Читать книгу Handprints - MYRNA TEMTE - Страница 12

Three hours later, Jack sat at his desk, plowing through the files he’d brought home. He needed concentration to commit the important facts of each case to memory, but tonight it wasn’t there. He tossed down his pen in frustration, then heard a low cry coming from upstairs.

He took the stairs three at a time, entered Kitty’s room and stood watching her. She’d kicked off her covers, her hair was plastered to her forehead with perspiration and parallel tear trails glistened on her flushed cheeks. Her head thrashing back and forth, she repeatedly whimpered the one word guaranteed to rip his heart right down the middle.

“Mommyyyy.”

Kitty had cried in her sleep every night for five months after Gina’s death. The memories of that time still had the power to bring him to his knees. Lord, he couldn’t stand it if she started doing this again. He picked up Kitty and cuddled her against his chest, stroking her hair.

“Shh, Kitten,” he crooned. “It’s all right. I’m here.”

“Mommy.”

“I know, baby. I know. I miss her, too.”

Shivering, she heaved a huge, wobbly sigh, rested her cheek against his shoulder, then snuggled closer. He kissed the top of her head, rubbing her back and rocking her. When she relaxed into that boneless state only children achieve, he lay her in the middle of her bed and pulled the covers over her.

He stood there, anxiously watching. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had brought this on. He’d like to strangle that pint-size buttinsky teacher and her blasted Mother’s Day project for stirring up memories and emotions that were better left alone. Kitty shouldn’t have to suffer one more second of pain over her mother’s death.

Ms. Walsh could just butt right back out of their lives, because Kitty was all right, dammit. And he would prove it to that little woman. The best way to do that was to get Kitty caught up with the rest of her classmates.

Hurrying downstairs, he found the stack of papers Ms. Walsh had delivered, took them into the den and settled in behind his desk. Good grief, there were learning targets for reading and math, for writing, social studies, physical education, music and art, even behavior. It seemed like an awful lot of things for such little kids to have to learn in one school year.

He flipped back to the math section. “Recognizes and writes numerals from 1 to 100,” he read. “Counts sets of objects less than 100 using a variety of grouping strategies such as twos, fives and tens. Verbalizes and records addition and subtraction problems.”

The list went on. Trying to guess how many of those things Kitty could do gave him a hollow feeling in the middle of his chest. Could she do any of them? Not enough. Well, damn. They’d have to work on this stuff, of course, but what if she really couldn’t retain the things she learned? What if she truly was depressed?

No, that was ridiculous. Kitty wasn’t depressed. He would know if she was in serious trouble. Of course, he would.

Slowly and much more carefully, he reread the papers, going all the way to the bottom of the stack. The last page was the infamous Mother’s Day gift. At least, he thought that was what it must be. He held it up with both hands.

The single, wrinkled page had a recent photo of Kitty, a set of her handprints done in bright red paint and a poem.

HANDPRINTS

You like a shiny, tidy house,

And sometimes I do too.

But I have lots of things to learn,

Like tying my own shoes.

I hurry to try this and that,

And often make a mess.

But gee, I always have such fun,

’Cause, Mommy, you’re the best.

You always love my pictures,

My mud pies are great art.

So please don’t clean these handprints up,

I made them for your heart.

Jack cleared his tight throat and rubbed one hand down over his face, wiping a trace of dampness from his eyes. Damn. The photo, the handprints and the poem were all so sweet and sentimental, Gina would have cried buckets over them. He set the paper on the desk and pushed it to one side.

Kitty had wanted to give it to Ms. Walsh. If Ms. Walsh had accepted it, he never would have seen it. Suddenly he felt as if he didn’t even know his own daughter anymore. He could understand that she might need to have a female role model, but of all the women in the world for Kitty to latch on to, Ms. Walsh would be dead last on his list. She was too emotional. Too bossy. Too…well, just too convinced she was right about everything.

Oh, yeah? And who would be first on your list?

He wanted to tell that mocking inner voice to shut up, but he knew from experience that it wouldn’t leave him alone until he answered the damn question. So, who would be first on his list? There was always his mother. Unfortunately, she lived in Texas, and Kitty only saw her for about a week once a year. It was the same story with Gina’s mother, who lived in New York City.

Since his two brothers were still bachelors and Gina had been an only child, there were no doting aunts for Kitty. He didn’t mix his private life with his professional one, which let out his co-workers. There were no girlfriends; he wasn’t even interested in dating yet.

