Читать книгу The Wrong Man - Laura Abbot - Страница 9

BY THE LAST PERIOD, Kylie seemed slightly more relaxed. She still avoided contact with most of the other children, and even when they found something uproariously funny, she remained glum, detached.

Libby dreaded the end of the day when she’d have to usher the children to the buses and carpools. It would be impossible to avoid Trent, so she’d better get used to the idea of seeing him. Well, she could do that. After all, she had her own life, which included a job she loved, a budding relationship with Doug and a host of friends. The only thing lacking was children. She loved each and every one of her second-graders, but someday, before it was too late, she wanted her own child with a longing that was almost visceral. Maybe it would happen. Doug was perfect father material.

She lined up the children, then led them to the circle driveway in front of the school. After directing the bus riders to the appropriate vehicles, she stood with the remaining children as cars, trucks and SUVs pulled into the pick-up area. And then, there he was, his forehead creased with concern. Libby took Kylie by the hand and helped her into the back seat of his truck. “Did you have a good day?” Trent asked uncertainly.

Kylie shrugged. “Miss Cameron has a cat named Mona.”

Trent looked puzzled by the abrupt change of subject. “She does?”

“She said I could meet her someday. Can I, Daddy? Soon?”

When Trent looked helplessly at Libby, she inwardly berated herself for ever having made the suggestion. Yet much as she wanted to retract her ill-considered invitation, she couldn’t ignore the happily expectant expression on Kylie’s face. “Perhaps you could bring Kylie by the house sometime.”

“How about tonight?” Trent asked, his eyes silently beseeching her. “Kylie could use a friend named Mona.”

“Trent, I…”

“How do you know Miss Cameron, Daddy?”

“Um…”

Determined to avoid discussion of that topic, Libby jumped in. “Tonight would be fine.”

“What if we bring a big pizza and come around six?”

How had this gotten out of hand so fast? Libby’s stomach buzzed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please, Lib.”

After one glance at Kylie’s dancing eyes, Libby reluctantly gave Trent her address, then stepped back, closing the door gently.

Damn. How had he worked his way with her already? Using Kylie, that’s how. Poor kid. Innocently stuck in the middle of a situation that could only go from awkward to hostile. One pizza. One cat meeting. That was it!

Back inside, she sat at her desk studying Kylie’s transfer file. Both achievement records and teacher comments had become increasingly negative over the past year. In early reports Kylie was described as a bright, sunny child by the first-grade teacher, but later comments suggested apathy and unhappiness. Then there were the principal’s remarks, which revealed a recent history of aversion to school. Libby closed the folder, then sat back, staring out the window. What in the world had Trent been thinking? There couldn’t have been a worse time to move Kylie.

But when had Trent ever been known to think about others first? He was all about fun and frivolity, not responsibility. Oh, he was charming, all right. She had to give him that. The heady first months of their marriage had been a whirlwind of laughter and new experiences—not to mention the sex, which had been phenomenal. But Trent had never been cut out to be a husband. At least, not hers.

When, at last, Libby flipped off the lights to her classroom and started down the hall toward the parking lot, Mary stepped out of the office. “How did it go with Kylie Baker today?”

Libby held out her hand, palm down, and waggled it. “Given her history, it could’ve been worse.”

Mary nodded sagely. “Poor little tyke. She’s having to deal with an awful lot. That’s one reason I placed her in your class instead of John’s. She desperately needs a woman’s touch. John is a good teacher, but not the one for Kylie right now.”

If Libby had been given a choice in the matter, would she have accepted Kylie in her class? She chided herself. It was Kylie’s welfare that was important, not hers or Trent’s. “She’s very lonely.”

“I know. With time, we’ll fix that. I have every confidence in you.”

Libby prayed that confidence wasn’t misplaced.

“By the way,” Mary continued, “how are you and Trent Baker acquainted?”

It was all Libby could do not to flinch. But the question was not only natural, it was inevitable. Mary knew she had been married before and had resumed her maiden name, but Libby had never found it necessary to go into detail, even with Doug. That chapter of her life was closed. Or so she had thought. “He’s my ex-husband.”

“Oh.” The syllable dropped into the silence like a stone in a deep well. Libby could almost see the wheels turning as Mary processed the information and its implications.

“We haven’t been in touch since the divorce.”

