by Karen Rock
“Hey, boy,” he whispered. He tiptoed into the room, rubbed Scout’s ears and pressed a light kiss to Tommy’s forehead. The boy slept on his back, one arm flung across his eyes, the other dangling over the side of his bed. He tucked the loose arm under the covers before backing out and shutting the door.
At Becca’s door, he ignored the Keep Out sign and peeked in. Funny how much younger she looked asleep, her face free of the scowls she gave him. He advanced to her bed, gently pulled out her earbuds and placed them with her iPod beside her bed. She turned over and muttered in her sleep. After a moment her quiet breathing resumed, and he returned to the hall, his equanimity restored.
Seeing his children firmed his resolve to separate Christie from their lives. She was charming. Too charming. It’d be easy for them to get attached.
Though Becca and Tommy rarely complained, he knew their mother’s abandonment had crushed them. She rarely called and visited even less. He tried to keep up a pretense that Jacqueline cared, assuring them that her work took her to countries without reliable cell service. He even bought them Christmas and birthday presents and signed her name. But it wasn’t enough. Not even close. And he’d never let anyone hurt them like that again.
When he returned, he found Christie pacing by the window, purse in hand.
“I should be going, Eli. I really don’t mind navigating my way out.”
“A marble staircase without lights? Never a good idea.” His eyes searched hers, willing her to stay longer. He could keep a few boundaries without letting her go off just yet. “Won’t you stay until the electricity’s back?”
She nodded, the candlelight silhouetting her in gold. “If you want me to.”
“I do.” With a firm hand on her back, he guided her back to the couch. This time, he seated himself in a chair—it was safer that way.
“So tell me about Kansas.”
Her expression stilled. Strange. He imagined her life filled with homecoming parades and town picnics.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he probed.
“An older brother. William.” She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned forward. “He passed away when I turned eighteen.”
He half rose then sat back down. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it.” He wanted to offer comfort, but how much closer could he afford to get? With an effort, he remained in his seat.
She rubbed her temples. “It’s okay. He died of leukemia at the end of my senior year in high school. I moved in with Gran to attend nursing school at Columbia a few months later.”
A lot about her suddenly made sense. “Is that why you became a grief counselor?”
Christie’s head snapped up. “What? No. Maybe. It’s not something I really think about.”
“Oh,” he said, understanding more than she knew. Strange that she talked about cancer with strangers but when it came to herself, she stayed mum. He wondered if she shared her experience with her support group. Then again, her story didn’t have a happy ending—not the positive focus she wanted. Time to switch subjects.
“And your parents. Are they still in Kansas?”
“They died in a car crash during my first year in college.”
Eli rose. This time he would go to her. How had he managed to ask such horrible questions?
The lights blared on. He blinked away the spots in front of his eyes and saw Christie wipe her damp cheeks. After all she’d been through this evening, he’d made her cry. What an insensitive jerk.
As she walked to the door, he trailed in her wake. He hated to say goodbye after stirring up those painful memories. But with the power back, what excuse did he have for her to stay?
“I’m sorry I brought all of that up.”
She rummaged in her purse. “Don’t worry. I try not to dwell on it. It’s better that way.” She jabbed at an unlit cell phone.
Was it better that way? Her closed expression screamed “Drop the subject!” and with difficulty, he did.
“May I call and request a car for you? It’s late and I wouldn’t want you walking far for a cab.”
“Thank you. I was planning to splurge and call for one given the hour, but my battery died.”
He dialed the number of a nearby service and watched her withdraw a tissue. She blew her nose and straightened her narrow shoulders. When he hung up, she turned, eyes dry, lips curving upward once more.
Only now he wasn’t fooled. That smile covered deep pain. He’d been determined to keep her at arm’s length for his children’s sake. But now he understood that he needed to stay away for her sake, too. She’d suffered too much loss to spend her days with a guy who might be living on borrowed time. Too bad knowing that didn’t make it any easier to say goodbye.
“The driver will be here in five minutes.” He recalled her claustrophobia and the unreliable elevator door. “May I see you downstairs?”
Christie nodded and preceded him. “Tell the children I said goodbye.”
He pushed the elevator button. “I will. Thanks again for watching them. Oh. And I almost forgot to tell you. The doctor told me John’s brain tumor has shrunk.”
Her green eyes widened. Was there any color more beautiful? “That’s wonderful news. He’s had a tough time, but he’s a fighter.”
When the elevator dinged, he caught the flash of the rabbit’s foot disappearing into her hand. What a superstitious little soul. He definitely liked Christie Bates.
They rode the elevator in silence. He glanced her way a few times, wondering at her silently moving lips.
A black car idled by the curb when they stepped into the foyer. So soon. If only they had a few more minutes.
“Goodbye, Eli.” Her wistful voice produced an almost-physical ache in his heart. They’d been through a lot tonight. Having it end after her painful admission felt wrong.
Worse, he’d let her share that without ever admitting anything about his condition. Maybe it would be better if she knew. At least then she’d understand why this really needed to be goodbye.
“I have cancer,” he blurted. “Had, I mean.”
