Searching for Cate (28 page)

“Look!” the wood tick cried in distress. “I am all flat!”

“Yes, you are,” Coyote agreed. “And you will be flat from now on. But you are also alive. Be happy about that.”

And the wood tick remained flat and happy from that day on.

The Measure of a Man
by Marie Ferrarella

S
mith Parker frowned deeply. Not at the woman in front of him, but at the situation. This was not where he expected to be at this point in his life.

At twenty-nine, Smith had expected to be doing something important. At the very least, something more significant than changing lightbulbs in the hallway of one of the older buildings at the very same university he'd once attended, nurturing such wonderful dreams of his future.

A future that definitely did
not
include a maintenance uniform. But this was the same university that had abruptly turned his life upside down, stripped him of his scholarship, money awarded through a work-study program and thus his ability to pay for the education that would have seen him rise above a life involving only menial jobs.

An education that would have allowed him to become something more than he was now destined to be.

In a way, Smith supposed that he should be grate
ful he was working, grateful that he was anywhere at all. There had been a stretch of time, right after he'd spiraled down emotionally and sleepwalked through his exams, causing his grades to drop and him to leave the university, that he had seriously considered giving up everything and meeting oblivion.

Ultimately it was his love for his parents, who had loved him and stood by him with unwavering faith throughout it all, that had kept him from doing anything drastic. Anything permanent. He knew that ending his own life would in effect end theirs.

So he had pulled back from the very brink of self-destruction, reassessed his situation and tried to figure out what he could do with himself.

The answer was just to pass from one day to the next, drifting without a plan, he who had once entertained so many ideas.

To support himself and not wind up as a blot on society's conscience, he'd taken on a variety of dead-end, lackluster jobs, doing his best but leaving his heart out of it. Some of the others he worked with felt that a job well done was its own reward, but he didn't. He did them well because that was what he was getting paid for, nothing else. He did them well because that was his nature, but one position was pretty much like another. When his father's health had begun to fail, any tiny speck of hope he'd still entertained about eventually returning to college died. He'd needed to help out financially.

When this unsolicited offer had arrived out of the
blue, asking him to come down to the university to apply for the position that began at something higher than minimum wage, he'd taken it only because of the money. There had been no joy in it, no secret setting down of goals for himself to achieve anything beyond what he was offered.

He was seriously convinced that, for him, there was no joy left in anything. Being accused of something he had not done and verbally convicted without being allowed to defend himself had killed his spirit.

So he did his work, making sure that he was never remiss, never in a position to be found lacking by anyone ever again.

But today, his mind had wandered. Just before beginning his round of small, tedious chores, he'd seen a landscaping truck go by. The truck's logo proclaimed it to belong to a local family company that had been in business for the past fifteen years. Seeing it had momentarily catapulted him into the past.

That had been his goal once. To have a business of his own. Something where he was his own master, making his own hours, responsible for his own success. Evaluated and held to high standards by his own measure, not whimsically made to live up to someone else's, someone who might, for whatever reason, find him lacking through no fault of his own but because of something they themselves were dealing with.

The truck had driven around the corner and disappeared. Just as his dreams had.

He'd returned to his chores in a dark frame of mind. Even so, he went through the paces, giving a hundred percent, no more, no less.

He'd spent most of the morning dealing with a clogged drain incapacitating the university's indoor pool. The smell of stagnant water was still in his head if not physically with him and admittedly he wasn't exactly in the best frame of mind, even though he was tackling a far lesser problem.

So he hadn't been paying attention when he set up the ladder and worked the defunct bulb out of the socket in the ceiling. He'd only used the ladder instead of the extension pole he normally employed because someone had apparently made off with the pole.

Even the hallowed halls of Saunders saw theft, he'd thought.

It seemed ironic, given that was the offense he'd been accused of all those many years ago. Theft. When he discovered that the pole, an inexpensive thirty-dollar item, was missing, he couldn't help wondering if this would somehow come back to haunt him. Would the head of the maintenance department think he'd taken it for some obscure reason?

Once a thief…

Except that he hadn't been. Not even that one time he'd been accused by that pompous, self-centered jerk, Jacob Weber.

Smith looked down now at Jane Jackson's face, biting back a stinging retort that was born of defensiveness and the less-than-stellar mood he was in. She was right, he'd been careless, which made his mood even darker.

Still, he couldn't just bite her head off, not if she didn't deserve it. That wouldn't be right and he'd made a point of always abiding by what was right, by walking the straight and narrow path even when others veered away from it.

He always had.

Which made that accusation that had ruined his life that much more bitterly ironic.

So he blew out a breath, and with it the words that had sprung to his tongue, if not his lips. Instead, after a beat, Smith grudgingly nodded his head. “You're right. My fault.”

Since he'd just admitted it was his mistake and not hers, the anger Jane had felt heat up so quickly within her died back. Leaving her feeling awkward.

She looked up at Smith—he had to be almost a foot taller than she was—a little ruefully, the way she did each time their paths crossed. She remembered him. With his dirty-blond hair, magnetic brown eyes and chiseled good looks, he would have been a hard man to forget.

Smith Parker had been in one of her English classes when she'd attended the university. The one taught by Professor Harrison. Back then, she'd had a bit of a crush on Smith. Maybe more than just a bit.
She'd been trying to work up the courage to say something to him, when suddenly, just like that, he was gone.

The rumor was he'd been caught stealing things from one of the girls' dorms, forcing the university to take away his scholarship. She'd heard that his grades dropped right after that. And then he was gone.

Shortly thereafter, she went on to meet and then to marry Drew.

She hadn't thought about Smith in years until one day, not that long ago, she'd seen him hunkered down against a wall in one of the classrooms, working on what appeared to be a faulty outlet.

