Читать книгу Expecting the Best - Lynnette Kent - Страница 10
ОглавлениеCHAPTER FOUR
ZACH STOOD on the front porch and stared at the door to Shelley’s house until the lights went off inside.
What the hell just happened?
He thought about ringing the bell, or pounding the damn door down. He thought about serenading under Shelley’s window, assuming he could figure out which one belonged to her bedroom. He thought about sleeping on her doorstep and facing her over the morning paper.
In the end, he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked to the car. He carefully kept to the speed limit until he hit the interstate. Then he floored the gas. The Trans Am growled its way up to seventy, heading north.
After an hour of fast driving, he exited, got fuel and a soda, then started back to Denver. He reached the city limits without finding an answer to his question.
What the hell had happened?
All evening, he’d had the feeling he couldn’t quite reach her. She’d been wary from the minute he walked into the house—except for the kiss. He’d known exactly where they were during that kiss.
And then, just as he was about to ask for another date, she froze him out.
“What did I do?” Zach stalked into his house and threw his keys on the kitchen counter. “What didn’t I do?”
The only response was the blinking light on his answering machine. Darius the Perfect Persian strolled in, winked golden eyes and strolled out again.
“Glad to see you, too.” Zach had adopted Claire’s cat when she married. After two years, he and Dar had come to tolerate each other, and sometimes even sat on the couch at the same time. Not much of a replacement for Claire, but the best either of them could do, since Darius hated ranch life with a passion.
Pulling a carton of milk out of the refrigerator, Zach punched the message button on the machine as he took a swig.
“Zachary, it’s Mom. Please call, no matter how late you get in.”
She sounded well, but worried. Zach picked up the phone and hit the autodial number for his mother. Family problems would give him something to think about besides Shelley.
His mother’s wide-awake “Hello” told him just how worried she was.
“Hi, Mom. It’s Zach. What’s wrong?”
“You sound strange. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Why did you call?”
“Your sister was nearly arrested tonight.”
Zach choked on his milk. “Which sister?”
“Carol, of course.”
“What happened?”
“She was caught shoplifting in a store at the mall.”
“Damn. Did they book her?”
“Don’t swear, Zachary. No, the officer let her off with a warning. But you have to talk to her.”
“Mom—”
“You’re the only one she listens to these days. Ever since your father died, nothing I say seems to matter.”
He sighed quietly. “Okay, I’ll talk to her. Is tomorrow soon enough?”
“Of course. I’ll expect you for lunch after church.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Sleep well, Zachary.”
Yeah, right. “You, too, Mom.”
Zach punched the phone’s off button and set it back into the cradle. Finishing the last of the milk, he trashed the carton, flipped off the light and headed for the bedroom.
As predicted, sleep didn’t come easily. He couldn’t get his little sister out of his mind. She’d taken their dad’s death hard—they all had. Zach had spent time with her for his own sake, as well as hers. He taught her to bat and pitch, shot hoops with her, took her and her best friend to Broncos games. She’d been busier since she started high school last September—more involved with friends and social events—so he’d seen less of her, which he’d considered progress for both of them.
Flopping over in bed, he groaned. “Guess that’s another mistake I’ll have to correct.”
Like the mysterious goof with Shelley. Should he call her again? Would she call him? Or was her brush-off tonight a not-so-subtle hint that she didn’t want to see him anymore? He wasn’t her type—she went for high-powered, high-profile, high-profit guys like her ex-husband.
“Damn her, anyway,” he growled, bunching up the pillow. “I’ve got better things to do than chase after a woman who’s not interested. Right, Dar, buddy?”
Zach turned his head and eyed the cat reclining in the blue wing chair, his usual throne. A circle of light from the street lamp outside spotlighted long white fur, an indolent pose, enigmatic eyes. As he watched, Darius lifted a paw, carefully cleaned the pads with a few elegant sweeps of his pink tongue, then lowered his head and closed his eyes. In another second, he was snoring.