Who did that leave? Millie Patten? Well, Millie had her good points, but she was a little old for Kitty to identify with and she could be awfully pushy sometimes.

All right, so now Kitty’s attachment to the teacher made more sense. When he’d seen her at work with her students, he had to admit that Ms. Walsh’s enthusiasm made learning fun. She was generous with attention, encouragement and praise. Her love for kids was so genuine, they all responded to her.

He also had to admit he respected Ms. Walsh for coming all the way out here to apologize to him. He even thought her bringing the cookies and the learning targets had been a nice touch. If she had left it at that, things would have been fine.

But she hadn’t done that. No, she’d come inside, made herself at home, criticized him for sending his daughter to bed, and then had the nerve to call Kitty an overly polite, sad little ghost.

Determined to put Ms. Walsh out of his mind, he piled up the learning targets and the Mother’s Day gift, thumped them down on a bookcase and went back to his desk. He picked up the file he’d been working on, read the first page, then realized he hadn’t digested a single word, slammed it shut and strode back to the family room, muttering choice expletives to himself.

It only took a minute to find the old box of family videotapes. He shoved the first tape into the VCR, braced himself as best he could and pushed the play button.

“Over here, sweetheart. Look at Mommy.”

Gina’s voice sounded so real on the videotape, Jack almost expected to turn his head and see her sitting beside him. When he hadn’t been certain he could go on without her for one more second, much less one more day, he’d watched these videos and pretended she was sitting beside him. He’d talked to her about anything and everything, until he finally realized that he’d rather live in his pretend world with Gina than in the real world with their daughter. Their daughter who needed him.

“Okay, Kitty, sing your song for Daddy,” Gina said.

A three-year-old Kitty posed for the camera. When Gina again coaxed her to sing her song, the little imp rolled her eyes like an exasperated teenager, then sang—well, she shouted more than she sang, but what could anyone reasonably expect from a three-year-old?

“I’m a wittwe teapot, shote and stout.”

Jack smiled and shook his head at the trouble Kitty had once had pronouncing her L’s and her R’s.

She jammed one hand on her hip. “Hewe is my handwe.” She flopped her other hand out to the side. “And hewe is my spout. When I get all steamed up, then I shout.” Kitty bent at the waist, leaning toward her “spout.” “Tip me ovew and pouw me out.”

“Wonderful,” Gina said, zooming in for a close-up of Kitty’s face. “Say hi to Daddy.”

“Hi, Daddy! I wove you!” Kitty shouted, mugging for the camera again.

Jack watched the rest of that tape and the next one and the next, but long before the last one ended, he knew he had to face some hard truths he hadn’t wanted to see because they meant he was failing Kitty.

Dammit, Ms. Walsh was right. He hadn’t wanted her to be right about anything, because he couldn’t bear the thought of watching Kitty suffer in therapy the way she had before. That was why he’d found Ms. Walsh so irritating, why he didn’t want Kitty to like her so much, why he’d fought accepting her suggestions the way he should have done.

He’d been doing his best with Kitty, but his best wasn’t good enough. Not even close.

She didn’t look or act like the same child anymore, and the change had nothing to do with the age difference. The adorable, funny, happy child in the videotapes was the real Kitty, not the pale, skinny, tired little girl he’d come home to tonight. His Kitty was the one who shouted, “I wove you, Daddy,” and held out her little arms for a huge hug.

Jack leaned forward and put his face in his hands. Dear God, he wanted her back. He wanted her to be noisy and laugh and run around like a demented creature. He wanted her to wear him out with her demands of “Do it again, Daddy,” the way she had that day at the lake when he’d kept tossing her into the water until she was breathless and his arms had ached.

How on earth had he let things come to this?

“Aw, dammit, Gina,” he swore, swiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I’m doing it all wrong, and I don’t know how to make it right.”

He turned off the TV and VCR, then sat there in the quiet of the family room with his burning eyes shut and his head pounding with questions he couldn’t answer. What was he supposed to do now?

Gina had always done what was right for Kitty. So what would she do for their daughter in this situation? “Come on, Gina, tell me what to do,” he whispered, burying his face in his hands and trying to form a mental picture of his wife.

Unfortunately, the image that appeared in his mind was all wrong. Instead of Gina’s short black hair and loving dark eyes, Ms. Walsh’s blond ponytail and accusing green eyes appeared before him. Her steady gaze held pity for him, but if the image could speak, he suspected it would call him an idiot or worse.

