"Have You Seen Her?" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rose Karen)Chapter Seven "Steven, you need to eat," Helen said from the kitchen doorway. Steven set his briefcase by the front door and followed his aunt to the kitchen where a single hot plate of food waited. Helen poured herself a cup of coffee and sat in the chair across from him. "Eat." A ghost of a smile pulled at his mouth at the barked command. "Yes'm." Dutifully he ate while she watched, her eagle eye trained on every bite he put in his mouth. "You were late tonight," she observed, her voice gone softer. He nodded, swallowing. "I had an appointment with one of Brad's teachers." "Oh, dear." "Yeah." His fork drew an aimless design in his gravy-laden mashed potatoes. He looked up to find Helen patiently waiting. "He's failing chemistry, Helen. His teacher wanted me to know." Helen closed her eyes and sighed. "What's happening to our boy, Steven?" He kneaded his browbone. "I don't know. Jenna recommended I see his guidance counselor." "And will you?" "I'll call him first thing Monday morning." He shrugged, feeling utterly helpless and hating the feeling. "I tried to talk to Brad, but he shut me out." "I know." Helen reached across the table to squeeze his hand and they held on quietly until she asked, "So who is Jenna?" Steven's fingers tightened on his fork. His face was turning red, he could feel it. He damned the involuntary response that was the curse of redheads and he damned the light that came on in his aunt's matchmaking eyes. He pulled his left hand from Helen's. "Brad's teacher," he muttered, dropping his eyes to his potatoes. "I see." "No, you don't see anything, Helen," he ground out. "She is a nice woman who cares about my son. She stayed late on a Friday afternoon to tell me he was failing her class. That's all." "Okay." He glanced up to find her expression serene. Chills went down his spine. Extreme measures were called for. "She's married, okay? She's sixty and married with four children." He'd confess the lie whenever he made it back to church. Helen sighed in resignation. "Do you really have to go back out tonight?" she asked, changing the subject. Steven thought of the Egglestons. "Yes," he answered. "I do. I should be home before midnight, though. I read Nicky a story and put him to bed already." Which meant tucking his baby into a sleeping bag on the floor. Since being abducted from his bed in the middle of the night six months before, Nicky had refused to sleep in his own bed. The counselors said Nicky would return to his bed in his own time. He wondered what the counselors would say about Brad. "Then eat your dinner, Steven." He ate the rest of his dinner in silence, trying to ignore his aunt's watchful stare. Truth be told, he loved her more than any other woman in the world. He could tell her fifty times a day he never planned to marry again and it was like talking to the wind. But Helen loved him and loved all his boys dearly. At the end of every argument it always came back to that. He cleaned his plate. "Thanks, Helen. That beats dinner out of a sack any day of the week." "Do you want any more? I made plenty." Steven stood up and pecked her weathered cheek. "No, ma'am. I wouldn't want to get fat." Helen had the good grace to look embarrassed before she laughed aloud. "I'm going to have to teach that son of yours when to keep his big mouth shut." He arched a brow. "You can try." He got to the front door and stopped short. "Shit." "Steven!" Then she saw it too. "Oh, no. Cindy Lou!" She ran to the door and pulled the hundred-pound sheepdog away from Steven's briefcase. "She didn't mean to, Steven." With a grimace, Steven fetched a towel from the kitchen and cleaned the dog drool from the handle. "Look at these teeth marks! That dog's a menace." "She's a sweet dog." Helen's lips twitched. "She just has overactive drool glands." "So get her a glandectomy." He wiped the bag, then cleaned his hands. "I need to go now." She followed him to the driveway, the drooling ball of hair from hell in tow. "Drive carefully." "I always do." He opened the rear passenger door and stopped short again. "Shit," he repeated, this time in a whisper. "I heard that," Helen said from behind him, then peered around him to peek inside the car. "Whose briefcase is that?" He could feel his cheeks heating again. "It belongs to Brad's teacher." Helen was quiet for a half beat. "Jenna?" Steven rolled his eyes, damning his own slip of the tongue. "Yes, Jenna." He should return it, he thought. He should return it to that comfortable little apartment of hers where she was probably sitting on that soft brown sofa with her two dogs at her feet. He put the bag in Helen's arms and she stumbled a little from the unexpected weight. "Put it in my study. I'll return it to her on Sunday." "But-" "I need to get to the office." He put his briefcase in the backseat and slammed the car door. Helen winced. "But-" He climbed into the front seat, pulling his seat belt on with one motion. "Don't wait up. I'll see you tomorrow." He pulled out of his driveway and chanced a look back in his rearview mirror. Helen stood in the same place, her mouth slightly open, watching him drive away. Steven grimaced. He probably could have handled that with more finesse. He shifted his