by Kathryn Shay
“Hello, Nick.” It was Amanda’s soft voice.
Oh great, DiMarco, now you’re imagining she’s here.
But when he opened his eyes, she stood before him, not a vision, but a very real woman whose flesh made the blood pump double time through his veins.
Sitting up quickly, he smiled. “Mandy, what are you doing here?”
Her eyes flickered with pleasure before she doused it. He’d inadvertently used the nickname that meant so much to her. “I’m meeting someone. I saw you on the phone and wanted to talk a minute.”
“Sure, sit down.” He gestured to the empty chair beside him
Amanda glanced around and shook her head. “No, I can’t. I just wanted to tell you how pleased I am that you’re spending more time with Heather this week. She really appreciates it.” Her voice trembled and Nick’s pulse rate accelerated with the hope that she was as affected by their meeting as he was. He stood up to be closer to her.
She looked so sad, though, he wanted to kiss away the anguish he’d caused. Instead, he jammed his hands into the pockets of his tan corduroy pants. “You were right,” he said hoarsely.
Nodding, she asked, “How did you manage it?”
“Beth, of course. I borrowed some money from her. She doesn’t see it as a loan, though. She says she owes me for helping to pay for her college and graduate school, years ago. She was only too glad to help out.”
“But it still hurts your pride.”
“Yeah, but my pride’s gotten me nowhere in the last few weeks.” He looked meaningfully at her and plunged in. “Listen, I’ve been thinking about what I said the other night. It wasn’t—”
Refusing to let him finish, Amanda shook her head. “No, Nick, it’s okay. I took too much for granted. The relationship was just more important to me because...” She trailed off, her face turning red.
He reached out and grasped her arm gently. “No, no, you’ve got it all wr—”
“Hello, darling.” The smooth male voice interrupted what he was about to confess. It belonged to a blond man who wrapped his arm around Amanda’s waist, drawing her away from Nick. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
What the hell? Nick thought. Then he recognized the guy from the restaurant the night he’d waited on their table.
“Craig,” Amanda said woodenly.
Dressed in an Italian suit like the lawyers at Joris wore, silk shirt and tie, the guy looked from Amanda to Nick with narrowed eyes. He took in Nick’s cords and fisherman-knit sweater with disdain. The man’s gold watch winked in the light as he drew Amanda closer. “I’m Craig Coleman. Amanda’s fiancé.”
The words hit Nick like a bomb exploding mere inches away. To shield himself from the fallout, he backed up a step. He schooled his features to reveal none of his shock or pain. “I’m Nick DiMarco. Ms. Carson is my daughter’s counselor.”
Dismissing Nick with a nod, Coleman let Amanda go. “I’ll just grab the books I need and meet you here. Don’t dawdle, Amanda,” he said with one last glance at the two of them.
Nick clenched his hands into fists to control his anger. When Coleman was out of sight, he pulled Amanda by the arm her into an anteroom that served as a small sitting area. He closed the door for a modicum of privacy.
“What were you doing, just amusing yourself with me? And I was just about to apologize for the other night. God, I’m a fool. I’ve been agonizing over what I said to you for seven days running, wishing I could take it back.” He pivoted and stared at her. “Damn you!”
Amanda’s emotions were careening out of control as she stared at Nick prowling furiously before her. First, she’d been startled by his explosive anger when he pulled her into the private room. But then she’d focused on the rest of his tirade. He cared. Somewhere deep inside herself, she’d suspected he would regret his words the other night. But then he hadn’t called and she’d lost hope. Now, to hear him declare it aloud, even if it was in anger, thrilled her.
“Are you laughing at me?” he asked incredulously.
Amanda realized she must be smiling. She shook her head, the grin remaining in place. “No, Nick, I’m just pleased about what you said.”
By now he was so angry he was practically sputtering. “You’ve got gall, lady.”
She grasped the bulky material of his sleeve. “I hope I do, but I don’t have a fiancé.”
He searched her face, his gray eyes wary. “That’s not what Coleman says.”
