A Man to Hold on to (A Tallgrass Novel) (28 page)

In this case, Mariah was his.

“Could I trouble you for a cup of coffee? I’ve been to four places since getting into town, and not one of them makes a decent cup.”

Mouth pressed in a line, Therese left the table and went to the coffeemaker. As soon as the brew was started, she began clearing dishes from the table. When she set the second stack down so hard on the counter that they should have broken, she knotted her fingers and turned to face Catherine. “You should have called me instead of just coming here.”

Catherine moved from the chair to a stool at the island. “She’s my daughter.”

“I have legal custody.”
Remember? Because you didn’t want them anymore.

Her shrug was elegant, her bleached hair rippling in waves around her shoulders. “She doesn’t want to live with you. And a girl belongs with her mother.”

Especially a young one. Especially one who’d lost her father. But
that
girl required effort, work, patience, dealing with. A new haircut, a manicure, or new clothes weren’t going to ease that trauma. “What about a boy? Doesn’t he belong with his mother, too?”

“Jacob’s doing fine here.” Catherine’s tone was so dismissive that Therese’s fingers curled tighter. If only it was her throat they were gripping.

Therese forced a deep breath, then another. It was quiet upstairs. Keegan was taking care of Jacob, and Abby was no doubt on the phone with Nicole, telling her about this fabulous turn of events. She was so excited. She must be feeling as if every dream she ever wanted had come true.

And wasn’t this what Therese had wanted, too? Hadn’t she prayed for Catherine to step up? Hadn’t she been willing to keep Jacob if only she could send Abby elsewhere? Was she no better than Catherine?

She had prayed…but she wasn’t sure…she didn’t think…

God, what do I do now? Is this Your will? Is this best for Abby? Will Catherine be any sort of mother to her, or is she looking for someone to adore her, someone she can shape in her silicone image?

“I talked to a lawyer,” Catherine said. “All you have to do is sign a few papers, and Abby and I will head back to California. Though…there is one other thing.”

The hairs on Therese’s nape stood on end, and her stomach clenched. Catherine already assumed she could just swoop in and take back her daughter without any problem. What else could she possibly want?

The woman rested her hands on the countertop, gold and diamonds catching the light from above, and tapped her bloodred fake nails. “Raising a teenager isn’t cheap, and it’s different in California. Abby will be adapting to a more sophisticated lifestyle. She’ll need things.”

Therese stared. Dimly she registered that her mouth was open, but she couldn’t bypass the shock to give her brain the command to close it. Catherine was asking for
money
? She’d finally decided to live up to her responsibilities as a mother, but she wanted Therese to pay her for it? Oh, no. Oh, hell, no.

“It’s only fair,” Catherine said defensively. “Paul’s life insurance was meant to provide for the three of you. If I’m taking care of Abby, then I deserve a third of the money.”

“Fair?” The word squeaked out, barely able to form since Therese’s chest was so tight she couldn’t get a breath in. “Deserve?”

Steps sounded on the stairs, and Catherine darted a look that way, then slid to her feet. Quickly, softly, she said, “I know what she’s like. It’s a small price to be rid of her.”

Then she put on her phoniest smile and, in an unnaturally loud voice, went on. “You know what? Forget about the coffee. I’ve had enough caffeine for the day. I’ve got all the paperwork in my car. I’ll bring it by tomorrow after I get my baby off to school, and you can set up an appointment with your attorney.”

Therese didn’t point out that she went to school, too. She didn’t scream at Catherine to get the hell out of her house and never come back. She didn’t slap that fraud of a smile off her face. She didn’t do anything but watch as the bitch glided down the hall, intercepting Abby on her way to the kitchen, turned her around, hooked her arm through Abby’s, and strolled out the door.

But once the faint rev of an engine faded away, Therese sank to the floor, right there against the cabinets, and hugged herself tightly. That was where Keegan, Jacob, and Mariah found her some while later. Keegan didn’t try to coax her to her feet, to move her someplace better suited for falling apart, but all three of them joined her, Keegan on one side, Jacob on the other, Mariah curling up on Jacob’s lap and periodically patting Therese’s arm. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she murmured.

Though her eyes were swimming with tears, Therese smiled at her. “Is that what Celly says?”

She nodded vigorously and patted again. “Celly knows.”

After a long time, Jacob asked, “Are you gonna let her go?”

Comforted by the feel of Keegan’s arm around her waist, Therese slid her left arm around Jacob’s waist and pulled him closer. “I may not have a choice.”

“The law says you do. When she gave us up, she gave up all her rights, too.”