He knew what he had to do, but his gut knotted and an automatic protest sprang to his lips. Ask Ms. Walsh for help? No way. Even the idea made him shudder, but he had no other choice.

His number-one priority was taking care of Kitty. No matter how much he hated doing it, it wouldn’t kill him to swallow his pride. He’d call Ms. Walsh first thing on Monday morning.

If you wait, certainly you’ll find a way to justify not calling her.

Muttering “All right, all right,” Jack looked up Ms. Walsh’s phone number and dialed it. The phone rang three times, and only then did he think to look at the clock. Damn. It was after midnight. Just as he was about to hang up, she answered.

“Hello?”

He felt like a jerk, but since he had her on the line, he might as well get this done. “Ms. Walsh, this is Jack Granger.”

“What time is it?” Her voice was soft and slurry with sleep, and it had an unnerving, surprisingly sexy rasp to it.

“I didn’t realize it was so late,” he said quickly. “I’ll call back in the morning.”

“Don’t do that,” she said with a prodigious yawn. “I’m awake now. Just give me a second.”

He heard a rustling sound and found himself wondering what she wore to bed. Cotton? Silk? Nothing? Oh, jeez. Before he could ask himself why he was even thinking about Ms. Walsh in that context, she came back on the line.

“All right. What do you want, Mr. Granger?”

Thank God she didn’t know how loaded that question sounded at the moment. “You were right.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he grumbled, scowling at the squeak of surprise in her voice. “You were right about Kitty. Meet me at the school tomorrow. One o’clock.”

Abby blinked. Unable to believe what he’d just said and the dictatorial tone in which he’d said it, she held the receiver away from her ear and silently counted to ten before speaking again—slowly and distinctly. “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“So?” he snapped. “Don’t you teachers ever work on weekends?”

“No. We don’t.” She shifted into the same bright tone she used with first graders. “But you know, if I didn’t have plans for tomorrow and you had phrased that as a request instead of an order, I might have been willing to think about making an exception for you.”

There was no way he could misunderstand that message. She grinned at the stunned silence on the other end of the line. Oh, she’d give a month’s salary to see his face right now. She heard him take a deep breath.

“Ms. Walsh, please—” he said.

He sounded as if his teeth might be gritted.

“—I would sincerely appreciate it if you could find it in your heart to change your plans and meet me in your classroom tomorrow.”

“That’s much better,” she said.

“Then you’ll meet with me?”

Hoo-boy, he really sounded steamed. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m signed up for a fun run at Manito Park, and then—”

“Fun run?”

He had a bad habit of interrupting her. “Yes. And I don’t intend to miss it.”

“What about after the fun run?”

“I’m baby-sitting for the rest of the weekend—not that it’s any of your business.” It was the price she’d had to pay for Erin’s expert opinion about Kitty. “I’m free after school on Monday.”

After another long silence, he replied in such a grudging tone that she had to bite her lower lip to stop herself from laughing out loud.

“All right. I’ll meet you at the school on Monday afternoon. Say, four o’clock?”

“Fine. Try to be on time. Good night, Mr. Granger.”

Without waiting for his reply, she hung up and flopped back on her bed, giggling. Oh, dear, this had to be a difficult time for him but he most definitely did not “play well with others.” He really needed to learn that he couldn’t run roughshod over other people, including his daughter and his daughter’s teacher.

But thank God, he’d finally agreed to get Kitty the help she needed. Now she could let Erin take over, gracefully bow out of the Grangers’ lives at the end of the school year and get on with earning her doctorate.

Jack spent the night fitfully rolling around in his bed, rehashing his conversations with Ms. Walsh and worrying about Kitty. By sunrise he gave up all hope of sleeping and dragged himself down to the kitchen. After putting on the coffee, he walked out to the road for the paper, scanning the front page on his way back to the house.

In the lower-right corner he spotted a teaser for a five-mile run to promote women’s health programs. He’d bet his next conviction that Ms. Walsh would be there. And so would he. Now that he knew Kitty needed help, he wanted to get on with the process. The sooner the better.

After leaving Kitty with his brother Dan, Jack arrived at Manito Park and made his way to the duck pond, the most logical place to put the finish line. Sure enough, there it was, complete with a big digital clock and a race official calling out individual runner’s times as they ran past him.

