A Child's Wish

Mark was well aware this kind of thing happened. On television. In big towns. In other people’s lives. “Then why hasn’t he done that—gone to court already?”

“It wouldn’t be convenient,” she said simply. “Larry likes to play. Being responsible for a child 24/7 would hamper his freedom. And taking a child away from his mother might lose him some votes. Still… If there’s any possibility of people believing the truth of Ms. Foster’s claims, he’d get full custody simply to show that he has the stellar reputation to do so. It would shut up his critics. If he has any.”

Barnett had the woman sufficiently boxed in. There would be no help from her.

Assuming they needed help.

Assuming Mark had any intention of supporting Meredith Foster.

Or was Mrs. Barnett just bitter and slightly off the mark and her husband was to be pitied and taken seriously? If Mark had to put money on it, he’d probably choose the latter scenario.

“So if Barnett continues to have access to Tommy, how did Ms. Foster’s statement have any bearing on the boy’s welfare?”

“It put Larry on notice.”

Eyes narrowed, he watched her carefully for signs of dishonesty—shifting eyes, nervous twitches, lack of focus. There were none. She made that statement as if it were a given, as if Barnett had a reason to be on notice.

“Is Larry Barnett abusing his son?”

“Not that I know of.”

Mark tossed down his pen, frustrated with the entire mess. No one knew anything and yet a student had just been yanked from school, Mark’s reputation had been smeared in the local paper and Meredith Foster could lose her job.

“Do you believe he is?”

“I hope not.”

“But there’s a possibility.”

She stood. “I really must go,” she said, laying the clipboard on the edge of his desk. “Tommy won’t want to wait for me to pick him up after his first day in a new school.”

Mark rose from his chair and walked her to the door.

“Did Barnett ever hit you, Ruth?” His use of her first name was calculated, but he justified his attempted manipulation with the thought that it was for a good cause.

“No, of course not. Now I really have to leave.”

“Will you give me a call if anything changes?”

She nodded and was gone.

“MORE WINE?”

Meredith hesitated as her friend held the half-empty bottle of expensive Riesling over her glass. “I shouldn’t,” she said. In the morning, she’d have a roomful of feisty eight-year-olds to face. “But okay.”

Susan topped up her own glass next. “Thanks for coming, by the way. I’d already made the pasta this morning, and you know how I am about eating it fresh.”

“Hey, I’m the one who benefited here,” Meredith said, relaxing for the first time that day. “I can’t believe you aren’t upset with Mark for leaving you in the lurch at the last minute.”

Susan shrugged. “It was up to Kelsey, and based on our track record chances were good that she’d say no.”

“But you made the pasta anyway.”

“There’s always hope.” Susan grinned.

Toying with her butter knife, Meredith said, “You feel more conflicted than nonchalant here, woman.”

“And it’s eerie how you see right through me.”

“I’ve known you a long time.”

“About as long as I’ve known you, and you can be falling apart inside but I won’t know it until it actually shows on the outside.”

The knife slipped from Meredith’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be!” Susan’s talented, steady fingers closed over Meredith’s, drawing her gaze downward first and then to Susan’s eyes. “I need you, Mer. I rely on you to understand me when I can’t see myself—to find me in the muck and pull me out.”

“I’m not a magician. Nor am I always right.”

“Of course not. You aren’t always tuned in, either. I love you for all kinds of different things, but this gift you have…I want you to know that I realize how important it is. I believe with all my heart that it’s as real as you are.”

Meredith’s eyes rimmed with tears she didn’t even try to hide. It’d been a long few days filled with far too much emotion, leaving little time for the familiar routines of life. Everyday events she needed in order to keep everything in perspective.

“So tell me what’s going on with you,” she said a moment later. “Is there a problem with Mark?”

“No.” Susan sounded sure, but her eyes were clouded. “He’s a great guy,” she continued. “Warm, considerate, patient, funny. Sexy as hell….”

