A Time To Come Home

“I’d love to meet your little girl one day,” Mrs. Wilson said. “Please tell your mother I said hello and that she should give me a call. Or, better yet, I’ll call her.”

Diana had yet to inform her mother she’d returned to Bentonsville, a fact she wouldn’t have revealed even if her mind hadn’t been on the fiction the older woman had spun. Was Mrs. Wilson’s version of events what everybody in Bentonsville thought had happened? Is that what Tyler believed?

Mrs. Wilson chatted blithely on for a few more moments before announcing she was off to a pottery-making class, stopping along the way to talk with Chris. Diana nearly rushed the pair so she could drag Chris away and interrogate him but waited to flag him down until he finished talking.

“Tell me something, Chris,” she said before he reached the counter, not able to hold off another second. “What do you know about what happened to me after I left Bentonsville?”

Confusion stamped his features. “A lot. Don’t you remember? We talked about it over coffee a few days ago.”

“I don’t mean recently. I mean right after I left town, when I lived with my aunt.”

He scratched his head, taking a maddeningly long time to answer. “Only what your mother told me. That you met a guy and got pregnant and that he died in a car accident. I didn’t ask you about Jaye’s father because I thought it still might be a sore spot.”

“It is,” she verified, but for a different reason than Chris suspected. Jaye’s father wasn’t dead, but very much alive—and quite possibly sure he hadn’t gotten Diana pregnant.

Chris anchored both hands on the counter, obviously believing she’d cued him to change the subject. “How’s the job going, Diana?”

“Great,” she said, the wheels in her head spinning madly as the pieces of the past clicked into place. It had never occurred to her that Tyler wouldn’t have figured out she was pregnant when she left town.

“I’m glad everything’s working out,” Chris said with genuine enthusiasm. “I got the feeling you weren’t too keen on manning the welcome desk.”

She hadn’t been, fearing the people who recognized her would try to figure out who in Bentonsville had fathered Jaye. Because of the story her mother had concocted and spread, that wouldn’t be the case.

“You got me there,” Diana admitted. “I’ll have to put on my tin-foil hat the next time I see you coming.”

He laughed. “I don’t have to be a mind reader to tell you were nervous about running into people you used to know. Don’t forget, I knew you way back when.”

But he didn’t know her secret. Apparently nobody except her immediate family members were aware that the father of Diana’s child was from Bentonsville.

“I need you to do something for me,” Chris announced, drawing her attention back to the present. She’d think about Tyler and the implications of what she’d learned later. Chris might be her friend, but first and foremost he was her boss. “Remember how I mentioned the turnout for the teen program has been disappointing? Tyler Benton is planning some fund-raising so we can equip the study lounge with computers.”

Surprise jolted through her even though she’d seen Tyler in the community center only a few hours before. “I didn’t know Tyler was involved with the center.”

“People as ambitious as Benton get involved with places like this all the time,” Chris said, then remarked, “It looks good on their resumes.”

Even as a teenager, Tyler had talked about surpassing the accomplishments of his very successful father and grandfather and one day becoming a judge. To that end, he’d taken the most advanced classes at Bentonsville High, read incessantly and applied to the best colleges. He poured himself into whatever he did, whether it was playing on the basketball team or taking an exam. Or kissing her. But something inside Diana rebelled at Chris’s comment.

“Tyler wouldn’t use the community center to make himself look good,” she said. “He’s not like that.”

Chris squinted at her. “I thought you said you didn’t know him that well.”

“I don’t. I mean, I only know what I remember about him.”

“People change, Diana. You’d do well to remember that. But I’m not going to question Benton’s motives. What I need you to do is let me know if he makes any progress on getting those computers.”

“Okay,” she said, her heart beating harder at the prospect of seeing Tyler again. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“You won’t need to try too hard. Benton’s a semi-regular at the basketball games that go on here at night. He mentioned he’s about to start a trial, so you might not see him for a couple days. But believe me, he’ll be around.”

