Package Deal (8 page)

Stricken by a pang of resentment, she grabbed the wine glass and hurled it at the kitchen counter. It shattered into a dozen pieces.

“Who the hell is Gary Benson?”

A feeling of déjà vu enveloped her, smothering any hope she’d dared to let in.

Chapter Nine

K
elly woke up, her bad mood diluted by a good night’s rest. She participated in her new morning ritual of sweet coffee, sand between her toes and some wave worship before heading to work. She was working long hours, trying to get ahead on the job but worried there wouldn’t be enough hours in the next week to get everything done.

She’d finished a small story about the orange growers polluting the ground water with fertilizers and had planned to take an early lunch in order to transfer the utilities for the rental house into her name. She glanced at the clock. Eight fifteen in the morning, San Francisco time. A low growl escaped her lips. She drummed her fingers on the desk and frowned so hard her forehead hurt. Her jerk attorney had never called back yesterday. She picked up the telephone and dialed his number.

His receptionist apologized, although, when she finally reached
him
, he didn’t.

“The court date has been set,” he said, his tone slick and artificial as Naugahyde. “Did you know your ex-husband is threatening to counter sue?”

“No, but it doesn’t surprise me,” Kelly responded with resignation. “You’ve just made my day.”

“Ms. Pearson, your ex-husband is clearly in default here. He has no case against you, and honestly, until I hear back from his lawyer, I can’t imagine why they would bother.”

“Because Ken Pearson is a self-centered Neanderthal.” Kelly wadded up a piece of paper, wishing it were Ken’s face, and tossed it in the trash.

She remembered why she’d married Ken. He had been her first date and first love. Intense and passionate, he had an eye on his future,
their future
she thought. When they married, she had committed all her youthful idealism to the relationship, loving Ken completely, selflessly.

Working full-
time while he attended University had been hard on the relationship, but she’d told herself things would change after he graduated and found a job. It hadn’t. Instead, Ken had grown more and more selfish, criticizing her often and finding frequent excuses to be away from home. Toward the end, he was never home. She’d given him everything, and he’d taken it all. After his graduation, before she realized she was pregnant, he left her. The marriage had gradually deteriorated and scarred her soul. She’d been so in love. Blind love. She’d always been told eyesight went at forty, but hers had gone at sixteen.

“I wouldn’t worry.” Her attorney yanked her thoughts back to the present. “You’re acting well within your rights. You haven’t asked for anything you and your daughter don’t deserve. You’re being completely fair, and trust me, I’ve seen worse.”

Kelly had a thing about being fair. It kept her conscience clean. She didn’t want her legal action against Ken mistaken for revenge.

“We’re only asking for an increase of five hundred dollars a month and, of course, all payments in arrears,” her lawyer explained. “According to your ex-husband’s income statement, you should easily be able to get another thousand plus full reimbursement for his education costs. You’re actually being quite conservative, Ms. Pearson.”

“So, you don’t see any problems?” She scribbled the court time and date on her calendar.

“No. The courts are getting tough with these guys who don’t pay their child support. If he doesn’t settle out of court, he’ll regret it later. If I were you, I would reconsider asking for reimbursement of his college costs. He
did
leave you right after graduating. We’ll try to convince the judge his actions were premeditated…a sort of uh…usury, or something like that,” he stammered.

Usury?
Jeez, the guy had no idea what he was talking about. She wondered if he even had a degree, or a license to practice law.

“Honestly, Ms. Pearson, I can’t see anything your ex-husband could do or say to sway the court to sympathize with him. Your case is air tight.”

Of course it is. That’s why you took the case in the first place.
She
hung up, hoping he was bright enough to ask one of the experienced partners at his firm what
usury
meant before he bandied it around the courtroom.

She heaved a sigh of resignation. The whole business soured her. He’d better be right about her winning. Still, she couldn’t help feeling as if a pack of jackals waited in the brush to clean up. Suing made her feel predatory, despite her unshakable conviction that Ken should be forced to carry out his responsibility for Lacy. The fact was she resented Ken for forcing
her
into taking legal action as much as she resented him for abandoning his daughter.

Ready to leave and run her errands, she grabbed her purse, but Ted Willis stopped her on the way out.

“Hold it, Miss Pearson. I’ve got a job for you. I need you to run down to the space center at Cape Canaveral. An EPA representative is speaking about
an important study analyzing the environmental impact of the launches. You know—the effect on wildlife, native grasses, and respiratory conditions. Krissy Fallon, the
gal who usually covers the Kennedy Space Center, is on vacation, and
we need representation.
”

Kelly let out a sigh.
God, am I ever going to get a break?
“Isn’t there someone else you could send? I’ve got so much to do before I leave Friday.”

Willis’ leathery features twisted into a snarl. “No, actually there’s no one else. So, if you want to keep this job, I suggest you stop complaining and head for the space center.”

Quick lesson learned—not a good idea to butt heads with the boss during your first few weeks on the job. “Yes, sir. Of course, I want to keep my job. It’s just…never mind. I’m sorry I brought it up. Consider me gone, on my way,” she babbled on her way out the door.