“But Abby’s thirteen. A judge would consider what she wants. And can you imagine how unhappy we’re all going to be if she’s disappointed?”

But a little voice in Therese’s head argued.
She’s thirteen—still a child. And Catherine as much as admitted she wanted her for the money. What if you refuse to give it to her? Will she still take Abby?

“This is my fault,” Jacob muttered. “If we hadn’t gone out there on spring break…and that was my idea.”

“It’s not your fault.” It was the first time Keegan had spoken since joining Therese on the floor. “You’re not responsible for decisions made by adults, Jacob.”

“Still…” The boy sighed, then rested his head on Therese’s shoulder.

Life without Abby. It was what she’d wanted…or so she’d thought. But even after speaking to the lawyer at JAG and the chaplain, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to take any action. She’d prayed for guidance, talked to her friends, confided in Keegan, but she hadn’t called Catherine or Paul’s parents. She hadn’t broached the issue with anyone who could actually do something.

And Abby had been so much easier. She’d lost so much of the snottiness. She’d let down her guard. They’d begun building a relationship.
Lord, am I supposed to just let go of that? Let a woman I wouldn’t trust with a kitten waltz away with Paul’s daughter? Buy my freedom and forget about Abby and what’s best for her?

Her only answer in that moment was the aching in her own heart.

T
hursday morning always came too soon.

Jessy squinted at the clock, but the numbers were blurry, dancing before her grit-filled eyes. Her mouth tasted like grit, too, and her head was pounding. Again. The sunlight creeping into the room at the edges of the window blinds seemed brighter than it should have been for six forty-five a.m. Shoving her fingers through her hair, she sat up in bed and checked the clock again.

Holy crap, it was 7:53. She launched out of bed and nearly lost her balance, her legs wobbling, her arms windmilling. Before the wave of nausea had passed, she was moving again, grabbing a dress from the closet, clean underwear from the dresser, yanking her pajamas off as she stumbled into the bathroom.

It was the quickest put-together she’d ever done: clothes, shoes, makeup, hair, teeth brushed, in five minutes. She didn’t have time for a cup of coffee, but she could mainline the stuff at work, and food would have to wait until her midmorning break. Grabbing her purse, she sailed out the door and down the steps, then practically ran to the bank.

Mrs. Dauterive gave her one of those looks, all prim and pruny, even though she reached her desk at exactly eight o’clock. Jessy flashed her a bright smile, stuffed her bag in the bottom desk drawer, then headed to the break room for coffee.

“You barely made it,” Julia murmured as she stirred sweetener into her own mug.

“Yeah, but it counts.” Jessy filled her own mug, added real cream and too much sugar. She could use the calories since she’d missed breakfast.

“You look like hell, girlfriend. You coming down with something?”

Heat warmed Jessy’s face, but she pretended otherwise. “Trouble sleeping.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie. She couldn’t remember actually going to bed last night. She did remember getting takeout at Serena’s—a slice of sweet potato pie, one of pecan, and one of coconut cream, and sipping a glass of wine while she indulged.

Everything after that was a little fuzzy.

She felt like one of her own photography subjects in the camera viewfinder in that instant before she pressed the shutter release and brought everything into clear focus. She hadn’t had any clear focus in her life for a long time.

Grimly she returned to her desk, uncomfortably aware of Mrs. Dauterive’s beady stare. She was grateful when the first customer of the morning took a seat in front of her desk. She smiled her fake smile, greeted the old lady in her fake-friendly-professional voice, and forced her attention to the opening of a new account.

By the time her break came, she was starved. She’d already drunk enough bad coffee to make her jittery, but she took advantage of the free minutes to go across and down the street to Java Dave’s for real coffee and a pastry. The woman in front of her took forever to decide about her order, leaving Jessy to waste half of her break waiting. “For God’s sake, hon, it’s coffee,” she muttered under her breath.

Her blond hair swinging, the woman turned to give her a piercing look, the blue of her eyes as fake as the green of Jessy’s was real. Slowly she faced the counter and the patient barista again and ordered.

The moment the blonde walked away, Jessy rattled off her own order, then glanced over her shoulder. The woman might be slow, but she wore a pair of killer heels that would look so much better on Jessy, and the casual-chic outfit would be more flattering on Jessy, too. She had on too much jewelry, and the silvery tint to her hair left a lot to be desired, and—

And she was meeting Therese. At ten o’clock on a Thursday morning. When Therese should be in school surrounded by all her little rug rats. What the hell? Therese never missed work unless she was on her deathbed, and she had the constitution of a horse. She never had the sniffles, colds, or even menstrual cramps.

