"Mo-om!"
"Then come," Mariah said hastily. "See you in a minute."
She hurried down the hall, resisting the impulse to dance. "Sorry," she said to Zofie, enveloping her in a big hug. "Did you do a good job brushing your teeth?"
By the time a knock sounded softly on the front door, she'd settled the six-year-old into bed, told her that Connor would be coming over and left her listening to a tape of gentle bedtime music sung by folk singers like Pete Seeger and Arlo Guthrie.
Connor stepped in, took a swift glance around, presumably to be sure Zofie wasn't in sight, and kissed her. When he lifted his head, he said huskily, "I've been thinking about doing that all day."
"Me, too," she admitted, her voice squeaking. "I mean, I've been thinking about you doing that."
"Good," he said for the second time tonight, with that same satisfaction.
Stepping back, she pulled herself together. "Can I get you something to drink? Did you have dinner? I could heat leftovers…"
"No, I'm fine." His mouth firmed, as if she'd recalled him to his reason for coming by. "Let's sit down."
She curled her bare feet under her on one end of the couch, while he sat beside her but not touching.
"Tracy admitted today that Tanner never touched her," he said without preamble.
"Oh!" Her first reaction was delight for Gerald's sake, her second dismay as she foresaw the fallout. And finally, she thought about Tracy, who had been afraid she was pregnant. "Oh," she said, more softly.
"She won't tell me who did rape her, but says it was rape."
"Poor Tracy!"
"I scared the crap out of her when I started dancing around the subject of her mother." The lines on his face deepened. "I'm not sure I want to know what we're going to find out."
"No." Mariah tried to imagine being so young and unable to trust her mother. "Did you find out anything about the father?"
"He's dead. Has been for years."
She gave an automatic nod. "Have you let Gerald Tanner know yet?"
"No, but I called Mrs. Patterson. She's arranging a meeting first with just you, Tracy and her on Monday morning. I want her to hear Tracy's story before she talks to Tanner." He told her, then, about the myriad cruelties dished out by the computer teacher. "I'd gotten hints from some of the other kids. I want to make sure Mrs. Patterson knows. How she handles it is her business."
"Tracy will have to be pulled from his class."
"Oh, yeah." He frowned in silence at the far wall for a minute. "He could insist that we file charges for making a false accusation, which she could hardly dispute."
"Will he?"
"I hope not. I doubt it, after the principal is done with him. At least, if I judge her right."
"He may have more compassion than you're crediting him with." She hoped.
"Could be." He sighed and took her hand, looking down at it as he traced the fine bones along the back.
She looked at his bent head and wondered why this man of all others made her feel so much. The merest touch, a clear, penetrating glance, the rumble of his voice, all were enough to make her feel light as air, as giddy as … as a woman in love for the first time.
No. She couldn't be in love with him. Not yet. And she'd loved Simon, or been in love with him, anyway. Somewhere along the way, what she felt died. Maybe she wasn't capable of permanency. Otherwise, why—?
Don't think about it, she told herself. Not right now. She didn't know what Connor felt or wanted yet. She was entitled to … to flirt and go dancing and maybe even have an affair, wasn't she?
The phone rang, a sudden, shocking sound, and she jerked.
"Excuse me." She took her hand back. On the way to pick up the telephone she'd left in the kitchen, Mariah felt Connor's gaze on her.
"Simon," she said, a moment later.
Connor half stood, then sat back down. His eyes were dark, steady.
As if he hadn't been so angry the last time, her ex-husband said, "I promised Zofie I'd come to her soccer game tomorrow. She wasn't sure of the time or where it is."
"Oh. Um … sure." Damn it, he'd wonder why she sounded so flustered, she thought. Turning her back on Connor, she went to the refrigerator where she'd posted the soccer schedule. She told Simon, "One o'clock at the far field at Meadow Park."
"Okay." He was silent for a moment. "I assume Zofie's in bed?"
"Yes, I'm sorry."
"No, just tell her I'll be there."
