Sweet Justice (19 page)

“So?” he prompted again.

“For someone so smart...” She exhaled, stared off into the distance. “Think about it, Andrew. Katelyn's in a
wheelchair
. She can't stand on her feet all day. When we swapped hair trims, I had to sit on the floor for her to do it.”

“You let Katelyn cut your hair?” Another amazing fact that proved she was not LeeAnn. His ex-girlfriend would travel two hours to have her hair cut by a professional of the appropriate quality and caliber and pedigree, and heaven help the poor sap if it didn't turn out exactly as she'd wanted it.

“A trim, Andrew, a trim, but that's not the point. The
point
is that physically, right now, Katelyn can't do the job. The
point
is that she'll have ongoing medical bills for a long time, and she's going to need good insurance to help cover them. A college degree... A degree... Oh, if I'd just been able to get my degree before my parents died...”

A sob ripped through her. He was desperately afraid she was going to bawl on him right here, right now, and the only thing he'd want to do was pull her into his arms, hang Eric and Jackson.

Exactly as she had with her anger, Mallory hemmed up her emotions with the same skill he used to control Joker. She pulled herself together, calm and collected now, except for the way she clenched and unclenched her fists by her sides.

“It doesn't matter. You don't have to worry about my reasons, do you? Suffice it to say—” again, she adopted a slightly prissy tone “—I would appreciate it if you would leave the career advice to me and to her guidance counselor and her advisor, oh, and Maegan as her therapist.”

“I should let the kid think it's okay to be desperately unhappy because she can't meet your expectations? And because you can't see her as anything but what she is now?” It wasn't fair, he knew it wasn't, but something about her snooty “leave it to the professionals” riled him.

“No, you should let me—”

Her words were cut off by the reverberating “ennh” of the alarm buzzing insistently, and the radios crackling to life. A call-out, and at the worst possible time.

“Hey, I gotta go—it's a structure fire. Stay back out of the way,” he warned her, flying for his turnout gear.

“Right. Sure. Nice timing. Saved by the bell, huh?” she responded acidly. “Hey, how about
this
time, you actually manage to get the power turned off?”

Her words stopped him in his tracks. He turned around to face her. It didn't matter that he had to get going, that this was his job, that there were possibly lives on the line.

He wasn't comforted when he saw her anger fade into a sick remorse. “Andrew—I'm sorry— I—”

“No. You meant it. I can't talk about it now. Maybe later, maybe never, but certainly not now.”

Then he turned back to the rush for his gear and the fire to be put out.

He could handle that.

Because he had no clue what to do with a woman who not only knew about the power being left on in that house...but blamed him for it, as well.

Who was he kidding? Mallory Blair was never going to stop blaming him for what had happened to her sister.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

T
WO
DAYS
LATER
, Andrew still didn't know what to say to Mallory.

Apparently, nothing was required, not on his part. She sat at the dining table next to him, sharing lunch with him, Ma, Maegan and Katelyn.

Oh, she was polite. One thing Mallory Blair never forgot was her pleases and thank-yous. Still, the sudden drop in temperature as she turned from her right, where Ma was sitting, to her left, where he sat, told him all he needed to know.

He hadn't expected to see her. In fact, he'd planned to head out for some made-up errand before Katelyn's therapy appointment. What he hadn't figured on was that blasted wedding dress.

Mallory had the afternoon off from BASH, so she and Katelyn had come early. And of course Ma had tempted them with food—this time leftovers from the night before, but Ma's leftovers were better than most people's regular meals.

After he'd finished up with the structure fire and returned to the station, Andrew had tried to call her twice. His first idea was to explain more clearly why he thought maybe college and Katelyn weren't such a hot mix. Then, after a talk with Ma, who'd pointed out that he'd stuck his nose in business that didn't quite belong to him, he'd thought about calling to apologize.

He'd thought about calling simply to hear Mallory's voice.

Now he was hearing her voice, but it was pointedly not directed at him. She was bent on freezing him out, and she was doing a good job of it. The longer Andrew sat there and took it, the madder he got.

He couldn't help that he'd had to go when the alarm went off. He hadn't asked for that structure fire. He was a firefighter. Dropping everything was part of the job. She had to know that by now, what with all the time she'd been around his family.

And he couldn't have helped that the power somehow mysteriously came back on in that rattletrap heap that Katelyn had been living in. It had been his job to get in and get Katelyn out...and he'd done that. Maybe not as soon as everybody would have liked, but he'd done it.

He brooded over his lunch. The chatter between the four women at the table, along with the clink of silverware against Ma's second-best stoneware, washed over him. Andrew found himself retreating to some place deep within himself, where he could nurse his grievances and polish up his justifications.

He didn't like that. It was exactly the kind of behavior that had been the prelude to the final act of all his other relationships.

Was this thing with Mallory a relationship? Unless she totally swore off that lawsuit, was it even a possibility?