So why was she off today, who was the woman, and why was the air around them icy enough to produce August snow on the Oklahoma prairie?

The barista cleared her throat, and Jessy turned back to pay for her order. She’d intended to eat at one of the small tables before heading back to Mrs. Dauterive’s snotty glare, but not now. Not with one of her best friends engaged in frosty conversation with a stranger just across the room. She’d much rather sit in the gazebo on the courthouse’s back lawn.

Feeling furtive, she put extra effort into leaving the coffee shop unnoticed. As she took one last look at Therese at the door, a thought occurred to her: this meeting must be about Abby. Was she making good on her threat to send the girl away?

God, Jessy hoped not. She knew Abby was a brat. She’d never been timid about sharing that with Therese. But she also knew that sometimes being bratty was a cover for how lost and unhappy and unwanted a kid felt. Therese was the best thing to ever happen to Abby, and if she gave up on her, what chance did the girl have?

Jessy knew a few things about kids parents had given up on. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone, not even a snotty thirteen-year-old who’d slapped her stepmother.

Not even Abby deserved to grow up and become Jessy.

Keegan sat on the stoop in front of his motel room, checking the time on his cell phone every minute or so. Therese had called earlier to tell him she’d taken the day off to meet with Catherine and would let him know when she was done. He hadn’t tried to influence her either way, not this morning or last night. She had to make her own decision.

But, God, he hoped she said no. Every instinct he possessed said Catherine Matheson was the worst possible choice for Abby. She was self-centered and as shallow as the dewdrops that had formed on the grass this morning. Had about as much permanency, too.

At least that call had been followed with good news: his request to extend his leave another week had been approved. He had more time with Therese, which they would both need if she let Catherine take Abby right away the way the woman wanted.

At the bottom of the steps, Mariah sat on her haunches, intently watching an ant crawl from one chunk of gravel to the next. “When is Celly coming back?”

Her question didn’t surprise him. She asked at least once a day, usually his cue to call his mom and let them talk a bit. “In a few days.” Not that she had much concept of time. Her entire life had consisted of just a few days, as far as she was concerned. No past to remember, no future to worry about, nothing but today. He envied her, but then, her
todays
were, for the most part, good days.

Finally she stood, tottered a moment, then climbed the steps. “Tell me a story.”

“Your books are inside. Grab one and—”

Stubbornly she shook her head. “Not read, tell. Celly tells stories.”

“But—”

“Abby tells stories. Jacob tells stories.”

“Yeah, I get it, everyone tells stories.” He lifted her onto his lap, trying to remember any of the hundred stories his mom had told when he was a kid. There had been one about a muskrat, a bunch with alligators, lots with dogs and cats and brave little boys who looked a lot like him in his imagination, but he couldn’t recall enough details to make a coherent tale. “Okay…”

“Once upon a time,” she supplied helpfully.

Sure, that worked for him. “Once upon a time, in a far, faraway land, there lived a princess named—”

“Mariah!”

“—and she lived in a big castle and had a pet—”

“Alligator!”

“A pet alligator named Chompers.” Pulling her hand to his mouth, he pretended to munch on her fingers, and she giggled with delight. The moment hit him hard: the little girl who’d cried at the sight of him a week and a half ago was now giggling in his lap. How cool was that?

He went on, his voice husky. “Mariah and Chompers liked to go on adventures in the bayou around the castle. One day—”

The ring and vibration of his phone in his free hand jerked his gaze to the screen. Disappointment rose when he realized it was his mother instead of Therese. He held the phone to Mariah’s ear and said, “Say hello to Celly.”

“Hey, Celly!” She slid to her feet and tugged the phone from his hand. “I hold it my own self. Guess what, Celly?” She wandered around the stoop, barely breathing, launching into new topics before she finished the old ones. She talked about Abby, Jacob, and Therese, and just as Keegan was about to tune her out, she mentioned him. “Celly, Daddy’s telling me a story about a princess named Mariah and a pet ’gator.”

Even from across the small porch, he heard his mother’s voice rise with pleasure. “Daddy?”

“Uh-huh.” After rambling another couple minutes, Mariah said, “We got you a pretty labender flower for when you get back and— Ooh, kitty!” She set the phone on Keegan’s leg, skipped down the steps, and followed from a distance as a cat stalked along the back wall of the motel office, headed for the Dumpster.

Drawing a breath, he raised the phone to his ear. “Hey, Mom.”