Standing there that day, looking at him, she couldn't help wondering if he remembered her. But the brown eyes she recalled as being so vivid had appeared almost dead as they'd turned to look at her. Like two blinds pulled down, barring access to a view she'd once believed was there. There was no recognition to be found when he looked at her.

Or through her, which was how it had felt.

Still, because of the incident in his past, because of the shame that was attached to it, she was never comfortable around Smith. Because she knew about it, it was as if she'd been privy to some dirty little, dark secret of his. She found pretending not to know him the easier way to go.

She cleared her throat as he stood beside the ladder, looking at her. “Are you all right?”

He half shrugged at the question. “Yeah, thanks to your quick hands.”

Something shivered through her as he said that, although she had no idea why. A smattering of those old feelings she'd once secretly harbored about him struggled to the surface.

Jane pushed them back. She wasn't that girl anymore. Wasn't a girl at all, really. A great deal of time had gone by since then and she'd discovered that the world was really a hard, cold, disagreeable place. If it wasn't, then people like the professor could go on about their chosen professions, professions they loved, until they ceased to draw breath.

And if the world wasn't such a disagreeable place, she wouldn't have made such an awful mistake, wouldn't have allowed herself to fall so hard for a student two years ahead of her. Wouldn't have impulsively married him instead of thinking things through.

She shrugged, that same awkward feeling she always felt around Smith returning to claim her. “I've got a five-year-old.”

Smith looked at her blankly as he moved the ladder a good foot away from the path of the door. He hadn't really been around any kids since he'd been one himself. The explanation she'd given him created no impression in its wake.

“I don't follow.”

She smiled. No, she didn't suppose he did. She'd nosed around a little and discovered that Smith was
very much alone these days. No children, no wife, no attachments whatsoever. The world she lived in, even without the constant demand of bills that needed paying, was probably foreign to him.

“Danny is a little hyper.” She considered her words, then amended them. “Actually, he's a lot hyper.”

Smith moved his head from side to side slowly. “I still don't—”

He
really
didn't know anything about kids, did he? “Okay, let me put it to you this way. Danny never really took his first step. He took his first leap—off a coffee table.”

She remembered how her heart had stopped in the middle of her throat. One minute her son had been crawling on the floor beside the table and she'd looked away for a split second. The very next minute he'd clambered up not only to his feet but to the top of the coffee table where he proceeded to take a fearless half-gainer on wobbly, chubby legs while gleefully laughing.

“I was just lucky enough to be there to catch him.” She'd all but sprained her ankle getting there in time to keep him from making ignoble contact with the floor. A smile curved her lips as she remembered another incident. All incidents involving Danny fared far better when they were relived than during the original go-round.

“And last year, during the holiday season, I was walking through a department store with Danny,
holding his hand. Which left his other hand free to grab the branch of one of the trees they had just finished putting up. He got hold of a string of lights and if my mother's radar hadn't kicked in, the tree would have gone over, flattening another customer.” She'd swung around just in time to right the tree. The shoe department manager, whose area it had been, hadn't looked very happy about the matter, despite the smile pasted on his lips.

Smith tried not to notice the way her smile seemed to light up her face. And curl into his system. “Sounds like you have your hands full.”

And her life, she thought. “Keeps me on my toes, that's for sure.”

He knew she worked full-time. Did five-year-olds attend school? He'd never had a reason to know before. He hadn't one now, he reminded himself. This was just conversation and now that he thought of it, he was having it more or less against his will.

Still, he heard himself asking, “Who watches Danny when you're here?”

Kindergarten would be starting for Danny soon. Another hurdle and rite of passage all rolled into one to go through, she mused. But for now, he was still her little boy and she was hanging on to that for as long as possible.

“Some very exhausted day-care center people.” The cost of which, she added silently, ate huge chunks out of her weekly paycheck. But it was a good day-care center and Danny seemed to be thriv
ing in the environment, which was all that mattered. She couldn't ask for anything better than that.

Except, maybe, a father for the boy. But that wasn't ever going to happen. For Danny to get a father, she would have to start dating again. Have to put herself out there emotionally again. After the mega-disaster that was her marriage, she had come to the conclusion that she and love had nothing in common.

Unless, of course, she was thinking of love for her son. Or the professor.

Smith caught himself studying Jane. Minding his own business to a fault, he knew very little about the lives of the people around him. He'd never pictured Jane with a son. Hadn't really thought of her as married, either. But that was because she still used the same last name she'd had when they were students in English class together. He'd been aware of her from the first day of class. The cute little redhead with the pale green eyes, soft voice and perfect shape. He'd even come close to asking her out. Back then, he'd thought anything was possible.

But that was before he learned that it wasn't. Not for him.

Smith glanced down at her hand and didn't see a wedding ring. Was she one of those independent women who didn't care for outward signs of commitment? Or hadn't acquiring a husband along with a son been part of her plan?

“Don't you miss him?” he asked.

She wondered if Smith had always been this abrupt or if getting caught and then having to leave the university had done this to him. What was he doing here, anyway? If something that traumatic had happened to her, she certainly wouldn't have come back, asking for a job. She would have starved first.

Maybe that was what he was faced with, she suddenly thought. Compassion flooded through her. “Miss him?” She didn't quite understand what he was driving at. “I see Danny every morning and evening.”

Smith shook his head. His own mother had stayed home to raise him, returning to the work force only after he entered middle school. “No, I meant, wouldn't you rather stay home and take care of him?”

A soft smile flirted with the corners of her mouth. “In a perfect world, yes.” And then she laughed shortly. The world was so far from perfect, it was staggering. “But if I stayed home, the cupboard would get bare incredibly fast.”