by Jamie Beck
Steffi stuck out her hand without thinking, just like she did anytime she and Benny had this kind of exchange. Ryan stared at her hand before clasping it.
They shook, but neither of them immediately released hands. For two seconds, they lingered there, hands linked, eyes locked on each other—two seconds that made staying for dinner worthwhile.
Her mouth went dry. She licked her lips, drawing his gaze.
He dropped her hand, swallowing hard. “I’ll tell Emmy.”
Before she replied, he turned and left her alone in the kitchen with her heart resounding in her chest.
Ryan’s phone buzzed in his pocket while he was presenting a motion in limine with regard to witness testimony. It buzzed two more times before he was finished, but he had to keep his head in the game. Judge Kramer had a tough rep, and Ryan didn’t want to draw his ire. As soon as the arguments concluded, he hastened outside the courtroom to check his phone.
He didn’t recognize the first number, which accounted for two of the attempts. The third ring had been his mother, whom he dialed as he strode down the hallway of the imposing criminal court building.
“What’s wrong?” Had his father’s gout gotten worse?
“I’m with Emmy . . . in the principal’s office.”
He came to a dead stop in the middle of the busy hallway. “What happened?”
“No one’s hurt, but let me put Principal Lotz on the phone.”
Ryan sweated in his suit. All around him, colleagues, defendants, and other people milled around. He stuck his finger in one ear so he could hear and wandered to a secluded spot near the wall.
“Mr. Quinn, this is Principal Lotz.” She sounded like a principal, formal and a little disapproving.
“Hello. Sorry I didn’t pick up before. I’ve been in court all morning. What’s going on?”
“Your daughter got into a scuffle at recess with another girl. I believe it started over a swing and escalated from there. Emmy called the other girl a name before the teacher broke it up.”
Ryan palmed his forehead. “Is she sitting with you now?”
“Yes.”
“Can you please put her on the phone for a minute?” He inhaled and held his breath for three seconds before blowing it out in a desperate attempt to find patience.
“Yes.”
A few seconds later, he heard Emmy’s remorseless voice. “Hi, Dad.”
“What happened today?”
“Katie Winston wouldn’t give me my turn. She never takes turns, and she’s always making fun of how I talk.”
“What?”
“She says I have an accent.”
Ah, the Boston thing. It was there, if not overwhelmingly so. “If Katie did all these bad things, why are you the one in the principal’s office?”
“Because I called her a name, I guess.” Emmy’s tone turned a little proud . . . a little too like her mother’s.
“What bad name?” He grabbed his forehead, bracing himself.
After the slightest hesitation, she announced, “Bee-otch.”
“Emmy!” Through the phone, Ryan heard his mother mutter something, even as he imagined the gleam in his daughter’s eye for having been handed an excuse to say that word again. That word Val used in jest throughout the years, and derisively when judging other women. “We’ll have a longer talk later. Please hand the phone back to Principal Lotz now.”
Without a word, she passed the phone, because the next voice he heard was Mrs. Lotz’s.
“What happens now?” Ryan asked, fingertips rubbing his temple. “Is she suspended?”
“For the day, yes. I’ll send her home with your mother. If this happens again, there will be a longer suspension. We have zero tolerance for bullying.”
“I understand and support that policy. However, it sounds like this other girl wasn’t blameless. In fact, it sounds like she’s the real bully. Is she also being suspended?”
“No one can corroborate that part of your daughter’s story.”
Story. Like Emmy made it all up. Emmy was a lot of things, but she’d never been a liar. She was too sure of herself and heedless of consequence to lie about anything.
“I know Emmy can be a handful, and she’s having some trouble adjusting to the new environment, but she’s assertive, but not aggressive or bullying. There’s a difference. And her side of the story doesn’t sound far-fetched or even vague, so there’s truth to it.”
“The other girls took Katie’s side, so my hands are tied. The teacher only caught the end of the confrontation.”
“Of course the others took Katie’s side. They’ve all been friends for years. My daughter is the new kid.”
