A Child's Wish

Meredith glanced at the school one more time. This was her last chance to walk away.

But for what? To let that man take everything from her, without even trying to defend herself?

“You can’t blame people for what they’re going to think, if you don’t give them another perspective,” the other woman said, her gaze compassionate.

“I told her I suspected his father was inflicting some pretty severe emotional abuse.”

“You suspect,” the woman said, moving nearer with her microphone as the cameraman closed in behind her. Meredith was trapped between her still-locked car door and what suddenly felt like two vultures. The school was behind her—a perfect backdrop.

“You have no proof,” the woman prompted gently, after a long pause.

“No.”

“What made you suspect?” The question was more curiosity than accusation. She was receiving a fair chance to be heard. Which was more than she’d expected following Mark’s pronouncement Monday night over ice cream. Ruth Barnett had said her ex-husband was not going to let this go away.

Give me strength, she asked her unseen source of guidance—as she’d already done uncountable times over the past week.

“Tommy was a student in my class. I listened to him, as I listen to all of my students.”

The reporter’s eyes narrowed. “So Tommy told you?” she asked, perhaps seeing a larger story brewing. If it was found that the D.A. actually was abusing his son, she’d have a much bigger audience for a longer period of time.

“No.” Meredith hated to disappoint her. She sighed, searching for the best words. “But every time fathers were mentioned, or Tommy mentioned his father, I sensed that there was great turmoil. But no physical danger—at least not yet.”

“You sensed.”

Meredith nodded.

“As in how? You just thought about it and reached this conclusion?”

That was how Mark saw the situation. And probably the majority of Bartlesville, as well. Meredith was tempted just to leave them to it. In the end, it might be far less painful than to have everyone think she was some kind of quack.

But if she didn’t stand up for herself, who would? How could anyone even have a chance of choosing to believe her, to understand, to support her, if she didn’t speak out?

And if she allowed herself to be lied about, allowed her credibility to be crushed beneath Larry Barnett’s expensively shod foot, how would she ever do any good in this world?

A vision of Tommy Barnett’s innocent young face appeared before her.

“I get feelings,” she said. “I tune in, focus deeply and I can feel what other people are feeling. Sometimes.”

“So you’re saying you’re psychic.”

“No.” She didn’t believe there were special people who were granted the right to know everything about someone else, both past and future. “I don’t get grand messages,” she said. “I’m not told secrets, nor can I predict anything that’s going to happen in the future—no more than you can predict your own future. I can just feel what they’re feeling. Sometimes.”

She wasn’t some kind of weirdo. She didn’t run around town invading people’s privacy.

“What am I feeling?”

“I don’t know.” She didn’t want to know. She wanted to go home. Perhaps cry. Call her mom. Take a hot bath.

“What’s he feeling?”

“I don’t—” Meredith glanced at the cameraman, let her guard down without meaning to. “Good,” she said, head slightly tilted as she eyed him with warning. “Not nice, but good. Self-satisfied. I’d guess he’s having inappropriate thoughts about something or someone and feeling good about them.”

The camera slipped, was righted…and Meredith met the man’s eyes. She didn’t know if she’d been the target of his thoughts and she didn’t know if they’d been sexual in nature or just mean-spirited, but she knew she’d caught him.

And he knew it, too.

The reporter chuckled uneasily. “Uh, you ever think about working with the police?”

The woman believed her.

“No.” Meredith smiled straight into the camera. “I’m a teacher, not a cop. And I’m nothing special.

“Everyone has the ability to do what I do,” she explained, paraphrasing what she’d read in the books that had finally made her abilities make sense. “My senses are heightened in this area, but we can all—with focus—tune in to other people’s energy. Their emotions.”

Except that in her case, sometimes she couldn’t turn off the feelings.

“Wow,” the woman said. “I’d like to hear more about this, but unfortunately we’re out of time. This is Angela Liddy for KNLD news.” She clicked off the wireless microphone and nodded to her cameraman, who lowered his equipment and turned back toward the van.

“Thanks,” she said to Meredith. “I don’t know what good it’ll do, but I’m glad we got both sides.”

Meredith hoped she’d be glad, too, already regretting what she’d done. “When will it air?”

“Tonight, if I get back in time,” she said. “If not, then it’ll start tomorrow morning.”

Unlocking her car, Meredith dropped her bag on the floor behind the driver’s seat.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” Angela Liddy said, speaking softly as she paused beside the car. “But you should know that Larry Barnett is determined to see you lose your job.”

Yeah, Meredith had gathered that much. “It’ll take more than my speaking with his wife to make that happen,” she said. “I have rights.”

“And he has power,” the reporter said. “I’d be careful if I were you.”

Careful. What did that mean—not talking to reporters? Okay, she’d screwed up that one. And otherwise she was just living her life, going to work, coming home, watching the game-show network while she graded papers. What could she do that would be any more careful than that?

Not feel, not be herself?

How the hell did one do that?

MARK CAUGHT the news Wednesday night, lying in bed alone with the television on, attempting to fall asleep. Heart sinking when he heard the intro to the coming stories. Remote control in hand, he raised the volume another couple of notches.

She’d done a damned interview? Bad enough that Barnett was spreading this all over the media, but did Meredith have to feed the frenzy? Did she have no sense at all?