Her Reason to Stay (5 page)

“When did you move here?”

“A few days ago.”

Miriam’s mouth twisted. Those jury consultant skills hadn’t entirely deserted Daphne. She’d learned good instincts about people in ugly situations, and she could read Miriam’s doubts.

“I’m not drifting,” she said. “I plan to stay.”

Her résumé seemed to require all of Miriam’s concentration. Translation, she was considering taking the leap.

“Your interest in staying in Honesty has something to do with the way you look?”

Daphne touched her own cheek. “Maybe I love the idea of a small town.”

“Okay.” Miriam’s smile was knowing, but she went on without pushing for more information about Daphne’s resemblance to Raina. “Most newcomers your age come bearing the requisite two-point-something children and a puppy.”

“And a spouse.” The town was too picture perfect to go without.

“The spouse is not always required.” Miriam shrugged. “I’m looking for someone with a driver’s license, and I get that you don’t want to share your personal business.”

“I just want a change.” The lie came easily.

Miriam eyed her with continued indecision. “You can’t be worse than the high-school kids who’ve dumped me for a pep rally or a debate-team weekend.”

“Debate team?”

“I know. That’s as hard to believe as you wanting this job.” Miriam’s smile flashed. “It looks good on college apps. Shows they’re critical thinkers.”

“Wow. A plan in high school.” Other than escaping foster care, she’d had none.

Miriam moved down the counter to pat a huge, hunching gray machine. “This is my cash register. It’s old. I bought it secondhand, and it has a few quirks.”

Just like that, Daphne found herself employed. Miriam took her through the refrigerators where she stored flowers she ordered from out-of-town suppliers. She was more excited about the small greenhouse at the back.

“After I built this, I couldn’t afford a state-of-the-art cash register, but I have live plants, and I get to play whenever I want. I love it.”

“I envy your passion.” She’d loved being excited that way when certain cases came to trial.

“I breed roses.” Miriam leaned down to cradle a rose’s fleshy petals. “Of course, everyone wants to create a new rose. I’m a cliché.” She spun toward the shop. “Come back inside. We’ll go through today’s orders.”

Daphne followed her, distracted by the courthouse spire that towered crookedly in the glass-paned roof. “I’ve never seen a greenhouse attached to a florist’s before.”

“Did you notice the shopping area behind us?” Miriam didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s pedestrian only, which put my parking spots out of reach. Instead of leaving the area empty, I built the greenhouse and we have to depend on the parking out front.”

“Does it hurt business?” Daphne asked.

“You mean will I be able to afford you? If you’re agreeable to the salary I can offer, we’ll do fine.” She stroked the petals of an orchid that seemed to preen beneath her fingers. “I know the ad said I wanted delivery only, but that was when I thought I’d be settling for a kid. If you want to work in the shop, too, I might add something to your paycheck. You may not be using any of your training, but you’ve obviously got what it takes to stick with something.”

“Thanks.”

Again, Miriam grinned as they made their way back to the shop. From behind the counter, Miriam drew out an apron of poppies and blue crocuses printed on a white cotton background. She offered it to Daphne. “You want to stay the rest of today?”

Daphne hesitated. She owed Raina that call. “Okay.” After all, she also had to pay rent for her scary hotel-room-by-the-month.

“C
OURT IS ADJOURNED
.
I’ll see both attorneys in my chambers tomorrow morning at eight. The jury reports on Monday morning at nine. I know tomorrow is Saturday,” Judge Masters went on, “but I’d like a brief word with both counselors.”

“What’s that about?” Alexis Long was Patrick’s second chair. She watched the judge depart.

Patrick was already stuffing papers and a legal pad into his briefcase. He lowered his voice, mindful of their client, who was talking with his daughter. “Probably wants to suggest we persuade our client to not contest the charge of attacking his wife, then Masters will massage the prosecutor into suggesting a fair sentence.”

Alexis touched his sleeve. “Go get Will.” She gestured to the rest of the books and notepads. “Take what you need in case you’re right about what he wants, and I’ll get everything else back to the office.”

Her offer tempted him, but he always left first. “You work as hard as I do, and I take advantage of you every time court runs late.”

“I’m going home to a cat.” She picked up one of the notepads. “And even he won’t miss me until his dinner’s late. Will needs you.” Alexis was kind considering the dark circles under her eyes.

How much did she know? How much did everyone know, despite his best efforts to keep Will safe from gossip? “You’re tired, too,” he said.

“I’m not a kid who needs his dad’s attention.”

