Blame it on Cupid (34 page)

How had he not seen that before?

“Um, Jack? Are we done with this conversation?”

The hell they were, he thought. Only right then, he couldn't get a single word to come out of his mouth. Not that made any sense.

“Okay,” Merry said suddenly. Her hand print disappeared from the window. She turned around completely, so her back was to him. “I understand what's going on here,” she said quietly. “It was about the other night. When you couldn't answer the question about whether you trusted me—”

“Merry—” Finally, he found his voice, only to have her swiftly, immediately interrupt him.

“It's all right. I put you on the spot, and I'm sorry. There's no reason you should trust me, Jack. We've been having an unexpected little…fling. It's been warm and fun, lots of affection involved, some need, some chemistry. But it's not as if we were in over our heads, right? You didn't think I was taking it seriously, did you?”

He cleared his throat, tried, “Merry, I really didn't—”

He heard a short, soft bubble of a laugh. “I'm the original free bird. I never wanted to be nailed down—to anything or anyone. Ever. So if you were even remotely worried about that kind of thing, put your mind at rest. And right now—just go take care of Coop, okay?”

She clicked off the phone and flicked off the lamp.

He clicked off his phone, too. But he stood there longer, staring across the yard at her dark window, because she hadn't moved. She was still sitting there, her back to him, motionless.

And he thought, for God's sake, why the Sam Hill do I have the feeling that I hurt her
again?
When it was her darn fault for not giving me the chance to talk to begin with?

But Jack knew, gut deep, that it was damn well time he opened his mouth and found the right words to say to Merry. Fast.

Or he'd lose her before he even had a chance to win her.

W
HEN A WOMAN
'
S LIFE
was falling apart, when people who mattered to her were troubled, when nothing had gone right for four solid days and she was exhausted, don't you think fate could kick in a little break? Just one? Just a little one?

When the doorbell rang midmorning on Monday and Merry saw June Innes on the doorstep, she opened the door with a smile, but what she wanted to do was crawl under a chair and cry.

“I believe I told you that I would be making impromptu visits.”

“Yes, I know you did,” Merry said cheerfully and stepped aside so the guardian
ad litem
could come in. Mrs. Innes's expression rivaled the friendliness of a Gila monster. She was wearing a skirt in a scaly green, a polyester blouse with a pointy collar, and her hair was curled so tight it could have auditioned as springs.

On the other hand, Merry realized she was hardly in a position to criticize. Her hair was in straggly pigtails, her feet bare, and her old tee and jeans were covered in paint. Pink paint. In fact, the open can and brush were still dripping in the back room, undoubtedly starting to dry out. “I apologize for all the messes. After Charlie left for school this morning, I started painting in the spare room—”

“Yes. Whatever. I'm here because I've been hearing a number of disturbing things that I feel we should discuss.”

“Oh? Charlie's doing great in school. Would you like some coffee? Or tea?”

Mrs. Innes wanted tea. With milk. And she was one of those bag dunkers…the kind who dunked and dunked and dunked the bag, instead of just letting the darn thing stew in the hot water.

The kitchen had breakfast dishes heaped in the sink, a dishwasher still loaded up, and a floor that wasn't going to win prizes for sterility—all of which Mrs. Innes made a point of noticing.

Merry had no doubt the situation was going to get worse.

A few days before—in fact, all her life—she'd been an incurable optimist who could find the bright side in a tornado cloud. But these last days, well…Charlene had wakened Saturday morning with a toothache. Finding a dentist on the weekend was a pistol, particularly as Charlene didn't like her dentist and only wanted to go to a dentist who was into “no pain.” Fine. Merry had asked half the neighborhood before identifying a name, then got lost driving there—which was nothing compared to how lost she'd gotten coming home. By the time they'd gotten back home, Charlene was sick to her stomach and Merry found two messages from Jack. He was driving the boys back to his ex-wife's, would catch up with her when they could.

It was like that. Phone tag. One crisis after another. Naturally she expected Jack needed some private dad time with Cooper, and that took precedence over anything else. But in the meantime, she was worried about both Cooper and Charlene, and she hadn't slept in an unknown number of nights because of Jack.