“Gee, thanks, pal. You’re a prince.” Zach smoothed the pillow and tried to settle in again. “If that’s what getting neutered does for you, maybe I should be talking to the vet!”
BECAUSE SHE USUALLY worked Sunday afternoons, Shelley made a point each week of calling her daughter by 8:00 a.m., before Allyson’s father took her to church.
This morning, Allyson herself answered. “Hello?”
Shelley sighed with pleasure. Just a single word from her daughter soothed like summer rain. “Hi, baby. How are you?”
“I’m good. And guess what, Mommy? We have new kittens!”
“How many? What colors?” She didn’t care what they talked about, as long as they kept in touch. Allyson updated details on her horse, Stormy, and his training progress, relayed every minute of the camping trip she’d taken with her dad and explained how her best friend from Cheyenne would be coming to visit for two whole weeks.
“And guess what else?” Her young voice reached its highest pitch. “We’re going to have a baby!”
Shelley dropped the phone. How could she know?
When her cold hand had fumbled the phone back to her ear, she apologized and cleared her throat. “What did you say, Allyson, honey?”
“Claire’s going to have a baby!”
“Oh. How—how wonderful.” Shelley closed her eyes as the room around her dipped and swayed. “You and your dad must be excited.”
“Yeah, and we’re going to make a nursery here on the ranch and I’ll get to teach her to ride and everything.”
Despite the sick feeling in her stomach, Shelley had to smile. “You’re sure the baby’s a girl?”
“Well...” She sounded as if she’d never considered the alternative. “I hope so. A boy wouldn’t be as much fun.”
They talked a while longer, making some plans for the summer. “Grandmom’s going to be there, isn’t she?” Allyson asked.
“She wouldn’t miss seeing you for the world. When she comes over this morning, I’ll tell her what we’re planning.”
“Can we make ice cream like we did before?”
Pulled out of the doldrums, Shelley laughed. “I know we can. You like Grandmom’s ice cream, don’t you?”
“It’s good!” As they ended the conversation, Allyson said, “Daddy wants to say something, Mommy. I love you. Bye!”
“Bye, baby.” She took a deep breath in preparation. Talking with her ex usually tied her in knots.
“Hi, Shelley.” His voice had picked up the hint of a cowboy drawl during his years on the Wyoming range. “How are you?”
“Just fine, Dexter. I hear you have good news.”
“Yeah.” The pride in his voice reminded her of nine years ago, when she’d been carrying Allyson. “We’re pretty happy.”
“Congratulations.” The perfect woman had accomplished the perfect task, perfectly. Unlike a certain unwed mother...
Dex didn’t need to know that, at least, not yet. She wasn’t ready to deal with his reaction. “Are we still on schedule for Allyson to come down in mid-July and spend the rest of the summer?”
“That’s the plan. I’ll call you when we leave, so you’ll know what time to expect us.”
“I’ll wait to hear from you, Dexter. Give... Claire...my compliments.”
“I will.” He paused, and then said. “Are you sure you’re doing all right?”
“Of course.” Except for making an absolute mess of her life. “I’ll let you go. Kiss Allyson for me.”
“Sure. Goodbye, Shelley.”
She pushed the button to disconnect without a reply. Then she buried her head in her arms on the kitchen counter and cried.
Minutes later, her mother came through the garage door into the kitchen. “Honey?” Gentle arms circled Shelley’s shoulders from behind, drawing her into a soft embrace. A cool hand brushed back her hair. “Shelley, what’s wrong?”
After a struggle, she managed to get the sobbing down to hiccups. “I—I just talked to Allyson.”
Dorothy Owens was passionate about two things in life—her independence and her family. She tightened her hold. “Allyson’s okay? She hasn’t gotten hurt?”
“No. Oh, no.” Shelley broke free, slid off the chair and went to get a paper towel to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. “No, everything is wonderful in Wyoming. Claire is pregnant.”
Her mother’s brown eyes widened. “I see. That’s...”
“Yes, isn’t it?” She took a shaking breath. “But here’s the really funny part, Mom—I am, too.”
