Uncharted Fate (15 page)

Then a whimper burst from his lips and he seemed to forget everything else, as he turned and ran upstairs.

Jeff watched him go, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his fingers clenched so tight his knuckles whitened. Anna felt badly for him. He’d been so patient with her.

"Damn,” Jeff said. “He wasn't ready to see us kissing. We were getting along so well and I thought I was doing him some good. I wasn't thinking, obviously. I mean, look what we were doing. We shouldn't have let ourselves get caught up like that."

Anna briefly skated her fingertips over his face. "Don't beat yourself up. One, we weren't doing anything awful. It's just that he's never seen us together in anything but a friendly way. Two, you
are
doing him some good." Shifting her hand to his shoulder, she added, "After he's thought about what he saw, he'll get used to it and he'll come around. He likes you a lot. It'll be all right."

"I hope so."

In the rec room, Mallory barely noticed her brother's flight. After school, she'd shut herself in her bedroom with a joint and now she felt marvelous. She'd gotten some good stuff from a kid at the high school, but she’d have to lift some more CDs to sell if she wanted to replenish her stash next week. At the rate she was going, she might need some sooner.

She and Cam had moved to her room to listen to music after the DVD finished. He hadn't turned out to be the romantic interest she'd hoped for, but he treated her like a much-loved sister and it felt good. They talked and talked, and the pot made her loose and free. He told her how he felt when his mother left. She was amazed he'd experienced many of the same things she did now, and it was good to know she wasn't weird or crazy or selfish.

A while back, she'd excused herself by saying she had to go to the bathroom. Would he realize when she got back to her room that she'd hurried to smoke a joint in the bathroom, to bolster her fading high?

When Mallory returned, she felt pretty relaxed. Stretched out on the red pile carpet, her head lolled to one side as she spotted Cam watching her. She didn't even care if he noticed or not.

After a while, the high started to wear off a little and she saw Cameron still lying a few feet away, his head propped on one hand as he watched her. He looked worried. And she could tell from his face he knew she'd done something in the bathroom to come back feeling this way. She suspected, too, he was going to say something.

He reached out, slowly settling his hand on her arm. "What is it you're on?"

"Huh?" She jerked out of her reverie, and lifted her head to squint at him.

"You're taking something. What is it? E, coke, heroin, weed, what?"

Mallory sat up abruptly and looked away from his serious brown eyes but the motion made her dizzy. She giggled and fell over. With difficulty she straightened, and bit her lip as fear and indignation jostled for dominance. "What d'you mean? I'm not on anything."

"You're lying. You're high on something." He sat up too, and grabbed her by the chin to bring her face close and get a good look at her eyes. "You're spaced out. I can see it. I'm not blind."

"It's nothing." She pulled her chin out of his fingers. "I smoke a few joints once in a while. It helps the pain go away."

His eyes bored into hers. "You smoked some tonight, right?" She nodded. "Did you smoke any last night?" She hesitated, then nodded again. "And the night before that?"

"What is this? An inquisition?" She leapt, stumbling, to her feet and turned her back on him.

He stood and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her around to face him. "Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Smoke any joints the night before last?"

"Maybe. I might have. I don't keep track." She flung her hair over her shoulder in defiance.

"Maybe you should keep track. This isn't good for you."

"Marijuana is harmless." She swiftly reversed her opinion of two months ago.

"No, it's not. It's dangerous. And you're getting hooked on it."

"Impossible."

"You're developing a psychological dependency. You rely on it to help you forget your grief. It won't help you forget. Not really. It's masking your pain and you're playing with fire."

"I can handle it."

"Can you? You just smoked more. I can see it. I can smell it on you, and it sure as hell doesn't look like you're handling it from here."

She swung her head around to look at him. "How do you know?"

"Come on. You were ready to fly when you got back. You can barely stand up and you can't stop giggling. Why don't you try staying off it for a while? See if you can do it. For a week."

"Of course I can do it. No sweat."

"Then you'll do it?"

"I said I would. Not that it's any of your business."

"I'm making it my business. Somebody should."

