by Kathryn Shay
“Is it okay with your dad?”
Heather bolted upright. “Oh, my God, I forgot. He’s waiting for me. He’s been out there an hour and a half.”
Scooping up her books, she rushed through the open door. Nick raised his eyes from the text he’d been studying and smiled at her. There was no impatience in his demeanor and Amanda wondered where Heather got the idea she was impinging on his time.
“All set?” he asked calmly.
“Yeah. Sorry you had to wait so long.” Heather struggled with her khaki jacket.
Nick’s grin was meant to ease her anxiety. Obviously, he’d had a lot of practice. “Don’t be sorry.” He shrugged into his coat and bent over to gather up his books. “Got three chapters read for my course tonight.”
Amanda saw the air seep out of Heather like a deflated balloon. Clearly, she’d counted on her dad’s presence this evening. Nick’s time at home, or lack of it, was going to be a problem, Amanda could feel it at a gut level.
Instead of picking up on Heather’s cue, Nick reached out to grasp her arm. “Honey, I want to talk to Ms. Carson for a minute, okay?”
“Sure. I’ll wait in the hall.”
“No, Heather, wait right here. The school officially closes at five o’clock and there are guards posted to keep visitors out. Your dad and I will go into my office.”
She smiled at Heather, then led Nick into her small space. Looking at his rock-solid body in an ancient bomber jacket and faded denim jeans, she was reminded of the night in his tiny kitchen. Amanda tried to banish the memory, for several reasons, not the least of which was the professional conflict. She’d wanted to kiss a student’s father.
“I’m sorry about overreacting to this,” he said, wrapping one hand around his neck and massaging the tightened muscles there. Though his tone was casual, the creases around his mouth were deeper today. Amanda knew what it was like to admit someone you loved was unable to cope with her own life. Maybe he’d be able to in time, she thought.
She hadn’t been.
Rubbing the sleeves of her coral jersey dress, Amanda tried to ward off the chill that spiraled through her. “I understand, Mr. DiMarco. You did what you thought best.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face. “Don’t you think we’re a little past that formality, Amanda?”
It was the way he said her name that affected her. It was almost intimate. She cleared her throat and dug her nails into her palms to quell her reaction. “Maybe we shouldn’t be.”
Apparently frustrated, he ran his hands through his hair, then slid them into his pockets. But he kept his eyes on her. “Maybe you’re right. Listen, a lot of things have happened to me in the past. I guess I have a chip on my shoulder. You seem to trigger some of them...”
Amanda’s heart went out to him. She relaxed her stance and perched on the edge of the desk. “It’s okay, Nick. I have some things in my own past that make me touchy around you.”
Nick straightened and stood tall, as if it would make what he was about to say easier. “Look, you know Heather’s mother doesn’t live with us.”
“Yes, it’s in the records.”
“I suppose I seem like a failure to you, but there were circumstances at the time...that I don’t want to get into.” The muscles in his jaw tightened.
“No, you don’t seem like a failure to me. I have a divorce behind me also. I know how difficult it is when a marriage is falling apart.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re in law school, aren’t you?” she asked, trying to keep the conversation going.
“Yeah. I’ve worked for years to get within reach of a law degree. But with my classes and with Jason’s financial and physical demands, time is tight and Heather doesn’t get enough from me. But I’m almost done now. As soon as I am, things will be better.”
Amanda came off the desk and stood before him, seeing an opening to plead her case. “In the meantime, I can help your daughter, I know I can.” When he just stared at her, she asked, “You’re going to let me try, with the group, too, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes, I am. And I’m making you a promise. She can see you as much as she wants and I won’t sabotage anything you do with her. No matter what happens.” Nick’s voice was hoarse with emotion and Amanda felt her own throat clog. “As her father, I’ll do anything I can to help.”
To cover her response to his confession, Amanda stepped away. “I really admire you, Nick.”
His eyebrows arched and he angled his head, his surprise evident. “I’m just doing what I should have done when you first brought this up.”
