Father Of The Brat (2 page)

She smiled briefly and looked back down at her pile of information. “No, sorry, I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Somehow, he suspected the latter was true.

Her head snapped up again, and she glared at him. That glare, more than anything else she had done since he’d opened his front door, made Carver even more certain that he did in fact know her. Unfortunately, a lot of women had glared at him in his time. For some reason, this woman just seemed to be better at it than most.

“I have a copy of Rachel Stillman’s birth certificate along with some other documents,” she said, ignoring his question. “From the state of California. They clearly indicate that you are the girl’s father.”

Carver frowned. “Let me see those.” He took the collection of papers she extended toward him. They, too, appeared to be legitimate documents, complete with raised seals and indecipherable signatures. The birth certificate stated quite clearly in black and white that a female child named Rachel Carver Stillman had been born into this world a little over twelve years ago, that she had weighed seven pounds, fourteen ounces and had been twenty-one and a half inches long. It also indicated that her mother’s name was Abigail Renée Stillman. And that her father’s name was Carver Venner.

“Nevertheless,” Carver said, “this doesn’t prove anything.”

“It proves that you’re the child’s father.”

“No, it proves that Abby Stillman filled out a form and
said
that I’m the child’s father. Hell, it could have been any number of men. Abby was a great girl and a lot of fun to be around, but she wasn’t exactly a one-man woman. I wasn’t the only guy she ever dated.”

“But you are the one she said is the father of her child.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” he repeated.

Mostly Harmless Garrett, who was proving to be anything but studied him some more. He was starting to feel like some kind of lab specimen the way she kept staring at him like that. Her eyes were so dark, he could scarcely tell where the brown of her irises ended and the black of her pupils began. Those eyes, like the rest of her, haunted him.

“Nevertheless,” she said, taking the birth certificate back from him, “you’re the one who’s responsible for the girl, now that her mother is dead.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Carver countered. “She’s not my daughter.”

“What year did you meet Abigail Stillman?” the caseworker asked in an obvious effort to try a different route.

Carver thought for a moment. “Let’s see now…I was down in Guatemala working on a story for
Mother Jones
about how American businesses were taking advantage of the local labor. Abby, if I recall, was covering the local elections for UPI. That would have been…” He ticked off the years on both hands, then started over, touching three more fingers. “Almost exactly thirteen years ago.”

“So the timing would be about right.”

He shook his head. “No, it wouldn’t, because you said this kid is twelve, right?”

M. H. Garrett nodded. “Twelve years and three months. Add to that nine months of gestation, and her date of conception would be…almost exactly thirteen years ago.”

Carver didn’t like that line of reasoning one bit. And it still didn’t prove a damned thing. Abby Stillman
had
been a real party girl. She hadn’t exactly been promiscuous, but she had liked men. A lot. And there had been plenty of men in Guatemala besides him back then. Any one of them could be this Rachel kid’s father. His name on an official document didn’t mean anything, and he told the caseworker so.

Unfortunately, M. H. Garrett and the state of Pennsylvania saw things a little differently. “Sorry,” she told him, “but as long as you’re listed as Rachel Stillman’s father on
her birth certificate, the law says you’re responsible for her now that her mother is dead. Unless you go to court and prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the girl is not your daughter.”

“Then I’ll go to court and prove it beyond a reasonable doubt.”

“Fine. In the meantime, just make sure you show up at the airport tomorrow morning at eleven-thirty, a half hour before Rachel’s plane arrives. You and I are both going to be there to meet her.”

That said, M. H. Garrett, Caseworker, scooped up her impressive array of documents and stuffed them back into her satchel, snapping the briefcase shut with all the aplomb and confidence of Clarence Darrow. Then she stood and collected her trench coat from the rack by the door and shrugged back into it.

“USAir flight number 422,” she said as she turned up her collar. “Arrives at 12:04 p.m. Be there, Mr. Venner, or risk the wrath of the Child Welfare Office.”

He chuckled, a derisive sound completely lacking in mirth. “Oh, and I’m supposed to be terrified of a bunch of overextended social workers who don’t even have the time or organization to tell me I’ve become a father.”

