“I will not!” Rae pulled her hand out of his and stomped inside.
Max continued, “Kellen and I have to take a class on raising a child who knows how to negotiate rather than use violence.”
“You’re joking.” Kellen couldn’t believe it. “Because she punched the little snot? He was being a bully. Does his mother have to take the class, too?”
“Probably not,” Max said. “Martin didn’t hit anybody.”
“Because he’s a wimp.” Kellen pulled her hand free and followed Rae into the living room.
Verona swung the door into Max’s hand and followed them both, scolding, “Kellen Adams, I hope you’re happy. Rae never got in trouble before. Now she’ll be kicked out of camp. She’s going to be chastised and watched by her teachers. She’s going to be marked as a troublemaker—”
Kellen lost her temper. She just lost it. No excuse, it was stupid, but she turned and shouted, “I’m not ashamed! Maybe Rae will be marked as a troublemaker now, but she’ll grow up to be a woman who allows no man to hurt her, to abuse her, verbally or physically. She’s going to be strong. She’s going to be the boss. She’s got my back and I’ve got hers, and I taught her that. Maybe someday she’ll save some other woman’s granddaughter from kidnapping, like I saved Annabella.”
Verona took a breath.
Kellen wasn’t done yet. “Rae might be in trouble now, but in the future, she’s going to be a strong and confident woman, one who will make you proud!”
Verona’s indignation collapsed like last night’s angel food cake. She fumbled for words. “Oh. I suppose...”
“Mommy, you shouldn’t yell at Grandma.” Rae stood by the stairs. “She’s a delicate flower.”
Kellen stared at her daughter, then at Verona, who was wide-eyed and shell-shocked, then at Max whose face was working as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or intervene.
“Well!” Verona cleared her throat. “Kellen. I spoke hastily. What you say is true, and I am grateful. But Rae needs to recognize the difference between a real threat and an obnoxious little boy whose jealous mother made unwise comments. You’re Rae’s mother. Explaining that is up to you.”
Kellen’s anger faded fast. She looked between Verona and Rae again, and realized the task she had set herself. “You’re right. I should be able to do that. I guess Rae and I need to have a talk.”
“Maybe while Rae is taking her shower and changing for dinner?” Verona suggested.
“Right. Come on.” Kellen put her hand on Rae’s shoulder and headed up the stairs with her.
Max stayed behind, speaking with Verona.
As Kellen and Rae walked, Kellen tried to think how to explain to a seven-year-old the degrees of danger that stalked the world. It came down to one simple thing. She stopped Rae in the hallway outside her room and knelt in front of her. “Is it possible for Martin to kill you?”
“No.” Rae crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s nothing but a skinny sissy boy.”
“Then you can’t hit him.”
“But he said bad things about you, and you said we have each other’s backs.”
“We do. If someone was threatening you and he could really hurt you, maybe kill you, I would do everything in my power to protect you. You know that.”
“Yes. But Martin said you were a hooker!”
“Do you know what a hooker is?”
“No.” Rae looked disgruntled.
“It’s a mean word meant to hurt. Words can hurt, but only from people you care about. If Martin and his mother want to call me a hooker—” Kellen waved a hand “—pft! I don’t care. I don’t know them, and I don’t care what they think.”
“Some people care what they think,” Rae muttered.
Translation: Rae cared. That was important, and Kellen didn’t want to easily dismiss her feelings. “Are you afraid some of your friends will listen?”
“Not my friends.”
Kellen considered that. “Your not-friends?”
“Roxy Birtle laughed.”
“Roxy Birtle sounds mean.”
“She is!” Rae had red in her cheeks and her eyes were too bright.
“That’s too bad. There’s always a mean girl and there’s always a mean boy and I always feel sorry for them.”
“Sorry for them?” Rae’s voice rose. “Why? Mommy, why?”
“Because they like being mean. Would you want to be like that?”
“No. I like people to be happy!”
“I know!” Kellen hugged her. “The important thing is we don’t care what mean people say. You and me. We’re ThunderFlash and LightningBug. We’re secret superheroes together.”
For the first time, Rae relaxed and leaned into Kellen and really listened.
Kellen had to be careful now, phrase her words perfectly. “We only take action when we know it’s necessary, when someone is going to be hurt and we can save them. We have to think when we’re in a difficult position, when the time to act is and when it’s better to be quiet and safe.”
“That’s not always easy for me to figure out.” Rae looked grave and thoughtful.
Kellen’s heart swelled with pride. Her little girl was so smart! And yet so kind, and that could be her ruin. “Not easy for me, either. But remember how in the mountains, I asked you about how to fight off an attacker, and you were so smart and came up with so many ideas? You and me, we’ll talk about possible dangerous situations and figure out the best way to handle them.”
“Okay.” Rae perked up. “That’ll be fun! And karate? You’re going to get me into karate?”
“Yes, but not right away. You already have a full schedule. Rae, I’m going to be here for you for as long as I can.” Kellen couldn’t promise more than that, not after the loss of consciousness on the mountain and the blackout on the road. “Sooner rather than later, I’ll prove to everyone the kind of person I am, and no one’s going to think I’m a hooker, and everyone’s going to know I was a captain in the Army. It’ll happen. You’ll see. Give me a little time.”