She touched his arm, the gentle sensation lingering long after she dropped her hand. “I’m so glad you’re in remission. Tommy told me about your illness, but only because he knows I work with cancer patients. The children respect your wish not to talk about it.”
Now, that he had not expected. Did she understand his reason for telling her? That he needed the reminder of why he shouldn’t see her again?
The town-car driver honked and she opened the foyer door and walked out. He followed, pulling the car door wide for her.
“Goodbye, Christie.” He would remember this night—remember her—for a long time. “Thanks again.”
“Take care, Eli.” Her voice sounded quiet. Tired.
He nodded, unable to say more as he watched her duck into the car. His feet stayed rooted to the stone stoop long after the taillights disappeared into the rain. If only he was the kind of man who could see her again. A man whose future didn’t blur into a question mark.
But now, as he trudged back inside the building, he told himself to focus on his kids and what they needed. If they were confiding in her that he’d put a lockdown on all cancer discussion, maybe his health issues bothered them more than he realized.
And while he might not ever subscribe to the touchy-feely brand of positive thinking that Christie did, he would make sure his kids had someone to talk to. Someone a whole lot better versed in this stuff than him.
Even though an energetic, beautiful nurse and counselor came to mind, he vowed to find someone else.
For both their sakes.
CHAPTER FOUR
“MR. ROBERTS?”
Eli noted the time on his phone then glanced up at the Little Red School House’s cardigan-cla
d secretary. Had forty-five minutes passed already? The emails and pictures he’d been viewing for his graphic-design business had been a welcome distraction from this unexpected meeting with Becca’s principal. He powered down his device and stood. “Ready for me?” he asked, not feeling ready at all.
His cell vibrated. But after a quick check to make sure it wasn’t a call about John, he shoved the phone back into his pocket. His kids were here at school, so they wouldn’t need him. Anyone else would have to wait.
Although, he couldn’t say with full certainty what he would have done if Christie Bates’s number had come up on his phone.
Her expressive face came to mind along with her lilting voice. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? It’d been a week since they’d seen each other. Time enough for him to forget a near stranger. But something about her felt familiar. Right.
“This way, sir,” the school secretary prompted, jolting him from his thoughts. She peered at him over rimless eyeglasses then gestured into the suite behind her. A telephone shrilled on a chest-high counter.
He stopped behind her when she grabbed the old-fashioned receiver. “Little Red School House,” she intoned and dragged the cord to her seat, her round eyes on him. “How may I help you?”
While he waited, he glanced around the bustling space. A copy machine whirred in the background, spitting out collated sheets of paper at regular intervals. File cabinets banged open and shut as a clerk filed paper work in overcrowded drawers. He inhaled the fresh smell of percolating coffee. Too bad he couldn’t help himself to a cup. He could use the caffeine boost after pulling an all-nighter putting the finishing touches on the cover design for a novel.
What had Becca done to warrant the school’s cryptic summons? Especially so close to the end of the school year? She’d acted normally at breakfast, relatively speaking. He still hadn’t reconciled the quiet teen downing her Cheerios with the exuberant daughter he’d raised. That girl would have made Tommy a banana-skin hat and drummed on their heads with her spoon.
Before he could think further along that line, the secretary cleared her throat and pointed down the hallway. He rolled his tense shoulders and started down the short, dim hall. Which room was the principal’s? After all these years, it was his first visit to the private office. Becca had never gotten in trouble and was a straight-A student. His eyes narrowed. At least he assumed so. When had he last seen her report card? Keeping up with Becca’s and Tommy’s lives was his priority. But somewhere, he’d let things slip.
“Welcome, Mr. Roberts,” said a diminutive woman when he reached an open door. He recognized her cropped black curls and red, square-framed glasses from last fall’s open house. Since he’d been too tired to wait out the eager parents surrounding the new principal, he’d left without saying hello. Now he wished they’d spoken, met under better circumstances. She strode around an imposing wooden desk and extended a hand. “I’m Principal Luce. It’s very nice to meet you.”
He suppressed a sneeze at her cloying perfume, shook her hand and nodded. “Likewise.”
“Please have a seat.” She was all business in her navy suit and heels.
He sat on the edge of an upholstered chair, his fingers forming a steeple. He couldn’t take his eyes off the open folder in the middle of her green blotter. Did the top sheet say “Becca Roberts. Disciplinary Referral”? Impossible. This must be a mistake. Leather squeaked and he glanced up to meet Mrs. Luce’s steady brown eyes. He ignored the cell phone buzzing on his hip.
“Mr. Roberts, please accept my apologies for calling you in without notice.” She inclined her head. “But the seriousness of the situation called for our immediate attention.”
He shot to his feet. “Where’s Becca? Is she okay?” So help him if anything had happened to his little girl—
“She’s eating her lunch in the study room.” The principal stood and paced to a water cooler beside her bank of windows. “How about something cool to drink?”
“Sounds good.” Relief filled his head like helium. Maybe Becca had forgotten an assignment. It didn’t sound critical enough to drag him here, but still, this was one of SoHo’s best private schools. They took their students’ academics seriously.