“Craig is a pompous, overbearing ass.”
“Nice choice in men.”
Again, Amanda laughed, feeling freer than she’d felt in a long time. On impulse, she ran her hand up the sleeve of Nick’s sweater to lightly stroke his neck. Involuntarily, he leaned into the caress. She reveled in the feminine power she had over him, even though he was still very angry.
“He’s not my choice of men. He’s my parents’ pick. After I broke up with Porter, my father tried to replace him with a clone.” Amanda giggled at her insulting remark. “I’ve refused the engagement all along, but no one listens. See, no ring.” She held up slender fingers and Nick stared unblinkingly at them.
He took her hand, his eyes darkening to the color of stormy skies. “Coleman doesn’t seem to understand that.”
“That’s why I asked to see him tonight. This charade has gone on long enough.”
“Good.” Nick gave her a satisfied grin and caressed her palm. “And I meant what I said, Mandy. I’m sorry for what I told you the other night. I reacted out of disappointment and stupid male pride.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.”
Slowly, Nick raised his hand and slid his fingers into her hair. “Tell me he hasn’t touched you. Not since I have, anyway.”
The breath whooshed out of her at his seductive tone. Every muscle tingled and her lower body went liquid with that unique woman-to-man response. “He hasn’t touched me, Nick.”
She pulled away then, opened the door and took three steps out. But she returned, threw her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely.
“Make sure he understands how things are, tonight.”
“I will.”
o0o
On the tenth anniversary of Suzanne Sullivan’s desertion, Amanda met with Heather for a private counseling session. They sat together in the small office on adjacent chairs. The wind was whipping around outside but the counseling suite was warm and cozy.
The teenager fidgeted with her books, looked around the room and chewed on the end of her pencil. “The group last Friday was heavy. I felt really bad for all the kids.”
Recognizing the delay tactic, Amanda crossed her legs and folded her hands, temporarily allowing the evasion. “Was it upsetting to you?” When Heather nodded, Amanda asked her to elaborate.
“I felt so sorry for Sandi. Her mother doing drugs again so soon.” There was genuine sympathy in the teenager’s voice, no jealousy that at least Sandi had a mother.
Amanda marveled at Heather’s selflessness, yet it was also part of her problem. “You like Sandi, don’t you?”
Flipping through the pages of her spiral notebook, Heather didn’t look at the counselor. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“She likes me. And I know how she feels sometimes. Inside.”
Amanda sat forward, listening as Heather continued to talk.
“I like Matt and Ron, too, but Ron’s joke bothered me.” Heather rose from her chair and walked over to the bookshelf. She fingered several tomes nervously. “Jason would think it was funny, why the cemetery was so crowded because people were dying to get in.”
“But you didn’t?”
“If anybody else told it I would. But not Ron. Every joke he tells is about death. It’s almost as creepy as his coming to school on Halloween as the Grim Reaper.”
Amanda shuddered at the image and hugged herself to ward off the chill. All the seniors dressed up for Halloween and some of the costumes were very imaginative. She could still recall a hooded Ron gliding down th
e hall carrying a scythe, the embodiment of death itself.
Resolutely, she turned the conversation to Heather. “How is today feeling for you?”
Heather blanched. She picked up a book and paged through it, refusing to meet Amanda’s eyes. “Fine. Really, I didn’t mean to make such a big deal out of today.”
“But I think it’s a big deal.” When Heather didn’t respond, Amanda continued, “Wouldn’t it be better to tell me about these feelings you have all bottled up inside?”
Heather’s eyes were anguished but she nodded in agreement. Yet she seemed unable to begin.
“Come and sit down, Heather.” When the girl obeyed, Amanda asked, “How do you know this is the anniversary of the day your mother left?”
Heather stared at her for long tense seconds before she answered. “I told you before, sometimes I listen late at night when Daddy talks with Aunt Beth.” Her face flushed at the confession and she wrung her hands. “You won’t tell him, will you?”
“Of course not,” Amanda assured her. “When did you find all this out?”
“Two years ago.”
