Broken Angels (17 page)

She took the elevator to the second floor, where a receptionist directed her to a closed office. A swarm of butterflies battered her ribs as she knocked. The door immediately swung open, and a tall woman with cat-green eyes and a short crop of black hair filled the doorway. She wore a T-shirt with the camp’s name and logo, a pair of gym pants, and an expression that could freeze the sun. Inside, Noah sulked in a chair beside a boy with an impressive bruise beneath his right eye.

“As you can see,” the woman said, indicating the injured boy, “we have a serious problem. This type of behavior will not be tolerated.”

“Hello to you, too,” Rebecca replied flippantly, then instantly regretted it upon seeing the dark scowl that twisted the woman’s features.

“Do you think this is funny? You are this boy’s guardian, are you not?”

“Yes, to the second question. No, to the first. I’m Rebecca James.” She extended her hand.

The woman ignored her and continued her tirade. “I run a peaceful establishment here. That’s why people entrust their children to me. I can’t have campers going around punching other campers. It just isn’t acceptable.”

“We’ve already established that,” Rebecca said. She’d never liked getting lectured. The counselor’s self-righteous tone made irritation flare in her veins and awakened all her protective instincts. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a moment to hear Noah’s explanation.”

Noah’s eyes flashed to hers, and she could’ve sworn she saw a flicker of gratitude pierce through the misery.

“So you condone this behavior?” Whatever veneer of civility the counselor struggled to maintain cracked.

“I never said that. I just want to hear what happened. Did you even bother asking him?”

“Several times,” the woman informed her frostily. “He refuses to speak.”

Rebecca looked pointedly at her nephew. “Noah?”

He shrugged, shot a nervous glance at his counselor. “He was picking on my sister.”

The injured boy stuck out his lower lip in an impressive pout. “Not true,” he cried.

“He called her a baby,” Noah insisted. His voice resonated with a surprising measure of steel for someone so young. “He even shoved her a couple of times, made her cry. I told him to stop, but he just laughed at me and shoved me, too, so I punched him.”

“He’s lying,” the other boy yelled. “I didn’t shove nobody.”

“It’s okay,” the counselor soothed him. “I believe you.”

A black cloud of fury rolled across Noah’s face. He opened his mouth to speak, but Rebecca silenced him with a quelling look.

“Why don’t we get Kristen in here?” she told the counselor. “Perhaps she can shed some light on the situation.”

“She will only side with her brother.”

“The way you’re siding with your son?” Noah challenged.

Shock and indignation rushed through Rebecca. “This boy is your son?” she asked.

The counselor tangled her arms across her chest and sat at the corner of the desk. “As a matter of fact, he is.”

“That strikes me as a conflict of interest.”

“No shit.” Noah interjected.

“Noah!” The boy was not helping his case. She turned her attention back to the counselor. “How is this allowed?”

“Are you questioning my judgment, Mrs. James?”

“It’s Ms. James, and I most definitely am. Your son is sitting here with a black eye. How can you possibly be objective?”

The woman looked as if she was about to explode. Her cheeks turned a frightful shade of tomato red. “I’ve had enough of this. No wonder the boy is such a problem case. With this kind of over-indulgence—”

Rebecca reined in her temper. “Can I speak with you in private please?”

She waited till both boys were shepherded out into the corridor before letting the counselor have it. “Over-indulgence?” she repeated. “Do you not know that that boy just lost his parents? Are you completely heartless? How is he over-indulged?”

“And do you not know that by defending a child’s actions you unwittingly give him permission to continue the bad behavior?”

“The way you just did with your son?”

The counselor’s eyes widened with disbelief. “Get out of my office,” she spat. “You are a detriment to those children. You should be reported.”

“I think you’ve got it wrong,” Rebecca voiced calmly. “The only person here who should be reported is you.” With that, she spun on her heels, opened the door and clumsily wheeled out the stroller, where Will lay, thankfully still asleep. “Noah, get your sister,” she commanded. “We’re going home.”

