Father Of The Brat (7 page)

She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “Just try not to think about the past twelve years. There’s absolutely nothing you can do now to change them. Focus on the present instead. Focus on the future.”

Carver looked at the hand covering his, noting the short, unpainted fingernails and the complete lack of jewelry. Nononsense hands, he thought. No-nonsense woman. How often had Maddy’s straightforwardness bothered him in high school? How often had he wanted to do something— anything—to shake her seemingly unshakable scrupulousness? Every day, he remembered. Every day she’d done or said something that had driven him crazy, something that had just made him want to grab her by the shoulders and—

—and kiss her, he recalled in a sudden shock of memory. Just like he had that night during the senior play. Just like he wanted to do now.

God, where had
that
come from? he wondered. He must be overwrought with worry for himself and Rachel if he was
wondering what it would be like to kiss Maddy now. It had been bad enough that he’d done it once twenty years ago. And only then because he’d been under the influence of outof-control, adolescent hormones. No way was he going to succumb to such a crazy desire these days. He was an adult now, completely in control of his feelings. And he did
not
want to kiss Maddy Saunders-turned-Garrett. No way, no how, no sir.

If that’s so true,
a little voice in his head piped up unbidden,
then why does her hand feel so damned good covering yours?

Because it’s freezing out here,
he answered himself immediately.
Even a cold fish like Maddy is a welcome buffer against the elements.

Carver heard the voice start laughing then and tried to tune it out. But deep down, he had to admit that being this close to Maddy again felt good. Very good. Without realizing what he was doing, he turned his hand palm up and linked his fingers with hers.

“I’m going to be needing a lot of help dealing with all this,” he said softly.

When he looked up, it was to find that Maddy’s expression had become a little anxious. Slowly, deliberately, she unwound her fingers from his and curled them back around her coffee cup. “I can recommend a good family counselor,” she said as she lifted the cup to her lips for a slow swallow.

Not one to be put off by subtle dissuasion, Carver pointedly drummed his fingers on the table and persisted, “I don’t think I’d feel comfortable talking to a stranger.”

But Maddy parried like an expert. “You might be surprised. A lot of people think it’s easier to open up about their problems to a stranger than it is to a friend.”

“I’m not one of them.”

“And I’m not a certified counselor.”

“But you are a friend.”

Maddy sighed heavily, wanting to contradict him, knowing that she could in all honesty deny that she was Carver’s
friend. But that would mean admitting that she felt something other than amity for him, something she didn’t think she wanted him knowing about.

“All right,” she finally relented. “If you feel the need to talk to someone, then it’s okay for you to call me.”

“I’d rather
see
you.”

“I’m very busy.”

“But what about me? What about Rachel?”

That was hitting low, she thought. How was she supposed to answer that? “You have my card,” she said evasively as she stood. “I wrote my home phone number on the back of it.”

If she hadn’t known better, Maddy would have almost sworn Carver looked panicky at her unvoiced intent to leave. “It hasn’t been half an hour,” he said.

“Maybe not. But it’s time for me to go.”

She glanced down at the raspberry jelly-filled doughnut that sat untouched before her, then turned and began the brief journey to her car without a backward glance. Only when she was seated behind the steering wheel waiting for the engine to warm up did it occur to Maddy that, once again, her appetite had fled as quickly as it had occurred.

That was the thing about appetites, she thought as she threw her car into gear. You just never quite knew where they were going to take you.

“Y
ou said I could call you if things got rough.”

Maddy sighed into her telephone and glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Ten-thirty. For the first time in months, she’d managed to get into bed before midnight, only to have her telephone ring as soon as she’d switched off her lamp. Certain the caller would be a wrong number, she hadn’t bothered to turn the light back on when she’d answered. Then Carver’s voice at the other end of the line had assailed her through the darkness, sounding as warm and wonderful, as close, as if he’d been lying beside her in bed.

