Asking for Trouble (6 page)

It was a necklace. More pearls. Two rows of smaller spheres
at the top fastened with a diamond clasp, gathered by three triangular panels
at each side, their surface made up of more diamonds and each panel larger than
the one above, finally falling into three graduated rows of pearls below. And
by the time it got to the largest, the ones at the bottom, they were pretty
damn spectacular.

“Oh,” Susie breathed, and that was about all there was to
say about that.

“I’d say you did good,” Gabe told his brother, and Joe had
to agree.

“Alec,” Desiree said. “You didn’t buy this at a store.”

“Let’s just say I called ahead.” He took the thing carefully
out of its case and put it around her neck. “Merry Christmas.” He gave her a
kiss. “You’re beautiful. Thanks for marrying me.”

And that made Susie cry again, joining Mira, but then, Mira
had cried about five times already that day. Joe guessed that pregnancy really
did make women emotional, because he didn’t remember her crying this much the
year before. She’d cried at Alec and Rae’s wedding, but everybody’d done that,
everybody except him.

Of course, Rae had to stand up and take her turn looking in
the mirror. “I am seriously overdressed for this event,” she said. She was
wearing camel-colored slacks and a brown sweater, and the pearls stood out
against the knit fabric as if they were lit from within. “We’re going to have
to get opera tickets or something, Alec.”

“No, we’re not,” he said. “I hate opera. I’ll take you out
to dinner someplace really nice, how’s that?”

“It had better be someplace
really
nice,” she said, fingering the rows of pearls.

“I can probably manage that. How about coming over and
giving me another kiss? Don’t I get a thank-you?”

“You get a thank-you,” she assured him. “You just needed to
let me look first.” And he did get it.

And, Joe thought, he’d got it wrong again, or rather, he hadn’t
dared to get it right. He’d thought hard, as he thought every year, about what
to get Alyssa. He’d wanted to give her jewelry, because he knew as well as Alec
did that that was what you bought a beautiful woman. He wasn’t the most
romantic guy, but even he knew that. Jewelry was the best, when it was
appropriate. Which it wasn’t.

But seeing the look on Alyssa’s face as she admired Rae’s
necklace, he wished he’d forgotten about what was appropriate and done it. He
hadn’t made quite as much from their partnership as Alec had—the CEO
always got the most, that was the way it worked—but he wasn’t too far
off. So, yeah, he could have bought Alyssa just about any necklace in the
world. If it had been right. Which it wasn’t.

So he’d given her a box instead. Well, not just a box. A
carefully prepared case of emergency supplies for her car, because he’d seen
her car, and at some point, she was going to need emergency supplies. He knew
she wouldn’t have the right things in there, so he’d given them to her. A complete
tool kit, flares, a red signal flag for her antenna, a big Maglite flashlight
and a smaller one, extra batteries, a wind-up flashlight/radio combination in
case the batteries didn’t work, a first aid kit, a compact sleeping bag in case
she broke down someplace cold. Everything he could think of, and he’d had the
case specially made to hold it all, with dividers, so she could find things fast
in an emergency.

It had been too big to put under the tree. He’d had to go
back into Alec’s bedroom for it, when it was time.

“You’re clearly thinking I’m going to break down at any
moment,” she’d protested when she’d gone through it all.

“Anyone can have an accident,” he’d said. “Anyone can have
an emergency. I just thought it was better if you were prepared. Because do you
have that stuff?”

“Well, no,” she’d admitted. “I have a flashlight. Not sure if
the batteries work, though. I haven’t checked in a while.”

Which had made everyone laugh, and which had given Joe a
little glow of satisfaction, because he’d been right, she’d needed it all, and
having it would make her safer. It might not be the most romantic present, but
it was what she needed, and didn’t that count?

So, yeah. He’d felt pretty proud of it, but it wasn’t a
pearl necklace.

“I have an announcement to make.”

