Don't Cry (8 page)

“Zoe's very concerned about Dawson,” Audrey told Officer Karns. “Can you give her some kind of reassurance that he'll be well treated and no harm will come to him until his parents can arrange for his release?”

J.D. watched and listened, completely dumbfounded by the way Zoe was reacting to Audrey Sherrod. Hadn't he been saying pretty much the same things to her? Why was she paying attention to a stranger when all she'd done was scream at her own father?

“Yes, ma'am.” The young policeman looked directly at Zoe. “I give you my word that Dawson will be okay until his parents can take him home. He's drunk and belligerent and he's mouthed off and, yes, he's in big trouble. But his folks will get him a good lawyer and since this is his first arrest, he'll probably wind up with nothing more than a slap on the wrist.”

“There, Zoe, Officer Karns has given you his word.” Audrey placed her hand on Zoe's shoulder. “I'm sure if you go home with your father now and apologize to him for some of the things you said to him, you and he will be able to come to an understanding about Dawson.” Audrey looked at J.D. “Isn't that right, Special Agent Cass?”

J.D. snorted. Damn her. She'd put him on the spot. He nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

When Audrey turned to go, Zoe called, “Wait. Don't leave.”

Audrey paused and glanced over her shoulder.

“Uh…J.D. and I, we don't communicate all that well. We both always wind up saying the wrong things.” Zoe gazed pleadingly at Audrey. “Was it like that for you and your dad?”

J.D. noted the slight hesitation and the quickly concealed odd expression as it crossed Audrey's face.

“Yes, Zoe, it was. My father and I had communication problems, too.”

“Are all fathers like that? I mean, do all of them think you're still a baby when you're not? Do they all try to run your life and assume they know what's best for you even when they're wrong?”

“Yes, to some extent all fathers are like that, so it's up to daughters during their teen years to be patient and understanding and do their best not to give their fathers a heart attack. Of course, giving him a few gray hairs is a different matter. That's a given.”

Zoe looked at J.D., and she and Audrey laughed.

Yeah, funny. He hadn't missed the joke. His hair had already begun turning prematurely gray before Zoe came to live with him, but he had to admit that it was getting grayer every day.

Zoe went over and stood in front of J.D. “If I apologize to you, will you let me say good-bye to Dawson before we leave?”

Letting his daughter anywhere near that young hoodlum was the last thing J.D. wanted to do, but when he glanced at Audrey, she gave him a cautionary meet-your-child-halfway stare.

“Yeah. Okay,” he said reluctantly.

“I'm sorry I said all those awful things to you. I—I didn't mean them.” Zoe gulped. “Well, I didn't mean most of them.”

J.D. nodded. At least she was truthful. That alone was a step in the right direction. “Apology accepted.”

“Now, may I say bye to Dawson?”

“Make it quick.”

“I will.”

Everything was going along just fine. Everybody was calm and rational, even Zoe. And J.D. managed to keep his resentment of Audrey Sherrod's interference under control. Okay, so the woman had worked some kind of magic on Zoe, but she'd had no right to—

God damn it. What the hell?

Zoe stood on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around Dawson's neck, and kissed him. Kissed him on the mouth. And both his mouth and hers were wide open!

J.D. growled like the papa bear he was and felt like ripping Dawson apart, limb from limb. Just as he moved forward, intending to grab Zoe, Audrey reached out and clamped her hand over his forearm.

“Don't,” Audrey whispered. “It's just a kiss. Give her that much.”

J.D. snapped his head around and glared at Audrey. “She's a child. My child.”

“She's a child on the verge of womanhood. And unless I miss my guess, your daughter is strong-minded and stubborn, and the more you object to something, the more appealing it is to her. The harder you push, the harder she'll push back.”

J.D. clenched his teeth. He wanted to tell Audrey Sherrod to go to hell. But he didn't. As bad as he hated to admit it, she was right. Zoe was just like him, God help them both. She was as strong-willed and stubborn as he was, and she reacted just as he did to being issued orders.

The kiss ended before J.D. could explode. And when Zoe came back to him and said, “I'm ready,” he noticed that Audrey's long, slender fingers still circled his forearm.