The jovial atmosphere took him back to his high school and college days when he’d been on the cross-country team. He felt a moment’s envy of the participants who were in good enough shape to run an eight-minute mile. It had been a long time since he’d found the time and energy to go for a run. Too long.

Hands in the front pockets of his khakis, he prepared to wait however long it took for Ms. Walsh to straggle in after running five miles. If she actually could run that far.

“Look, there she is,” shouted a little boy standing in front of Jack. “Way to go, Ms. Walsh!”

“Thirty-nine minutes and thirty-six seconds,” the official called.

Startled, Jack looked at the woman charging toward him and found himself doing a double-take. Her hair was plastered to her head with perspiration and pulled back in the usual ponytail, which was now puffed out in a mass of springy curls. Her face was red and glowing. She wore a white mesh singlet over a black sports bra, a red sweatband across her forehead, purple running shorts that showed off the sexiest pair of legs he’d ever seen and a worn pair of running shoes that proclaimed her to be a dedicated runner.

Man, did she ever look trim and fit. Still, teachers were like nuns and mothers. They weren’t supposed to have sexy legs like that, or slim, toned arms. Ms. Walsh ran past him, and he nearly swallowed his tongue. Teachers, mothers and nuns weren’t supposed to have tight, round little bottoms that made a man’s hands itch, either. He felt like a pervert for even thinking such thoughts about his daughter’s teacher, but he’d have to be dead not to react to seeing her showing that much skin. And it sure didn’t stop him from liking what he saw.

Ms. Walsh looked so…healthy. So full of life. So damn sexy, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Who would’ve guessed that under her long, flowing skirts and soft, colorful blouses was a body like that? Oh, boy, he had to stop staring at her, stop trying to envision what she might look like completely naked. She already disliked him intensely. If she ever realized he thought she was…hot—oh, he didn’t want to go there.

Slowing to a trot, she grabbed a paper cup of water from a volunteer, downed it in one gulp, then took another. She tossed the cups in a trash barrel and ran slowly toward the parking area. Jack called her name and waved one arm.

She glanced around, jogging in place until she spotted him. Ignoring her immediate frown, he hustled to join her. “Nice race,” he said when he reached her.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Granger?” she asked, still jogging in place.

“I want to talk to you about Kitty.”

“We have an appointment on Monday. Right now, I need to cool down.”

With that, she took off, maintaining a steady pace. Cursing under his breath, he went after her. He’d already wasted too much of his time this morning to let her get away from him now. His legs were so much longer than hers, he kept up with her by walking fast.

“Come on,” he said. “You’ve been after me to get Kitty into counseling for a long time. I’m finally ready to do it, and you’re not willing to help?”

“Not today,” she said. “If you want to help Kitty this weekend, take her out somewhere and have some fun. I’ll see you Monday afternoon.”

Veering off to the right, she gave him a jaunty wave and ran back toward the duck pond. Jack stood there watching her, anger and confusion warring inside him. And there was something else he couldn’t deny—a dose of lust. It was a hell of a time for his damn libido to wake up.

“I am not attracted to that woman,” he muttered to himself all the way back across town. When he arrived at his brother’s duplex, he found Dan, who was three years his junior, out in the garage working on his pickup. Dan wore jeans, hiking boots and a Spokane Police Department T-shirt.

He looked up when Jack entered the garage, showing a smudge of grease on his forehead. “That didn’t take long.”

Jack shrugged. “Where’s Kitty?”

Dan tilted his head toward his neighbor’s half of the building. “Marla took the kids to a movie and invited Kitty to go along. They’ll be back soon. Did you find Kitty’s teacher?”

“Yeah,” Jack grumbled, walking around to the front of the truck. “What’re you doing?”

“Changing spark plugs.” Dan shoved a droplight into Jack’s hands and ducked in under the hood. “A little more to the right— Yeah, that’s it. So, what happened at the race?”

“That woman wouldn’t even talk to me.” Jack gave his brother an edited description of his recent encounter with Ms. Walsh. Instead of garnering him the sympathy he expected, the story made his dumb brother burst out laughing.

“Good for her,” Dan said. “It’s about time.”

“About time for what?” Jack demanded.

“For somebody to treat you like you’re normal.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Dan ducked back under the hood. “Everybody’s been walking on eggshells around you since Gina died.”

“No way,” Jack protested.

Dan snorted. “Oh, big time, bro. Everybody felt terrible for you and Kitty. When you were impatient and irritable, we made allowances for you, but it’s past time somebody made you mind your manners.” He straightened away from the pickup and met Jack’s gaze head-on. “That’s all Ms. Walsh did, you know.”