Oh, Lord, and you’ve carried it around by yourself all that time. “How does it make you feel?”
Heather waited a moment. Then it was as if a dam burst and the words flooded out. Like a swimmer caught in the current, she was unable to stop the flow. “How could she just do that, just leave Jason when he was a tiny baby? And make Daddy take care of him. Doesn’t she know that someday Jason is going to put this all together and think it’s his fault? Which it isn’t.”
In the course of her outburst, Heather’s words rose in pitch until she was shouting. Her hands trembled and her voice shook. It was the first time she’d shown any reaction but crying.
Scooting forward on her chair, Amanda clasped Heather’s frigid hands between hers and cut right to the quick. “What about you? How were you hurt?”
The girl recoiled and then stared blankly at Amanda with wounded eyes. But she didn’t answer.
“Heather?” Amanda knew she had to hurt in order to heal. “Aren’t you mad at your mother?”
The teenager seemed to go into a trance. Amanda rubbed Heather’s hands for a moment, then let them go and sat back. She’d seen this reaction in the past, when she’d interned at the Teen Crisis Center. The staff had a term for it, the CBS, the “calm before the storm.” So she waited it out. She said nothing, she didn’t move, she barely even breathed.
After a good minute, tears began to course down Heather’s cheeks, color returned to them and her breathing picked up. “All right. Yes, I’m mad at her. I hate her. Why would she do this to us? What kind of woman is she? Why couldn’t she just love us enough to stay? What did I do to make her go?”
Moving off her seat, Amanda crouched before Heather. “Look at me.” When the teenager did, Amanda brushed the pale hair from Heather’s face. “What you’ve said so far is true except that last thing. You didn’t make her go. Your brother may very well blame himself at some point. But he’d be just as wrong as you are to take responsibility for this. There’s only one person responsible here, honey. Your mother, Suzanne Sullivan.”
Heather gripped her hands together, her face chalk white. “Then why did she leave?”
“I don’t know. But maybe you can find out.”
The teenager stilled. “No! I can’t. I can’t ask him. I can’t talk to him about this. Not yet.”
Amanda’s heart caught in her throat at the last two words. Not yet. She breathed a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity was watching over this family. Heather had gone from absolute refusal to postponement. It was a step in the right direction.
Thirty minutes later, when Heather was composed and even animated—a common aftermath of such an important catharsis—Nick knocked on the office door. When Amanda called for him to come in, he entered whistling. His eyes shone brightly and he looked less tired, less stressed than any time she’d seen him in the past.
“Hello, ladies.” He smiled at his daughter and ruffled her hair. When he peered at her closely, he asked, “Are you all right, honey?”
“Yeah, Dad.”
His eyes lingered on Heather, then briefly sought Amanda’s. When she shook her head slightly to indicate he shouldn’t probe further, he nodded. “Ms. Carson. You’re looking well.”
“So are you. Good day?”
“Yep. I studied all morning for my last exam and then I made the DiMarcos’ secret-recipe sauce. I was hoping Heather might want to invite you to sample it tonight.”
Heather’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. Amanda knew she couldn’t decline the invitation, even if she’d wanted to. She glared knowingly at Nick.
You don’t play fair, she said to him silently.
You bet I don’t. Remember that, he answered with his eyes.
o0o
An hour later, Amanda sat at the DiMarco kitchen table across from Heather and Jason. The kids had set it with a red-and-white-checked tablecloth and stuck a candle in a wine bottle. They’d dimmed the lights and dished out the salad. Nick set spaghetti and meatballs in front of her with a cold beer. He was having a one so she asked for the same. His after-shave invaded her senses and his breath was warm on the sensitive skin of her ear as he leaned close. His closeness made her pulse leap. “This looks delicious.”
“What do you call a grumpy cat?” Jason asked, drawing her attention to him.
Nick pulled back from Amanda and said with mock exasperation, “Oh, no, please, Jase. Not again.”
“Last one, Dad, I promise. Well?” The boy impatiently tapped his fork on the table.
