Читать книгу Man Of The Family - Leigh Riker, Leigh Riker - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

GRIFFIN WAS STILL seething when he locked up that night. Where did Sunshine Donovan get off, telling him how to deal with his children? He cast a glance at Amanda’s room.

It was after eleven o’clock, and her light still glowed through the gap in the half-closed door. Then he heard her voice.

For a second Griffin hesitated. He picked his battles these days, but with an inner sigh he rapped a knuckle against her door. “Amanda?” When she didn’t answer, he knocked again.

“Go away,” she said.

That sulky tone of voice drove him nuts. It was almost as if she hated him.

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

“I don’t want to talk.”

Griffin pushed the door open. “Too bad,” he said, his mind made up.

Amanda was sitting on her bed, outside the covers. She wore blue pajamas, a bunch of pink-and-lime and green-and-purple pillows piled around her. Her favorite stuffed giraffe lay cuddled under her arm, and her cell phone was in her other hand.

“Hang up,” Griffin said.

Amanda’s expression was one of utter disgust, but with a put-upon sigh she obeyed. “See you tomorrow. He’s here,” she told someone at the other end of the line.

He waited for a long moment, trying to choose his words with care.

“I thought we had agreed. No phone calls after nine o’clock.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Neither could Dixie.”

Griffin almost groaned aloud. Ever since he and his kids had moved to Jacksonville, Amanda had acquired a strange new set of friends. Or, rather, one friend specifically. And she set his teeth on edge.

“Did you finish your homework?”

He didn’t have to ask. Her notebook lay on the desk across the room, unopened. On top, a stack of assignment forms appeared to be blank.

“I’ll do it later.”

“It’s almost midnight, Mandi. You need sleep.”

She huffed out another aggrieved sigh. “So, what am I supposed to hand in tomorrow? I thought my grades were important to you.”

Her tone reminded him about her low average last spring but again Griffin took time to respond, his worst instincts going off like fireworks inside. For the first time he wondered if Sunny Donovan had been telling the truth. Frankly, as soon as she’d accused his daughter, he’d been too angry to think.

Not a welcome reaction on his part, but he’d thought about Sunny all evening while the Patriots kicked Miami around the football field. That was just what he needed. A woman who thought his daughter was a thief. A woman whose coloring reminded him of Rachel, someone driven—like himself in his TV anchor days.

“Your grades should be important to you,” he told Mandi. “You’ll be in high school next year. Four years after that there’ll be college.” How was that even possible? Where had the time gone? “Yes, grades matter. And in this house—”

“It’s not a house. It’s an apartment. We don’t have a home anymore.” She had that disdainful look on her face that made Griffin want to throw something. Not that he would.

But getting into a fight about semantics didn’t seem wise.

“Look,” he said, “let me remind you. I’m the adult here. You’re the kid.” He started toward the nearest switch plate. “Lights out. Now.”

Halfway across the room Griffin stopped cold. Mandi’s whitewashed dresser—something she called shabby chic—was next to the switch. And on the dresser lay a watch.

His stomach sank in a dizzying rush.

The watch matched the description Sunny Donovan had given. Perfectly. There could be no mistake. He picked it up, ran his fingers over the colorful glass beads.

“Where did you get this?”

She sounded bored. “What?”

“This watch. It’s not yours.”

“It is now.”

“Meaning?”

“Um, Dixie gave it to me.” She was clearly buying time, making up some story as she went along. “She didn’t want it anymore.”

Maybe a friend let her wear it. He’d said so himself. With everything in him, Griffin wanted to believe her. Only he didn’t.

How many times had he heard that same tone of voice whenever Amanda was shading the truth? Right now she was plucking at some imaginary lint on her flower-patterned sheet, and her cheeks had turned an intimidating red. Her fingers trembled. She glanced at the photo album she kept on her nightstand. Next to it stood a framed picture of Rachel.

“Don’t lie to me, Amanda.”

She didn’t respond, and Griffin had no choice but to tell her about Sunny’s earlier visit. His daughter listened in stony silence.

“Why do you always think I’m guilty?” she asked when he’d finished. “It’s like you want to find something wrong.” Tears quivered in her voice. “You still like Josh, but you don’t like me.”

Mandi is not unhappy, he’d told Sunny.

Holding the watch, Griffin walked back to the bed. Her bent head spoke of guilt. Yet she wouldn’t admit it. She’d tried to sidetrack him with a completely different subject.

Right after Rachel had left, the counselor had said Griffin’s first task would be reassuring his children that he was still here for them. But despite his best efforts, Amanda didn’t feel secure.

He had to tread lightly. True, he was deeply disappointed that Amanda had taken the watch, but he wouldn’t show her how he felt. He never did. In an effort to avoid more damage to his family, Griffin struggled to maintain a deceptively calm—some would say closed-off—facade.

Yes, he was the grown-up here, the guy who had to keep things together. Make Daddy proud. To avoid upsetting his motherless daughter’s fragile equilibrium, he had to say the right thing.

And he could be wrong about the watch. He knew he was grasping at straws, but he hoped he was wrong. What if she wasn’t guilty? And Dixie really was to blame?

