Читать книгу Her Son's Hero - Vicki Essex - Страница 10

WHEN FIONA FINISHED WORK at four o’clock, she went to get Sean from fun camp. Since so many people worked weekends to cater to the tourist crowds, the town’s family and community committee had set up the service so that parents would have somewhere to send their children who needed babysitting.

Sean shuffled over as she got out of the car. “Hey, sweetie.” Fiona didn’t lean in for a hug or a kiss; her son was getting to that age where he abhorred public displays of affection. She probably wouldn’t be able to call him “sweetie” soon, either.

Sean mumbled a reply, scuffing his toe against the ground.

“Did you have a good day?” she asked.

He shrugged thin shoulders. His T-shirt looked much more rumpled than usual. Then she noticed dark purple marks on his arm.

“Where’d you get that?” She pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and gasped at the sight of a huge new bruise. “Who did this?”

“Cut it out, Mom.” Sean pulled away and walked around the car to the passenger side.

“Ms. MacAvery?” The fun camp supervisor, Mrs. Madden, called. “Could I please speak with you?” It was practically a demand.

Fiona steeled herself. Seventy-seven-year-old Teresa Madden was a God-fearing widow whose acerbic tongue spared nobody. But her age, religious zeal and dedication to public service made her a paragon of virtue. She was active and volunteered her time to a lot of community causes. Fiona secretly suspected the old woman was like a shark, and would die if she stopped moving.

“Hello, Mrs. Madden,” she said, pasting on a smile.

The corners of the woman’s mouth were turned down so far it looked as if she’d drunk vinegar. “Sean was in another fight today. I had to pull him off Rene Kirkpatrick and send him to the closet for the entire afternoon.”

It was Fiona’s turn to frown. The closet was exactly that—an empty, windowless cubbyhole where ill-behaved students were sent to “think about their sins.” Unfortunately, it seemed the wrong kid had been punished again. Rene was half again as tall and heavy as Sean. Did Mrs. Madden really think her son could have pinned him to the ground?

“I don’t have to remind you about our three-strikes policy,” the woman said. She picked at the linty moss-green sweater she always wore, even though it was a balmy 78 degrees out. “And this is strike three. I’m going to have to ask you not to bring him here anymore.”

Exasperated, Fiona demanded, “Did you at least ask him what happened?”

“What was there to ask? I came out and saw your boy sitting on Rene’s chest. I may not be as young as you, but my old eyes still work.” Her mouth crimped in distaste. “If you don’t get a handle on your little hellion, he’ll end up in jail just like his father.”

Fiona reeled back in shock and anger. “I will not allow you to insult my son, Teresa. Sean is a well-behaved and polite young boy. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Rene. You know he provoked him to attack!” Her voice had risen to an angry pitch. “And Sean is nothing like his father.”

But her words bounced off the old woman’s thick hide. “Have a good day, Mrs. MacAvery. I don’t expect to see you or Sean here again.”

And that was that. Fiona could say nothing in protest, knew there was no one she could appeal to who would change Teresa Madden’s mind. She, like Denise, was a part of the Salmon River establishment. No one would raise a hand or a word against her better judgment.

Injustice burned through Fiona’s blood. She briefly considered flinging her purse at the old woman’s head, but counted to ten instead. Then she marched to the car, her hands balled into tight fists.

What was she supposed to do now? Saturday was the busiest day of the week at Leeds Reads, and her paycheck was dependent on those hours. But she couldn’t leave Sean at home alone all day.

Maybe Marion would allow him to stay in the back room of the store while she worked. Sean would hate it, especially now that the weather was so nice and summer break was coming up fast.

Her mind was scrambling for alternatives as she reached the car. Sean was waiting for her by the passenger door. He was staring intently at the tips of his shoes, his face beet-red as he held his breath, and held in his emotions.

Fiona sighed. Gently, she said, “Mrs. Madden says you got in a fight again.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Sean whipped his head up. “She didn’t even listen to me!”

“I know.” Fiona’s heart broke at her son’s anguish. It was so unfair that he had to go through this. “Sean…she said you can’t go to fun camp any more.”