Recovering quickly, the principal laid a hand on Libby’s shoulder. “Dear, if this will be awkward for you, having Kylie in your class…” She trailed off, the alternative obvious.

The offer was tempting. At least then, Trent would be one step removed from her.

But there was Kylie to consider.

Like it or not, the child had tapped into the main reason Libby was a teacher. Love.

“Thank you, Mary, but I agree with what you said earlier. I think Kylie needs me.”

Libby fervently hoped she was being honest with herself, and that a student’s welfare was her only consideration for keeping Trent’s daughter in her class.

WEEZER WATCHED TRENT and Kylie stomp snow off their boots before they entered her cabin. Kylie immediately looked around. “Hi, Weezer. Where’s Scout?”

“In the kitchen,” Weezer told her, ruffling the girl’s hair. “You two ready for some fresh-baked cookies?”

Trent removed his coat, then took Kylie’s. “You bet.”

Kylie followed Weezer into the kitchen. There by the woodstove lay Scout, fast asleep.

“He’s not much of a watchdog, is he?” Weezer said. “Otherwise he’d have known you were here.” She nudged the dog with her foot. “Wake up, sleepy-head, and let’s hear about Kylie’s school day.”

Trent lounged against the doorjamb, an inscrutable expression on his face. “Go on, sugar. Tell Weezer and Scout all about it.”

Kylie sat down beside Scout, scratching his ears. “The kids were mean.”

Ignoring her uncooperative knees, Weezer knelt on the floor beside the girl. “Tell me about it.”

Slowly Kylie began. “This one boy made fun of me. He said I didn’t know how to ski.”

Weezer nodded. “We can do something about that.”

“And the girls all ran off at recess.”

“Did they invite you to join them?”

Kylie concentrated on burrowing her hands deep in Scout’s fur.

“Kylie? Weezer asked you a question.”

“Uh, yeah.”

Weezer made a show of examining the dog’s paw. “Why didn’t you play with them?”

“I don’t know them.”

“But—” Trent began.

Holding up her hand, Weezer forestalled him. “Let me ask a question. How will you ever get to know them if you don’t give them a chance?”

Kylie’s cheeks reddened. “I dunno.”

Weezer let that sink in before continuing. “If you think really hard about it, I bet you can come up with one or two bright spots in your day.”

“Well, maybe.” Kylie sat back, deep in thought.

“Lacey was okay, I guess.”

“What about your teacher?”

“Oh, she’s so pretty, and really, really nice.”

“See? There’s a big plus. What’s her name?”

“Miss Cameron. And we’re going over there tonight for pizza and she has this cat named Mona and she invited us.”

Startled, Weezer glanced up at Trent, who shrugged helplessly. What in the world was going on? Trent and Libby’s divorce, though mutually agreed upon, had been far from amicable. So far as Weezer knew, the two hadn’t had any contact in years.

Finally Trent spoke. “What was I to do? My daughter wanted to meet Mona.”

“Miss Cameron says she’s a beautiful gray cat. I’m so excited.”

At least the child was showing enthusiasm for something, a vast improvement from the beginning of this conversation. But Trent had moved to a kitchen chair and sat tensed like a cougar waiting to pounce.

Weezer seized on a diversionary tactic. “Kylie, why don’t you help yourself to a couple of cookies, put on your coat and boots and take Scout outside to play.”

“Can I?” The girl leaped to her feet, grabbed two snickerdoodles and her parka and headed for the door.

“C’mon, Scout.” Tail wagging, the dog joined her, and the two of them exited in a gust of frigid air.

Weezer pulled two cups from the cupboard, then poured coffee. When she placed Trent’s in front of him, she tilted his chin. “Out with it. What’s this all about?”

He brushed a hand through his hair. “Damned if I know.”

“Dinner? Pizza? I practically raised you, boy. I think you do know.” She sank into the chair across from him.

“I wasn’t aware Lib taught in Whitefish.”

“You could’ve asked me. But you made it clear a long time ago that she was off-limits in our conversations.”

“When I left for Billings, I never intended to return. I was happy with Ashley.” His voice sounded tortured.

“I know you were. But you were running, too. When you do that, the past has a way of circling and nipping you in the behind.”

He stared into the depths of his coffee. “Tell me about it.”