Meredith reached for the butter knife again, twirling the little handle back and forth between her fingers. It wasn’t that she was prudish, but she didn’t need to hear about Mark and Susan doing…it. Didn’t need to think about Mark in that way.

Because it was too easy to picture?

Please, no, don’t let it be that.

“So what’s the problem?” she asked, pulling her mind firmly back to the conversation. “He’s sexy, but you aren’t turned on by him?”

Why the hell had she said that?

“Oh, no, I am!” Susan grinned. “Every single time he kisses me I want to go to bed with him.”

Now, Meredith desperately wanted to change the subject. And if that was odd, considering that she and Susan had been best friends when they’d lost their virginity and had always spoken openly with each other about intimate topics, she wasn’t about to ask herself why.

She had too many other things to worry over at the moment.

“The problem is the rest of the time,” Susan said, her voice dropping. “I look forward to seeing Mark and I want to spend as much time with him as I can, but I don’t feel…I don’t know…like I’ve arrived yet. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.” Meredith wished she could take that lost look from Susan’s eyes, the feeling from her heart. “You aren’t trusting in a future.”

Susan’s eyes were moist as she glanced up—wet and fearful. “What if I never do, Mer? I mean, how can I? I know firsthand that there are no guarantees, that nothing lasts forever. That you can get up one morning, shower and have breakfast as you always do, go to work, looking forward to the day, the evening ahead, the weekend to come, and by afternoon, with one phone call, all hope of a future is wiped away.”

“Bud’s future is gone, but yours isn’t. It’s just changed. And as long as you’re alive, that future is a guarantee. When you’re dead, it’s gone—but then so are you.”

Trite words, maybe. But Meredith felt the truth of them clear to her core. “It’s up to you to put the promise back in your future, Susan. Or not to, in which case you’re right and you’ll never have it again.”

“I mentioned Bud the other night, when I was with Mark.”

“And?”

“I started to cry.”

“And Mark was good to you, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Susan’s gaze lightened as she smiled softly. “He was.”

“TOMMY BARNETT transferred schools today.”

“Shit.”

The two women were still sitting at the table, nursing their wine. It had been weeks since they’d spent this much time together. Meredith hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it. Susan was one of the few people with whom she felt completely safe—with whom she didn’t have to hide or filter her natural reactions, her thoughts.

“Mark threatened to fire me if there are any more ‘episodes.’” She said the word as if it were nasty and needed to be hidden.

“He’s blind as a bat on this one, but he has a good heart.”

“I know.” Meredith nodded. “Otherwise I’d never have trusted him with you.”

Susan sat back, wineglass in hand, slowly sipping. “I just wish I got along better with Kelsey.”

Meredith did, too. She was missing something there. They all were. In her spare time, when she thought about it, it was driving her crazy. “She’ll come around,” was the best she could manage to offer.

“Do you really think so?”

Oh, no. Susan was giving her that look: she wanted complete truth.

“I think it’s possible,” Meredith said slowly, trying her best to differentiate between what she thought and what she felt—to separate it all from the depression that had been threatening to descend ever since she’d been summoned to Mark’s office the previous Friday.

Susan nodded. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Because Mark meant that much to her. Which was exactly what Meredith wanted for her.

So why did the thought make her melancholy when it should have brought her joy? Was her own situation pulling her that far down?

If so, she was going to have to do something to change that. Immediately.

“You want to go for ice cream?”

“A banana pie creamie?”

The first time they’d shared that concoction from a local ice cream carry-out chain, they’d been in college.

“We could take one to Mark.” If she came bearing a delight to feed his ice-cream fetish, maybe he wouldn’t dislike her so much.

“Kelsey loves cookie dough,” Susan said.

“There you go! You’re already learning how to please her.” Meredith began to clear the table, and with Susan’s help they made short work of the dishes. “All it takes is paying attention to the little things and Kelsey’ll come around,” Meredith assured her friend as they drove across town in Susan’s silver BMW. She hoped she was right and that it would really be that easy. “Kelsey’s like anyone else,” she added. “She just needs to know that she matters.”