Griffin sat on the edge of the bed beside her but avoided glancing at Rachel’s picture. He touched Amanda’s chin and turned her face toward him. Her eyes, brimming with tears, met his.

“You and Josh are both my first priority. We’re in this together, Mandi. We’re a family.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” she whispered.

Griffin’s breath caught. He had no idea how to answer that. “I’m sorry if I accused you unfairly.” He kissed the top of her head then stood. His hand ached from the tight grip he had on the watch. “Let’s sleep on that. We can talk again tomorrow.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said.

* * *

HOURS LATER AMANDA was still awake. She’d tried staring at the dark ceiling for a while after her dad left, but she could hear his words—his accusations—as if they had just been said.

It had been a long time since her mother sat on her bed, talking about the day’s happenings, laughing with her over nothing at all, kissing her good-night, soothing all the hurts. Two years, sixteen days.

Why mark the stupid time, as if they still lived in Boston and Mom was just visiting her grandmother in Philly, where they used to live?

She slipped between the sheets and flopped down, squashing her stuffed giraffe and her oldest cloth doll against the pillows. She kicked off her slippers under the covers. They were too small, but only yesterday her father had said, “No money for nonessentials this month, kiddo. Maybe after payday.” Amanda knew there would always be bills, lots of them from when Mom had left and run up the credit cards. Just as she knew her big feet would never stop growing.

Amanda hated them.

She hated her growing breasts, too, even though Dixie told her she’d be happy with them one day.

Amanda even hated her name. It wasn’t cool like Dixie’s or her other friends’ in Boston or Philly. Mom had always told her it was lovely, graceful, and she’d grow into it, but Amanda hadn’t heard those words in a long time. Her dad wasn’t much of a talker. And when he did...

Yanking the covers up to her neck, she lay shaking in the dark.

I’m the adult here. You’re the kid.

Why feel surprised that she had absolutely no power?

Your grades should be important to you.

But why? It wasn’t as if she’d ever need any of the dumb things they tried to teach in school. Dixie said they wouldn’t. Like those boring job talks in Aunt Bron’s class. Amanda didn’t plan to become a ball player or a cop or a...lawyer.

She bit her lip. She didn’t want to think about bad stuff anymore.

Or about her dad.

Yet the stubborn memories kept coming. Josh had been only three when their mother took off. In sixth grade then, Amanda had been just getting used to having him around and was glad he’d finally stopped wearing diapers and sucking on a bottle.

Her father, of course, had been at work that day. He’d had a big-deal job then.

Amanda pinched herself for wanting to cry.

Even Josh didn’t cry much now. She wondered if he remembered Mom, which only left Amanda feeling more alone. She remembered everything about her, even the shadows in her eyes right before she left.

In the dark she turned over, off the old doll, which glared up at her with its one remaining black eye. She groped across her nightstand for the snapshot in a porcelain frame with roses around it. Amanda ran a finger over the raised flowers, the cool glass. She didn’t have to actually see the picture. Josh might forget, but she never would. She’d always remember her mom’s soft blond hair. And her eyes would always be the exact same color as the blue in her favorite dishes, and her smile...

Dad hardly ever smiled anymore.

When he did, he smiled at Josh. He was always trying to reassure him.

Setting the picture down, she rolled on to her side, facing the wall. She couldn’t bear to open the photo album tonight.

Fresh tears welled in her eyes. She huddled under the lavender eyelet comforter her mother had helped her pick out when they moved to Boston—like the white wicker nightstand and her dresser—but she couldn’t get warm. She thought of her dad’s Uncle Theo, who still lived in Philadelphia. He didn’t have anyone now, and she missed him, too.

“Mandi?” Whispering, Josh stood at her door. She always kept it half-open in case he needed her. “What’samatter?”

Wiping her wet cheeks, she said, “Nothing. Go back to your room. You want Dad to wake up? He’ll put you in time-out.”

A brief silence made her feel ashamed. Mean.

“Daddy never puts me in time-out.”

She frowned at his small frame backlit by the hallway light. “Well, he’ll want to anyway.”

“No,” Josh said in the doorway. “He loves me.”

You’re both my first priority. Amanda couldn’t believe that, not after he’d accused her of stealing. Blinking, she waited until Josh went back to his room, his bare feet dancing to avoid touching the floor.

Her throat ached, and no matter how much she swallowed, it kept hurting. The tears slid down her face, dripped into her ears and on to her pillow. No wonder he liked Josh better.

No wonder he didn’t smile at her. He only pays attention to me when I’m bad. And even then, what happens? Nothing.

That scared her most of all, as if she were a runaway train, and he wasn’t trying to stop her. He hadn’t stopped Mom, either.

She dragged the giraffe back into her arms and held on tight, her stupid tears wetting its baby-stupid face.

* * *

GRIFFIN TOOK A deep breath and rang the doorbell again. From inside he could hear raised voices, one male, one female.

He hesitated. Try the bell once more? Give up? Or open the door himself?

The Cabots rarely locked their doors.

