Love Is More Than Skin Deep (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 4)

by Mary Crawford

  “It seems that way,” mumbles Ketki.

  I want to collect Ketki in a giant bear hug, but her body language is throwing up all sorts of caution signs so I just shrug and remark, “I know — but sometimes things aren’t always what they seem.”

  Rogue is treating me to a day of consignment store shopping. I had no idea that she’d have credit at almost every store we shopped at. What’s more, she’s insisting that I use her credit to rebuild my wardrobe. By the time we stop for lunch, my stress level is at an all-time high. I had no idea she meant to completely deck me out from head to toe. I’m just working at the library to build experience for my resume. Don’t tell that to Little-Miss-Headhunter over here — she’s too busy dressing me for a Fortune 500 Company.

  After we have taken a few bites of our sandwiches, Rogue faux-casually asks, “How is life at Mister-Tall-Dark-and-Handsome’s?”

  I take a long drink of my Diet Mountain Dew before I disclose, “I forgot to tell you. I’m not there anymore — I went back to Jett and Diamond’s place.”

  Rogue’s mouth opens in shock as she declares, “I thought he was inventing new ways to spoil you.”

  I nervously fiddle with my straw as I answer, “I can’t complain about the way he’s treated me, that’s for sure. He made me breakfast in bed every single day. I didn’t really need him to do that, especially after the first day. I was a little stiff and sore and exhausted, but I didn’t need that level of pampering. I could’ve curled up on my own couch with a box of Wheat-Thins, a can of Cheez-Whiz and a liter of Dew and I would’ve gotten along just fine.”

  “I’m not known for being the food police, but even I know that stuff will kill you,” Rogue warns.

  I level an exasperated stare at Rogue as I remind her, “Newsflash: a little orange food coloring is the least of my worries right now. I’m in very real danger of other things killing me first — you know, things like… I dunno… pesky little cancer cells.”

  Rogue shrugs as she replies, “All I’m saying is that there’s no need to be reckless while they’re treating your skin cancer — it would be a bummer to fix all the skin cancer only to find out that you destroyed your health on junk food, right?”

  “You’re as big a party-pooper as Ketki. She recites all the calories and fat for everything I put in my mouth. Do you know how hard it is to justify a Krispy Kreme when you know exactly how many calories it has in it? Oh, and just forget about Monte Cristo sandwiches altogether. There aren’t enough excuses on the planet for those.”

  Rogue takes a sip of her Pepsi. “How do you get along with Mark’s little girl? Tristan and I are talking about having kids. Tristan is leaning toward adoption because of what happened with his sister and nephew.”

  I slump back against my chair in defeat as I confess the difficult truth. “I adore Ketki and I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m related to one of the inventors of YouTube or something. She follows my every move like it’s a new computer code.”

  Rogue shoots me an amused grin as she responds, “So why do you look like Marcus does when someone takes his Red Bull? It’s better than her hating your guts. I did a modeling gig with somebody whose stepdaughter absolutely loathed her. It was pretty ugly. She actually came to work with a bite mark on her face.”

  “That’s extreme. Still, I wonder if it might be better if Ketki didn’t like me quite so much. We’ve been playing video games for two days straight. She’s an amazing kid. Super shy at first, but incredibly smart. She kicks my butt at video games.”

  “She does?” Rogue asks, perking up with interest. “Tristan is always looking for talented people to test his new stuff,” she adds thoughtfully. As she starts to clean our garbage off of the table she stops and asks me, “Wait! Why would Ketki be better off if she didn’t like you? I’m confused… I thought you guys hit it off.”

  Before I can stop it, I let out a growl of frustration. “Rogue, don’t you get it? I hate my life right now. You shouldn’t be in my life right now. No one should be in my life right now — none of you guys from Ink’d, not Mark and especially not Ketki. You all don’t deserve what might happen. You have been incredible to me — Good Lord, I showed up on your doorstep like an abandoned kitten and you all took me on like the town project and this stupid cancer might take me away before I even get a chance to properly thank you all. I can’t do that to Ketki. She already struggles to make friends, I can’t duck into her life and then die. She would be devastated.”

  Rogue comes over and squats next to me as she grabs a hold of my hands. “You’re right. You are absolutely right. It would be devastating to all of us. It would be especially crushing for a little girl who idolizes you — here’s the deal: you’re already in our lives. We already like you. There is no going back from that. Here’s the other piece of news you need to focus on — there is a better than 90% chance that you’re going to come out of this okay. You might be a little scarred and not quite so perfect, but you’ll be here. You’re not going to get rid of us that easy. We are a pesky bunch.”

  My eyes instantly fill up with tears and my voice becomes shaky as I ask, “Ninety percent, huh? Are you sure? The doctor I met with sounded pretty dire. She told me to get my affairs in order — as if I had anybody around to care. I’d hate to get my hopes up for nothing. My upbringing was a little weird, I don’t know who to believe anymore.”

  “You remember meeting Tristan and Isaac when Delaney Jane was giving you your tattoo?”

  “That’s your husband?” I ask, my eyes wide with shock. “I’m sorry; I’ve just never seen anybody be so particular about where a cash register goes. Who was the guy arguing with him?”