For once, the boy happily complied. The counselor tore out of the office, grabbed her son by the hand and escorted him back to the gym, where a handful of campers were engaged in a soccer game. Through the window Rebecca saw Noah zero in on his sister and whisper something to her. Kristen dutifully followed her brother as a dozen or so heads swiveled curiously in their direction.

“Is Noah in trouble?” Kristen asked the second she saw Rebecca.

“I’m not sure.” Rebecca shot an assessing stare Noah’s way.

“He was only defending me,” Kristen quickly corroborated her brother’s story. “That boy was being mean to me.”

“Did you tell the counselor?” she asked her.

“Yes, but she didn’t do anything, so Noah punched him to make him stop.”

As upset as she was by this whole wretched situation, Rebecca couldn’t help but experience a swell of warmth at Noah’s protective nature toward his sister. He could call her a million names, push her around till judgment day, but woe befall anyone else who dared pick on her. Siblings were funny creatures. She had none herself and couldn’t quite understand the dynamic that existed between these two.

“Still, fighting is wrong,” she told Noah. “No matter the reason.”

“You didn’t seem to think so this morning,” he threw back at her without a thread of remorse.

Whatever patience she had left began to wane. “Is that what all this is about? You’re getting even with your uncle and me for losing our tempers? We made a mistake. That doesn’t mean you need to go out there and repeat it the first chance you get.”

“I wasn’t. I told you the jerk picked on Kristen.”

Rebecca tamped down her frustration. She realized she was getting nowhere. “Come on,” she told them. “Let’s get out of here before they kick us out again.”

Minutes later everyone was strapped safely into her Camry. An unnatural silence filled the metal shell of her car as she drove home. She glanced in the rearview mirror to see Noah staring pensively out the window as the highway streaked by. The blistering sorrow she caught in his eyes made a slow burn spread inside her.

She couldn’t find it in her heart to scold him, and yet she knew she had to try. “I know you’re having a tough time with all this.” His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. “We all are. But we have to make an effort to get along with each other and the people around us. Lashing out isn’t going to do anyone any good.”

His expression was mutinous. “Why not? I’m sick of rules. Someone can hit my sister, but I can’t hit back. Someone can shoot my parents and get away with it, but I can’t give that little creep a black eye. Rules suck. Nothing’s fair.”

Kristen began to sniffle. Will stirred in his car seat.

“You’re right,” Rebecca answered. “Life’s not fair. And most of the time, it does suck. But you have to learn to rise above it. Because every bad thing that happens to you makes you stronger—wiser—so that when happiness finally does come your way, you’ll recognize it. And if you’re smart, you’ll grab it with all your might and never let go.”

“The way you did?”

The question threw her. For a second she forgot she was talking to a nine-year-old. An old sadness overtook her, drowned her in a sea of regret. “I never said I was smart.”

Maybe Zach had been right all along. Maybe she really had thrown away her chance at happiness by dwelling on the unfair hand she’d been dealt. Right now she saw herself clearly in Noah’s sizzling stare, heard her own bitterness in the resentment that bubbled in his voice.

It wasn’t too late for him, she reassured herself. She could still help him.

If only she could figure out how.

Chapter Sixteen

When Zach finally got out of Ad Edge, the day had grown gray and drab. Humidity hung heavy in the air and the wind carried a hint of fog. Still, he felt more energized than he had in weeks. In the cutthroat world of advertising, where adrenaline washed over him in buckets and the pace never slowed, he was in his element. He knew just what to do, just what to say. He could handle any crisis without shedding a single drop of sweat.

At home he was a different person—edgy, unsure how to act, constantly struggling to keep it together. He didn’t like the loss of control or the jumble of emotions he was experiencing. It was so much easier to have a bunch of executives counting on him than it was to have children. Children expected you to be a better person, to rise above your weaknesses, to be wise and strong and well-rounded. Each mistake you made could impact their lives, their future. The pressure was tremendous, as was the desire to do right by them. It seemed the more he struggled to be the person they looked up to, the more he messed up.

Then there was Becca, who just last week hadn’t been able to hear the word
children
without panicking. And yet the kids seemed to have bonded with her on sight. Well, at least Kristen and Will had. Noah was a much tougher nut to crack. Becca somehow understood them. She felt their pain and—unlike him—instinctively knew what they needed. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was trying too hard.