"No problem." Now she sounded so darn cheery and synthetic, she despised herself. "She'll be glad you're coming. I'll see you there, Simon."
Connor was on his feet when she went back to the living room. "I should probably be leaving. It's after nine o'clock."
On a Saturday night. She knew the real reason: he didn't like the reminder of the way he'd stepped into her life. He wanted to forget Simon existed.
But she couldn't, because he was Zofie's father. He would be part of her reality forever, because they were linked through their child. If Connor couldn't accept that…
She was jumping ahead again. Way ahead. They'd just had a first date. They weren't in love, weren't thinking forever.
"Oh? Fine," she said pleasantly. "I'll be seeing you Monday, I assume."
"I gather Simon's coming to the game tomorrow?"
She nodded.
"I'd thought about…" He stopped, the muscles in his jaw knotting. "Never mind. None of us is ready for that."
"No." She was proud of how calm she made that sound, when the very idea had her heart drumming. "I know I'm not."
He nodded, his gaze shuttered, and went to the door.
Following him, she felt a sickening sense of disappointment. Was this it? What should she say?
He reached for the knob, then turned abruptly. "When can I see you again, Mariah?"
"Monday…"
"No. Really see you. Talk to you." He reached out and gripped her hands, his warm and powerful. "Kiss you."
If she'd thought her heart was beating fast before, now it was deafening her. "Would you like to come for dinner Monday night? Zofie will be here, too, but…"
His smile was slow and crooked. "Yeah. I'd like that a lot. I'd like to get to know her."
"I'm glad," she whispered.
He kissed her with stunning intent, his hands staying on her lower back and nape, but she felt the rawness of his need in the teeth that closed on her lower lip and the rigid bar that pressed her belly when she melted against him.
I'm not in love, she told herself again, as he set her away from him, gave her a last smoldering look and left with a curt order to lock up behind him. Not yet.
But she didn't believe herself.
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
Sunday was one of those days when Mariah was reminded of why she'd been drawn to Simon in the first place. He was waiting at the parking lot when she pulled in, ready to hoist Zofie into the air with a flash of white teeth.
"You going to score today?" he demanded.
"Two goals," the first-grader claimed, as he lowered her to the ground.
"That's my girl."
They walked as a family to the field, Mariah carrying her lawn chair and umbrella, Simon trying to steal Zofie's soccer ball, her dribbling it away from him and giggling. The wet grass squelched underfoot. Wet maple leaves, fallen from the trees ringing the parking lot, stuck to the white-and-black soccer ball. A steady but gentle rain fell. Simon, typically, wore only a sweatshirt. He was too macho to admit to needing rain gear. Looking around, Mariah saw that he wasn't the only father who insisted on coming without the slicker and umbrella every mother carried.
He had always loved his daughter. Knowing that was why from the beginning she had felt so conflicted when she tried to imagine him touching Zofie sexually. Did the fathers who abused their daughters love them, too? Or did they see them only through the filter of their own needs and wants? If so, did any of them put on as good a front as Simon had?
Simon and she had had a decent love life. He wanted her almost nightly, with urgency that hadn't flagged. The fact that she rarely became very aroused wasn't his fault, but hers—it was one of the reasons she doubted her ability to love a man forever. Why had she gone from finding Simon incredibly sexy to hoping he'd fall asleep without turning to her, all in the space of a year or two of marriage?
One of the many things she'd never learned was whether a man could do that—make love to his wife as if she satisfied him—and then stalk a child the very next day.
Now, mostly, she didn't let herself think about what hideous wants Simon might be disguising. Three years had passed, long enough, surely, for him to have given himself away.
Zofie had no reservations about her dad. There was never any hesitation when he held out his arms. She loved him in an uncomplicated way Mariah preserved. He couldn't be a pedophile and resist abusing his daughter, could he? The fact that he clearly hadn't must mean he had been innocent, that Mariah didn't have anything to worry about when Zofie was with him.
