Читать книгу Handprints - MYRNA TEMTE - Страница 11

Can’t you see that your child is suffering?

“No, she’s not,” Jack muttered as he drove home on Friday night. He knew about suffering from first-hand experience. Kitty had suffered the most when she’d been in therapy before, dammit, but Ms. Walsh didn’t understand that. Or maybe she just didn’t want to believe it.

Wishing he could strangle someone, he tightened his fingers around the steering wheel until his knuckles hurt. He’d gone over his meeting with Ms. Walsh in his mind a hundred times since yesterday, but her words continued to haunt him.

And you’re just letting it go on and on.

“Oh, you’re so damn smug,” he said. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what she went through.”

She deserves better from you than you’re giving her.

“Yeah, well, so what else is new? I’m doing the best I can, but it’ll never be enough. It’ll never be as good as what Gina could’ve done for her, either. And there’s not much I can do about that, is there?”

He crossed the Little Spokane River and pulled into his long, gravel driveway, a sense of inadequacy chomping at his insides in spite of all his muttering. Parking beside the 1940s farmhouse he and Gina had started to remodel, he got out of the car and stood there for a moment, waiting for the inevitable pang of loss and loneliness to ease. God, he still missed her, for his own sake as well as his daughter’s.

Gina had been more than a wife to him. She’d been his soul mate. They’d been high school sweethearts, they’d given their virginity to each other. He’d never been with another woman, had never wanted anyone else.

He knew it was time now to move on. Knew that Gina wouldn’t want or expect him to spend the rest of his life alone. But it was hard.

He told himself to stop wallowing in his grief and think about something else. Surveying his property, he grimaced at what he saw. There was still so much to be done. But between his job and taking care of Kitty, he never had any time to start a home-improvement project, much less finish one.

The back door banged open and Millie Patten, his housekeeper and baby-sitter, stepped out onto the stoop, propping her hands on her ample hips. Jack took one look at her disappointed expression and bit back a curse. Great. Just what he needed—another dose of guilt.

Millie was a sweet, hardworking woman. She reminded him of a grandmother or a great-aunt who loves you without reservation, but at the same time feels compelled to “help” you correct all your major and minor faults. It was all done with the best of intentions and in the most loving possible way, of course. Loving, like a defense lawyer on a crusade.

“Oh, Jack.” she said, drawing out each syllable in a soft tone that made him feel ten times worse than a scolding one would have. “Do you have any idea what time it is, dear?”

Sometimes the woman drove him nuts with her unsolicited advice, but her job had been damn hard to fill. Unlike too many of her predecessors, she was competent and reliable, and she dearly loved Kitty. That was all that really mattered.

“Sorry, Millie,” he said. “I’ll do better next week.”

“That’s what you always say,” she replied. “But you’re still late nearly every night, and it isn’t right.”

“Well, at least I’m good for the overtime.”

She sadly shook her head at him. “That’s not the point, dear. You need to spend more time with Kitty. And you need to stop burying yourself in work and get a social life of your own.”

Jack approached her, the fingers of his left hand locked around the handle of his briefcase in a punishing grip. “If I had a social life, I wouldn’t be able to spend as much time with Kitty as I do now.”

“At least you’d have some hope of finding her a mother.”

“Millie, please. I appreciate your concern, but you’ll just have to let me worry about that. All right?”

She turned on the run-down heel of the athletic shoes she always wore and marched back into the house. Jack followed her inside, calculated what he owed her for the week and handed her a check. “I’ll see you Monday morning.”

“All right. But do try to play with Kitty this weekend. She needs your attention.”

He shut the door behind her and jabbed one hand through his hair in frustration. Jeez. Did she really think he intended to ignore his daughter all weekend? Loosening his tie with one hand, he flipped through the stack of mail, then carried the bills and his briefcase into the den.

The massive desk and the files he’d brought home called to him, enticing him to escape from the upheaval in his personal life to the sanctuary of work. Compared to the constant ambiguity of raising a child, the law was blessedly clear.

