by Kathryn Shay
Nick had seen tough football players sick with apprehension before a big game. Heather’s face mirrored that expression now. His grip tightened. “What is it, honey? It can’t be that bad.”
Staring at his hand for a moment, she’d turned wary eyes to his face. “No, not exactly. Well...see, the counselor is...” Heather broke off, shaking her head, unable to continue. Then she’d bolted from the table. “I have to catch the bus. Just go see her, okay?”
When she’d left, Nick turned to Jason. The boy’s eyebrows lifted innocently. “Maybe it’s PMS,” he quipped.
Nick’s jaw dropped. “What do you know about PMS?”
“Aw, nothing.” Grinning mischievously, Jason shredded his napkin. “I just heard it on TV and knew it was something embarrassing ‘cause I asked Heather and she told me to ask you. Just like the time I wanted to know what a virgin was and she got all red in the face.”
Nick chuckled and ruffled his son’s hair.
“Hey, Dad,” Jason had said then, obviously sensing his ability to ease Nick’s mind. “How do you know an elephant has moved into the neighborhood?”
“You smell him?”
“Nope. You see his trunk.”
Nick laughed, his somber mood lessening...
What a kid, he thought now, as he headed down the corridor to the guidance office.
o0o
Amanda Carson waited for Heather DiMarco’s father with some degree of apprehension. She fidgeted with the row of buttons on the front of her black-and-white dress as she thought about the upcoming conference. She’d wanted to phone Mr. DiMarco herself, but the English teacher felt proper channels should be followed so Heather wouldn’t feel anyone had acted inappropriately.
Consequently, Amanda didn’t know what to expect. Would he be open to suggestions or would he be angry and defensive? She hated confrontations. Which was one of the reasons last Friday night had been such an ordeal for her.
She’d dreaded the dinner with her parents and Craig, but her father was so incensed at the changes she’d made in her life, she’d been reluctant to refuse the invitation. He’d been horrified that she’d divorced Porter last year and then doubly horrified when she’d taken this job. But Amanda didn’t care. She knew what she needed and gone after it.
Cringing, she thought of how badly her father had treated the waiter. Though the waiter himself hadn’t seemed flustered. He’d appeared amused at times, annoyed once or twice, but all the while had stood tall and broad-shouldered, diffusing her father’s treatment of him with the aplomb of a diplomat.
“Excuse me?” a deep male voice said behind her.
Amanda swiveled her chair toward the office door, and felt her face redden. She gripped the arms of the seat. “C-can I help you?” Shock made her sputter.
He pinned her with his gaze. “You look familiar.”
Oh, God, how embarrassing. Though she knew her blush betrayed her, she stood up and faced him bravely. “You were our waiter at Corelli’s Friday night.”
Leaning back against the doorjamb, he surveyed her with a discerning stare. “You look different today. No jewels. Casual hairstyle. Less makeup.”
She tilted her chin, uneasy with the way he’d said that. “So do you.”
Actually, he looked sexy. And big. At least six-two. His wide shoulders were encased in a gray T-shirt that hugged his muscular torso and trim waist. Over it, he’d donned a wool jacket. His eyes were steel gray, framed with long, dark lashes a woman would kill for. His hair was sable and just a shade too long. His cheekbones and jaw were stern, accenting the angularity of his features and here was a cleft in his chin. Overall, it was a rugged face. Yet there was kindness there, too.
Her response to his physical appearance today, and Friday night—she’d noticed him right away—had been so unusual for her, she almost didn’t recognize it. None of the men she’d known had made her look at them with such…interest.
“I’m sorry my father was so demanding at the restaurant. He—”
But the man cut her off with a chop of his hand in the air. “It’s irrelevant. I’m only here to talk about Heather.”
“You...you’re Mr. DiMarco?”
Nodding, he scanned the room as if he was trying to get his bearings. Every inch of wall of the ten-by-twelve office was covered with a poster or a saying or a witticism. His eyes focused on one: When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on. Then his gaze traveled to the bulletin board labeled Joke of the Day. It read:
Question: What does a baby ghost call his mother and father?