Griffin opted for the third choice. He couldn’t wait all day. He needed to pick up Josh at school soon. He’d make his apology, then go.

“Hello?” he called out. “Jack? Kate?”

Voices, louder than before, came from the kitchen, but he couldn’t make out their words.

Griffin had started to edge back toward the door when Jack suddenly appeared, his face as red as Santa Claus’s suit. “Griffin,” he said, obviously surprised to see him standing there.

“Sorry. I did ring the bell. I’ll just...”

“No, come on in.” Jack turned to call over his shoulder, “Honey, Griffin’s here. Any coffee left?”

Whatever their quarrel had been about, it was over now, at least for Jack.

Griffin fingered the beaded watch in his pocket.

“No coffee for me, thanks. I was wondering... Is Sunny around?”

Jack turned and rapped on the door to the den. Then he made small talk as if nothing was wrong, inviting Griffin to a cookout the next weekend. “Bring the kids, too, of course,” Jack finished just as Sunny stepped into the room.

She was wearing ankle-length jeans with a white top that had little ruffles around the neck. Her feet were bare, and Griffin could see her stylish red pedicure. Her eyes, however, had turned icy.

“Oh. Mr. Lattimer.”

Jack glanced from one to the other, trying, Griffin supposed, to size up this new problem.

“I’ll make myself scarce,” her father murmured.

Griffin could hear sniffles coming from the kitchen. Kate was apparently taking it hard. Unusual, he thought, because Jack was normally easygoing.

Months ago Amanda had “adopted” Kate—who was always ready with a hug—as a surrogate grandmother. Josh loved to cuddle on her lap, and both his kids roared at Jack’s silly jokes. Griffin and his children had spent quite a few Sunday afternoons here, always a pleasant break from the apartment and the endless stream of renter complaints.

Sunny sighed. “I imagine you heard,” she said. “I’ve been hiding in the den. It’s the third time since I got home.”

“Speaking of disagreements...” Might as well get this over with. Griffin pulled the watch out of his pocket. “Amanda had this on her dresser. In plain sight,” he said, a fact that had been bothering him since last night. “I should have investigated first, before I jumped all over you.”

She studied him. “When you found my watch, what did you say?”

“Nothing right,” he admitted. “Mandi had an answer for everything. She claims her friend Dixie gave it to her.”

“Which implies Dixie did take it in the first place.”

“Dixie didn’t want it anymore, she said. That’s what I’m supposed to believe.”

Her blue-gray eyes searched his gaze. “You don’t?”

“I can usually tell when she’s lying.”

“And that’s common?”

“Never used to be,” he said and backed up a step. “But ever since her mother...” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Ever since her mom packed up and left...yes, Amanda sometimes lies.” He shook his head. “Not that I’m supposed to notice.”

“Let me guess. You let her off the hook—and decided to return the watch yourself.”

Griffin fell back on his usual rationale. “I know she misses Rachel. So does Josh, but he was pretty young when she took off. He doesn’t have the same store of memories Mandi does.”

Sunny shook her head. “I’m not buying it.”

“What?”

“Listen to yourself. You’re making excuses for Amanda. Again.”

“Look, Counselor, all I can say is I’m sorry.” He held out the watch, then waited for her to take it. She didn’t touch him when she did.

Sunny’s eyes chilled another few degrees. “You’re sorry? What did you do—except throw me out of your apartment yesterday? I’d like to hear an apology from Amanda. She should take responsibility.”

He frowned, inching backward again. “You have your watch back.”

“Yes. But for some reason, taking this watch was Amanda’s way of getting back at me. For what, I don’t know.”

“That’s not like Amanda.”

She stared him down and said, “I don’t imagine it’s pleasant to realize your daughter has a problem, but you said yourself she misses her mother. Have you talked to her about that?”

“Tried,” he said. “She stonewalls me.”

“And you retreat. The way you’ve been backing toward that door the whole time you’ve been here.”

“Anyway,” he began, taking another step that proved her right. His pulse was pounding now, slow and hard.

Sunny moved toward him. “I tried to tell you the signs yesterday, and what did you say? That Amanda wasn’t unhappy. You just admitted she sometimes lies. How happy is that?”

“Well...and maybe her new friend isn’t the kind I’d like her to have—”

Sunny looked exasperated. “Doesn’t that tell you something? You don’t do her any favors by looking the other way.” She held up the watch, its beaded band sparkling in the light. “Or by returning this yourself instead of holding your daughter accountable. If she gets away with this—and it is theft—what comes next? Breaking into a store some night with her ‘friend’? Knowing you’ll cover for her again?”

His palms were sweating. Sunny Donovan must be something to see in a courtroom.

“Guess I’m not your candidate for Father of the Year.”

“This isn’t about you,” she said. “I don’t think you’ve really heard a word I said.” She paused. “And of course—I’ll say it for you—it’s none of my business.”

“Right,” he said. “I didn’t ask for your advice, and I’ve gotta go. Josh will be out of school soon.”

She was still standing in the front hall when he shut the door.

He and the kids would not be coming to any cookout.