His cheeks drained of color. “I hate it there any how,” he muttered, and spun around so she wouldn’t see the tears gathering in his eyes. “No one there likes me.”

“I like you plenty.” Fiona tried for a smile, but her son just glared at her over his shoulder.

She grimaced. Sean needed friends his own age to play with. She couldn’t be everything to her son forever. “C’mon.” She unlocked the car doors. “Let’s go get some ice cream.” She couldn’t be his best friend, but she could at least try to cheer him up.

THE FAINT NOTES of the local rock station played in the background on the radio as they drove home, both thoroughly depressed. A trip to the park and a plain vanilla cone hadn’t cheered Sean up. He’d sat on a swing, grinding his shoes into the sand while kids played around him. Alone on a bench, Fiona could see mothers at the other end of the park glancing her way. And she’d wondered for a brief moment if worrying about her son’s isolation distracted her from thinking about her own.

A thin layer of cloud obscured the sun now, casting a wan silver light. The wind picked up as they drove.

When they crossed the bridge over the river, Sean sat up. “Look, it’s Dom!” It was the first time all day he’d appeared bright and alert.

Fiona saw her new neighbor jogging along the paved shoulder in a gray hoodie and sweat-pants. A mixture of anxiety and pleasure tumbled through her. She was still agitated by yesterday’s encounter, and didn’t really want to face him.

“Stop the car, Mom! Let’s offer him a ride.”

“Oh, Sean, I’m sure he…”

Sean rolled down his window as they approached, and stuck his head out, forcing Fiona to slow down. “Hi, Dom!”

“Hey, there, Sean.” Dom kept pace with the car, jogging backward. She struggled with the impulse to floor it and leave him in the dust.

“You want a ride home?” her son asked.

Dominic glanced past him to Fiona. “Climb in,” she said, wishing she could sound more enthusiastic as she pulled onto the shoulder.

Sean unbuckled his seat belt and got out, then climbed into the backseat. “You have long legs,” he said as Dom raised an eyebrow. “The front is better for tall people.” His legs were long. He wasn’t that tall, but in combination with everything else she’d seen, the proportions were perfect.

“Thanks, Sean,” he said. He climbed in and buckled up, then turned to her with another heart-melting smile. He smelled…clean. Mixed with the fresh air and vanilla ice cream, it was just a little intoxicating.

Fiona squirmed in her seat. What did she think she was doing, sniffing her neighbor?

“You raised him well, Mrs. MacAvery,” he said.

“It’s Miz, actually. Or, um, Fiona,” she offered after a moment. “Mrs. MacAvery” was what people called her mom, and it sounded way too formal.

“Fiona.” Dom flashed her another grin. “Funny, you look like a Fiona.”

Was he flirting with her? She concentrated on her driving instead of on the irregular pulse fluttering at her throat.

“I saw you head into the bookshop across the street from the dojo this morning,” he said. “Do you work there?”

“Oh, yeah, Mom loves it,” Sean answered before she could say anything. “And she gets me all kinds of stuff to read, too.”

“And how was your day?” Dom asked him.

“Oh. It was…” He trailed off into silence.

Fiona sensed Dom looking at her.

“Sean was kicked out of fun camp for getting into a fight,” she explained quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Sean said. It was the first time today he’d offered an apology or any kind of admission that he’d been at fault. “I didn’t mean it to happen.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t start anything.”

“Wait. Sean, did you start that fight?”

“Of course he didn’t.” Fiona couldn’t believe he’d even suggest her sweet, innocent son had instigated any kind of violence. “He wouldn’t—”

Dom placed a firm hand on her shoulder. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “Let him answer.”

“He called Mom a dirty word,” Sean said.

Fiona flinched. “You mean Rene? What did he call me?”

“I don’t want to say it, Mom.”

“Are you telling me you started that fight?”

“He called you a dirty word!” Sean argued hotly. “He called you a—”

“You’re right,” Dom interjected, “we don’t need to hear the word, Sean.” Fiona’s grip on the wheel tightened as her temper ratcheted up at this man’s nerve. Dom went on, “I think it was honorable of you to defend your mother.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she snapped, and suddenly the day’s stress and frustration cascaded over her. “He got kicked out of camp because of his fighting. He didn’t have to let Rene bait him, but he did. Fun camp was the only place I could send him on Saturdays. What am I supposed to do now? Who’s going to take care of Sean while I go to work?”

