Laura wasn't going to be there. Not yet. Maybe never. He'd loved Laura and Jeff. He loved Kari. It would take all he had to hold Kari up while he rode out his own troubled waves. For now, he had to cut Jeff and Laura loose.
He sat up late with Kari that night, distraught by her white face and tragic brown eyes that stared in stark dismay as he told her, in the most tactful terms possible, what her mother had said. There was nothing he could say now to comfort her.
It wasn't until she had finally fallen asleep, an occasional sob still sending shivers through her small frame, that he got to his feet and made his way to his own bedroom. Bone-weary after days and nights without sleep, he dropped on the bed. On the nightstand were the contracts from Rick. They were signed and sealed.
He picked them up and stared at them for a long time. He thought of the decisions facing him, and of the solutions slipping through his fingers. ROCA wanted a shoe commercial for Wimbledon. A photo shoot with the Langdon Company. Some Wimby promotionals.
Slowly, deliberately, he tore up the papers, one by one, shredding them smaller and smaller as they fluttered into the wastebasket.
The meeting with MacPhie was a bracer. Someone from the old world—no demands, no pressure, no guilt trips. The older man expressed shock at finding Kitt trying his hand at parenting.
“She's staying with you permanently? She can't go home?”
“That would be correct.”
MacPhie scanned his face, but Kitt volunteered no further information. He tried once more.
“Got any idea, lad, how hard it is to raise kids? By yourself? And you're not starting with a wee one here. The child can't be more than ten years younger than you!”
“Twelve.”
“Okay, twelve. You're not even old enough to be her father!”
“She'll have to make do.”
“She has no other relatives?”
“None available. They sort of lost interest in us recently.”
MacPhie thought that over for a minute, then changed the subject.
“I'm going to get personal. Heard some rumors. Ordinarily don't pay attention, but this one worried me. They're saying you're broke.”
“Jeff screwed up. I found out around Christmas.”
“How bad is it?”
“I've got the little condo. Enough to last me the year, I think.”
“No kidding?”
“Do I sound amused?”
MacPhie stared at him, then shook his head.
“I almost decided to play a couple of tournaments. But I am leaning the other way now.”
“Because of your niece?”
“She's a factor.”
“Got enough for school?”
“We'll see. I may try for a scholarship next year. Get me a job.”
“I'd like to help.”
“No, no, Jack. I'll make it. Thanks anyway.”
“It may get worse than you think. School's expensive. Raising kids is expensive.”
“I'll find a way.”
“Too bad this didn't break before you pulled out. It would've been easier to put it off than to go back.”
“I know.”
MacPhie seemed to be thinking something over. Kitt smiled.
“I'll be all right, Jack. I am not entirely broke. Close, but we're eating. If I absolutely have to I may play a tournament. I don't know. I don't feel good about it. I left the tour to learn other things, and to see what I've got besides a forehand. If I go running back the minute the going gets rough—I'd be answering that question, wouldn't I?”
“This is not a game, lad. You can't stake your future on a dare.”
“I'm not. I started on school. It's an awesome experience. It makes me feel like digging in and working hard at something other than a trophy.”
“But tennis is a way to survive.”
“I'm not ragging on tennis. It's been good to me. But it is a game to me, just a game. I want a whole lot more. And Kari—do I tell her to get lost and send her a check now and then?”
MacPhie nodded.
“For what it's worth, lad, I respect what you're doing.”
“We've come through a couple of rough weeks. I'm learning about her problems. At first I thought a few weeks would do it, but it'll probably take months. When all this is over, I can reevaluate my options.”
“Understand this, Kitt Buchanan,” MacPhie said, shaking his finger for emphasis. “You're not saying what's wrong, but I am not stupid. And it is not going to get better in a few months. It will get a whole lot worse before it gets better.”
“Think so?”
“I know so. Now, I'm a reporter, and I snoop. You sent a lot of kids through college. So I'm going to do the same for you.”
“No, you're not, but thanks, Jack. Glad to have some friends left. I may have one less after I tell Rick that the comeback is definitely out.”
“Rick Sargent? You're working with Sargent?”
“Yes. He used to be my agent. Why?”
“Some stuff going on I don't like. Don't have enough facts to be starting a rumor. A few prominent tennis people could be involved.”
“Rick?”
“I don't know. I have to tell you—your brother's in it up to his eyeballs.”
“Jeff? But what—”
“Just something I picked up on a couple of months ago. Roger and I are looking into it, but we are commentators, not investigative reporters.”
“Anybody left I can trust?”
“Oh sure. But look at the fine print.”
Kitt slumped back in his seat. So Jeff might be mixed up in more dirty business. Maybe Rick.
“What kind of mess is Jeff into now?”
MacPhie shrugged. “Something to do with a gambling ring. Keep this under your hat.”
“I know he's been gambling.”
