Friday's Child (4 page)

“I can assure you that you didn't make a mistake in choosing the Children's Academy for your daughter. At the risk of sounding biased, we're the finest private elementary school in the state. I'm sorry that Chloe's attention problems have taken you by surprise, but surely the kindergarten teacher at her school last year shared similar concerns.”

“She was living with her mother last year. I never actually spoke to her teacher. Deanna gave me regular reports on her progress.”

Carol exchanged a look with Kate and then pushed a white folder toward Michael. “This is Chloe's cumulative folder, containing all her school records. As her parent, you have a right to examine it at any time and to receive copies of anything you wish.”

Frowning, Michael picked it up and flipped through it. The contents were scanty. A copy of her birth certificate, a card documenting childhood vaccinations and copies of her report cards. He skipped the ones she'd received this year and looked at her kindergarten reports. His stomach did a slow roll as he read the comments from last year's teacher.

Overly active…hard to keep her attention…very distractible.
He closed the folder, but not before the words had branded themselves onto his brain. Long moments ticked by in which no one spoke. For a short time, Michael forgot about the others in the room, immersed as he was in the realization that Chloe's reports last year highlighted the same concerns that Kate had come to him with yesterday.

Kate. His eyes lifted and met hers.

“Your ex-wife hadn't shared those reports with you?” she asked, sympathy tinging her voice.

He cleared his throat. “Not copies of them, no,” he said. He was searching his brain, trying to remember exactly what Deanna
had
told him about Chloe's schooling last year. Certainly nothing that would have prepared him for what he'd just read. Or for what the people around the table were trying to tell him.

“It's a lot to take in all at once,” Kate said gently. “Only a qualified physician can diagnose Attention Deficit Disorder. I'm just asking that you consider seeking such a medical opinion. It's no more than you'd do if we suspected a hearing loss or allergies, is it?”

“As Kate said, this is a lot to think about,” Carol put in. She handed him some brochures. “Here's some information about ADD. Maybe you'd like to take some time to look these over and then get back to us about your plans. If you have more questions at that time, we could meet again.”

Michael took the information she was holding out, because he couldn't think of anything else to do. All his protective instincts, seldom dormant, rose to the surface. “This is a waste of time. I may not know anything about this…attention thing, but I know my little girl. She's a perfectly normal, energetic six-year-old.”

“Perhaps that information will help clear up some questions for you, though,” Kate suggested. “Read it and see if the descriptions match what you observe of Chloe's behavior at home.”

The women rose, and Michael stood slowly. Clearly the meeting was at an end. Clutching the information in his hand, he followed them out into the hallway. Kate was speaking to one of the women, the counselor, he thought. His gaze lingered on the hand she'd placed on the woman's arm. The sight of that smooth skin and those long, tapered fingers stirred something inside him, something he didn't want to feel.

“Miss Rose.” The flicker in her eyes told him his tone had been harsher than he'd intended. The counselor walked away and left the two of them together. Kate waited patiently for him to speak. Something about that calm, waiting air rankled
him. His world was being kicked out from under him, and she was entirely too serene about the part she'd played in it.

Deliberately he came nearer, close enough to invade her space, and felt a savage surge of satisfaction when her eyes flickered. “This—” he indicated the papers he clenched tightly in his hand “—isn't going to change anything. There's something you should know about me, Kate.” He rolled his tongue around her name, enjoying the uncertainty that flitted across her expression at its sound. “I protect what's mine. I can make things extremely difficult for you if I choose to. I suggest you drop this whole ridiculous idea.”

But he must have overestimated his effect on her. That softly rounded chin came up in the air, and she matched him look for look. “My students are very important to me, and I'll do whatever it takes to help them succeed. And there's something you should know about me, Mr. Friday.” Her voice held a hint of a dare. “I don't give up easily.”

