Читать книгу Matthew's Choice - Patricia Bradley - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

“SO YOU’RE GUARANTEEING me you can pull this off for this price?” The silver-haired building magnate drew a line under the dollar figure Matt had quoted for the Valentine’s Day banquet. “That’s all-inclusive?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Bradford,” Matt said. “Except for the entertainment, and I can provide you with a list of bands and ensembles I’ve worked with in the past. I can even contact them for you, unless you want to bring in a comedian from Las Vegas. Then you’re on your own.”

J. Phillip Bradford rested his forearms on the table in the small conference room where Matt and the CEO were meeting. Bradford’s silver eyebrows arched in perpetual skepticism. He didn’t respond to Matt’s attempt at humor.

Matt swallowed the impulse to add another sales pitch. He’d laid it all out and there was no reason to go over it again. The older man’s steel-gray eyes bored into Matt’s, and he forced himself not to move. Keeping his mouth shut was harder.

Finally, Bradford nodded. “Thank you for coming in. Of the five hotels who have submitted a proposal, you’re the only representative who agreed to meet with me today.”

Surely that counted for something. Matt pushed to his feet as the older man stood, his hand extended. Even at seventy, J. Phillip Bradford was as tall as Matt’s six-one, his posture ramrod-straight, his grip firm as he still seemed to take Matt’s measure.

“This gala is very important to me. At last year’s affair, we raised enough money to fund an orphanage for a year. With the ambience you, or one of your competitors, provide, I expect to do even better this year. Thank you for coming by, Matthew.”

Outside the conference room, Matt allowed his shoulders to relax as he mentally ticked the meeting off his to-do list for the day and hurried to the elevator. When he stepped off on the ground floor, he dialed Jessica. Today was the day. Pick her up in twenty minutes, take her to his apartment and make his special breakfast, then pop the question.

“Good morning, love.” Sleepiness edged her soft voice.

She wasn’t up, much less dressed. Disappointment stole a little of his excitement. “The meeting is over, and I’m on my way to pick you up.”

“Now? What time is it?”

“Yes, now, and it’s eleven-thirty. I have a special day planned.”

“And I’m almost ready,” she said with a low chuckle. “Fooled you, didn’t I? But, since I’m not quite dressed yet, why don’t I drive myself to your apartment?”

Punctuality wasn’t Jessica’s strong suit so he was a little surprised. “See me in the next thirty minutes?”

“Forty-five. I’ll call you before I leave.”

Back at his apartment, he set the dining room table then picked up a magazine he’d left flopped open on the bar. He looked around for a place to stash it.

Allie materialized in his mind, how she’d hesitated when he asked her thoughts about the apartment. She hadn’t liked what she’d seen. It’d been written all over her face. Not that she would ever like anything about his new lifestyle.

Allie had looked good, and he wondered what made her lose all that weight? Not that she’d ever looked bad, or at least he hadn’t thought so. She’d been the one bothered by her Rubenesque figure.

Was it because of Peter? Surely, not that smug egotist. What was it Peter said he did? Director of social services. Perfect. A bureaucratic job suited him to a T. He just couldn’t see Allie and Peter together.

Matt glanced down at the magazine still in his hand. Maybe next week he and Jessica could pick out a new end table with a drawer. And maybe a couple of landscapes for the walls to go with the abstract painting. Scratch that thought. He’d mentioned that before. No, no, Matthew, space and light will flow, creating the perfect decor for this room. Besides, this room is you.

His cell vibrated in his pocket, and he fished it out. Jessica. “Yes?”

“Just so you’ll know, I’m walking out the door. And did you remember to pick up the caramel coffee at Starbucks?”

His heart sank. Would Starbucks be open on New Year’s Day? It had to be. If not, maybe there was a number on the door for emergencies. “It will be waiting for you.”

“Good. See you soon.”

Matt had fifteen minutes to drive to Starbucks and get back. He grabbed his car keys and hit the door. Please let the coffee shop be open. He repeated the mantra all the way to his BMW convertible, and then for the next two blocks. Cars in the parking lot. There was a God in heaven. As he got out of the car, a plaintive meow halted him, and he glanced around. Sounded like a kitten. Another meow. Matt ignored it. Inside the store he grabbed a bag of caramel coffee and hurried to the checkout.