Her words of thanks and the scrape of her chair as she pushed it back brought him to the present. He'd spent the entire meal stewing over something he couldn't control—her reaction. That was like getting angry at a building for catching on fire instead of concentrating on putting the fire out.

A firefighter worked with what was in front of him. He didn't whine about wanting better conditions. He made his own opportunities.

And, above all else, Andrew was a firefighter.

She'd rinsed her plate, put it in the dishwasher and disappeared into Ma's sewing room by the time he'd pushed back his own chair. He thanked Ma, gathered up his dishes and headed for the sink.

As he was about to follow Mallory to the sewing room, Katelyn blocked his path with her wheelchair. “Can I—can I talk to you?” she asked.

Andrew guessed he owed her that much. He followed her down the hall to the living room, where she expertly twirled the chair around, braked it and folded her hands. This girl had grown so much since she'd first arrived at Happy Acres. Maybe Mallory couldn't see it, but he could.

That wasn't to say she didn't have some more growing up to do, but, hey, at seventeen, he'd been a far cry from mature.

“What's on your mind, kiddo?” he asked Katelyn.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?” Andrew dropped into Daniel's easy chair so that he'd be at eye level with Katelyn and she wouldn't have to look up.

“I ratted you out. Mal's on the warpath with you because I told her what you said. You know. About me quitting college.”

He rubbed his eyes. “I got myself in hot water. I shouldn't have tried to give you advice when I didn't understand the situation.”

“But you
do
. Mallory means well, but all she wants is for me to grow up and get a job and be boring like her. Work, work, work.” Katelyn pulled at a thread on a hoodie so bleach spattered and ragged Andrew couldn't believe Mallory hadn't already consigned it to the trash.

He considered Katelyn's words. Mallory boring? Hardly. “She works awfully hard for you.” He tried to frame the words as neutrally as possible, with no guilt stirred in.

To his surprise, Katelyn nodded. “She does. She worries about me, I know. And she just wants the best for me. She's worked like a dog ever since...” Here she trailed off, unable to force the words that didn't have to be said. The thread on the cuff of the hoodie grew longer, and Andrew realized that it was actually the fabric unraveling. “She's got this idea that she can't have any fun until I'm this big success. It's like, I dunno, she thinks they're gonna hand
her
the stupid diploma when I graduate from college. I can't— I love her, but I can't... I feel so
suffocated
.” Again, she yanked at the thread. “Sometimes anyway.”

Andrew could understand where she was coming from. “I've felt that way. When I was a kid. For all the rest of the Monroe kids, book learning came easy. Maybe Daniel and Rob would have rather been outdoors, but they aced their schoolwork. And Dad—when he wasn't working on some project, he had his nose in a book.”

“But not you?”

“Not me. I couldn't sit still. And stuff like history and grammar drove me up the wall.”

“I know, right? That's what I tell Mal.”

Andrew continued, “Whenever I got my report card, Dad never yelled at me. He'd just look that report card up and down so hard I'd think he was going to read the print off it. And then, when I thought I might pass out, thinking for sure I was in up to my chin this time, he'd ask, ‘Is this your best?'” Andrew shook his head at the memory. “Honestly, I'd have rather been grounded for a month than have to answer that question. I always wondered if, had I made straight As like Daniel and Rob, would Dad ask me that anyway?”

“Well, did he? Ask them that, I mean?”

“I don't know. That was another rule for report card day. You didn't talk about what marks you got or what he said.”

“You've just proved my point,” Katelyn said. “You didn't make all As and you turned out okay. You didn't go to college.”

“No, I didn't, not then. But I actually have taken some college-level courses for the department. They're more hands-on, which is what I like. Anyway, long story short, I get why you might want to do something with your hands. And I don't think there's anything wrong with it. But...”

Katelyn grimaced. She spun the chair around. “I knew it. You're going to take her side.”

“No. I'm not taking her side. You said it yourself. She wants the best for you. My dad was tough, and Ma, in her own way, is equally tough on us. I never doubted for a minute, though, that they were doing it because they loved me.”

“Will you...” Katelyn trailed off, then gave a firm shake of her head. She folded her arms across her chest. “No, never mind. This is my fight. I've got you in enough trouble. Sorry for the hot water.”

Andrew gave her a mock tap on the shoulder with his fist. “What's that saying about what tea bags and people have in common? You never know how strong you are until you're in hot water?”

Katelyn's face fell. Again she unraveled a good length of thread from the cuff. “I can tell you, I don't make the cut.”

“You've had some hard knocks, kiddo. Cut yourself some slack for the past, and then get right back up on that horse and ride it tomorrow.”

He left her there, uncertain if he'd made her feel better or worse. One thing was for sure. He'd probably be in duck soup with Mallory for handing out more advice to Katelyn.

Resolutely he crossed the kitchen and made the turn into Ma's sewing room. It was time for him and Mallory to finish that conversation.

