THE WORD OF A CHILD

by Janice Kay Johnson

  "The way I met Connor McLean had nothing to do with our past, and our relationship has nothing to do with you. I'll try to keep the two of you from coming face-to-face if it's important to you, but I am not responsible for how you react to his presence in my life. I will not let your moods dictate my choices." She was shaking, sick to her stomach, but exhilarated, too. "That's all I have to say, Simon."

  When he began to rant, she quietly hung up the telephone. It was done.

  Saturday night, when Connor called, Mariah asked if he might like to come to Zofie's final soccer game on Sunday.

  There was a brief silence. Finally, sounding cautious, he said, "Simon isn't coming?"

  "No." She thought about saying more, but she wanted to see his face when she told him about her confrontation with Simon.

  "I'll be there," he said. "What time?"

  Miraculously for a final game in November, the day was clear if very cold. Following a stream of others, she and Zofie crunched across frozen grass to their field, where girls a year older were just finishing a game. Mariah couldn't help noticing how much more aggressive they already were than the younger girls.

  They chose an empty place along the sideline, and Zofie started to shrug out of her coat.

  Mariah stopped her. "Leave it on while you warm up."

  "But I'm not cold. Besides, no one else is wearing one." Zofie tossed the coat at her mother and trotted off with her ball under her arm. In a reluctant concession, she did wear leggings and a turtleneck under her team shorts and jersey.

  "Damn, it's cold," Connor said from just beside her.

  Mariah jumped six inches. "You scared me!"

  "I'm sorry." He looked genuinely surprised. "I didn't sneak up."

  "I just didn't expect you so early," she defended herself.

  "I was looking forward to seeing you."

  Her cheeks might have turned pink if they weren't so cold. Her nose, of course, already was pink, she felt sure. So much for her careful makeup and the time she'd spent on her hair, tucked under a fleece hat.

  He looked formidably masculine in a parka over jeans and boots. He did wear gloves but not a hat; none of the fathers had, she saw in an automatic glance along the sidelines. Hats, like umbrellas, were sissy-wear.

  She smiled a little at the idea that this big, tough cop harbored some vanity. To hide her amusement, she asked, "How was your week? Did you catch your flasher?"

  "Actually I did. I'd mapped his, uh, appearances, as well as the directions he took in his escapes. One block was clearly central. I checked out residents and found a few likely candidates—men who lived alone, and one in his forties who lived with his elderly mom. We staked out those houses, and he presented himself in a raincoat at eight-fifteen on the nose Friday morning. Not a pretty sight when we cuffed him." Connor gave a sly grin, "I think the cold got to him."

  She gave a choked giggle. It shouldn't be funny, but was anyway. "Oh, dear."

  On the field, the referee's whistle blasted, one team leaped up and down in triumph, and after a brief lineup where the two teams slapped hands, everyone streamed off the field. Parents closed lawn chairs, held out coats to their daughters and departed in visible relief.

  The parents of Zofie's teammates took their places, calling greetings to each other and last-minute reminders to the girls running onto the field. Mariah returned a few greetings, but she'd chosen a spot well down the field in hopes she and Connor would be alone.

  "Oh, Zofie's playing goalie first half. She's going to freeze since she's not running around," Mariah said, worried.

  "That depends on how good her team's defense is. She may be busy."

  "It'll be easy to slip with the ground frozen."

  "And land in very cold slush," he agreed, eyeing the areas in front of each goal where the ground had been torn up over the season, turning into mud holes that had frozen last night and were partially thawed by trampling feet today.

  Mariah sighed. "Zofie loves mud."

  He laughed. "A true athlete."

  They watched the brief warm-up in silence, Mariah hugging herself against the cold and wriggling her toes inside her athletic shoes and thick socks. She hadn't expected to feel so … awkward. So unsure how to start. Somehow, in her imagination it had seemed easy. She would cast herself into Connor's arms and declare, "I'm free!" and he would say, "Marry me."

  Instead, not looking at her, Connor asked, "How was your week?"

  "Actually, not bad," she said in surprise. "Better than I expected."

  Now he did turn his head, his expression wary. "Why is that?"

  "I did a lot of thinking," Mariah confessed. "And I nerved myself to talk to Simon yesterday."

  The two teams lined up for the kickoff, the substitutes running off. Zofie was doing jumping jacks under her goal. The ref blew his whistle, and the action headed toward the opposite goal.

  Connor watched her. "Did he succeed in making you feel guilty? Or was he gentleman enough not to try?"

  "Are you kidding? His anger just made it easier for me to get out what I had to say."

  Connor's eyes had narrowed, which didn't disguise his intense curiosity. "Which was? Or isn't it any of my business?"

