by Kathryn Shay
“You just don’t understand all of this.”
“I understand you more than you realize.”
Nick braced himself for the attack.
“I understand how much you love your children and are trying your best to protect them and provide for them.”
“If that’s true, what was that all about in there, about ‘Daddy getting angry’? I’d never lay a hand on her.”
Moving closer to him, Amanda squared her shoulders to full height. Still, she only came to his chin. “You should be pleased I was protecting your child, Mr. DiMarco. There are families where fathers abuse their children. It’s my responsibility to ferret that out. It wasn’t the case here, but I asked because I needed to be certain I’d read the situation correctly, not to insult you.”
He didn’t respond, so she continued, “Listen, I don’t want to argue with you. I came tonight because you asked me to help Heather. I did that, but she needs more. She’s hurting and I know I can help her in the long term.” Impatiently pushing her hair back from her forehead, she forged ahead. “I’ve had a lot of training and experience with troubled teenagers. I think it’s vital to Heather’s well-being that you let me spend some time with her.” She paused, apparently having run out of breath, but just as Nick decided to rescue her by giving in, she looked away, then back into his eyes, and added softly, “Please.”
He wasn’t sure how he knew it, but he sensed that had cost her a lot. He’d bet Amanda Carson didn’t beg anyone for anything. His voice was gruff but gentle when he answered, “All right, Counselor, you can see her.”
Her smile was like the sun in November. It warmed the whole room.
Straightening, he spoke honestly. “I love my daughter and I’ll do anything to help her. I didn’t know things were so bad with her.” Before Amanda could respond, he added, “And I don’t mean to keep insulting you. The problem’s with me, not you.”
When he didn’t explain the comment, she stared at him for an uncomfortable minute, then nodded. “Good. I’ll set up an appointment for tomorrow.” Leaning over, she picked up the coat she’d tossed to the couch when she’d left Heather’s room.
Nick took it from her. She looked so surprised, he almost laughed aloud. Turning her back to him, she slid her arms into the sleeves.
As she pulled it on, he was barraged by the scent of her. Her thick hair was inches from his face and the smell of flowery shampoo invaded his senses like the Garden of Eden in full bloom. Unable to stop himself, he lifted his hand and freed the heavy locks where they snagged inside her collar. When he got a glimpse of her exposed neck, he had the sudden urge to…
Fuck it, no! He wouldn’t go there, even in his thoughts. So, he let her hair fall around her shoulders and stepped back.
Without speaking, she nodded and headed for the door.
CHAPTER THREE
Nick ran like the devil was after him. It was true, in a way. His own personal demon had been on his tail since Suzanne had left him. Slowing to a jog and then a walk, he finally bent over, hands on his knees, sucking in air. He banished thoughts of his ex-wife, but then his mind turned to Amanda Carson, as it had done all too often since he’d helped her with her coat in his living room a week ago. He was drawn to the woman, and he didn’t like it a bit.
To outrun the memory, he took to the track again. Perspiration poured down his face from the too-warm temperature. He was grateful for the fitness center at Syracuse University. The indoor arena with its basketball courts and the surrounding quarter-mile track had saved his sanity more than once when he’d needed a physical outlet.
“You’re slowing down, buddy, showing your age.”
Nick stopped his trek, smiled and turned to see Adam Sherwood gripping a basketball. He surveyed his friend from the top of his balding head to the toes of his wiry medium-height body. Outfitted in crisp white trunks and a loose polo shirt, Adam contrasted sharply to Nick in his cutoff sweatshirt and ragged shorts. “Yeah, well, I’ve still got years on you. Which I’m about to prove.”
With that challenge, Sherwood tossed Nick the ball and the two began to warm up for their weekly one-on one match. Nick dribbled around his opponent and sank a long one from the three point line.
“You’re hot today,” Sherwood said.
“Yeah, at least I can do something right.”