The image had been too troubling for Maddy to consider further, so she had hastily snapped the lamp back on. Her bedroom flooded with light had been anything but welcome relief, however. She’d found herself in surroundings that were quiet and reticent and lonesome. Her bedroom had reminded her too much of herself. And the vacant spot in bed beside her had only seemed to mock her—it was as empty as the rest of her felt.

She rubbed her forehead hard. “Carver, I didn’t mean you could call me this late at night.”

“Maddy, it’s not that late. It’s only ten-thirty.”

“Which, tonight anyway, is past my bedtime.”

There was a momentary pause from the other end of the line before he asked, “You’re in bed?”

Too late, Maddy realized her gaffe. Carver Venner was the kind of guy who would make the most out of the situation. And their history together being what it was, he would no doubt use this opportunity to make fun of her. “Yes,” she replied obediently, knowing she was setting herself up. “I’m in bed.”

“Alone?”

She sighed, still waiting for the punch line. “What business of yours is that?”

Carver sighed back. “Well, obviously if I’ve interrupted something…”

He knew very well he hadn’t interrupted something, she thought. She tried not to sound too exasperated as she asked, “You’ll what? Call back when I’m through?”

“It’s the least I can do,” he said impatiently. “But if you’d rather just put the phone down for a few minutes…”

Maddy took a deep breath and counted to ten, trying to ignore his implication that anything she might have to do with a man in her bed would encompass a very short length of time. “That won’t be necessary,” she finally said, striving to be as civil as she could.

“So you’re not…entertaining a guest?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, you don’t have to make it sound like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like the possibility that you might have a man-friend over is about as likely as the possibility that you have a dead body buried in your backyard.”

“And what makes you think I don’t have a dead body buried in my backyard?”

As always, what had begun as a harmless conversation between the two of them had escalated into some kind of verbal assault. Maddy couldn’t remember a time when their relationship had been any different, nor could she imagine a time when it would ever change. The two of them simply rubbed each other the wrong way. She supposed they just weren’t meant to be compatible.

“Maddy-”

“What?”

Silence was the only answer to her question until Carver quietly repeated, “You said I could call you if things got rough.”

Finally Maddy relented. “Yes, I did. So things must be getting rough. Otherwise you wouldn’t be calling, right?”

Instead of replying definitely one way or the other, Carver said, “Can you come to dinner tomorrow night? I think Rachel and I need a buffer to get things rolling.”

“A buffer.” Maddy could scarcely imagine anything she’d rather be in the world. A buffer. Between Carver Venner and a twelve-year-old girl. How nice.

“Yeah,” he went on, oblivious to her irritation. “She’s not exactly the most communicative person I’ve ever met. In fact, I don’t think her vocabulary includes any words that have more than two syllables. I was hoping maybe you could sort of break the ice for us.”

A cool draft shuddered across Maddy’s bed, and she tugged her blanket up around her more tightly. “Carver, you should really try to be the one to do that. You and Rachel are going to have to face up to this arrangement sooner or later.”

“We will. We just need a little help getting started.”

Maddy had a million things she had to do the next day. She had a million people to interview, a million phone calls to make, a million places she had to be. She didn’t have time to indulge in an idle dinner with Carver Venner and his daughter. Nevertheless, she reminded herself, Rachel Stillman was one of her cases. The girl was, in effect, still something of Maddy’s responsibility. Even if Maddy didn’t
want to spend any more time with Carver than she had to, she couldn’t very well turn her back on Carver’s daughter. Too many people had done that already.

“What time should I be there?” she asked reluctantly.

He sighed again, a distinctly relieved sound, and said, “How about six?”

“Okay.”

“Then you’ll come?”

“I’ll be there as close to six as I can.”

“Thanks, Maddy.”

“You’re welcome, Carver.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, and Maddy began to grow a little anxious about the awkward silence. Just as she was about to say goodbye and hang up, Carver’s voice came over the line again, dark and quiet and dangerously seductive.