At his assertion, M. H. Garrett slouched a little, looking even more tired than Carver felt. “Yeah,” she said. “You’re supposed to be terrified of us. Maybe we’re overextended, disorganized and pressed for time, but at least we care about our kids. And maybe we don’t always get the job done right, but we do our best.”

She reached behind herself for the doorknob and pulled the door open, but her gaze never left his. “I’ve been assigned to your case, Mr. Venner, and I’m going to do my best to make sure that you and your daughter get situated properly. If you need counseling, I’ll arrange it. If you need financial assistance, I’ll see what I can do. If you need help getting her enrolled in school, I’ll take care of it.”

“And if I need the services of a lawyer to prove this is all just a scam?” he asked pointedly.

“Then you’re on your own. Although I do have legal counsel at my disposal, I’ll only notify them if you don’t show up at the airport tomorrow or if you conveniently decide to leave town. Like I said, I’ll do what I can for you and the girl. Because as far as I’m concerned, and as far as the law is concerned, Rachel Stillman is your daughter.”

He was about to object again when he decided it would probably be fruitless to do so. He knew a good lawyer, one who’d pulled his butt out of a sling on more than one occasion. This Rachel Stillman thing would be a piece of cake for her. Before the kid’s plane hit the runway, Carver would be off the hook.

He watched M. H. Garrett’s back as she descended the stairs, still rattling his brain trying to remember where he knew her from. He even stepped out into the hallway to lean over the banister, and continued to observe her until her dark head disappeared into the stairwell completely.

Only when she was safely out of sight did it finally strike Carver in a burst of memory where he had met her. And once he remembered, he immediately recalled what the M.H. stood for. It didn’t stand for
Mostly Harmless.
It stood for Madelaine Helena. He also recalled that although Maddy was a lot of things, as far as he was concerned,
harmless
wasn’t one of them.

Madelaine Garrett settled herself wearily into the driver’s seat of her aged sedan and sighed. She told herself she should be worrying about the outcome of the Stillman case. Or about the outcome of any number of cases assigned to her docket. She told herself she should be studying the ragged city map in her glove compartment to locate the address of the next family she had to visit that day. She told herself she should even be thinking about what she was going to do for lunch, since she hadn’t consumed anything but coffee for more than seven hours. Instead, only one thought meandered through her brain.

Carver Venner hadn’t remembered her. He hadn’t recognized her at all.

Uncertain whether she was happy or sad about the realization, she angled the rearview mirror down toward herself and studied her reflection. Had she really changed that much since she had last seen him? Her face was still oval shaped, and her fair skin was still almost too pale. Her eyes were still brown and her hair was still black, albeit significantly touched with gray and considerably shorter than the waist-length tresses she had sported twenty years ago. The glasses she wore now weren’t so very different from those she had worn throughout high school, but these days they were considered fashionable instead of geeky.

Although she had been a little on the pudgy side as a teenager, she reminded herself. And she had shed all her surplus weight and more while going through her divorce five years ago. She was quite a bit thinner now than she had been as an adolescent—really too thin, she knew—something that made her eyes seem larger and her lips fuller than they had been before, something that more clearly defined what had turned out to be surprisingly stark cheekbones. Maybe that was why Carver hadn’t recognized her, she thought.

Or maybe he hadn’t recognized her, she pondered further, because she simply wasn’t anything at all like the kid he’d known at Strickler High School. Maddy leaned her head back against the seat and inhaled an unsteady breath. Boy, would Carver laugh hysterically if he only knew how right he’d been about so many things.

She turned the key in the ignition and waited for a moment while her little car sputtered to life. It groaned and grated and finally choked itself into gear, and Maddy drove forward with no particular destination in mind.

She had thirty-two cases assigned to her at the moment, not one of which showed any promise of turning out well. When the Rachel Stillman file had landed on her desk, she had at first embraced high hopes for it. Only when she’d realized the man she would be informing of Rachel’s existence was Carver Venner had she tried to get someone else to take the case. She’d pleaded with Vivian and Mohammed
to pay back favors they owed her, and had even tried to bribe Eric. But, like she, everyone else at Welfare was overburdened with casework as it was. As usual, no one had the time.