“Perhaps you should conference with her teacher about whether she’s seen ongoing issues in the classroom.”
“I will, although if there have been problems, I’m at a loss for why no one notified me sooner. I’ll be in touch after I have a chance to speak with Emmy this afternoon. Thank you.” He hit “Off” and stuffed his phone in his pocket, then finished the walk back to his office, forcing himself to focus on his caseload until he could get home and deal with Emmy.
Ryan stormed into the house at six o’clock, dropped his briefcase on the floor, and let his whole body rest against the door for three seconds. He’d always done the right things, yet somehow his life was imploding, which was made worse, given how it seemed to be affecting his daughter. The one who apparently still hoped for her parents’ reconciliation. Meanwhile, the Vals and Steffis of the world skipped through life, leaving chaos in their wake without any personal consequence.
He pushed himself off the door and made a beeline for the back of the house.
“Whoa! Slow down there, mister.” His mother materialized out of thin air and set her hand to his chest. “Settle yourself before you talk to Emmy. Attacking her won’t solve the problem. Besides, she’s helping Stefanie clean up right now. Let them finish.”
“It’s not good for her to get attached to Steffi. Steffi is not her mother.”
“But she is a woman, and she is younger than me. Emmy seems to like her, and when it comes to kids, that’s so important. That’s how they decide who to talk to.” When he rolled his eyes, she removed her hand. “You can charge in there and make Emmy afraid and defensive, or you can cool your heels and see what Steffi can learn.” His mom shrugged, as if he bought into her nonchalance, before she started up the stairs. “I need to check on your father.”
Ryan counted to five and then slowly walked toward the kitchen. The window over the sink was wide open, letting the scent of his mom’s rosebushes infiltrate the house. In the yard just a few feet away, Emmy was helping Steffi fold some kind of tarp. He eavesdropped for a minute while watching them work together.
“I do understand, Emmy. Better than you think.” Steffi took the partially folded tarp and snapped its final fold on her own, then crouched to Emmy’s eye level. “I wasn’t much older than you when my mom died. I missed her so much it felt like the whole world turned into a dark black hole. Most days I wanted to jump right through that hole and follow her to heaven. I was so angry that she left me like that, even though she couldn’t help it. But I kept all those feelings tight inside, like a ball right here.” Steffi pointed at Emmy’s stomach. “Holding all that stuff inside hurt, but it made me feel strong. It seemed better than crying, for sure. Then a girl named Claire moved in across the street. She was very sweet and sporty, and I liked her right away. I was lucky because she was patient with my moods. And at the end of our street was another girl our age, Peyton. Peyton was popular, but it turns out she was kind of lonely, too, for other reasons.
“Anyway, somehow that summer we all started spending time together. We gave ourselves a name—the Lilac Lane League—and we started a journal, because Peyton liked to write. We wrote down our dreams and the things that made us mad, and the things that made us laugh. Our crushes, first kisses, all that stuff. Little by little, that knot in my stomach unwound because my friends made me l
ess lonely. That’s how I know the fastest way to feel better is to make a new friend.”
“You’re my new friend.” Emmy’s voice sounded small and shaky.
“I am your friend, but you also need a friend your age. I know you miss your old gang, but try to make one new friend here, too. I promise there are nice girls. I grew up here, after all, and I’m nice.” Steffi smiled and brushed some of Emmy’s curls off her face.
Ryan decided to enter the conversation now, before Emmy broke down in front of Steffi or put her in a more difficult situation. He exited through the kitchen door and crossed the partially framed porch to get to the yard. “Hey there, ladies.”
Emmy snapped her gaze at him, and he saw the panic in her eyes. His daughter’s fear of him speared his chest like a sword. He’d failed at his marriage, and his daughter was paying the highest price. He couldn’t fail her, too. He dropped to his knees and opened his arms. She flew into them in a heartbeat.