T
he three-hour trip to her parents' home in Longstron, West Virginia, seemed to go even more slowly than usual. Kate passed the scenery unseeingly, not noticing the bright green that had spread across the countryside. Spring was beautiful on the East Coast, and it had always been her favorite season. A season of renewal. Of hope. When she was a child, she'd always thought that with each spring's rebirth there was a chance, just a chance, for things to be different. They never had been.

Her attention was diverted by a new rattle her car had acquired since she left her condo. An addition to the usual symphony of squeaks and coughs, it was an ominous heralding that her fifteen-year-old car's demise was approaching, probably more rapidly than she could afford.

She just needed to baby it along for another year or so, she thought. Since she'd finished financing her master's degree program, she'd been able to start a new-car account, but its contents were still woefully inadequate. She crossed her fingers on the steering wheel. With a little luck and a lot of help from a mechanic, the car's life might be spared another year.

Longstron was a tired little town with twins across the nation. Rural and poor, it had nothing on its side but a small citizenry who obviously had nowhere else to go. It had the same dispirited appearance as the five other towns she'd lived in while growing up, as if people had long ago given up trying to better it or themselves. The streets were as tired and washed-out as the rest of it. Kate turned onto a road that still bore the ruts worn by winter.

Pulling up in front of the small house on the outskirts of town, Kate shut off the ignition and got out of the car. Within moments, a young girl raced down the sagging steps of the frame house toward her. Smiling, Kate caught her in a quick embrace before her sister broke away and said, “You're almost late. Dinner's just about ready and Papa said they'd go on and eat without you if you didn't have the good sense to wear a watch.”

Kate pulled one of her sister's braids teasingly. “If dinner is so soon, Miss Rebecca, how is that you're out here with me and not in helping?”

Rebecca gave her a mischievous grin. “I
was
helping. I was looking for you. Did you bring me anything?”

“I just may have.”

The girl peeked into Kate's bag, and her eyes lit up.

“There's one for each of you. Go ahead and take them, but put them away until after dinner.”

Rebecca nodded eagerly and snatched the candy bars, slipping her free hand into Kate's.

“Charlotte's pouting again,” the girl announced importantly as they climbed the tired wooden steps. “Papa says it ain't gonna do her no good.”

“Isn't going to do her any good,” Kate corrected amusedly.

“'Cuz she still ain't goin' to the dance with that Wilson boy in his souped-up truck,” Rebecca finished hurriedly. Her ringing voice preceded them into the kitchen, earning her a scowl from sixteen-year-old Charlotte, who was setting the table.

“Seems like there's plenty to do around here, Rebecca, so
why don't you quit your blabbing about my business and get to work?”

“I can help,” Kate offered, slipping out of her coat and hanging it on the hall tree. “What needs to be done? Hello, Mama.”

Kate's mother straightened from where she was bent over the oven and carried the ham to the table. “Katherine. Why don't you put those hot pads on the table, right there.” She set the platter on the table and bustled over to the refrigerator. “You might go tell your father it's time to carve the meat.”

She didn't need to ask where to find her father. It was Sunday afternoon, and that day had always had an unvaried routine. She went to the tiny living room right off the kitchen, where her father sat in his tattered recliner, watching the portable color television she'd bought the family last Christmas. “Hello, Papa. Mama says it's time to carve the meat.”

Calvin Rose grunted. “I heard her.” He slanted a look upward at his oldest child. “I ain't got no check from you this month, young lady. You ain't startin' to forget where you come from, are ya?”

Kate stared at her father silently. Someday it should stop surprising her how he seemed to shrink in the time since her last visit. Her memory of him from childhood was of a man of stature, of power. Yet with the onset of adulthood came a more mature vision. A lifetime of manual labor had stooped shoulders that had surely once been wider, straighter. Inches had miraculously disappeared from his height, pounds added to his girth. Now he was just a man whose only power in life stemmed from the iron control he wielded over his family. She'd long ceased feeling guilty about the tangled feelings of blame and dislike she had for him. It was a measure of her loyalty to her mother and the younger children that these monthly contacts continued.

