Cedar said, getting to her feet. “I’ll see you in a week. We’ll meet here again, then in the future let’s consider getting together in a park or a cozy café.”

“Whatever,” Cindy said, then rose and stomped across the office, closing the door behind her with a resounding thud.

“Oh, Cindy,” Cedar said, sinking back into her chair. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but I’m going to burst your bubble.”

Cedar opened Cindy Swanson’s file and wrote notes from the session with the pregnant teenager.

Cindy’s divorced mother had four younger children at home. When Cindy had announced that she was pregnant, the mother couldn’t deal with it. She’d called Child Protective Services and had Cindy placed in foster care. CPS had then made arrangements for Cindy to become one of Cedar’s clients. Beyond the many cases the social service organization had directed to her, she also got referrals from schools and private physicians…like the one who had recommended her to Mark Chandler.

Mark Chandler, who was no doubt sitting in the waiting room right now with Joey.

Mark Chandler, who hadn’t strayed far from her thoughts the entire weekend, the rotten bum.

Cedar placed Cindy’s file in the out basket for Bethany to file, then reached in another basket for Joey’s file and placed it on her desk. She stood, tugged on the hem of the navy blazer she wore with a red blouse over winter-white slacks, then walked slowly across the room. She drew a steadying breath before opening the door.

Cedar felt, and tried to ignore the immediate increased tempo of her heart as she looked at Mark sitting on a sofa against the far wall. When she shifted her gaze to the small boy next to him, her heart did a funny little two-step.

Joey. He looked enough like Mark to be his son, with his tousled black hair and big, dark eyes. He appeared small for his age, his feet not reaching the floor.

Even with the distance between them she could sense Joey’s vulnerability and wanted to scoop him up, hug him and tell him everything was going to be just fine.

Objectivity, Dr. Kennedy, Cedar told herself, then crossed the room to stand in front of the pair.

“Hello, Mark,” she said, smiling. “And you must be Joey. I’ve been eager to meet you.”

Joey glanced up at her, then quickly directed his attention to his hands that were clutched tightly in his lap.

“Say hello, Joey,” Mark said.

“’Lo,” Joey mumbled.

“I’d like to chat with you a bit, Joey,” Cedar said, extending one hand toward the little boy. “Shall we go into my office? We’ll let your Uncle Mark stay out here and finish reading his magazine.”

“No,” Joey said.

“Hey, buddy, we talked about this,” Mark said. “I’ll be right here waiting for you, I promise. You go with Dr. Kennedy.”

“Call me Cedar, Joey,” she said.

Joey frowned and looked up at her. “That’s a weird name.”

“Oh, cripe,” Mark said, shaking his head. “Joey, you don’t tell someone that their name is weird.”

“Well, it is,” Joey said.

Cedar laughed. “It’s different, that’s for sure. It was my mother’s last name before she got married. She thought by sharing it with me, it would connect us in a special way.”

“Is your mom dead?” Joey asked.

“No, she isn’t,” Cedar said. “She and my father live in Florida now. I miss them very much.”

Joey folded his thin little arms over his chest. “You’d miss them more if they were dead people ’cause you couldn’t talk to them on the phone or nothing. Nothing.”

“I never thought of that,” Cedar said. “Let’s go into my office and you can explain it to me further.”

Joey slid off the sofa, but ignored Cedar’s outstretched hand. Cedar smiled at Mark, but he just shook his head again, a frown on his face.

“Did Joey get a snack, Bethany?” Cedar said. “Busy boys are hungry after school.”

“He certainly did,” Bethany said. “He had a juice box and a granola bar.” Her secretary was a plump woman in her early fifties, who was in the process of consuming her own box of juice and a granola bar.

“Good,” Cedar said, then placed her hand lightly on Joey’s back and guided him into her office, shutting the door behind them.

In the office Cedar patted the seat of one of the chairs fronting her desk, then sat down in the other one once Joey was settled.

“How come you’re not sitting behind your desk like the principal or something?” Joey said.

“I like to sit here when I’m getting to know a new friend.” Cedar paused. “Joey, would you like to talk some more about how you can’t speak with your parents on the telephone?”

“No,” he said, drumming his fingers on his thighs and watching the repeated motion.