Back at his car, the meows intensified. He didn’t see a cat, but neither did he look too hard. Humming, he pulled from the parking space and turned onto the street, glancing one last time at the parking lot. A tiny kitten wobbled in the space he’d just left.

No! He didn’t have time for any distractions, especially a kitten. Maybe the mother cat would come and take care of it. He drove on. But what if someone ran over it? Someone with small children. Groaning, he made a left onto the next street and circled back to the coffee shop. Maybe the mother cat had made an appearance.

No such luck. Matt parked and, using his finger and thumb, picked up the still mewling kitten. “Aw, kitty, you’ve got blood seeping from your nose.”

The kitten stared at him through one opened eye. Just what he needed. An injured kitten and no vets open, but he couldn’t just leave it like this in the cold parking lot. Matt looked around for something to put the kitten in and spied a cardboard box. He hurried to get it, trying not to think about how Jessica was allergic to cats. He would put it in his bedroom. She’d never have to know. “All right, kitty, just for today. Tomorrow you go to animal rescue.”

* * *

NOAH BLINKED HIS eyes open and stretched his arms. The bed above him creaked, and seconds later a boy about his age popped his head over the side, his solemn brown eyes unwavering.

“You can’t have the top bunk. It’s ours.”

Noah glared at him. “I don’t want your old top bunk.” He hoped he fell out of it.

Another blond head popped over the side, and Noah rubbed his eyes. Was he seeing double? No, there were two of them—they wore different pajama tops. The new boy had stars on his pajamas.

“Don’t pay any attention to Lucas,” star man said. “I’m Logan. We’re twins. Why are you here? Our mom died and our dad got put in jail.”

Lucas nodded. “Nobody wanted us so they brought us here. Didn’t nobody want you, either?”

“I don’t have anyone but my mom.” Noah laced his fingers behind his head. “Doesn’t matter—I’m not going to be here long.”

“You’ll be here longer than you think.” Lucas swiped his nose with his white pajama sleeve. He poked his brother. “Come on. I smell breakfast.”

Both heads disappeared, and when the twins descended the ladder at the foot of the bed, Noah got a good look at them. They were identical down to the freckles across their noses, except for their pajamas. Logan was an astronaut. Noah squinted. Was that a sad donkey on the pajamas Lucas had on? Boy, did somebody know him.

“You coming?” asked Logan.

“I’m not waiting,” Lucas said and left, but Logan lingered.

“I’ll be there in a minute.” Noah had to figure a way to get out of here. A few minutes later, after Logan had exited and when no plan on how to get past the locked door came to him, he sniffed the air. Definitely wasn’t bacon he smelled, more like sausage. Maybe there’d be some more of those biscuits like last night. Last night. His mom, so white, not saying anything. He threw back the blanket and scrambled out of bed. Miss Sarah might have heard something from the hospital.

Where were his shoes? He dropped to the floor and searched under the bed. They weren’t there. He fought to get his breath. He couldn’t leave if he didn’t have his shoes. Maybe they were with his clothes. He looked in the chair, where he’d neatly folded his shirt and jeans the night before. They were gone. The room spun. He fisted his hands. “No!”

“Noah, honey, what’s wrong?” Miss Sarah’s arms wrapped around him, and the spinning stopped.

“You took my shoes. And my clothes. Give them back. They’re mine.”

“Oh, sugar, I just put your clothes in the wash, and your shoes needed cleaning. You can have them back as soon as they’re dry.”

He gulped and searched her face. Her brown eyes smiled back at him. “You promise?” he whispered.

“No one’s going to take your things here, Noah. This is a safe place. It’s where your mom would want you to be.”

Miss Sarah was wrong about that. His mom was going to be so angry when she found out. If she found out. “Have...you heard if she’s okay?”

She shook her head. “We’ll call after breakfast. So, come on and let’s get some food in you.”

“Can you take me to see her?”

Her shoulders sagged. “Son, I wish I could, but I have to stay here at the shelter. I’ll call Jason later. Maybe he can take you.”

In the kitchen, the constant clanging from the dryer reassured him. They’d lived in a house once with a dryer, and when his mom put his jeans in it, the sound was the same. Logan and Lucas were already cleaning their plates. Lucas even eyed the three links of sausage on Noah’s plate. “Don’t even think about it,” Noah muttered as he slid into his chair.