That was the Jack who didn't trust her. The Jack who appeared to definitely not want any type of serious relationship, since he contradicted her when she'd tried to tactfully bring it up. And Merry had already told herself, several dozen times, that she'd never believed they had a future together. Her own mother had indelibly ingrained the lesson that she didn't matter enough for people to stay—or specifically, for people to love her enough to stay.

So she didn't expect permanence from anyone, and certainly shouldn't have from a guy she'd probably never have met if they hadn't chanced on living next door to each other. All night, two nights in row, she'd told herself that only an idiot would build a few rolls in the hay and sympathetico conversations into the potential for a lifelong deal. She wasn't an idiot. She was just the kind of person who always did things five hundred percent.

And then paid the price for it.

“I'll be making a formal report to the judge this Friday.” June dunked the tea bag a few more times. “As I believe you were informed from the start, you're in a probationary position as guardian. Whether Mr. Ross established you as his choice of guardian or not, the welfare of the child is the court's final responsibility, especially in circumstances as unusual as this.”

“I understand that.” Merry had poured coffee for herself, but she hadn't taken a sip, couldn't imagine her stomach tolerating anything right now. She was trying to sit across from Mrs. Innes and act as if everything was okay. But it wasn't okay. In fact, darn well nothing was okay.

Not only were dirty dishes heaped in the sink, but laundry was visibly piled on the laundry floor, and the massive canvasses of finger painting draped all the walls instead of Charlie's famous nouveau art. And cripes, none of that stuff mattered. But June Innes's expression did.

Merry felt as fidgety as a child called into the principal's office. She wasn't afraid of June. The woman just always made her feel as if she were absolutely alone, with no one between her and a rotten black abyss.

“Since you made this extra visit,” she said, “I assume you want to tell me what you plan to advise the judge.”

“Yes. But first let me ask
you,
how you would evaluate how the child is doing.”

Merry sensed a trap, but still felt that honesty was the only way to answer the question. “Charlene isn't a run-of-the-mill kid. I don't think any child is. But Charl is…so special. She's ultra-bright, but she's also more self-contained than most other kids. I think overall, her dad's love gave her an incredibly sound foundation, but right now…”

“Right now?” Mrs. Innes pressed.

“Right now, she's doing fine—on the surface. Her grades are terrific. She's become involved with a variety of interests outside school as well. Sports, hobbies, friends. But—” Merry hesitated, thinking maybe she didn't have to be
totally
honest…. Yet to be less just didn't seem right. “I don't believe she's really dealt with her dad's death. She's not the kind of person to easily show emotional feelings, heaven knows, not like me. But I think there's a pocket of hurt deep inside her that she just isn't ready to let up for air yet.”

June couldn't have sat up straighter if there was a spear sticking up her behind. “I believe I instructed you several times to take her to a grief counselor.”

“I understood that you were advising that. Not forcing it. And I wasn't against the idea, Mrs. Innes, but Charlene was.”

Ms. Innes took out a pencil, started thrumming it on the table. “She's the child. You're supposed to be the one who decides what she does and doesn't do. She's in no position to know what she needs.”

“To a point I agree with you. But to a point I don't. She's not a baby. She's been raised very independently and has very definite ideas about what she wants and needs—”

“And you'd know this because you raised so many children yourself?” Without giving her a chance to respond, June continued. “The school claims she's still running around in those outlandish clothes. Her father's clothes. Men's clothes.”

“She is. Some of the time.”

“And she's still wearing her hair in that mannish style—”

“Most of the time. Not always—”

“Yet you still haven't taken her to a counselor. And you're still letting her call herself a boy's name.”

“Charlie was her dad's name. The clothes were her dad's clothes. It's not the same thing as a gender issue. It's about her father—”

Mrs. Innes sighed. “You said that before, but you seem to think it's an acceptable excuse. She's doing some very unhealthy, abnormal things.”

“Wait a minute. Please.” Merry's stomach started churning acid. “I don't know what your definition of ‘normal' is. But I'm aware Charlene isn't necessarily doing ‘standard' things, but she's not a standard kid. I've been trying to listen to her. To her heart. To her feelings. To respond to what she seems to need—”

“And that sounds very nice,” Mrs. Innes said flatly. “But I had questions about your judgment before this. It's not just her hair and appearance. It's not just the lack of grief counseling. But her father seemed to have chosen such a completely inappropriate person to parent his daughter. You're young and single, so you're bound to get involved with someone and shake up her life all over again. You presume to make decisions when you have absolutely no parenting experience or psychology or experience with children. And when I contacted the school—I was told, well, for one thing, there were rumors about your having a pajama party that included boys.”