Amanda smiled at him “Sourpuss.”
Jason’s impish eyes widened, then crinkled with respect. “Wow, you figured that out all by yourself?”
“Wish I had, kiddo. But one of the guys at school told me.”
As they ate, Heather was unusually talkative, mentioning the basketball game at school that night and a new friend she’d met. Jason was his typical chatterbox self. Amanda enjoyed their company and tried not to think of the sullen meals she and Lisa had endured.
Nick sat next to her, and every time she glanced in his direction, he gave her a meaningful grin, an arched eyebrow and, once, an incredibly sexy wink. By the time the meal was over, Amanda was half-aroused by just his intimate looks.
A timid voice broke her absorption. Heather had begun to clear the table, but poised with her dish in the air, looking hopefully at Nick. “Daddy, could we go to the basketball game at school tonight?”
“What time does it start?”
She glanced at the clock and frowned. “In a half an hour. I guess it’s too late.”
Jason jumped in. “Geez, Dad, Heather never asks for anything. Couldn’t we go?”
Scanning the kitchen that was strewn with pots and pans, he said frowned. “We’ve got to clean up.”
The light went out in Heather’s eyes. Jason’s gaze narrowed on his father. Seeing Nick’s scowl, Amanda intervened. “We could clean up afterward. I’ll come back and help.”
Nick stared at her blankly. She’d forgotten his proclivity to neatness.
But Heather hadn’t. “No, that’s okay. Why don’t you three go on in and play Monopoly and I’ll clean up.” She turned to face Amanda. “The sauce makes too much mess when it stands around. And Daddy doesn’t...” Her voice trailed off.
When Nick glanced briefly at Amanda, she saw pain flicker in his eyes. Then he looked at his daughter, who was trying to mollify everyone, and at his disappointed son. “Daddy doesn’t want anyone to miss out on the game, sweetheart. We’ll put water in the pans and the dishes can wait.”
Both children’s jaws dropped at their father’s uncharacteristic behavior. But Jason rebounded fast and took off for the other room. “Way to go, Dad. Last one ready to leave has to scrub the pots when we get back.”
o0o
They took first-row seats at the basketball game so they could accommodate Jason’s wheelchair on the floor next t
o them. As the players warmed up, Nick could still see the expression in Amanda’s eyes when he’d agreed to come to the game. She’d stared at him with such respect, such admiration, that he’d found himself wanting, no, needing, to keep that look there forever.
Not good, DiMarco.
Trying to shake off the gloomy thought, he turned his attention to the action on the floor. Next to him, he heard Amanda explain the starting jump to Heather and why one basket counted two points and another racked up three.
“How do you know so much about this?” Jason asked her.
Amanda grinned sheepishly and pointed to the floor. “See those girls in the short skirts there?”
“The cheerleaders?”
“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone, but I used to do that.”
Nick glanced down at her legs, which were exposed beneath a knee-length, slim denim skirt. “A sight to behold, I’m sure.” His gaze traveled up her body and his mind flashed to what she might have on underneath the blue striped shirt and navy cardigan.
As if she knew the direction of his thoughts, Amanda blushed. Nick wanted to grab her hand, but he didn’t. He had no rights to Ms. Carson, school counselor.
At halftime, Heather went to get some candy for herself and Jason. Then a group of teenagers paraded past them.
“Hey, Ms. C., nice to see you here,” one good-looking boy called to her.
She smiled warmly at him. “Thanks, Jake. You, too.”
“Ms. Carson, I love your hair like that.” This from a girl with several piercings who whipped by her. “I’ll remember that, Carly.” The pleasure on Amanda’s face was genuine.
Nick sat back and observed the scenarios. This vision of her as a respected, well-liked counselor was in direct opposition to the impression he’d had when they first met. Then, he’d seen her as a debutante. Now, he was ashamed by his blatant stereotyping.
The feeling intensified a few moments later when his daughter came speeding back, breathless. “Ms. Carson, you’ve got to come. It’s Matt. He’s in trouble. He’s gonna fight...”