“I brought the check with me,” she said tightly, reaching into her purse. “I had a bit left over at the end of the month, so it's for a little more than usual.” He didn't spare it a glance before folding it and slipping it into his shirt pocket.

“Go on out there, then, and help your mother get that meal on. I swear, the woman gets slower every passing day.”

The meal was like countless ones before. There were fewer members around the table now. The older boys, Lucas, Steven and Paul, were married, living in towns much like this one, not far away. William was twenty, still living at home but working in the coal mine ten miles north. A good job, her father bragged as the family silently went through the routine of Sunday dinner. He never forgot to bring part of his check home, too.

“Something you could learn from, missy.”

For one irrational moment, Kate was transported back in time, complete with mingled feelings of panic and remorse. But then she realized that his gaze was leveled at Charlotte, who was regarding her plate with sullen defiance.

“The few hours I work at the Laundromat don't make me much,” the girl muttered.

“Just enough for some fancy lipstick and nail polish, I reckon,” the man said. Shaking his fork at her, he continued sternly, “Time you learned to pull your weight around here. Why, at your age, Katherine was taking care of all you kids and helping your mama with the sewing, too. I reckon you could do a bigger share.”

Charlotte flicked a look at her older sister then, and it was like looking at a reflection of herself ten years past. Kate recognized the trapped hopelessness and despair, the yearning for something more. She looked away, shaken. She'd like to speak to her sister about it privately but knew from experience it would be futile. Charlotte was too locked in her teenage angst to believe that any before her had experienced the same. Books had been Kate's way out, earning her scholarships and a chance for higher education. Charlotte lacked the interest in schooling. Her ticket out was likely to be Charlie Wilson, or someone like him, with whom she would start a new life, a carbon copy of the one she was living now.

“Boy!” Her father's disapproval thundered across the table as Emmett's milk glass tipped over.

Emmett froze, his shy, gentle eyes behind the thick glasses alarmed, but Kate rose smoothly and returned with a rag.

“I'm sorry, Emmett, I bumped your elbow, didn't I?” She ignored his confusion at her words and her father's lowered brows as she mopped up the mess. “I must be getting so used to eating alone that I'm taking up more than my share of space at the table.”

She patted his shoulder in recognition of the grateful look he sent her. Her father's displeasure still radiated.

“I swear, if you ain't bumpin' into things, boy, you're bolting across the room and knockin' things over. Ain't never seen a clumsier kid, less'n it was Katherine at your age.”

“Well, that's true enough,” agreed Dorothy Rose. “Remember, Katherine? You was forever jumping around like your skirts was on fire. Thought you'd never learn to sit through church service.”

Ben and Rebecca grinned at her, and Kate made herself smile back. “That's what gave me the experience to deal with twenty-four first-graders,” she told them.

“You was always real good help,” Dorothy went on. “The neighbors were forever carrying on about how good you were with the younger children. Course, you spoiled them all, forever picking them up and carrying them around, fetching for them. I like to never get William to bed without you rockin' him first.”

The smile was harder to force this time. “You don't spoil children by letting them know you care about them.”

“Hope you're firmer with them kids at school,” her father grunted. “That's one of the problems at schools nowadays. The teachers don't make the kids mind. Ain't nuthin' wrong with rapping a few heads to get their attention.”

With a deliberate shift of topic, Kate said, “I was hoping we could set up a time for Charlotte, Emmett, Ben and Rebecca to visit me.” Aware that four pairs of eyes fixed hopefully on her, she continued, “There's so much to see in D.C. It would be a wonderful educational opportunity for them. And I'd love the chance to spend more time with them.”

Dorothy sent an uncertain glance at her husband and said,
“Well, you can't have enough room for these four, Katherine. Best to just let them be.”

“But, Mama,” Rebecca burst out, “I want to go.”

“Me, too,” Ben put in. Emmett and Charlotte nodded in agreement.