Answer: Transparents
He smiled, then took in the window behind her and the three chairs facing her desk. Not that you could find the top of that particular piece of furniture. It was buried beneath paper, folders, books and phone messages. He frowned at her mess. When he noted the floor-to-ceiling bookcase, jammed full, she watched his expression turn into a scowl. The titles included Problems of the Young Adolescent; Sexual Abuse and the Average Teenager; Teen Suicide, Did You Ever Want to Kill Yourself? Would My Father Do That To Me?: Facts on Incest.
Amanda realized a moment too late what he must be thinking. He glared at her before she could explain that she didn’t suspect him of abuse. His mouth had thinned and his nostrils flared, and he sucked in his breath. “What is this all about?”
She faced him without flinching. This job was too important to her to back down with her first angry parent. And it was a chance to atone for Lisa. “I’m concerned about Heather, Mr. DiMarco. Her mental health, not her physical well-being.”
It took a moment, but his whole stance relaxed. He folded his arms and leaned back on the edge of the table that butted the wall. “Okay, what’s going on with her?”
Matching his casual pose, she slid her hands into her pockets. “Your daughter has been writing disturbing things in English class for the past few weeks and Ms. Sanders sent them to me to read. I spoke with Heather about it today.”
The grooves around his mouth deepened. “The teacher mentioned Heather’s writing. But she wouldn’t tell me what it was about.”
Amanda automatically softened her tone. “How much did she tell you?”
“Not much. I expect to get some answers from you.”
The dilemma was becoming familiar to Amanda. Confidentiality was vital to teenagers. Yet school personnel had a legal and moral responsibility to inform parents of their concerns. Earlier that afternoon she’d received Heather’s permission to talk to this man, but it hadn’t been easy…
“Heather, the feelings of despair that you’ve written about need to be dealt with,” Amanda had told her. “I’d like to talk to your father and get his permission to see you on a regular basis.”
“No, please, Ms. Carson.”
Amanda had waited for her to continue. When the teenager seemed unable to do so, she’d prompted her. “He’ll worry?”
Heather nodded. “He works hard and he’s always tired. He’s got so much on his mind already. I don’t want to add to it.”
“Why don’t you let me talk to him? I think I can ask him in a way that will ease his concern.”
In the end, Heather had agreed…
Now, Amanda decided to give the father some of the facts. She moved to the front of her desk. “Heather is a sad young lady, Mr. DiMarco. It comes out in her writing. She feels a lot of responsibility and guilt.”
Nick cocked his head. “What does she have to feel guilty for?”
For being so healthy when her sibling is not, for one thing. Amanda glanced to the side at the picture of Lisa on her desk, then said, “I can’t get into specifics. We strongly believe in confidentiality, and the kids’ trust is hard enough to earn without betraying them.”
“All right, I can accept that you can’t say much.” Straightening, Nick took two steps and towered over her. “Just give me the things she’s written and I’ll talk with her about it myself.”
His clean masculine scent, undiluted by cologne, gently assault
ed Amanda. Surprised at she even noticed, she admonished herself. This man was a student’s father, for God’s sake.
She crossed her arms and tried to ignore his physical presence. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. The writings are Heather’s to share or not to share at this point. It would be a breach of confidence for me to give them to you. You’ll have to ask her for permission to read them.”
“So why am I here today?”
“I want you to allow me to help her.”
“I don’t like to bring outsiders into family matters,” he stated bluntly.
“Your daughter turned to outsiders, Mr. DiMarco. She’s in trouble. And she needs the help of a professional. She needs my help.”
Nick’s face paled as she spoke.
“Why don’t you sit down and we’ll discuss this?”
Shaking his head, he stared over her shoulder. “I don’t mean to insult you, Ms. Carson, but judging from what I witnessed Friday night, you aren’t the one to help my family.”
“Why is that?”
“Let’s just say we’ve got some bad scars from women like you.”
