The Wrong Man For Her. Kathryn Shay
OUT THERE, beautiful, you’re up damn high.”
Tessa smiled down at Nick from the ladder, which allowed her to reach the twelve-foot ceiling of his newly designated group session room.
“Because you’re afraid of heights, doesn’t mean everyone is.” Tessa giggled at his phobia. It was good to see his sister-in-law happy after the trouble she and his brother had last summer. A man from her past had stalked her and ended up dead. The scandal almost destroyed their marriage. “Anyway, it makes you human.”
“Oh, I’m all too human.” He tapped the side of the paint can. “You sure about this color?”
“The kids will like it. Blue is soothing, makes people more relaxed. Its deep shade won’t be too prissy for teenagers.” She scanned the area she’d already done. “The four windows are great and there’s enough room for the kids to sprawl out. But maybe we could have waited for them to pick out the color.”
“No, I’ll let them choose what stuff to put up on the walls. I want them to feel welcome here at the first session. Lucky me that you had today off and could help paint.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m expecting the furniture tonight, so we’d better get going.”
Roller in hand, he began to slather paint on the parts of the wall he could reach, while Tessa cut in from the top. They made small talk as they worked. “Everything going well at the Villa?” he asked.
Tessa had taken a job as a librarian at a local teen detention center. Much like him, she worked well with troubled kids because she’d been one herself.
“Couldn’t be better. I got a grant from the New York State Arts Foundation for more books and am itching to spend it.”
“I’d be interested in what you’re ordering. I was hoping to have some teen lit in here.”
“I could do some research into adolescent literature about victimization.” She cocked her head. “One author I know of is David Pelzer.”
“Yeah, his books are gruesome enough to snag the kids’ attention.” Pelzer had been abused by his mother for years and vividly recounted his experiences in his writing.
“He’s coming to town for Crime Victims’ Rights Week.”
“Really?” Nick said. “Nobody told me about it. Then again, nobody told me about a lot of things.”
“The Villa clients are going. Your kids probably can, too.”
From the corner, soft rock drifted out from the CD player as they continued their task.
“What did you mean, nobody told you about a lot of things?” Tessa asked.
He hesitated. “Madelyn’s back at the Center.”
Tessa stopped painting and looked down at him. “What?”
When she and Dan had put pressure on him to move to Rockford, Nick had confessed to them what had happened between him and Maddie. God, he hated to talk about his failures, even with people who loved him.
He also explained about John and Lucy.
“I’m so sorry. I know how close you are to them. Is Lucy all right?”
“Yes, but John’s easing off on his work here because of her.”
“That must have been a hard decision for him to make.”
Tessa was right about that. John’s daughter, Zoe, had been beaten and raped, then shot to death twenty years ago. The Kramer family had practically fallen apart and there’d been no organizations to help them out. After they’d begun to heal, John had vowed to do something in Zoe’s memory for other crime victims’ families, as well as for the victims themselves.
Nick smiled, proud of the fact that, two decades later, the Kramer Group, which eventually became the Rockford Crime Victims Center, was one of the most renowned victim assistance organizations in the state.
“It gets worse, Tessa.”
“How?”
“Madelyn’s my boss.”
This time, she climbed down from the ladder. “Oh, Nick. How on earth is that going to work?”
“It has to. John needs us both and you know how I feel about abandoning people.”
“I guess.” Her expression was trouble. “How is Madelyn?”
“Distant.” He rolled harder, faster. “In charge!”
“Damn. We wanted you to come to Rockford with us, but working with her won’t be easy.”
“I can’t believe it.” He set the roller down and whipped off his overshirt, revealing a ragged University of Rockford T-shirt. “She wants to check everything I do.”
“Well, you can’t blame her, if she runs the place now.” Tessa picked up her bottle of water and sipped from it. She looked about twenty in her jeans, T-shirt and curly hair, though she was thirty-eight, his age.
“Tell me about it. Her new policy also dictates I work with another counselor in the support group. I’m trying to block that.”
Tessa’s gaze focused on him.
“What?”
“Do you think that’s best for the kids?”
He crossed to the fridge Maddie had gotten for him yesterday afternoon and retrieved a bottle of soda. “You think I’m being unreasonable?”
Tessa dropped to the floor and patted the space beside her. “Sit.” When he joined her, she said, “Two people to help eight clients? You can play off each other’s observations. Talk things over. Seems ideal to me.”
“That’s what Maddie said.” He peeled back the label on the bottle with his thumbnail. “I hope my judgment hasn’t clouded by my relationship with her.”
“Your past relationship.”
“What’d I say?”
Tessa leaned against the ladder. “Nick, are you certain you’re over Madelyn? Because if you’re not, things could get really rough with you working here.”
“Excuse me.”
Nick and Tessa glanced to the open doorway where Maddie now stood. Any fleeting hope he might have had that she hadn’t overheard Tessa’s comment was squashed by the tightness in her jaw and the squint around her eyes. She was dressed in a dark pink workout suit that looked great with her coloring. She hadn’t been wearing the casual clothes this morning.
Nick rolled to his feet. “Hi, Maddie.”
He pulled Tessa up. Maddie’s eyes focused on their clasped hands.
“Madelyn Walsh, this is Tessa Logan. My brother’s wife.”
A polite smile. The women shook hands. “Hi, Tessa.”
There was no I’ve heard about you. Nick talked to me about contacting you, reuniting with his family. I urged him to do it.
Instead, Maddie gestured to the room. “Looks terrific in here. I like the color.”
Tessa jabbed his ribs. “See, I told you.”
“It’s nice of you to come to help, Tessa. I offered to get some volunteers in to do this for him, but he wanted to do it by himself. His usual M.O.”
“He isn’t painting alone. My family will be here to pitch in—” she checked her watch “—anytime. I hope you get to meet them.”
“I’m sorry, I probably won’t. I’m leaving soon. I have a yoga class at six.” She tugged on her top’s drawstring. “Hence the suit.”
She was taking yoga? And cooking classes?
“Yoga?”