Читать книгу Handprints - MYRNA TEMTE - Страница 10

Assistant County Prosecutor Jack Granger parked his dark blue sedan in the visitors’ lot at Mountain View Elementary School, muttering, “Why me and why today?” Rubbing the knotted muscles at the back of his neck, he racked his brain for any excuse to leave without seeing his daughter Kitty’s teacher. Unfortunately none existed.

It didn’t matter that it was 6:10 on a Thursday afternoon, or that he’d had a brutal day at work, or that he had a briefcase stuffed with case files he needed to read before morning. Kitty was his responsibility. When Ms. Walsh requested a conference, he felt obligated to be there.

Again. And again. And again.

Any normal teacher would have given up on him and gone home by now, but Ms. Walsh was hardly normal. She was the most frustrating individual he’d ever met; considering he worked in the criminal justice system, that said something about her. Okay, maybe that was too harsh—but having a rational discussion with her seemed about as likely as finding a completely reformed sex offender.

With Ms. Walsh, everything was about feelings, not facts. Jack would rather be locked up in a cell for an hour with an armed serial killer than have to figure out her thought processes. He wondered if even God knew where that touchy-feely little woman’s mind would go next.

To give Ms. Walsh her due, however, Jack admired her dedication to her students. If she said she’d wait until he arrived, she would do exactly that—even on a sunny afternoon in May. Even if she had to wait until midnight.

Resigning himself to another round of aggravation, he straightened his tie and got out of the car. He reached back inside for his suit coat, hesitating while he questioned the need for such formality. On second thought, when it came to dealing with Ms. Walsh, he needed all the formality he could get.

The last time he’d met with her, she’d nearly driven him crazy. With the constant barrage of permission forms, newsletters and requests for money for everything from lunch in the cafeteria to school photos, the paperwork for having one small child in a public school could keep a full-time secretary busy. He did the best he could, but it seemed that he was always missing something.

And then Ms. Walsh would have to point it out and he’d feel like an idiot. She jumped from topic to topic. Every so often she seemed to have forgotten who she was talking to and used a cheery, enthusiastic voice more suited to a first grader than an adult. Jeez. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with her. He didn’t know if he could take her today.

He thrust his arms into his jacket sleeves as he entered the building and strode down the corridor to Ms. Walsh’s classroom. He’d been here enough times to know the way by heart. He paused in the doorway. There she was, sitting behind her desk, using a pencil eraser to flip through a fat stack of papers.

If he hadn’t felt so exhausted, he probably would have chuckled. She was barely five feet tall, blond and cute, with her hair pulled back in a long, curly ponytail. He always thought she looked more like a little girl playing school than an adult, but that was only until she opened her mouth. For such a small person, Ms. Walsh had a large personality.

She looked up, stood and gave him a welcoming smile. He just knew she had to be faking. Yet he still found it appealing. And unsettling. Hell, he was losing his mind. Because the truly odd thing was, in spite of everything she did that bugged him to no end, there was a weird, possibly twisted part of him that actually liked this woman.

“Hello, Mr. Granger. Please, come in,” she said, waving him into the room. “I’m sorry to call you in on such short notice.”

Preferring to keep his contact with her purely professional, Jack squelched an urge to smile in return. Given half a chance, she’d probably start hugging and patting him the way she always did her students. Wishing she wasn’t so damn nice, he walked between the first two rows of tiny desks.

At six-foot-three he’d grown used to being taller than most people. But everything in the first-grade room was built for the convenience of six-year-old children. He always felt like an awkward giant whenever he had to come to the school.

She nodded at the visitor’s chair on the other side of her desk. “Please, sit down.”

He gave the red, battle-scarred plastic chair a dubious glance before carefully lowering himself onto the seat. Ms. Walsh remained standing, and for a moment, she was at eye level with him. He’d never seen anyone with such dark green eyes before. The color of jade, they gazed directly into his, and he felt as if she could see right through him. Putting on his “court face,” he raised his eyebrows, silently demanding that she get to the point.

She sat on her own chair and laced her fingers together on top of the stack of papers, the expression in her eyes serious enough to boost his anxiety level. “Something happened with Kitty today.”

