One step forward, two steps back.
She shook her head, refusing to be daunted by his reversion to the angry, apathetic kid she’d worked so hard to erase. She’d started the session planning to speak to her supervisor about transitioning Daniel to a new therapist, until he’d surprised her with a change in attitude. It seemed genuine, but how could she know for sure?
“Let’s make a deal. If you manage to learn this piece, we’ll consider letting you participate in the group session. They need a guitar player.”
“Those guys are a bunch of slackers. The guitar is the easiest.”
“Well, it is for you,” she said. “The group is working on creating personal theme songs. You can put whatever you want into it, hope, anger, or sadness. Some of the guys write it, then rip it up, like it represents what they choose to purge from their life.”
“Kind of cathartic?”
She blinked, surprised by his use of the word.
Sarcasm dripped from his voice as he continued, “That’s nice. My use of a big word shocks you, like I shouldn’t know it. I ain’t stupid, lady. I listen. You learn a lot by listening.”
“I’ve never thought of you as unintelligent, Daniel. You’re smart and talented. Creating music involves every part of your brain, even the parts you don’t know you’re using. Why don’t you give some thought to what your personal soundtrack would sound like, okay?”
“Whatever.” He stood without looking at her and let the guard lead him to the door.
But Pippa saw him look back over his shoulder as he exited, casting a longing look at the guitar propped by the chair he’d vacated. Interest painted his face in the sunny glow that many teens routinely and unconsciously wore. It only lasted an instant before he shut it down, but it had been there. And that was all the progress she needed to stay on his case one more week.
As she tidied up the room and repacked her case, the door opened again, admitting the resident psychiatrist, Allyson Scrivner, a tall, no-nonsense woman with iron gray hair that curiously matched the room’s décor. Pippa had repeatedly asked for permission to paint the walls a cheerier color, and had been denied each time. Allyson’s all-business demeanor was softened by a cheerful smile on her face.
“Afternoon, Allyson. Come to check up on me?’ Pippa greeted her with an equally bright smile.
“Given your last client, I consider the intrusion warranted.”
“Ah. Daniel did okay today. Our session started rocky, as always. But by the end I believe we made progress.”
“Joe stayed the whole time?” At Pip’s nod, Allyson continued, “I worry that even with security present the boy is somewhat uncontrollable. Several of the other female therapists have commented on it. Daniel doesn’t seem to respect any woman on staff.”
Pippa shifted her weight, bending to pick up her satchel. “I’ve been on the receiving end, so I know what you mean. According to his case files, he’s observed his father physically abusing his mother for years. That’s hard at any age, but at fifteen, it makes an impression. It’s hard to build trust, let alone respect, when you’re only used to seeing Mom get the stuffing kicked out her.”
“I’ve seen it in too many kids, but this one’s oppositional behavior makes me wonder if dad didn’t practice a bit of brain washing on him. Apparently, the father is some big bad-ass military type.”
“Have you met him?”
Allyson shook her head. “Never seen him. Mom has sole custody and isn’t required to discuss treatment with the dad. She also has an order of protection for her and Daniel. Guy’s not allowed anywhere near the hospital and isn’t allowed any contact with Daniel or his doctors.”
“That’s odd. He mentioned in our session his dad had plans for him.” Her brows needled together. “Could they be communicating somehow?”
“We check rooms daily for contraband, like cell phones, and have never come up with anything in his. So unless they’re using smoke signals, it’s unlikely. Wishful thinking on his part maybe. But I’ll ask Joe to have his staff be extra vigilant.”
“I hope after today we’ve turned a corner. Daniel stayed engaged in the session and as close to pleasant as I’ve ever seen him. In fact, I hoped to get him some extra rec time, supervised of course, so he could practice.”
“I’ll sign off on the request. It can’t hurt.”
Pippa hiked her portfolio over her shoulder and gestured toward the door, ready to leave Woodward for the day.
Allyson walked with her down the hallway, promising to make arrangements for extra practice time.