“You can let go now,” he told her.

She jerked her hand away as her gaze flashed from his face to Zoe's. “If you ever need someone to talk to, give me a call.”

J.D. barely managed to keep from telling Audrey to back off and leave his daughter alone.

“Thanks,” Zoe said. “I just might do that, Dr. Sherrod.”

Audrey smiled warmly before turning and walking away.

“I like her,” Zoe said. “Why can't you date somebody like Dr. Sherrod instead of that stuck-on-herself-because-she's-so-wonderful Holly Johnston?”

“Whom I date is none of your business,” J.D. told her as he escorted her downstairs and out of the police station.

“That should work both ways,” Zoe said.

“It will when you're twenty-one.”

Zoe groaned and rolled her eyes skyward.

Damn. Fatherhood should come with a how-to book.

After they had made love, while he held her close, Wayne had told Grace about the two toddler skeletons found with the bodies of the two murdered women. He hadn't needed to say more than that. She had guessed what he had dreaded telling her. She hadn't cried. She hadn't said much. But he knew she was as torn up inside as he was.

Now she lay cuddled against him, her breast pressing into his side and her head resting on his shoulder. He had known her for almost twenty-five years, but they hadn't become lovers until ten years ago. They had met under the most horrific circumstances—Grace's two-year-old son, Shane, had been abducted not long after Blake had been kidnapped. Their mutual hurt and anger and unbearable grief had created a bond between them, a bond that intensified because they each not only lost a child, but lost a mate. Enid had committed suicide, leaving Wayne alone and lost in his agony. Grace's husband had become an alcoholic and drank himself to death less than five years after Shane's disappearance, leaving her to raise their older son Lance alone.

Over the years Wayne and Grace had stayed in touch. In the beginning, it had been nothing more than Wayne sharing information with her whenever he heard about anything that might possibly be remotely connected to their sons' abductions. Eventually, they started meeting for coffee, and that led to getting together for dinner, and after fifteen years of gradually becoming dear friends, they had become lovers.

Grace was a part of his life that he didn't share with anyone else. Willie and Geraldine knew about Grace and he was pretty sure Garth did, too. But the kids didn't know, Audrey and Hart. Hell, they didn't know much of anything about his life, and he knew very little about theirs. And it was his fault that things were the way they were. He had been the one who had abandoned them. Emotionally abandoned. While they were growing up, he had kept them housed, fed, and clothed, and had paid the bills, but he had ceased being a father to either of them years ago.

Grace eased out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. He watched her, enjoying the view. No longer young, firm, or slender, her body still looked damn good to him. She was a giver, his Grace, not a taker. Looking back over the past twenty-five years, he wasn't sure he would have survived without her.

He got out of bed and joined her in the bathroom. She had already freshened up and slipped into a floor-length blue cotton robe.

“While you're cleaning up, I'll go fix us some supper,” Grace said.

“Don't go to any trouble, honey.” He nuzzled the side of her neck as he pulled her backward against him.

She rested there in his arms for a couple of minutes, then pulled away from him. “How about scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast?”

“Sounds good.”

When she left the bathroom, Wayne stared at himself in the vanity mirror over the sink. His brow was deeply furrowed and his eyes and mouth were framed by wrinkles. And his once-dark hair was now light gray, almost white. How the hell had he gotten so old so fast? Sometimes it seemed as if it had been only yesterday that he'd been twenty-one, his whole life ahead of him. Now he was sixty-one, most of his life behind him.

He turned on the cold water, cupped his hands to catch the water, and tossed it into his face. Then he filled the sink with warm water, picked up the soap, and lathered his genital area. Afterward, he retraced his steps, picked up his discarded clothing, and dressed.

Entering the kitchen, he found Grace at the stove. With the bacon sizzling on one electric eye, she busily poured whisked eggs into a hot skillet.

“What can I do to help?” he asked.

“Put on some coffee and fix the toast.”

As he set about preparing the coffeemaker, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She kept stirring the eggs, focusing her attention on the job at hand. “What more is there to say?”

“I guess you're right. Until we know for sure if those little bodies are Blake and Shane, then…” He didn't know whether he hoped they were his son and Grace's son or if he hoped they weren't.