That was Alec, and Alyssa looked up from her heaping plate
of Christmas dinner. She was
definitely
going
to have to take a walk tonight. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “You guys are
pregnant too.”

“No,” Alec said with a laugh. “No, Desiree says it’s not
time yet. And as you all know, she’s the boss.”

“I am not the boss,” she protested. “You’re the boss.”

“Maybe at work.
Maybe.
Huh, Joe?”

“Maybe,” Joe said, his little smile crooking the corner of
his mouth. “Technically.”

“Announcement?” Dave reminded his son.

“Yes. Announcement. This one will make you happy, Dad,” Alec
said. “This one’s just for you, your real Christmas present. You know that
foundation we set up?”

“The one Desiree set up, you mean?” Dave asked, a decided twinkle
in his eyes now.

“Go on, rub it in. Yes. That one. We figured out—all
right,
she
figured out that for now,
we shouldn’t try to hire a whole staff and all that, eat it up with expenses.
She says we should wait till we’ve built up the capital. But we’ve made our
first big donation, to Project Second Chance.”

“What’s that?” Mira asked.

“Foster kids,” Dave said. “Right?”

“Right,” Alec said. “They do mentoring and college
scholarships and support and all sorts of good things. And they’re based right
there in San Francisco, so Rae could do her due diligence without leaving me
lonely.”

“Desiree’s idea, I assume,” Dave said.

“No,” Rae put in. “No, Joe’s, actually. I knew I wanted to
do something along those lines, but I didn’t even know they existed. Turns out
Joe’s a donor.”

“Good for you, Joe,” Susie said. “I didn’t know that.”

“Rae’s doing more than I am,” he said, his expression even
more wooden than usual. “She’s the one getting involved.”

“They’ve asked me to join the board starting in July,” Rae
explained. “And since I’d looked over all their statements pretty thoroughly .
. .” She shrugged and laughed. “You know me. I’m going to want to tell them how
to do things anyway, I might as well put myself in a position to do it. Although
it’s really Joe who should be on the board. He’s the one with the history.”

“I’m not good at being on boards,” Joe said. “Not too good
in meetings.”

“No, that’s true,” Alec agreed. “You’re not. Give the money
and go away, that was my idea too. But of course Desiree had to get involved.
Such a managing woman.” He sighed.

“Oh, you love it,” she said.

“Mmm. Could be.”

“But,” she said, serious again, “they do really good work.
And oh!” She jumped in her chair. “I just had a thought. About you, Alyssa. Oh,
this could be perfect.”

“Me? Me what?”

“You want to do something different, right? You said,
something that mattered. I don’t know what that is, but there’s a job there, at
Second Chance, that I think would be just right for you.” She was getting
really animated now. “They’ve got an opening for an Assistant Director of
Development. They’re planning to hire in the New Year. What do you think?”

“Uh . . .” Alyssa was taken aback. “In San Francisco?”

“Well, yes. You said you were looking for a change. Maybe
not that much of a change, though?”

“No,” Alyssa said. “No, actually, it sounds good.” When
she’d graduated from high school, she’d wanted nothing more than to move away
from her family, get the chance to be her own person. Live a little, not be the
preacher’s daughter anymore, not be expected to set an example. San Diego State
had been the answer to a very unholy prayer, and she’d never got farther north
than LA in all the years since.

But now, the idea of being closer to her brothers, her parents
was . . . good. She had no real ties in southern California to hold her,
nothing but friends she didn’t see enough. Too much sprawl, too much traffic,
too much time at work, lives that were full of jobs and partners and,
increasingly, kids.

“Why not?” she decided. “Why not move? Except, well, I don’t
have any background with nonprofits. All I have is sales. What does an . . . an
Assistant Director of Development do?”