Jack stared at his brother in slack-jawed disbelief. “You’re full of it, Danny. I have excellent manners.”

“Not anymore,” Dan told him. “You act like you’re the only one with a busy schedule and your time is more valuable than anyone else’s.”

“Well, maybe it is,” Jack said. “I know you don’t always think so, but my job happens to be damn important.”

“Yeah, it’s important.” Dan grabbed another spark plug and leaned over the engine again. “But it’s still just a job.”

“So, it really doesn’t matter that much if I let a few killers and sex offenders slip through the system. Who cares if they’re back out on the streets?”

“See? There you go. That’s exactly what I mean. You act like it’s this big mission and only Jack Granger can—”

“Give me a break.”

Dan raised up abruptly, banging his head on the underside of the hood. Cursing, he rubbed the sore spot. “You’ve had enough breaks. If you don’t watch yourself, your ego is going to get completely out of control.”

“Cut it out. I’m not like that.”

Dan pointed his socket wrench at Jack. “If you believe that, you’d better stop and take a long look at yourself, bro.”

“So what are you saying?” Jack tossed his free hand up beside his head. “I shouldn’t do my job?”

“Hell, no. You just have to remember you’re not the only prosecutor in this county, and you can’t be responsible for every conviction. Face it, no matter how many killers you put away, you’ll never be able to get the one you really want.”

Jack stiffened at the veiled reference to their father. “That’s enough.”

“Says who? I admire the hell out of that teacher for not putting up with your bull. You’re real good at making people back off from touchy subjects, but you need to hear the truth about these things, even if you don’t want to. Especially if you don’t want to.”

“And where did you get your Psych degree? The Police Academy?”

Dan grabbed the last spark plug. “I don’t need a Psych degree to figure out any of us. Mark and I are cops because of Dad, and you’re a prosecutor because of Dad’s killer. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is, ever since Gina died you’ve buried yourself in your job. It’s not good for you and it’s not good for Kitty. And your manners stink.”

“What did I ever do to you?” Jack asked. “Give me an example.”

“That’s easy. When you called this morning, you didn’t ask me to take care of Kitty for you—you told me to. I didn’t have anything more interesting going on this morning, so I didn’t mind helping you out this time.”

“But you have at other times?”

“Only because you ordered me around like I was ten. I’ll bet you did the same thing to Kitty’s teacher.”

Squirming inwardly, Jack set the light on the workbench. “Not intentionally.”

“I know that,” Dan said, “but I doubt that teacher does.”

Jack looked back over his shoulder at Dan. “What do you suggest I do about it?”

“Well, there’s this thing Mom used to talk about—” Dan’s eyes glinted with humor. “I think it’s called an apology.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack grumbled. Apologies had never come easily for him, but Ms. Walsh had been a big enough person to give him one when she’d crossed the line. He leaned back against Dan’s workbench, folded his arms over his chest and crossed one foot over the other, watching Dan check the power steering fluid and then wipe his greasy hands on a shop rag.

“Does Mark feel the same way about me?” Jack asked, referring to the youngest Granger brother.

“Ask him,” Dan said.

“That means yes.” Jack uttered a grim laugh and shook his head. “It’s hard to argue with a unanimous verdict.”

“Look, maybe I came down on you too hard,” Dan said. “I mean, you’re not a total jerk.”

“Knowing I’m only a semi-jerk makes me feel much better.”

Grinning, Dan punched his arm. “C’mon, you know what I mean. It’s just that you’re going to need the teacher’s help. For Kitty’s sake, you can’t afford to alienate her.”

“I hear you,” Jack said. “I’ll go see Ms. Walsh on Monday and make nice, and we’ll get Kitty back on track.”

Dan led the way into his kitchen and poured himself a mug of coffee. “It sounds like Kitty needs more than that. Why don’t you take a leave of absence?”

“Are you nuts?” Jack demanded. “How can you even think about saying that?”

“Maybe because your kid needs you?”

“Yeah, I got that part from Ms. Walsh, believe me.”

“So, learn to delegate. No time like the present.”

Jack helped himself to the coffee. “It’s not that easy. I have ongoing cases.”

“You took time off when Gina died, and the world survived.”

“I’ll think about it,” Jack said, wondering why everybody else in the world knew what he should be doing better than he did.