Pippa picked up her keys at security and heaved a sigh of relief, happy to step outside the dank confines of the hospital and into the autumn sunshine. Walking briskly down the path toward the parking lot, she aimed her key fob at her car. The Jeep chirped musically as she pressed to unlock the doors. Pulling her cell phone from the center console where she’d locked it while inside the building, she checked for messages. Two missed calls. And one text message from Clay: Hey, call me.
She inserted the key in the ignition and cranked it so she could roll down the windows before she pressed Redial to return Clay’s call. The tingling she’d ignored most of the day claimed her attention as she waited for the call to connect. She leaned her head against the seat, eyes closed and lips parted as she allowed the memory of the night spent in Clay’s embrace to roar back to life. Her breath shortened as she replayed the touch of his fingers, the ferocity of his lips, the strength of his arms.
“Hello?”
“Hi. It’s me,” she said, startled by the sultry nature of her tone.
“Hang on.” She heard a door close after a few moments. “Sorry, I wanted to step into the office. A little more private, you know? Where are you?” he asked, the velvet shades in his tone evoking thoughts of his whispers into her ear last night.
She cleared her throat. “I’m at Woodward. I just finished for the day and am heading home.”
“Can you stop by the farm?”
Looking at the car’s clock speculatively, she ran options through her mind. She had to pick the kids up in less than an hour. Even if she drove to the farm like a bat out of, well, heck, that would leave them only about five minutes before she’d need to leave for the school. She grimaced. “Sorry, I can’t make it. Gotta get the kids soon. Then we have a cooking lesson with Jem.”
“Shit! Sorry, I meant shucks.” She grinned at the smile she heard in his voice. “What about tonight?”
“Family thing at Mom and Dad’s.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Sorry, I have a gig at Red’s.”
“Son of a—” Frustration rang in his tone as he cut off his off-color remark.
Time to change the subject. “What did you do today?”
“Fixed a fence in the back lot. Then I planted tulips. Mom had some in the barn and I thought she’d enjoy the colors next spring. Don’t tell her, though. Scott said she put them there in August and forgot about them.”
Good God, they were having a normal conversation, exactly like couples all over the country right this very moment. She could forget they were just indulging in a temporary affair, marking time until Seeley got better, until Clay left. The entire experience, remembering how good the sex had been last night, was a bit surreal.
“I have this great image of you planting flowers. It’s sweet that you planned this surprise for her.”
“Yeah, that’s me. I’m sweet.” He made a disgusted sound then laughed. “If Jack is at your parents’ tonight, could you mention I’d like him to come by and give me a professional opinion? I want to make some modifications to the barn and the shop, and install a walkway from the house to the shop. I’m afraid the one there now is too uneven.”
“For your mom? Now, that really is sweet.”
His kindness, wrapped up in the gruff, hard exterior the rest of the world saw was all the more endearing and attractive.
She bit her lip, then asked anyway, “When am I going to see you again?”
“Well, obviously not tonight, although that would be my preference. There’s always phone sex. You wanna try now?”
“Jeez, Clay. I’m sitting in the shadow of the world’s grimmest building. Plus I still have to drive home. How’s that going look in the headlines tomorrow? Woman Crashes Car in Throes of Ecstasy.”
“Ecstasy huh? I’m good. I’m real good.”
“Shut up.” She chuckled good-naturedly. “This isn’t going to be easy, between hiding it from my kids and our crazy schedules. Finding an hour to myself each day is hard enough. Finding time to sneak away to get it on with you will be a logistical nightmare.”
“Spitfire, I’m a master strategist. The government trusts my recommendations to move large numbers of troops with limited resources and time. I think I can figure this out for us.”
Pippa sighed. “God, I hope so. I’d love a repeat of last night.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re making me as hard as a tree branch.” Clay’s groan translated his need through the phone line. “Call me tonight after you get the kids settled. From your bedroom. I’ll be in mine and I’ll make it as good as if we’re together.”
“Promises, promises.” Anticipation and hunger built in her as she hung up, accelerating the tingles through her body. Something to look forward to.