“Did Mark tell you she refused to go see her best friend from across town today? He’d made arrangements with the girl’s mother and had to call and cancel that, too.”

“Mark and I weren’t exactly on speaking terms today,” Meredith said slowly, thinking about Kelsey. “Did she and Lucy have a fight?”

“Apparently not.”

Meredith looked at the houses they passed, noting the lights on in living rooms, kitchens, bedrooms, wondering about the darkened ones. So many people, so many lives saturated with hope and fear and love and regret; so many emotions. Trapping her.

“I told Mark I’d be happy to keep Kelsey overnight any weekend the two of you want some time alone,” she said slowly, deciphering her feelings as she spoke. “Maybe we should do it this weekend. Think you can come up with a plan to entice him?”

Susan pulled to a stop at the corner. “You want some time alone with her.”

“I enjoy Kelsey.”

“You’re worried about her and you want to see if you can figure anything out.”

Meredith didn’t answer. She had no idea if there was anything wrong with Kelsey Shepherd other than the usual little-girl jealousy that came with the territory when a single dad started dating. She had no idea if there was any real justification for this feeling that she should be paying special attention to Kelsey right now. She had no idea if she was being overemotional, reacting to the trauma of the past several days, or if she was getting intuitive guidance.

“I’ll make it happen,” Susan said, her foot back on the gas.

CHAPTER FIVE

“I THINK I WANT HER, Don.”

Barbie Shepherd lay naked in her lover’s arms, hoping he wasn’t going to get all bossy and manly—and hoping he’d stay in bed with her until she fell asleep. She hated nights. The dark, the loneliness….

“Want who?”

“Kelsey.”

Every time she’d thought about the idea in the four days since her daughter had last been here, a good feeling had come over her. Now that Kelsey had met Don—and more importantly, now that he’d met her—she couldn’t be happy without being a real mom again.

“You want her to live here with us, you mean?” His voice was soft, kind of hoarse, like it got right before they had sex. Or right afterward.

He had to leave soon, on a run to Colorado. She toyed with his nipple. “Uh-huh.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“Really?” she asked. “You mean it?”

“Sure.” Don leaned over, licked her breast, his beard tickling her. Then he sat up, reaching for the cigarettes that were never farther away than the nightstand. She watched the amber flicker of the lighter’s flame, saw the cigarette catch and glow as Don inhaled deeply. Took her own drag when he handed it to her and lit a second one for himself.

“I’m her mother. I have rights.”

“Of course, you do.” The end of the cigarette disappeared between his whiskers and Barbie told herself he was a good-looking man. Especially in the semidarkness, when you couldn’t see his teeth.

“You’re the one who carried her around in your body,” he said now, running a finger lightly from her breasts down and over her belly. “You went through labor, gave birth to her…”

“Breast-fed her and raised her for the first five and half years of her life…”

“She’s an asset,” he continued. “Your asset.”

Yeah. Kelsey was someone who had to love her, no matter what.

“Kids are good for lots of things,” Don went on, letting the ash grow dangerously long before flicking it into the ashtray. “She can help you out around here.”

She hadn’t thought of that. Kelsey had still been too young to be of much use when Barbie had left. Not that she’d minded. She’d liked taking care of her. Still…

“So, what do I do?” she asked now, straddling his stomach as she leaned over to flick off her ashes.

Crushing the remains of his cigarette in the ashtray, Don grabbed her butt. “Get a lawyer.”

She took one last drag and ditched her cigarette. “Can we afford that?”

“You can get one for free.” This was the best news yet—she’d thought the legal part would be the most difficult. “State has to appoint one for you.”

Barbie slid down the roundness of his belly until she rested at the top of his thighs. “You sure about that?”

“Yep.”