Then he straightened and seemed to search for some way to break the tension. Scanning her messy office as he’d done before, his eyes landed on the joke of the day. He smiled, and all thoughts of admiration fled from Amanda’s mind at his sexy grin.
“Do you know how many guidance counselors it takes to change a light bulb?” he asked glibly.
Surprised at his levity, Amanda shook her head.
“One. But it’s really got to want to change.”
His chuckle added unnecessary wattage to his grin and he left her with the image of him smiling as he exited her office. Nick DiMarco was a lot of man, Amanda thought. As she plopped into her chair, she wondered what it would be like to be held in his arms, free of professional conflict and its effect on all of them.
CHAPTER FIVE
The singer belted out her undying love for the only man who could make her happy and Amanda wondered if she would ever feel that kind of passion and commitment. She looked over at Craig who sat in the civic center peering through the opera glasses he didn’t need because their box seats were, as usual, the best.
I’ll never feel it for him, Amanda thought sadly. Truth be told, she wasn’t certain she even liked him anymore, given the way he’d been treating her since she’d “moved into that unacceptable neighborhood” and “gotten involved in that ghetto school.” His terminology had incensed her but she’d been unable to express her anger. As usual. What was she doing here with him, anyway? And why couldn’t she stand up more to the men in her life?
Without warning, an image of Nick DiMarco appeared before her. She’d stood up to him. Why? There was something about him that encouraged her spunk. Perhaps it was because he thought enough of her to challenge her. It was a crazy notion, but no more lunatic than the other thoughts she’d had of him. The sexual thoughts. Pretty intense ones for a woman who had never really found any of the men she’d known attractive enough to respond to them as a woman should.
She’d seen Nick only once since the afternoon Heather joined the group two weeks ago. Heather’s aunt Beth had picked her up the other times, but the day Nick came for the teenager, he had asked for a few minutes alone with Amanda again.
He’d looked sexy in jeans and a navy pullover that deepened the gray of his eyes. But it was the look on his face that had prompted her to readily agree.
Sinking into a chair, head down, knees spread, he’d clasped his hands between them. He was silent for a moment, staring at the floor.
“I want to talk about my daughter. I’ve been doing some reading about—” When he stopped suddenly, Amanda realized he was unable to articulate the thought. She wanted desperately to supply the words for him, but bit her tongue to keep from doing so. It was best if he said them himself.
Cautiously he looked up at her, his shoulders tense, his knuckles white, and that piercing silver gaze. It was at that instant—longing to comfort the man before her—that she admitted she had feelings for Nick DiMarco that beyond physical attraction. Maybe it was his willingness to put Heather’s welfare above his fears. Maybe it was his struggle to do the right thing, no matter how difficult. But she was beginning to see the man inside, and liked him every bit as much as the very appealing outer one. That she felt this way about a student’s father was something she’d have to deal with later, but she allowed herself to enjoy it temporarily.
“I’ve been reading about adolescent suicide,” he
finally finished, the words like fingernails scraping a blackboard. He winced. “It’s so prevalent.”
“Thousands teens a year die by their own hand.”
Nick sat back and thrust his hands into his pockets. His eyes were grim. “I think Heather has some of the warning signs.”
“I do, too, Nick.”
“I, ah, talked to her about it. The books said to be careful not to create a conspiracy of silence, I think they called it.”
Realizing he needed some reaction from her, Amanda nodded. “I agree with that theory. What was Heather’s response?”
“She was noncommittal. She seems to have a hard time telling me things, almost like she’s afraid.” Nick rocked his chair back on its back legs and tilted his head toward the wall.
This was the second time fear had come up. Amanda would stake her life on the fact that Nick would never hurt his kids, but a counselor had to be objective and protect the child. It was hard to ask, but she did it, anyway. “Why would she be afraid of you?”
His chair plunked down with a thud and awareness glinted in his eyes, making them steely with accusation. “I thought we were beyond that.”