“Okay. So, tell me, do you like your teacher at school?”

Joey shrugged.

“Have you made some new friends?”

Joey shrugged.

“Are you getting along all right with your Uncle Mark?”

Joey shrugged.

“Are you tired of eating scrambled eggs?”

Joey’s head snapped up. “Those eggs are so gross. They’re never good. Sometimes they run all over my plate and sometimes they’re hard as a rock and…I hate scrambled eggs the way Uncle Mark cooks them. Totally, totally gross.”

Cedar nodded. “They do sound gross. Have you told Uncle Mark you’d rather not have scrambled eggs anymore?”

“No. No, ’cause he…he might get mad at me or something and tell me I can’t live with him, and I don’t have anywhere else to live because…because I don’t.”

“Because your parents were killed in the accident?” Cedar said gently.

“That’s none of your business,” Joey yelled.

“Okay. Let’s go back to discussing those gross scrambled eggs. I’ll make a deal with you.”

Joey narrowed his eyes. “Like what?”

“I’ll be the one to tell your Uncle Mark you’d rather not have scrambled eggs again. I guarantee that he won’t get angry about it.”

“Bet he will. He’s grumpy.”

“We’ll see,” Cedar said. “I’ll do that for you, but you have to do something for me. That’s how this deal works.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Well, if you don’t want gross eggs, we have to decide what you do want, then teach Uncle Mark how to make it. You invite me to your house and we’ll give him a cooking lesson. That’s your part of the deal. You invite me over and we, together, show Uncle Mark how to make your choice and tell him it can’t be gross when he does it. How’s that? What would you like to eat instead of scrambled eggs?”

Joey shrugged.

“Well, I guess you’re stuck with gross eggs then.”

“No, wait,” Joey said. “I’d rather have chicken with barbecue sauce. I really like that. But Uncle Mark can’t ever learn how to make it. No way. He got a big fat chicken one time and stuck it in a pan without barbecue sauce on it or nothing, just a fat naked chicken and we waited for it to cook and stuff, you know? I was really hungry and hours went by and then Uncle Mark figured out he didn’t turn on the stove right and the stupid chicken was just sitting there. Cold. I mean, that is so dumb.”

Cedar laughed. “So what did you have for dinner? No, let me guess. Gross scrambled eggs.”

A hint of a smile appeared on Joey’s face, then disappeared in the next instant.

“Yeah,” he said. “Eggs again.”

“Okay, my new friend. We’re in business. I’ll buy what we need to make barbecue chicken, bring it to your house, and you and I will show Uncle Mark how to fix it.”

“He’ll never go for this,” Joey said, rolling his eyes.

“Let’s find out,” Cedar said, getting to her feet. “I’ll go get him.”

“He’s going to be really, really grumpy,” Joey said, then sighed.

Cedar opened the office door. “Mark? Would you come in please?”

“Yeah. Sure,” he said, getting to his feet and hurrying across the room. “How’s it going?”

“Joey and I have something of great importance to discuss with you.”

“Already?” Mark said, raising his eyebrows. “Hey, that’s terrific.”

“Mark, you take the chair opposite Joey and I’ll sit behind my desk now,” Cedar said.

Mark settled onto the chair and looked at Cedar, an expression of anticipation on his face.

“Joey and I have talked at length,” she said, “and I have agreed to be the spokesperson here.”

“I’m listening, believe me,” Mark said, leaning forward.

“Mark,” Cedar said seriously, “you make extremely gross scrambled eggs.”

“I…what?”

“Yes. Totally gross,” Cedar said. “Joey would prefer not to eat the scrambled eggs you prepare. Ever again.”

“What?” Mark repeated.

“So, Joey and I are going to teach you how to make what he would like to eat. Barbecue chicken.”

“This is the matter of great importance that you wanted to discuss with me?” Mark said, none too quietly.

“I told you, I told you,” Joey said, stiffening in his chair. “He’s getting grumpy right now. See? He is.”

“I am not grumpy,” Mark said, then cleared his throat. “I’m…I’m just a bit surprised about the subject, that’s all. My eggs are gross, Joey?”

“The worst,” Joey said. “Totally.”

“I didn’t think they were that bad,” Mark said, frowning. “They wouldn’t win first place in an egg-cooking contest, but…you want barbecue chicken? I didn’t have much luck with that other chicken, remember?”

