The Prodigal's Return (9 page)

Jenn Gardner, the pariah, was a downright hero to most of the kids. Meanwhile Traci was hiding out like a loser, hugging a Rivermist High School toilet bowl because the woman's
help
had made it impossible for her to take the easy way out.

She grabbed her backpack, grimacing at the sight of her half-chewed gum stuck to its bottom. Digging inside the front pocket, she found the business card Jenn had insisted all the kids take at their first Teens in Action outing. Raleigh Teen and Prenatal Counseling Center, it read, followed only by Jenn's name and cell number. No pressure. No sales pitch. No, “You have to agree with me!”

God, why couldn't the woman have turned out to be the loser so many people thought she was?

Then maybe her simple, no-pressure advice wouldn't have wormed its way through Traci's freaked-out panic. And maybe Traci wouldn't be so desperate to do the unthinkable. To get the inevitable over with and see if, just maybe, there was a bit of a hero inside her, too.

Pulling out her cell phone, she started to cry as she pressed the numbers. She'd never, ever forgive the woman if this only made things worse.

“Mom?” she said when the cell connected, a
very uncool sob breaking free at the sound of her mother's concerned voice. “Mom, I'm coming home. I want…I need to talk.”

 

“C
AN
I
SPEAK WITH
J
ENN
, Reverend Gardner?” Neal asked in response to the minister's
Good Lord
after he'd opened the door.

Stephen Creighton had stared at Neal in exactly that same I-must-be-losing-it way when Neal called him into the office last night and told him he was taking an indefinite leave of absence to deal with his father. The lawyer's shock might have been over Neal having a father in the first place, but most likely it had been his announcement that he was making Stephen lead attorney on all their cases until further notice.

Keep me in the loop, send me briefs, e-mail me updates, but I need you to take charge. You did fine on the Martinez case last week. I trust you to deal with the rest.

As a rule, Neal never trusted anyone. But Stephen was summa cum laude from Emory Law, with a head full of too much book sense but better instincts than most seasoned attorneys. Instincts Neal was paying a fortune to temper the single-mindedness he wasn't completely unaware could interfere with his own objectivity from time to time. The man could more than handle the work solo for a while, and Neal had
finally accepted that for now he couldn't be anywhere
but
Rivermist.

“Reverend Gardner? I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. Is Jenn home?”

He'd spent all last night pouring over his investigator's report of the last eight years of Jenn's life, and he almost wished he hadn't followed Buford's offhand suggestion. He knew it all now. Had told himself over and over that the truth didn't change a thing. But somewhere during the night, seeing her again, trying to understand what had happened, had become just as important as getting through to his father.

All these years, he'd made himself forget what it was like to simply be there, next to her. He'd managed to make himself forget how to feel altogether. But each time he'd seen Jenn over the weekend, the feelings and the memories had rushed back, as tenacious as they were unwelcome. As was his feeling of responsibility for what she'd been through.

He'd been a part of the catastrophe that had destroyed her life. He didn't know how to make up for that, how to make any of it better for her now. But he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try.

“She's over with your daddy, I believe,” the aging man before him said. “I'd invite you in to wait, but—”

“I understand.” Neal straightened the silk tie he'd
worn with his best suit for one last meeting in the office that morning. He purposely hadn't changed clothes before driving out, despite his determination not to care what this man or anyone else in town thought of him now. “I know me being here can only cause problems for you. I was just hoping—”

“That's not what I meant.” Reverend Gardner did some fidgeting with his own clothes. “It's just that maybe if you met up with Jenn at your father's, then…well, maybe you'd have better luck with Nathan this time.”

Neal's investigator had gathered plenty of information on Nathan, too. On this entire town.

“How's your luck been with my father lately?” He didn't miss the tremor in the other man's hand as the reverend stopped smoothing his cardigan. “Or is your daughter still the only one around here who's managed to work up the interest to visit him?”

“I'm the last person your father wants to see, Neal.” There was genuine regret in the admission.

“I seriously doubt that, sir,” Neal said, turning away. “Somehow, I seriously doubt it.”

Neal, is your father going to be okay?
Stephen had asked as Neal left that morning.

No, he's dying
, had been his simple response as he'd come to grips with coming back and seeing both Nathan and Jenn again.
He's dying, and he doesn't think I give a damn.