"Why don't you see if your father's ready to go?" Mallory said with a sneer. "And don't you dare tell him about this. He's a cop."

"I won't if you'll stay clean."

"You don't think I can?"

"I hope so." He picked up his CDs and left.

Chapter 14

Anna had settled into the routine at Le Bistro with no problems. Her legs got used to traversing the distance between the kitchen and her station and it no longer bothered her. The business people were more demanding than the customers at Betty's, however they were also, for the most part, courteous and generous, so she didn't mind.

What she did mind was that, as the weeks turned into months, she began to feel as if she wasn't going anywhere. The restaurant was okay for eking out a moderate living, but she didn't feel at ease there any more than she'd felt at Betty's. She didn't fit in.

This wasn't merely a temporary job to help out with expenses. It was her life. Waitressing could hardly be called a career. At the age of thirty-three, she hated to settle for something less than what she had loved, taking care of those sweet, elderly people. Mallory had been right that day when she’d challenged her about whether she wanted anything more for herself. Anna had gone to college in hopes of a good career, but now her dream was a distant memory.

She talked to Jeff about it as they relaxed over a cup of hot coffee at Cortese's, a long-standing family restaurant on the east side. They were stuffed full of excellent lasagna, and Anna should have felt satisfied. Instead, she was restless.

"What's the matter?" Jeff asked. He looked handsome in a casual light blue golf shirt and crisp and cool-looking navy slacks.

Focused inward, Anna gave him a cursory glance before replying, "It's the restaurant." She sighed, rubbing her temples to forestall the tension headache threatening to form.

"You didn't like the lasagna? I thought it was excellent."

"The lasagna was delicious. No, I meant
my
restaurant. Le Bistro."

He raised one dark eyebrow. "I thought you liked it there."

"It's going okay.” She swirled her spoon in her coffee in agitation, even though the sugar was long since dissolved. "But geez, I don't want to spend the rest of my days there. I don't want to become a fixture there like Lucy is at Betty's."

"What
do
you want?"

"I want to be back with my friends at the nursing home where I felt like I was making a worthwhile contribution. Where I was being useful. Unfortunately, it didn't pay a cent."

"How did you get started doing the volunteering? I've always wondered."

"My grandmother. She was in a home in Ithaca because she'd suffered a stroke. She always lived up there. I went every week to visit her when I was a teenager, and after a while some of her friends began joining in our conversations. They got such few visitors. I started bringing crafts and my painting supplies to entertain them. When I moved here, I went to one in the area to volunteer. They're such lovely people. I miss them."

"You paint?" he asked.

"More or less," she said, laughing. "I'm the proverbial weekend artist. I haven't done anything in a while since Mike . . . died. If you look at the signatures you can see that a few of the ones in the living room are mine. Many of my friends have been forced at gunpoint to take one."

"I'd like one. Would you give me one?"

"You haven't even seen what they look like yet. You don't know what you're getting into."

"I trust you."

"Then I'd be honored to, if I had an extra one. I don't at the moment. I have a few failures at the back of the closet. You wouldn't want one of those."

"Paint me a new one then," he said, watching her intently.

"I—uh, I don't know if I could. It's been a long time since I did any painting. You get rusty when you don't use your skills."

"Can't you just get out your paints and start? There must be something you've been dying to paint."

"Of course there is. You make it sound easy."

"No. I know it's not. You have to decide to go ahead no matter how hard it is. You shouldn't waste talent and intelligence."

She drained her cup, shifting in her seat. "Maybe. It still doesn't solve my problem, though. What else can I do but be a waitress the rest of my life?"

"You tried the department of social services when you applied for jobs?"

"Of course. It was the first place I went. They require a college degree. They aren't even picky about your major, as long as you have the degree."

"You have three years. Doesn't it help?"

"That, and a buck will get you a cup of coffee," she said with a snicker.

"Oh. And they won't take into consideration all your years as a volunteer? I'm sure it makes you knowledgeable, working with the elderly. Don't they realize?"