She lifted the skillet and spooned the scrambled eggs onto two plates, then set the skillet aside. “You'd think that after all these years, it wouldn't still hurt so much.”

Wayne poured fresh water into the reservoir and punched the On button to start the coffee brewing. He moved closer to Grace and slid his arm around her waist.

She closed her eyes. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

Wayne turned her in his arms, reached up, and wiped away the tears with his fingertips. He leaned down and kissed her closed eyelids as his unshed tears caught in his throat.

 

Zoe hadn't said a word all the way home, and the minute they entered the house, she headed for her room.

“We need to talk,” J.D. told her.

“I don't want to talk.”

“Too bad. Come back here and sit down.”

Zoe plodded reluctantly from the hallway into the living room and slumped down on the sofa.

God, he didn't want to do this. But he had to do it. He was Zoe's father.

“What you did today—running off with Dawson—was not only irresponsible and thoughtless, it was dangerous,” J.D. said, doing his level best not to raise his voice.

Zoe remained sullen and silent.

“I expect you to acknowledge what I just said,” he told her.

She lifted her downcast gaze, her eyes bright with anger and a hint of tears. “It's all your fault.'

Stunned by her accusation, he stared at her as he tried to figure out her illogical reasoning. “How is it my fault that you slipped away from Jacy's aunt, who, by the way, was worried sick about you, and ran off with a boy who'd been drinking? How is it my fault that you could easily have been killed in a car wreck because he was driving drunk? And how is it my fault that you and Dawson were picked up by the police?”

“Because…'cause…” She swallowed her tears. “If you'd just let me date Dawson, let him come here and let me go out with him—”

“You are fourteen years old. That's too young to be dating.”

“My mother was dating when she was fourteen!” Zoe shouted.

“Yeah, and see how she turned out.” The moment the words left his mouth, J.D. wished them back. Maybe Carrie had been a very untraditional parent, maybe she'd been irresponsible and flighty, but she had been Zoe's mother.

“How dare you say that about my mom!” Zoe shot up off the sofa. “She was a better parent than you are. At least she loved me.”

When Zoe ran out of the room, he cursed softly and called himself a few choice names,
idiot
heading the list. Why was it that no matter how hard he tried to do the right thing where Zoe was concerned, he always wound up making a mess of things?

Because you don't know the first thing about raising a teenage girl. Because Zoe knows that you really don't want her and that even though you should love her because she's your daughter, you don't.

 

Tam didn't like it when Marcus was away, but in his job as a TVA engineer, he had to travel on a fairly frequent basis. Their apartment seemed so empty without him. He had phoned to let her know he had arrived safely and promised to call again in the morning before she left for work. The luckiest day of her life was when she met Marcus Lovelady, and the second luckiest day was the day they got married. He was such a good man. Kind, considerate, and reliable. And he loved her with his whole heart.

They had discussed having children and she knew that at thirty-four, her biological clock was ticking faster and faster. But she wasn't sure she wanted to try to combine motherhood with a career. Although Marcus would be as wonderful a father as her own dad had always been, she doubted she could ever be half the mother her mama was. Besides, she wasn't sure she deserved to be a mother. Not after…

That was over fifteen years ago. You were barely eighteen.

Tam poured herself another glass of Merlot, flipped on the TV, and kept the sound muted as she sat in her favorite easy chair. She glanced down at the wedding band and one-carat diamond on her ring finger.

She admired and respected Marcus. And she loved him. But had she cheated her husband by marrying him when she would never be able to love him with her whole heart? If she could give him a child, would that make up for the fact that she would always be in love with another man?

Oh, dear Lord, don't think about him. He isn't a part of your daily life and hasn't been for a long, long time.

What was wrong with her tonight? Why was she in such a melancholy mood? Why was she thinking about him, remembering…? She didn't want to think about him, didn't want to remember the child she had aborted, a child who would be nearly fifteen now, almost as old as she had been when she'd gotten pregnant.

It had all been so hopeless, so impossible. And she had been so completely in love.

The saddest part of all was that he had loved her, too, just as much as she had loved him.