A burning sensation of dread invaded Jack’s stomach. The last time someone had said that phrase to him, he’d lost Gina. Kitty was all he had left now. She was the very best part of his life, and something had happened to her? No. Oh, please, God, no.

He wanted to lunge to his feet and demand an explanation, but he’d learned the hard way that excessive displays of emotion created problems rather than solving them. It took every bit of his willpower to remain seated, ignore the screaming in his head and unclench his jaw enough to speak. “Is she all right? What happened? Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

Despite his effort to hide it, his voice must have given his anxiety away. Ms. Walsh raised her hands, palms out, patting the air in a calming gesture. “It wasn’t that kind of an emergency, Mr. Granger. Kitty’s fine physically. Her emotional state is another matter.”

That was it? Ms. Walsh had made his whole world shudder and it was just this touchy-feely emotional crud again? He should have pretended he hadn’t received her message and stayed at work. But he was here now, and he knew Ms. Walsh would not let the issue rest until she’d gotten it out of her system. He might as well hear her out.

He leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed one ankle over the other. “What’s wrong with Kitty’s emotional state?”

Ms. Walsh raised her chin as if she knew he wasn’t going to take her concerns seriously. “She’s still having problems here at school. We’ve discussed this before.”

Dizzy with relief and irritated at the same time, Jack repeated her standard lecture about his daughter. “Right. She’s too quiet and withdrawn, she doesn’t pay attention in class and I need to spend more time with her. I got all of that the last time I was here, and we’ve done every single thing you’ve said to do. What happened today?”

“We made Mother’s Day gifts.”

Anger roared through him, and he felt a muscle twitch on the side of his jaw. Damn, he should have remembered how close Mother’s Day was. But of all the insensitive stunts for a teacher to pull…. “And you’re surprised that caused a problem? For Pete’s sake, what did you expect?” he demanded. “Her mother is dead.”

Ms. Walsh’s cheeks flushed crimson and her eyes glinted with temper, but her voice remained commendably calm. “I’m aware of that. She’s not my only student who’s missing a parent. I always provide an alternative activity for children who are in that position, but Kitty chose to make the Mother’s Day gift.”

“She did?”

Ms. Walsh nodded. “She was quite insistent about it, in fact. And then—” an expression of deep sadness flitted across Ms. Walsh’s face “—then she tried to give it to me.”

Shocked by the thought of Kitty doing such a thing in the first place, and with her teacher of all people in the second, Jack sat back in his chair and stared at Ms. Walsh. “Did you accept it?”

“I didn’t think that was a good idea,” she said. “I told her she could save it for her grandmother or give it to you.”

“That’s what upset her?”

Ms. Walsh shook her head. “She didn’t get upset.”

Jack frowned. “You called me in here to tell me that you’re upset because Kitty didn’t get upset?”

Ms. Walsh nodded again.

“Why?” he asked, not at all sure he really wanted to hear the answer. Women had such a bizarre sense of logic sometimes, especially when they talked about emotions. Ms. Walsh rolled her eyes at the ceiling as if he were the dimwit, then held out her hands to him in some sort of a plea, the meaning of which eluded him.

Great. Now she’d start waving her hands around like a Shakespearean actor. God, somebody, anybody, please, save him from overly dramatic females.

“If Kitty had cried or acted out in some way, I could have comforted her,” she said, “or we could have talked about her feelings.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“It would if you had a heart,” Ms. Walsh grumbled under her breath.

“Excuse me, I didn’t hear that.” Of course he had heard the remark, but he wanted to see if she had the nerve to repeat it.

Exasperation entered her voice, faint but still detectable. “It wasn’t important.”

Obviously it was important to her, but he didn’t intend to prolong this conversation one instant longer than necessary. He probably wouldn’t understand the mumbo-jumbo, pop-psychology-ridden explanation she would throw at him, anyway. “I still don’t see the problem. What, exactly, did Kitty say?”

“She didn’t say anything. She just turned away, crumpled up her Mother’s Day gift and dropped it into the trash can.” Ms. Walsh sighed. “I’ve never seen a child look so miserable and resigned. Please, Mr. Granger, believe me when I tell you that Kitty needs professional help.”