Miss Sarah piled scrambled eggs onto Noah’s plate. “Want your biscuit buttered?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Noah bit into one of the links.

“He didn’t say the blessing.”

Logan punched his brother. “Knock it off.”

Noah kept eating. What was Lucas? The blessing boss?

“Now, Lucas,” Miss Sarah said, patting Noah on the shoulder. “He may have said a silent one.”

He shot the twin a ha-ha-ha smirk. Lucas would never be his friend, ’cause first chance Noah got, he was going to knock his block off.

Miss Sarah walked to the phone on the wall, her house shoes slapping against the floor. Noah held his breath as she dialed. Let his mom be awake. He repeated the prayer until she put the phone back in its cradle on the wall and turned to him.

“I’m sorry, Noah, but she’s still...asleep.”

Why didn’t she just say it? His mom was in a coma. Like before. If he could just get to her, tell her he was sorry and that he never should’ve left her, she’d wake up. He pushed back his plate.

“Honey, you need to eat to keep your strength up.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Can I have your sausage, then?” Lucas reached toward his plate.

“No!” Noah snatched the remaining link and bit into it. The taste nearly gagged him, but choking it down would be better than letting Lucas have it.

Miss Sarah placed another pan of biscuits on the table and the twins grabbed two each. “Boys, I have work to do in the office. You three behave until Brittany gets here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the twins said in unison. Noah kept chewing.

After Miss Sarah left, he turned to Logan. “Who’s Brittany?”

“She helps Miss Sarah.” Logan smeared strawberry jam on his biscuit.

“How long have you been here? I don’t remember seeing you in school.”

“That’s ’cause you always sit with your head down.” Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“So?” Noah sort of remembered the twins from the cafeteria.

Lucas leaned forward. “We’re not gonna be here much longer. Our dad’s gonna come get us.”

“I thought you said he was in jail.”

Lucas shot him a look of disgust. “He’s gonna break out. Boy, are you stupid.”

Noah’s hands curled into fists. Nobody was ever going to call him that again. “I’m not stupid. You’re stupid if you believe that.” He looked toward the door. “How are you gonna get out of here, anyway? Do you know the code?”

Lucas elbowed his brother. “Told you he was stupid. That ain’t no lock. It’s just something that tells when a door opens.”

“You’re kidding.” Noah’s mind raced. All he had to do was get his clothes on and walk out the door? He crammed the last of the sausage in his mouth and hurried to get his clothes from the dryer. They were almost dry and he quickly changed out of his pajamas.

“What’re you doin’?” Logan asked.

“What does it look like? Putting my clothes on.”

“You’re gonna run away.” Lucas’s voice raised a notch.

“Shut up.” Noah slipped into his still-warm jacket and headed toward the door.

Logan grabbed his arm. “Where’re you going?”

Noah shook his arm free and opened the door. Logan might not tell, but Lucas would rat him out in a heartbeat. A soft voice intoned a warning that the back door was open. His heart leaped into his throat. He darted through the door to the outside and didn’t quit running until he came to a corner with a traffic light.

With his chest heaving, he tried to get his breath and his bearings. Which way was the hospital? He’d been there, his mom had taken him to the emergency room when he cut his hand. Noah bit his lip. Maybe he could ask someone. He looked around—a patrol car idled in the convenience store parking lot across the street. Swallowing hard, he took a second peek. Empty. The cop must be in the store. Noah ran against the light and kept going until he reached the next corner. Another convenience store. Maybe someone inside would tell him how to get to the hospital.

* * *

ALLIE STARED AT the cell number Peter had given her last night. He’d said to call her if she changed her mind about having breakfast with him this morning. She dialed before second thoughts set in. He answered with his last name, sounding very businesslike.

“Uh, it’s me, Allie. You said to—”

“Allie! Oh, good, you’ve changed your mind. Great. I’m staying at the Winthrop, and they serve an excellent brunch until one this afternoon. Would you like me to pick you up at Clint’s?”

“No, I’ll drive.” She’d leave for Cedar Grove from the hotel. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Allie disconnected. She hadn’t been able to forget the call Peter had received last night. In a town the size of Cedar Grove, she had to know the nine-year-old—more than likely he was one of her students. And after a restless night, she was pretty sure which one.