Rae got that rebellious I can’t wait look on her face.
Kellen remembered being that age and how long a minute was, how long an hour was, how it seemed she would never grow up and get to do whatever she wanted to do. She knew, too, that Rae’s thump wasn’t fueled merely by altruism—Martin had called Rae a liar and her teacher hadn’t believed her story, and that chafed when all she’d done was tell the truth. “I’ll tell you what. You’re probably going to have to apologize to Martin.”
“I won’t.”
Kellen held up one finger to stop her. “If you’ll do that, I’ll go to your teacher and ask if I can give a demonstration aimed at teaching kids like you how and when to defend yourselves. Once I do that, my credentials will be established, you’ll be my assistant and Martin will be afraid to ever tangle with you again.”
Rae thought about it. “You’ll have to go to the camp director.”
“Okay, I’ll go to the camp director. Tomorrow. Can I ride with you in the van?”
“Yeah!” Rae shouted.
Kellen almost told her, “Indoor voice,” and changed her mind. After all, the child was enthused that Kellen would be with her, and Kellen was enthused about the chance to look around the camp and view the security measures that would keep the children safe. She hated the thought that her daughter, that any child, would be in danger at a summer camp. But if she wasn’t satisfied, she would volunteer to work there, and the kids would be secure.
Or...not. If someone was after her, would she bring danger to the camp? She would talk to Max, suggest he instigate measures to keep Rae safe no matter where she was.
Kellen stood. “Let’s get you in the shower.” She opened the door to Rae’s room, glanced inside and realized why Verona had sent her up here to handle this.
Revenge.
All the dresser drawers were open, spitting socks, underwear, leggings and tutus onto the floor. The closet stood as a monument to empty hangers and mounds of wrinkled dresses. Naked princess dolls created stepping-stones toward the unmade stuffed-animal-covered bed.
Kellen’s austere Army-trained soul was horrified. “How do you know which clothes are clean and which ones are dirty?”
“The clean ones are in the laundry baskets.”
Which meant a hundred pounds of clothes were dirty. “We’ve got to get you organized.”
“Why?” It was an honest question.
“Because your grandma is right. This is atrocious.”
“Grandma says my cousin Sammy’s room is atrocious. If Sammy can be atrocious, why can’t I?”
“How old is Sammy?”
“Fourteen.”
“When you’re fourteen, you can have an atrocious room if you choose. Until then, it’s going to be organized.”
“But not right now, right?” Max stood in the door, smiling at his girls, “Later, right?”
“Sure. First thing is to give Rae a shower and find her some clean clothes to wear.” Kellen smiled back at him. “I’ll meet you at dinner.”
He turned away, then turned back. “Good job back there explaining the difference between life and death.”
“I may have a grip on that.”
46
When Kellen exited Rae’s room after assigning her one simple job—pick up her naked princess dolls and their clothes and stack them in the massive dollhouse—Max put his arm around her and led her toward the bedroom. His bedroom.
Kellen pulled back. “I can’t go in there with you. Your mother will have a fit. She doesn’t want you to sleep with me!”
“Are you kidding? When she finds out we’re going to get married, she’ll be thrilled. She’ll be in her element, Rae is going to have a blast, and little Martin’s mother is going to wish she kept her mouth shut, because they’re not going to be invited to the most important wedding this town has ever seen.” He sat down on the bed, smiled and patted his knee. “Come here and let’s talk about what we’re going to do after the ceremony. Maybe have a demonstration.”
“I have a bullet in my brain. I’m not supposed to strain myself. Remember? No bumping the headboard?”
“I’ll make sure you stay very, very still...using merely my hands.”
She was tired: from hiking, from falling, from having an MRI, from hearing a dire verdict of pain and little hope. They had time; right now, the blows to her head had caused swelling around the site where the bullet rested. If she took care and didn’t reinjure herself, a few months would allow the bruising to subside and the surgery would proceed with the optimum chance for success.
Yet somehow, Max Di Luca managed to make her feel alive as she had never felt before. And that was worth risking death, anytime. “As long as you’re doing all the work... I suppose I could rest in your bed and take it easy.”
He chuckled. “Yes, let’s rest together.”
* * *
Max’s phone whimpered.
Max rolled over on the bed and reached toward the nightstand. “It’s my mother.”
“Your phone whimpers when your mother texts?”
“I always know who it is. Saves time.” He read the words. “Dinner’s almost ready. She advises us to clean up.”
“I can almost see the indignation curling off the phone.”
“It’s Mom’s specialty.”
Kellen rolled off the bed. “I’m going to go shower and change out of these resort clothes and into something real. I’m tired of looking like a tennis player.”
He watched her dress. “Have I mentioned how pretty you are?”
“Not often enough. Have I mentioned how pretty you are?”
He fluttered his lashes. “I have a mirror.”
She laughed. “Hurry up. I am not going down there alone.”