 

“Y
OU GOT A BURR
up your butt, or are you finally wising up and wanting the heck out of here?” Nathan Cain put more muscle behind the scraper and shaved off another chunk of dead paint and rotten window-sill.

The shutters that looked like crumbling skeletons were next. Like it mattered what the house he was going to croak in looked like.

“Neither. It's nothing.” Jenn, all bundled up in her coat, raked more debris from under Wanda's azaleas. Her motions were as jerky and brittle as her fake smile.

She hadn't asked about Neal once since his boy's drive-by visit, which suited Nathan just fine. Turning his son away and not knowing if he'd ever see the kid again had been one of the hardest damn things he'd ever done. Didn't seem to be wearing on the girl much easier.

She'd maneuvered him outside to tackle the yard before he'd known what hit him—simply by picking up that damned rake herself and not caring if he followed or not. Some ridiculous throwback to the gentleman inside him had refused to sit and watch while she broke her back working on his place. So he'd joined her—after she'd cooked him lunch and then watched him eat every bite. Helping fix up the house he'd once taken such pride in would keep his mind off drinking, she'd reasoned, after she'd un
earthed a paint scraper in the shed and gotten him started on the windowsills.

Right.

A good dose of winter cold was just the refreshing pick-me-up his teeth were chattering for. It didn't seem to be doing much for Jenn, either, as she wasted the day away on a yard he wouldn't be around in the spring to enjoy.

He'd agreed to let her keep coming round, mostly because it seemed so important to her. That and the fact that her Florence-Nightingale-on-steroids attitude was more interesting to watch than anything he'd seen on TV in years. But there was nothing interesting about the sadness of her frown today.

So, nothing was bothering her, huh?

Yeah. Him, either.

“I know
nothing,
darlin'. I've lived off it. And whatever you got on your mind, that ain't it.”

“Well, whatever kind of nothing it is, I
ain't
interested in talking about it.” She wielded the rake at a new pile of dead weeds.

“Looks to me—” he scraped and pulled and another shower of paint dusted both him and the scraggly hedges below the window “—like the kind of nothing that could drive a person to drink.”

Her head snapped up. The rake hit the ground. “I want some water.”

He watched her go, put everything into the next
scrape. Into not following. Into not caring what was eating at her or where his boy was at that very moment. He didn't care about anything anymore. At least he hadn't, not for a long time.

Damn, he needed a beer. He threw the scraper to the ground and jumped off the stepladder. His head screamed in protest. The world shifted off-kilter, and he clenched his eyes against the sharpness of the pain. Once the agony had faded, he stomped off after Jenn, the reminder of how little time he had left nipping at his heels.

A car screeched up the driveway before either one of them had made it inside.

“Jennifer Gardner!” A spitting angry Bob Carpenter leapt from the Cadillac. “What the hell do you know about my daughter being pregnant?”

“I'
M SEVENTEEN
, D
ADDY
.” Traci pulled another armload of things from her closet and wadded them into her suitcase. She was sniffling like a baby.
Daddy's little baby
. “I'm going, and there's nothing you can do to stop me. I can't stay here anymore.”

She'd told her mom about the pregnancy as soon as she'd gotten home from school. Betty had promptly called Bob, then had curled up in a fetal position. The woman had been sobbing in her room ever since. Bob had arrived with Jenn Gardner right behind him. And so the interrogation had begun, complete with enough yelling to ensure the neighbors didn't miss a single sound bite.

Jenn, whose bright idea it had been to tell her parents in the first place, hadn't said more than five words. Bob was at his blustering, useless best. Traci's school rep was ruined—she'd been caught crying in the bathroom, then she'd run sobbing down the hall.

She'd never be able to face her friends again,
especially Brett. God, Brett. What was she going to say to him once he found out? And what about her parents' friends? The neighbors, most of them members of the church…

She dove back into her closet for more clothes.

She was so out of this place!

“I don't know what
Ms. Gardner
said to make you think running away is an option.” Her dad's glower shifted to where Jenn stood beside the bedroom door, then back. “But you're not leaving this house!”

Jenn was following every word, but the woman only looked back at Traci and waited.

Coward.

Traci dumped another pile of clothes into the suitcase only to watch her father yank them back out and toss them beside the bed. He looked ready to drape her over his knee and paddle her, or cry.