He hugged her and swayed, like he’d done when she was so much younger. Steffi quietly retrieved her toolbox and took it to her van.
“Emmy,” Ryan said, once they were alone, “I’m sorry this is such a hard time for you. I want to help you, but I don’t always have all the answers. I do know one thing, though. You can’t call people names and expect to make friends.”
She cried against his chest, each tear falling like acid raining on his heart. “Oh, princess, it’ll be okay. We all make mistakes. The important thing is to apologize and try to learn from it.”
“You always say that,” she muttered into his shirt.
“Because it’s the truest thing I know.” He kissed her head.
“So why can’t you and Mom apologize and make up?”
He hadn’t expected that question, although maybe he should have. “It’s not that simple.”
“You always say that, too.”
If a conversation with her took this much work at this age, he could barely imagine dealing with her in her teens. “You’re all dirty from helping Steffi. How ’bout you go inside and clean up before dinner? I need to talk to Steffi for a second. Then I’ll come in, and we can figure out how to apologize to Katie Winston.”
Emmy nodded while swiping her arm under her runny nose. “Okay.”
She wandered into the house just as Steffi came back from the van to get the rest of her personal things. He stood to speak with her. “I heard part of what you said to Emmy.”
“I know you don’t want me to speak for you, but I just—”
“It’s okay. Thank you for making her feel like she can confide in you. I should’ve listened to you the other day.” He crossed his arms and blew out a long breath. “I’m in over my head doing this on my own.”
“You’re not on your own. You’ve got your parents. But even if you were, I know you can do it. She loves you. She wants to make you happy and proud.”
He nodded, although he knew he was screwing it all up.
“Well, I’d better take off. Benny’s expecting me for another training run.”
“You guys are disciplined. I haven’t had a chance to get in a good workout in three months. Pretty soon I’m going to be too soft.” He patted his gut. Granted, he was still pretty fit. He could probably keep up with Steffi for a few miles, anyhow.
“I’m sure your mom would watch Emmy if you need to hit the gym or the mean streets of Sanctuary Sound.” She tipped her head, grinning. “My brother might even like some male company now and then. He gets sick of my singing.”
Ryan laughed. “Well, you were good at a lot of things, but singing wasn’t one of them.”
“You didn’t used to complain.” She hit his arm.
He grew quiet for a second, remembering the many times he’d listened to her terrible rendition of Lifehouse’s “You and Me” in the car or on the patio. “No, I never did mind those private concerts.”
The air between them turned sweet and thick with fond memories. Holding hands, soccer footwork challenges, the first time he’d copped a feel, and the light in her eyes when he had. The images almost made him want to take hold of her hand again; his heart beat with that hot desire like it had at seventeen.
“Dad!” Emmy called from the door, breaking the spell.
“You’d better go,” Steffi said with a wistful smile before she turned and walked back to her car.
He watched her go and waited . . . waited . . . Just before she got to her van, she peeked over her shoulder at him again, and everything seemed a little bit brighter.
Chapter Six
Steffi approached the gold-and-graphite condominium building where Peyton’s older brother, Logan, lived. Located in the diverse, artsy Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan, it stood within spitting distance of art galleries, eclectic shops, and cafés. Perfect for a photographer with money to burn. No doubt this pad cost a couple of million, maybe more.
The Prescotts had always had money. The rambling shingle-style mansion they grew up in at the end of Lilac Lane had originally been their great-grandfather’s summer home. He’d been a famous writer who’d hosted infamous parties for his celebrity friends on those hallowed grounds. His son, Peyton’s grandfather, had been a spendthrift and burned through much of the family fortune.
In 1995, Peyton’s father sold off forty-five acres of the original fifty-acre estate, which was when all the modest homes on Lilac Lane were built and Steffi’s family moved in. Mr. Prescott then invested the money he raised through that development into other real estate deals in the tristate area. Now he’d become wealthy in his own right, restoring the family coffers.