Diana’s stomach jumped with anticipation at seeing Tyler again now that she was armed with her newfound knowledge. A bitterness she hadn’t realized she harbored seemed to melt away from her heart as her mind formulated a plan.

Maybe she could ask Tyler out for coffee, possibly at the same Starbucks where Chris had taken her. The establishment had an outside seating area, where they could talk in relative privacy.

“Diana, are you listening to me?”

Her head snapped up. “Sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked if you figured out the filing system and familiarized yourself with the types of programs the center offers?”

“I did,” she said.

He lightly rapped the desk. “Great. Let me know if you need anything else, including the number of the Realtor who’s renting that place I told you about.”

He’d mentioned the apartment enough times that she’d devised a tactful reply about being careful not to act in haste and repent in leisure. But that was before she’d learned the story her mother had invented about her pregnancy. Before she realized nobody would gossip about Jaye after her daughter moved in with her.

“Actually,” she said, “I would like that number.”

He grinned, reached into his wallet, pulled out a business card decorated with a Realtor’s logo and slapped it on the counter. “Hot damn. That’s good news. It means my newest hire is here to stay.”

She smiled at his enthusiasm. “How do you figure that?”

“You wouldn’t consider living in Bentonsville if you didn’t think things would work out here.”

She rested her hands on her hips. “I’ll have to get out that tin-foil hat after all.”

His good-natured laughter lingered in her ears even after he was gone. The sound traveled through her and stirred up the hope bubbling inside her.

Mere days ago, the thought of returning to Bentonsville had terrified her. Now with a little luck she’d be able to move out of the lonely hotel room in the next few days. Then she’d have the fast-approaching weekend to fix her new place up to her liking. She could spend part of it decorating the second bedroom in shades of pink, Jaye’s favorite color.

She still had some major hurdles to overcome before she could get Jaye back—including dealing with her mother—but the biggest obstacle no longer seemed so high.

To think that for all these years she’d harbored an unfounded grudge against Tyler for not at least trying to find out whether he was Jaye’s father.

The hope that everything would work out rose in her like the helium in a balloon. She picked up the colorful stone from the surface of the desk, tossed it into the air and caught it.

For the first time since she’d set foot in Bentonsville again, she truly believed the town where her daughter’s father lived represented the perfect place to start over.

TO MOLLY JACOBY, anywhere was better than home. Even the community center, with the funny old ladies playing cards and the little kids squealing on the playground.

Besides, she’d catch hell if she got home before school let out. If there was anybody home to catch her. Her dad had moved in with his girlfriend after the divorce and still lived in Virginia, which Molly liked better than this nothing little town. Her mom was a nurse who was always around except when she needed her.

Not that Molly had needed her in a very long time. Not like her younger brothers and sister did. Jeremy and Jason, the twins, were second-graders. Little Rosie had just started kindergarten.

Molly was sixteen, as her mom constantly reminded her. Old enough to chip in now that her dad was gone. So how come Molly didn’t help around the house more, babysit the kids and make better grades while she was at it?

Nag, nag, nag.

It had gotten so bad Molly invented lies so she didn’t have to come home. Her mom actually believed she was on the technical crew for the school play. As if Molly would have anything to do with a production as lame as Peter Pan.

Although the center was one of her daytime hangouts, she seldom showed up after dark. The past couple nights, she’d hung with the crowd that snuck into the county park after closing. She’d made few friends since moving to town a month ago so she’d jumped when Bobby Martinelli told her she should come. She’d almost died on the spot that a boy as good looking as Bobby had noticed her at all.

He and his friends mostly drank beer at one of the picnic shelters. It tasted gross, so Molly didn’t take more than a swallow or two even though Bobby urged her to drink more. Bobby had been pushing her to do a lot of other things, too, but so far she hadn’t let him past second base.

Her mom would throw a fit if she knew where Molly had been spending her nights. And who she’d been spending them with. But her mom was so busy with the little kids and so bitter about the divorce, she didn’t have the energy to keep tabs on Molly.

