by Brenda Novak
“If she wants money from me, she’s going to have to give me the apology I deserve,” he said.
Tami closed her eyes. “Don, haven’t the last few weeks taught you anything?”
“What do you mean?”
“We owe her as much of an apology as she owes us.”
He stopped sweeping to glare at her. “What do we need to apologize to her for?”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, and it took Barb to make me see. More than anything, we were angry at her for embarrassing us in front of our friends and neighbors, and we were trying to punish her for it. Only she’s a big girl now, living her own life. She’s got a right to choose for herself, without emotional blackmail.”
“We’re not blackmailing her! We’re just trying to teach her what’s right.” He went back to work, but Tami grabbed the broom handle, determined to stop the annoying noise and get him to listen.
“I’m not saying she’s made good choices. But what’s right, Don? What’s right for us to do?”
“The way I see it, the ball’s in her court.”
“You’re wrong this time,” Tami said. “You’re wrong, and you have too much pride to admit it. But I don’t. Not anymore. Some things are just too precious to lose.” She stripped off her apron.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To see our daughter.”
TAMI STOOD IN THE HALL, the new infant car seat she’d purchased slung over one arm. She’d been trying, for the past several minutes, to get her heart to stop pounding so she could step into Katie’s hospital room with an unfaltering smile. But it was no use. She was afraid Katie would tell her to leave, refuse to let her see the baby. In a way, she felt Katie would be justified in doing just that. As Katie’s parents, she and Don had couched the complexity of their reaction—all the anger, hurt pride, disappointment and desire to control—in righteous indignation. They were right, and she was wrong. Period.
Or so she’d thought until she’d had that talk with Barbara…
Tami wanted to believe that if she hadn’t been so preoccupied and worried about Travis, she would’ve come to this point sooner. But at least she was here now. Somehow she had to find some middle ground between taking a stand for the right and being there for her children, even when they did the exact opposite of what she told them.
She just wished it was easier to find that middle ground.
Nodding politely at a nurse who bustled past, she drew a deep breath and stepped into the room.
A game show was playing on the television. Katie was asleep, but she must have heard the rustle of Tami’s movements or sensed her presence, because she opened her eyes almost immediately.
“Mom?” she said, sounding confused.
Tami put the car seat on the floor and stepped close enough to grip the bar on the side of Katie’s bed. Katie looked wan and tired. Tami remembered what it was like when Katie was born, how precious she’d been and still was, and wanted to hug her daughter. But she doubted a hug would be welcomed.
“Hi, Katie. How do you feel?” she said, then held her breath as she waited for her daughter’s response.
“Fine.”
“How’s the baby?”
“He’s perfect, beautiful,” she said softly. “Have you seen him?”
“Not yet. I wanted to check on you first.”
A tear trickled out of the corner of Katie’s eye and rolled into her hair.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Tami said. Then she nearly cried herself when Katie offered her a tremulous smile and held the back of one hand against her cheek.
BOOKER DROPPED THE PACKET of information he’d received at his first anger management class on the kitchen table and went in search of a pen. His instructor, Mr. Boyle, had given each student homework—or improvement exercises, as he called them. Booker had to do all the homework in order to get Boyle’s signature at the end of the seven-week course. And he had to get Boyle’s signature in order to avoid going back to jail. But Boyle treated the entire class as though they were walking time bombs and spoke in a soft, singsong voice purposely manufactured to show how well he’d mastered his own temper. Booker was afraid that if he had to sit through many more lectures like the first one, he would have an anger problem.
“Booker, what are you doing?” Delbert asked, coming in from the living room.
Booker scowled as he dug through the utility drawer next to the sink. “Homework.”
“I hate homework.” Delbert opened the fridge and helped himself to a soda.
“Me, too,” Booker grumbled, but he found a pen, so he returned to the table and slumped into the closest chair.
The phone rang. Delbert answered. “It’s Rebecca,” he said. “She wants to talk to you.”
Booker accepted the handset and propped it against his shoulder so he could still write. Ever since Rebecca had returned from her trip to Austin three weeks ago, she hadn’t really been herself, and Booker was worried about her. “’Lo?”
“What’s up?” she said.
“I just got back from my first anger management class.”
“I know. I talked to Delbert an hour ago.”
“He didn’t say anything to me.”
“I told him I’d call back. What’d you learn tonight?”
“That I’d like to choke the teacher.”
He heard her laugh for the first time in more than twenty days. “Oh, that’s a good start,” she said sarcastically.
“My thoughts exactly. I can already tell I’m going to be one of his top students.” He grinned because she was still chuckling. “I’m doing my homework right now.”
“What does anger management homework entail? Yoga?”
“Looks like I’m starting out with some kind of questionnaire—‘Are you too angry? Find out by answering the following questions as honestly as possible.”’
“What are some of the questions?”
“When I am angry, I tend to:
a. Hold my feelings inside until I can’t hold them in any longer.
b. Immediately strike out verbally or physically.
c. Identify the cause, then take steps to direct or manage my anger by using it in a constructive way.”