“You are what?”
“Pregnant”
This pause lasted even longer, while surprise changed into shock. “I didn’t know you were seeing anybody.”
“I wasn’t. I’m not.” New tears spilled over, and she grabbed another paper towel. “He isn’t interested.”
“He must have been—” Dorothy took a deep breath and brushed the feathery silver bangs off her forehead. “Never mind that. You and I seem to have a talent for picking the wrong man.”
“At least you were only stupid once. I make the same mistakes over and over again.”
Her mother filled the teakettle and put it on the cook-top. “Have you seen a doctor?”
Shelley nodded.
“And what happens when the baby is born?”
Still sniffling, Shelley left the kitchen for her light-washed family room. The windows looked east toward the plains and the morning sun. “When the baby is born, I bring her or him home. With me.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Oh, yes.” She turned to face her mother. “That’s one thing I am sure of. I want to be this baby’s mom. I want to take the time to raise this little person like I never did with Allyson. I missed so much, going back to work, leaving her with au pairs and nannies. This time, I’m going to be the person who hears that first word, sees that first step.”
Even from the kitchen, she could hear the maternal sigh. “Single parenting is tough. But you have the money to be comfortable, at least.”
“That’s right. I don’t have to depend on anyone else for help. I can do this all by myself. In fact, I think I’ll like it that way.” She wouldn’t lose control of her life—and her child—to a man this time.
Dorothy brought in a mug of tea. “So you’ve told the father and he wouldn’t take responsibility?”
“Um, no.” Shelley fiddled with the string on the blinds. “I—I haven’t told him.”
“Then how do you know—”
She let the string swing free. “Because we talked. Because he made things clear—no ties, no commitment, no family. And because I know he’d try to change if he knew, and then we’d all be unhappy. It’ll be better this way.”
The line between her mother’s eyebrows conveyed doubt. “I don’t think you’re being fair. He’s bound to find out, isn’t he?”
“Not if I don’t see him again.” She’d figure out later how to avoid Zach forever.
“But what if you bump into him?”
“I’ll tell him the baby is someone else’s.” An expression of horror crept over her mother’s face. Shelley put up a hand. “I know, that’s terrible to do. I’ve been through one custody battle, though, and I can’t do it again. I can’t take the risk that he’ll drag me into court. I want this baby—he doesn’t.” She spread her fingers across her stomach. “And I’m going to keep it.”
“But, Shelley...what are you going to tell your daughter?”
“Good question.” She sighed, and the tears returned. “Sometime between now and July I’ll have to figure that out.”
HE SHOULD HAVE DECIDED what he was going to say before he arrived.
Zach dropped onto the couch in the family room of his mom’s house. His sister sat at the opposite end, staring off into space.
“Hey,” he said.
Carol didn’t move, not even to brush the green-tinted bangs out of her eyes. She had his mother’s straight, dark hair, their dad’s small frame and height. The current lopsided cut and streaks of rebellious color didn’t disguise her essential prettiness.
He tried again. “I hear there’s been some trouble.”
This time, she rolled her eyes.
“Stealing is a crime, you know.”
She muttered a rude word. “I was gonna take it back. Nobody would keep such dumb stuff, anyway.”
“Why’d you steal in the first place?”
“I wanted to.” Her shrug dismissed the issue.
He’d talked to his mother and gotten a few more details. “What’s this club you’re into at school?”
“Just some friends.” Carol shrugged.
“Girls? Guys? Both?”
“Girls.”
“Name?”
She sighed. “Crooked Women.”
“And that means...?”
“We look at life differently from the rest of you.”
“And from this different perspective, taking property that doesn’t belong to you is okay?”
“It was an initiation stunt, that’s all!”
“Have you known these other girls a long time?”
“Some of them. Jen just moved into the school this year. She started CW.”
“What about your best friend...Samantha, right? Is she in this group?”
She stared at him as if he spoke in Martian. “Sam moved away. To Florida. Before last Thanksgiving. Remember?”
Strikeout. He sat forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “So, you have more initiation stuff planned?”