She sure could muster the strength to yell at her, though.

The teen study lounge was deserted, pretty much its usual state. Molly had lurked outside the center until Valerie, the usual receptionist, had left her post, then slipped inside, minimizing the chance that anybody would give her the third degree.

Molly dropped her backpack beside an armchair, then dug around for her CD player. Most of the other kids had iPods, but not Molly. Her mom claimed they were an “unnecessary extravagance.”

She put in a CD by a loud rock band, plugged in her earphones and curled up on the chair with a book she’d lifted from the school library just to see if she could.

She tucked her legs up under her and soon lost herself in a Terry Pratchett book set in a make-believe land with trolls and elves and lots of other cool stuff. Just when she was getting to the epic battle, a shadow fell over her.

A woman she’d never seen before wearing a name tag that identified herself as a center employee stood over her. Younger than most of the people at the center, she was still a good ten years older than Molly. An adult. Rolling her eyes, Molly took out her earphones, cutting off a heavy metal riff.

“You surprised me, too,” the woman said. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

Molly said nothing, hoping the woman would take the hint and go away. She looked nervous enough. Instead, the woman asked, “Good book?”

Molly shrugged. “It’s okay.”

The woman angled her head, reading the author’s name on the back cover. “Oh, I love Terry Pratchett. Have you read the one where the Grim Reaper takes an apprentice? That’s my favorite.”

Molly loved that book most, too, but she only grunted.

The woman’s smile faltered, but she stuck out a hand. “I’m Diana Smith. I started working here a couple days ago.”

Molly ignored her hand, but enough manners had been drilled into her that she grudgingly said, “I’m Molly.”

“So, Molly,” she said, her voice wavering a little, “what brings you here at this time of day?”

So that was what this was all about. Goody Two-shoes obviously knew school was still in session. Molly went on the defensive. “They don’t care if you leave early if you have study hall last period.”

Diana squirmed, as though talking to Molly made her uncomfortable. But that couldn’t be. She was very pretty with great skin, clear and pale. Molly used tons of zit cream to ensure she didn’t scare young children.

“How’d you do it?” Diana asked. “Forge a note about a doctor’s appointment or slip out that back door by the gym?”

“How’d you know about the back door?”

“I went to Bentonsville High,” she said. “If you go out that door and cross a road, the woods are right there. Then you’re home free.”

“You used that escape route?” Molly injected heavy skepticism into her voice.

“All the time.” Diana’s words carried a ring of truth, although she seemed ashamed of the admission.

Well, Molly didn’t feel guilty. “I went out the back door. It was easy because I have PE last period. The teacher loses track of who’s there and who’s not.”

Molly had forged her mom’s signature before, too. She’d never leave school without covering her tracks. A terrible thought occurred to her, and her heart raced. “You’re not going to tell my mom, are you?”

“Why would I do that?”

Molly’s heart rate returned to normal. “Because I shouldn’t be skipping school.”

“Then why are you?”

“Why did you?” Molly shot back.

Diana didn’t answer for a moment. “I guess because I didn’t want to be there.”

“That’s my reason, too.”

“Okay,” Diana said, as though she actually accepted that. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

She’d almost reached the door when she turned around. “If you ever want to talk about anything—Terry Pratchett books, school, anything—just come find me. I’ll be around.”

Then she left.

Molly frowned, wondering what had possessed her to admit she’d skated out of her last class. How could she be sure Diana wouldn’t rat her out?

Diana had seemed okay. She wasn’t too old and she hadn’t lectured Molly about doing the right thing. But Diana was one of them. An adult.

Molly snorted, disgusted with herself for revealing anything at all to Diana. She put her headphones back on and opened her book, wondering how long it would be until she caught hell for skipping school.

THE APPLE-CHEEKED KID on the stand looked about fifteen years old, although Tyler’s court documents stated his age as nineteen.

Unlucky for the kid.

