Harkham's Case (Harkam's #1) (40 page)

“I do. And I love you. You’ll have sex with me now?” His eyes were hopeful.

“Say I do and give me a ring, and, yes, that’s exactly what will happen,” she said with a humoring chuckle.

He turned back to their parents. “See? You can’t stop this.” His eyes roamed from his dad to her mom. “Ma’am, I’d love to have your blessing, but if not, then I’ll make do without. Do I have your permission to marry your daughter?”

Her mom stiffened. “
Yeeeeesssss
?” She sounded unconvinced and kind of confused.

“Wonderful! Can we use your old wedding ring?” He gave her an expectant look.

“I d-don’t kn—” Her mom’s face twisted, but when she saw Mari glaring at her, she said, “I guess so—yeah.”

“Even better. Dad, can I have your blessing, too?” Adam asked.

“I don’t think so. This is such a train wreck, there’s no way I can condone any of this,” his dad answered.

“Fine. We’ll do it all without you. I’ve got my car—I’ve got some money. I’m going home right now, I’ll pack up and go to school, but I won’t be coming home afterward.” Adam took Mari’s hand and started walking back in the direction of his home.

“Wait . . . Just wait,” his dad said, voice faint.

“Why should I?” Adam kept walking, dragging her along.

“You can stay if you wait until at least the spring before marrying. Get closer to the end of school at least. And if you manage to graduate, I’ll pay for your honeymoon,” his dad offered.

Mari about fell, because the ground had to be shaking—Dustin was bending a little, and that only happened when the world was ending.

Chapter 20

Mari woke to Adam in her bed, his arms around her. It was suffocating at first because she was alarmed, but once his soft breath pelted her neck, she surrendered into the mattress, and into him.

Today they were going to visit Dr. Harkham.

She had some assurances too from his dad that she could stay longer than their original agreement of a week.

That made her feel a little better, but she still intended to avoid that gruff man and get a job.

Rather than wake Adam and remove him from her room, she slipped out of his arms, got fully dressed this time, then padded downstairs to the kitchen.

Samara was singing to herself and making something on the stove.

“Whatcha makin’?” Mari asked, her voice gravelly with sleep.

“French toast . . . Want some?” Samara glanced over her shoulder and smiled.

“Sure. Sounds great.” After she said it, she realized what she’d accepted—food from Dustin’s wallet, rather than her own food she’d purchased. Not a good way to start the day.

“Good morning, ladies,” Dustin’s voice echoed as he stepped into the room.

Mari immediately snapped to attention and shoved herself up against the wall by the table, out of his way.

“Morning, sir,” Mari said, frozen in place, unsure of what else to do.

“Don’t call me that. I’m not a drill Sergeant and not that gray,” he said, chuckling.

He was laughing? Not at her, was he?

Her mouth went dry. What else could she say?

He turned to her. “Sit. We’ll eat together in a minute, but from now on, either call me Dustin or Dusty.”

“Oooo-
kay
,” she whispered to herself and slunk into a chair.

“I’ve talked to your mother some more since I last met her . . . Interesting lady,” he commented as he got himself a cup of coffee.

Had Samara made it for him? Was this how a real family was? They helped each other out without being cajoled or guilted into it?

She watched his every movement, and Samara’s too, with great fascination. How could she find her groove here and fit in?

“Oh no . . . What did she do now?” Mari grumbled.

“She thinks she’s entitled to some kind of custody compensation,” he said, smiling like it was hilarious.

“What? Are you serious? She’s really lost it then,” Mari said, smacking her hand on her leg. Shit. He probably thought this was how Mari was, too—trying to squeeze money out of others people’s wallets for her own personal gain.

“That’s kind of what I was thinking. I said, ‘Listen, lady, you’re not my ex-wife, and she’s not my daughter yet. I don’t owe you anything. Besides, Mari’s eighteen.’ Then I listened to her bitch about how Will, your dad, never paid child support. She seemed to think I was the answer to her back pay. It was quite fun to listen to, even if she was deadly serious and completely out of her mind.” He wore an amused grin.