As he drove up to the house, dread rolled through him. The weight of his responsibility crushed him. Still, he mounted the steps and turned the key, surprisingly anxious to see his family.

His family.

The words sounded odd, but unexpectedly comforting. Familiar sounds greeted him. The dog barked and nearly ran him over. Will fussed from somewhere in the living room as a cartoon blared in the background. In the kitchen, pots and pans clanged beneath the rush of water.

A delicious aroma wafted toward him, and he removed his shoes and followed it to the kitchen, where Becca stood washing the dishes. The sight of her was so domestic it cut him off at the knees. He remembered a time when he would have crept up behind her, wrapped his arms around her middle and brushed a kiss on the side of her neck. He fought the overwhelming urge to do just that, even as a part of his brain wondered why he bothered. Maybe he should just give in, try to make it work with Becca again. Things could be different this time. There came a point in every guy’s life when he just had to swallow his doubts and take the plunge. Problem was, he wasn’t sure he could swim, and if he failed to tread water then he risked drowning them both.

She sensed his presence. He could tell by the way she angled her head, right before she shut off the faucet.

“How was work?”

It took him a second to focus on her question. “One of my clients threw a tantrum. Apparently, the campaign turned out all wrong. They needed me to help pacify him.”

“So you were babysitting again?”

“You could put it that way.”

She turned around to face him. Her hair fell in uneven strands across her forehead to brush her skin like threads of silk. She grabbed a dish towel and nervously wiped her hands. “I made lasagna. I kept a plate warm for you in the oven.”

“Thanks.” He walked over to the stove and opened the oven door, retrieving his dinner. “How were things around here?”

She hesitated, and alarm inched into his bones. The guilty look on her face set his teeth on edge.

“Becca?” he said in his most probing tone.

“I had to pull the kids out of summer camp,” she confessed in a wild rush.

He closed his eyes and bit back an oath. “What did you do?”

Indignation flitted across her features. “Why do you automatically assume it was my fault?”

“Because I’ve known you from the time you wore a training bra.” He placed the plate of lasagna on the table, then dropped into a chair. “Spill it.”

Her fingers wrung the dishrag until soft spirals distorted the checkered fabric. “Noah got into a fight. He gave one of the other campers a black eye.”

He shook his head, exasperated. “You know, the saddest part is that I’m not the least bit surprised. That kid’s been itching for a fight for weeks. What was his excuse?”

Becca joined him at the table. “He said the boy picked on Kristen, then shoved him.”

“Why didn’t he just tell the counselor?” He dug into his meal, though he wasn’t sure why. His appetite was slowly dwindling.

“Kristen did, but the counselor ignored her. It turns out she’s the boy’s mother.”

Zach paused, the fork halfway to his mouth. “Is that allowed?”

“That’s what I asked her. She didn’t seem to appreciate the question.”

“So you had it out with her.” He let the fork drop back into his plate without taking a bite.

“I didn’t have a choice. She was being totally biased. It wasn’t fair to Noah…or to Kristen for that matter.”

Rubbing his throbbing temples, he stood and walked to the window, where a sprinkle of raindrops battered the glass. “You can’t pull them out of their activities every time something goes wrong. There’s bound to be trouble, particularly with Noah. What happens when they start school in September? Are you going to decide to home school them at the first sign of trouble?”

“What would you have me do?” She pitched the towel aside, not attempting to mask her frustration. “Send those kids back there after what happened? You didn’t see the shiner on that boy, Zach. Do you think the instructor will ever forgive Noah for that?”

He sighed. Defeat tugged at his shoulders. “No, I suppose not. But how the hell are we going to keep them entertained for the rest of the summer?”

She smiled a wobbly smile. “We’ll figure something out.”

“We better, or they’ll have us for breakfast.”

Becca’s laughter filled the small kitchen. It was warm and heartfelt, as smooth as honey and just as sweet. The tension gripping him seeped away, and he returned to his seat to finish his dinner.

“I almost forgot—that lawyer called.”