The juries in adult cases usually came down harder on offenders than juvenile court judges, a bad thing for Grant Livingstone. Because Tyler was about to prove without a reasonable doubt that the teenager had committed arson.

Nobody had died, but the owner of the single-family home that had burned to the ground suffered second-degree burns trying to contain the flames before the fire department arrived.

“I’d like to make sure I have some of the facts straight,” Tyler said, sidling up to the young man. Up close, dressed in a too-big navy blue suit, Grant looked like a boy playing dress-up in his father’s clothes. “Is that okay, Mr. Livingstone?”

“Uh, sure.” The kid clearly wasn’t used to being addressed formally.

“You say the empty gas can police found in your parents’ garage is one you used to fill up the tank of the lawn mower. Is that correct?”

“Yeah,” Grant said, then seemed to remember where he was. “I mean, yes, sir.”

“You also maintain that you were seen in the vicinity of the fire shortly before it started because the house that burned down was along your running route. True?”

“Yes, sir.” The teen straightened and spoke louder, more confidently. “I pass right by that house, I mean where that house used to be, when I go out for a run.”

“How long have you been running that route?”

“Not long. I change my route all the time.”

“I see,” Tyler said.

And he did. Circumstantial evidence had been enough to bring Grant to trial, but not enough to convict him. Without a motive, the odds of the teenager walking free were sky high.

Grant knew that. That’s why he’d refused to plea bargain and why his wealthy father had shelled out big bucks to hire a defense attorney. However, they were unaware of what Tyler knew.

“Mr. Livingstone, do you know a Dr. Millicent Osgood?”

Shock flashed across the kid’s face, which he quickly masked. But Tyler had seen it and knew the case was as good as won.

“Objection,” Grant’s defense attorney called, clearly not recognizing the name. “Irrelevant.”

Tyler glanced back at the young lawyer, a junior associate at a legal firm that counted one of Tyler’s neighbors as a partner.

The attorney had mounted a fairly impressive defense but erred when he let Livingstone take the stand. The law didn’t require defendants to testify, a marked advantage if your client was guilty. A prosecutor who’d done his homework could almost always get a guilty man to incriminate himself. The younger the defendant, Tyler found, the more likely he was to slip up.

All of which meant that the very young lawyer from Ernst, Cooper and Pettinger must actually believe his even younger client wasn’t guilty.

“If the court will bear with me,” Tyler told the judge, a statuesque woman in her sixties. “I’ll show how Dr. Osgood relates to this case.”

“Overruled,” the judge said. “The defendant will answer the question.”

“Dr. Osgood was my twelfth-grade biology teacher at Bentonsville High.”

Tyler waited a moment for that fact to sink in with the jury. “Mr. Livingstone, do you have a high school diploma?”

Grant squirmed in his seat. “No.”

“Why not? You were supposed to graduate with your high school class last year, weren’t you?”

“I, uh, didn’t pass all my subjects.”

“Isn’t it true that the subject you flunked was biology and Dr. Osgood was the teacher who flunked you?”

The pause before Grant answered stretched longer than before. “Yeah.”

“Where do you go to school now, Mr. Livingstone?”

“Rockville Prep.”

“If not for that grade in biology, you’d be in college, correct?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” the defense attorney interrupted, not without a touch of panic. “I fail to see how any of this is relevant.”

Before the judge could rule, Tyler said, “I’d like to submit a phone book into evidence, Your Honor. It goes directly to relevance.”

“Don’t try my patience, counselor,” the judge told Tyler. “Connect the dots in the next minute or you’ll have to move on from this line of questioning.”

“Understood.” Tyler strode to the prosecutor’s table and picked up the community phone book he’d placed there. While walking back to Grant, he flipped it open to a bookmarked page, then handed it to the defendant.

“Mr. Livingstone, would you please read the address listed next to Dr. Millicent Osgood’s phone number?”