She hung her head and shook it in tiny motions. Her gut roiled. Suddenly, French toast sounded like eating gravel covered in slime like that day she’d vomited in the Y’s parking lot.

“I explained to her I had three hungry teenage kids I was feeding, and that wasn’t cheap. She snorted—said I was rich and could handle one more, and that you barely ate anything since you’re overly concerned about being a waif. I told her she wasn’t very well informed, because you’d stopped obsessing about your weight. She called me a nasty name, then said I was a liar and hung up. She might try to take you back again and claim this was all my doing. So, here’s your warning.” Dustin stirred in his sugar and then the cream he’d gotten from the fridge.

“Should I leave? Are you saying I’m burdening you with my imbalanced mother?” Mari choked on her words.

Samara slid a plate of food in front of her. Mari gave a brief acknowledgment with a word of gratitude.

If her mother could see what she was about to eat, she’d have a coronary.

This was exactly the food Mari had avoided for over a year. Sugar, white flour, and oh so delectable with its crunchy goodness.

Her stomach snarled, so she cut into it and took a bite. If he kicked her out, at least she’d have a full stomach and be buzzing from sugar.

“It’s up to you if you want to leave or not. I said you could stay, and she knows you’re welcome here now.” He took a seat across from her.

Samara jumped like he had snapped his fingers and set his food in front him in the next blink.

“Thanks,” he said and told her to sit down and join them.

Mari’s throat constricted. The two people in the house that regarded her as a pariah were eating with her. She could barely do that with her dad in that one sad occasion during her last visit, and never with her mom.

Swallowing as they watched her was like pushing cut shards of glass down her throat. It stung. She coughed a little, and Samara jumped up, getting her a glass of orange juice.

Mari swallowed it gratefully and realized this was another food item she had blocked out for months.

It tasted like nectar—juicy salvation. She gulped it down, or started to, until she realized Adam had manners. He’d learned them probably from this man sitting before her now. She slowed it down, wiped her mouth with her hand when she set the drink down.

Samara silently handed her a napkin.

“Now . . .” Dustin began. “We can all be civil, right?”

Mari nodded and sat straighter, partly to get as much distance from him as she could in case he was tricking her, but also because her legs were bouncing and itching to run away.

“Are you really going to let her stay here indefinitely?” Samara asked.

He set his mug down with a heavy thud. “Why? Are you questioning my competency as your father?”

“No, I . . . I just thought if she’s staying for good, you might want to move her to a different room. She’s got that adjoining bathroom to Adam’s room. Why do you think he was so excited to have her in there? And why do you think he didn’t sleep in his bed last night?”

“We didn’t have sex.” Adam’s voice carried from behind them. He dragged himself in, yawned and stretched. “She didn’t even realize I was there until she woke up this morning. And then I think she ran away. I didn’t like that part much.” He scratched his chest.

“Yes, a room move is a good idea,” Dustin said and swung around to look at his son. “I’ll let you keep your room, but she’s trading with Zach. No more of this midnight sneaking into her bed.”

“Why? She won’t let me really
sleep
with her, so what’s the problem?” Adam’s voice was testy. “She’s really good at sticking to rules, just like she was with eating healthy food.”

“Doesn’t mean she won’t change her mind,” his dad said.

Mari was lacking any kind of coherent response, because he was probably right.

“Fine, but I want to be here for all meals. If she’s at the table, then I want to be here, too. I have to hear what you guys are saying to her.” Adam grabbed himself a plate and filled it with three slices of French toast, slathered them with butter and some special sugar-free syrup, then was at her side.

It did not escape Mari’s notice that Samara hadn’t served her brother.

Would Mari ever understand how this family functioned?

They ate in silence for the next few minutes. Was she the only one that felt guilty for eating her breakfast with regular syrup while Adam had to settle for artificial stuff? How was that okay? And artificial sweeteners had their own impact on health as well.