Then he moved and she couldn’t think about Kelsey or being a mother anymore. Don wasn’t like Mark in bed. He had lots of tricks, kept her guessing, and as usual she gave herself over to whatever he had in mind. It always ended in orgasm and those moments were glorious.

MEREDITH APPROACHED her Mustang in the deserted parking lot an hour after school let out. It was only Wednesday afternoon and already she was worn out—longing for the weekend, forty-eight hours of anonymity, hot baths, good books and little responsibility.

Her students, whether picking up on her own tension or bringing it from home, had been restless as well, talking too much, too loudly, focusing only in short spurts. And that afternoon during art class Erin had tripped near Meredith’s desk, and now Meredith had a patch of red poster paint staining the white silk blouse she’d worn with her black slacks and white-and-black pumps.

Black-and-white jewelry, black-and-white leather satchel. She’d been hoping for a black-and-white kind of day—and had ended up splattered in red.

“Ms. Foster, could we have a word with you?”

Glancing up sharply, Meredith stopped. She’d noted the van in the parking lot, of course. Enough to be aware that it was there. Not enough to have noticed the Tulsa local-news logo on the side or the two people who had just emerged from it.

“We’d just like to ask a couple of questions.”

She walked past them to her car.

“We’re interested in the editorial that ran in Monday’s Republic. I understand that the newspaper didn’t contact you. Is that correct?”

She looked at the brunette, who was her age, at least, dressed in jeans and a white sweater, and wondered if she liked her job. The hefty, bearded cameraman behind her she ignored completely.

“We’ve got some good tape from Mr. Barnett,” the woman said, her eyes showing something akin to sympathy. “My producer was ready to run with it, but I insisted that you deserved to have your side told, as well.”

Keys in hand, Meredith stood there another second, assessing. Granted, her senses weren’t honed at the moment, but she believed the other woman was sincere.

The brunette dropped her mic at her side. “He was pretty brutal,” she said. “I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

Meredith glanced back at the school. Mark would kill her if she said anything.

And if she didn’t? She’d be crucified.

Who’d stick up for her? Ruth Barnett? Hardly. The woman was a classic battered woman, so intimidated by her jerk of an ex-husband that she’d still lie just because he told her to. And that left—who? Her boss? Fat chance.

“What do you want to know?” She regretted the words even as she said them. There would be hell to pay. And at the same time, she felt better. She’d done nothing wrong, had nothing to be ashamed of. Unlike Larry Barnett.

“Did you tell Mr. Barnett’s wife that he was abusing his son?”

Meredith glanced at the school one more time. This was her last chance to walk away.

But for what? To let that man take everything from her, without even trying to defend herself?

“You can’t blame people for what they’re going to think, if you don’t give them another perspective,” the other woman said, her gaze compassionate.

“I told her I suspected his father was inflicting some pretty severe emotional abuse.”

“You suspect,” the woman said, moving nearer with her microphone as the cameraman closed in behind her. Meredith was trapped between her still-locked car door and what suddenly felt like two vultures. The school was behind her—a perfect backdrop.

“You have no proof,” the woman prompted gently, after a long pause.

“No.”

“What made you suspect?” The question was more curiosity than accusation. She was receiving a fair chance to be heard. Which was more than she’d expected following Mark’s pronouncement Monday night over ice cream. Ruth Barnett had said her ex-husband was not going to let this go away.

Give me strength, she asked her unseen source of guidance—as she’d already done uncountable times over the past week.

“Tommy was a student in my class. I listened to him, as I listen to all of my students.”

The reporter’s eyes narrowed. “So Tommy told you?” she asked, perhaps seeing a larger story brewing. If it was found that the D.A. actually was abusing his son, she’d have a much bigger audience for a longer period of time.

“No.” Meredith hated to disappoint her. She sighed, searching for the best words. “But every time fathers were mentioned, or Tommy mentioned his father, I sensed that there was great turmoil. But no physical danger—at least not yet.”