“That’s it?” she said. “That’s all the choices? What if you want to say ‘all of the above, depending on the situation’?”
Delbert got a box of a doggy snacks and ambled out of the room. A few seconds later, Booker heard him trying to get Bruiser to roll over and play dead. “There is no ‘all of the above.’ So what do you think? ‘B’ might give my instructor some validation.”
“‘B’ might get you held back.”
“Some teachers are looking for growth.”
“You want him to think you’re homicidal?”
“He already does. The class is court-mandated, remember?”
She hesitated. “Okay. ‘B.”’
He marked it before reading the next question.
“How do you feel when you’re angry?
a. Powerless
b. Worthless
c. Unappreciated
d. Justified.”
“Powerless,” Rebecca said decisively.
“Powerless?” he repeated.
“Yes! I hate that I can’t control my own situation.”
She was talking about babies, of course. Unless her body finally cooperated, there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about getting what she wanted. And she’d already mentioned, two weeks ago, that Josh was only willing to keep trying for one more month.
“I don’t feel powerless,” he said.
“How do you feel?”
“When I’m angry, I’m angry. It’s not complicated.”
“Then put ‘powerless’ for me.”
“Okay.”
They answered eight more questions and Booker turned to the next section, “Ways to Alleviate Anger.”
“What suggestions does it give?” Rebecca asked when he’d read the title aloud.
“When you’re feeling angry, try sitting down and answering the following questions:
How am I feeling?
Why am I angry?
Who am I angry with?
How can I better approach the problem than to—”
Rebecca made a noise of impatience. “You’re supposed to do this before you explode?”
“That’s what it says.”
“But if you had enough control to sit down and analyze your feelings…”
“No kidding.”
“I hope this course gets better.”
And she hadn’t even met Mr. Boyle. “So do I.” He paused, eager to get to the part of the conversation he’d been waiting for. “So?”
“So what?” she said.
“Are you going to give me an update?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Booker slid low and rested his head on the top slat of his chair. “Yes, you do.”
“You want to hear about Katie?”
“Who else?”
“It’s the first time you’ve ever come right out and asked me.”
He stared at the ceiling, remembering as he did so often those tense minutes when he was delivering Katie’s baby. That experience was the most frightening of his life—except coming face-to-face, five years ago, with what he’d be if he didn’t change.
He sighed. The baby’s birth might have scared the hell out of him, but it was also the closest thing to a miracle Booker had ever experienced, and he knew he’d never forget it. “How is she?”
“Good. Once she got out of the hospital, she stayed in a motel in Boise so she could continue to nurse the baby, since he couldn’t come home yet. But they’ve released Troy now, and they’re both at the ranch.”
Troy. Booker smiled at the name. “That’s good.”
“I stopped by with a few baby things.”
“Does Katie need anything else?”
“I don’t think so. Delaney and I took her a bassinet and some cute little clothes. Delaney even made her a baby quilt. And her mother bought her a baby tub and a rocker, as well as a car seat.”
“So her mother’s still helping her?”
“Yeah. I saw them in town yesterday. Tami was holding Troy.”
Sitting up, he doodled in the margins of his questionnaire. “Did Mike ever get Katie’s computer back?”
“No. He’s going to lend Katie a computer until she can afford one of her own.”
“I’ve been over to Andy’s cousins’ house half a dozen times, but they always tell me the same thing—Andy’s gone.”
“He must’ve headed back to San Francisco. I know if you were looking for me the way you’ve been beating the bushes for him, I’d hightail it out of here.”
He chuckled. “No one could scare you off.”
“Well, no one’s seen Andy. Did I tell you Katie’s going to start working at Hair and Now tomorrow? She doesn’t know it yet, but we’re giving her a baby shower in a couple of weeks.”
“Who’s going to watch the baby while she works?”
“I told her she could bring him with her, but I think her mother’s planning to take care of him for the first few weeks.”
“Sounds like she’s patched things up with her parents.”
“From what Katie told me, relations are still strained between her and her father, so Tami’s agreed to watch Troy out at the cabin.”
Booker pictured Katie holding her newborn in the hospital. He could recall the scent of the baby so vividly…. “That’s convenient.”
“Yeah.”
“Is she still seeing Mike?”
“They’re just friends.”
“You said he was interested in more.”
“He is, but she’s not responding.”
Booker dropped his pen and shoved the questionnaire away. “She grew up wanting to marry him.”
“Maybe things have changed.”
“Or she’s waiting until the baby’s older.”
A knock sounded on the front door. “Hang on. Someone’s here.”
“I’ve got to go,” Rebecca said. “Josh is getting impatient. Just call me tomorrow.”
“Okay.” He hung up and walked into the living room, but Delbert answered the door before he could reach it. “Booker,” he called, “it’s Officer Orton!”
Judging by his stance, Orton had come on police business, but Booker couldn’t imagine why. He’d paid his fine and was attending the anger management classes. The misdemeanor assault charge was almost behind him.