body in the car seat, trying to relieve the pressure against his zipper. It was stupid, just plain foolish. Jenna Marshall had a nice pair of legs. That was all. No, that wasn't nearly all. Her breasts were nice, too. His hands gripped the steering wheel, hard. And her rear end. He cracked his window to let in some of the cool night air. And her eyes. And her smile. He shifted in the seat again, the pressure unabated. Okay, he could admit it to himself. She was a tidy little package. He was… attracted to her. He pulled his car from his subdivision onto the main highway. It was just that it had been such a long time. A very, very long time. Maybe he just needed to get it out of his system. A little honest sex, with no expectations for a long-term commitment. No promises made, no regrets when he walked away. Because he He'd almost made himself believe casual sex with Jenna Marshall was a feasible solution to his problems when he remembered the way her eyes softened in compassion over his son, then again over saving a puppy about to be put to sleep. A woman like that was not a candidate for a no-strings sexual relationship. She was just not that kind of woman. Steven sighed. No more than he was that kind of man. That's why it had been such a very, very long time since he'd been with a woman. That's why it would continue to be a very, very long time. Frustrated and alone, he turned his thoughts to the subject of Samantha Eggleston. Her parents would want an update. Hoping Kent was still in the lab, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "So they lost." Victor Lutz looked over his mostly empty glass with a sneer. His wife stood in the doorway of his study, dressed for bed in the same nightgown she'd worn every night of their miserable marriage. It wasn't really the same nightgown, but one of ten identical gowns that hung in her closet, magically replicating themselves year after year. It had to be magic. No one in their right mind would buy such an ugly garment on purpose, much less ten of them year after year. After year after year after year. On top of being hopelessly stupid, Nora Lutz had absolutely no sense of style. Unlike Rudy's teacher. Not that Victor hated women with guts. Guts, brains-they only served to distract women from their sole purpose on this earth. Sex and servitude. In that order. He glared at Nora over his glass. She was a failure on both counts. "Of course they lost." Nora pursed her lips, sending deep lines radiating from the corners of her mouth. "I thought you were going to straighten that out with the principal before the game started. Daddy isn't going to be happy about this. He had to pull some strings to get that scout to come watch Rudy." He hated that mistress-of-the-household tone. She'd learned it from He tossed back half the glass. The rich sonofabitch whose money bought the Aubusson carpet under Victor's feet, the roof over his head, the business that paid his salary. He eyed the clear liquid in the now half-empty glass. Whose money bought the hundred-dollar-a-bottle vodka that helped Victor drown out the reality of being married to the rich sono-fabitch's tired, ugly, whiny daughter. Thank God for mistresses and whores, was all he could say. Of course, not out loud. Nora crossed her arms over her scrawny bosom and leaned back against the wall with an air of superiority that she liked to remind him was born, not bought. The rich dark hair that had been her only notable attribute would once have blended into the black walnut wood that paneled his office. But she'd started to gray and never lifted a finger to halt the change. She, like "That makes two of us," he muttered into his glass. "Excuse me?" Victor looked up and focused his eyes on hers, saying nothing until she paled. There was more than one way to deal with Nora when she got too nasty for her own good. He rarely had to carry through on his threats. She usually backed down before he had to rouse himself into enough of a rage to raise his hand to her. Although the satisfaction at seeing her cowed and silenced was always well worth the effort. After the first time, years ago, he'd waited for Daddy to send a couple of thugs to put him in perpetual traction, but the thugs never came. Not that time, nor the times after. Victor guessed there were some things even Nora didn't tell Daddy. He cleared his throat. "I said, that makes two of us. I did visit the school today for your information. I might have gotten your son reinstated this afternoon if he hadn't been such a fucking idiot." Nora frowned. "What do you mean?" she asked, her tone now significantly less belligerent. "I mean, your idiot son pushed the wrong teacher. He handed in a test on which he'd written only his, name. That and the smirk on his face are making his teacher dig in her heels. I gave the principal a week to fix this." "And if he doesn't? What then?" "Then we pull Nora smoothed her hair away from her face, one of her many nervous gestures. He knew every last one. Every last one drove him nuts. "Not everyone is motivated by money, Victor." Victor drained his glass. Not motivated by money. The church's old door handle was cool under Steven's sweating hand. They didn't make handles like this anymore. Doors either, Steven thought, feeling the cool night air on