Adam stopped mid-shot. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, the usual. Family problems, not enough money, not enough time, overload before finals.” Nick stole the ball and went in for a lay-up, making the move smooth and sure. Lord, it felt good to enjoy the exercise and leave the mind games behind.
Sherwood took the ball from him and swished his own hoop. “Want to talk about it?”
“The last thing I want to do is talk, or think. Let’s play.”
For thirty minutes, there was little conversation, loud grunts and the cleansing sweat that accompanies a vigorous workout. They finished their game, exhausted and exhilarated, and jogged companionably around the track to cool down. Nick glanced at the man beside him and remembered the first time he’d met Adam. He’d sought out the best divorce attorney he could find. Sherwood had been some kind of prodigy, only eight years older than Nick, but already a professor at Syracuse Law School and a member of a glitzy downtown practice…
“I’ve scraped together the money and I have evidence of my wife’s unfitness as a mother,” Nick had told Adam. “I want total custody of the children.”
In the end, Suzanne hadn’t contested anything, only too happy to legally sign away her right to her babies.
“Stay in contact,” Sherwood had said when the papers were finalized. “I like you, DiMarco, and I believe in you.”
So Nick had kept in touch, and Adam Sherwood had been instrumental in getting him into Syracuse University to finish college and apply for law school. Without his friend’s help, Nick doubted he would have been awarded the grants and scholarships that paid for his tuition, and he suspected Adam had pulled other strings along the way. Like the clerkship Nick had started in a prestigious, coveted firm. Nick knew that although he was third in his class, this was a plum position not easily attained. He couldn’t have done it without Sherwood’s recommendation.
“Let’s grab something cold in the Union,” Adam suggested, tearing Nick away from his reverie.
Nick glanced at his watch. “I need to pick up Heather in an hour.”
“I, ah, want to talk to you.”
Alerted by his serious tone, Nick followed his friend into the break room next to the gym. When they were seated with their drinks, Adam turned to face him. “I’ve quit my job.”
Nick’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“I’ve resigned from Lowell and Bean, effective today.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been in a rat race. Because I want to spend time with my family.” Adam wiped his face with a towel looped around his neck and took a swig of his drink.
Shaking his head to clear it, Nick took a sip of his water. “But you’re giving up exactly what I’d sell my soul for.”
“Soul being the operative word here.” Adam’s expression was sad and Nick felt ominously chilled. “You may have to do that, buddy, especially if you go with Joris, Beech and Stowe permanently. Once they’ve decided they want you in the firm, they’ll really test your mettle. Be careful what you wish for.”
Nick stared down at the tabletop. God, he couldn’t fathom giving up what Sherwood had. This was the goal Nick had nearly killed himself to attain, had worked day and night for years to achieve and for which he’d sacrificed everything. He was finally close to giving the kids all they’d missed out on, and never having to worry about Jason’s doctor bills.
And prove yourself to the world, DiMarco. Be honest about that.
“What will you do?” Nick asked, trying to ignore the prick of his conscience.
“I start with the public defender next month. I’m taking a few weeks off to be with Joanna and the new baby. I don’
t want to miss his infancy like I did the others.”
“So you’re going to spend your time, expertise and considerable intelligence freeing criminals?” Nick propped his elbows on the table, his smile sardonic.
Adam shook his head. “There are criminals everywhere, Nick. At Lowell and Bean, I did a lot of things, got a lot of people out of things that I’m not proud of. As a public defender, at least I’ll be honest about what I’m doing and be able to retain my integrity when I do it.”
“But you got paid well at Lowell.” Nick heard the criticism in his tone and fought it.
“But the personal price was too high. For me, at least.”
At a loss for what to say, Nick kept silent. He used to feel like Adam did about law and about life. Sometimes he missed that idealism.
As if he’d read Nick’s mind, Adam smiled. “You’d be a natural for a job at the public defender’s office, buddy.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Your desire to take care of people. Your basic integrity.”
“Nah, it’s not for me anymore. I’m not idealistic about anything anymore.” To change the subject, he asked, “How’s the baby?”