She arrived at the top floor of the Winthrop where the dining room overflowed into the mezzanine. She spotted Peter over by a window and hesitated. This was not a good idea. What would they talk about? Last night, conversation revolved around dancing and lots of other people. Talking with children one-on-one—piece of cake. Not so much with a man as good-looking as Peter—being the introvert she was, she never felt she was interesting enough to hold an attractive man’s attention. With her heart pounding, she took a step back, looking for an escape, but Peter spied her and waved her over. Allie smoothed the winter-white slacks she’d chosen and fastened a smile on her lips.

She accepted the chair Peter pulled out for her. From the window, she glimpsed a view of the Mississippi River as it rolled south. “I’ve never eaten here before.”

A pleased smile spread across his face. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Good.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Maybe there will be more ‘firsts’ in the future. And I’ve ordered for us.”

“You’ve ordered for me?” She struggled to keep from giving him her detention glare.

“They were so busy, and I knew you wanted to leave for Cedar Grove as soon as you could.”

He made sense, but still...

“Your first course, sir.” The waiter placed identical bowls of tropical fruit before them.

As soon as they finished the fruit, the waiter produced their main course. How much money had Peter given him to hover? She stared at her plate.

“It’s a spanakopita omelet,” Peter said. “I had the chef make it especially for you.”

A Greek omelet. She took a hesitant bite, and as the contrasting flavors of spinach and feta cheese hit her taste buds, she smiled. “Very delicious.”

“I didn’t think you’d order one yourself, so I took the liberty.”

She frowned. How well did he think he knew her? He might have a surprise or two. She eyed Peter’s Belgian waffle and sausage. How in the world did he stay so trim? “Either you don’t eat like this every day or you are a workout nut.”

He laughed, his rich baritone warm to her ears. “Yes and no.”

She glanced up, seeking clarification, and he chuckled again.

“Yes, I don’t eat like this every day, and no, I don’t exercise. At least not too strenuously or every day.”

Some people got all the luck. Today Peter wore a black mock turtleneck that hugged his abs and he didn’t show an ounce of fat.

He leaned toward Allie. “It’s evident you work out.”

“Thank you.” At least Peter had noticed her weight loss since college. The approval in his eyes was the payoff for her hours in the gym, and she took a moment to enjoy the compliment.

“I understand you’re not seeing anyone right now.”

Allie almost choked on her omelet. She patted her lips with the napkin. “I don’t have time.”

“I’ve heard that, too. I don’t even know how you have time for the gym.” Peter used his fingers to count. “Teacher, counselor and Sarah told me you mentor some of the children who come into the shelter. And now you’ve added foster parenting to the mix?”

Peter had been doing his homework on her. “I like working with kids—it’s probably in my genes. Just like with Clint. Watching Mom and Dad take in foster kids influenced both of us. He works with kids at the Boys and Girls Club, and I do what I do. But, because I am busy, I’ve asked to be considered only for school-age children.”

She paused as the waiter appeared at their table and whisked the empty plates away. “But that’s enough talk about me,” Allie said after he left. “How did you get into social work?”

Peter shrugged. “Dad wanted me to become a psychiatrist, and I wanted to be a musician.” A wry grin spread across his lips. “We compromised.”

She laughed. “And neither of you won.”

“I don’t know. It brought me back to Cedar Grove and you.”

His pale blue eyes darkened, and she looked away.

“Actually, I never considered being a musician. I think that was just to irritate Dad. I did get a bachelor’s in psychology then knocked around for a while.”

“So, how did you get to be director of social services in Cedar Grove?”

He leaned back and folded his arms. “That is all your fault.”

“My fault?”

“Yeah, all that time I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, something you said at graduation kept bouncing around in my head.”

She cocked her head. “And that was?”

“You paraphrased John Kennedy, who paraphrased an old school master. ‘Don’t ask what our country can do for us—’”

“Ask what we can do for her.” Allie grinned as she finished the sentence. “I was young and idealistic.”

“You’re still idealistic. I’ve wanted to tell you for some time that the impact of your words prompted me to apply for a job with the Department of Human Services in Washington, and it didn’t take long to figure out I needed a master’s in social work.”