Rae waved a neatly manicured hand. “This is what I mean by
perfect. It’s sales. It’s fundraising. You could do it with your eyes closed.
All that Kincaid charm and looks and brains—you were
born
to do this job.” She laughed with obvious excitement, then
grew serious again. “If you’re all right with the money, that is. It probably
wouldn’t pay half of what you were earning. That could be a real roadblock. But
down the road, you can do all right in development. Don’t get me wrong, you
wouldn’t get rich, but you could do all right.”

“Call it an investment in a career change, you think?”
Alyssa asked, beginning to get excited herself. “Maybe so. Maybe. I have some
money saved.”

Rae smiled with satisfaction, and Alyssa’s parents were
following right along and smiling, too. Right up their alley, and Alyssa
realized that the idea of doing a job that would please them didn’t make her
uncomfortable. She seemed to have lost the need to rebel for rebellion’s sake,
which meant she must be maturing after all. Who knew?

“I can make a call right away,” Rae said. “If you want me
to. Just let me know.”

That caused Alyssa’s first moment of hesitation. “I’m not
sure. I know it’s all about who you know, but having them know I’m Alec’s
sister—wouldn’t that put both of you into an awkward position if it
didn’t work out? Especially with you on the board? Nepotism, and all that.”

“Hmm,” Rae considered. “Probably true, but without
experience in the field,” she added with her usual frankness, “you won’t have
much of a shot unless you get a push from somebody.”

“I’ll do it,” Joe put in. “I’ll call, if you want to go for
it. I know the Development Director a bit. Just let me know, and I’ll make the
call. Rae’s right, they do good work.”

Which was why they got his money every year. Not because
Project Second Chance had helped him, but because they hadn’t. Because he could
have used the help, and he wanted to give it to some other kid. Something they
could count on, something that wouldn’t get their hopes up only to dash them
again.

He’d thought he’d had that something once or twice. One
time, for a little while, he’d really thought so. On that day towards the end
of his sophomore year, especially, when Mr. Wilson, his Computer Science
teacher, had asked him to come by after school to meet with him.

Joe had hesitated. “If I miss the bus,” he said, reluctant
as always to reveal any details about his life, “I don’t have a way to get
back.” He didn’t say “home,” because the foster home wasn’t home. Not this one,
and not the one before that, or the one before that either.

“Right. I should have thought of that,” Mr. Wilson said.
“Come by at lunch, then.”

Joe wanted to ask him if there was something wrong, but he
didn’t. His heart sank, though, because his Programming class—well, going
to A-Tech at all—was the best thing in his life, and if he’d messed that
up . . .

He tried to forget it.
Focus
on now.
Pre-Calculus, AP Chemistry. He did the work, he paid
attention—well, he did the best he could, with the long list of things
that could have got him kicked out running through his mind. But wouldn’t it
have been the dean or the assistant principal talking to him, not a teacher? He
shoved the thought away again.
Focus.

Lunch period came at last, and he was hesitating at the door
of Mr. Wilson’s classroom.

“Come in.” His teacher waved him to a chair next to his
desk, pointed to his own sandwich, neatly encased in wax paper and sitting on
the neatly arranged desktop. “Hope you brought your lunch, because I hate to
eat alone.”

Joe pulled out his first peanut butter on white bread and
took a bite, barely sparing a thought for the embarrassing meagerness of his
lunch, because as always, he was hungry.

Mr. Wilson worked on his own turkey on whole wheat for a minute
before he began.

“First of all,” he said, “I want to assure you that this is
just an idea. And if you aren’t interested, if it doesn’t sound good to you,
that’s fine. It’ll make no difference to how you do in my class. You’re the
best student I’ve ever had, and if that’s it, that’s plenty.”

 
Joe stopped
chewing.

“How long have you been in foster care?” Mr. Wilson asked now.

Joe swallowed. “Two years.” This was either very good, or it
was very bad. “Almost.”

“And how many foster homes?”

“Five. Counting the short ones.”

“And how many days have you been absent this semester?”