Jack wanted to yell, but forced himself to speak softly. At least he knew that emotions belonged under wraps, not cluttering up an important conversation. “Don’t start that therapy nonsense again.” He thumped his forefinger on the desk for emphasis. “I’ve told you before, we tried it after her mother died, and it only made things worse for Kitty.”

“In what way?”

“In every way.” He cast his mind back to the months following Gina’s funeral. Night after night, his daughter had cried herself to sleep, only to awaken in the wee hours, screaming with nightmares. Nothing he’d tried had comforted her, and he’d never felt more helpless, more useless in his life. “It just didn’t work.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t now,” she said. “Maybe Kitty was too young then or the counselor’s personality didn’t click with hers. If she needs help—”

Finding it difficult not to leap to his feet and pace, Jack interrupted. “She doesn’t. All she needs is more time.”

“It’s been two years since her mother’s death. If Kitty was going to recover on her own, don’t you think she would have shown more progress by now?”

“It takes as long as it takes. There’s no set timetable for grieving.” God knows, it had taken him a long time even to begin to accept Gina’s death. It wasn’t any surprise to him that it would take Kitty longer.

Ms. Walsh inhaled deeply, and Jack suspected she was counting to ten. Seeing her rein in her emotions certainly was a switch, as was the calm, well-modulated tone she used next. Had someone been coaching her? Perhaps Ms. Walsh had gone to irritation-management classes.

“Of course, there isn’t,” she said, “but sometimes people need a little help with this kind of an adjustment. The social worker here does wonderful work with grieving children. I could get Kitty in to see her early next week.”

“No.”

She blinked, then shot him a startled glance as if she couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to add a sentence of justification she could refute. Too bad. Creating and tolerating uncomfortable silences was part of his job.

“That won’t do, Mr. Granger.” Her voice gained volume with every word. “It won’t do at all. Whatever is going on with Kitty, it’s draining the sparkle and life right out of her, and it’s taking a serious toll on her schoolwork.”

Jack smiled inwardly. Whoever got angry first always lost the argument. “I’m beginning to think that maybe you don’t know as much about children as you think you do, Ms. Walsh. I’ve done everything you’ve suggested—”

She cut him off with an impatient chop of one hand. “I know you’ve tried, but it’s simply not enough. As it stands now, I can’t promote Kitty to second grade unless she develops some concentration and catches up. She’s too far behind the other children.”

“What?” Dammit, even he had a limit to the amount of aggravation he could take at one sitting. Pushing back his chair, he stood again, straightening to his full height. “You’ve never said that before and the school year’s almost over. Why did you wait so long?”

Ms. Walsh rose and tipped her head way back to meet his gaze. The top of her head didn’t even reach his shoulder, but if his height advantage bothered her, he couldn’t detect it.

“Like you, I’ve been hoping Kitty would come around,” she said. “She’s an extremely bright little girl, but she spends most of the day staring off into space and refusing to participate in class activities with the other children. She’s not retaining what she does manage to learn from one day to the next, and she needs to stay on task until she finishes her assignments.”

“You are not going to hold her back,” Jack insisted. “I’ll go to the principal, the superintendent of public instruction, or the president of the school board if I have to, but you will not hold her back.”

The look she gave him could have melted granite. “Go right ahead,” she said, mimicking his posture and his soft, deadly tone. “They’ll tell you that first grade is absolutely vital to her future academic success.”

“Give me a break. She’s only six years old.” He propped his hands on his hips. “What’s so important about the first grade that it can ruin the rest of her school career?”

“Oh, nothing much. First grade is only where they learn to read. And do simple arithmetic and a whole lot of other things that Kitty isn’t getting.”

Ms. Walsh waved one hand in front of her body as if to encompass the entire room. “It may not seem like much to you, but for the next eleven years everything she studies will build on what she’s supposed to learn here. If she doesn’t conquer the basics now, she’ll struggle through every class she ever takes. Is that what you want for her?”

For a long, excruciating moment, he remained silent, feeling ashamed of himself for taking a cheap shot at a woman who, even though she annoyed the devil out of him, obviously cared a great deal about his daughter. “Of course I don’t want that.”