Zofie's trust in her dad left Mariah feeling more guilty, of course, because why else had she left him?
Today Simon stayed beside her when Zofie raced off to join her teammates in warm-ups.
"She's a great kid, isn't she?" he said, watching her dribbling around cones in a line with the other girls.
"Yeah." Momentarily linked in harmony, they were relaxed enough to let their shoulders brush. "She is. She's doing well in school, too. I'll make sure she takes some books when you pick her up Saturday, so you can see how well she reads. She's already at least a grade level ahead."
He nodded. "I was never that good in school. She takes after you."
"Well, I wasn't much of an athlete, but look at her." It was easy to be generous. "She gets that from you."
He looked at her, his dark eyes puppy-dog puzzled. "How did we go wrong, Mariah?"
She must have stiffened.
Simon shook his head. "Scratch that. I shouldn't have asked. I don't want to get into it with you today, Mariah. Let's just enjoy watching Zofie play."
She nodded and avoided his gaze as she unfolded her lawn chair and sat, glad of the distance it gave her from him.
Once the game started with the referee's blown whistle, she was engrossed. Zofie played without the timidity of many girls this age, throwing herself into the fray. She scored right before half-time, darting past the goalie who had come out to intercept her and gently tapping the ball into the net. She'd managed to get muddy as well as wet, but her grin shone from a dirt-streaked face as she paused for congratulations before going for her snack and to huddle with the coach.
Second half she played goalie, as she often did, her petite body swathed in the extralong, colorful top and her face in the mask. She made heroic saves, throwing herself atop the ball, getting kicked hard once and still rolling away to protect the ball. She came swaggering off to pats on the back from her teammates, giving them in return.
"Great goal!" she called to one, the mask pushed up, as she arrived at her parents' side.
"Thanks!" the friend called. "See you Tuesday!"
"Practice?" Simon asked.
"Mmm-hmm. The coach has cut back to two afternoons a week, with the weather so miserable and it getting dark so early," Mariah told him.
He laid a hand on Zofie's shoulder. "Have you two had lunch? How about we go out to McDonald's?"
"Yeah!" she exclaimed, her pleading eyes turning to Mom. "Can we?"
She forced a smile. "Why not?"
Simon followed Mariah in his own car. She was glad to see a teammate of Zofie's and her family had arrived ahead of them.
Carrie and Zofie hugged, bounced up and down and talked about the game and school.
"Why don't we sit together?" the other mother suggested.
Mariah had to introduce Simon. She did so simply, as Zofie's dad, not knowing whether the others even knew she was divorced. Conversation was general, the girls had a great time and Mariah was saved from an intimate threesome.
The real trouble, she had to admit, was that she was afraid Zofie would mention Connor. If she kept dating him, it would happen, she knew it would, but she wasn't ready. Panic fluttered every time she imagined Simon's fury.
As they walked out to the cars, Simon asked easily, "What'd you guys do the rest of this weekend?"
Zofie, of course, piped right up, "Mommy went somewhere with…"
"A friend," Mariah finished, squeezing her daughter's shoulder. "Zofie had a horrible time staying home with her favorite baby-sitter, who let her stay up until ten-o'clock and eat two helpings of ice cream and watch The Little Mermaid."
"And Beauty, too," Zofie said smugly.
"And then Saturday we went shopping. Zofie keeps shooting up like a weed, and half the clothes we bought for school in August don't fit anymore. She got two new pairs of shoes…"
"My soccer shoes are really tight," Zofie informed her mother. "My toes are squished."
"But the soccer season, thank goodness, is almost over. Two more games. We'll buy new ones next year."
"Coach says they're having spring soccer. We should all play, if we want to be the best."
"If you want to," Mariah agreed.
"But I want to play volleyball, too. Can I do both?"
Both parents gazed at their daughter's pleading dark eyes, looked at each other and laughed, the earlier harmony restored.
Danger averted.
"We'll see," Mariah temporized.