“You sure?” he asked.

“Positive.” She nudged him with her elbow and he needed no further invitation to dump everything and run. “Don’t worry. This case will end soon either way.”

She glanced at their client, Hal Baker. Patrick and Alexis were using every weapon in their legal arsenal to defend the man, but Patrick had come to doubt Hal’s innocence.

He gave Hal a level look. Even in repose, listening to his daughter, the only person who still had any faith in him, the man’s ruddy face revealed his anger.

Patrick hated to lose a case, but this time it might be for the best. He’d tried to talk Hal into therapy, but the man refused, even when Alexis and Patrick argued it might keep him out of jail.

Alexis reached around Patrick for a book. “Forget about Hal for tonight. I’ll talk to him about trying to look a little less—enraged.” She pressed Patrick’s briefcase into his hands and urged him toward the aisle. “Don’t make Will wait.”

“Thanks.” He wished he could promise the bad days with his son would be over soon, too, but considering Will’s poor sleep last night and his tantrums at lunch today, that didn’t seem likely.

With a sense of foreboding, Patrick drove past his own Federal-style row house on his way to the new neighborhood just beyond Honesty’s city limits where his mother lived. He had to stop at an electronic gate and punch in her security code.

Gloria Gannon had fled to her mini-mansion soon after Patrick’s father died from a massive heart attack. She claimed the wide-open rooms and the smell of brand-new paint and drywall had seduced her after fifty-two years in the row house, but Patrick wondered if she was running from memories of happiness.

He followed a winding road through the “estates” to the faux-Tudor manse she’d made her home. Funny how he yearned to make the kind of memories that had left his mother stalking the halls of their family home night and day, unable to sleep.

He parked in the circular driveway and rang the bell that clanged, echo after echo. Half the double wooden door opened slowly.

His five-year-old son had only so much muscle weight. He was already giggling when he brushed his dark brown hair out of his eyes. Happy eyes, not filled with fear and betrayal.

Relief turned to joy as Patrick reached for his boy.

“Hi, Daddy.” Will let go of the iron door handle and flew at Patrick, half hug, half attack. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

Will had him by the throat every time he got scared. “I’ll always come, buddy.” He beamed into his son’s eyes, determined to make Will believe. “You’re never going to look for me and not find me.”

Patrick’s mother came to the door behind Will, her hands fluttering. She was tough. She could run the world, starting with the causes she loved best in Honesty, but she’d thrown everything aside for Will. “I told him not to worry.”

She’d refused to let Patrick hire a younger babysitter, and he had to believe she was right about family being best for his little guy. “You could have called again if you were still worried, Will.” He scooped up his son, who held on for dear life.

“We tried to call again. I left you a boy snail message.”

“But you don’t like boy snail,” Patrick said, grinning.

“Voice mail,” Gloria said while Patrick laughed. “It’s voice mail, Will. Someone will mock him one day, son, if you don’t correct him.”

“I don’t like boy snail. You should answer your phone when I call, Daddy. It took you too long to call back.”

“I was in court.” He twisted the phone on his belt so he could see its face. The black screen was black all over. “Or my battery’s dead. Sorry, Mom.” He pressed his son’s wriggling body into his chest. “But you’re okay. You didn’t need me after all.”

Will had woken from a short nap, thinking he was in Lisa’s car outside the dress shop where she’d overdosed the last day she’d ever been alone with him. Patrick had managed to duck into a stall in the courthouse bathroom earlier in the afternoon to reassure his son.

“Grandma said I was okay, too. She said I’d never have to go in a cold car again.”

“Never,” Patrick said, refusing to give in to the fear he might be wrong. “What else did you do this afternoon?” he asked.

His mother took over. “We made rolls. Kneading is good for little boys as well as grandmas. Good heavens, I’ve left you standing on the stoop. Come in and have dinner, son. We saved you some.”

“I can’t.” Even though his stomach growled loud enough to make Will work his way to the floor where he could point and laugh. “It’s already late, and this little jokester needs a shower before bed. I have to see Judge Masters in the morning. Can you watch him again?” He hated asking. A teacher workday had altered Will’s schedule, and two days in a row with his grandmother—much as he loved her—was a break in routine for the child.

“I’m glad to as long as you can get to your phone.”

Where other little boys thrived on surprises and late nights for fun, his son needed everything to happen just as it was supposed to. Dinner, shower, bedtime story, night-light on and then “Good night, Daddy.” Who knew if the boy would ever say goodnight to his mother again?