“And you’ve known a lot of women like me?”
“One too many.”
Amanda stepped back and fought to control her temper. “Mr. DiMarco, I don’t know why you disliked me on sight, but I asked you here because Heather’s in trouble. Despite your preconceived notions, I have a master’s degree in counseling and a hundred and twenty hours of intensive study with some of the most prominent child and adolescent psychologists in New York City. I know I can help Heather. I told her this afternoon that I needed your permission to spend time with her after school. That’s all I’m asking from you today.”
He looked thoughtful, maybe even a little torn. But finally he shook his head. “I appreciate your calling this problem to my attention. I’ll deal with it myself, though. Heather and I will talk. I really don’t think we need to involve anyone else.” Then, he walked around her and strode from the room.
Amanda circled her desk and sank into her chair openmouthed. She’d been so sure a plea to his fatherly instincts would get him to agree to counseling for Heather. But she’d been wrong and though he’d hinted at the source of his negative attitude, she had no idea how to break through it to help his troubled daughter.
Glancing again at the picture of her sister, she picked it up and spoke softly to it, a habit she’d taken to lately. “We know just how high a price they’ll pay if she isn’t helped, don’t we, Lisa?
CHAPTER TWO
Amanda was still thinking about Nick DiMarco four hours later as she sat in her parents’ formal living room. Though it had been designed and decorated by the best, Amanda had always found the space austere. She toyed with her slice of anniversary cake, not listening to the conversation around her. Her mind reeled back and forth to Nick DiMarco and how his gray eyes had warmed when he spoke about Heather. How torn he’d appeared at her advice about his daughter. How, in spite of himself, he’d eyed her with masculine appreciation.
“Amanda, darling, are you all right? You’re flushed.” Craig’s voice penetrated the haze of her distraction. She was faintly surprised to see him there, so immersed had she been in her thoughts. She shifted uncomfortably in the wing chair.
“Yes, Craig, I’m fine. I was just thinking about my job.” Well, almost.
As she made her excuses to him, Amanda took in Craig Coleman’s meticulous appearance. His blond hair was cut short and he wore a charcoal pin-striped suit, white starched shirt and a solid tie. He moved with the confidence instilled in him by years at prep school and Harvard Law and he spoke with the precision and polish of an affluent attorney. She winced inwardly at his similarity to her ex-husband, Porter. They exuded the same aura of self-importance and they even resembled each other physically. Having both been chosen by her father, they were perfect catches in his opinion and theirs.
“How is your job, Amanda?” Joan Carson asked hesitantly, setting her plate on the Queen Anne table. Dressed to celebrate, she wore a black Dolce and Gabbana suit trimmed in white. Her latest bauble from her husband, Robert, a three-carat diamond necklace, hugged her throat. Because Amanda knew she was expected to dress for the occasion, she’d donned a peach silk sheath that swirled at her knees.
Turning to her mother, who sat adjacent to her on the sofa, Amanda answered quietly, “Many of the kids at Eastside are really troubled. I’m needed there.”
“I’m sure you are, dear.”
“Get it out of your system now, darling,” Craig put in as he patted his mouth with his napkin in a delicate way that irritated Amanda almost as much as his assumption that she would do whatever he wished.
Why shouldn’t he? she thought with disgust. I’m the model wife and daughter. At least I was.
“When we’re married, you won’t have time for those kinds of activities.”
Amanda felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. She picked up her chardonnay and took a sip to cool her temper. “Craig, I’ve told you, all of you, that I’m not ready to remarry. And I certainly don’t intend to give up my job. I thought you understood that.” There was iron in her tone beneath her velvet smile.
“Please, let’s not argue,” Amanda’s father interjected. Robert Carson was a tall, stately man, still trim at sixty. He rose from his seat and moved to the wall unit that housed the bar. “We’ve seen so little of you in the last couple of months.” Amanda thought she heard a note of pain in his voice. “And we’ve had to practically beg for your time twice in one week. It’s your mother’s and my anniversary. I don’t want to spoil it with squabbling.”