The sound of the television drifted into the den from the family room. Draping his coat and tie over the back of his chair, he went to find Kitty, rolling up his shirtsleeves on the way. As expected, she was curled up on the overstuffed sofa, staring at the TV as if entranced.

Jack crossed the room. Kitty looked up at him with Gina’s brown eyes, but didn’t speak. Her eyes were huge in her small, pale face, and her ponytail holder had slipped over to one side of her head. There must be a trick to putting those things in so they’d stay put, but he hadn’t yet found it.

“Hi, Kitten,” he said. “What are you up to?”

Kitty shrugged one shoulder, then inclined her head toward the television. “Watching kid shows.”

He glanced at the TV. A weird-looking creature with blue fur and googly eyes cavorted across the screen with a group of children. “So I see. Is this a good one?”

She shrugged the same shoulder. He searched for another topic, but drew a blank. How this could happen to him, he didn’t know. Every day he talked to all kinds of people, from defendants and their attorneys, to cops and judges, to crime victims and their families, but he couldn’t even make decent chitchat with his own daughter.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Wrinkling her nose, Kitty shook her head. “Not very.”

He checked his watch. “It’s past your dinnertime.”

Kitty bounced her left leg against the sofa in a quick, rhythmic pattern. “Can’t help it, Daddy. I’m just not hungry.”

“Did you have a snack after school?”

“Uh-uh. Didn’t want one.”

Studying her with a more critical eye, Jack frowned. Her face was painfully thin. So were her arms and legs. Had she lost weight or just grown? He wasn’t sure, but he knew she looked too scrawny to be healthy. When had that happened? He could have sworn she’d looked fine when he’d driven her to school that morning. Frustrated that he hadn’t noticed the change in her appearance sooner, he held out a hand to her.

“Well, I’m starving. Come and set the table for me. Maybe that’ll help you work up an appetite.”

Kitty slowly sat up. Then, with obvious reluctance, she pushed herself to her feet, but made no move to take his hand. Assuming she would follow, Jack walked back to the kitchen.

This was the one completely renovated room in the whole house, and though he was an indifferent cook, he appreciated the modern, efficient layout Gina had created. He washed his hands at the faucet, then pulled a step stool up to the sink for Kitty while he rummaged through the pantry and the refrigerator.

Ugh. He didn’t feel like cooking. A burger or a taco or a pizza sounded great, but he’d been studying nutrition lately—at Millie’s urging. Kitty needed fresh, healthy food, not an overdose of salt and saturated fat. He pulled out the green salad Millie had made, a package of chicken breasts, fresh broccoli and potatoes for the microwave.

Kitty set the table, dragging herself back and forth between the table and the cupboards. Watching her covertly, Jack felt increasingly alarmed. In one of his child-rearing books he’d read that six-year-old kids were supposed to run around and drive their parents crazy with about a thousand questions a day. So why wasn’t Kitty doing that?

Dammit, he’d worked so hard to learn how to be a good parent. And now, because of Ms. Busybody Walsh, he was seeing problems everywhere he looked.

But what if Kitty really was suffering, and he wasn’t seeing it because he didn’t want to see it? Was that even possible?

He hated the familiar worry clamoring for his attention, dreaded the sleepless nights he knew would follow. Thank you, Ms. Walsh. Why couldn’t that woman mind her own damn business?

At seven-thirty Abby climbed into her red Bronco, drove north on Division Street and made her way to Little Spokane River Drive where the Grangers lived. The sun was almost to the western horizon, filling the sky with a soft, reddish glow. The air was cool and sweet, the scenery pretty as the road cut through alternating sections of productive farmland and new residential developments.

There were some big, beautiful homes out here, but she wondered how a public official like Mr. Granger could afford the steep prices the area demanded. Maybe he’d inherited a lot of money, or his wife had carried a hefty life insurance policy. Or maybe his family had owned one of the original homesteads.

It was none of her business, of course, but a healthy dose of curiosity rarely hurt anyone, and it made life much more interesting. The two-lane road followed the dips and rises of the spring-green foothills and the sparkling curves of the river. Abby rolled down the window, drinking in the soft, country sounds of birds and the rich, earthy smells of farm animals and freshly plowed fields.