“Why did you come back to Cedar Grove?”

He took her hand and caressed her fingers. “Because of you.”

Her face burning, she withdrew her hand. “Why are you suddenly interested in me?”

“It’s not sudden. I’ve always been interested, but in high school and during college, you only had eyes for Matt. When I returned to Cedar Grove last year, friends told me not to waste my time. You were married to your job and your volunteer projects. I invented excuses to be at the shelter when I knew you would be there, but every time we met, you pulled into your shell and hung out the Do Not Disturb sign. That’s why I resorted to practically begging your brother to invite me last night.”

“Why didn’t you just flat-out ask?”

Peter flashed a wicked grin. “Let’s see if that will work.” He cleared his throat and leaned toward her. “Miss Carson, I enjoyed dancing with you last night. There’s a nice supper club in Cedar Grove. So what do you say? Dinner and dancing Friday night?”

Why not? Dancing with Peter had been fun, and today had been...different. Just because they went out, didn’t mean she had to give him her heart. It was in too many pieces anyway. She tilted her head toward him. “I would love to.”

“Good.” He motioned to the waiter for another refill on their coffee. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“You can ask. Don’t know if you’ll get an answer.”

“What did you ever see in Matt Jefferies?”

“I can’t believe you asked me that.”

He shrugged. “I just never understood why you dated him. He wasn’t good enough for you.”

Suddenly Peter’s interest in her became clearer. Allie blotted her mouth with her napkin. A memory from high school. Peter losing a math competition to Matt. Peter telling Matt he’d never be anything but the kid from the wrong side of town. Surely that wasn’t what Peter referred to. But she had to know for sure.

Allie fingered the handle of the porcelain cup, and on cue, the waiter appeared and refilled it with coffee. After he left, she stirred cream into her cup. “You’re not still competing with Matt, are you?”

“Compete with Matt? Of course not. I’m glad to see him doing well. I just always thought you belonged with someone more like me.” He smiled, exposing perfectly even white teeth.

“And not the kid from Beaker Street?”

A red flush started at his neck and ended at his ears. “That was a stupid remark I made a long time ago. I never should’ve said it. I didn’t like that he always beat me in everything. Math, quarterback position, you.”

She eyed him over the cup’s rim.

“Honestly,” he said, “I’ve always regretted saying that.”

What was it she’d always heard about people using the word honestly?

Peter’s cell phone rang, and he slid it from his belt. He frowned. “I can’t believe I’m getting another call from the office. Excuse me.”

He stepped away from the table. When he returned, his face was pinched and the muscle in his jaw twitched.

“That case from last night?” She’d been trying to figure out how to bring up the subject without being too obvious. Now the problem was solved.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “The kid’s run away.”

“Last night you said the child was a nine-year-old boy. He may be in my reading class. Maybe I can help. It’s possible I know the family, or where he might’ve gone.”

“Oh, I know where he’s gone. The hospital to check on his OD’d mother. Sarah at the shelter said that’s all he talked about.”

Protective son, overdosed mother. Don’t let it be— “Is the mother’s name Mariah Connors?”

He stared at her. “How do you know Mariah Connors?”

She swallowed the bile that rose up her throat. Poor Noah. “I’ve counseled the boy, had parent-teacher meetings with Mariah, so I know the situation. She’s Matt Jefferies’s sister.”

* * *

MATT TOOK ONE last look at the diamond engagement ring and closed the box. He’d locked the wedding band away in his wall safe until the wedding. Wedding. He liked the sound of the word.

A tiny flicker of regret pierced his memory. He’d asked Allie to marry him once, and she’d turned him down. Looking back, it was probably for the best. Allie never approved of his bold plans to get ahead, and she wouldn’t fit into his present lifestyle. Besides, she was his past. Jessica was his future. A future that was within his grasp, one he had worked hard to get. Jessica wanted the same things he did. But it was more than wanting the same things. She was kind and caring.

His heart tendered at a memory of Jessica in the park last summer. She’d set up her easel at the Memphis Zoo to sketch the snow leopards, and a small girl had wanted to “help.” Without hesitation, Jessica flipped to a new sheet in her sketch pad and spent the next fifteen minutes letting the child try her hand at drawing.