Amanda bit her tongue so hard she could taste the coppery blood she’d drawn. She felt guilty for neglecting her mother in August and September. Amanda was—since Lisa’s death—the only child Joan had. But Amanda hadn’t been able to make the changes she needed in her life under her father’s thumb, so she’d maintained her distance. Robert Carson’s need for control was legendary in both his well-connected family and the well-established law firm where he was a senior partner.
Lord knows, he’d been livid when she’d divorced Porter. Only her ex-husband’s easy acquiescence, brought on by his own dissatisfaction with the relationship, had allowed her father to accept the split with even a modicum of grace.
She hoped Porter had already met someone who drove him wild in bed. The thought of the man she’d married, thin, tall and pale, writhing between the sheets with anyone was ludicrous. But then, she’d never imagined herself in such a situation, either. Hmm, maybe with Nick DiMarco...
Now where had that come from?
“I talked to Porter today after our meeting with a new client.” Her father announced this as he returned to his with a second sherry. “He said you’re selling the condominium.”
“What?” Joan Carson’s fork clattered to her cake plate. “Amanda, do you have any idea how difficult it is to buy a co-op in that section of town?”
“Of course I know, Mother. But it was the best decision for me. I signed the papers at Porter’s office yesterday. It’s sold.”
Robert’s face revealed nothing, but Joan’s jaw dropped in shock. Her mother was obviously hurt that her daughter had kept this from her. Amanda started to explain that these changes were part of her plan to take control of her life, but Craig intervened.
“Let me handle this, Amanda,” he said condescendingly. Turning to her mother, he patted the older woman’s hand. “Don’t worry, Joan. She can move back here until we’re married. Then you’ll get to see her more often.”
Amanda wanted to scream. Instead, she calmly ran a finger around the rim of her wineglass before she dropped the bomb. “That won’t be necessary. I’ve already bought a house.”
Three stoic faces turned white, then red. Craig recovered first. He set down his drink and folded his hands. “Why wasn’t I in on this decision? As your fiancé and as your lawyer?”
“You are not my fiancé, Craig.” Amanda eased back into he
r chair and crossed her legs, discreetly taking a deep breath. “And don’t speak to me like I’m a child.”
“Then don’t behave like one,” he said crossly.
Silently counting to ten, Amanda consciously sent her mind elsewhere; it went to the DiMarcos, to the gratitude on Heather’s face when she’d told the girl she would help her. The thought made her smile.
“Is something funny, Amanda?” Her father’s mouth was set in a thin, disapproving line. He’d crossed his legs and encircled his knee with his hands. Glancing at him, she noticed how his pose mirrored Craig’s. Was it a lawyer stance? She’d studied Heather’s records yesterday and noted that Nick DiMarco was pursuing his law degree. Somehow, she couldn’t quite see him sitting like that.
For some reason, the comparison calmed her and she was able to answer evenly. “No, it isn’t funny, Father, but neither is it some great tragedy. I told all of you that I wanted to make some changes in my life. And I’m going to do it. With or without your approval. If I can’t talk to you about all this...”
Always astute, her father was the first to catch the implied threat. He straightened in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes were troubled when he spoke. “Don’t do anything rash, Amanda. We all realize how affected you were by Lisa’s death, and how strangely you’ve behaved in the last year. We’re just concerned about you.”
Amanda’s spirit was deflated by the reminder of the loss of her sister and the bleak days that followed. She sank back into her seat, willing the moisture from her eyes. Once more she pictured Lisa’s ashen face, cold and waxen in the casket. Once more she felt the grief that had overcome her when the lid was closed and she knew she’d never see her sister again.
But in her mind, she heard Lisa’s calm, clear voice, determined to cheer her up: “What did the people say when one hundred lawyers were killed in a plane crash...? It’s a good start.”
Her sister had always loved the sacrilegious lawyer jokes that drove her father crazy. Amanda often repeated them to herself when things got tough with him