"Yeah, they do. But they have rules and regulations. They were pleased about all the years I'd helped, but it wasn’t enough to get me a job."

“Maybe you’ll have to take some evening college courses to get your degree.”

“I’ve thought of going back, and I’d love to, but I can’t afford it. Courses are expensive.”

Jeff frayed the edge of his napkin for a moment before raising his eyes to hers. “I could help.”

“No, I don’t think it would be a good idea. You do too much for us already.”

“If it would help you get a job which suits you better . . .” He trailed off.

She was tempted to let him. It would make things easier. No, she wanted to do this on her own. If she went back to college, it would be something she was doing for herself, by herself. “The fall session will be finishing up, now that it’s nearly November. Maybe I’ll be able to come up with something by the time the winter session starts. I have some time.”

Jeff stared broodingly at Anna across the table. "You know how I feel about you," he began, reaching for her hand. "You seem to relax more with me lately. But I'm still uncertain what you feel for me. And it’s like I’m a teenager, afraid to make a move on a girl for the first time." He swallowed visibly. “Damn, I must sound like an idiot,” he whispered.

“Of course I don't think you're an idiot. You're the kindest, gentlest man I know, and you were made to be a detective because you care about people.”

“That's nice of you to say, but I don't often have the opportunity to care about people. Police work hardens you, inures you."

"Not that I've noticed."

He smiled. "You're prejudiced. Besides, you haven't seen me in cop mode. Not really. At the police station that night I called you in, I was more like an uncle. I knew what Mallory had been through and I felt badly for her, and for you. But I can be a hard ass when I have to be. Just pray you never see me like that."

She shuddered as a grin split her face. "Oooh, I'm scared."

"You should be. Growl."

Somehow, Jeff found out November tenth was her birthday. He planned a nice evening—dinner at a nice restaurant that featured dancing afterwards. It was a poignant time for her, her first birthday without Mike in many years, and she knew Jeff wanted to keep her entertained so she wouldn’t think. She couldn't believe how sensitive he was about her need to grieve as well as her need to forget for a few hours.

When Jeff took her over to get her coat, he pushed her back into the crush of fur and wool, so it closed around her. Then he followed her in, capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss. Surrounded by the soft darkness, his mood mimicked their situation as his kiss was soft, but with a hint of danger. The world around them disappeared as their lips and tongues tangled and she sensed his impatience. When he finally let her go, her knees felt wobbly and she was disoriented but there was a small smile on his face she didn't dare to question.

When Mallory found out Cam offered to spend the evening with her and Brian while their parents went out on a date, she reacted violently.

“No. I don’t want him here anymore.”

Her mother stopped brushing her hair in mid-stroke and stared at Mallory in disbelief. “What? Why? I thought you two were getting along great.”

“I hate him. He’s a jerk.”

“Oh, come on. He’s a nice boy. Are you upset because he already has a girlfriend and isn't romantic with you?”

“No, it isn’t anything at all romantic.” Mallory paced to the bed and then over to the dresser where her mother stood, hairbrush in hand, looking puzzled. Somehow, Mom needed to be convinced not to let him come.

Mallory had scored a couple of joints from a new kid who’d been selling behind the high school during lunch, and she’d smoked one after school. It’d made her feel really strange—at first euphoric and free, more than usual. Now she felt kind of dizzy and disconnected and it was hard to concentrate. She couldn’t let Cam come. He would know right off something was wrong.

She went back to the bed, grabbing hold of the bedpost, absentmindedly scraping the top of the post with her thumbnail as she tried to will her sluggish brain to think.

“Why don’t you like him anymore? Did you two have a fight?” her mom asked.

“Yeah.” Mallory said, spinning around too abruptly. The motion made her dizzier. “We had a fight—a bad one.”

Her mother laughed. “I’m sure it was nothing. You kids fight one minute, make up the next.”

“He called me awful names.”

“I find it hard to believe. I’m sure you’re exaggerating. Everything will be all right once he gets here.”

“No. It won’t,” Mallory cried, panicking. “You can’t let him come. You can’t.”