She tossed the phone on the seat next to her and started the car. Nearby, a powerful, but muffler-less truck growled to life at the same time. She glanced in the mirror, checking her blind spots to make sure the other driver hadn’t snuck up behind her. Backing out of her space and driving out of the parking lot, she noticed a dark truck fall in about fifty feet behind her. The vehicle seemed familiar, but she shook her head. There were a lot of dark trucks on the roads these days. First she thought she saw someone she knew in Daniel Robards, then a familiar truck. She was more tired than she thought, more distracted. Her mind was just playing tricks on her.
17
The tingling hadn’t eased by the time Pippa arrived at her parents’ home for a family dinner. Normally, she loved spending time with her family, but tonight, she wished away the hours. Her dad, Bruce, sat on the front porch of the comfortable home she’d grown up in. Her brothers and Jack’s dog kept him company. Scrambling up the porch steps, Mason and Mia raced to see who got the first hug from Grandpa. A sense of peace and contentment washed over her as she lowered herself onto the wicker loveseat next to Sam. Warm, cozy memories of playing on this porch as a child, waiting for her father to return from work, were replaced with thoughts of Mark’s tender goodnight kiss on their first date in high school. First kiss thoughts led to her first sexual experience, in the basement of this very house, which led to thoughts of Clay.
The man she knew she shouldn’t want, and didn’t dare indulge in an open relationship with. The hot, sexy stud who’d excited her with a promise of phone sex later this evening. The kind, sweet, gentle man who’d said he’d welcome a friendship with her children, a risky relationship she wouldn’t encourage under normal circumstances.
Good lord, she’d thought her life had been complicated enough trying to raise her kids on her own and holding down a demanding, rewarding job. Could she seriously carve out the time and energy to carry on an affair? Was the male companionship and physical relationship she’d been craving worth the extra hassle? Tilting her head back against the seat cushion, she glanced at her children as they sat in her father’s lap, and gave the idea consideration.
If last night was anything to go on, her body gave a big resounding yes. An affair with Clay Mathers, no matter how temporary, would be worth it. Her lips curved into a smile and she tuned in to what her children were discussing so earnestly with their grandfather and uncles.
“No Grandpa, that was last week’s science project. This week we’re working on weighing treasures,” Mia said.
Jack’s laugh echoed around them as he picked his niece up off Grandpa’s lap and danced around the porch. “That sounds like something Uncle Sam would say. Was your teacher talking about weights and measures?”
“Yeah, that’s it!” Mason said, squirming on his perch on the arm of her dad’s chair, twisting around to watch Jack dance with his sister.
“Earth to Pipsqueak,” Sam said as he elbowed her to capture her attention. “You’re a million miles away. You look tired. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, rough day is all.”
“Rough day, or night?” He’d lowered his voice, and the look in his eyes was speculative, assessing.
“Aw, for crying out loud. Is it written all over my face?”
Sam grinned. “Pip, you know how it works in this family. You told Jem, she told Jack and Jack spewed it to me.”
Heat flashed into her cheeks. “That girl is the weakest link. I’m going to have to learn to keep my mouth shut.”
“Jem only shared with Jack because she’s concerned you might get hurt. Like we’d ever allow that to happen. Plus, none of us really know him.”
“At this point, it’s not important for any of you to know him. All that matters is that I do. You guys are always encouraging me to go out and get some and now that I have, you turn overly protective. I can handle this.” She ran her fingers through her short curls in exasperation.
“No one said you couldn’t. In fact, when we met him at Red’s the other night, we liked him. I think Jack said he hoped you’d find a way to get busy with a fine looking stud like Clay. Or maybe it was that he’d nail the SOB to a stud if he hurt you. Shit, I can’t remember for sure.”
She threw her head back and laughed. Leave it to her charming brother to reduce this to something funny. God, she needed a good laugh.
“Thanks, Sam.”
“My pleasure. It’s time for you to be the dog, not the tail. Take charge, go for the gusto. Oh, and if you need someone to watch the kiddos while you go get a little sum’n sum’n, give me a call. I got your back.”