Amanda’s spine stiffened. She would not apologize for doing her job. “We are. But look at it from my perspective, or better yet, look at it as her father. Wouldn’t you rather that I cover all the bases and not let anything slip by?”
“Yeah, I would.” Some emotion she couldn’t identify warmed his flinty stare. Admiration, maybe? He shook his head. “I hate being prickly with you. I’ll try to keep a better perspective.”
When Amanda smiled her encouragement, Nick rose and began to pace in the small room. “What I really think is that she’s afraid of hurting me. Afraid of worrying me.”
“Afraid of taking up too much of your time.”
Stopping midstride, Nick circled and peered down at her. “My schedule is tight, but I try to be with my daughter as much I can. This degree is important to me. I’ve sacrificed too much to stop now.”
Torn between what she knew Heather needed, and a very real understanding of Nick’s need to succeed, so much like her own, Amanda answered slowly. “All right, let’s not debate this. I think it would be a good idea if you keep trying to get Heather to talk about what’s causing her depression.”
“Should I do anything about her eating?” At Amanda’s quizzical look, he explained how Heather had been picking at her food. Suddenly, Amanda remembered seeing her at lunch a couple of times without anything in front of her. And she never sampled the cookies that were a staple on Amanda’s desk.
“Was she a good eater before?”
Nick’s shrugged. “We don’t eat together a lot, but I don’t think it’s ever been this bad.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. We’ll help her, I promise.”
“I know that. I know you’re good for her and that you make her feel better. But what I don’t understand is why someone like you takes a job like this. You obviously don’t need the money.”
She’d been tempted to brush him off with some cliché, but the intensity of his gaze, and his earlier confession, prompted her to share her reasons. At least some of them. Sighing heavily, she stood, came around the desk to lean on it and jammed her hands into the pockets of her pink woolen skirt. “You’re not the only one who needs to succeed, Nick. I’ve done absolutely nothing useful with my adult life and this job is the first chance I’ve taken to do something worthwhile. Along the way, I get to prove to myself that I can do it.” She looked at him intently for a moment, then went on. “Don’t get me wrong. I care deeply about Heather’s welfare and that of the rest of the kids. But it’s vital to me as a person to do this job well.” She grinned sheepishly at him, then shrugged. “I thought since you’d shared...I would, too.”
Nick had moved from the middle of the room to stand before her. Empathy had darkened his stormy eyes. “Thanks. For helping Heather,” he’d said huskily. “And for telling me this...”
“Amanda!” Craig snapped his fingers to get her attention. “Where are you? The first act is over, and you didn’t even clap.”
Coming back to the present, she looked vaguely at her date and muttered some excuse, enough to pacify him so they could go to the lobby for a drink...where they unfortunately ran into her parents.
“How nice to see you, dear.” Her mother gave her a peck on the cheek.
“Yes, it is.” Her father kissed her briefly. “It’s been days since we’ve heard from you.”
“I didn’t know you two would be here tonight.”
As her father sipped his martini, a flicker of sadness shadowed his face. She’d noticed it once or twice lately and wondered at it. Finally, he said, “How would you know our plans? We talk so little. Really, Amanda, it hurts your mother when you ignore her like this. Is your job more important than your family?”
Amanda looked, really looked, at her father. Classically handsome, he had a full head of silver hair and eyes that were the same color as her own blue ones. But his revealed a smugness she knew hers didn’t possess.
“Amanda, your father asked you a question,” Craig said, placing his hand on her shoulder.
His touch made her shudder. She stared at him blankly for a moment and then shook her head. “Yes, Craig. I heard him.” She turned to Robert. “And yes, Father, this job is important.” She recalled Nick’s words. I know you’re good for her. I know you can help her. His statement wrapped around Amanda like a blanket, shielding her from the chill of her father’s displeasure. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to use the ladies’ room.” Taking her mother by the arm, she suggested, “Why don’t you come with me? We can chat for a few minutes. I really like the way that mauve jacket highlights your complexion.”