“I’ve got it, Delbert.” Booker stepped outside instead of inviting Orton in. Closing the door behind him, he shoved his hands in his pockets and refused to act surprised or worried while he waited for Orton to speak.
Orton let the silence stretch. “There’s been another robbery,” he finally said.
“Tonight?”
His watery eyes gleamed in the darkness. “That’s right.”
“Where?”
“You don’t know?”
The hair on the back of Booker’s neck stood on end at the accusation in Orton’s voice. “How would I?”
“Because it happened at 1028 Robin Road.”
Booker didn’t recognize the number. But he didn’t need to. He knew only one person who lived on Robin Road: Jon Small.
KATIE FELT FAIRLY confident that she could smile and be polite when she saw Ashleigh at the gas station or passed her in the grocery store. But she didn’t want to work with her. Just the thought of standing across from her at the salon while everyone was swapping stories about the men in their lives, as they often did, made Katie cringe. She didn’t want to hear the intimate details of Ashleigh’s experience with Booker, didn’t want to remember that it had even happened.
But she had to go back to work. Thanks to Mike’s willingness to lend her a computer, she could continue to build her Web business on the side. But she needed immediate cash to take care of Troy, to make payments to the hospital for his birth, and to repay her mother the money she’d borrowed over the past few weeks. Katie and her father still weren’t speaking, which put her mother in a difficult position, and Katie was especially sensitive to that.
Gathering the bag that held her scissors and beauty supplies, she got out of the red Nissan Mike insisted she use and went into the salon. She wasn’t going to sit in the parking lot, dreading Ashleigh. It was better to hold her head high and get their initial meeting over with.
Ashleigh was standing behind the cashier’s desk when Katie walked in. At the bell, she glanced up, then smiled brightly, and hurried over to give Katie a big hug. “Katie, I’m so glad you’re back!”
Katie pasted a smile on her face and tolerated the embrace. She and Ashleigh had gone to the same school, but Ashleigh was two years younger, she ran with a faster crowd and they’d only worked together for a few months before Katie quit.
“Thanks, it’s good to be here.” Katie immediately looked to Mona who, at the moment, was the only other person in the salon.
“Good to see you again, Katie,” Mona said while she organized her station. “How’s the baby?”
Katie felt her smile grow genuine. “He’s so wonderful, Mona. I love him more every day. When he gets a little older, I’ll bring him in so you can see him.”
“I bet he’s a doll.”
“I can’t wait!” Ashleigh chimed in.
Ashleigh’s enthusiasm over her return caused Katie a flicker of guilt. Ashleigh found Booker attractive, and had been aggressive in her pursuit, just like the woman named Chevy from the mall. Katie couldn’t complain about either one of them. As Rebecca had already pointed out, she had no claim on Booker. But somehow that didn’t make what had happened any easier to accept.
“I scheduled Heather Frye with you for an ‘up do’ in fifteen minutes,” Ashleigh said. “Prom’s tonight so a lot of the high school girls are coming in to have their hair curled and styled.”
Katie liked styling hair for special occasions. She nodded and
went into the back to stow her purse. On her way to the front, she waved to Winnie McGiver, who’d just come in to have her nails done, and called her mother to check on Troy. She’d left home only twenty minutes earlier, but this was the first time she’d trusted someone besides the hospital to take care of her son. She needed to assure herself that he wasn’t crying uncontrollably.
“He’s fine,” her mother said. “I’ve raised two kids of my own, remember? I can handle him.”
“Call me if you think he wants to nurse.”
“I’ve got that bottle you expressed. I’ll let you know if we need more.”
“He likes to lie on my chest and sleep. If he’s fussy, you might try that.”
“He’s not fussy,” Tami said. “He’s sleeping soundly.”
“And the rocking chair helps if—”
“Katie!”
“Okay, I know. I’m worrying about nothing. Everything’s fine.”
“Don’t you have work to do?”
“Yes, my first client’s here. I’d better go.”
Hanging up, Katie smiled at Heather, who was just coming through the door. “So you’re going to prom tonight, huh?” she said. “What did you have in mind for your hair?”
As they walked to Katie’s station, Heather told her she wanted the front of her hair up and the back falling in ringlets. Katie was draping a cloak around Heather when she heard Winnie say something that caught her attention.
“I don’t know why the police haven’t figured out who’s doing these darn robberies. It’s a shame when a person isn’t safe in her own home.”
Katie glanced over to see Mona painting Winnie’s nails with what looked like a shimmering opal lacquer. “Are you talking about what happened to poor Mrs. Willoughby, Winnie?” she asked.
The bell over the door tinkled just then, and Mary Thornton stepped in. Her sunglasses made it difficult to read her expression, but she was wearing a purple suit and her face turned a similar shade the moment she saw Katie.
Katie couldn’t believe she had to face Ashleigh and Mary on the same day. “Hi, Mary,” she said, deciding to make the effort to be friendly.