“It may be bigger than you think. So tell me—people bugging you to go back to the tour?”
“A steady chorus.”
“Threats?”
“Not threats exactly. What surprises me is the venom coming from some of the players. Mostly Zeller.”
“I noticed that. He seems to make a point of slamming you every time he talks to a reporter. Any idea what's behind that?”
“Not a clue. We never liked each other, but I don't know why he should care.” Kitt frowned thoughtfully. “From the rest it's just guilt trips. Everybody-depends-on-you, that sort of thing. Jeff wants to hang his financial troubles on me. If I'd kept bringing in the cash he'd have had more to play with. Wynne wants me to keep my face in the papers. And hers. Laura thinks I owe it to the family to support them. Lots of people feel I'm letting them down.”
“You don't owe anybody anything.”
“Only thing is, with me playing there might have been less stress. Would have been easier on the kids. Anyway, let's talk about something else.”
“Seen any good movies lately?”
After a stormy session with Rick, he signed up for the second semester. Summer tennis might get him through the next few years—meanwhile he'd scout out new sources of income. The university accepted him on full academic status now. ROCA, the sports shoe and clothing manufacturer, had approached him for a few commercials. His name was still a big asset, and they were not convinced he wouldn't be playing championship matches again. They were willing to gamble on it.
The money was good. ROCA had always paid big and they mentioned a chance for him to help with a shoe design and a line of clothing. It could turn into a limited contract. It was a huge relief. With the financial problem solved, he could get a fix on the rest of his life.
Kari was already home when he got there. He'd encouraged her to attend some of the school games and make friends, but so far she'd rushed home after school. She went along on some of his walks with Thor, and seemed content to stay near his side.
“You're early, babe,” he said, setting down a bag of groceries on the kitchen counter as she lazily looked up from the television. “What are you watchin
g?”
“Oh, nothing.” She dove for the remote and clicked it off.
“Really, Kari, not those shows again.”
“It's just people talking about their lives. Nothing horrible.”
“Kari, some may be okay, but you need to be doing stuff, not just watch other people. And a lot of it is just trashy people showing off their sleaze for people who have no life of their own.”
“How do you know if you don't watch them?”
“I've been in enough locker rooms and lounges to know it's mostly voyeurism.”
“What's voyeurism?”
“Getting your thrills by peeking into other people's intimate lives.”
“So what? It's better than my life.”
“Quit feeling sorry for yourself, babe. You've been through tough times. They're over. They're not coming back. Move on.”
“You're just mad because you're stuck with me.” Her lip trembled. “If you don't want me here, I'll go somewhere else.”
“Kari, stop it. Come on, quit crying. You know I don't want you to go.”
“But I'm in the way. You can't play tennis because of me, and you—”
“Kari, look at me.” He handed her a tissue from a box. “Remember why I quit tennis. I didn't want to be a professional tennis player anymore. I wanted to do other things. I still do. You had nothing to do with it.”
“But now you need money, don't you?”
“I just got an offer from ROCA. They want me to do commercials and some other work. They pay a lot. So how come you're home so early?”
“Didn't want to hang out there.”
“That's how you make friends.”
The sullen look was back. School must not be a great social experience. She'd always been well liked. Granted she wasn't bubbly these days, but you didn't change completely just because your life was temporarily messed up.
“Nobody wants to be friends with someone like me, at least not if they knew—”
“If they knew about your dad?”
She turned away, shoulders rising in a sob.
“”Kari, you act as though you're the one who did something wrong.”
“Other kids’ dads don't, don't—”
“It's not your fault what your father did. He's the guilty party here. Not you.”
“I should have stopped him.”
“How?”
“I should have done something.”
“You were scared. Your dad didn't ask if it was all right with you. He was going to do it. The only way you had of stopping him was to walk out. And you did. You've got nothing to feel guilty about.”
“But if the kids knew—”
“They know only what you tell them. Honey, it's time to put it in the past. Your mom and the kids are going to stay with Grandma and Grandpa till summer, so they're okay.”
“They are?”
“Yes. They're giving up the house.”
“Did she ask if I would come?”
“Did you want to come?”
“No.”
“I think she understands you don't want to go there right now.”
“When is she leaving?”
He could have smacked himself for getting into this now.
“She left this morning. She said she'd call you soon.”
Kari looked lost.
“It's not very far, Kari. We could drive it in a few hours if you want to go and visit. I'm sure Mom is planning to keep in touch. She's mad at me, not you.”
“Yes she is. She thinks I made everything up and she hates me.”
“She doesn't hate you. She doesn't know how to handle things. That's why she needs to be away for a while. I know she loves you.”
“Am I staying with you?”
“You bet.”
For a long time, they were silent. After a while, Kitt started the barbecue, kneaded some plump hamburgers and popped a couple of large baking potatoes into the oven.
“Wanna make a salad?” he inquired over his shoulder.