She rolled her eyes at her irascible brother, mouthing shut up at him.
Sam’s expression turned somber. “All bad clichés aside, Pip, be careful, okay? He seems like a nice guy, but so did Ted Bundy.”
“Hey, Sam,” Dad interrupted. “The mayor tells me there’s some homegrown terrorist group recruiting kids at the high school to join their league of protesters. The Battalion, or some such nonsense. Is that true?”
Sam taught high school science and technology and sponsored the track team, so he was a ready source of information on the things local teens got into. “Yeah, it is. It came up in a staff meeting. It’s hard to believe kids would buy what they’re selling. A couple of the fringe kids started wearing clothing similar to what the Battalion wear at their protests.”
Jack paused as he lifted his beer bottle to his mouth and asked, “Fringe kids?”
“Goths, losers, wannabes…fringe. They would have been nerds or geeks when we were in school. All just words to describe kids that don’t fit in—the ones who are always on the edges of activities. A lot of them have rough home lives, or are failing at school. Remember the Columbine school shooting? Those boys were fringe kids. Some are just uncomfortable in their own skins. They’re desperate to belong to something, making them easy targets.”
Pippa straightened in her seat. “It’s never been easy to be a teenager, but these days I think it’s tougher. What is the school board doing about the recruiting?”
“We’re a closed campus, so adult members of the Battalion aren’t allowed on school grounds. But we can’t stop them from approaching kids once they leave campus. Worse, we can’t really control the activities of the kids who have already been recruited and are spreading the venom in the hallways and cafeteria.” Sam propped an ankle on his knee and shook his head. “The principal is always looking for ways to make all the kids feel accepted. It isn’t easy. Some of them are so giddy about finally belonging, they’ll do anything to avoid losing their place with new friends.”
Dad settled Mason more comfortably on his knee. “This Battalion is the group that’s protesting at
military funerals, right?” He shot a glance toward Pippa and his lips thinned when she nodded. “What a bunch of assholes.”
“Dad! Little ears!”
She shot a glare at him before addressing the kids. “Mia, you and Mason head in to say hello to Grandma and Jem. See if they need help setting the table, please.”
Jack put Mia down and Mason wiggled off his granddad’s lap. The screen door slammed behind them and their footsteps echoed across the hardwood floors on the way to the kitchen.
“Well I’m sorry, but they are. Any group of idiots who think the way to make change is to protest at a funeral, where there’s more than enough grief to go around, is worse than assholes. They’re complete bastards.”
“And name calling is the right way to make change?” she challenged. “Dad, there is no way to reason with these people. They believe, rightly or wrongly, that what they are doing will make a difference. They are still nothing more than a fringe group, to use Sam’s word. Most people don’t give them a passing thought, unless they are directly affected by their protests.”
“What would you have done, Pippa, if they had shown up at Mark’s funeral? Would you be so forgiving then?” Anger etched her dad’s face.
And he had reason to be angry. Mark had been as much of a son as Sam, Jack and Pippa’s older brother, Noah, were. Grief had hit him hard when they’d received word that Mark had died in Afghanistan while fighting for his country. Stinging pain tore through her as memories of that awful bleak day when her mom and dad had shown up at her door with the Reverend Crane flooded her. The tears in her father’s eyes, as he’d walked into the home she’d shared all too briefly with the wonderful man she’d married right after college, confirmed what she’d already known. The father of her children was finally coming home.
In the worst possible way.
Pippa knew not a day went by without her dad offering prayers for Mark.
She opened her mouth to respond, but closed it without speaking. She didn’t know what she’d do. At the funeral she’d just sung at, her first experience with the protesters, Mary Wright had borne the taunts and chants with dignity while she buried her husband. Would Pippa have been able to summon as much class if she’d been faced with similar circumstances? The Battalion hadn’t been active in Granite Pointe six years ago. A wash of admiration for Mary Wright flowed over her. The widow had kept her grief quiet and her anger at the protesters quieter. Sam’s hand snuck into hers, squeezing gentle comfort.
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