Her mother set down the hairbrush with a click. “Mallory, I cannot believe you’re making this fuss. I couldn’t stop him from coming even if I wanted to. They’ll be here any minute. And I don’t want to stop him, anyway. He’s a good kid and I want you to treat him nice.”

With a frustrated groan, Mallory turned and fled the room.

Anna stood watching the empty doorway, only stirring from her reverie when the doorbell rang and she called to Brian to answer it and let Jeff and Cam in. Hurriedly she finished her make-up and sprayed on some perfume, one she hadn’t worn for a long time because Mike hadn’t liked it. Between her own bad case of nerves and Mallory’s outburst, she was visibly on edge when she walked into the living room.

Jeff stood up when he saw her, his smile broad with more than a little pride in it. Anna knew she looked good. Her dress was pastel blue with flowers on it, and was made of sheer chiffon that swished and swirled when she walked.

Behind him, Cam slowly came to his feet, and he waited while they greeted each other, hands clasped, and his father gave her a corsage of yellow roses, before he interrupted them by clearing his throat. “Uh, is Mallory here? I’d like to see her.”

“She’s here,” Anna said, chewing the inside of her cheek while she debated what to tell him. Taking a deep breath, she decided to go with a simple version of the truth. “But I’m afraid she’s shut herself in her bedroom, and she says she doesn’t want to see you.”

Cam nodded, seemingly unfazed, but Jeff frowned. “Why wouldn’t she want to see Cam?”

“I’m not sure. She said something about an argument they had the last time he was here.”

Jeff turned to his son. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t tell you about it, Dad. It’s private.”

“You’re not . . . misbehaving with her, are you?”

“No, Dad,” Cam said in a clearly exasperated tone. He turned his attention to Anna. “It’s a difference of opinion, sort of. I think I can get her to come out after you leave. Don’t worry.”

Jeff didn't appear convinced. “Maybe you should leave her alone and just watch TV with Brian tonight.”

“No. I need to talk to her. I know what’s wrong and I’ll straighten it out.”

“Okay. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I hope so, too,” Cam said, his eyes worried. Anna saw the concern come over his father’s face at his son's remark and Cam offered a sudden grin. “It’s kid stuff, Dad. You two better get going or you’ll miss your reservation.” He put his arm around Brian’s shoulders. “We know how to handle sisters, don’t we?”

Jeff looked fondly at his son, and then glanced over to where Anna was waiting. “You ready to go?”

“I think we can trust them to iron out their differences. Let’s go.”

Jeff draped a white crocheted shawl across Anna’s shoulders and led her out the door. When Anna looked back, Cam was still there, watching them leave.

“Brian,” Cam said, looking down at the boy’s blonde head, “if you’ll go watch TV for an hour or two so I can talk to your sister, I’ll come play some games with you later. You figure out what you want to play and set it up.”

“Monopoly?” Brian said hopefully.

“Fine. Whatever you want. I’ll be in as soon as I can.” Brian ran off to the rec room, and Cam headed for Mallory’s door. He knocked quietly. “Mallory. It’s Cam. May I come in?”

“No.” The answer came through the door sounding muffled and panicky. “I don’t want to see you.”

“Ah,” he said louder, “that sort of gives me the answer I was expecting.” He hoped it would draw her out when she heard his remark.

It did. She flung the door open. “How can you say that?”

“Simple. If you’re afraid to talk to me, you must have something to hide. You must be still using drugs.” He said the words casually, but it was an effort, because his stomach fell when he saw the shape she was in. Her eyes were wide, frightened, and so dilated the blue irises were nearly black. How could her mother miss something this obvious?

You don’t see what you aren’t looking for.

He walked into her bedroom, pushed the door shut, and gathered her into his arms. “Poor, sweet, Mallory. It’s been awful for you these past few months, hasn’t it? It must have been, for you to have let this happen to you. Don’t worry. You’re not alone anymore. I’ll help you.”

She tensed and then collapsed, crying, against him, her face pressed into his shoulder. He patted the back of her head, his cheek against her smooth, soft hair, and his eyes misted.