They ate in silence. Before she went to bed that night she stood before him, her face somber.
“Is there a God, Uncle Kitt?”
There it is, Kitt Buchanan. You've fudged this one for a long time. The question he'd struggled with for so long. Now a hurt little girl depended on him to answer it. How did you make a twelve-year-old understand your hopes and doubts?
“I've thought about that for a long time,” he said, finally. “Tried to answer it with my head. I'm not one of these people who just know. I still can't say that I'm sure. But after all is said and done I have hope, and a little bit of faith, that there is a God.”
She seemed troubled.
“Then why would he let bad things happen?”
“Good question,” he said slowly, carefully choosing his words. “You think about things like the Holocaust and the other atrocities of history. You think about the kind of stuff that's happened to you. How could he allow it to happen? All I can come up with is that if there is a God, you almost have to assume that he doesn't take decisions out of our hands. Seems that the whole point of living has to be learning. And that means making decisions. Within some framework of laws, of course, but the only way I can see growth happening is with freedom. Responsibility.”
“I don't see why.”
“Well, look at it this way. If you try to learn to ride a bike, but I keep running alongside holding the bike so you can't possibly fall, will you learn to ride by yourself?”
“No.”
“So you're going to make some bad decisions and fall off the bike a few times. You may run over someone, because you weren't looking, or you weren't skilled enough to avoid it. Or perhaps because you didn't care what happened to anybody as long as you stayed on that bike.”
“But it wouldn't be on purpose.”
“Right. But what if someone chose to rob a bank or beat someone up, and every time he started, God yanked him out of there so no one would get hurt? Wouldn't that mean you really didn't have any choice? The only freedom you'd have would be to make good choices, but not bad ones. That way, there really are no choices.”
“And you have to make bad choices to grow?”
“No, but you have to be able to choose, and take what comes. If someone else made the final decision on what you're going to do every time, you wouldn't be accountable for your life, would you? Without choices you have no responsibility. Like a baby. Only you'd never grow up. Do you understand what I am trying to say?”
She looked puzzled.
“You mean he'd let us do whatever we want even if it hurts somebody?”
“As I see it, if he didn't, this world would be just sort of a chessboard for God. He probably lets us run this world without a lot of interference. For now. But everything you do has consequences. I can choose what I do, but I can't choose away the consequences. They're attached.”
“Like what?”
He shook his head, wishing he'd never got into this conversation.
“I could choose to jump off a cliff. Stupid choice, but I can do it. But I can't choose to walk away without a scratch. The result is automatic. The consequence could be in what you become. Choose to make a habit of lying and you become a liar. You lose trust.”
“So if someone threatens you, God doesn't help you?”
“I wish I knew all the answers, babe. Some people seem to sense warnings, so they can avoid danger. Help may come in the form of strength, or comfort. I don't know if God ever manipulates the situation to make it come out different. We can't see ahead very far, and the little we see doesn't always make sense. Like reading the middle chapter of a book without reading the beginning or the end.”
”I wish I was sure.”
“Me, too. Some day we will figure it out.”
Kitt grimaced. He'd probably confused her even more. But she'd calmed down a little. For the first time since she'd come to live with him, she got down on the floor and played with Thor. It brought a lump to his throat. She was going to have b
ad days and especially nights, but down there with the dog, she almost seemed like the old Kari.
Wynne stopped by unexpectedly, and looked at Kari in surprise.
“You're getting downright pretty,” she said cheerfully. “Visiting Uncle Kitt, huh?”
“Kari is living here,” Kitt said, his eyes warning her to back off the subject. She stared at him for a moment in astonishment, but asked no further questions. She walked up to Kitt and threw her arms around his neck.
“Boy, have I missed you.”
He gently freed himself from her embrace.
“I didn't know you were going to be in town.”
“Impulse,” she laughed, throwing her coat on the back of the couch and making herself comfortable. “You know me, Kitt. I am a creature of whims. I had a little time and decided to go see you.” She smiled at Kari.
“Haven't seen you for a long time—I still think of you as eight!”
“I am twelve.”
“This kid is old enough to be in junior high and have lots of homework, right, Kari?” said Kitt, trying to sound casual.
“Are you going to leave, Uncle Kitt?”
“No, I'll be right here. When you're done come and have some ice cream with us.”
“Okay.”
She nodded stiffly at the visitor and left the room. Wynne raised her eyebrows.
“Good heavens, Kitt, why the daddy act?”
“Stress at home. I'm sure you've heard about the Buchanan misfortunes.”
“I heard about Jeff ripping you off,” she replied. “I also heard you might play the French.”
“False rumor,” he told her.
“Don't you need the money?”
“I'm getting by.”
“Kitt, get real. You used to be a multimillionaire. Now all you have is this little condo and a car and enough money for one more semester. You're satisfied with that?”
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