“So how come the meeting tonight?”

He sighed. “Kylie.” Weezer waited for him to continue. “It’s the most excited she’s been since I decided to move here. I don’t know, the bit about the pizza just popped out of my mouth.”

“You’re sure this is only about Kylie?”

Trent slumped back in his chair. “No.”

“I see.” Weezer stalled by taking a sip from her cup. “Be very careful, son. You and Kylie don’t need any more hurt and disappointment.”

“Neither does Lib.”

“Good. I hope you remember that.”

“It’ll be just this once.”

Just this once? Weezer doubted it. Even when he was a youngster, Trent’s expressions had been transparent. And right now what she saw on his face was longing, pure and simple.

LIBBY RESISTED changing her clothes. She didn’t want to give Trent the impression that anything special was going on. In fact, part of her didn’t want him to step foot in her home. After their divorce, she had sold or given away the few belongings they’d owned jointly and had haunted antique shops and estate sales, gradually accumulating enough to furnish her modest house. She loved the wood grain of her oak coffee table, the high back of the armchair, the prints of native flora on the wall, the faded Persian rug she’d bid too much for at an auction. The place wasn’t fancy, but it was hers. Her sanctuary.

Trent’s presence here would feel invasive.

Furthermore, she was having difficulty picturing Trent as a single father. He’d never shown the slightest interest in parenthood. Instead, he’d always laughed and said, “Hell, Lib, I’d be a lousy father.” His rationalization was that since his own father had walked out on him when he was four, he’d had no role model. He’d then go on to say by way of justification, “A baby deserves a daddy who knows a little something.”

Hindsight suggested he’d been right.

Oh, why had she ever agreed to let them come?

Yet even as she asked the question, she continued laying her silverware and colorful plates on the sunshine-yellow tablecloth.

How could she have let Kylie tug at her heartstrings like that? Was it because she was Trent’s daughter—the child they’d never had together? Or was it because Libby was motherless, too, and identified with the little girl. Seeing Kylie reminded her so powerfully of the day she herself had come home from school to the news her mother would never return from the hospital.

Libby needed to be on her guard to keep this relationship professional. She was a teacher extending kindness to an emotionally needy student. Her previous relationship with the girl’s father was irrelevant.

Just get through this evening.

Precisely at six, she heard a vehicle pull into the driveway, then doors slam. She stood, smoothing her skirt, willing indifference. “Hello,” she said holding the door open. “Smells good,” she mumbled as Trent stepped by her with the pizza box, trailing a scent of tomato sauce and oregano. “Let me take your coats.”

Kylie quickly shrugged out of hers, then Trent handed Libby his parka. “I imagine you’re eager to meet Mona,” Libby said as she hung their coats in the hall closet.

“I can’t wait!” Kylie cried, bouncing on her toes.

“Cats aren’t as friendly right away as dogs are, you know. It takes them a while to warm up to strangers.”

“Weezer told me that. She said I have to be patient. Let Mona come to me.”

“That’s good advice.”

Libby was marginally okay so long as she was dealing with Kylie, but then she made the mistake of glancing up. Trent stood silhouetted against the fireplace, looking far too handsome in formfitting jeans and a Black Watch plaid flannel shirt and a yellow turtleneck. He held up the box. “The pizza?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Here, let me take it.” Kylie had already climbed into the big chair and sat, a forefinger to her lips, quietly awaiting the elusive Mona. Trent followed Libby into the kitchen. “Nice place,” he murmured.

“It’s home,” she said, setting the box on the counter near the oven. “Should we heat this up yet?”

“Kylie won’t eat a thing until she meets Mona. Let’s wait a few minutes.”

“Uh, would you like a beer? Wine? Scotch?” This was nuts! Libby knew he never drank anything but beer.

“Beer will be fine.”

As a teacher, she didn’t think it was appropriate to drink in front of Kylie, so after handing him a beer, she selected a soda for herself.

He nodded at the pop can. “You’re not joining me?”

Not now. Not ever. “No.” She peered around him into the living room. “Look.”

They both moved to the doorway. He was standing too close, his body only inches from hers.

“God, she looks so happy,” he said huskily.

Kylie sat, dwarfed by the big chair, while a contented Mona kneaded the girl’s chest with her paws. Oblivious to her audience, Kylie was whispering something in the cat’s ear.