“So, Maddy,” he began, the words coming out as a long, low, suggestive string of syllables, “you’re in bed, huh?”

She paused for only a moment before replying warily, “Yeeeees.”

Carver, too, hesitated briefly before continuing, but his voice was touched with humor when he finally asked, “So…what are you wearing?”

Maddy couldn’t quite tamp down the smile that tickled her lips. It had been a while since she’d received a call from a heavy breather. And none of those had ever sounded nearly as interesting as Carver Venner. “Me?” she asked coyly, peeking under the covers to contemplate her flannel pajamas and heavy socks. “Oh, just what I normally wear to bed. Super hero underwear, stiletto heels, and a hockey mask.”

“Oooo. Sounds kinky.”

Her smile broadened. “Yeah, well, I was thinking about you when I got dressed for bed.”

“Were you?”

Oops, she thought, too far. Carver sounded distinctly interested now. “Uh, yeah,” she stalled, trying to think quickly of something that would defuse the situation. “I
was thinking about, um, about how you mooned the faculty at graduation. This outfit just seemed appropriate after that.”

She heard him chuckle at the other end of the line, a sound that was at once enticing, wary and satisfied. “And were you also thinking about how you were the one to call the cops and report me that day?”

She felt herself flush. “I—I wasn’t the one who called the police.”

“Oh, no? I happen to have it on very good authority that it was in fact you who got my butt thrown in jail overnight. So to speak.”

“It wasn’t me,” she insisted. At least, there was no way Carver could
ever prove
it was her.

“Yeah, right.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I wish I could see you now,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous pitch. “You’re the worst liar in the world—you turn beet red. I’d know in a heartbeat whether you were telling the truth.”

When she said nothing to deny his charge, he added, “Not to mention the fact that I can only imagine how you fill out a pair of super hero underwear.” She knew he deliberately waited a few seconds before he added, “Boy, can I imagine.”

Maddy was certain her face was in fact flaming then, but the condition had nothing to do with her blatant dishonesty. Carver was speaking to her as he had only one time before—a lifetime ago when she had been susceptible to things like quietly spoken words and tender touches. Nowadays, she knew better than to think that the things people said and did were necessarily born of the truth.

“Well, stop imagining and go to bed,” she told him, hoping her voice betrayed nothing of the odd sensation winding its way up and down her spine.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll go to bed and have sweet dreams. Dreams about you and your—”

“Good night, Carver.”

He hesitated before replying, and Maddy was certain he was smiling. “Good night, Maddy,” he finally said.

She dropped the telephone receiver back into its cradle and stared at it for a moment, wondering if she might have dreamed the conversation that had just taken place. For a moment there, Carver had sounded almost as if he meant the infuriating flirting he’d done. Maddy shook her head and switched off her light again. She must be out of her mind if she thought Carver Venner felt affectionately toward her. She’d fallen for that once—for one brief, wild moment, she’d actually believed he cared for her. That night of the senior play, when he’d kissed her so tenderly, she had honestly thought he’d done it because he liked her.

Then he had laughed. Laughed at her as if she were the biggest fool in the world.

Twenty years ago, Maddy supposed she had been. But the foolish girl of seventeen was now an experienced woman of thirty-seven. Too experienced for her own good. Who could play the fool after some of the things she had seen?

She punched up the pillow beneath her head and tried to empty her mind in an effort to invite slumber. But sleep eluded Maddy that night. In its place, she found herself caught up in memories she thought had been banished forever. Memories of a tall, rangy eighteen-year-old boy with callused, careful fingers and a mesmerizing mouth. But it was Maddy Saunders, not Maddy Garrett, Carver had kissed that night. Another person entirely.

Maddy tossed to her side and squeezed her eyes shut tight to keep in the tears that wanted out. Dammit, she thought angrily. Someone else was always having a better time than she.

“So, Rachel, how do you like your new school?”

