by Laura Abbot
She paused by a window facing the parking lot. Trent stood deep in conversation with Rory Polk’s mother, an older woman whose child-rearing ideas predated Dr. Spock. Libby permitted herself a little smile. Trent had been amazing. First, it had been no mean feat to capture Rory’s interest, but by the end of the day, he’d gathered a troupe of boys around him like the Pied Piper. Who knew the man had such a way with children?
She grimaced. It had to be a recently acquired skill, and she wasn’t sure she could trust it.
Until today, she hadn’t seen him for a week. Nor had she spoken with Doug. It was as if each of them was waiting for her to make a move. Throughout the day, she had made sure that she and Trent were never alone. Yet, in spite of her intentions to the contrary, she frequently gazed at him. She saw the respectful way he listened to the boys, often kneeling beside them to explain the exhibits. She found herself watching his strong, expressive hands as he gestured. The same hands that had so maddeningly brought her to life again, just as they always had.
Somewhere a horn honked and she forced herself back to the present. Daydreams were useless and rarely reflected reality.
She stepped off the bus and looked around. Most of the students had already been picked up. Kylie was nowhere to be seen. Then Libby spotted her sitting in Trent’s truck, head bowed, arms folded defensively across her chest, bottom lip protruding.
Odd. She looked angry. Yet she’d seemed to enjoy the field trip. In fact, Libby had been encouraged by her growing friendship with Lacey and her interaction with her classmates today.
What could have happened?
Before she had a chance to investigate, Trent left Mrs. Polk and approached her. “Thanks for a great day, Lib.”
“No, thank you.” She cocked her head and smiled up at him. “You seem to have made the trip for our little guys.”
“I hope so,” he said with a pleased grin. Then he sobered. “Some of them act starved for attention.”
“Welcome to my world.”
He glanced over his shoulder toward his truck. “I need to get on my way, but, Lib? When can I see you again?”
Darn, more butterflies. “I suppose we do need to clear the air.”
“At the very least.” His eyes, set deep in his ruddy face, promised much more than conversation. “I’ll call you.” Then, laying one hand on her shoulder, he said, “Good night, Libby.”
Libby watched him walk away, aware her body was thrumming with a need too deep for words. How long could she hold out for mere talk?
She steeled herself with a single thought. My Baby Book.
TRENT CLIMBED into the truck. The day had turned out much better than he’d anticipated. It had felt good to be able to help with the kids. From his brief visit with Rory’s mother, he could see why the boy fantasized about adventure and escape. Trent had employed all his powers of persuasion to get her to agree that Rory could go on a hike with him in the spring.
It had been fun, too, watching Libby in her element. She was a natural—cheerful, organized, seemingly aware of ten things at once, and handling them all. Her students obviously adored her.
He didn’t blame them. He did, too—more and more each time he was with her, even though she still wasn’t giving him the time of day. At least she’d agreed they could talk. A small but significant victory.
He started up the truck and pulled away from the school. “Hey, sweetie. You’re awfully quiet back there.”
Kylie didn’t answer. Only then did he notice the petulant set to her mouth, her rigid posture. “Did you have a good time?”
No answer except a small shrug.
What in the Sam Hill? He’d been pleased today to see her blend in with a group of little girls. Why, she’d even laughed out loud at lunch. What could’ve gone wrong? Had he done something?
“Did I embarrass you today, sweetie?”
“No.”
“I liked your classmates. It was fun being with you.”
“Don’t come anymore.”
A quick glance in the rearview mirror told him something important was going on in her head.
“What do you mean?”
“The reason you came is ’cuz you like her.”
She’d totally lost him. “Who?”
“Miss Cameron.” She spat out the name.
“Honey, what are you talking about?”
Her voice rose in a crescendo. “You and her! You didn’t tell me.”
His gut coiled. “Tell you what?”
“You and Miss Cameron. You guys were married!”
Gripping the steering wheel in suddenly icy hands, Trent pulled into the deserted parking lot of a small office building. Praying for the right words, he stopped the truck, then turned in his seat to face her blazing blue eyes. “Who told you that?”
A withering stare.
“I was planning to tell you, but I wanted you to get settled in school first.”
Kylie kicked the seat back. “Mommy was your wife. Only Mommy.”
“I loved your mother. Very much. Miss Cameron and I were married many years ago. Only for a short time.”
“What did Mommy think?”
“She knew.”
Another kick. “But you shoulda told me.”
He reached back and laid a hand on her knee. “You’re right. I should have.”
Kylie swatted at his hand, her eyes welling with angry tears. “Miss Cameron. She coulda told me, too.”
“This has nothing to do with her being your teacher.”
“But I liked her.”
“Don’t you still?”
“No! I hate you both.”
“Oh, sugar.” He stared at her, dumbfounded that a seven-year-old child could make him deservedly feel like the lowest form of animal life. “I’m so sorry. I love you. I wouldn’t hurt you for anything. I made a mistake.”
She studied him, her expression obdurate.
“How did you learn about this?”