“You sensed.”

Meredith nodded.

“As in how? You just thought about it and reached this conclusion?”

That was how Mark saw the situation. And probably the majority of Bartlesville, as well. Meredith was tempted just to leave them to it. In the end, it might be far less painful than to have everyone think she was some kind of quack.

But if she didn’t stand up for herself, who would? How could anyone even have a chance of choosing to believe her, to understand, to support her, if she didn’t speak out?

And if she allowed herself to be lied about, allowed her credibility to be crushed beneath Larry Barnett’s expensively shod foot, how would she ever do any good in this world?

A vision of Tommy Barnett’s innocent young face appeared before her.

“I get feelings,” she said. “I tune in, focus deeply and I can feel what other people are feeling. Sometimes.”

“So you’re saying you’re psychic.”

“No.” She didn’t believe there were special people who were granted the right to know everything about someone else, both past and future. “I don’t get grand messages,” she said. “I’m not told secrets, nor can I predict anything that’s going to happen in the future—no more than you can predict your own future. I can just feel what they’re feeling. Sometimes.”

She wasn’t some kind of weirdo. She didn’t run around town invading people’s privacy.

“What am I feeling?”

“I don’t know.” She didn’t want to know. She wanted to go home. Perhaps cry. Call her mom. Take a hot bath.

“What’s he feeling?”

“I don’t—” Meredith glanced at the cameraman, let her guard down without meaning to. “Good,” she said, head slightly tilted as she eyed him with warning. “Not nice, but good. Self-satisfied. I’d guess he’s having inappropriate thoughts about something or someone and feeling good about them.”

The camera slipped, was righted…and Meredith met the man’s eyes. She didn’t know if she’d been the target of his thoughts and she didn’t know if they’d been sexual in nature or just mean-spirited, but she knew she’d caught him.

And he knew it, too.

The reporter chuckled uneasily. “Uh, you ever think about working with the police?”

The woman believed her.

“No.” Meredith smiled straight into the camera. “I’m a teacher, not a cop. And I’m nothing special.

“Everyone has the ability to do what I do,” she explained, paraphrasing what she’d read in the books that had finally made her abilities make sense. “My senses are heightened in this area, but we can all—with focus—tune in to other people’s energy. Their emotions.”

Except that in her case, sometimes she couldn’t turn off the feelings.

“Wow,” the woman said. “I’d like to hear more about this, but unfortunately we’re out of time. This is Angela Liddy for KNLD news.” She clicked off the wireless microphone and nodded to her cameraman, who lowered his equipment and turned back toward the van.

“Thanks,” she said to Meredith. “I don’t know what good it’ll do, but I’m glad we got both sides.”

Meredith hoped she’d be glad, too, already regretting what she’d done. “When will it air?”

“Tonight, if I get back in time,” she said. “If not, then it’ll start tomorrow morning.”

Unlocking her car, Meredith dropped her bag on the floor behind the driver’s seat.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” Angela Liddy said, speaking softly as she paused beside the car. “But you should know that Larry Barnett is determined to see you lose your job.”

Yeah, Meredith had gathered that much. “It’ll take more than my speaking with his wife to make that happen,” she said. “I have rights.”

“And he has power,” the reporter said. “I’d be careful if I were you.”

Careful. What did that mean—not talking to reporters? Okay, she’d screwed up that one. And otherwise she was just living her life, going to work, coming home, watching the game-show network while she graded papers. What could she do that would be any more careful than that?

Not feel, not be herself?

How the hell did one do that?

MARK CAUGHT the news Wednesday night, lying in bed alone with the television on, attempting to fall asleep. Heart sinking when he heard the intro to the coming stories. Remote control in hand, he raised the volume another couple of notches.

She’d done a damned interview? Bad enough that Barnett was spreading this all over the media, but did Meredith have to feed the frenzy? Did she have no sense at all?

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.