Carol shrugged, but she picked nervously at the black polish on her fingernails, which gave him his answer.
“What are the goals of this Crooked crew?”
“Nothing. We just hang together, that’s all. It’s no big deal.”
“I disagree, little sister. You’re letting somebody else’s screwed-up ideas ruin your life. Not to mention your mother’s, and mine. That makes it a big deal.”
Silence claimed the room. Sounds of the traditional Harmon Sunday ball game drifted in through the open window. Zach would have preferred to be out there pitching balls, instead of in here pitching discipline.
Carol brought him back to the moment. “So what am I supposed to do? Apologize?”
Zach shook his head. “We tried that last time, after the water balloons out the third-floor windows—didn’t seem to make an impression. I’m assigning my own version of community service.”
She looked at him in outrage. “What does that mean?”
“You’re coming to ball practice with me to work with my batters. I’ve got some baby-sitting ideas, too. See you here tomorrow at five.” Case closed. He stood and started for the door.
“And what if I’m somewhere else?”
He stopped with his hand on the knob and glanced over his shoulder. “You won’t be. Otherwise, I can arrange for you to try out juvenile hall for a day or two. See how you like the alternative.”
As the daughter and sister of cops, Carol would know she didn’t want detention. He heard her tortured sigh as he shut the door, but she’d be here tomorrow. Zach knew he could trust her that far.
His mother caught up with him in the kitchen as he took an apple out of the refrigerator. “Have you settled that girl, Zachary?” She’d been to the basement for a pan full of potatoes. Her face was flushed from climbing the steep stairs.
“Yes, Mom.” Like he’d been settling things since he was twelve years old. “I’m gonna bring her to baseball practice, see if I can get more information out on this club nonsense.”
“Good. I hardly know what to do with her anymore.” She set to washing the potatoes. “We’re having pot roast for dinner. You’ll stay, won’t you?”
His parents had eaten pot roast for dinner on Sunday every week for the forty years of their marriage. Now that his dad wasn’t here to demand the same meal, maybe they could change the ritual. “How about we go out to dinner, instead? I’ll take you to a decent Italian place I know.”
Mary Harmon shook her head. “That is nice, Zachary, but Sunday is pot roast. Maybe another time?”
“Sure, Mom.” He thought about staying, because he loved her. But he couldn’t face pot roast. “I’m gonna catch up on paperwork before I go on duty, so I’ll eat later. See you tomorrow.” He gave her a kiss and a hug, then made his escape out the back door.
The ball game had ended. Most of the players sprawled in the backyard shade, drinking sodas and arguing points.
“That pitch was wide by a mile!” Grant—the tallest of the Harmon clan—took a swallow of beer. “Never thought a brother of mine would be so blind.”
“Not blind. Accurate.” Stefan lay on the grass, a sweating can against his forehead. “That pitch was a strike.”
“Yeah, right. And Jess didn’t drop the ball on the last out, either.”
“I wouldn’t have dropped it,” Jessica said calmly, “if Michael hadn’t knocked into me. Of all the dumb moves—”
Michael sat up. “If you had called the ball, I wouldn’t have been there!”
Zach stood listening for a minute as the noise escalated. He’d been part of this scene his whole life—Sunday-morning Mass, lunch, sports and fights all afternoon, pot roast for dinner. But tonight the circle felt too tight.
“See you guys later,” he called. “I’ve got work to do.”
“See ya’!” “Be careful out there.” “Call me!” The goodbyes followed him out to the Trans Am. Zach got into the car, punched up a jazz CD and increased the volume. He waved to all the neighbors as he drove down the street, but kept his windows up and didn’t stop to talk.
He resolutely didn’t think about spending the afternoon with Shelley, either. The case had closed on that situation, too.
AT THE PRECINCT station, he changed into his uniform and headed out on patrol. Life as a street coop wasn’t as exciting as, say, vice or criminal investigations. but Zach figured there were people out here with problems—traffic accidents, temporarily misplaced kids, vandalism and harassment—who needed a cop’s help. He liked providing that kind of assistance.