“Daddy, huh? Oh, darlin’, I’m so glad you finally came to your senses. I know you were worried about getting hurt and all, but you can’t give away the child who calls you Daddy, now can you?”

“No,” he agreed quietly. He expected his gut to knot a little—after all, Mariah still wasn’t his daughter—but it didn’t come. Only the same sense of rightness he’d felt practically from the beginning with Therese. “How is Ford?”

“He’s doing fine. Getting up and about, even talking about going back to work, but Denise isn’t going to let that happen one moment too soon. You know, I might have been wrong about her. She’s handled this pretty well, considering. Right now I’m thinking I’ll head home Sunday, maybe Monday. What about you guys? Should I book a seat for Mariah from Tulsa to Alexandria?”

He could say yes. God knows, Mariah would be thrilled to see her again, and he would have a little privacy, time to go for a run, to savor some quiet. But the thought of sending her off, of not hearing her snores at night or her laughter during the day, of not shaping his time and activities around her, held zero appeal. Somewhere down the line, sure, but not when this was all so new.

“Nah, Mom. I extended my leave for another week. I’ll bring her back with me.”

“Oh.” An interested note came into her voice. “Does this have to do with Therese?”

“Yeah.”

“Ohhh. Well, if you don’t need me back right away, I might stay a little longer. Ford hasn’t been able to do much talking so far. Now that he’s getting stronger, I’d like to spend a bit more time with him. You give Mariah lots of hugs and kisses from me, and send me a picture of this girl Therese. I want to get an idea what my next grandchild might look like.”

Before he could respond to that, she laughed and rushed out, “Love you, darlin’. You take care.”

“Love you, too.” He hung up and double-checked to make sure he hadn’t missed a call-waiting signal.

It sounded like a hokey line from a song, but waiting really was the hardest part.

The meeting with Catherine hadn’t gone well, not that Therese had expected it to. She’d been awake most of the night, asking hard questions of herself and today of Catherine, and still wasn’t satisfied that she had any answers.

Paul’s ex had shown up at the coffee shop with the papers in a large envelope, and Therese had scanned them. There were no surprises in the documents. In exchange for one-third of the proceeds of Paul’s life insurance, Catherine would take back custody of Abby. Simple. Easy.

Except it was neither.

After Catherine left Java Dave’s in a huff, Therese went home. The house was quiet, welcoming, not the place she’d dreaded for so long. Letting her purse slide to the floor, she walked into the living room and straight to the fireplace and the large photo of Paul. “What do I do?” she whispered. “She’s your little girl. I promised you I would take care of her, and we’re getting to the point that I believe I can do it right. But Catherine’s her mother. That means so much to Abby. But she’s not a very interested mother, and I worry…Oh, Paul, I worry.”

Sadly, she got no response.

She wandered the room, looking at photographs, keepsakes, mementos that lined the shelves. She was about to sink into her favorite chair when a stack of boxes on one shelf caught her eye. They were heavy-duty, gaily striped, so much prettier than the shoe boxes Paul had stored his pictures in when she met him. She picked up the top one, sat down, and lifted the lid.

There was no order to the photos inside. Organizing them was a job he’d been saving for someday, when he would scan them onto the computer, label them, and file them chronologically. The top handful she removed were mostly snapshots taken in the few years before the kids came to live with them, with a few early school photos added.

Abby and Jacob got progressively younger the deeper she dug into the box: preschool, with wispy blond curls, big brown eyes, missing teeth, big grins. She shuffled through them, smiling at moments she’d missed, back when the original Matheson family was intact and looked so happy. They’d been a beautiful family, the kids small, perfect images of their father, their mother holding them as if she wouldn’t grow tired of them in a few years. The happiness, the sheer perfection, of the family was so real, so alive in those moments captured in time.

But Therese knew it was a lie. Catherine had had affairs, Paul had delivered ultimatums, and, as Jacob clearly remembered, they’d fought all the time. The happiness and perfection had lasted for the blink of the camera’s eye.

She’d browsed through most of the box when she came to a photograph that made her go still. A little girl wearing a ribbons-and-lace dress, her curls untamed, her smile so bright a person couldn’t help smiling back. What was a picture of Mariah doing in this box of Matheson family photos? Had Abby taken it and printed a copy on her computer?

No, Therese had never seen Mariah in that dress. It was far frillier than anything she’d worn since arriving here, a special-occasion dress, Easter or birthday or Christmas.

Had Abby seen it in Keegan’s wallet and asked for it? Presumptive action, but one she could see Abby taking. When she wanted something, she wanted it.