As they repaired their makeup in the huge powder room, Amanda saw her mother peer at her in the mirror. Joan’s hair was twisted into an elegant knot that accented her clear sea blue eyes and high cheekbones. At fifty-five, her mother was still a lovely woman.
“That teal color is exquisite on you, dear, but you look tired.”
Amanda glossed her lips, then stared back at her. “Mother, doesn’t his arrogance bother you?”
Joan grasped her Gucci purse tightly but held her daughter’s gaze in the mirror. “Yes, it does. Especially when it’s directed at you.”
“Really? I never knew that.” Amanda had expected denial. Joan’s confession shocked her.
“I’m not surprised.” Taking a deep breath, her mother pushed away from the wall and stepped closer. “Amanda, let’s do something together. What if I helped you with your house? Decorating, perhaps?”
She thought of the sixty-year-old structure she’d bought and the major renovations it required. Slowly, Amanda turned and leaned back against the vanity. “I’d love your help, but the house is still in the remodeling stage. Right now, I need someone who’s handy with a paintbrush, not a fabric swatch.”
Joan raised her eyebrows and angled her chin in a gesture that made her look years younger. “I’ll have you know I painted my dorm room at Vassar, and my first apartment.”
“Honestly? I can’t picture it.”
“I’m afraid there are many things about me that you don’t know.”
“Why is that, Mother?”
“Sometimes, things don’t happen the way you plan. My life took turns I hadn’t expected.” She stared over Amanda’s shoulder.
“You mean Lisa?”
“Partially.” Her mother’s eyes held a wealth of pain. “But I also mean you.”
Impulsively, Amanda reached out and hugged her mother, a real hug, not a polite, formal hello.
Joan hugged her in return. Then, stepping back, she hooked her arm through her daughter’s to lead her out of the powder room. “Now, about that painting...”
As they returned to the foyer, Amanda was struck with a double awareness. Reaching a new plane of communication with her mother gave her a real sense of pleasure and satisfaction. And if that was true f
or her, the need Heather DiMarco must feel to know and understand something about her own mother must be great.
Later, Craig was still grumbling as he walked her to her door. “This is all so unlike you, darling, arguing in public with your father, buying this ramshackle place and insisting on living here while it’s renovated.” He reached up and touched her cheek. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
Annoyed by his petulance, Amanda shrugged off his caress. “Actually, Craig, I’m feeling rather tired right now. I’d like to go to bed, if you don’t mind”
She hadn’t realized her unfortunate choice of words until she saw the masculine glint in his eyes. He grabbed her waist and pulled her to him; he seemed small and thin compared to the sinewy strength of Nick DiMarco’s body. Briefly, she closed her eyes and Craig apparently misinterpreted the gesture. His lips swooped down and took hers like a crane after an ocean fish. Amanda felt the studs of his tux dig into her, and put her hands on his chest and pushed. He ignored the sign of rejection.
“Let me come to bed with you,” he whispered silkily.
Straining to step back, she didn’t try to hide her irritation. “No, Craig. I told you, we’re not—”
Amanda could feel his grip tighten on her shoulders as he interrupted her. “I’m getting tired of this, Amanda.”
In answer, she jerked away from him, crossed her arms defensively and glared at him. She was about to tell him what to do with his exasperation, when he added, “I know you haven’t been yourself in the last year and a half. And I’ve been patient. But I won’t tolerate this much longer. And I’ll certainly expect you to warm up to me after we’re married. Lisa’s dead. Not you.”
When she was a teenager, Amanda had slammed into the concrete side of a house while sledding with her friends. Craig’s gibe hit her with similar force. It took her a moment to realize the full impact. He was halfway down the sidewalk, striding with righteous male indignation in his six-hundred-dollar tux, before she recovered enough to respond. She said into the darkness, “You bastard.”
Next time, she vowed she’d say it to his face.
