A Father For Zach (6 page)

“Like what?”

“Zach. That’s Nathan’s private business.” Catherine withdrew a package of vanilla sandwich cookies and set them on the table. “Let me get your shirt.” She walked over to the laundry room, pulled it from the dryer, and handed it to him. “We’ll see you Monday, then?” He was hovering at the screen door, as if he couldn’t wait to get away.

“Yes.” Turning aside, he stripped off the jersey and slipped on the T-shirt in one smooth motion. Handing the jersey back to her, he lifted a hand toward Zach. “See you later, champ.”

“’Bye, Nathan.”

With a nod to her, he pushed through the screen door, crossed the breezeway in a few long strides and disappeared around the front of the house.

Leaving her to wonder if she’d ever see him again.

For despite his reassurance that he’d be back Monday, despite the fact that he didn’t strike her as the kind of man who would walk out on a job or renege on a commitment, she didn’t like the vibes she’d picked up during their pizza dinner.

But if he did decide to quit…if he exited her life as unexpectedly as he’d entered it…she’d find someone to step in and take Nathan’s place.

On the project, if not in her heart.

For even in their short acquaintance, he’d managed to awaken a tenderness that had long lain dormant—connecting with her just as he’d connected with Zach.

If he left, her son would miss him. A lot.

And so would she.

N
athan braked to a stop in front of Catherine’s house on Saturday, swung his leg over the bar on the bike, set the kickstand…and tried to fight down the worst case of nerves he’d suffered since he’d stood in the courtroom waiting for his sentence to be read.

The outcome that day hadn’t been good.

And he wasn’t confident it would be any better this morning.

But after a night spent tossing and turning, he’d realized his only ethical choice was to tell Catherine about his background. Keeping it secret wasn’t an option he could live with in good conscience.

And if she sent him away…

The roiling in his stomach told him that was a very real possibility, given the strength of her feelings about the man who had killed her husband—and about felons in general.

Mustering his courage, he started up the gravel path to the front door—only to halt a moment later at the unexpected sound of violin music.

He didn’t recognize the piece. But each pure, clear note of the poignant melody throbbed with feeling as it hung suspended in the hushed morning air. Unlike the uplifting music the string quartet had played at Marci’s wedding, however, this composition spoke of aching sadness. Of a yearning for things that could never be. Of remembered joy that was long past.

Nathan could picture Catherine as she played: eyes closed, head tipped into the chin rest, right hand masterfully wielding the bow as the fingertips of her left hand caressed the strings. She would be swaying slightly, lost in the magic of the music.

The way she’d been at Marci’s wedding.

He was no musician, but Nathan knew he was listening to a master. To a woman who had not only technical expertise, but the ability to imbue her music with a passion that could touch listeners’ hearts and stir their souls while offering a glimpse into her own.

“Nathan?”

The childish voice broke the spell. Spotting Zach at a window, he lifted his hand in greeting.

“Hey, Mom!” The little boy’s volume doubled. As did his enthusiasm. “Nathan’s here!”

The music stopped abruptly.

As the youngster disappeared, Nathan resumed his trek toward the front door. Catherine opened it when he was halfway up the steps, looking as surprised as her son.

“Nathan…I didn’t expect you until Monday.” The faint shadows under her eyes suggested sleep had been as elusive for her as it had been for him.

“I had something I wanted to talk over with you. Is this a bad time?”

“No. Not at all. I’m playing at a wedding later, but I don’t have to leave for a couple of hours. Come in.”

She pushed the door open, and he stepped inside.

Withdrawing a DVD from the inside pocket of his jean jacket, he smiled at Zach as he handed it over. “Remember that movie I mentioned last week? The one about the boys who built rockets? I found a copy for you.”

“Awesome!” Zach examined the cover and looked up at Catherine. “Can I watch it now, Mom? Please?”

“It’s PG,” Nathan assured her over Zach’s head. “I thought it would occupy him while we talked.”

Her uncertain gaze met his, and he saw a flicker of distress in her green eyes. “Sure. I’ll get it started for you, Zach.” She took the DVD and motioned Nathan toward the kitchen. “I’ll meet you out there in a minute.”

With a nod, Nathan headed toward the back of the house, trying to quiet the thudding of his heart. And hoping Catherine would be able to see beyond his criminal record to the man he’d become. To understand that the street thug he’d once been didn’t exist anymore.

If she couldn’t, he’d lose this job.

He’d also lose his connection—tenuous though it was—to her and Zach.