Two miles later she spotted a barn-shaped mailbox painted with the distinctive black-and-white spots of a Holstein cow. Wrought-iron numbers bearing the Grangers’ address stretched across the top. She crossed the small bridge and drove down a long, gravel driveway into the farmyard. Turning off the engine, she sat behind the steering wheel and studied the property with interest.

She had expected an imposing, immaculate house and perfectly manicured grounds judging from Mr. Granger’s impeccable appearance and rigid personality. But while the white, two-story clapboard house was certainly imposing, its barren front porch and empty flower beds gave it a sad aura that reminded her of Kitty. Despite its neglected appearance, however, it had great potential to look homey and inviting.

If it were hers, she would spend the summer decorating that big front porch with wind chimes and wicker furniture with bright, even gaudy cushions, and filling those flower beds with color and life.

Abby slung her school satchel over her shoulder, then grabbed the plastic-wrapped plate of chocolate chip cookies and climbed out of the Bronco. Her stomach tightened with apprehension, but she straightened her spine and set off across the yard. Bracing herself for unpleasantness, she knocked on the door.

Seconds later she heard footsteps, the door swung inward and Granger the Grouch stood in the opening. On a purely physical basis, she found Jack Granger extremely attractive. His features were rugged enough to make his face really interesting. Though they were usually cold and distant, his blue eyes revealed a fierce intelligence that fascinated her.

She preferred men who weren’t quite so big, but she had to admit she’d admired his broad shoulders, narrow waist and long limbs more than once. Even a suit and tie couldn’t hide such a fit, well-defined physique.

His evening beard had sprouted. He still wore his suit pants, but the coat and tie were missing and his white shirt hung open at the neck. All the way down to the third button. The V of chest exposed was tanned and matted with crisp dark hair. Oh, goodness, that slightly rumpled look was an improvement.

“You,” he said, leaving no doubt whatsoever that finding her on his porch was anything but a nice surprise.

She smiled at him. “Hello, Mr. Granger.”

“What are you doing here?”

Abby cleared her throat and forced herself to meet his angry gaze. Uh-oh. She pulled herself up to her full height, imagined herself taller. Much, much taller. None of it eased the tension crackling between them. She shoved the cookies toward his midsection. He grabbed for the plate, fumbled with it when she yanked her hand away too quickly, but saved it before it hit the floor.

“I brought a peace offering,” she said, while he was still juggling the plate. “I want to apologize for yesterday. I’m just…” She paused, groping for exactly the right words to express herself in a way he would not only understand, but accept. “I look at Kitty and she’s such a sweet little girl and I see so much potential in her, I’m extremely frustrated to see her floundering.”

“And you think I’m not?”

Abby held her palms in front of her shoulders, hoping that small gesture could soothe his irritation. “Of course you are. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I think there’s another avenue to explore in order to help Kitty, but I know you’re a caring father who’s doing his best in what must be a very difficult situation. I let my frustration and temper get the better of me, and I really am sorry for the way I spoke to you.”

The stiffness in his posture eased fractionally, and his voice lost its hard edge. “I appreciate your apology.”

She reached into the satchel, pulled out the sheaf of papers she’d brought along and handed them to him. This time she didn’t have to force a smile. He didn’t return it, but he studied her mouth as if he realized there was something new or different he should notice. Her lips tingled.

“This is a copy of our school district’s learning targets for first grade,” she said, pretending not to see the way he startled at the sound of her voice. “It lists everything Kitty should be able to do in order to move on to second grade.”

He set the cookies on something inside, then leafed through the first five sheets, his eyes opening wider with each page before he looked at her again. “All of this?”

Abby nodded. “And that’s just the district’s requirements. We also have EARLS, or Essential Academic Learning Requirements, and Benchmarks from the State Board of Education.”

“May I study this?” he asked.

“Keep it. I can always print another one off the district’s Web site. I thought it would give you a more realistic idea of how much Kitty still needs to learn before I can promote her.”

“I see.”

“Ms. Walsh?”

