No Matter What. Janice Johnson Kay
Not that she could say much, married at twenty and a mother at twenty-one. Yes, but see how that had turned out. Maybe it’s why she was horrified by the idea of it happening to anyone else.
“But you’re divorced,” she heard herself say, and winced.
“I didn’t say it was a good idea. Only that some high school romances get serious.”
She nodded.
“I have the impression Caitlyn hurt him.”
Oh, so that was why he was loitering at her side? Wanting to blame her daughter? Molly’s anger fired right up. Maybe her first impression was right after all; maybe he was the kind of parent who always wanted to blame someone else.
“Funny,” she said sharply. “I have the impression he hurt Cait. She didn’t even come tonight.”
“Really.” He continued to stand there, rocking subtly on the balls of his feet, watching her. Cars pulling up to the curb were having to maneuver to get around his pickup.
She greeted more people. There he stood. Exasperation and something that felt a little bit like panic finally made her turn back to him.
“Mr. Ward, I’m afraid I need to be available to other parents. And I’ll have to go inside soon. If you’ll excuse me…?”
She would have said his face was expressionless, but now it became really expressionless.
“Of course,” he said. “Sorry. I wanted… It doesn’t matter. Poor timing. Hope the evening goes smoothly.” He nodded and walked away, climbing a moment later into his pickup and accelerating away from the curb without once looking back at her.
I wanted… What?
An ache in her chest told her she should have guessed he needed to talk to her about something specific. Of course he hadn’t hung around only to make disjointed, meaningless conversation. Probably he had hoped to discuss Trevor. What else could it be?
Why in heck hadn’t she asked him, as she would have any other parent, whether he needed to talk? Suggested they arrange an appointment instead of icily dismissing him?
Oh, but she knew why. He intimidated her. He made her feel things she didn’t know how to handle. She could talk alone with the father of any other student in this school district without once thinking of him as a man. But with Trevor Ward’s father… She couldn’t forget he was a man. Attractive, enigmatic and probably unavailable, assuming she could even imagine herself wanting him to be available, which she didn’t.
Ugh. She didn’t lie even to herself very well.
* * *
WAY TO STRIKE OUT, Richard congratulated himself. But, God, had he behaved like an idiot, or what? Standing there shuffling his feet, sneaking peeks at the object of his adoration—who was trying to do her job and had absolutely no time to chat with him, never mind flirt.
It appeared he’d lost any touch he’d ever had. Richard couldn’t believe he’d done that. He hadn’t intended to. He had never consciously decided, When I see her again, I’ll ask her out. No, when he saw her out front of the gym greeting arrivals, impulse had overcome him and next thing he knew he’d been standing beside her trying to think of something to say.
So, of course, his conversational foray had been to accuse her kid of breaking his kid’s heart. He flinched at the memory. Really slick.
He’d been surprised Trevor wanted to go to the dance at all, far less was willing to accept a ride from him. Not that he’d done so gracefully; when Richard offered, Trev had given a typically sullen, one-shouldered shrug that said, louder than words, whatever. One of his favorite words in the English language. So favored, he’d learned to convey it wordlessly. Still, he had accepted. Of course, he hadn’t talked during the short drive, but he had actually muttered a “thanks” before he jumped out. A word Richard would have sworn Trevor had deleted from his vocabulary.
Home again, Richard found the house felt empty and too quiet, a ridiculous thing to think when he’d lived here alone since his divorce but for the kids’ visits and his own two, year-long tours in Iraq. Then, living in barracks with other National Guardsmen, he’d have given anything to be home in his quiet, empty house. He had nothing to complain about.
He turned on the TV but found nothing interested him and turned it off. He’d never been one for noise for its own sake. The sound of canned voices did not make him feel any less lonely.
Richard set down the remote and looked around his living room. Funny that he hadn’t realized he was lonely. The kids were on his mind a lot, sure, but that wasn’t the same thing. By logical extension, he thought, I could call Bree, but reminded himself it was Friday evening and she was sure to be out. Hell, Lexa probably would be, too. He’d be stunned if she didn’t already have another guy on her string. Maybe two or three. He knew from pictures of her with the kids that she’d stayed beautiful. Maybe Davis hadn’t been paying enough attention to her. Could be he’d gotten too wrapped up in work. Alexa needed to have a man completely besotted with her or she’d look for another one who would be. Eventually Richard had come to feel sorry for her, so insufficient unto herself. She had to see a dazzling reflection of herself in someone’s eyes to feel as if she was worth anything.
Took him long enough to figure that out. But then, good God, he’d been only months older than Trev was now when he made his seventeen-year-old girlfriend pregnant. Mind-boggling thought.
Grimacing, he reached to turn on his computer. At least if he worked, he could accomplish something concrete. Bree’s dad might be an electrician, but he was a pretty damn well-to-do one. He planned to have his bid for the electrical work on a small strip mall in Monday morning. No time like the present to finish it up.
* * *
IT WASN’T FULL DARK WHEN the doorbell rang Sunday night, but Molly knew who she’d find on her doorstep. The little ghosts and robots and princesses came out early.
She usually enjoyed Halloween and had been determined to try to enjoy this one, too. West Fork was the kind of town where it was still safe for children to knock on doors begging for candy. Too bad Cait had already ruined Molly’s favorite part of the holiday—carving the jack-o’-lanterns. They’d done it together since Cait was big enough to draw a face on the pumpkins with her marker and help spoon out seeds and slime. This year, when Molly announced that she’d bought two pumpkins, Cait had said flatly, “Wow.”
“You don’t have dance tonight. I thought this would be a good evening to carve them.”
Her daughter only shrugged. “I don’t feel like it.”
Without another word, Molly had marched downstairs, spread newspaper on the table to contain the mess and done it herself. She didn’t have a grain of Cait’s artistic ability, though, so hers were simple—triangular eyes, noses, wide mouths with missing teeth. But, by God, they had jack-o’-lanterns, one on the porch steps and the other on the railing.
Not half an hour ago, she’d lit candles inside them. Wrapped candy was heaped in a huge ceramic bowl on a side table by the front door, ready to hand out. She’d gotten dinner on the table early—although not as early as she’d planned—so they’d be ready. Cait had even come down when she called.
She then sat pretending to eat, head bent so her hair shielded her face, responding in monosyllables if at all to Molly’s one-sided chatter. The few glimpses Molly had gotten of Cait’s face had scared her. She’d been starkly pale and utterly withdrawn. Something was wrong. Even more wrong.
In irritation, Molly thought, Sure, there is. Something earth-shattering like Trevor acquiring a new girlfriend. She was getting exasperated enough at Cait’s histrionics to keep her from panicking. The sound of the doorbell was a relief.
She opened the door to a cry of “Trick or treat!” and found two small faces grinning up at her. The little girl wore a remarkably clever horse costume—she was a palomino with a shining golden mane and tail—while