And much as he wanted this job, the loss of the latter would be even worse.

Catherine fiddled with the DVD far longer than necessary, buying herself a few minutes to think through Nathan’s unexpected appearance. And come to the obvious conclusion.

He was going to quit—just as she’d feared yesterday when he’d left.

She couldn’t blame him, either. Why would he want to work for a bitter, angry, aloof woman when there were plenty of other jobs on the island? Closer to town, too. After all, she hadn’t given him the warmest reception. From the moment she’d seen him at that wedding, she’d made no attempt to mask her wariness. He must think…

“Come on, Mom. It’s not hard. Do you want me to do it?”

At Zach’s impatient query, Catherine cranked up the volume a little higher than usual, pushed the play button and set the remote on top of the TV.

“I’ll be in the kitchen with Nathan.”

“Okay.” Already his focus was on the screen.

Wiping her palms on her jeans, she limped toward the back of the house.

Nathan was leaning against the counter, hands in his pockets. The tense line of his shoulders was at odds with his casual stance, setting off another flutter in her stomach.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Sure.”

She busied herself at the pot. After filling two mugs, she retrieved the pitcher of cream from the fridge and set it on the table.

“I heard you playing the violin when I arrived.” Nathan broke the heavy silence. “You have an incredible talent.”

“I’ve been at it a long time. I played with the Atlanta Philharmonic for a lot of years, plus with a string quartet. I thought I’d have difficulty finding opportunities here, but it turned out that Becky—the real estate agent I used—is also a musician. She plays the viola. Anyway, she’s part of a string quartet, and their violinist just moved to the mainland. So when she found out about my background, she invited me to play with them. It should work out great.”

Stop babbling,
Catherine berated herself as she set the mugs on the table.
The man has something to say. Let him get to it. Delaying the inevitable isn’t going to change anything.

“Sorry.” She took a seat and gestured to an empty chair. “You didn’t come all the way out here on your day off to listen to a boring recitation of my musical résumé.”

He took the chair she’d indicated and wrapped his hands around his mug. “I’m not bored. I’m happy you found an outlet for your art.” He took a sip of coffee. “How’s Zach doing?”

“Okay. He didn’t even have a nightmare last night, like he sometimes does after an episode. That’s an encouraging sign.”

“Good.” He set his mug on the table, never breaking eye contact. “I thought a lot about the story you told me yesterday, Catherine.”

He’d called her Catherine. That was a positive. Wasn’t it?

“I shouldn’t have dumped the whole thing on you at once like that.” She sent him an apologetic look. “And I’m sorry I got so angry. I’ve kept my feelings bottled inside for a long time, and I’m afraid they came out very strong.”

“You were honest. I respect that. And you deserve honesty in return.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “You’re quitting, aren’t you?” The impulsive words were out before she could stop them.

He blinked at her, then frowned. “Why would you think that?”

She toyed with her mug, staring into the dark depths of her coffee. “I’m sure there are friendlier people to work for. I haven’t exactly welcomed you with open arms. Or gone out of my way to be nice.”

Nathan shook his head and raked his fingers through his hair, his expression unreadable. “You have legitimate rea
sons for being cautious, Catherine. As for friendliness—I haven’t felt unwelcome since you hired me. I didn’t come here to quit because of what you told me, either. But you may
want
me to quit after you hear what I have to say.”

Now it was her turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

Once more he gripped his mug with both hands. “You didn’t ask about my background when I applied for the job.”

“You came recommended by a doctor, and you’ve done jobs for one of the local ministers. That sufficed as a reference for me. And I’ve seen your work. It’s excellent. You’re fast, thorough and conscientious. What more do I need to know?”

“Plenty.”

The grim line of his mouth put her on alert, even as she fought the surprisingly strong urge to reach over and smooth away the furrows etched on his brow. To tell him to relax. Instead, she sat watching…and waiting.

He took a sip of coffee, then set the mug aside and folded his hands on the table, his gaze steady. “I’d like to go way back to the beginning of the story, if you’ll humor me for a few minutes. I’ll try to keep it as short as I can.”

“Okay.”

“My brother and sister and I grew up in a very blue-collar family that could, at best, be called dysfunctional. From the time I was seven, I was a very angry, messed-up kid. When I was thirteen, my dad deserted us. After that, my mom worked two jobs to try and make ends meet. Our neighborhood was rough, and with her gone so much, I got in with the wrong crowd. My older brother, J.C.—he’s a detective now on the island—did his best to keep me out of trouble, but it was a losing battle. Especially after my mom was killed two years later in a hit-and-run accident.”