Then it came out. Two of the mothers had been sitting behind her on the bus on the way home from Missoula, and one of them had known Libby in Polson, before he had moved away. She was gossiping with the other woman about the coincidence of Trent being on the field trip with Libby, his ex-wife. Kylie had overheard.
Trent had lived in small towns most of his life. He should have anticipated something like this. Should have protected Kylie from such a devastating revelation.
Libby could congratulate him all she wanted about how well he’d handled the boys today. But what possible difference could that make?
He’d failed his daughter.
CHAPTER SEVEN
NO BAROMETER was required to alert Libby a storm was on its way. The increased agitation of her students was a far more accurate indicator. The boys couldn’t sit still. Never had so many needed pencils sharpened or banged their desk lids with such vigor. The girls, on the other hand, had an increased tendency to giggle or whine, depending upon the child. And the day was still young.
If that wasn’t enough cause for concern, Kylie’s seat remained vacant. Periodically, Libby checked the door, certain that at any moment she would appear. Yesterday on the field trip she had seemed fine, although twenty-four-hour bugs could strike suddenly.
Or had something happened to cause the sullen expression on Kylie’s face when she’d sat in Trent’s truck, waiting to go home? Had something revived her school phobia?
Libby intercepted Bart on his third trip to the trash can. Recess couldn’t come soon enough.
She made it through the last reading group, having to pause often to hush the rest of the class. Then she bundled up the students and sent them outdoors, grateful it was John’s turn for playground duty. As soon as the last child trooped out the door, she went to the office. Maybe she was overreacting, but she needed reassurance that Kylie was all right.
“Have you heard from Kylie Baker’s father this morning?” she asked the secretary.
“I’m glad you stopped by. I was just on my way to yo
ur room to give you a message from him.” She handed Libby the phone memo.
Libby unfolded the note and read it twice, her anxiety mounting. Kylie is upset and refuses to come to school. Call me as soon as you can. Trent.
The number was scrawled beneath the message. Crumpling the note, she hurried into the teachers’ lounge, grateful to find it empty. What could have happened? Her hand on the phone, she hesitated, summoning professional calm. Then she dialed.
When Trent picked up, he sounded agitated.
“Lib? Thank God.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Is Kylie okay?”
“She’s not ill, if that’s what you mean. But she dug in her heels this morning and refused to go to school. She started crying and nearly made herself sick. I don’t know what to do.” His last words were both an appeal and lament.
“Something must’ve happened.”
“It did.”
Foreboding tightened her throat. “What?”
“She found out about us. Our marriage.”
The implications of his words stopped Libby cold. She’d been afraid of something like this. “Oh.”
“She’s upset because she thinks we should have told her. I should’ve told her.”
“But she’s unhappy with me, too.”
“That would be an understatement.”
“Where is she now?”
“In her bedroom. She won’t talk to me.”
Libby’s brain was teeming with remorse. Kylie had made such progress. This was a major setback, and she was partially to blame. She knew it was impulsive, but she had to do something. “Can you hold on a minute?”
“Sure.”
Before she could second-guess herself, Libby went into the office to ask the secretary to locate a substitute teacher for the rest of the day. Then she returned to the phone.
“Given her history, we need to address the situation immediately. The secretary is calling a sub for me, and as soon as she arrives, I’ll come over. Meanwhile, don’t press Kylie. She’s had a shock. Give her time to think things through.”
“I would have told her about us, but I figured she couldn’t handle too much more on top of the move.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. You were merely trying to protect her.” She paused, knowing such platitudes were hardly consoling. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Libby returned to her classroom and hurriedly drew up lesson plans for the remainder of the day, all the time wondering if she had lost her mind. Would she have left school for another child? Or just this one?
She had vowed not to get overly attached to Kylie, but it was too late. She cared with a passion that would be dangerous to examine.
WIND HOWLED DOWN the canyons, pushing whitecaps across Whitefish Lake. In the metallic-smelling air Libby could almost taste the imminent snow. She’d notified Mary of the situation, prepped the sub, said her goodbyes to the children and gotten away shortly before noon. What on earth could she say to Kylie? Could a child possibly understand their reasons for not telling her in the beginning?
As she drove up the lane to Weezer’s guest cottage, she tried putting herself in the girl’s position. Kylie had lost her mother, moved to a strange place, formed an attachment with her teacher and entrusted her entire future to the father she loved, only to discover he’d been married before to that same teacher in whom she had confided her fear and grief. Betrayal all the way around. Kids—usually honest, open and guileless—found such duplicity hard to understand or forgive.
After parking in front of the cabin, Libby sat for a few moments sorting through her emotions. It was hard enough under normal circumstances to see Trent, but now?
As she walked toward the porch, she uttered a silent prayer. Please, God, help me find the words.
Obviously anticipating her arrival, Trent threw open the door, his expression begging her for something she had no confidence she could deliver. In his wavy hair were finger tracks, and instead of greeting her, he merely shrugged.
Libby stepped inside and took off her coat. “Still in her room?”
He nodded. “I waited for you.”