As he circled the park, a young couple playing on the swings caught his attention, just because they looked so happy together. With his window down, he could hear them laughing. They would make a great advertisement—“Denver is for lovers.”
An hour later, he saw them again, this time on the street near some of the bars. Good times had given way to an argument. The young woman stood, arms crossed, back toward her boyfriend, with her chin tilted in defiance as he yelled at her from behind. Before Zach turned the corner, the guy threw his hands in the air and stalked into the nearest joint. The lady appeared not to care.
Zach circled the block and came back to the scene in less than ten minutes. There was no sign of the couple. Following his instinct, he parked on the opposite side of the street, crossed over to the dive he’d seen the man enter, and found himself in a cave filed with smoke and the fumes of beer.
“We don’t need the cops,” the bartender said, without preamble. “Ain’t no trouble here.”
“I can see that, Joey. I’m just checking things out.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I thought there might have been an argument in here, the last hour or so. A cute lady, giving her man a hard time?”
“Do I keep track of the whole frigging world?”
Zach stared, and the bartender gave in. “Yeah, they were here.”
“Did they buy drinks?”
“They came in a couple times. The guy bought maybe five beers all together. Drank ’em down like water. And then they left and I ain’t seen them since. Happy?”
“Delirious. Have a good night.” Zach returned to the almost empty street. Which way would she have gone to make her point?
He turned right and started walking, quietly. No one passed him, and the twilight came down without a sound. He’d almost decided to turn back when he heard a small, agonized sob.
She was huddled in the next alley, between upended garbage cans and plastic bags stuffed with trash. Zach crouched down in front of her. “Officer Harmon, Denver police, ma’am. Let me help you.”
But she flinched and shrank back, putting a hand out to ward him off. “No,” she whispered. “No more, please. No...”
Zach took her hand, seeing broken nails and a bruised wrist. “He’s gone. I promise. Nobody’s going to hurt you. Can you stand up?”
She didn’t seem to hear. Zach pulled his radio off his belt and called for EMTs and backup. Then he tried again. “I won’t hurt you. I promise. Do you hear me?”
Her head came up, and she focused on his face. For the first time, Zach realized how young she was. Too young for bars, barely old enough for high school. Her dark hair and eyes reminded him of Carol, and his stomach started to chum.
“He’s gone?” she whispered.
“Yeah. You’re safe. Can you stand up?”
The girl sighed. “I think so.” When he helped her to her feet, Zach got another blow beneath the belt. She was pregnant. Not much, but enough for him to be sure.
He moved her away from the garbage as the ambulance stopped beside them. In seconds the EMTs had her on a stretcher, where they could treat the split lip, the swelling along her jaw and above her eyes.
Once they had her stabilized, Zach stepped close. “Who hit you?” he asked quietly.
The girl only stared at him, her swollen lips pressed together.
“Do you know the person who did this?” She closed her eyes. “Please. We need his name so we can punish him for hurting you.”
But she shook her head, and kept her eyes closed. Zach got a signal from the EMTs, who were ready to move, and he backed away. The ambulance pulled out in a flare of red and white light, leaving him standing in the street feeling sick.
“You see anybody?” Rafe Delgado, a cop who often shared shifts with Zach, came up beside him.
“Yeah, I saw the bastard. Six feet tall, dark hair in a ponytail. T-shirt and jeans, silver-toed boots. Urban cowboy type.”
Rafe wrote the description down. “The boots should help. Her cooperation would be even better.”
“Maybe her family will know.” He wiped his face with a shaking hand.
“Maybe.” Rafe clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll finish up here. If you see the guy again call me.”
“If he’s still alive.”
His friend laughed. “If he’s still alive.”
Zach got back into his car, but the memory of that girl’s battered face kept him motionless. Pregnant, no wedding ring, hanging out with a guy who beat her up when she made him mad. What kind of life was that? How did she get herself into such a lousy situation?
And what could he do to keep Carol from taking the same path?