“I can make room. The kids won't mind sleeping bags on the floor. It will be like camping indoors.”

“They ain't going.” Calvin Rose spoke with finality.

Kate's throat tightened, but her voice remained steady as she looked at her father. “It wouldn't be for very long. I can come get them and bring them home. It wouldn't be any problem for you at all.”

He glowered at her. “You forgettin' who's in charge 'round here? I said they ain't going, and that's that.” His gaze swept the rest of the group seated around the table. “Ya'll got your chores to do every day. Don't be thinkin' you're gonna run off to the city and forget your work.”

Despite the anger his attitude sparked in her, Kate tamped down the emotion to smile encouragingly at her siblings. She'd lost this argument with her father before, but determination would have her raising the issue again. She didn't want her family to take the brunt of his ill temper once she'd left, so she let the subject drop. But his small-minded tyranny merely stiffened her resolve to win this particular battle in the future.

The rest of the afternoon dragged by. Charlotte disappeared, as was her wont, to the room she shared with her sister. Kate spent some time outside with Rebecca, Ben and Emmett before she reentered the house to say her goodbyes to her parents.

Her father never took his gaze off the ball game on the television. “Make sure next month's check is on time. You know we count on it.”

Kate stared at him silently for a moment, biting back the words that threatened to tumble from her lips. Whatever he might think, the checks didn't come because he demanded them. She knew the extra money went a long way in providing for the younger children and eased her mother's load of
worry. Life with Calvin Rose wasn't simple under the best of circumstances. Money problems only worsened the situation.

Dorothy got up from her sewing. “We'll expect you next month, same as always.” She stood stiffly in Kate's embrace, accepting the kiss on her cheek stoically. Breaking away, she returned to her mending. “Go on with you, girl, no more of your fussing. Next time you're home, William may be here. Might be we'll have us a nice pot roast for dinner.”

“We ain't havin' no pot roast,” Calvin declared, his brows lowering. “You know it gives me gas.”

Dorothy sent her husband a weak smile. “Well, of course it does, dear. Don't know what I was thinking. We'll have us a ham, just like you like.”

Her mother's docile tone echoed in Kate's head as she made her escape out the door. The air outside seemed fresher and tasted like freedom. The run-down house seemed to grow as she walked away from it, becoming a vacuum that threatened to suck her back inside. With trembling hands she opened the car door and snapped her seat belt. It wasn't until she was driving away that the pent-up breath lodged in her lungs escaped.

You ain't startin' to forget where you come from, are ya?

Her fingers clutched the steering wheel in white-knuckled tension. No, Papa, she answered silently. I doubt that will ever be possible.

 

The hammering on her door would have splintered a less sturdy structure. Kate wiped her hands on a dish towel and looked at the kitchen clock. Barely nine o'clock. After arriving home from her parents, the silence and solitude of her home had been a soothing balm for her jangled nerves. She felt only curiosity as she hurried to answer the impatient knocking. Although she didn't know many people in her condo unit, she had several friends from school who would often drop by unexpectedly. Swinging the door open, she was confounded simultaneously by the appearance and proximity of Michael Friday.

He had one arm braced against the door frame. They were separated by only inches, and once again Kate found herself reacting to his nearness. His eyes tracked her movement, halting her automatic, almost imperceptible retreat.

“Mr. Friday.” She made no effort to mask the wariness in her voice. She looked past him, saw he was alone. With the help of the lighting out front, she could make out the outline of an expensive sports car parked in front of her condo.

“Hello, Kate.”

Her voice was cool when she looked back at him and asked, “How did you know where I lived?”

That grin was back in place, no less charming, no less lethal than she remembered. “The school directory. Actually, I tried calling you all afternoon. You were out.”

She felt no compunction to explain where she'd been. It was no business of his what she'd done with her Sunday, and given his attitude the last time they'd spoken, she was more than a little suspicious at his sudden appearance.