His kids, Logan and Peyton, worked hard, but not in the corporate arena. They inherited their great-grandfather’s passion for words and art. Peyton wrote for travel magazines, and Logan was a documentary photographer. Although successful, their high-flying lifestyles were supplemented by ample trust funds. Neither, however, flaunted that privilege. In fact, in all the ways that really mattered, both were rather down-to-earth.
Just before the elevator doors closed, a huge man ducked inside with her. He barely smiled before turning to face the button panel. The doors closed. Sweat collected at her hairline as she squeezed into the corner of the elevator and . . .
Hot, smoky breath.
A gun!
Please, no.
Help. Help.
Live. Just live.
The elevator jerked to a stop, yanking her back to reality. This last concussion had really screwed with her brain. She couldn’t hold on to her thoughts—if there even were any—in those trances and didn’t know when the next would strike, or why.
The man strolled out without a word, unaware that her pulse was sky-high. She inhaled and jabbed the door-close button three times. Four floors later, her pulse had slowed to normal.
Surely, one mugging hadn’t made her afraid to be alone in an elevator with a guy. She’d been friends and colleagues with men her whole dang life. But she didn’t have time to worry about that now. Not with Peyton waiting just a few yards away.
When the elevator opened on the sixth floor, Steffi drew a final, cleansing breath before knocking on Logan’s door.
Peyton answered wearing a forced smile and gathered Steffi into a hug. “Steffi!”
Thank God the hug gave Steffi a second to adjust to Peyton’s new look. She’d butchered her waist-length blonde locks into a pixie cut. She’d always been thin, but now her legs looked more like arms. Steffi remembered how the stress from weeks of waiting for answers and preparing for treatment had killed her mother’s appetite and destroyed her sleep cycles. It’d wreaked havoc on the whole family.
Peyton gave Steffi a tight squeeze before releasing her. “Thanks for making the trek.”
Certainly not a trek, although driving into the city required nerves of steel. Blaring horns. Cabs weaving through traffic with less wiggle room than thread through a needle’s eye. And pedestrians ignoring the crosswalks, forcing her to slam on the brakes with alarming frequency. The streets of Ma
nhattan were an animated obstacle course with life-and-death stakes. And if, by chance, you made it safely to your destination, you’d be treated to the final insult—a ridiculously steep parking fee.
“It’s good to see you.” It had been a year since Steffi had met with Peyton, shortly after the whole Todd debacle. Now the awkward friendship strife settled between them like a thick morning fog on the sound. Steffi pointed at Peyton’s shorn hair. “The new do is sharp.”
Peyton touched it with a shrug. “I figure it’ll be easier to deal with losing it this way.”
Steffi’s mind blanked at the stark reality of what lay ahead for Peyton, preferring to skim the surface rather than drown in heavy emotional conversation. Peyton, on the other hand, tended to overshare her emotions and the truth—or at least the truth from her perspective. Today Steffi couldn’t wade at the edges of intimate conversation. She’d have to swim straight to the center and hope no sharks dragged her under.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you have to go through this.” Unlike some of her memories, the ones of her mother’s last months—with ascites requiring weekly draining of the abdominal-fluid buildup—could resurface with amazing clarity. Peyton was almost twenty years younger than Steffi’s mother had been in this battle. Would youth and strength give her better odds? “How do you like your doctors?”
“I’m still trying to keep everyone straight. They’re okay, but numb. I’m just one of hundreds. There won’t be much hand-holding, despite my fucked emotional state. That’s Logan’s job now—taking care of me.”
Steffi seized an opening to steer the conversation away from gloom. “Is he here?”
“Not at the moment.”
The swanky pad, with its modern taupe-and-cream kitchen, floor-to-ceiling black-framed windows, and gray wood floors, reflected Logan’s personality. Hip, handsome verging on pretty, and a touch cool. The furnishings, however, seemed like a ragtag collection of things that didn’t quite go together. Had it not been for working with Claire, she might not have noticed. Logan probably didn’t care because he traveled so often; this place was more like a hotel than a home.