Abby glanced down and discovered a wide-eyed Kitty standing beside her father. The little girl wore the same pink shorts outfit she’d had on at school, and she was gazing up at Abby with a tentative grin that made Abby’s arms ache to hug her.

“Did you come to visit me?” Kitty asked.

Abby automatically crouched down until she was at eye level with the little girl. “I brought your daddy some papers and some cookies, too.”

“Really?” Kitty said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Abby replied. “They’ll taste great with some milk.”

“Are you gonna eat them with me?”

Seeing more animation in the little girl’s face than she had in weeks, Abby hesitated. She would love to accept the invitation to gather information for Erin, as well as for Kitty’s sake, but Mr. Granger’s warning scowl squelched that idea. She didn’t want to push her luck too far, after all. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but I shouldn’t.”

Kitty craned her neck to look up at her father. “Ask her to stay, Daddy.”

“Ms. Walsh already said she can’t,” he said, his tone calm and quiet.

Kitty raised her chin to an uncommonly stubborn angle; Abby had rarely seen her care about anything enough to make a fuss. “But she’ll stay if you ask her. I know she will.”

Clearly surprised and not a little dismayed by his daughter’s argument, it was Mr. Granger’s turn to hesitate. While he obviously didn’t want to invite her into his house, he just as obviously didn’t want to disappoint Kitty, either. He looked so torn, Abby almost laughed.

“Well, Ms. Walsh?” he finally said, his voice little more than a grumble. “Would you like to come in for cookies?”

Abby couldn’t help chuckling at his grudging invitation. “Hey, when you put it that way, I’m never too busy to have a cookie with one of my favorite students.”

Kitty raised her head and gaped at Abby. The smile of sheer delight that immediately spread across the little girl’s face made the whole trip out here worth it, as far as Abby was concerned. Kitty dashed forward, took Abby’s hand and tugged her toward the threshold.

Abby took a couple of steps, halting when she realized Mr. Granger hadn’t moved. He looked huge, disgruntled and about as movable as a boulder. With his broad shoulders and his feet spread wide apart, he filled up most of the doorway. She wondered if he was having second thoughts about inviting her in. Or maybe he was using his size in an attempt to intimidate her, reminding her of who was in charge here.

She was ashamed to admit, even to herself, that it was working. It annoyed her to no end because she usually paid little attention to anyone else’s size in relation to her own. To her mind, she wasn’t overly short; other people were overly tall. But whenever she had to talk to Mr. Granger, she always felt like a Chihuahua yapping at a Great Dane.

Too bad for him, she’d die before he would ever see it.

Plastering a smile on her lips, she turned sideways and followed Kitty inside. Though she tightened her muscles when she passed him, her breasts still brushed against his abdomen. He felt as hard and solid as that boulder she’d imagined. It had been so long since she’d had even this much contact with a man’s body, the instant shock of sexual awareness froze her in place.

His harshly drawn breath drew her gaze to his. To her amazement, she saw that same shocked awareness she was experiencing reflected in his eyes. He immediately stepped back, leaving enough space for a shopping cart to pass through without touching either of them. His gaze remained locked with hers, however, and she found it impossible to break eye contact.

Finally, Kitty gave her hand an impatient jerk, pulling Abby through the doorway and breaking the spell. Feeling an unfortunate urge to laugh hysterically, Abby grabbed the plate of cookies from an entryway table and allowed the little girl to lead her away.

They walked through a formal living room. It was furnished with classic, conservative pieces of furniture covered in earth-toned, practical fabrics that suited the Grump’s personality, but horrified Abby. Good heavens, it all blended as beautifully as a magazine layout, but the whole room desperately needed more light and color, and it was painfully neat. Far too neat for a sane adult, much less anyone raising a young child.

Didn’t this kid own any toys?

The kitchen was more of the same cool perfection, though it clearly had been designed with a woman’s convenience in mind. It was impossible to imagine making enough of a mess in this room to cook anything that didn’t come in a microwavable package. Abby blinked, then shivered.

“Come on, Ms. Walsh.” Releasing Abby’s hand, Kitty ran across the kitchen, dragged a step stool over to the refrigerator and opened the door. “I’ll get the milk.”

