Читать книгу Family at Stake - Molly O'Keefe - Страница 10

RACHEL PARKED HER CAR and turned off the ignition. It was Friday, two days after finding out about Mac and Amanda, and she had finally been able to clear her late-afternoon schedule and drive to their home.

She shook out her numb hands. She’d been gripping the steering wheel a tad too hard. She had not counted on what it would cost her to drive to New Springs. Every time she looked in the rearview mirror, the scared, unsure girl who had left thirteen years ago stared back at her.

Obviously she wasn’t as detached from the past as she thought.

She grabbed her briefcase and got out of the car. The slam of the door sent a bird flying from the brush bordering the small gravel parking area, beside a low brown house built into a mountain and surrounded by avocado and lemon groves. The trees flourished on the hillsides surrounding New Springs, and all of the houses along the mountain road she had just traveled were farmhouses. The file said Mac was a farmer, and Rachel could see Mac working this land. It made perfect sense.

Rachel still wasn’t convinced she would take this case. She was just here for preliminary fieldwork, a rudimentary home visit that should tell her if Frank had been right. And then she would be better able to determine what to do. She wasn’t convinced that this case was worth all that she had at stake. She could get into big trouble if Olivia became aware of what had happened between Mac and Rachel—it could cost her the job she loved. As she had convinced herself during the trip here, she was just sussing things out.

Rachel had gone into social work to help families. It was her job. And she was good at it. She knew better than to become emotionally involved. And without emotion, this was just another case. Mac was just another father—one who was possibly failing his daughter.

Rachel had to help. Or at least see if help was needed.

There were no ghostly remains of some kind of romantic relationship. They had been friends. Clumsy lovers and then they’d lost touch. End of story.

She checked her watch. Five-thirty, usually a good time to catch people at home. She’d learned early in her career that calling people to tell them she was coming just gave them the information they needed to not be home at the right time.

The gravel crunched under her feet. Somewhere a wind chime made careless music in the soft breeze that blew across the mountain, bringing with it the smell of white sage.

She stepped onto a flagstone path that led to the door, which appeared hidden underneath the eaves. A tomato plant grew like mad in a bucket next to a basil plant growing in a coffee can.

That’s the Mac I remember.

Rachel took a deep breath, cursed that extra-large coffee she’d drunk earlier that made her heart thunder in her chest. She ran a hand down the front of her white blouse, made sure she was all tucked in and presentable and knocked on the dark wood door, which, to her surprise, swung open under the light pressure from her fist.

Rachel found herself in front of a small staircase leading down into a huge room with a wall of windows opposite her that faced the valley and the mountains behind it.

She was taken aback by the beauty the small house hid.

Pale yellow wood floors and walls gleamed in the clear bright afternoon light that filled the long multipurpose room. On one end there was a fireplace made of fieldstone and two big red couches facing an entertainment unit.

A dining room table cluttered with a book bag, homework and a plate with crumbs on it stood in the middle of the room. A small kitchen occupied the far end with an island separating the kitchen from the dining room.

It was warm and cozy, with pictures on the walls and a plate of cookies on the counter. It seemed like the very last place that abuse would happen. But that was the first lesson she’d ever learned, from her own family—things are never what they seem. And homes could be the most dangerous places on Earth.

“Hello?” she called out, leaning into the foyer. She waited a moment but there was no response, no sound, even. She took one step in and looked around the door at a staircase leading up to a second floor. Since the ground floor wasn’t visible from the outside because of the way it was built into the mountain, the seemingly modest-size home was actually quite large.

Mac was obviously a successful farmer. That hadn’t been mentioned in the files.

“Anybody home?”

“Hey!” a man shouted from another part of the house, and Rachel’s breath stalled in her lungs. It was Mac. His deep, rough voice sent shock waves down her spine. “Be right there.”

Irritation flared at her sudden case of nerves and she forced herself to relax, to remember her job. Her skill and detachment.

“Sorry.” His voice was closer, somewhere to the right of her and low on the first floor. Her stomach leaped. She could hear his footsteps, approaching swiftly. “Have you been—”

Suddenly he was there, right in front of her, appearing from an unseen doorway in the corner of the kitchen. Her heartbeat stopped.

