Hold on My Heart (12 page)

She straightened in her seat. “That doesn’t make sense. They can’t just keep her there. I mean, she’s your daughter. They don’t have custody, do they?”

Tom felt a brief moment of gratitude that it hadn’t come to that. “No, there is nothing legally binding her to stay there. I just… I want her to come home because she wants to. Forcing her would just make her dislike me even more.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t dislike you.”

“I’m pretty sure she does. I was kind of… useless for a while after her mother died.”

“Useless?”

He didn’t want to tell her the details. She didn’t need to know about the pills and the booze. Not because she’d judge him, but because she might not. And if she looked at him with any kind of tenderness in those pretty blue eyes, he’d be lost.

“Rumor has it I was a little unpleasant to be around,” he murmured.

“And that’s why you’re going to a counselor together?”

The yellow-smocked waitress set red plastic baskets full of chili dogs and French fries in front of them. “Here you go.”

Tom waited until she was gone before answering Libby.

“Yes, that’s the reason for the counselor. And why I’m doing this art project with paste and scissors. Dr. Brandt says I need to meet Rachel at her level, and try to communicate in a method she can relate to, which leaves me at a distinct disadvantage.”

“How so?” She took a bite of her chili dog.

“Because I don’t understand high school girls any better now than when I was in high school. Maybe it’s just my opinion, but she seems a little touchy.”

Libby smiled, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “I don’t recall being particularly rational during high school.”

“So it’s not just her, then?” He took a bite from his own chili dog.

“No, it’s pretty much a universal phenomenon, crazy-girl syndrome. She can’t really help it—raging hormones, peer pressure, schoolwork, stupid boys.”

“Are you referring to me?” He took another bite. This was a damn good hot dog.

“No.” She chuckled, wiping mustard off her finger. “I’m referring to the boys at Monroe High School.”

He dropped the remaining half of his chili dog into the basket. “Please don’t remind me that my daughter is surrounded by high school boys.” This topic he was completely too familiar with and yet entirely ill-equipped to handle.

Libby shook her head and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I don’t think you have to worry too much about that. She doesn’t seem like the very flirty type.”

“Does she make eye contact?”

“I assume so.”

“Then she’s flirty enough.”

Libby laughed, but he didn’t. Something deep inside pulled at him to tell her the truth. All of it. “I met Rachel’s mother when she was just seventeen.” He paused for a breath. “And she was pregnant pretty soon after that.”

Libby felt her smile freeze. “You did? She was?” Ginny must not have known about that.

Tom’s nod was slow as he pushed the basket to the side. “I worked at the grocery store where her family shopped. Connie would always come in and get a Coke and then go sit in the parking lot. Somehow I always managed to find myself out there at the same time so we could talk.”

He picked up a French fry, looked at it for a minute, and then tossed it back into the basket. “I was eighteen. I had a car, so she used to sneak out the basement window at night. We fell hard, you know? We were reckless. Needless to say, her parents didn’t like me much then. And they don’t like me now. The way they see it, I’ve stolen their daughter from them twice. And now I’m trying to take their granddaughter.”

Libby felt a French fry lodge in her esophagus. She had wanted to hear this, to know about Rachel and why they lived apart. But she hadn’t given much thought to what went on before that accident, during the time he’d spent with a wife he loved and a family he adored. Thinking of it now was like tripping over something unexpected, a shove from some unanticipated force knocking her to the ground.

She’d known he’d been married, of course. It hadn’t bothered her that much when Ginny mentioned it. But it bothered her now, when he talked about it.
We fell hard, you know?
The idea made her feel a little jealous.

A crease formed between Tom’s eyebrows while he paused. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Libby. Falling for Connie wasn’t one of them, but getting her pregnant in high school was. Crashing that car was another. And being a shitty father, well, that’s the one thing I hope I can still fix.”

His life
was
complicated. Nothing in hers came anywhere close. She’d lost her job because of a stupid mistake, but that didn’t compare. Even losing Seth couldn’t help her comprehend what he’d been through. “What does Rachel say about all this?”

His smile was meager as he slouched down in his seat. “Nothing, except that she wants to stay with her grandparents. That’s why we need the collages, I guess. I can’t tell where her opinion ends and her grandparents’ takes over. Rachel’s aunt Kristy has been running interference for me for months. It was her idea that we see this counselor.”

“Do you think it’s helping?”

He looked around the sandwich shop for a minute, and Libby’s heart thumped a little erratically, hoping he’d say yes. He tipped his head, a small nod.

“I suppose so. It gives us a reason to be together. Otherwise she finds excuses to avoid me. Like not telling me about the talent show.”

“I think you should go anyway.”

Tom chuckled in unamused amusement. “I’m sure her grandparents would love having me show up unannounced.”

A sense of injustice welled up inside her. “But they’re not being fair to you. You have every right to see your daughter, even if she didn’t invite you.”

Her cheeks felt hot with indignation on his behalf, but he was calm over on his side of the table. “You think so, huh?”

Libby nodded. “I’ll be there. I’ll be backstage helping my sister, but you can sit with my parents.”

Now Tom chuckled. “Oh, that would be easy to explain.”

“What’s to explain? You work with my dad every single day. My mom’s a teacher at the school. And besides, isn’t Rachel performing enough of a reason? I’m no counselor, but I’d bet you ten thousand dollars she secretly wants you there.”