Silence descended. Fiona glanced in her rearview mirror and saw Sean staring down at his hands, humiliated. Her heart sank.

“He fought for you,” Dom said quietly. “Aren’t you proud of him for defending you, even if he won’t defend himself?”

She’d had just about enough of Dominic Payette. “I’m his mother. I can take a little abuse from the Rene Kirkpatricks of the world. I don’t need anyone to tell me or my son how to behave.”

She felt her neighbor’s steely gaze on her, felt the intense pity there, and she hated it. She couldn’t pull onto their street soon enough.

“Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you later,” Dom said as he got out of the car. Sean waved and watched him walk up the steps and into his house, even as Fiona jerked the car back onto the road and drove the last few yards up to their home.

Any distance that she could put between herself and her neighbor was welcome.

LATER THAT EVENING, the doorbell rang. Fiona was in the middle of preparing Sean’s favorite meal. When they’d returned home, her son had gone straight to his room and slammed the door behind him—again—telling her exactly how he felt.

“Dominic.” Her breath caught as she took in the figure filling the doorway. He’d changed out of his jogging clothes into jeans. A thin gray T-shirt stretched across his broad, muscled chest, tapering to his narrow hips and flat stomach. She stiffly asked, “Can I help you?”

“I really hate to bother you,” he said, “but I just blew a fuse and I can’t find the fuse box, or even a flashlight.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I tried calling my landlord, Mr. Patterson, but he’s not answering. Do you suppose I could borrow a flashlight, or a candle and some matches or something?”

Finally. An opportunity to make amends for her poor behavior. She wasn’t setting a good example for Sean. She needed to make things right between them…for her son’s sake.

“The layout of your house is a lot like mine, actually,” she said. “Give me a minute and I can show you exactly where the fuse box is.”

He seemed surprised by her offer. “I…yeah, okay, thanks.”

Gail was lounging on her front porch, so Fiona asked her to keep an eye on Sean for the few minutes she’d be away. She grabbed a pair of flashlights and walked across the street with Dom. “So what happened?”

“I plugged in my stereo and laptop, then went to boil some water for tea, and the power went out.”

Fiona nodded sympathetically. “My aunt Penelope, who owned the house before I moved in, put in all kinds of extraneous switches. To this day, I can’t use my toaster if the porch light is on, and there hasn’t been a single electrician who can figure out why without tearing the walls apart.”

They walked across the porch and stepped into the dark hallway. Fiona turned on the flashlights and handed one to Dom. It took her a minute to adjust to the layout, a near mirror image of her own house. “This way.” She led him to the basement.

The lower level was pitch-black and smelled musty. Fiona shone the light around and found a curtained-off corner where the electrical box was hidden. Fortunately, John Patterson had upgraded the most important components so that all she had to do was flip the breaker switch on the panel. She could hear the hum as appliances upstairs turned back on.

“There you go.” It was still dark in the basement, but another pass of the flashlight beam revealed a switch on the wall.

She didn’t realize Dom had gone for it, too, until they crashed into one another in the dark. Fiona’s face collided with his chest, squashing her nose and knocking her flashlight away.

“Sorry,” he murmured. She felt his warm hand grip her waist to steady her. “Are you all right?”

She peered up, just making out his rugged features, his square jaw and high cheekbones, in the soft, yellow light of his flashlight. His eyes were in shadow, but she could tell he was looking at her.

Her gaze automatically went to his mouth, and she licked her lips.

What would it be like to taste him? The thought flew at her from nowhere, but the absurdity of it didn’t keep her from leaning forward, drawn magnetically as if by some—

Something small and dark was inching across his throat. Fiona screamed and jerked out of his hold. “S-spider! Spider!”

Dom reached up, brushing the little creature away.

“Kill it, kill it, kill it!” Fiona cried, shrinking back. She cringed, her skin crawling.