  “Would you believe that’s my dad?” Rogue answers with an eye roll. “It’s safe to say that both those guys sweat the small details. When I told Tristan about you, we did some in-depth research and found out the facts because we were worried. You can pretty much take Tristan’s sources to the bank. If you need them to, they could probably find you the researchers that performed the studies to explain them to you. Padre-Pop and Tristan work in mysterious ways. I have learned never to underestimate them.”

  I can’t hold it in any longer and I start to cry. Alarmed, Rogue puts her arms around me and just quietly absorbs my fear and pain.

  As I pull away, she softly whispers, “I’m sorry, Shelby. I wish I could wave a magic wand make it all go away.”

  “As odd as this sounds, I don’t know if I’d wish the same,” I confess. “Before I had the ugly C word in my life, I was alone with no one and now you all have become like the family I haven’t had in decades. No one ever wishes to get cancer, but if gaining you was the trade I had to make, it almost makes it worthwhile.”

  Rogue gives me a brief hug and teasingly remarks, “I don’t know, you’ve got some tough times ahead of you and we can be a pretty strange group. You might decide that we’re not worth the bargain.”

  “YOU SUCK AT THIS,” KETKI announces for about the fifteenth time tonight. “Why can’t you be more like Shelby? It was more fun when she was here.” Again, my daughter has a flair for stating the obvious.

  “I’m sorry, Ketki. I’m a little distracted tonight, I’ve got a big meeting at work tomorrow and my brain is elsewhere. Why don’t you invite some friends over this weekend and have a slumber party or something?”

  “D-a-a-a-a-d, do you even know anything about my friends?” Ketki challenges, drawing my name out into several syllables.

  “Do they go to school?”

  Ketki pauses and then nods carefully.

  “Are they as nice as you?” I tease.

  Ketki grins and nods enthusiastically.

  “If they’ve been here before, just invite them back. I’ve got plenty of food. You guys can rent movies and make popcorn or do the girl thing and do each other’s hair and all that jazz. Maybe your Aunt Leotie can come over.”

  My daughter’s face changes, and as she stands up to walk away, she murmurs under her breath, “It’s like you don’t e
ven know me.”

  Ketki’s words haunt me for the rest of the evening. How well do I really know my daughter? I know what medications she’s on. I know what she’s allergic to. I know what makes it difficult for her to sleep. I know what will cause her to have a meltdown in the middle of a store. I know what her educational plan is for the school year. I know what therapies she’s had to cope with her autism. I know the diagnosis codes we put on to her insurance paperwork. I know the behavioral therapies we tried; I know which ones have been epic failures and which ones have shown some promise. I know which doctors in the area are total quacks. I know what diet allegedly helps her and which foods should be avoided.

  Even so, her words come back to me like a bad jury verdict. I play them over and over in my mind. How much do I really know about her? Presumably, I don’t know her as well as Shelby does. I’ve never seen my daughter as happy as she was when Shelby was here. It was simply astonishing to see. There didn’t seem to be any artifice or stiffness surrounding it.

  Shelby found one of my old sweatshirts. It was beat up and threadbare, but Shelby didn’t seem to mind, she just put it on and rolled up the sleeves. She borrowed one of my baseball caps from the Florida Bar and wore it backwards. Of course, Ketki was keen on copying her style. She too wore an oversized Old Navy sweatshirt and a Pokémon baseball cap also donned backwards. Every time I saw the two of them, they seemed to be in the throes of an epic video game battle. As I listened closely, I realized that Shelby was waiting for Ketki to teach her how to play each game. It was clear from watching Shelby handle the controls to the games that she needed no such instruction. Unlike many of Ketki’s previous opponents, Shelby seemed take it in stride when my daughter completely annihilated her and she seemed genuinely interested in Ketki’s almost obsessive knowledge of Easter eggs, lag times, and known programming glitches in each game.

  I will freely admit that when Ketki starts talking about the minutia of each individual video game, my eyes can start to glaze over despite my best intentions — but much to my surprise, Shelby appeared to be genuinely interested in everything Ketki had to say. It makes me curious about what else my daughter shared with Shelby. If I’m honest with myself, it’s not only Ketki who was much happier with Shelby around. Even though she was tired and sore, her simple enjoyment of small things was contagious. Her shock and awe over my culinary skills in the kitchen is both baffling and highly amusing.

  I do all right in the kitchen. After all, I’ve been a single dad for about seven years. If I hadn’t figured my way around the house by that time, we would have been overrun with dirty laundry and we would’ve starved to death. Consequently, I have a few general go-to meals and I have learned to do laundry on her schedule. If I don’t, all hell breaks loose. From what she reported, nothing in Shelby’s background prepared her for the idea that a man could actually perform routine household tasks. She had just never seen it done so it was a source of endless fascination for her. She almost seemed horrified by the very thought. It was all I could do to encourage her to sit and rest according to the doctor’s instructions.