Max and Kellen met in the hallway, clean, dressed and guilty and giggly as only having sex in forbidden circumstances could make them. They descended the stairs and walked into the kitchen, a large old-fashioned room with colorful tiles, modern appliances, a round table in the middle and one very irritated cook preparing bubbling brown stew with root vegetables and cheese biscuits.
The smells of garlic, tomatoes and browned beef permeated the air, and Kellen thought that the promise of good food would cushion the blow of Verona’s disapproval.
Verona banged the lid on a pot. “Maximilian, I do not think that the two of you sharing a bedroom while in the same house as your mother and your daughter is appropriate behavior.” The steamy heat made her brown hair hang in ringlets across her forehead, but her words were icy and clear.
“Wait a minute, Mom. We’ve got something to tell you.” Max went into the adjacent parlor and bellowed up the stairs. “Rae, come down here please!”
Rae bellowed back, “Coming, Daddy!” Her shoes clattered on the stairs and she appeared in the doorway, a vision in pink, glitter and glue, which she had smeared on her cheek.
The Di Lucas were the loudest people Kellen had ever heard. Her parents, what she remembered of them, had been busy, boisterous people, but when they had died and Kellen went to live with her aunt and uncle, the household had been ruled by her aunt’s migraines and the most commonly used phrase was, Use your indoor voice, please.
Come to think of it, Kellen didn’t mind the Di Luca noise.
“Wash your hands for dinner,” Verona said.
“I did!” Rae rubbed her palms on her shirt.
Max put out his hands. “Let me see.”
Rae sighed dramatically and headed into the bathroom by the back porch. She didn’t shut the door, so they heard the scrape of the stool across the Spanish tile, the splashing and the humming, and when Rae walked out, her hands, her hair and the front of her shirt were dripping wet. Proudly, she proclaimed, “I washed my face, too!”
Kellen waited for Verona to fuss.
Instead, she said, “Good thinking, Rae.”
The family was so casual and encouraging about the little stuff and kept their drama for the big life-changing events. Kellen liked that, too, except—oh man, there was about to be drama.
Max got a kitchen towel out of the drawer and used it to wipe Rae down. “Why don’t you and Grandma sit down? Mommy and I have something to tell you.”
Verona looked from Max to Kellen and sank down in her chair as if her legs were too weak to hold her.
Rae pulled her chair out from the table—another long scrape across the tile—and perched on her heels, leaned over the table and fastened her gaze on her father.
Max took Kellen’s hand. They faced Verona and Rae, and with the flare of an accomplished showman, Max announced, “Kellen has agreed to be my bride.”
The reactions were exactly the opposite of what Kellen expected.
Verona shot to her feet. “A bride? You’re going to get married?” She clasped her hands and shook them at the heavens. “My prayers have been answered!”
Rae said nothing, but her eyes were big and wary.
“I wonder if we can manage it by Christmas?” Verona walked to the calendar that hung on the wall. “To get the dress done and the family here—”
“Two weeks,” Max declared.
Verona swung around. “You’re kidding.”
“Two weeks,” Max repeated. “We’re getting married in two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” Verona squawked like the chicken who had swallowed the rubber band, and faced Kellen. “Wait. Are you pregnant again?”
“Mother.” Max sounded excessively patient. “Even if she was, we wouldn’t know yet and anyway, we have a seven-year-old daughter together. We can safely say the scandal ship has sailed!”
Kellen grinned. “Nice interception,” she muttered to Max.
“We don’t have to have a wedding,” Kellen said. “We can get married at the justice of the peace and have a reception later.”
Max and Verona and even Rae stared at her as if she was speaking a foreign language.
Max and Verona turned back to each other.
“How can everyone in the family make arrangements so quickly?” Verona asked.
“Do you really think they won’t?” Max seemed casually confident.
“It’s going to be an inconvenience to at least some of them!”
“If it’s too inconvenient for them to come, they can watch the video.”
“Max! Your attitude!” Verona paced the kitchen and wrung her hands. “How can we get the dresses made?”
Kellen looked at the stew bubbling on the stove, at the cheese biscuits stacked in the warming oven. Her stomach growled.
“We’ll get dresses off the rack,” Max said with rock-solid assurance.
“We are Di Lucas! We have relatives who are famous designers and we’re getting wedding dresses off the rack?” Verona had become completely and emphatically Old World Italian, tossing her hands in the air and her head from side to side. “Have you run mad?”
Max was unimpressed. “We’ll use their rack dresses.”
“We could have a small wedding,” Kellen suggested.
She got the same blank look as before.
Okay. Never mind.
She went to the stove and ladled stew into broad bowls, added a cheese biscuit—they were burned on the bottom—and placed them on the table.
Which seemed to send Verona’s mind in a new direction. “The food!”
“If you can’t handle the food, at least we’ll have good wine,” Max answered.
Kellen had to appreciate his ability to manipulate his mother. She grinned at Rae.
Rae avoided her eyes.
“If...if I can’t... I will handle the food!” Verona sputtered.
What Doesn't Kill Her Page 25