  "It's your business." She automatically followed the action as an opposing player broke away with the ball and raced toward Zofie. When a defender kicked the ball out of bounds, Mariah stole a shy glance at Connor. "At least, I think it's your business," she added. "Do you want it to be?"

  "I want," he said succinctly.

  "Oh."

  The other team threw the ball in, and a player kicked it high toward the goal. Zofie leaped and caught it. Along with the entire sideline, Mariah and Connor cheered.

  Once Zofie had cleared the ball, Mariah said, "I told Simon things I should have said years ago." Her voice didn't tremble this time, as she told Connor what she'd said.

  Connor came as close to gaping as she'd ever seen this very self-possessed man do. "What if he wasn't guilty? What if I am responsible for breaking the two of you up?"

  "But you see," she said with quiet composure, "that's what I spent the week discovering. You didn't. I was relieved when you presented me with an excuse to leave him." She told him some of what she'd thought that week and understood about herself. "I'm ashamed," she said, "to have been so stupid. Everybody always told me I was so mature. Then what do I do but marry a guy because my parents don't want me to!"

  Connor watched her with a furrow between his eyebrows. "Was it really that simple?"

  "No." She smiled wryly. "Of course not. He was handsome, passionate, charming when he wanted to be. He seemed exciting in a way the boy-next-door types I'd always dated weren't. I just didn't let myself see his darker side."

  Connor made a sound in his throat. "I expected … I don't know what. Anything but you announcing cheerfully that you told your ex-husband off."

  "Do I sound cheerful?"

  He gave a grunt of laughter. "Perky as a cheerleader."

  "How repulsive." She made a face, then had to laugh herself. "I guess I feel cheerful. I'm sad, too, and I'll always feel guilty for leaving him the way I did, but I'm also proud of myself for facing the truth and finally being honest with him."

  Expression achingly tender, he lifted his hands to run his knuckles down her cheek. "I'm proud of you, too."

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  A burst of cheering from the other sidelines and groans from hers made her swing around guiltily. Zofie had somehow let a ball go by.

  "Oh, no!" Mariah said. "I didn't even see it."

  "Good try!" the coach called.

  Zofie kicked the ball out to the referee and her teammates circled by to pat her on the back.

  Once the game was underway again, Connor said meditatively, "I've spent the week reopening my investigation."

  "Of Simon?" So he'd meant it. Their surroundings blurred, the yells fading, until all that existed was the two of them. Mariah was surprised by the clutch of apprehension she felt. "D
id you … learn anything?"

  He swung to face her, his shoulders hunched, his hands shoved in his pockets. Under a wooden expression, a cauldron of emotions simmered. "Not a damn thing. I promised you and myself I'd find an answer, and I haven't."

  "How could you, so long after the fact?" she asked quietly.

  "Cold cases can be cracked. People remember things, let secrets slip."

  "But not this time."

  He shook his head. "I know why I was so convinced Simon was guilty. I've got to tell you, Mariah, I still think he did it. But I have some doubts I didn't have then, too."

  He told her about the divorce of Lily's parents and the refusal of each to talk about the reasons for it. "I only talked to him on the phone, since he lives in San Jose, but he was evasive about why he isn't seeing his daughter, and Mrs. Thalberg was damn uncomfortable at the idea of Lily visiting him. I didn't pick up those vibes, then. I have to wonder if something happened."

  "So it might not have been Simon at all." She couldn't understand her lack of reaction. Shouldn't she be … relieved? Hopeful? Angry? Something? "It might have been Lily's dad."

  "It's a possibility." He was frowning. "Oh, hell, call a spade a spade. It's a wild guess. I'm reading between the lines." His hunch deepened. "Damn it, Mariah, my best guess is still Simon."

  "Oh." She bit her lip. "Then why…"

  "Hasn't he gone for Zofie? I don't know. Like I said before, maybe Lily was an experiment. Maybe he horrified himself. For all we know, he's in counseling to deal with the urges. Maybe coming so close to getting arrested scared him."

  "What you're telling me," she said, staring blindly at the bunched girls on the field, "is that we'll never know."

  He drew a harsh breath. "I made you a promise I can't keep."

  Mariah faced him. "I told you not to make it. That I didn't need those answers."

  His eyes searched hers. "The questions are going to hang over us."

  "Not if we don't let them." She vaguely heard the whistle blow, knew the girls were running off the field. "You are not responsible for the end of my marriage."

  He swore softly, the muscles in his jaw knotting. "I want to believe that."

  She sought desperately for a way to convince him, for words she hadn't said before, and failed. "Whether you and I … see each other or not, I am divorced. No matter what you learned about Simon, he and I would not have gotten back together. You did your job. That's all. Now you've done more than your job."