“Yeah, well, this time Cedar and me are going to show you how to do barbecue chicken right,” Joey said. “Then you’ll know how to do barbecue chicken and gross eggs will be history.”

“Got it,” Mark said, a bemused expression on his face.

“What evening this week would be good for you?” Cedar asked. She flipped through her engagement calendar. “We’ll cancel our Wednesday afternoon appointment. I’m free Thursday or Friday.”

“Pick one,” Mark said, throwing up his hands.

“Friday night?” Cedar said, then recorded it. “I’ll be at your house by five-thirty.”

“But I work until…” Mark hesitated. “Five-thirty, it is.”

“Good,” she said. “Joey, it was wonderful to meet you and I am really looking forward to cooking with you and enjoying that chicken. I’ll see you Friday night. Why don’t you go see Bethany now and tell her I said you could pick a piece of candy from the jar. I want to speak to your Uncle Mark for a second.”

“’Kay,” Joey said, then slid off the chair and ran out of the office.

Cedar leaned forward and folded her hands on her desk. “Mark, I am so pleased with the progress made today with Joey,” she said, smiling.

“You are?” he said. “Pardon my confusion, but I thought you two were coming in here to discuss Joey’s parents. But the topic was my crummy eggs? Why are we thrilled?”

“Because Joey and I are establishing a rapport. He was comfortable enough with me to tell me that he wished he didn’t have to eat those scrambled eggs.”

Mark got to his feet. “Why didn’t he just tell me?”

“Mark, you have to understand where Joey is coming from. He is a bright little boy who realizes that you are the only person available to provide a home for him. He’s lost his parents. He’s now terrified that if he upsets you, you won’t want him to live with you.”

“That’s nuts,” Mark said, nearly shouting.

“Shh,” Cedar said, rising to round the desk. “I don’t want Joey to hear any of this. He used me as a buffer to deliver the message about the eggs and to inform you what he does like to eat. It’s a marvelous start. Our Friday session will also give me a chance to see his bedroom, the possessions that are important to him, and to watch the interaction between you and Joey.

“Joey’s problems are not going to be solved overnight. It will be a slow process. He did not want to discuss his parents with me, and I didn’t push him on the subject. I have to establish a level of trust with Joey first. And…well, I need you to trust me, too.”

Mark looked at Cedar for a long moment.

“Doesn’t that work both ways?” he said finally. “Don’t you need to trust me?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You’re going to be coming to my home, plus you said we’d be going on outings together with Joey at times. We’ll also have private meetings such as this one right now to discuss progress. I’m referring to you trusting me as a man, not just as Joey’s guardian. Do you trust me as a man?”

“I…” Cedar stopped speaking.

Why was Mark doing this? she thought frantically. She didn’t intend to view him as a man. No, he was Joey’s guardian, his uncle, the person who was now that little boy’s father. Their relationship had nothing to do with Cedar, the woman, trusting Mark, the man.

Mark Chandler unsettled her, made her acutely aware of her own femininity and his incredible masculinity. She had no idea if she trusted him. She was having enough trouble trusting herself not to overreact to his blatant sensuality whenever she was near him, for heaven’s sake.

“Your question is immaterial, Mark,” she said, tearing her gaze from his.

“I don’t believe it is,” he said. “How is Joey going to relax around me if he senses tension between you and me? How will he come to trust me if he feels that you don’t? Think about it.”

“I…”

“You have my address on that form I filled out. Joey and I will be waiting for your arrival Friday night. We’ll all cook dinner together, just like a family. Right? Right.” Mark nodded. “See ya.”

Mark strode from the room. Cedar sank into one of the chairs in front of her desk when she realized her trembling legs were not going to support her for one second longer.

This was not going well, she thought, pressing her hands to her flushed cheeks. Mark had made a legitimate point. Joey would be aware of any tension between her and Mark and might very well hold back because of it.

She had to somehow gain control of her raging emotions before Friday night. She was a professional. She’d taken part in in-home therapy a multitude of times and found it to be very effective and informative. She would concentrate on Joey and the chicken, and view Mark as the client that he was. Not a man…a client.

She could do that.

Couldn’t she?