Jack felt a knot of fire in the center of his chest. He stepped away from the visitor’s chair, wanting to leave and regroup before he said something he’d regret. “I’ll have to take this under advisement.” He pushed back his cuff and glanced at his watch. “I need to be home in fifteen minutes. I’ll let you know what I decide.”

“Hold it right there!” She scrambled out from behind her desk as if she had some notion of blocking his path. “We’re not finished. I need a better answer than that.”

“I said,” he said through gritted teeth, “I’ll get back to you.”

She narrowed her eyes and stuck out her chin. “When?”

“Will next week be soon enough for you?” He turned and started for the doorway.

“No, it will not.” She hurried after him. “None of this is for me, Mr. Granger. It’s for Kitty. Can’t you see that your child is suffering? And you’re just letting it go on and on. She deserves better from you than you’re giving her.”

Literally seeing red at her accusations, he came to an abrupt halt and turned back around to face her. “Do you have any children, Ms. Walsh?”

She paled, and for the first time, her gaze failed to meet his. “No, I don’t.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound, even to his own ears. “Why am I not surprised? It’s always easy to criticize what you don’t understand, isn’t it.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you.” She reached out, as if she would touch his arm. He stepped back out of range and waited until she lowered her hand to her side.

“Well, you did. And let me tell you, being a parent is a lot harder than it looks to people who’ve never tried it. Before you start throwing around remarks like that, maybe you should get married and try having a kid of your own.”

Ignoring her horrified expression, he strode out of the room and down the hallway, and slammed through the school’s front doors. He desperately wanted to get in his car and drive as fast and as far away from this school, Ms. Walsh and all of Spokane, Washington, as possible, and never come back. But he couldn’t give up and run away.

Though he might be a miserable failure as a father, he was all Kitty had. And he was going to do right by her—whatever that meant.

Shading her eyes against the bright sunshine during recess the next morning, Abby Walsh watched Kitty Granger and felt an immediate, all-too-familiar tug at her heart. The little girl sat on the concrete step with her back against the school building, her skinny legs hugged tightly to her chest, her chin resting on her knees, lost in some lonely world only she could see.

Turning to her best friend, Erin Johnson, Abby asked, “Is it just me, or is that kid in serious trouble?”

Erin snorted, then stared at Abby in obvious disbelief. “Well, duh. That’s hardly normal behavior for a six-year-old.”

Abby allowed herself to relax a smidgeon. A child psychologist with a thriving practice, Erin always called things exactly the way she saw them. If Erin saw a problem, there must be one. Still, Abby couldn’t stop herself from asking for more reassurance. “You’re positive it’s not just me?”

“Your instincts are usually right on target when it comes to kids. Why doubt yourself now?”

“You’ve never met Kitty’s daddy, Granger the Grump.” Abby glanced back toward the playground, automatically counting heads. First graders were so unpredictable when they went outside, a teacher couldn’t be too careful about keeping track of them. “When I’ve talked to him about getting her into counseling, he’s always convinced me I was overreacting. I needed an expert opinion to be sure I wasn’t imagining anything.”

Erin inclined her head toward Kitty. “She should be playing, but she’s just sitting there all by herself. She’s not even watching the other kids, and she looks so sad, I can’t believe she’s not crying.”

“Do you think she’s clinically depressed?”

“It’s impossible to be sure without talking to her, which we both know I can’t do without her father’s permission,” Erin said with a grimace.

Abby gave Erin’s forearm a squeeze. “Just give me your best professional guess.”

“My best professional guess is that the poor child is depressed and probably has been since her mother died,” Erin replied. “She’s showing classic symptoms, and God knows she’s got a good reason to be depressed. At the very least, she needs an assessment.”

“Thanks.” Abby breathed a soft sigh of relief to have her own perceptions verified. “How do I convince her hardheaded father to change his mind about counseling?”

Erin shot her a wry smile. “Remember he’s a prosecutor, which means he’s probably a just-the-facts kind of a guy. Don’t get emotional when you talk to him or he’ll turn you off.”

Abby rolled her eyes toward heaven, then admitted, “Well, it’s already too late for that. I think his face would crack if he actually smiled. Every time I call him in for a conference, he acts like I’m imposing on his precious time. I’m telling you, he’s a royal pain in the—”

“This isn’t about you or grumpy Mr. Granger,” Erin interrupted. “It’s about a little girl who needs help.”