Joe could feel himself turning red, but he looked back and
answered. “Six.”

“Because?”

“Things happened.”

“Joe.” Mr. Wilson put his sandwich down. “I’ve got a reason
for asking. I won’t be passing along anything you say here. Because?”

“Fights, mostly,” Joe said reluctantly. “Getting kicked
out.”

Mr. Wilson nodded. “Did you start them? The fights?”

“Well, yeah. If I had to. I mean, if something was
happening.” Like when he’d heard Lenny crying and pleading from the next room,
the last time, and had ended up breaking the door down. He’d been kicked out,
but so had Craig and Ronnie, Lenny’s tormentors. And Craig had left with a
broken nose, Ronnie with a black eye. And a few other problems, too.

“Do you have to fight?” Mr. Wilson asked. “Do you need to?”

“No.” He knew what Mr. Wilson meant. He’d known plenty of
people who enjoyed hurting other people. Starting with Dean, his mother’s
boyfriend, and going right on from there.

Another nod. “What about alcohol? Marijuana?”

The heat was rising again. “Yeah. Some.”

“Willing to stop? Need help to stop?”

“Uh . . . I don’t know. Yeah, willing to stop.” He’d like to
stop. But it helped. It took the edge off, and he had a lot of edge.

“Need help to stop. Got it.”

“Uh, sir? Is the school kicking me out? I mean, thinking
about it? Because I can stop. I can do better.” He clamped his mouth shut so he
couldn’t say any more. So he couldn’t beg. The Advanced Technologies Academy
didn’t just have the best test scores in Las Vegas. It had the best test scores
in the entire state, and it was his only ticket. If the day Joe had found out
that his dad was dead had been the worst day of his life, the day he’d got the
letter from A-Tech had been the best. It was all he had, and he’d screwed it
up. How could he have been so
stupid?

Mr. Wilson was holding up a hand now. “No. Wait. I’m asking
if you’d like another place to stay.” He laughed a little, looked down at his
sandwich. “Go figure, I’m nervous. I’m asking if you’d like a guardian until
you graduate from high school. We’d have to petition the court for it,” he warned
as Joe continued to stare, “and your mother could fight it. It is your mother,
isn’t it?”

Joe swallowed. “Yeah. But she probably won’t. She probably
wouldn’t.”

“Does she have an addiction?”

How did he know so much? “Yeah,” Joe said desperately.
Please don’t ask any more.

“So what do you think? You’ve got a fine mind. You know what
they say, it’s a terrible thing to waste, and I don’t want to see you waste it.
It won’t be forever,” Mr. Wilson warned. “But we can get you through high
school. You stay on the right track, no reason you can’t get a great
scholarship, go on from there.”

“You mean, with you?” Joe asked slowly, hardly daring to
believe. “At your house?”

“Yes. And I should tell you,” Mr. Wilson said, stolid
himself now, “I’m gay. And that has nothing to do with this, but you should
know, in case it makes a difference.”

“But this isn’t about . . .” Joe went ahead, because the
only way to deal with things was head-on. “It’s not about sex?” That was what
it had been about with Lenny, and it was one reason he knew how to fight. Because
when you were fourteen and skinny and in foster care, you learned how to fight.

“No.” His teacher looked straight at him. “It’s not about sex.
And I can promise you that it’ll never be about sex. I have sexual partners,
yes, but they’re adults. I’m not interested in children, and I’m not interested
in you, not like that. But I need to know that you’ll go to counseling, and
that you’ll stay clean. I’m not having anyone in my house who’s doing anything
illegal. That’s a deal-breaker.”

A man always keeps his
word.
Joe could see his dad as if he were standing there, frowning down at
him when Joe had asked if he could skip the Boy Scout service project he’d
promised to help out with. And about a hundred other times, too.
A man always keeps his word.

He straightened up in his chair, looked Mr. Wilson in the
eye, and answered. “I can stay clean.”