Carver watched Maddy watch Rachel as the girl chewed her food with much vigor while formulating her reply. After a moment, she said, “It’s okay, I guess.”

Maddy nodded, and Carver felt a knot of tension at the base of his neck ease up a little. A positive statement. That
was good. His daughter had made so few of those when the two of them were alone together.

“What subject is going to be your favorite, do you think?” Maddy asked further.

Rachel took another bite of her roast beef and thought some more. “I dunno. History, I guess. The teacher’s pretty cool, and I’ve always liked history. English is okay, too. And I like Math.”

Maddy threw Carver a look of surprise. He knew what she was thinking, because it was exactly what he was thinking himself. A kid who actually liked that many subjects in school? A
troubled
kid who actually liked that many subjects in school? He’d had no idea what varied interests his daughter embraced.

“Most kids have problems with Math, but I’ve always gotten good grades,” Rachel continued, oblivious to the riveted interest that the two adults held in her revelations. “It’s always been really easy for me. It’s like, you have these rules in Math that don’t change, no matter what. Everything always works out the way it’s supposed to. There’s no weird stuff to mess it all up.” She chewed thoughtfully for a moment before concluding, “I think it’s cool how it always works out.”

Carver couldn’t help but smile. “I always liked Math, too. And I was always good at it. I got straight A’s in school.” In math, anyway, he added to himself. No need for Rachel to know all about those C’s in everything else.

Rachel glanced over at him, then quickly back down at her plate. “Oh.”

And then, silence. That was Rachel’s way. First, he would try to get her to open up about something, then he’d have some minor, minor success at getting her interested in talking. Then he’d say something to agree with her or share her enthusiasm for the subject, and then she’d clam up tight. It was a pattern that bothered him greatly.

“Can I be excused?”

Carver’s attention snapped to his daughter again. This was a new development. Rachel had never asked to be excused
from the table before. Normally, when she was finished eating, she shoved her plate to the middle of the table, rose from her chair without a word and left the kitchen for the living room. There, she would switch on the television, turn it up way too loud, and sit for the remainder of the evening ignoring him.

Her politeness now, he was certain, was for Maddy’s benefit and not his own. But whether Rachel had adopted her good manners because she wanted to impress Maddy or because she was fearful any display of rebellion in front of her caseworker would send her packing back to her life in L.A., he wasn’t sure. Either way, he supposed, Rachel’s good behavior was a good sign. If she was conducting herself courteously because she genuinely wanted to improve her new situation, all the better. And if she was only doing it to keep from being sent back to L.A., then Carver supposed that was all right, too. At least it meant she preferred hashing it out with him in the hopes of something better than going back to what she’d had before.

“Yeah, sure, you can be excused,” he told her.

True to form, Rachel shoved her plate to the middle of the table, rose from her chair without a word and left the room. A moment later, the sound of the television blaring from the living room took her place in the kitchen.

“She doesn’t seem to be doing too badly,” Maddy said softly.

Carver looked over at her, then reached into his shirt pocket for a cigarette and lit it with restless fingers. “She doesn’t seem to be doing too well, either,” he said through a haze of quickly expelled smoke.

Maddy shrugged. “I don’t know. All things considered, with what she’s been through—the kind of upbringing she had, the death of her mother, a move to the opposite side of the country that left her without roots or friends…”

He frowned. “In other words, I should be grateful she’s not out knocking over banks, is that it?”

She shook her head. “No, Carver. In other words, I’d say her behavior is not unlike any other twelve-year-old girl’s would be who found herself in a similar situation.”

That wasn’t good enough for Carver. There was more to Rachel’s reticence than the loss of a loved one and her need for a period of adjustment to get acquainted with her new surroundings. A lot more. She had something against Carver, a personal bone to pick with him that he couldn’t for the life of him understand. He hadn’t even been a part of her life until recently. How could she hate him so much when he hadn’t even been around?