Trent raised his beer bottle and nodded at Libby. “Thanks. I hope this visit isn’t too awkward for you.”

Too awkward? It was nothing short of bizarre. “I’m doing this for Kylie.”

“I know.”

“Daddy, isn’t Mona pretty?”

“She sure is.”

“We’re getting acquainted. You guys can go back to the kitchen.”

Trent grinned down at Libby. “Sounds like we’ve been dismissed.”

“Suits me. I need to preheat the oven anyway.”

In the kitchen, Trent pulled one of the chairs out from the table and straddled it, leaning his arms across the back. Just as he used to do. Libby bit her lip at that last thought. She didn’t welcome these reminders. Instead, she needed to focus on getting through the evening. “What brought you back to Whitefish?”

Fortunately his explanation about going into business with Chad Larraby permitted her to warm the pizza and toss the salad she’d made earlier, keeping her so busy she almost succeeded in ignoring the way his voice brightened with enthusiasm and his eyes following her every move. When he finished with an explanation of their upcoming season’s advertising campaign, he asked her about herself.

She gave him the short version. She’d gotten her first job in Polson, where they’d lived at the time of the divorce, and completed her master’s degree in the summers. She’d moved to Whitefish three years ago.

There was nothing easy about the conversation. She walked around the kitchen, making busywork. Fixing glasses of ice water, grating the Parmesan cheese, digging out a platter for the pizza, anything to delay sitting down across the table from her ex-husband. But there was one question that had to be faced. “Have you told Kylie we were married?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “No. It’s too early.”

“What do you mean?”

His eyes displayed anguish. “She’s had so much to deal with. Ashley’s death—and the move. She likes you. I don’t want to do anything right now to rock her boat.”

“She’ll have to know sometime.”

“Please, Lib, just not yet. Let her settle in first.”

Libby wasn’t sure withholding the information was a good idea, but Trent was the girl’s father and presumably knew her better than anyone.

“You’re the parent. I’ll abide by your wishes.”

He nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

In the awkward silence that followed, she busied herself at the counter.

Just before the oven buzzer went off, Kylie appeared, the large cat draped over her shoulder. “Miss Cameron, I think Mona likes me.”

Libby smiled. “No doubt about it. She doesn’t let very many people pick her up.”

“Can she eat with us?”

Trent laughed. “Do you think cats like pepperoni?”

“Oh, Daddy, you’re funny. I mean, can she sit on my lap while I eat?”

Trent caught Libby’s eye and she nodded. “Just don’t use her as a napkin,” he said.

To Libby’s amazement, Mona remained in Kylie’s lap while they ate, only occasionally pawing the tablecloth as if to say, “How about me?”

“Good salad,” Trent said appreciatively.

“Thank you.”

Kylie ate with gusto. “This is the best pizza.”

Trent picked up his napkin and wiped the corner of his daughter’s mouth. “Whitefish’s finest.”

“Whitefish. I hate that name.” A shadow fell across Kylie’s face. “Do I have to go to school tomorrow?”

“Of course. You know that.” Trent shared a look of concern with Libby.

Kylie said nothing, but pushed her plate away.

“I’d be disappointed if you weren’t in my class,” Libby told her.

Kylie’s eyes filled with tears.

“What is it, honey?” she asked, leaning forward.

Sensing the tension in the girl, Mona wagged her tail slowly from side to side. “They’ll laugh,” Kylie confided.

“Who?”

“The kids.”

Libby stole a quick glance at Trent, whose expression was anguished. “Why?”

“Be-be-cause.” Silently, tears oozed down the little girl’s cheeks. “I…I’ll have to read.”

Libby’s stomach plummeted. Bless her heart, the poor thing was terrified. “I’ll be sure they don’t laugh. Don’t you like to read?”

“I used to.”

“When was that?”

“Before Mommy went to the cementery.”

Trent turned his head away and Libby picked up the girl’s hands. “Honey, did you read to your mommy?”

“Yes.”

“And was she proud of you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you think she’d want you to give up?”

Kylie swiped an arm across her nose. “No,” she said in a little voice.

“I have an idea. Can you come to school early tomorrow?”

Trent nodded quickly.

“I guess,” Kylie said.