his hot face. Both were vintage 1923, as was the rest of the church. He'd lost track of how long he'd been standing there, telling himself to either go in or go home. Hours of paperwork hadn't cleared his mind, just served to stave off the worry gnawing at his gut for just a few more hours. He'd left his office and driven around aimlessly, not really surprised when he stopped in the parking lot of the old parish. His old parish. He'd grown up here, served as an altar boy, been confirmed. Taken his first communion and planned to study the priesthood himself. His grip on the door handle tightened. Then his life had taken a sharp turn after a single night of… What would he call it, looking back now? Certainly not passion. They'd been seventeen in the back of his father's Olds. Passion it certainly was not. Experimentation? It was that. Folly? In many ways it was that as well. Melissa had turned out to be the greatest folly of his life. Brad, on the other hand… He could never call creating his oldest son a folly, no matter how troubled Brad was at the moment. Conceiving Brad that night in the back of his father's Olds made him change his life path. Gone were plans for the priesthood, which had broken his mother's heart until she'd held her first grandson in her arms. Steven had gone to college, become a cop. He and Melissa had two more beautiful sons. They'd been a happy family for a time. Melissa may have even been happy… for a time. No, he was terrified. For years after Melissa died he'd held his family together. But now his family was unraveling and he had no clue what to do about it. The idle promise to confess the lie he'd told Helen pricked at him all night, bringing back a host of memories about this place, about the peace he'd always felt here. He tried to remember how long it had been. It hadn't been a watershed moment, but a gradual thing. Week after week he sat in the pew, feeling the priest's eyes on him, his priest's disapproval of what he'd done. Knowing just as clearly there was not one iota he'd change. The cycle of guilt continued until he'd started finding all the reasons he couldn't go to Mass. Then he just stopped going altogether. So here he stood. "Go in or go home, Thatcher," he said harshly. God knew he didn't want to go in. Devil of it was, he didn't want to go home even more. So he yanked at the heavy door and slipped inside. He'd known it would be open. It always was. He hesitated for a moment before pushing himself to the altar. He hesitated even longer before dropping to his knees. Crossing himself. Opening his heart. He'd lost track of time, deep inside himself until a noise behind him brought his head up and his hand to the weapon in his holster. "I wondered when you'd come home, Steven." Slowly standing, he turned and regarded the man sitting in the pew two rows back. Noted the silver at his temples. He was older now. They both were. They'd been children together, served in this very parish together. Been best friends together. Until four years ago when everything changed. Four years ago when Melissa died and Steven found himself confessing one of the greatest sins of his life to the only man he knew he could trust to keep it secret. To the man sitting in the pew two rows back whose white collar was a stark contrast to the tanned column of his throat. Steven swallowed. "Mike." Mike raised a bushy black brow. "That's Father Mike to you." He smirked. "My son." Steven felt the smile bending his lips despite the turmoil within him. "Stick it. Father." Mike shook his head in mock chagrin. "I should order you to say five Hail. Marys for that." "For 'stick it'?" "No, for the impolite words you really wanted to say." Steven met his friend's eyes and both sobered. "I should say a whole lot more than five." "Why are you here, Steven?" Mike asked softly, his voice carrying in the quiet of the church. Steven looked away, turned around to focus on the statue of the Madonna and Child. Tried to figure out the answer himself as he gazed on the serene countenances, so at odds with how he felt inside. "I don't know," he finally answered. "I guess I couldn't think of anywhere else to go." "That's as good an answer as any," Mike said. "I've missed you, Steven. I thought I might see you after the trouble with Nicky last spring. I called… a number of times, but…" Steven listened as his friend's voice trailed away and Mike wasn't Father Leone anymore, but the best friend of his heart. A friend he'd wounded through neglect. "But I didn't return your calls," Steven finished, dropping his chin to his chest. "I'm sorry, Mike." "I'm sorry, too. I should have tried harder. I should have come to you." Steven lifted a shoulder. "I don't know that it would have done any good. You know." Mike sighed. "I'm sorry about that, too. How are they?" Steven looked over his shoulder to find Mike in the exact same position. That was one of the things Steven had always admired about his friend-his calm patience that seemed to settle the most anxious parishioner. "I wish I could say they're fine, but they're not. Of the three, Matt is the most normal." "Matt?" Mike tilted his head. "I find that hard to believe. What happened to Brad?" The weight suddenly seemed heavier. "I don't know." Steven's shoulders sagged. "I don't know what to