The spanking would probably hurt less.

“You can't stop me from leaving.” Traci returned to her bulging closet. Like her room, it was full of everything she'd ever asked her parents to get her.

So why did she feel so empty every time she was home? When was the last time she hadn't wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, else?

“Where are you going to go?” Jenn finally asked. “Back to the guy who hit you?”

“No.” Traci threw the woman a
shut-up
glare as her father flinched. “I'll never be that stupid again.”

“Then—” Jenn began.

“Who hit you?” Bob sputtered.

“I read a pamphlet at the clinic in Colter, all right!” Traci shouted at the room in general. “There are places I can stay—”

“Those are shelters for teenage runaways, Traci,” Jenn said, all concerned calm when an impassioned defense would have been more helpful. “We're not talking about the YWCA. I've seen that kind of place, that kind of desperation and poverty. I've lived it. Running away isn't something you want to do on a whim.”

“You're the one who said I need to think through my options. Well, I can't do that here.” Traci grabbed more clothes, determined to do this no matter how terrified she was that Jenn was right.

It was time to face the truth.

“How long have you known she and Brett were sleeping together?” Leave it to her dad to focus on the most pointless thing possible. “If that boy laid a finger on my daughter—”

“The baby isn't Brett's,” Traci said into the closet.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her around. “What do you mean it's not Brett's? How many boys are you sleeping with? Do you even know who the father is?”

Traci felt every warm thing left in her world evaporate. To her credit she didn't crumble. But the tears
kept right on coming. Being back at school, wrapped around the disgusting second-floor toilet, suddenly didn't sound so bad.

She jerked free.

“This is why I'm leaving.” She wadded the dress she held into a ball and threw it in the general direction of the suitcase. “Mom's so shocked she hasn't looked at me since I told her. And you think I'm a slut because I didn't buy into your lectures about premarital sex and abstinence. I can't think straight while you're stalking around glaring at me, and I need to think. I need to get out of here.”

“And just where exactly do you plan on going? One of your friends? Every parent in this town will send you right back here. Count on it. The hotel will, too.”

“See? You never listen to me! There are shelters, Daddy. I read about them at the clinic Jenn sent me to. You can't make everyone turn me away.”

She glanced at Jenn, begging silently for backup.

“A free clinic!” He was in Jenn's face this time. “You sent my child to a free clinic? Just where the hell do you get off encouraging children to sleep around and defy their parents' choices.”

“Stop yelling at her.” Traci shoved aside the childish anger she knew deep down Jenn didn't deserve. “She's been my friend. Without her help—”

“Sounds like your
help,
” he said to Jenn, as if
Traci weren't in the room, “was the last thing my daughter needed. She doesn't need another friend, Ms. Gardner. She needs responsible adults to keep her from throwing her life away. Did you know she was seeing this other boy?”

“Yes, I knew.” Jenn stood toe-to-toe with the man when Traci couldn't even look him in the eye. Traci'd bet there wasn't much of anyone who could make the woman back down. “I tried to get her to talk with you and your wife. When she wouldn't, all I could do was make sure she had the information she needed to protect herself and her baby.”

“All you should have done was inform Betty and me about our daughter's reckless behavior. Especially when you found out she was pregnant.”

“If I had, Traci would have run away. Take my word for it. As it is, I've been able to get her to agree to counseling and prenatal medical care. And I've been able to talk her out of having an abortion until she's thought through her options.”

“An abortion!” There was that look again. As if Traci were some slimy alien who'd invaded his home. “After everything we've taught you, you'd kill an innocent, unborn life?”

“What about
my
life?” She couldn't believe Jenn had said that. She wedged the lid of the suitcase closed and struggled with the zipper. “Don't I have any say in it?”

“No, not if you're considering an abortion. You can't be, honey….” So
now
she was his honey.

At least calling her a slut had been honest.

He tried to keep her from lifting the heavy case, but Traci sidestepped him and slid the bag to the floor. He reached to take it away, hesitated at her glare, then let his arm drop to his side.

“Don't do this,” he said, sounding like her dad for the first time since he'd walked in the front door spoiling for a fight.

Traci stared at her trendy, high-top sneakers until her tears cleared. Then she rolled the suitcase toward the door. “I can't stay here, Dad.”