Praying her idea would work, Libby grasped Kylie’s hands even tighter. “We’ll practice reading together before the other children come—just the way you used to read to your mommy. Could you do that?”

In the silence that followed, Mona jumped from Kylie’s lap onto the table and began sniffing at the leftover crust. Libby never took her eyes from Kylie’s. Trent scooped up the cat.

Finally the girl spoke. “I think so. I don’t have a mommy now, but if I ever get a new one, I want her to be just like you, Miss Cameron.”

Libby caught Kylie to her in a hug she wished would last forever. She didn’t dare examine her feelings—or look at Trent.

Setting Mona on the floor, Trent stood, clearing his throat. “I’ll have her there at seven-thirty.”

“Daddy, do we have to leave?”

“Sure do, sweetie. I need to get you to bed if you’re going to be bright-eyed at the crack of dawn. What do you say to Miss Cameron?”

“Thank you for letting us come, and ’specially for Mona. She’s a super cat.”

“Why don’t you tell her goodbye while I get your coats?”

Kylie dashed off to the living room, where Mona had scampered. Libby moved quickly to the closet, extracting their parkas. When she turned around, Trent laid a hand on her shoulder. “You’re great with her, Lib. I appreciate that.”

“She’s easy to like.”

“I, uh…” He paused, his eyes clouded. “I know this probably isn’t the time or place, but here goes. I’m sorry for the pain I caused you back…well, you know when. I wasn’t there for you the way I should’ve been. I said some terrible things.”

Libby’s knees shook and she felt hollow inside. “What’s done is done. We’ve both moved on.” She was pretty sure he wanted her to tell him she’d forgiven him, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she said, “I’ll take good care of Kylie.”

“I know you will.” He was staring at her with an intensity that aroused feelings she was reluctant to identify, then finally turned away. “Kylie, time to leave.”

After they’d left, Libby couldn’t move. Rooted to the spot, resting her forehead against the closed door, she thought she might be sick. Sorry? He’d said he was sorry? Was he seeking forgiveness now? Damn him!

Entwining her arms around her abdomen, she finally made it to the rocking chair, knowing that nothing—nothing at all—could salve the wound he’d opened up.

She couldn’t have said how long she sat there. It might have been mere minutes—or hours. The repetitive to-and-fro of the rocker failed to soothe her. She was way beyond soothing.

She should have been rocking a baby. His baby.

Impelled by a force beyond herself, she rose and moved toward her bedroom, knowing on the one hand the act was masochistic, but on the other, inevitable. She knelt on the braided wool rug, her heartbeat a mournful thud, then, with trembling hands, raised the lid of the cedar chest. The aromatic fragrance nearly gagged her.

She could stop now. She didn’t have to do this. But instinct was deaf to reason. Burrowing beneath sheets, tablecloths and out-of-season clothing, she found the hardcover volume, long buried.

Blind, futile rage enveloped her as she wrested the book from the depths of the cedar chest, oblivious to the disorder left behind.

By the soft light of the bedside lamp, she forced herself to read the title that her fingers involuntarily traced. “My Baby Book.”

Clasping this journal of dashed hopes to her chest, she carried it to the bed, where she perched on the edge like a sleepwalker recently aroused. She flipped to one of the first pages, filled with her own handwriting. “How Mommy Told Daddy About Me.” Then, “Mommy’s First Visit to the Doctor.” And finally to the stark white, blank pages—screaming loss—after “Mommy’s Third Month.”

Her throat worked in spasms but she refused to cry. She had shed enough tears to last a lifetime, and they had changed nothing.

How dare Trent reenter her life? How dare he bring that precious, beautiful daughter of his to break her heart? And how could her body have betrayed her? Good Lord, for a brief moment this evening, she’d been aware of him in an intimate, sensual way.

She stared at the book in her lap, knowing that from this moment on, it would serve as a potent reminder. Trent was no part of her life. He had long ago given up any claim on her.

He had never understood how she felt. He’d even been cavalier. To him it was “just a miscarriage.” To her, a loss beyond bearing.

Now he had his child. She had no one.

For him, it had been a simple matter. She would never forget his words that awful day when she couldn’t stop sobbing, when nothing could stanch her pain and grief. “It’s not the end of the world, Lib. We can always have another baby.”

No, he hadn’t been there for her. That same day, love died.