Mac. Oh, my God, look at you.

He was beautiful. His body had grown into the promise it had at seventeen. He looked lean but powerful. His shoulders filled the seams of his denim workshirt and the sleeves were rolled up to reveal wiry, nut-brown forearms. His khaki pants hung on lean hips. His hair, overlong and bleached from his days outside, fell over his forehead. She watched spellbound as he brushed it out of his eyes.

His eyes were the same. Blue as the palest part of the sky and growing confused.

“I’m sorry.” He flashed his lopsided grin with the dimple, and Rachel felt her heart start again with a painful double lurch. “Are you Amanda’s tutor?”

“No.” She pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head, and stood revealed and naked in front of him.

Recognition and painful disbelief twisted his face.

“Rach?” he breathed.

She was going to cry. Her eyes burned and her nose became watery. She looked at her shoes, a habit she had spent the better part of her life trying to break.

“Rachel?” His voice was strong but sharp at the end, and she couldn’t bear to look at him. You have a job to do, Rachel. Get it together. She sniffed and glanced up, meeting Mac’s gaze.

“Hi, Mac.”

He put one foot on the stairs and his hand gripped the banister, as if he wanted it dead. His knuckles turned white as he squeezed the wood. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice strangled.

She was hoping for a different beginning to this conversation. I suppose a hug is too much to ask for.

Sarcasm was her convenient crutch. She knew that about herself, but didn’t have the power to do this without a few crutches.

She opened her mouth to explain herself, but a blond girl appeared at the top of the second-floor stairs and electricity charged the air in the house.

The hair on Rachel’s arms stood on end.

“Sorry, Dad, just went to the bathroom.” The girl’s voice was quiet and thin. Amanda was so skinny, Rachel’s heart heaved.

Something is seriously wrong.

Amanda floated soundlessly down the stairs, carefully stepping on the edges of the steps.

She’s a ghost, Rachel thought, painfully mesmerized by the girl wearing a pair of cutoff shorts and a long-sleeved red T-shirt with the name of a local swim team on it.

Amanda caught sight of Rachel standing in the doorway and her passive face transformed into a hostile mask of suspicion. Her eyes turned hard and old. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Rachel.

Ah, there she is. That’s the girl from the picture.

“Who are you?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Amanda.” Mac put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder, a gesture of unity and warmth, but at the same time Rachel knew he was telling his daughter to relax. “This is—” Mac swallowed “—an old friend of mine, Rachel…” He trailed off, obviously waiting for her to supply her married name.

“Rachel Filmore,” Rachel said. She held out her hand, but Amanda hesitated until Mac elbowed her in the back, a little poke that said “Mind your manners.” Nothing serious.

“Hi.” Amanda barely touched Rachel’s hand. “Can I go up to my room until the tutor comes?” she asked Mac, but she didn’t take her narrowed eyes off Rachel.

“Sure,” he agreed, and Amanda took off like a shot back up the stairs, her long hair a banner behind her. Rachel watched her go, then turned to face Mac, whose tension she could feel like pinpricks along her skin.

He wasn’t happy to see her and it was only going to get worse.

“What are you doing here, Rachel?” he asked slowly in his low voice. He crossed his arms over his lean chest and tilted his head—familiar gestures that tugged at the lock on her memories.

“Mac, I am a counselor with Santa Barbara DCFS.” The words weren’t even out of her mouth before he turned around and paced away from her. His boots clunked heavily on the hardwood floor.

“Mac?”

“I’m listening,” he said, his voice cold and angry. He grabbed the plate with the crumbs on it and walked over to the kitchen sink. “I’m all ears, Rachel.”

Apparently she wasn’t the only one with a sarcastic crutch. She was surprised by how much it hurt to be on the receiving end of that scathing bitterness.

“Frank Monroe, who initially—”

“Oh, I remember Frank.” The plate clattered into the sink.