Abby quickly deposited the cookies on the table and hurried to Kitty’s side to lend her a hand if she needed one. When Mr. Granger entered the room, she ignored him. He walked to one of the cupboards, took out three small plates and three glasses, and carried them to the table, his movements brisk and efficient.

She didn’t catch a whiff of his subtle aftershave, notice he looked tired or feel one bit distracted because he still hadn’t fastened those three buttons on his shirt. She didn’t even see that tanned slice of bare chest playing peek-a-boo as he moved around the room. No, siree. What a liar she was.

Annoyed by her adolescent, inappropriate reactions to him, Abby said, “I’m afraid those glasses won’t do, Mr. Granger.”

He shot her an incredulous look, as if he couldn’t believe she had the nerve to question his judgment. Well, too bad. It was his own fault for distracting her.

“What’s wrong with them?” he asked.

“They’re too tall.”

“Too tall for what?”

“For dunking cookies, of course,” Abby replied. “Shorter cups work much better.”

“We don’t dunk cookies at our house,” he said flatly.

“Mommy used to let me sometimes,” Kitty said, her voice so soft that it was barely audible. Setting the milk carton on the table, she climbed onto one of the straight-backed wooden chairs, twisted her fingers together in her lap and looked at them. “She said I should only do it at home, but cookies taste better that way.”

Mr. Granger stared at her. After a moment, he swallowed, then abruptly returned to the cupboards, put the glasses away and brought three mugs back to the table.

Having glimpsed real pain in his eyes, Abby set out to give him a moment to collect himself. She stripped the plastic wrap off the paper plate and offered it to the little girl. “Well, now, Miss Kitty, would you care to try one of these super-duper chocolate chip numbers?”

“Yes, please.” She carefully selected a cookie and placed it neatly in the center of her plate.

Abby winced inside. Erin had been right about how much a person could learn about a family from an in-home visit. No six-year-old child should be this perfect. Making a tsking sound, she sadly shook her head.

“Oh, that poor little cookie looks so lonely sitting there all by itself. I think you’d better take another one to keep it company.”

Kitty gave her a shy grin, then looked to her father for permission. Nodding, he gently touched her hair. “Go ahead, Kitten. No telling what a lonely cookie might do.”

Swallowing at a lump that had suddenly invaded her own throat, Abby held the plate until Kitty selected another cookie. Jeez, it wasn’t fair for the Grump to call his daughter Kitten and stroke her hair as if she were the most fragile, precious thing in his world. If he kept that up, Abby might actually have to start liking him, which would only confuse the heck out of her.

Abby served herself a cookie and sat down beside Kitty. Mr. Granger filled the cups and sat on the opposite side of the table. He selected a cookie for himself, then looked directly at Abby, his expression clearly saying, All right. What next?

Abby smiled, more than happy to accept his silent challenge. Maintaining eye contact, she dunked a cookie halfway into her cup, let it soak up the cold milk and quickly stuffed it into her mouth, closing her eyes and making noises of ecstasy as the flavors hit her taste buds.

“Mmm, mmm, mmm.”

Giggling, Kitty followed her example.

Mr. Granger watched them both with a wry smile. When he finally began to eat his own cookie, he didn’t join in with the dunking fun, but he didn’t say anything to discourage Kitty’s fun, either. Abby would have given a great deal to know what he was thinking, but she focused her attention where it belonged—on Kitty.

Kitty took forever to finish her snack, but at last she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, which, in Abby’s opinion, was more appropriate for a little girl than the paper napkin her father had given her.

With shining eyes, Kitty turned to Abby. “Would you like to see my bedroom, Ms. Walsh?”

“We’ve already taken up enough of Ms. Walsh’s time,” Mr. Granger said.

The little girl shot her father a rebellious scowl and crossed her arms over her chest. “But I want Ms. Walsh to see my room.”

“It’s almost your bedtime, Kitten. Go upstairs and get ready, and I’ll be up to read to you in a few minutes.”