Mari had always told herself she’d rather die from being fat than from tumors due to artificial sweeteners. Plus, real sugar tasted so much better and didn’t have that nasty aftertaste she abhorred.

When Dustin’s plate was empty, he said, “You two.” He motioned to Mari and Adam. “Come home straight after school today. No hanging out or anything like that. We’re seeing Dr. Harkham today. And don’t you forget, Son, we moved here specifically to be closer to her. When she moved her practice here, we followed. It’s the real reason we’re here in this broiling oven called Phoenix.” He frowned, stood up and towered over them for a second. When he was done making Mari feel petrified, he put his cup and plate in the dishwasher and left.

“Goodbye, Dusty.” Mari tried it on. Didn’t quite feel right. In fact, it felt so far removed from right, it felt almost terrifying.

It fit worse than her mother’s ring she still couldn’t get off—tight and uncomfortable.

“You can call him Dad. That’s what he’ll be when we get married,” Adam suggested.

“Yeah, I’ll do that when I want him to nail a dead rodent to my forehead for being a piece of gutter-trash.” Mari nudged him with her leg. “Give me a hug?”

“I
thought
you needed one,” he said and swallowed her frame up in his much bigger, much more comforting one.

They left for school with her clinging to him, holding his hand like she would die without it.

It was going to be a long day . . . Thank God she had
him
.

* * *

Dr. Harkham looked at Mari like she was waiting for her to say something.

“Is it okay that I’m here, Dr. Harkham?” Mari asked, settling her clasped hands in her lap. She smiled to herself. Reminded her of the first day in class when Samara told him to hold his own hand. Oddly, it
was
comforting. There was something to the simple little act.

“It’s not up to me who Adam brings to his visits. He gets to decide,” Harkham replied. She set her glasses aside. “But before we really begin, I want you to call me Amelia instead of Dr. It sounds so impersonal, and even Adam, with all his flawless manners, doesn’t call me that.”

Mari made a face. “Really?” She couldn’t imagine him being that informal. “Okay . . . Sure, I can call you that.” Why not? She was already calling Adam’s father Dusty. Ick! Still made her wiggle with discomfort.

“Great. Do you mind if I explain a few things to you before we get started?” Amelia asked.

An unsettled feeling shifted through Mari. “This sounds like the beginnings of an interrogation. Does this mean you’re going to share everything I say with his father?” She tightened her fingers together as her stomach churned a little.

“Everything’s confidential. I’ll only share it with Adam if you give me the okay, but his father doesn’t have to know anything we talk about, regardless of how I feel about him.” Amelia cleared her throat.

What
did she say? Sounded like Amelia was interested in Adam’s dad. “I’m sorry, but,
how you feel about him
? What does that mean?” Mari shifted in her seat.

“I’ve known Dustin for years, and we’ve been good friends. I’ve helped him with his son as a direct favor to him. My specialty didn’t used to be autistic kids, but has shifted in that direction because of my work with Adam,” Amelia explained. She fingered the rim of her glasses and stared at them wistfully. “Dustin’s a great man—a man I greatly respect. His wife was a good friend, too. I have to say I wasn’t sorry to see her go, though . . .”

Mari could see clearly now this woman had a secret crush on Adam’s father, but it was fine. It had no bearing on what she had done with Adam.

“I was told he’s not autistic, though.” Mari scrunched her brow. Had she been misinformed?

“He’s not. But there are some similarities. I had a good practice going here, working with children with brain injuries. Dustin thought maybe Adam had been damaged during his infancy by his father.” Mari covered her mouth, and her breathing stopped. Amelia’s eyes were soft as she continued, “Relax. That’s not what happened. We even ruled out trauma during his birth. His brain’s fine—no injuries whatsoever, but I was already invested. I’d never heard or seen anything like this young child. I was baffled, and after I published a few papers of my findings on him, well, word spread, and I was quickly one of the top specialists with autism. I’ve had three other cases similar to Adam’s come to me, but none of them were as fascinating as Adam.”