He looked at her now, his eyes dark but his tone light. “You don’t have ten thousand dollars.”

“Okay, fine. I bet you six dollars she secretly wants you there.”

Tom laughed, and Libby felt her heart lighten by an ounce, or maybe two. He was sexy when he laughed. He should do it more often. He was a good man. A little surly, sure, but he had some good reasons. She wanted to help him. It was the neighborly thing to do, after all. It didn’t have anything to do with his oxlike shoulders or the way her ankle sizzled every time his foot bumped against hers under the table.

“Six dollars, huh?” he said, picking up his chili dog again.

“Worth every penny you’ll be losing.”

He took a bite. “When is it?”

“Tomorrow night at seven. I’ll tell my parents to save you a seat.”

“I’m not sure I’m going.”

“You have to go. For Rachel.” And for him, too.

“I might sit in the back.”

“No, you should sit up front. They’ll save you a seat. And you might bring Rachel some flowers. Girls love that.”

“You don’t think it would embarrass her?”

“Maybe. But it proves you were thinking of her and went to the trouble of buying them.”

Tom’s smile broadened. “You seem pretty sure about all this.”

“I’m an event planner. I am
all
about the details. Besides, all women love to get flowers. Even fifteen-year-olds, and even from their dad.”

Tom moved his foot under the table, bumping hers, because his legs were long. They were probably strong, too. Just like his arms. Libby felt the tingle from her ankle zip all the way north.

She couldn’t stop her thoughts. And she didn’t try. Sex with Tom Murphy would be delicious. All that work he did with his hands? That could only be to a girl’s advantage, right?
I always get the entire job done, Miss Hamilton.

Yes, it would be good. Very good. But he was not a rational choice. Not for a fling and certainly not for a boyfriend. Tom Murphy was an emotional flight risk with more baggage than an airport lost-and-found, and a teenaged daughter to boot. She didn’t need such a complicated man. She needed a simple white-collar businessman.

Still, sex with Tom would probably be heaven.

T
he Monroe High School auditorium was full when Tom arrived. Probably because he’d sat in his truck in the parking lot for the better part of twenty minutes before deciding if he would actually go inside. But he was in there now, looking for a seat in the back in the darkest corner.

“Tom,” Peter Hamilton called out, waving at him from the center aisle.

Tom gripped the carnations in his hand and heard the cellophane wrapper crinkle. What the hell was he doing here? He should leave. Rachel didn’t want him there, or she’d have invited him. He scanned the crowd, looking for her grandparents, but didn’t spot them in the crowd. They would not be glad to see him either.

But Peter Hamilton certainly was. Libby must have told him the whole story. And her mother, too, whom he’d never even met. This was exactly why he liked to keep his business just that.
His
business.

Tom raised his arm just long enough so Peter might know he’d been spotted, then worked his way in that direction. Peter held out his hand, and Tom shook it.

“Good to see you, Tom. Libby told us you’d be coming. Please allow me to introduce you to my lovely bride, Beverly.”

Beverly Hamilton’s smile was warm, nearly as sunny as Libby’s, and Tom relaxed some.

“Hello, Tom,” she said, standing up in her seat. “Peter has told me so much about you. I’m sorry I haven’t been down to the… ice-cream parlor to meet you myself.”

Tom smiled back. He’d heard all about this from Libby, about how her mother refused to set foot in the place because Peter hadn’t told her he was buying it until the deal was done. He could see her point.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hamilton.”

“Oh, call me Bev. Are those flowers for your daughter? Aren’t you sweet. If you give them to that usher over there, she’ll take them to Rachel before the show.”

Before the show? If he did that, Rachel would know he was there. He wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. But then again, wasn’t that the whole point? To prove to her his dedication? Still, maybe she’d enjoy herself more not knowing until the end that he’d come at all.

“Go on,” Beverly urged. “The show is about to start.”

Beverly nudged him toward the usher. He handed off the flowers and quickly made his way back to his seat next to Peter and Beverly. The lights dimmed. He felt a thrill and a tremor and a sense that he was right where he should be and yet somehow in the wrong place. He didn’t know where he fit in when it came to Rachel. Parenting was supposed to be hard, sure. But it wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

The first performer came and went, a painfully dull magic act where the only highlight was a pesky rabbit that did not follow instructions. After that came several mediocre dance routines, and a kid who played bagpipes. Tom’s mind drifted. He thought about the ice-cream parlor and how much wood he should order for the counter. He thought about when he might have time to change the oil in his truck. And he thought about Libby, and how she’d looked last night when he’d said he could make the collage on his own. She’d looked disappointed, but for the life of him, he could not imagine why.

Three girls with hula hoops came onto the stage next and did an awkward routine. Tom wished he could leave. This wasn’t entertainment. This was purgatory.

But then he saw Rachel. It was her turn. She walked out onto the stage wearing an elegant black dress and her hair twisted up in a fancy style, and Tom knew again that he was right where he should be.

Connie had taught her to play the piano, and the singing came naturally. But he hadn’t heard her perform in over a year. As she started to
play and her voice filled the auditorium, the emotion of missing her was suddenly as raw as it had been the day she’d climbed into her grandparents’ car to leave him.