“I was right here. In fact, so was a neighbor. All night. There wasn't a minute that wasn't supervised. I just—”

“Furthermore,” Mrs. Innes continued, as if she hadn't spoken at all, “I was informed that you not only
allowed
the child to skip school on Friday, but that you encouraged her. Even that you were frank with the school office about what you were doing.”

“Wait. Could you just wait for one second? You're absolutely right that I told the school what I was doing. I had no reason to lie. I was taking her to the Smithsonian. It was an educational day. She probably got more out of it than she possibly could in regular classes—”

“You still took her out of school.”

“Because I thought she needed something special. Because I keep trying to find ways to bond with her, to build trust.” Merry wanted to go on, but darn it, she felt a brisk stab of guilt. She could defend taking Charl to the Smithsonian forever and a day, but truthfully, she'd originally thought up the outing to help Cooper. And Mrs. Innes didn't have to sense weakness to pounce.

“You think you build trust with a child by breaking the rules? By having her see that an authority figure in her life just arbitrarily ignores the rules? And that
is
the problem, Ms. Olson. You're not an authority figure. You don't appear to have any desire to be in that role, yet a child of that age needs exactly that.” Ms. Innes stood up and plucked her purse straps to her shoulder. “I'm not trying to be unkind.”

Yeah? That was like saying Attila the Hun didn't mean to rape and pillage.

Merry, flushed and shaken, said, “June, I
love her.
”

“That's very nice. And important. But it's not a magic qualification for being an appropriate guardian.”

“I understand that.” Merry stood up, too, feeling more desperate by the second. “But I think loving her should matter. I can't think of anything I wouldn't do for her. And I've tried to make up for my inexperience with kids by reading a ton…books on grief, on preteens, on only children. On kids who are especially bright. On—”

Mrs. Innes nodded tiredly. “That reading is very good, too, but books are simply no substitute for experience. Or judgment.” She pursed her lips. “I've seen for myself that you're a very nice woman. Pretty. Lots of fun for a young person to be with. But as far as your capacity to provide direction and guidance, to prepare a child for the future, to establish an environment of security…”

Although Mrs. Innes didn't shudder, her opinion on those subjects was clear. As she marched toward the door, she said again, “I am sincerely not trying to be mean. But when I make my report to the judge, I felt it was only fair that you knew ahead where I stood. I believe someone else would be a more appropriate guardian for Charlene.”

Once Merry let her out, she sank against the closed door, feeling as paralyzed as a cornered mouse, helpless and frustrated.

They were going to try to take away Charlie?

Her eyes squeezed closed. There was no question that some of June Innes's arrows had hit the target. Hadn't she felt inadequate in this guardian job from the beginning?
Wasn't
she inadequate compared to a bona fide experienced mother?

Her heart whispered a
yes,
because damn it, a heart had to be honest.

Yet an image leaked into her mind of June Innes—or someone like June Innes becoming Charlene's guardian. Someone stiff. Someone who had all the answers. All
their
answers. Not Charlene's.

It was what Charlie Ross had feared all those years ago—that no one would give a damn about his daughter. No one would love her for herself.

But Merry did.

She simply couldn't desert or abandon Charlene to the system—not without a fight. A real fight. A fight to win, whatever it took.

That thought led to another…

Jack.

She may have realized she loved him. But so far she'd run from any kind of painful confrontation with him. It hadn't seemed that way…just the way it never seemed, all her life, that she always had a good excuse for moving on, rather than call a spade a spade. Running away was running away.

To win anything she needed in her life—anything she wanted—anything she loved…she had to quit running. Not talk about it. Do it.

 

T
HE TELEPHONE CALL CAME
two minutes after Merry had immersed herself in butter-almond bubbles in the bathtub. She couldn't believe it. She was so tired she could barely think. The day had been nonstop, involving painting and then calls to Lee and then more calls to Lee, then dinner and trying to clean up and carpooling Charlene to the library…she just wanted a good long mindless soak.