“It’s gone.” Dom flicked on the light switch. The harsh bluish glare of the compact fluorescent blinded her momentarily. “Arachnophobia?”

“No. Well, yes. Let’s get out of here.” She pounded up the steps, careful not to touch anything.

When they reached the kitchen, Fiona kept shaking her hair.

“How about some tea?” Dom offered slowly, watching her nervous twitching with concern. “I’ve got this great jasmine green tea. It’s very good for soothing nerves.”

She gave her head one last shake before folding her hands and nodding resolutely.

“Sorry I screamed in your face,” she said, once they’d settled down with their little clay cups of tea. “I hate spiders.”

“I figured.”

“No, I mean, I really hate them.”

“That’s okay. Fear’s a good thing. It lets us know we’re alive.” He said softly, “Don’t tell anyone, but…I’m afraid of mice.”

“Mice?” She raised an eyebrow. “What’s so scary about them?”

“I just can’t stand all those squeaking noises, and their little pink tails…. And don’t get me started on rats!” He shuddered.

“I’d brave a vat of mice and rats over a tank of spiders any day.”

“Let’s make a deal then. I’ll get rid of all the spiders in your house if you get rid of any mice that show up in mine.” They laughed together.

Hearing about each other’s quirky phobias opened a door that Fiona forced herself to step through.

“I want to apologize,” she blurted, before pride could stop her, “for the way I’ve been treating you. Not just today, but from the moment we met. It’s just that…seeing Sean come home all roughed up…” She spread her hands helplessly. “I just blew up, and you were unfortunate enough to be in my line of fire. It wasn’t the best way to be welcomed into the neighborhood. Not at all.” Her apology loosened the knot in her gut.

Dom leaned forward. “Listen…it’s not my place to tell you how to raise your son. But I was bullied a lot as a kid, too, so I know what he’s going through.”

“You were bullied?” She had a hard time imagining anyone picking on him.

“You don’t have to be small or weak to be a victim. Just different.”

Sadly, Sean was all those things. “Try to understand. I don’t want Sean fighting. I don’t want him to think fists will solve all his problems. His father…” She hesitated. “My ex-husband wasn’t very tolerant or patient. He brought a lot of anger and violence into the house.”

In an instant, Dom’s expression turned dark and fierce. Fiona nearly inched away from him. “Did he hurt you? Did he hurt Sean?” His voice was low, dangerous, almost a growl. The hairs on her neck rose.

“No, no, Mitch wasn’t like that. I guess you could say it was verbal and emotional abuse.” But she refrained from admitting she had always been afraid he would snap one day and take his threats further.

“Sean’s had enough of that kind of fear in his life,” she went on. “I know the situation with those bullies is bad, but…” She trailed off. It was frustrating feeling so powerless, so inadequate, so incapable of protecting her son, the one person who mattered to her most.

“Let me teach Sean,” Dom said.

“What?”

“You said he’s been kicked out of Saturday fun camp. Sensei Miwa has a youth beginners’ class at nine in the morning on Saturdays. Bring him to the class, and I’ll keep an eye on him for the rest of the day while you work.”

“Absolutely not,” Fiona said, alarmed by the suggestion. “I barely know you.”

“You live across the street from me. And you work across the street from the dojo. Sensei Miwa will be on-site at all times. Sean’s perfectly safe.”

“I thought I made it clear I don’t want him learning how to fight.”

“He’d be learning self-defense,” Dom countered in his calm, resonant voice. “I can show him techniques to disable his opponents long enough that he could get away. It would be good for his self-confidence.”

“Look, I appreciate your offer, but Sean is my—”

“Do you think you can protect him when he hits thirteen? Fourteen? Seventeen? Twenty?”

Fiona breathed deeply, counting to ten and letting the tension drain from her. “I know you have ideas of what might benefit Sean, but this is something I need to work out on my own.”

Dom’s concerned expression told her he wasn’t going to push it, even if he also seemed to be sizing up an opponent.

“Promise me you’ll talk to him about it, at least. And that you’ll think about my offer,” he said.

As if. How could she possibly trust Dom with her son if she couldn’t trust herself with the man?