Kitty looked to Abby, obviously hoping that she would overrule her father, but Abby suddenly saw a bone-deep weariness in his eyes and slowly shook her head. “Your daddy’s right. I do need to get home. I’ll see you on Monday, okay?”

Abby held her breath, hoping that Kitty would argue for what she wanted, and for a moment, the little girl looked as if she just might do it. But then her eyes stopped shining, her shoulders slumped, and she murmured, “Okay, Ms. Walsh. Thank you for the cookies.”

“You’re welcome, honey. I’m glad you liked them.”

Picking up her plate and mug, Kitty carried them to the sink and left the room. The poor little scrap looked so much like a deflated balloon, Abby had to blink back tears. The tension in the kitchen grew to painful proportions while they studied each other across the table, waiting for Kitty to get out of earshot. Finally, the sound of running water filtered down from upstairs.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For staying. It meant a lot to Kitty.”

“I wanted her to know she’s important to me,” Abby said. “And I didn’t want her to worry that I was upset with her because I turned down her Mother’s Day gift.”

“I appreciate that. She obviously likes you.”

He didn’t say that he didn’t like her, but the implication was there in the air between them. Yet he seemed more open to a discussion about Kitty now than he had earlier. Abby took a deep breath, then plunged right in.

“Look, Mr. Granger, we’re supposed to be on the same side, here. Don’t you think we can find a way to work together to help Kitty?”

“You’d think so.” He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, then reached for another cookie. “We don’t seem to agree on much, though.”

“We don’t have to.” Abby tilted her head to one side, shaking it when he offered her the cookie plate. “I thought the way Kitty acted tonight was promising.”

“In what way?”

“It was refreshing to see her act so much like a regular kid tonight.”

“Well, she is a regular kid.”

Abby gaped at him. “How can you say that after seeing what just happened to her?”

“Nothing happened to her. What are you talking about?”

“She was giggly and lively for a while. She used to be that way all the time, didn’t she?”

Impatience—or perhaps it was defensiveness—sharpened his voice. “What’s your point?”

“Tonight I saw the little girl I’ll bet Kitty used to be. She needs to become that little girl again if she’s going to have a happy life. She should be animated and obnoxious and argue for what she wants like any other kid, instead of being that overly polite, sad little ghost who just left the room.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not. You sat right there and saw it yourself. When you refused to let me see her room, all of that life and fun drained right out of her.”

“Are you saying that I should never say no to her?”

“Of course not. But would it really have hurt—”

“Ms. Walsh,” he interrupted. “We’re not going to get anywhere with this tonight, so you’ll have to excuse me. Thank you for your concern, but I need to go and take care of my daughter.”

“Fine.” Abby carried her plate and mug to the sink and set them beside Kitty’s.

Mr. Granger escorted her to the front door and held it open for her. Unable to resist, she pointed at the stack of papers he’d left sitting on the entry table. “Do study those learning targets, and you’ll see how much farther Kitty needs to go. If you change your mind about getting her into counseling, let me know. I have several excellent people I can recommend.”

“Good night, Ms. Walsh.”

“Good night, Mr. Granger.”

She hurried down the steps, climbed into her Bronco and turned the key in the ignition, pausing a moment to take one last look at the Grangers’ house. Mr. Granger had already gone inside and shut the front door. There were lights on in one of the upstairs rooms, and, looking at the window, Abby could make out the shape of Kitty’s head. A little hand came up and waved at her.

Abby waved back. She still had three full weeks of school left. In that amount of time, she’d find a way to help Kitty, whether Mr. Granger liked it or not. And while she was at it, she was going to help him, too.

He’d always seemed so strong and sure of himself, she’d never actually thought of him as someone in pain. Though he obviously was in deep denial where Kitty was concerned, Abby believed there was hope for him yet. She didn’t doubt for a second that once he saw for himself what Kitty needed, he would move heaven and earth to get it for her. Now all Abby had to do was find a way to get him to see his daughter in a more realistic light.

She was going to have to behave herself, though. She couldn’t afford to fool herself about the attraction she felt for both the Grangers, but especially for Jack. A true professional wouldn’t have even noticed how sexy he could be when he wasn’t acting like a grumpface.