do, Mike. Brad changed… overnight." "People rarely change overnight," Mike observed. "Brad did," Steven insisted. "And I don't know what I or anybody did to trigger it. I thought it would pass, but…" "But it's gotten worse." "I guess you hear this all the time." "Unfortunately, yes. Sit down, Steven. Please." Mike leaned forward and patted the pew in front of him. "You're making me nervous. You're wound tighter than a spring." Steven dropped into the pew, sitting sideways and resting his arm along the wooden back. "I met one of Brad's teachers today. He's failing chemistry." "Ouch." Steven nodded. "I asked him about it when I got home and he acted like he… hated me," he finished in a shaky whisper. "I don't know what to do." He flinched when Mike covered his hand with his own, but didn't back away. It was so like… old times. Emotion welled up in his throat and Steven swallowed hard to force it down before it became overwhelming. He drew a deep breath and waited until he could speak normally. "Like I said, Matt is the normal one now and Nicky's improving every day." He made himself smile. "Helen's the same as ever." Mike was quiet for a long time, then squeezed his hand. "So Brad is troubled, Matt is maturing, Nicky is improving, and Helen is the same old Helen. But how are Again emotion pushed up his throat and again Steven shoved it back. "My life is… what it is." "You can do better than that, Steven," Mike said dryly. Steven smiled in spite of himself. "It was a bit theatric, wasn't it?" "A bit." Mike waited, and when Steven said nothing, trudged forward. "And your personal life? Have you changed your mind about taking another wife?" The corner of Steven's mouth quirked up. "Taking another wife. It sounds so archaic when you say it that way." "You didn't answer my question, Steven." "No, I didn't, did I?" Steven squared his shoulders, preparing for the argument he knew was just ahead. "No, I haven't changed my mind. I won't be marrying again. At least not until the boys are grown." "Nicky won't be grown for ten more years, Steven," Mike said quietly. "That's too long for you to be alone." Steven narrowed his eyes. "You're alone." Mike smiled. "That's different and you know it. Besides, I have the Church." Mike lifted a wry brow. "I'd bet it's safe to say you don't even have that." Steven looked away. "Below the belt, Mike." But he was right. Of course. "Wherever it does the most good. Ten more years is a long time for you to be alone." Steven stared at the Madonna and Child, knowing where this conversation was headed. "You said that already." "And I was right both times. Hasn't Helen found Steven jerked his gaze back to where Mike still sat patiently. "What do you know about Helen's matchmaking?" Mike shrugged. "She and I chat from time to time." Steven rolled his eyes. "I bet she's confessing all the lies she's told to set me up with every Tania, Dorothy, and Henrietta this side of the Mississippi." "That would be privileged," Mike informed him archly. "Yeah, yeah," Steven muttered and Mike grinned, then sobered. "So tell me, Steven. You haven't met anyone? In four years?" A face flashed before his eyes. Black hair, violet eyes, kind smile. "No. Yes." Steven closed his eyes. "I don't know," he said miserably. "I like the 'yes' answer the best." "You would," Steven muttered. "What's her name?" Steven stood up. "This is ridicu-" "Sit down, Steven." It was a soft roar, a command meant to be obeyed. Steven sat. Mike nodded and tilted his head. "So… Her name is…?" "Jenna." Steven glared over the pew. "If Helen gets a word of this, I swear I'll…" "It's privileged," Mike said and leaned forward. "And you met her when?" "Today," Steven snapped and watched Mike's eyes grow round. Looking at his watch Steven added, "Seven and a half hours ago, to be most accurate." Mike sat back in the pew. "Well, Steven clenched his jaw. "Nothing." Mike pursed one side of his mouth. "Oh, please, Steven. You're here. You're troubled." Mike folded his arms across his chest. "Not all women are Melissa, you know." "I know. But I refuse to expose my kids to any woman until I'm sure she's not." Mike waved his hand. "And because you can't afford time away Steven shook his head stubbornly. "I can't… no, I won't put the boys through that again." "You didn't put them through it the first time, Steven," Mike reminded him. Steven squeezed his eyes closed, clenched his fist tight. "1 know. Dammit, don't you think I know?" Then Mike covered Steven's clenched fist with his steady hand and just held it there. "I know you know, Steven," he said softly. "And I know you believe you did the right thing by the boys by not telling them the truth about Melissa's death." "I Mike sighed heavily. "I don't know, Steven," he murmured. "But I do know that in spite of all you've done to protect your family, it hasn't made any of you any happier." There was nothing to say to dispute that so Steven said nothing and Mike removed his steadying hand and leaned back in the pew. "I take it I'm still the only one who knows," Mike said after another minute of quiet. Steven opened his eyes, then narrowed them. "You are." "Hmm. So I'm the only person you could come to when you finally realized you've painted yourself in a corner with this ridiculous ban you've put on marriage." "It's