“How did she find out?”
When Trent explained about the women on the bus, Libby bowed her head. They should have anticipated something like this. “What have you told her?”
“Nothing beyond the bare facts. Every time I try to talk to her, she covers her ears and starts singing at the top of her lungs.”
“She’s not going to want to hear what we have to say, but the longer we wait, the worse it will get.”
He shook his head. “Maybe we shouldn’t have moved from Billings.”
Libby took hold of him by the shoulders. “Nonsense. You can’t protect her from life. It happens. She’ll come around.”
“She has to,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
“We’ve got to stay calm and answer all her questions. She doesn’t need any more half truths.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
The door to the bedroom was shut, and when Trent knocked, there was no answer. “Kylie, please open the door.”
Nothing, then a muffled “Go away!”
“Miss Cameron is here. We want to talk to you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Either you open this door, or we’re going to.”
Silence.
Trent threw Libby a helpless look, then pushed the door ajar.
The room was a mess. A heap of half-dressed Barbie dolls blocked the closet door, a wadded quilt rested at the foot of the bed, and books and toys littered the floor. Wrapped in a blanket, Kylie sat hunched against the headboard, holding a pillow over her ears. She refused to look at either of them.
Libby approached the bed and sat gingerly on the edge while Trent drew up a rocking chair, removing the stuffed animals before sitting down. “You’re angry,” Libby began. “I don’t blame you.”
“Nobody meant to hurt you, sweetie.”
Without Kylie’s apparent notice, the pillow slid to the floor, baring her ears.
“I’m sure your daddy intended to tell you,” Libby said, prompting Trent.
Kylie folded her arms across her chest and huffed.
“I would have,” Trent agreed, “but there was no reason to yet. Miss Cameron and I were married a long time ago. We were sad our marriage couldn’t last, but sometimes those things happen. Then I met your mommy and fell in love with her—and with you when you were born.” Trent paused, his throat muscles working. “I loved your mother very much. I still miss her. She knew I had been married before, but it didn’t matter to her. I hope it won’t matter to you. It has nothing to do with how much I love you and need you.”
Kylie looked up at the ceiling, but not before casting a sidelong glance at her father.
Leaning forward, Libby rested a hand lightly on the girl’s leg. “Can you tell us what you’re feeling?”
“You lied to me.” The words came out harshly, each one like the lash of a whip.
“I know it must seem that way,” Libby began.
“Would it have made a difference if you had known sooner?”
They waited while she considered the question, her fingers kneading the satin trim of her blanket.
“Kylie?” Trent’s eyes had never left his daughter.
“I liked Miss Cameron,” she finally said.
“So did I. I wouldn’t have married her if I hadn’t.”
“How could you like her and like Mommy, too?”
Libby drew her hand from Kylie’s leg and clenched her fingers, awaiting Trent’s answer.
“There’s lots of love to go around. I’ve been very lucky, haven’t I, to find two such special women to love?”
“Ha! If you loved Miss Cameron, why aren’t you still married to her?”
Trent threw Libby a tortured look. She cleared her throat. “Honey,” she said, “you can love someone a lot, but then things change. The other person changes. You change. Sometimes it’s better to move on. An
d just think, if your daddy hadn’t met your mother and married her, he wouldn’t have you—his precious little girl.” Hearing her voice as if through a fog, Libby felt a deep regret for what might have been.
“Sweetie, you said you thought Miss Cameron was wonderful. You like having her for a teacher. What made you change your mind?”
Kylie bit her lip, her eyes moist. “I thought she liked me just for me. Not you.”
Libby blinked back her own tears. “I do like you for you. You’re a special little girl.”
“Kylie, I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you,” Trent said. “Can you forgive me?”
A lone tear trickled down Kylie’s cheek. “I guess.”
Leaning forward, Libby asked, “Is anything else bothering you?”
The girl’s answer was barely audible. “I don’t have a mommy.”
Trent looked stricken. “Oh, baby, I wish things were different.”
Kylie looked at her father, then slowly turned to Libby, then back again to Trent, a wisp of a smile forming on her lips. “They could be, I betcha.”
“I don’t think—”
“You said you loved Miss Cameron,” she continued, as if her father hadn’t spoken. “You know, when you were married.”
“I did.”
“And things can change—you said so. And people, too.” She nodded at Libby. “Like you and her.”
“That’s right, but—”
“So you two can get married again.”
“Oh, honey—” Libby protested.
“You can, Daddy, you can. Then you’ll be happy, and I can have a new mommy and we can have a real house and—”
Trent rose quickly from the rocking chair and cradled his daughter against his chest. “Kylie, sweetie, we can’t fix everything just like that. I’d do anything to make things better, you know that, but—”
Kylie looked over Trent’s shoulder at Libby. “Did you love my daddy then—you know, when you married him?”
Truth. No more lies. Libby sucked in air, then met the child’s gaze. “Yes.”
“See, Daddy?” Kylie drew back, holding her father at arm’s length.
“What?”
“You can marry her.” She nodded her head in Libby’s direction.