Adam gave him a shrewd look, then took out his wallet.
Nick studied the picture of the smiling boy. “I still can’t believe you’re this happy about a completely unexpected event. Your other kids are practically grown up.”
Adam’s grin was wide as he peered at the child. “Yeah, well, after all Joanna put up with those first few years, I never thought we’d make it together. This is like a whole new chance with her and the baby. Even if he does keep me up half the night.” The lawyer glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, I’ve got to get home. I like to give him the dinner feeding.”
Nick watched his friend retreat and experienced such poignant regret, his chest ached with it. He’d never had a chance to enjoy his children’s infancies, to have fun as a father. Those years had been too fraught with tension and despair to ever fully appreciate the wonder of their babyhood. Ah, hell, maybe once he finished law school and got that prize job, he’d have more time with his kids. He vowed he’d make up to them, and to himself, all that they’d missed.
Unbidden, a picture of Amanda Carson came into his mind. Damn. Though he banished it quickly, the connection to his previous thoughts stunned him. Adam was right, he thought, gathering up his gym bag and heading for the door. “Be careful what you wish for...” It was a mistake to have even fleeting thoughts of her. He vowed ten years ago to steer clear of women like her. Better to concentrate on his goal to become a hotshot lawyer and give up the wishes and dreams that Nick had learned were meant for other men.
o0o
Heather tried to hold back the tears, but it just hurt too much. She couldn’t keep it inside any longer. Wiping the moisture from her face and squaring her shoulders, she adjusted the collar of her pink oxford shirt, smoothed down her clean, pressed jeans and knocked on the counselor’s door.
“Come in.”
The small office had a big window and the precious sunlight warmed Heather when she entered. Ms. Carson swiveled her desk chair around, and it took all the courage Heather had not to turn tail and run. It was her third time here, and seeing the counselor didn’t get any easier. But her dad was big on guts and Heather DiMarco decided it was time she showed some. She hated the tears that escaped, but she hated even more the horrible pit she felt in her stomach every single day now.
Ms. Carson rose and came to stand beside her. “Heather, it’s okay. I know you’re hurting. I can help you; that’s why we set up another meeting today.”
Nodding in shaky agreement, Heather let the counselor lead her to one of the four chairs that formed a semicircle across from the desk.
“Can I get you something?” Ms. Carson asked.
Heather shook her head and clasped her books tighter to her chest. Ms. Carson eased into a chair, folded her hands and watched her.
Tears continued to slip down Heather’s cheeks and she brushed them away with the sleeve of her blouse. “I knew I shouldn’t have written those things for English class, but they just wouldn’t stop coming.” Heather felt like a million tiny paper cuts sliced at her when she said this out loud, but she couldn’t stop herself.
Handing her some tissues, Ms. Carson coaxed, “Let’s start with those things you wrote for English. You wouldn’t talk about them before.”
Once the floodgates were open, the pain kept coming. An hour and a half later, Heather had about reached her limit. She buried her face in her hands and spoke through her fingers. “He does his best. He just isn’t around to do all the things most fathers can, so I have to take care of them.”
“But that doesn’t mean you have to accept it as fair, does it?”
Heather took a tissue from her lap and blew her nose, then scowled up at the counselor. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that there are a lot of things in life we have to do, but we don’t have to pretend they’re fair.”
She just doesn’t understand. No one does.
Scooting her chair closer, Ms. Carson leaned over to take Heather’s hands. “In the last ninety minutes, you told me that you feel bad about not having the kinds of clothes other kids have. You said you don’t like all the chores you have to do after school. And you indicated that you wish you could have a messy room and play music like most teenagers, right?”
“‘Uh-huh.”
“How do you feel now?” Ms. Carson asked. “Take an internal inventory. Do you feel any better than you did at three o’clock?”
Heather dug deep inside herself. Something felt different, a little lighter, not so dark and scary. “I do feel better. But I don’t understand why. Nothing’s changed in the time I’ve been here.”