“He’s retired now and I am taking over the file for Amand—” Mac picked up the plate and threw it back into the sink where it shattered. Rachel flinched and Mac braced his hands against the counter. He swore under his breath.

“Mac, you must know the gravity of what you and Amanda are facing.” Rachel took another step onto the small landing. Just do the right thing here, Mac, she silently urged him. “I am not against you.”

Mac turned and leaned against the counter. A muscle flexed in his jaw and his eyes were hot with frustrated rage. “That’s really funny, Rachel, because that is exactly what Frank told me right before he said he was going to take my daughter away.”

“Look…” Rachel stepped down onto the first step and knew that her decision was made. She didn’t know when exactly it had happened—the moment she opened the file, the second she saw Mac, she wasn’t sure—but she couldn’t turn this case over to someone else. She knew she would be breaking the rules, but Amanda and Mac Edwards were going to be her responsibility. “I can help you—”

“He said that, too.” Mac scrubbed his hands over his face and seemed to be in the process of reining himself in. “I’m not going to lose my daughter.”

“Then you have to work with me.”

“I thought this was over. I haven’t heard from Frank or from anyone in your office in weeks. I thought…” His voice trailed off.

“We’ve been shuffling things around. Sometimes it takes a while.”

He laughed once, a hollow bark. “How the hell…” He shook his head again before looking back at her. “You? Of all the people in the world, you end up on my door?” The way he said the word you, told her clearly what remained of his feelings for her. Nothing.

“I think it’s a good thing,” she said in a soft but firm voice. “I can help you.”

“Optimism?” he asked bitterly. “From Rachel Filmore?”

Suddenly the past surrounded them, tied them together with the ribbons of their shared, emotionally tragic history. She saw him standing in his kitchen, the sunlight casting halos around his blond hair, but she also saw him as he had been thirteen years ago, heartbreaking in the moonlight and asking her to marry him.

She didn’t like where he was pushing her. She didn’t want to talk about the past.

She shrugged. “That used to be your trademark.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Wonder what happened to it.” Mac took a deep breath and pushed away from the counter. “So, what are you going to do? You try to take Amanda away, and I will fight you, Rachel.”

Rachel didn’t doubt him for a moment. “I think it’s best if I review the case first.”

Mac snorted in derision.

“What?” Rachel asked.

“The case.” His eyes burned her with his cold disdain. “I just love it when you guys call us that. Makes me feel warm and fuzzy.”

She wasn’t going to let him bait her. She was used to the people she bent over backward to help being angry with her. The fact that it was Mac shouldn’t bother her any more.

But, of course, it did. So, she buried her heart feelings in the cold regulations of her job.

“I think it’s best if I start from scratch. We’re going to need to—” She paused before taking the last step into the room. She wasn’t invited, she definitely wasn’t wanted. And while she did need to force her way into the family, she wasn’t going to force her way into his living room.

“Please,” he said after he caught on to her hesitation. He spread his arms and smiled with scathing fake bonhomie. “Come right on in. Can I offer you a cookie?” He shoved the plate of cookies across the counter toward her, the stoneware grating against the tiles. She tried not to flinch.

“No, thanks.” Her cool, professional tone pleased her. “I know that you have already been through the interview process, but I would like to spend some time with you and your daughter.”

“Fine.” Mac nodded.

“Would it be possible for you to come into the city?” It was a selfish request, she knew it, and from the look in his eyes, he knew it, too.

“Too tough for you to drive across the mountains?” he asked, and the sarcasm that coated the question sent her spine upright. “Maybe you’d like to meet down at the Main Street Café. I think your mom still works there.”

She sucked in a breath, reeling from the emotional slap.

“I can meet you here.” She dug her calendar out of her purse.

“Rachel.” The tone of his voice was different. Sorry. “I can meet you in the—”

“It’s fine.” She continued to dig through her bag.

“Rachel.”

“You’ve made your point, Mac.” She looked up and met his eyes straight on. She was a different woman from the girl she had been. Tougher. Stronger. “I would like to set up weekly meetings. What days work best for you?”

“Thursday evenings,” Mac murmured. “That’s when we used to meet with Frank.”