The kid reminded him of a caged animal, his eyes frantically searching for a means of escape. After a moment, he cleared his throat and read, “9926 Fairmont Road.”

“Do you know the address of the place that burned down?” Tyler asked.

“No, I don’t,” Grant said, but his eyes and his manner said otherwise.

“Let the record show that address is 9962 Fairmont Road.”

Tyler didn’t relish the gasps and shocked murmurs that reverberated throughout the courtroom. Despite the arrogance that shined through in his manner, Grant seemed more like a misguided kid than a bad one. He’d set the fire in a trash can, probably only intending to frighten. But the wind had been gusty that day, spreading the flames to the branches of a nearby tree that butted up against the house. The resulting inferno had happened very fast.

Tyler spent a good chunk of time trying to get Grant to admit to arson, with no success. But by the time the judge adjourned for lunch, the damage was done. Tyler had furnished the jury with a motive and a defendant who couldn’t meet his eyes when he lied.

The defense attorney would probably spend the lunch break talking to his client about trying to make a deal, but it was too late for that now that Tyler had the case won. Tyler’s boss, the state’s attorney, took pride in his office’s high conviction rate and would never approve a plea bargain at this late stage.

Tyler gathered his papers, placed them in the expensive calfskin leather briefcase his father had bought him last Christmas and headed for the exit.

“Impressive job in there, Tyler.” Jon Pettinger, the neighbor who lived a few doors from him, separated himself from the crowd and shook his hand. Jon kept himself in such good shape that he could have passed for a man a few decades younger if not for his gray hair.

“Thanks, Jon. That’s big of you to say, considering it was your colleague sitting at the defense table. I’m lucky you weren’t there beside him.”

“I’m working another case or I might have been. I was only present today because I happened to be at the courthouse and thought I’d check up on him. I didn’t see much, just the fireworks at the end. You caught my guy unawares, which is a good lesson for him.”

“It’s all about gaining experience and putting in the time. Next time your associate will be better prepared so the prosecution doesn’t surprise him again.”

“You’re right. But next time he won’t be up against an opponent who might become the youngest circuit court judge ever appointed in Maryland.”

“I take it you heard I put in an application for the vacancy.”

“I heard more than that. I heard the judicial nominating commission is very impressed with you. Unless you blow the interview, they’ll recommend the governor appoint you to the bench for sure.”

The thirteen-member commission, armed with background information and statements from local bar associations and interested citizens, would soon meet to interview all the candidates. Tyler had every intention of sailing through the interview, the same way he’d aced his tests in college and law school.

“That’s only the first step,” Tyler said. “The commission can recommend up to seven candidates.”

“I still wouldn’t bet against a guy as accomplished as you, although I’d go nuts if I put in the time you do,” he said with a laugh, then lowered his voice as though they were coconspirators. “Just tell me one thing. Did you get the idea to cross check the addresses because of what happened on Labor Day weekend?”

Tyler cocked his head, trying to remember back to last weekend. He’d spent most of it working, although Lauren Fairchild had stopped by his house in an unsuccessful attempt to persuade him to come to her family’s cookout. “I don’t follow.”

“With that woman who transposed our house numbers. She stopped at my place on Saturday by mistake, but I pointed her in the right direction. Don’t tell me she never found you.”

“I was at the office most of the day Saturday,” Tyler said, then quickly asked, “What did this woman look like?”

“Very attractive. Brown hair a little longer than shoulder length. Big hazel eyes. Oh, and a tiny mole to the left of her mouth, like the one that supermodel has.”

The woman he’d described was Diana Smith.

If his neighbor hadn’t pointed out the mole, Tyler never would have come up with her name.

What could she possibly have come to his house to say after all these years? And why hadn’t she said it when he’d run into her at the community center?

A number of hackneyed expressions ran through his head: water under the bridge. Let bygones by bygones. What’s done is done.

He didn’t listen to any of them. What Diana had to say shouldn’t matter and probably wouldn’t in the long run. But one way or the other, he intended to find out what it was.

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