not ridic-" "Hush, Steven. Save it for yourself because I'm not buying. So tell me about this Jenna." "There is nothing to tell," Steven insisted through clenched teeth. "I sincerely doubt that. What's her last name?" Steven twisted in the pew so he faced forward, his arms pulled tightly across his body. "Marshall," he answered. "And what does she do?" "She's a teacher." He threw a sour look over his shoulder. "She's Brad's teacher." "Oh. Well, now the picture's a bit clearer. I bet she's kind." "Yes." "Pretty?" Steven drew a breath, irritated. "Yes." Let it out. "She's kind and pretty." Anger started to simmer deep inside him. "You want to know the truth, He exhaled, the burst of temper leaving him drained. "But I can't have her." "Because you choose not to marry her." Steven stiffened at the disapproval in Mike's voice. "That is correct, Father." "You're a fool, Steven Thatcher." "Why, because I believe in sex within the sanctity of marriage? I thought that would earn me some brownie points," Steven said bitterly. "It earns you a hair shirt and a flogging strap," Mike snapped back. "If you want to be a martyr, do it in somebody else's church, because I don't want to hear it anymore." Steven turned back in the pew to find Mike red-faced and visibly trembling. "What does that mean exactly, Father Leone?" he asked coldly. Mike's chin came up, challenge in his dark eyes. "It means that you have set up a situation that's a no-win for everyone." "So what do you recommend, "If you ask me as Father Leone, I'm not going to recommend anything," Mike said sharply. Mike was hurt, Steven realized with a shock. He'd always thought Mike impervious to insult, but that was obviously not the case. This man was his best friend. He'd been best man at his wedding, had christened both Matt and Nicky. Softening, he met Mike's flashing eyes and asked, "So what do you recommend, my friend?" Mike stilled. "Don't swear you'll never marry again, Steven. It's not right for you to be alone. You need help with the boys, someone to support you when life doesn't work out the way you plan." Steven thought about the support he'd felt just talking to Jenna Marshall. He could easily see her in that role-help-ing with the boys, supporting him. But still… "I don't want her around the boys," he insisted. "They'll get attached to her, and if it doesn't work out…" Mike nodded thoughtfully. "I can see where that is a legitimate concern. So spend time with her away from the boys. Take her to dinner." He lifted a brow. "Take her to church." Steven smiled. "Yes, Father." "But also realize you are putting this woman under an enormous level of scrutiny. That's not fair to her. At some point you will know enough. You need to know in advance what that point is." Steven was considering that advice when the clock in the old tower chimed. One in the morning. Where had the time gone? He stood up. "I have to get up in a few hours for a meeting at the office." He stuck out his hand. "Thanks, Mike." Mike looked at his hand a moment, then stood and embraced him over the pew. "I've missed you, Steven. Please don't make me wait so long before I see you again." "You can come see me. They don't lock you up in here, do they?" Steven asked, going for a jaunty grin that felt forced. "Only on Thursdays." Mike patted his stomach under the biack robes. "And that's only because Sal's Pizza has an all-you-can-eat special that night." He walked with Steven toward the doors. "What case are you working now that has you meeting so early on a Saturday?" Steven sighed. "You've heard about the two girls missing from their beds?" Mike's face tightened. "I have. Their families are part of this parish." Steven stopped. "You're kidding." Mike shook his head and looked back toward the altar. "That's why I was here so late tonight. Samantha Eggle-ston's parents were here most of last night praying for her return. I thought they might come back tonight." "Can you think of anything the two girls had in common?" Mike frowned. "I've thought of nothing else since the Egglestons called me yesterday morning. Only that they were both cheerleaders. Both were shy, which surprised me. I always thought cheerleaders were outgoing and confident, but neither of these two were. They went to different schools, really didn't hang out with each other while they were here. I can have their youth pastor call you tomorrow, if you like." Steven's mind was racing again. "'Please. Thanks, Mike." He started off toward the door, but Mike caught his sleeve. "I want to help those families any way I can, Steven, but it's hard to hold out hope. Do you think there's a chance we'll get Sammie back? Alive?" Steven hesitated. "Between you and me, no. But please don't tell her parents that." "You have my word." Steven pushed the door open and felt the cold night air on his face again. "Thanks, Mike." He walked out of the church with more to think about than when he'd gone in. But there was a peace as well, one he hadn't felt in a very long time. He'd focus on Samantha Eggleston and Brad for now, but the idea of exploring a relationship with Jenna Marshall little by little held incredible appeal. Soon, he promised himself. He'd call her up and ask her out to dinner sometime soon. |
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