“Sometimes, just getting all that stuff out, looking at it, seeing what it really is, and isn’t, makes a difference in how heavy we feel inside.”
Heather looked at her for a moment and felt the tears well in her eyes again. She swiped at the wetness on her cheek. This just wasn’t enough, Ms. Carson just didn’t know. She closed her eyes to keep from saying it aloud.
“What makes you so sad now?”
Heather shook her head. Too nervous to sit still, she got up from the chair and went to stare out the office window. She liked the sun on her face.
After a long time, Ms. Carson spoke again. “You’re thinking that you’ve only told me surface stuff, aren’t you? That maybe talking about these issues helps, but nothing could possibly affect the important secrets you’re keeping inside.”
Heather whirled around. “How do you know that?”
The counselor smiled, as if Heather had just admitted something. “We all have our secret fears.” Then, she stood slowly, made her way to the window and ruffled Heather’s hair
“I think that’s enough for today. But I’d like to ask one more thing before you leave.” When Heather nodded, Ms. Carson leaned against the wall. “I’d like to see you more than once a week. I’d like you to be part of a group of kids I meet with regularly.”
Heather wrapped her arms around herself and stepped back. She struggled to catch her breath.
“What bothers you about that?”
“Everything!”
“Try telling me one.”
Heather sucked in some air and spoke. “I...I can’t talk about this in front of anybody else.”
“Okay, then listen to what they say. Maybe you’ll find you’re not the only one with bad feelings inside.”
“Why do you want me to do this?”
“Because sometimes hearing how others feel helps you understand how you feel. You find out that a lot of people have some nasty things plaguing them. And you can learn to cope better from those same people.”
“Daddy won’t like it. He didn’t even want this at first.” She waved her hand to indicate the office.
Ms. Carson didn’t look intimidated. “Okay, then, I’ll talk to him personally. Will he be ho
me tonight?”
“Yes, Grandma’s staying with Jason now, but Dad’s done at five-thirty. I was supposed to call Aunt Beth to pick me up.”
Nodding her head, the counselor walked over to the closet and took out a beautiful gray raincoat with a wide belt and silver buttons. “Good. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
Ms. Carson’s eyes were filled with humor. “We’re going to beard the lion in his den.”
“What does that mean?”
“To meet him on his own turf and convince him.”
Despite herself, Heather grinned. “He can’t be bearded.”
“Okay, then we’ll shave him,” Ms. Carson joked, shrugging her shoulders and crossing her arms over her chest, “or we’ll tie him up, or we’ll feed him to the gladiators.”
Heather laughed outright.
Ms. Carson joined her. After a moment, the counselor sobered and reached out to touch Heather’s arm. “You’re important enough to fight for.”
When the tears welled in Heather’s eyes again, Ms. Carson nodded to the phone. “Call you aunt first and tell her you have a ride.”
After Heather talked to Beth, Ms. Carson grabbed her hand and led her out the door. “Did you hear the joke about the nurse who interrupted the doctor’s phone call to tell him, ‘There’s a man in the waiting room who thinks he’s invisible.’”
Heather’s smile returned. She rolled her eyes but shook her head, indicating she would play along.
Ms. Carson giggled. “The busy doctor responded, ‘Tell him I can’t see him.’”
On that silly but mood-lightening note, Heather left the office, hoping the woman knew what she was doing, because she herself was more confused than ever.
o0o
“Grandma, I’m home,” Heather called out as she and Amanda entered the apartment at five o’clock. The late-October afternoon sun made a crisscross pattern on the living room furniture. Though it accented the worn patches on the sofa and the stains on the rug, the place looked more cheerful than on the gloomy night Amanda had last been here, fifteen days ago.
Amanda’s thoughts were interrupted when Grace DiMarco walked in from the kitchen. “Hello, Heather. Ms. Carson!” The older woman’s shoulders tensed. “Is everything all right?”