Maddy caught sight of a fast-food chain up ahead and flipped on her right turn signal to make a quick stop at the drive-thru. When she exited with a greasy cheeseburger and fries and diet soda in hand, however, she suddenly lost her appetite. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually been hungry. Funny, at one time food had been her greatest comforter. Nowadays, even the most decadent confection in the world couldn’t ease the feelings of hopelessness that wanted to drag her down.

She pulled into the parking lot of a downtown Philly church and reached into the glove compartment for her map. Another new case, she thought as she flipped through her binder looking for the name of the family in question. Another lost cause.

She suddenly felt overwhelmed, a feeling she had to battle every minute of the day lately. It was all Carver’s fault, she thought. Seeing him again had made her ache for a time in her life when things had been so much simpler, so much happier.

“God, Maddy,” she scolded herself as she finally located the file she’d been seeking. Immediately she ignored it and stared blindly out the window at the passing traffic instead. “If you’re thinking of high school as a simpler, happier time, you’re definitely getting maudlin in your old age. Not to mention delusional.”

Her years at Strickler High School had been neither particularly simple, nor especially happy. The only child of parents who had adored her to the point of sheltering her from everything that might make her unhappy, Maddy Saunders had been the nerdy kid who wore the wrong clothes, listened to the wrong music and read way too many books. She’d been the brainy girl with big glasses, the only one in Chemistry who’d thought logarithms were a piece of
cake, the only one in English who’d thought
Lysistrata
was hilarious.

She’d always been the nice kid. The other students, when they’d bothered to think of her at all, had referred to her as “Goody.” As in “Goody Two-shoes,” as in “Good God, she’s so naive.” The nickname hadn’t bothered Maddy, though. She’d considered it a compliment. Because back then, it had been true. She’d been a good girl with a good mind, good manners and a good heart. And twenty years ago, she’d also been something else she wasn’t anymore and would never be again—an optimist. She had always been certain that the world was, in essence, a good place, a place where she could make a difference.

Boy, what a laugh that was, she thought now. Had she ever been that innocent? That naive? That stupid? Everyone else at Strickler High had seemed to think so. Especially Carver Venner. But Carver had differed from the other kids in one respect: where the others had pretty much overlooked and dismissed her, he’d seemed to single her out on a regular basis. He’d teased her relentlessly, infuriated her daily, and generally made a mockery of her decency.

And then there was that episode during the senior play, that kiss behind the cave scenery during Act One of
Macbeth.
Even if it had been brief and passionless, and even if he had only meant it as something else to make her crazy, Carver’s kiss had been the first one Maddy had ever received from a boy. As maddening as Carver Venner had been, she’d never been able to forget him because of that.

And now, dammit, he had to come barreling back into her life. When she least expected it, when she was ill-equipped to handle it.

She closed her eyes and remembered again the way he had looked when he’d thrown open his front door. Half naked, with his dark hair falling over his forehead and his unshaven jaw set in exasperation, he’d looked like some brooding gothic hero. So incredibly masculine. An odd thrill of excitement had wound through Maddy unlike anything
she’d ever felt. He’d been a wiry kid back in high school, she remembered. Now he was solid rock.

The moment she’d seen him, she’d been nearly overcome by an inexplicable urge to lean against him and feel his arms around her. For some reason she still couldn’t figure out, she had wanted to bury her face in his neck and inhale great gulps of him. She’d wanted him to make her feel as strong as he looked. Instead, she hadn’t even let him know who she was. Because that would have been a foolish thing to do. That would have made him remember too many things, too.

After her divorce, Maddy had only kept her married name because it would have been too inconvenient and timeconsuming to change it back to Saunders. She’d never thought she would have a reason to be thankful she’d kept Dennis Garrett’s name, especially since she hadn’t been able to keep Dennis. But because she was no longer Maddy Saunders—neither literally not figuratively—there was absolutely no reason for Carver Venner to find out who he was actually dealing with. Her time with him and his daughter would be minimal, then she could slip discreetly out of their lives without a backward glance never to see Carver again.