The kitten mewed, and he glanced at the cardboard box. The kitten had surprised him when he returned home with it, lapping milk from a bowl. It mewed again. “Shh,” he said as he knelt by the box. “You need to be quiet. Jessica will be here soon and if she hears you, she’ll want to hold you and that will make her sneeze. Are you hungry?”

Matt had cleaned the closed eye, and now the kitten stared at him with two good eyes. It mewed again, and he frowned. He’d barely gotten a little more milk poured when the doorbell rang. He settled it gently on an old T-shirt in a corner of the box. “Be quiet,” he said and closed the door to his bedroom.

“Happy New Year, love.” Jessica swept into the room and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He tilted her face toward him and gently kissed her as the strains of “Clair de Lune” played softly in the background. Matt kissed her again, and she leaned into him, returning his kiss. “Happy New Year to you, too,” he said when they broke apart. “Are you hungry?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. This is nice.” Her stomach growled, and she giggled. “I guess that ruined the mood.”

“Right this way, m’lady.”

“What’s this?” She shifted her gaze from the table set with his best china and back to Matt.

“Just setting the mood,” he replied. “You look great, as usual.”

And she did, in boots and black leggings and a short, hunter-green dress that brought out the green in her hazel eyes.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” She stroked the red cashmere sweater he wore, a Christmas gift from her. “So, what have you made me?”

He pulled out her chair. “Eggs Benedict—I just have to cook the eggs, but we’ll start off with fruit, and caramel coffee.”

An hour later, Matt refreshed their cups. Everything had gone off without a hitch, even the eggs. Jessica smiled.

“Thank you, Matthew. I don’t know when I’ve ever had a better New Year’s celebration. Last night and now this morning.”

His heart thumped faster as he looked into her eyes. The velvet box was in his pocket, waiting for him to bring out at the right moment. He took her hand. “Jessica, we’ve talked about marriage before, and you know how much I—”

A yowl from his bedroom made him flinch.

“What was that?” She looked over his shoulder toward the bedroom.

The kitten. Not mewing, but sounding exactly like it had in the parking lot. Loud. Pitiful. It was a noise that could not be ignored. “Uh...”

“Matthew, do I hear a cat?” She cocked her head. “It is. But...but you know I’m allergic.”

“I know. It’s a kitten, and I thought I ran over it. You stay here while I go check—”

The doorbell rang, and rang again. And again.

“I’ll get the door.” Jessica pointed toward the bedroom. “You see about that poor kitty.”

The kitten howled again, and Matt huffed a sigh. It probably needed milk again, and he grabbed the carton. “Be right back. Entertain whoever it is.”

The kitten stared plaintively at him when he opened the door and immediately hushed its crying. He picked up the bowl and refilled it. Voices came from the other room. Women’s voices. Matt placed the bowl beside the kitten and guided it to the milk. “You’re on your own, kiddo,” he said and went to wash his hands.

Then he stepped into the living room and stopped. “Allie?”

Jessica’s gaze went from Allie to him. “You didn’t tell me Clint’s sister was stopping by.”

Something was wrong. Bad wrong. It was stamped in the way Allie stood, in the slump of her shoulders, in her face. “What’s going on?”

“Matt, I don’t know how to tell you... Mariah is in the hospital. Your sister may not make it. And her son has run away from the shelter.”

He didn’t know why he felt so surprised.

“Sister?” Jessica turned to him. “You never said anything about a sister.”

“Everybody, just sit down.” He sank into the hard leather chair closest to him and looked at Allie. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure. All I know is she overdosed on heroin and her little boy has run away from the person who was looking after him temporarily,” Allie said. “You’ll have to ask Peter Elliott exactly what happened.”

He missed whatever she said next. Peter Elliott? He was taken aback the great man hadn’t already called to rub Matt’s nose in the news. Mariah. What have you done? His sister might be two years older, but he’d always taken care of her until she ran off with that Connors thug. He realized Allie had asked him something. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“I have the hospital number, if you want it.” She held a slip of paper out toward him.

Matt folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t know what you expect me to do. I tried to talk to Mariah when she first started using—after Connors introduced her to drugs. She didn’t listen then, and I doubt that anything has changed. I’m sorry, but she made her choice a long time ago.”

And he had made his when he left Cedar Grove. He just never thought his past would choose today to catch up with him.