  As soon as Shelby began feeling stronger, I began making a game of my routine chores to make them a family activity to include her. Ketki and I work together in the kitchen all the time, but including a new person in our routine sometimes resulted in some pretty hysterical results. One morning as I was preparing to make pancakes, Shelby and I reached for the box of pancake mix at the same time and I ended up dumping it all over her head. I expected Shelby to be a little put out with me, but she just ran her fingers through her hair and mumbled something about it being a good treatment for oily hair as she started laughing.

  Of course, Ketki immediately wanted to be part of the action because Shelby was having so much fun. Shelby warned her that it would be a pain to wash out of her hair, but Ketki wanted to do it anyway, so Shelby took her outside and dumped a little bit on her hair too and then they shook the pancake mix through their hair and asked me to take pictures of their strangely ghostlike appearance. After it was all said and done, they just looked at each other and announced, “Spa day!” and set off on a whole new adventure. It was the most carefree I have seen Ketki in years. I’ve gotten so used to Ketki and I being a little self-contained unit that I don’t stop to think what she might be missing by not having Tanyanita around.

  The issues with Ketki’s mom are tough. I keep thinking that she’s going to wake up one day and realize all the things that she’s missing and remember that she still loves me and we’ll be the family that I always envisioned. I guess I’m the one who should wake up, and smell the coffee because she’s been gone for better than half a decade now. I don’t suppose she’s going to waltz in through the front door anytime soon.

  After I got through the toddler years with Ketki and got her potty trained, we seemed to become an unstoppable team. Until I saw Ketki interacting with Shelby, it never occurred to me that she might feel like some piece of our family is missing. I’m trying to concentrate on reviewing my materials for the board meeting tomorrow, but I can’t stop thinking about Shelby. I know my fanciful musings are traveling down some very dangerous paths. Even though my life is a disaster area in the making with so many balls up in the air, I can’t even pretend that I’m competently juggling them anymore.

  In my mind’s eye, I can see adding Shelby to the chaos. In the next breath I have to laugh at my own ego. What’s to say she would want to join the circus that is my life? It’s not as if I’ve got everything all figured out and if she needs anything at the moment, it’s stability. I’m still working on dealing with getting through the day and coping with Callum’s death, the strains of managing the practice and coping with being everything to my daughter. At this point, I don’t think I’m prize partner material. Just as I come to that fateful conclusion, one of Ketki’s games pops up on the console with loud, garish music and announces Game Over.

  I hope it’s not prophetic, but I suspect that it might be.

  “So you see, if we were able to snag some bigger fish with deeper pockets, we would be able to fund all of this charity work for clients who don’t really stand a chance of winning and maybe make a profit for a change,” Garrett Treadwell smiles, finishing his presentation with a flourish.

  I look around the conference room and much to my dismay, everyone in the room appears to be nodding in appreciation. Crap, he seems to have everyone on board — even all my former classmates from law school. What happened to integrity and doing the practice of law for the greater good? What happened to vanquishing evil no matter what the cost? Am I the only one who remembers that it was supposed to be one of our founding values at Hunters’ Crossing? As I watch everyone eat up Garrett’s every word, I am resigned to the fact that perhaps I am. Garrett is absorbing all the attention as if he is some sort of A list movie star.

  I want to tell him that this is not an audition for a reality TV show. This is real-life. There are no retakes. Real people’s lives are impacted by the decisions we make in this boardroom. This isn’t just show and tell. I’m trying really hard to separate my personal dislike for his approach to life from the matter at hand. Personally, even though I am his mentor, I think he’s a narcissistic pinhead. Even so, I’m not so narrow-minded that I don’t understand that if we don’t change the financial climate of the firm, we are not going to be able to offer health insurance benefits to everyone. I rely on those health insurance benefits to get therapy for Ketki’s autism. Talk about your proverbial rock and hard place.

  Clearing my throat, I lean forward and address my colleagues, “While I concede that Mr. Treadwell has made some valuable points, I hesitate to completely change the complexion of our firm to chase a few dollars in this tight legal market. We have spent a great deal of time and effort to establish a reputation in our legal community. We have some standing among our peers. I don’t want to throw that away just so to chase some ambulances, as it were. What about the principles that we were founded on? We went into busine
ss for a specific purpose: are we going to give that up just so that we can notch up an arbitrary profit margin?”

  Garrett openly scoffs at me as he replies, “Mark, even you can see that all your principles won’t do you any good if this business goes under. Are you living in some fantasyland?”

  His utter lack of respect toward me is completely insulting. We’re not chowing down on burgers at some corner bar, we are in a formal business meeting that is being recorded for posterity. Instinctively, I sit up straighter in my chair as I level a dark stare at him and ask, “Are you sure that the ink on your degree is dry enough for you to be asking those kind of questions, Mr. Treadwell? I will remind you that the reason you have a job is because my partners and I founded this firm on the principles that you’re so quick to dismiss. I am well aware of the financial holdings of this firm. At no time did we ever discuss that this firm was anywhere close to folding. The only thing we were discussing was an adjustment to compensation packages. At the moment, I’m beginning to wonder if maybe we’ve gotten a little too generous. Perhaps the associates are feeling a little too entitled.”

  Anita, the associate who works with Susan raises her hand and responds, “Mr. Littleson, I hope you understand that I am profoundly honored to work here and grateful for the help you give associates.”