“You're not going anywhere, young lady.” All that gentle persuasion became cold, hard threat. “And you're not taking that car we bought you for your birthday. It's registered in my name, and I'll be damned if you're driving off in it like this.”

“Fine! I'll walk.”

“Please,” Jenn begged as Traci passed by.

She didn't grab for her the way her dad had. She wasn't yelling. She'd always treated Traci like a grown-up old enough to make the decisions her parents thought they'd be in charge of for the rest of her life.

So Traci stopped.

“Wait in my car,” Jenn pleaded. “Wherever you want to go, I'll take you. That's got to be better than walking in the cold.”

Traci could have fallen at the woman's feet in gratitude. She glanced over her shoulder. Her father's anger and shock were gone. His confusion and hurt were worse.

“Okay,” she said to Jenn, not wanting to go anymore but still unable to stay. “I'll be in the car.”

And then what?

She ignored the internal jab. Blocked out the sound of her mother crying behind her parents' bedroom door. Thumping her suitcase down the stairs, she grabbed for the determination to get this over with. To finally not be hiding who she was from the people who were supposed to know her best. Good or bad, her parents knew the truth now.

Hadn't that been the whole point from the beginning of this six-month walk on the dark side? To push through the rules and their small-town beliefs, until her parents finally saw her. Dealt with her. Confronted the person they never dreamed she'd turn out to be.

She'd wanted to be treated like a grown-up. To experience the real world.

God, she was such a loser! They all were.

Winter slapped her in the face as she rolled her little-girl suitcase out her mom's custom-made-to-perfection front door. Her parents were so sure they'd taught her the important things.

Why hadn't they gotten around to telling her how much the real world sucked!

 

“W
HO IS THE FATHER
?” Bob Carpenter demanded. “Who did this to my daughter?”

“I don't know.” Jenn's heart went out to the man. She'd seen that shocked, devastated anger in her own father's eyes. “I can't get Traci to tell me.”

“What about all this help you've been giving her? You're supposed to be her new best friend or something!”

“I've been trying to advise Traci as much as she'll let me, without running her off. I can't make her take my advice any more than you can.” She had to get Bob Carpenter to listen to reason, before Traci was gone for good. “Trying to force her to listen or to talk before she's ready will only make things worse.”

“But you
can
tell her that sleeping around before marriage is okay, is that it? As long as you're respecting Traci's right to choose, it's okay to condone how she's lied to me and her mother.”

“I've encouraged her to talk with you from the start, and I tried to get her to stop seeing this guy as soon as she told me about him. Sometimes teenagers have to make their own mistakes before they're ready to listen to anyone else.”

He glanced to the soft sound of his wife's tears.

“Forgive me if I'm not impressed with the wisdom of your pop psychology, Ms. Gardner. Your negligence in not telling us what our daughter was
up to makes you as responsible as this boy for what's happened to Traci. I intend to speak with your father about this. Your work with this town's youth is over. Mark my word.”

“I already told my father I'm stepping down from working with the youth group.”

“Joshua knows, too! Did no one stop to think that Betty and I should be involved?”

“He only knows that I thought it best for everyone that I not work with the Saturday group anymore. He doesn't know why.”

Did Bob even realize he was blaming his daughter's situation on everyone but Traci? As if the girl wasn't capable of making any of the decisions she had—good or bad.

Jenn turned to leave.

“Jennifer…” His eyes pleaded, his expression lost. “Please. Talk my daughter into coming back home.”

“I'll do the best I can. I promise.”

She made herself walk away.

The Carpenters had to make their own choices, the same as their daughter did. The same as Neal and Nathan Cain did. She didn't know these people any better than she did the Cains anymore. She had no business doing anything but giving each one of them a chance to work their relationships and problems out for themselves, then getting herself out of the way.

Even if “out of the way” was a more excruciating place to be than ever.

Why you?
Neal had asked yesterday. And he really hadn't known. Just as she'd always expected, he hadn't wanted to know anything about what her life had become, or what was important to her now.

Her heart felt like it was curling in on itself.

Get on with it, Jenn. Put yourself and your stuff on the shelf and find a way to keep Traci Carpenter in town. Do what you're good at. Stop torturing yourself by wanting more!