  His gloved hands gripped hers. "Trying to prove him guilty."

  "But if he'd been innocent, you would have told me that, too." She felt the gentle smile curve her mouth. "You're an honest man, Connor McLean."

  Zofie rushed up. "Where's my coat, Mom? I'm cold!"

  Connor released Mariah's hands. Flustered, she turned and found where she'd set the jacket. "Hurry. Put it on."

  "I let them score!" Zofie said unhappily.

  "Goalies can't stop every kick," Connor told her. "That's why you have teammates. How many did you stop?"

  "I don't know." Her face cleared some. "A bunch. But I could have gotten that one."

  "Then next time you will." He cuffed her lightly on the shoulder. "You're six years old, kiddo. Give yourself a learning curve."

  She studied him. "You were holding Mommy's hands."

  "Yeah. I was."

  "You aren't going to get married or something, are you?"

  "Maybe." He contemplated her, although his gaze flicked to Mariah to catch her reaction. "Would you mind?"

  Her forehead puckered as she thought. "No, I guess not," she decided. "You're nice."

  "Thank you," he said gravely.

  "I gotta eat my snack. I'm playing forward second half," she announced. "I bet I can score."

  "I know you can." He grinned at her. "You go get 'em, Zofie."

  "Okay." She sounded matter-of-fact until she gave a cheeky grin. "You watch me."

  He laughed, Mariah hugged her, and Zofie hurried off to join her teammates.

  She was barely gone when Mariah felt Connor's gaze.

  "Are we going to see each other?" he asked. "Is that what you have in mind?"

  She turned uncertainly. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

  He gave a crooked smile in which she read vulnerability that stunned her.

  "It's a start," he said. "But … no. That's not what I had in mind."

  "Then … then what?" Her voice had sank to a whisper.

  He took her hands again, and she wished desperately that they weren't wearing gloves, that she could feel his heat and strength.

  "I have in mind marrying you," he said simply. "If—when—you'll have me."

  "We haven't known each other that long." It had to be the prissy "good girl" speaking.

  "I told you." He still smiled, with tenderness and aching vulnerability. "I knew right away, that day in Mrs. Patterson's office. I took me a while to recognize what I felt, but somewhere inside I knew. From that day forth."

  Her fingers tightened on his. "Me, too. Maybe not from that day. I think it was when you came to see me in my classroom."

  His eyes darkened. "You love me?"

  She gave a small nod.

  "Is it too soon to give me an answer?"

  "Can you live with our past?" She watched him carefully. "Simon will be around, you know. He's Zofie's father. We can't … pretend he doesn't exist."

  "If you don't blame me, I can live with it." His voice was low, rough. "God, I love you."

  Drowning in his gaze, she whispered, "I wish we were somewhere else."

  "Me, too." He cleared his throat. "I think they're playing again."

  "Are they?" She didn't look away.

  "Zofie might score."

  "Mmm-hmm."

  "Sweetheart…" A muscle jumped in his cheek. "There's something else you need to know."

  Mariah drew back slightly. "What's that?"

  "I've decided to quit my job. I'd like to try counseling kids and teenagers. It'll mean going to graduate school at UW. Money might be tight for a couple of years."

  "Oh, Connor." Tears stung her eyes and despite their surroundings she hugged him. "I think that's a wonderful idea."

  "I can commute. Come home weekends."

  "Better yet, I can get a job in Seattle," she said firmly. "Maybe get a leave of absence from the school district, if we think we'll want to come home to Port Dare when you're done."

  "You're really going to marry me." He sounded dazed.

  She smiled up at him, letting him see the sparkle of tears in her eyes. "If you'll have me."

  "Oh, yeah," he said, his laconic tone belied by the potent emotions in his eyes. "I'll have you."

  She tried to sound casual and failed. "I've arranged for my daughter to go home with a friend after the game. Did I mention that?"

  "No. You didn't."

  "Just in case we wanted some time to ourselves."

  "Which we do," he said in the gritty voice that told her what he felt. And wanted.

  Happiness filled her chest, making her buoyant. "I had better watch some of the game first."

  He laid a heavy arm over her shoulders and turned her to face the field. "I can be patient."

  They looked just in time to see Zofie break away from a defender and kick a powerful line drive that shot past the goalie and into a corner of the goal. Arms in the air, screaming in delight, she grinned at her mom and Connor, who both laughed and waved back.

  "Zofie makes it easy to be patient." Eyes smiling, Connor watched Mariah's daughter run down the field. "I'm a lucky man."

  "Yes, you are." Mariah leaned contentedly against him. "But I'm feeling pretty lucky myself right now."

  * * * * *

 

 

 
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