Wincing, Abby pretended to look behind Erin. “Where do you keep it?”

“Keep what?”

“That guilt cannon you just fired at me.”

Erin chuckled. “Hit the target, did I?”

“Dead center,” Abby confessed. “And you’re right. It’s about Kitty.”

“What happened with him yesterday?”

Abby shrugged, then looked away. “I lost my temper and sort of let my mouth run away without my brain.”

“You’ve got to stop doing that, Ab. How bad was it?”

Abby replayed the conversation, editing out his parting shot. Erin remained quiet, clearly allowing Abby’s words to echo in her mind.

Abby sighed when the silence stretched out, then finally said, “I really blew it, didn’t I.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“What can I do?”

“He might appreciate an apology.”

“Well, so would I.” Abby bit off an indignant huff. “I could have handled it better, but he wasn’t exactly Mr. Nice Guy, either.”

“Abby,” Erin chided. “What are you going to do for Kitty’s sake?”

“Well, I could write him a note tonight, and he’ll get it on Monday.”

“Why wait until Monday?” Erin said in a calm, infuriating manner. “That gives him a whole weekend to build up his defenses, and it’s exactly what a man like your grump would expect.”

“He’s not my grump,” Abby protested. “He’s not my anything, thank heaven. Where are you going with this?”

Erin fell silent for a moment, then said, “Do something he won’t expect. Push him off balance for once.”

“I’d rather push him off a cliff.” When Erin simply stared at her in response, Abby gave in. “All right, it’s hard to imagine him off balance, but I’ll bite. What won’t he expect?”

“You’ve always met with him at school,” Erin said. “Why don’t you invade his turf for a change?”

“What?” Abby yelped, appalled at the idea.

“It’s perfect. Show up at his house tonight with an apology and a plate of cookies as a peace offering.”

“He’ll throw me off his property.”

“Mr. Dignified, Public Servant Granger?” Erin laughed. “He will not. He’ll have to be gracious, and you’ll get a chance to see what he and Kitty are like at home. You can collect a lot of information from a home visit.”

“And you’d be happy to interpret that information for me.”

“Absolutely,” Erin agreed. “Are you willing to try it?”

Abby considered the question, wondering where she would find the courage to deal with Granger the Grump twice in one week.

“All right, I’ll do it. And this time, I’ll be absolutely logical and businesslike, if it kills me.”

Abby glanced at Kitty again. She was a beautiful child with fine, shiny black hair no ponytail holder could contain for long, sad brown eyes, an adorable little nose and a sweet bow mouth that rarely smiled. “She’s the sweetest little girl in the world, and I can’t stand seeing her look so lost and alone all the time.”

“She’s his daughter, Ab.”

Abby stiffened. “I’m not likely to forget that. But what kind of a father can’t see what’s happening to his own child?”

“Don’t be so judgmental,” Erin scolded her. “He’s probably struggling to get through one day at a time, like most other single parents. He still may be suffering with his own grief. Or he may be in denial. None of which makes him a bad father.”

Sniffing, Abby crossed her arms over her breasts. “Well, there is no way I’m going to back off and let him ruin that child.”

Erin pinned her with a stare. “I thought you weren’t going to get involved with your students anymore.”

“I’m not.”

“Then who was that warrior-woman I just heard? Mighty defender of the girl-child and all that?”

Abby turned her head away. “You imagined her.”

“If it looks like a duck and it quacks like a duck…” Erin uttered a wry laugh. “I think maybe we should reconsider the idea of your going to his house.”

“Don’t be such a worrywart.” Abby smiled and squeezed Erin’s arm again. “I’m just going to convince Mr. Granger to hire you as Kitty’s therapist. You’ll take wonderful care of her, and I’ll be able to leave Spokane knowing she’s going to be all right.”

“And you’ll stop at recommending me? You promise you won’t get any more involved with the Grangers than that?”

“It depends on Mr. Granger and Kitty.”

Erin shot her a worried look. “Abby—”

Abby let out an exasperated huff. “Trust me, there’s no danger of starting a personal relationship that could become a problem later. I’m a professional. I know what I’m doing.”