Only, Mallory was slumped over a sea of white fabric, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

She was weeping.

LeeAnn and his other girlfriends had cried—at the drop of a hat, it seemed to him. Theirs had always been full waterworks at hurricane force.

Not this quiet defeat that was so uncharacteristic of Mallory. But for that single tear, she hadn't even cried the first night Katelyn had been in ICU. Sure, he'd seen traces of tears, and he'd heard them, raw and unshed, in her voice, then and in the time since.

But this complete unleashing of silent tears? And the way she seemed almost crushed beneath the weight of them?

Had he done this?

He stepped up behind her, touched her on her shoulder. “Hey, Mallory—”

She jumped. Scrubbing at her face as though she were a snaggletoothed four-year-old, Mallory drew in a shuddering breath and smothered the tears. “I thought I was alone.”

“And crying like this is okay when you're alone?” He pulled up a spare ladder-back chair that Ma kept for the extra guests that invariably showed up at mealtimes.

“No, of course not. Crying doesn't help anything.” She picked up the white silk and peered at it. “I'm tired, that's all, and I messed up this seam. I've got to rip it out.”

“Here, let me help. I can hold the fabric while you pull out the seam. Ma used to press me into service whenever she needed a hand.”

Mallory's chin wobbled, and her fingers clenched, swallowed up by the yards of white silk. “You don't have to.”

“No.” He held out his hand, waiting to see if she'd relent. After a beat or two, she lifted the puddle of silk with a sigh.

“It would make it faster,” Mallory conceded. “Only, don't pull tight, or the fabric will rip. I don't want to lose this piece.”

“Not too tight,” he agreed.

Andrew held the silk fabric and watched as the point of her seam ripper flicked in between the impossibly tiny stitches she'd made. The going was tedious, with him putting enough tension on the seam to help her see where the next stitch was.

The pieces of fabric began to separate. Andrew thought about how strong those tiny, near invisible stitches were. That was how family was—held together by a thousand different unseen bonds.

Except when you lost someone. The stitches came out in a hurry, then. He stared over at Mallory, her nose all shiny and red, her eyes still watery, her mouth pressed together as though she might bawl any moment.

She wouldn't, though. He knew that about her now. She'd rather die inside than cry and admit weakness.

When had she started equating tears with weakness? The Monroes weren't like that at all—they roared when they were hurt, laughed when something tickled them.

Well, maybe he didn't. He was the quietest one. Still, he was a guy, and guys weren't like girls. It nagged at him, the way she thought she couldn't cry, not even in front of him.

“It's okay, you know. A good cry can help.”

The tip of the seam ripper froze, poised halfway to the next stitch. With a tremble, Mallory started to work again. She didn't answer him, but he could see she was struggling not to give into those tears.

“I'm sorry, okay?” he blurted out. “I didn't mean to mess things up with Katelyn.”

Mallory dropped her seam ripper and clasped her palm to her mouth. Tears spilled out of those clear green eyes and down her cheeks. She tried to fight it—but not even she could hold that much sadness back.

He pulled her into his arms, mindless of Kimberly's half-made wedding dress piled up between them. “You'll get the seam fixed, the dress made and Katelyn back in school. You're tough, Mal. You're the toughest fighter I know. You never let anything whip you.”

She buried her face into the crook of his neck and muttered something. He let her stay there for a moment, then set her back, wiped away those tears.

“You can tell me. Don't keep all this bottled up.”

Mallory sucked in a ragged breath, hiccupped and had to draw in another breath before she could even attempt to speak. She grabbed hold of the slippery silk before the dress could crash onto the floor, and then with her free hand scrubbed at her face.

“I'm scared,” she admitted. “I don't want to let Mom and Dad down. I've screwed up so much with Katelyn—I shouldn't have let her talk me into going off to college early, but her friends at school were nothing to write home about and—who am I kidding? I can't sew a seam straight, much less get her safe and sound through high school.”

Her guilt bled through her words. He knew the weight of that. He'd felt it after his dad had died, the agony of knowing that, no matter if he did live up to his father's expectations, Dad would never see it. Too late. Too little, and way too late.

“Shh. Shh.” He fumbled for the box of tissue stashed on the shelf above the sewing machine.

Mallory accepted one and blew her nose. The sound was loud and unladylike and he couldn't help but laugh at the way she turned crimson with embarrassment.

“Hey, that's the sound of a normal nose, Mal. I won't tell anybody you're mortal after all.” He touched her on the chin, let his thumb stroke her cheek. “And...about the other... Ma has this rule, and it's a good one. Never try to fix things when you're upset.”

“Ha. I can't fix things at all, not anymore. She's all I have, Andrew. I nearly lost her, and you'd think that would teach me to be more careful, to take better care of her, and I'm trying... But she makes it so
hard
. If I could give up, I would, but I can't. I don't know what to do anymore.”