Tam gulped down the remainder of her wine and let the empty glass fall from her hand onto the carpeted floor beside her chair. She closed her eyes and allowed the memories to wash over her, warm and sweet like low tide in the heat of summer.

She could almost feel his lips on hers, feel their naked bodies joined, feel him buried deep inside her. She could hear his voice, deep and sultry, saying her name, telling her how much he loved her.

Tears escaped from the corners of her closed eyelids and crept slowly down her cheeks.

Tam wrapped her arms around her body and hugged herself as she sucked back the tears.
Don't do this to yourself. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

If only Marcus were there she wouldn't be wallowing in self-pity. But Marcus wasn't there to reassure her, to make her smile, to remind her of all her many blessings.

Tam got up, grabbed the receiver from the portable phone on the nearby desk, and dialed her best friend's number.

Audrey answered on the third ring. “Hey there.”

“Are you busy?”

“Not really. What's up?”

“Marcus left on another business trip this afternoon and I'm lonely,” Tam said. “I've been sitting here downing a couple of glasses of wine and am on the edge of a self-pity jag.”

“Want me to come over?”

“Would you?”

“Give me thirty minutes.” Then Audrey asked, “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“No, I—”

“Drinking on an empty stomach?” Audrey clicked her tongue to make a disapproving noise. “You know better.”

“I have salad fixings.”

“Good. Why don't you take a shower and put on your pajamas and when I get there, I'll prepare the salad. I have leftover chicken I'll bring with me to add to the salad. But until you eat something, no more wine for you. Promise?”

“I promise.”

Tam hung up the phone. Audrey always knew the right thing to say and the right thing to do to help her. Maybe it was because they knew each other so well, because they'd been close friends since childhood. If Audrey thought that Tam wasn't completely in love with Marcus, she had never said a word. However, she suspected that her best friend knew the truth. She needed to talk to someone, to admit the truth out loud, and who better to be her father confessor than Audrey, her best friend who just happened to be a shrink? Well, a counselor, which was the next best thing to a shrink. Maybe even better.

 

Audrey parked her Buick Enclave, unbuckled her seat belt, and reached for the shoulder bag and the plastic sack containing the cold chicken she had promised to bring for their salad. Her phone rang. After retrieving it from an outer slot on her purse, she checked the caller ID. Zoe Davidson.

“Hi, Zoe,” Audrey said when she answered.

“Hi, Dr. Sherrod.” Zoe's girlish voice sounded even younger than her fourteen years. “I—I…uh…You said if I needed to talk, to call you. You probably didn't expect to hear from me, at least not this soon, but…”

“It's all right,” Audrey assured her. “I don't mind that you called. What can I do to help you?”

“You can get me a different father.”

“Oh, I see. I had hoped maybe once you and your dad got home, you might have been able to talk things out and—”

“He doesn't want to talk things out. He just wants to issue orders. I hate him. And I hate living with him. And he hates me, too. He doesn't want me. He just keeps me because he knows I don't have anywhere else to go.”

Oh, Zoe, you poor, sweet girl.

The similarity between the way J.D. Cass's daughter felt now and the way Audrey had once felt about her relationship with her own father was too obvious to ignore. Audrey understood how it felt to believe your father hated you, that he tolerated you because it was his duty, not because he loved you.

“My guess is that your father doesn't hate you,” Audrey said. “And even if you hate living with him and having to adhere to his rules, you don't really hate him.”

Silence.

“Zoe, do you think your father would allow you to set up an appointment with me?”

“You mean as one of your patients?”

“Although my specialty isn't family counseling, I am qualified—”

“J.D.'s the one who needs counseling,” Zoe said.

“That's probably true and ideally I would counsel both of you, together and separately. But, honey, you need someone to talk to, someone who'll listen and—”

“And care about me. About how I feel and what I think. Could you do that, Dr. Sherrod? Could you care about me, even just a little?”

A hard knot of emotion formed in the center of Audrey's chest. She drew in and released a deep, cleansing breath. Would it be a mistake to counsel Zoe Davidson when she knew, even now, that she would become emotionally involved with this young girl?

“Zoe, if I counsel you, it would be my job to care about what you think and how you feel. And I already like you, you know.”