Although his tone was dispassionate, Catherine saw a flicker of pain—and regret—in his eyes. A sudden tingle in her nerve endings warned her she wasn’t going to like what he was about to tell her.

“You’ve seen the scar on my chest, Catherine. It’s from a knife wound I got in a street fight.” He gentled his voice, as if he hoped that might soften the harsh facts.

It didn’t. Shock rippled through her.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed the ones on my face, too. Also the result of fights. The day I applied for this job, Zach asked how I’d broken my fingers. I didn’t answer then, but I will now. A police officer’s baton smashed them.”

She cringed—an involuntary reaction she wished she could recall when a muscle in his jaw twitched. But he kept going, his expression stoic.

“I got deeper and deeper into trouble, Catherine. J.C. tried to help me. So did my sister, Marci, in the beginning. I pushed them both away and dropped out of school at sixteen. For the next eight years I lived a life I wish I could erase from my biography. Meanwhile, J.C. became a cop. He warned me my luck would eventually run out.

“One day, it did. A buddy convinced me to rob a convenience store. With guns. We’d done our share of shoplifting, everything from electronics to jewelry, but this was big-time stuff. I wasn’t gung ho on the idea, but he persuaded me we could pull it off. Except we didn’t count on the clerk tripping the silent alarm. The next thing we knew, the place was surrounded by police.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’ll skip all the court stuff and cut to the chase. I was convicted of armed robbery and served ten years in prison. I was released less than a month ago—a few days before Marci’s wedding.”

Silence fell in the room as Catherine tried to process all Nathan had told her.

He’d robbed a store with a gun. Aimed it at innocent bystanders like David. Might have pulled the trigger if he’d been provoked.

Meaning he could have committed murder.

A shudder ran through her, and she closed her eyes as the full impact of Nathan’s story registered.

A convicted felon—a man just like the criminal who’d killed her husband—was sitting in her kitchen.

Except…somehow she couldn’t reconcile the Nathan Clay at her table with the angry, hostile punk he’d described.

It didn’t compute.

Opening her eyes, she stared at the man across from her. He hadn’t moved a muscle. His hands were still folded in front of him. But the creases at the corners of his eyes seemed deeper. And grooves had appeared beside his mouth.

She tried to find her voice. When she did, her words came out faint and scratchy. “That’s quite a story.”

He leaned forward. “There’s more. The best part. Two years ago, thanks to J.C.’s and Marci’s love and the grace of God, I turned a corner. I asked for forgiveness, and I started over. I finished high school. I developed a relationship with my family and with the Lord. I resolved that I wasn’t going to let my dark past keep me from having a bright future. I’m not the same man I was ten years ago, Catherine. People
can
change. If they want to.”

Not hardened criminals.

The automatic denial echoed in Catherine’s mind. As it had been doing for the past two years.

Yet…Nathan claimed to have changed dramatically.
Had
changed dramatically, if his description of his younger days was accurate.

Didn’t that mean, though, that the man who’d killed David could change, too?

That maybe he already had?

Catherine thought about the letter that had arrived from him, via his attorney, a few months ago. The cover note had simply said his client had asked him to pass it on.

She hadn’t even unfolded the single sheet of paper. Instead, she’d torn it into tiny pieces and thrown it in the fireplace, watching the flames destroy it as his crime had destroyed her world.

It didn’t matter what he had to say, she’d told herself as she’d watched the fire consume the fragments. No apology, no remorse, would bring David back or restore the life they’d shared. Her husband’s killer didn’t deserve her compassion—or her forgiveness. Because criminals didn’t change.

Now, for the first time, a flicker of doubt seeped into her mind.

“Catherine?”

At Nathan’s quiet prod, she looked at him.

“All I’m asking for is a chance.”

To do what? Shake her resolve? Undermine her convictions? Take away the consuming hate and bitterness that had allowed her to keep other debilitating emotions—like grief—at bay?

She couldn’t let that happen. She’d fall apart.

Rising abruptly, she put as much distance as possible between them, wedging herself into the far corner of the kitchen next to the counter.

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” The words came out cold. Accusatory.

“I haven’t shared my past with anyone here. I didn’t want to be judged based on who I was, but on who I am. Maybe that was too much to hope for.” His tone was quiet. Resigned. He rose and faced her. “Do I still have a job here?”

His rigid posture suggested he had braced himself for her answer. Only she didn’t have one. “I don’t know. I…I need to think about it.”