A Child's Wish

Meredith looked at the houses they passed, noting the lights on in living rooms, kitchens, bedrooms, wondering about the darkened ones. So many people, so many lives saturated with hope and fear and love and regret; so many emotions. Trapping her.

“I told Mark I’d be happy to keep Kelsey overnight any weekend the two of you want some time alone,” she said slowly, deciphering her feelings as she spoke. “Maybe we should do it this weekend. Think you can come up with a plan to entice him?”

Susan pulled to a stop at the corner. “You want some time alone with her.”

“I enjoy Kelsey.”

“You’re worried about her and you want to see if you can figure anything out.”

Meredith didn’t answer. She had no idea if there was anything wrong with Kelsey Shepherd other than the usual little-girl jealousy that came with the territory when a single dad started dating. She had no idea if there was any real justification for this feeling that she should be paying special attention to Kelsey right now. She had no idea if she was being overemotional, reacting to the trauma of the past several days, or if she was getting intuitive guidance.

“I’ll make it happen,” Susan said, her foot back on the gas.

CHAPTER FIVE

“I THINK I WANT HER, Don.”

Barbie Shepherd lay naked in her lover’s arms, hoping he wasn’t going to get all bossy and manly—and hoping he’d stay in bed with her until she fell asleep. She hated nights. The dark, the loneliness….

“Want who?”

“Kelsey.”

Every time she’d thought about the idea in the four days since her daughter had last been here, a good feeling had come over her. Now that Kelsey had met Don—and more importantly, now that he’d met her—she couldn’t be happy without being a real mom again.

“You want her to live here with us, you mean?” His voice was soft, kind of hoarse, like it got right before they had sex. Or right afterward.

He had to leave soon, on a run to Colorado. She toyed with his nipple. “Uh-huh.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“Really?” she asked. “You mean it?”

“Sure.” Don leaned over, licked her breast, his beard tickling her. Then he sat up, reaching for the cigarettes that were never farther away than the nightstand. She watched the amber flicker of the lighter’s flame, saw the cigarette catch and glow as Don inhaled deeply. Took her own drag when he handed it to her and lit a second one for himself.

“I’m her mother. I have rights.”

“Of course, you do.” The end of the cigarette disappeared between his whiskers and Barbie told herself he was a good-looking man. Especially in the semidarkness, when you couldn’t see his teeth.

“You’re the one who carried her around in your body,” he said now, running a finger lightly from her breasts down and over her belly. “You went through labor, gave birth to her…”

“Breast-fed her and raised her for the first five and half years of her life…”

“She’s an asset,” he continued. “Your asset.”

Yeah. Kelsey was someone who had to love her, no matter what.

“Kids are good for lots of things,” Don went on, letting the ash grow dangerously long before flicking it into the ashtray. “She can help you out around here.”

She hadn’t thought of that. Kelsey had still been too young to be of much use when Barbie had left. Not that she’d minded. She’d liked taking care of her. Still…

“So, what do I do?” she asked now, straddling his stomach as she leaned over to flick off her ashes.

Crushing the remains of his cigarette in the ashtray, Don grabbed her butt. “Get a lawyer.”

She took one last drag and ditched her cigarette. “Can we afford that?”

“You can get one for free.” This was the best news yet—she’d thought the legal part would be the most difficult. “State has to appoint one for you.”

Barbie slid down the roundness of his belly until she rested at the top of his thighs. “You sure about that?”

“Yep.”

Then he moved and she couldn’t think about Kelsey or being a mother anymore. Don wasn’t like Mark in bed. He had lots of tricks, kept her guessing, and as usual she gave herself over to whatever he had in mind. It always ended in orgasm and those moments were glorious.

MEREDITH APPROACHED her Mustang in the deserted parking lot an hour after school let out. It was only Wednesday afternoon and already she was worn out—longing for the weekend, forty-eight hours of anonymity, hot baths, good books and little responsibility.

Her students, whether picking up on her own tension or bringing it from home, had been restless as well, talking too much, too loudly, focusing only in short spurts. And that afternoon during art class Erin had tripped near Meredith’s desk, and now Meredith had a patch of red poster paint staining the white silk blouse she’d worn with her black slacks and white-and-black pumps.

Black-and-white jewelry, black-and-white leather satchel. She’d been hoping for a black-and-white kind of day—and had ended up splattered in red.

“Ms. Foster, could we have a word with you?”

Glancing up sharply, Meredith stopped. She’d noted the van in the parking lot, of course. Enough to be aware that it was there. Not enough to have noticed the Tulsa local-news logo on the side or the two people who had just emerged from it.

“We’d just like to ask a couple of questions.”

She walked past them to her car.

“We’re interested in the editorial that ran in Monday’s Republic. I understand that the newspaper didn’t contact you. Is that correct?”

She looked at the brunette, who was her age, at least, dressed in jeans and a white sweater, and wondered if she liked her job. The hefty, bearded cameraman behind her she ignored completely.

“We’ve got some good tape from Mr. Barnett,” the woman said, her eyes showing something akin to sympathy. “My producer was ready to run with it, but I insisted that you deserved to have your side told, as well.”

Keys in hand, Meredith stood there another second, assessing. Granted, her senses weren’t honed at the moment, but she believed the other woman was sincere.

The brunette dropped her mic at her side. “He was pretty brutal,” she said. “I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

Meredith glanced back at the school. Mark would kill her if she said anything.

And if she didn’t? She’d be crucified.

Who’d stick up for her? Ruth Barnett? Hardly. The woman was a classic battered woman, so intimidated by her jerk of an ex-husband that she’d still lie just because he told her to. And that left—who? Her boss? Fat chance.

“What do you want to know?” She regretted the words even as she said them. There would be hell to pay. And at the same time, she felt better. She’d done nothing wrong, had nothing to be ashamed of. Unlike Larry Barnett.

“Did you tell Mr. Barnett’s wife that he was abusing his son?”