With time to spare, Kelly stopped at the electric company and changed the bill over into her name. The telephone could wait until she returned from San Francisco. With thoughts of the little house buzzing around in her mind, she took I-95 south, knowing it would be faster than taking the beach highway. She was glad Steve had left town and wouldn’t be at the Kennedy Space Center. Guilt over her outburst the previous night, chipped away at her conscience, and although she understood her anger had originated with Ken’s actions, it would be best not to see Steve so soon after breaking a wine glass, a new low for Kelly.

When she arrived at the Kennedy Space Center—she followed the signs to the visitor’s parking lot, locked the car, and entered through the visitor’s entrance.

Inside, relics from past space missions—some dating back to the early sixties—filled the place, perched atop pedestals, protected behind Plexiglas cases, even hanging from the ceiling. Earlier space capsules, long retired, sat among other relics, allowing visitors to look inside and consider the bravery it had taken for a man to climb into such a primitive vehicle and be hurtled toward the stars. A limited glimpse of the unlimited human imagination.

Black and white photos of the earliest days of the space program told a visual story of America’s space exploration. Floor-to-ceiling photographs and murals of space missions and moonwalks covered the walls of the visitor’s center. Fascinated, Kelly wished she had time to look around, but the presentation started in fifteen minutes. She would have to bring Lacy to see all this, once they’d settled in.

She headed straight to the ticket counter and flashed her
News Journal
ID. “Hi, I’m with the Daytona Beach
News Journal
. I’m here for the one o’clock—”

Before she could finish, the man behind the desk handed her a media pass and a sheet with directions to the auditorium. She slipped the lanyard around her neck and studied the map.

Piece of cake.

She ventured off through the crowd of visitors, took several wrong turns, and at last found the auditorium. Waving her pass at the doorman, she hurried inside and took her seat just seconds before the doors closed and the guest lecturer approached the podium.

The lights dimmed. The speaker, a renowned jet propulsion specialist and now EPA inspector, welcomed them all. He proceeded to tell them about jet fuel and its effect on planet Earth, particularly the miniscule piece of land occupied by Cape Canaveral. Kelly scribbled notes while he talked.

“The good news,” he said, “is the study shows no negative effects on the surrounding area. The bad news is that military bases all over the United States are to blame for continuing to leak unhealthy amounts of a chemical called perchlorate into the water and food supplies of their surrounding areas. Various negative effects are still being studied across the country, especially around California’s military bases.”

By the time the speaker finished, Kelly had numerous pages with notes and quotes. She stood to applaud the speaker as he left the podium.

Following the speech, a tour guide escorted them around the complex, including the Space Flight Simulation Room, astronaut training areas, and the launch pads from which the space shuttles and Titan rockets blasted off. Next, their guide lead them on tours of the Vehicle Assembly Building, Launch Control Center, and lastly, to meet an astronaut. Kelly’s note pad filled up fast.

On their way back to the main building and visitor’s entrance, the group cut through several buildings, at last reaching NASA’s engineering offices. They were told they would be able to ask some of the engineers and scientists questions. Deep in conversation with a journalist from the
Miami Herald
, Kelly looked up and spotted Steve crossing from one office to another a short way down the hall.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she lagged back a step.
He lied to me!

“Are you okay?” The Miami journalist’s eyes narrowed with concern.

“Uh, yeah… uh, I think I stepped on something.” Kelly bent over, pretending to examine the floor beneath her feet. “Hmm, don’t see any
thing.”

He didn’t leave town after all.
She fumed. Apparently, Steve McCarthy wasn’t as attracted to her as she’d imagined.

“It shouldn’t surprise me. He’s a man,” she mumbled, habitual distrust and suspicion churning up a lifetime of unhappy memories.

“What?” the girl at her side asked.

“Nothing,” Kelly replied. “Sorry. I was just thinking out loud.”

The group inched along at a snail’s pace, crowding the narrow hallway. Just ahead, Steve and another man appeared from an office on the right. The tour guide stopped to speak to the two men, and the media members slowed to a halt. Kelly tensed and looked around for an exit, wanting to leave as fast as possible.

Hands held high to get the group’s attention, the guide said, “Can I have your attention, please? This is Steve McCarthy. Steve is our resident cryogenic physicist. He knows cold like Nike knows shoes.”

Soft laughter ruffled though the group. Kelly rolled her eyes.

“And this is Jim Harvey, one of our jet propulsion specialists. Jim helped design today’s program for you. Now, these two guys are busy but have offered to answer a few questions if you have any.”

A few hands shot into the air.

“Mr. McCarthy, what does cryogenics have to do with space travel?” someone asked.

“Cryogenics is more than just freezing bodies,” Steve said. “One of the areas I work in is Cryogenic Fluid Management, known as
CFM
. It’s an essential and very critical part of our manned and unmanned missions and future planetary exploration. The temperatures in space can reach minus four hundred and fifty-nine degrees Fahrenheit—unimaginable to us. Liquids freeze long before reaching that temperature, making it a challenge to keep—“