They'd paused under the overhang of the building, since the downpour had increased. Simon bent for a hug, said, "Great game, kiddo. I'll see you Saturday," and ran for his car.
Mother and daughter watched him go, a tall, dark man, hair soaked and clinging to his head, his last smile friendly.
Zofie said, "You didn't want Daddy to know about Decktiv McLean, did you?"
Startled, Mariah looked down at the precocious six-year-old. "What do you mean?"
Her daughter gazed gravely up at her. "I just thought you didn't."
Giving herself time to think, Mariah said, "Let's get in the car, out of the rain, okay?"
Zofie was so wet and muddy, Mariah had been embarrassed to take her even into a fast-food restaurant. She'd left her mud-caked cleats in the car, wearing a pair of rubber flip-flops over the soccer socks. Mariah had left her rain slicker in the car, but she still wasn't as wet as her daughter when she started the engine to get the heat going.
"About Connor," she said, trying not to sound as uncomfortable as she felt. "I think when moms and dads are divorced, it takes a long time before they quit feeling married. I never ask you if your dad is dating, either, you know."
Zofie's forehead wrinkled. "I think he does sometimes." Then her eyes widened. "Oh! You didn't want to know."
"No, that's okay. I just don't want to hear the details, that's all. I doubt your dad would be bothered to know that I've been on a date, but he won't want to hear all about the guy." She took a breath. "And I'd rather you don't tell him if he does ask."
"Why?"
"Because we aren't married anymore, and it isn't any of his business. He shouldn't ask you. What if I go out to dinner with someone he knows, and that bothers him? If he asks, just pretend you don't know or can't remember Connor's name."
Her daughter nodded solemnly, her forehead puckered again. "I'll try." She sounded doubtful. "But I like to talk. And sometimes things come out I promised someone I wouldn't tell."
Mariah gave a choke of laughter. "If that happens, it's okay. Don't worry. Six-year-olds aren't expected to be discreet."
She spent the drive home attempting to explain "discreet" to her inquiring daugh
ter.
Who, she was terribly afraid, wouldn't really understand the meaning of the word no matter how carefully she explained.
But she'd vowed she would never ask Zofie to keep secrets, just as she'd made her daughter promise she wouldn't keep any from Mom. If Zofie spilled the beans, so be it.
The day the divorce was final, Mariah had felt enormous relief along with paralyzing guilt and a sense of failure. She would no longer have to fear Simon's wrath.
So what was she afraid of now?
On Monday, Tracy sat in the chair in front of Mrs. Patterson's desk and made her confession to the principal and Mariah, who sat quietly to one side. "What if Detective McLean had believed you right away?" the principal asked, voice even and unsympathetic. "Would you have let Mr. Tanner be arrested? Would you have lied in court?"
Tracy mumbled from behind the curtain of hair that partially hid her face, "I didn't know he'd be arrested. I just thought…"
"He'd be fired," the principal finished, her expression hard. "I understand your anger at him, Tracy. I will certainly be discussing with him his brand of teasing. But does losing his job in a way that guarantees he'll never get a comparable one seem a fair punishment for unkind teasing?"
Tracy stole a look up, her face soaked with tears. "I felt bad when I saw what was happening. I didn't know…"
"I can tell you that I'm very glad you thought better of going through with this." At last Noreen's voice softened. "You know you have one more step to take. Nobody should get away with raping you, Tracy. Whoever it was, whoever was involved, all of us—Detective McLean, Ms. Stavig—" she gestured toward Mariah "—and myself are committed to protecting you and making sure you're in a home and school environment where nothing like this can ever happen again. Please think, Tracy. I'm not going to ask you to tell me right now, or ever, but if you're more comfortable talking to me, Ms. Stavig or a counselor than you are to a police officer, please come to one of us."
Still silently crying, Tracy blew her nose and nodded.
"I feel that I have to give you some consequences for having falsely accused Mr. Tanner. That's something I need to think about."
THE WORD OF A CHILD Page 15