She opened her calendar and found the appropriate pages. “Okay, I would like to meet with Amanda and you, both together and separately.”

“Fine.”

They set up the dates and she handed him one of her cards that she’d clipped to the outside of her calendar.

“That has my cell phone number on it, so you can get ahold of me anytime.”

He took the card and tucked it into his back pocket. Some of the anger that radiated off of him had dissipated and he just looked tired. And sad.

He cleared his throat and the room filled with uncomfortable silence. “I am sorry,” he said, his blue eyes sincere. “About earlier, that comment about your mom.”

“Forget it.” She waved her hand as if to clear the air.

“But what I—”

“Look, Mac, I am here to help your family and that’s better accomplished if we can agree there won’t be any stroll down memory lane for us.”

He watched her for a long time and she wanted to look away, so, of course, she forced herself to meet his beautiful blue eyes. “You want to pretend like we don’t know each other?”

Never spent every waking moment together. Never held each other while we cried. Never kissed. Never made love.

Those were the things she couldn’t think of, not if she wanted to help the wounded Amanda. And they were right there in his face. He didn’t have to say the words, her ability to guess his thoughts hadn’t faded with the years of absence. Much to her dismay.

His harsh laughter cut her. “Whatever you say, Rach.”

Rachel felt like Alice down the rabbit hole. Nothing was as it should be. This man looked like Mac, who used to know everything about her—every secret and longing and desire.

I am not that girl anymore.

There was nothing but black emotion with sharp edges between them now.

I have a job to do.

Rachel got back to the matter at hand. “Okay, so next Thursday I am going to interview Amanda—”

“Let’s get Amanda down here,” Mac interrupted. “I don’t want to do this behind her back.”

Rachel nodded, surprised, and Mac called his daughter to the kitchen. The girl stomped down the stairs as though she led a death march.

“What?” She scowled from the bottom step.

“We are going back into weekly counseling.” The way Mac treated his daughter like an adult impressed Rachel. She didn’t see a lot of that in her job. “You start on Thursday.”

“No way!” Amanda bristled and turned red-faced. “No way, Dad. I am not going to talk to her.”

“Amanda.” His tone was reasonable and sure. “We don’t have any choice.”

Rachel took a step forward. “I know you’ve heard all of this before, but I really am not the enemy.”

“Screw you.”

“Amanda!” Mac started toward his daughter, but Rachel held out a hand to stop him.

“Go ahead and be mad, Amanda. But you still are going to have to talk to me.” She locked eyes with the furious girl.

“I don’t have to talk to anyone!” Her lovely young face was twisted into a sneer that was too old and ugly.

“No, you’re right. You don’t have to talk to anyone. But it would be better for you, and for your dad, if you did talk to me and you told me the truth.”

“We don’t need you,” she cried. “Tell her, Dad!”

“Amanda, baby.” Mac’s voice cracked. “We need her. We have to talk to her.”

Rachel walked to the stairs and climbed the first one so she was nearly nose to nose with Amanda. “Right now I am your best shot at staying with your dad.”

Amanda’s lips curled and she sniffed hard as her eyes flooded with tears. She backed out of the way, sitting down on the bottom step of the second set of stairs. She hugged her legs to her chest. Rachel walked by her toward the door, knowing these two needed time alone.

“I don’t need anyone,” the girl whispered, her words like ice.

“We’ll see,” Rachel replied softly, knowing the pain of being twelve and believing that Amanda truly felt that way. Rachel walked out the door down the path and across the gravel to where she’d parked.

She climbed into her car, started it and began driving down the mountain. She focused as hard as possible, with every beat of her heart and with every breath she pulled in, on the observations she had made, the rational conclusions she could draw from that first meeting.

But it didn’t work.

As soon as she was out of sight of the house, she pulled over. The reality of what she’d done, of being in the same room as Mac, of risking her career for a friendship that clearly meant nothing to him, fell in on her. She pressed shaking hands to her face and took deep breaths, feeling the black edges of the world pressing in on her.

Oh, my God, she thought. What am I doing?