After taking the proffered foam cup, he sat. “Thank you.” He drained the cold liquid. “If I’d known she’d gotten behind on her work, I would have—”
“I’m afraid it’s more than that,” Mrs. Luce cut him off smoothly and returned to her seat. She pressed a button on a round black machine. The sound of calling birds and water tumbling over rocks filled the room, competing with the click-clack of two suspended silver balls knocking against each other.
Was the machine her attempt to soothe him? He thought of Christie and wondered if she tried this stuff with her patients.
“There’s more?” Eli echoed.
“Take a look at this.”
A jagged piece of paper appeared before him. Becca’s right-tilted handwriting popped from the page.
“‘Keep it up and you will—’” he read aloud then stopped, the last word too extreme, too improbable, to speak. Eli shoved the note back across the desktop. “That’s not hers.”
Mrs. Luce raised her eyebrows and lowered her square chin. “I think we both know that it is.”
“Becca would never write that.” His lips pressed into a firm line. Mrs. Luce needed to understand. She was new. Didn’t know that Becca wasn’t some troubled kid. “She’s never had a disciplinary referral. Ever. If you look at her report card, you’ll see she’s a straight-A student.”
Mrs. Luce’s nostrils flared. “Have you seen her report card, lately?”
He swallowed back the rising guilt. “Not recently, but she had a 4.0 GPA last...last...” His mind skimmed back and stopped at Christmas. But that couldn’t be right. Had it been that long? The distance between him and Becca yawned before him, a football field of sullen silences and monosyllabic answers.
“Semester. Yes. She was one of our top students. But she’s currently incomplete in living science and health.” She handed him the transcript. “And coupled with this recent threat on another student’s life, I’m afraid we will not be able to recommend her for enrollment at our affiliate, Elisabeth Irwin High School.”
The edges of the paper bent beneath his tense fingers. He perused her grades and double-checked the name at the top. This had to be a mistake. A misunderstanding. Becca would not flunk out of school. Not on his watch.
“Can we get Becca down here?” He dropped the paper as though it burned. “She’ll clear this up.”
Mrs. Luce chewed on her bottom lip then picked up the phone. “Please escort Becca Roberts to my office, Cynthia.”
Escort? He suppressed a snort. Was his daughter a criminal? What had happened to innocent until proven guilty? He and Mrs. Luce stared at each other, the silence stretching to its breaking point. Moments later, footsteps sounded in the hall. The door opened. Becca.
He strode to the door and opened his arms. Becca must be scared. Would need his assurance. But she took a far seat without acknowledging him, her eyes darting everywhere but in his direction. She couldn’t have looked guiltier. He pulled out his chair and dropped into it. Was she responsible for the note? The incompletes? He rubbed his temples.
“Becca,” Mrs. Luce began in a stern voice. “Please look at your father and tell him what you told us.”
Her wide pupils turned her blue eyes black. “I wrote the note,” she croaked. Her fingers fidgeted with the tulle band wrapped around her braid.
“What?” His mouth fell open. He pointed at the paper scrap. “That’s yours?”
Becca nodded and studied her crisscrossed flip-flops.
“Why?” His voice came out hoarse and low. He hated that it had taken a stranger to make him pay attention to his own daughter. “Why would you tell someone they were going
to die? You...of all people...after what we’ve gone through.”
Becca’s ashen face jerked away. “Yeah. What would I know about death? We’ve never talked about it, right?”
His silence on the subject had been to protect her, not hurt her. The disposable cup bent in his hand. “That’s no excuse to threaten to hurt someone.”
“Is that what you think?” Becca stomped to the door. “That girl’s a smoker. I was warning her about dying of cancer. You know—cancer? I think you might have heard of it, Dad. I didn’t want her to end up with our sucky life.” He flinched at her bitter tone.
The metal doorknob rattled in her hand. “May I be excused, Mrs. Luce?”
“Of course, dear. You may return to the study room.”
“Thank you.” Becca slipped through the door without a backward glance.
His hands gripped the chair’s plush arms. This was worse than he’d imagined. Would Becca fail eighth grade? Leave her friends, change schools? He’d fought hard to keep his kids’ lives as unchanged as possible, to maintain the life they’d had before his had fallen apart. Would this event bring everything tumbling down?
“Mr. Roberts, when we first questioned Becca, she simply confirmed that she’d written the note. In light of this...” Mrs. Luce cleared her throat “...clarification, we might need to reconsider our decision not to recommend her for promotion if she can make up her work.”
“You think?” he asked rhetorically, furious with himself and sorry that Mrs. Luce had been put in the middle of this mess. He grabbed the annoying, clanking silver balls and stilled them, guilt heavy on his shoulders.
“Mr. Roberts,” she began, pulling the apparatus out of his reach. “We see this every day. Children acting out in school when something is wrong at home.”
“Everything’s fine,” insisted Eli, wishing he felt as sure as he sounded.
“Your family is facing a devastating crisis.”
He shifted in his seat. Someone must have told her about his cancer. The guidance counselor. What was her name? The one who smiled a lot. Sort of like Christie without the charm.