No. Will had had a nightmare today, but that didn’t mean tomorrow would bring more bad memories.

“I’ll have the phone, and Will knows he’s safe with us. Don’t you, big guy?”

“Yeah, yeah, but I’m a little hungry, too.” Will rubbed his belly and Gloria turned to hurry back to the kitchen.

“Let me put some rolls in a bag for you. You can come inside long enough to take them?”

“Daddy, I can’t leave without my bread.”

“Okay, buddy.” Will sounded almost like himself. When the small things mattered, they were on even ground. Just inside the wide foyer, Patrick found Will’s jacket on a bench. “We’ll get you ready to go while Grandma brings your stuff.”

He set Will on the bench. Will swung his feet as if nothing at all had happened today. Except a tear-shaped spot of dirt smudged his cheekbone. Patrick licked his finger and wiped it off.

“Dad, no spit.”

“Your shoes aren’t tied, buddy.”

“I can do it.” He tied the laces with ultimate concentration and then lifted his hands like a rodeo star who’d just roped a bull. “Now you do my jacket.”

“Did you have fun with Grandma today?”

“Yeah, but I thought I was in Mommy’s car.”

“I remember.”

“Did you get mad when we called you that first time?”

“Are you kidding? I always want to talk to you, and when you feel bad, you should call me as quick as you can.” Even Judge Masters had understood. Only Hal had grown impatient.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, too.” He hugged Will as close as he could get him. “Are you still trying to stop being afraid?”

He moved his head up and down with so much emphasis, it was surprising he didn’t crack a vertebra. “I’m not always scared. Just when I memember.”

“Me, too, so you just let me be scared, and you forget about it.” Patrick would never forget that Will could have died if that early-winter day had been colder. The snow had started climbing up the rear window when the lady who owned the shop next door had come out to sweep her sidewalk. While beating her broom against the curb, she’d spied Will, leaning into the back window, almost asleep.

“You’re still mad at Mommy.”

“Not mad.” Enraged, murderous. Panicked that she might ever get her hands on his child again. But none of that mattered right now if Will was okay. “Let’s think about happier things.”

“I miss her,” Will said.

Patrick forced his mouth into a smile. He’d do anything to make life easier for Will. “I know you do. She’ll probably call you soon.”

“I hope so.” He jumped off the bench as his grandmother came down the hall, holding out three containers.

“I made chowder. It’s perfect with the rolls, and I put together a little salad. Don’t complain it’s too much. I put in a little extra so Will could have seconds.”

“Thanks, Mom.” His stomach growled again, and Will poked him. He tried to corral his son’s hand. “I’m not sure when I last ate. Hey, you, with the pointy finger—give Grandma a kiss and let’s go home.”

Will jumped into his grandmother’s arms. She staggered backward, laughing, and covered his face in kisses. “I’ll be at the door in the morning the second the bell rings,” she said.

“Can we make something to eat again?” Will pounded the heel of his shoe on the floor, as if he was testing his own strength. “I like cookies a lot, Grandma.”

“Me, too. We’ll talk about what kind we both like in the morning.” She glanced over his head at Patrick, who just smiled.

“Baking cookies with Grandma sounds great, Mom. Thanks.” He lifted the packages. “Ready, bud?”

“Wait. I wanted to tell you—ask you.” Gloria glanced down at her grandson, who’d run to dangle off Patrick’s arm. “I heard a funny thing when we stopped to buy tomatoes at the co-op today. Raina—apparently she’s changed her style. Going for a younger look, Mrs. Bergstrom says.”

“Younger look?”

“You know, sundress, messy hair, instead of something from her dress-for-success designer closet. She’s all right, isn’t she? I worry about her since Hannah…”

Hannah had been his mother’s best friend. “She’s fine. You must be talking about Daphne, her sister.”

“Sister?” His mother treated him to her infamous let-me-count-your-brain-cells look. “What are you talking about?”

Will chose that moment to fall off Patrick’s sleeve, landing on the polished floor with a thud and a grunt.

“I’ll call you, Mother.” He adjusted the stack of containers, holding one beneath his chin, while he leaned sideways to help his son up.

His mother scooped Will back to his feet. “You’re okay, sweetheart,” she said in the way of caregivers. “Patrick, you must stay and tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t.” For one thing, she had the eyes of a born private detective, and although he hardly knew Daphne, he had plenty to hide where she was concerned. “You can talk to Raina about it, but it turns out her parents kept a big secret from her.”

“Hannah and Lars gave up a—” She covered her mouth. The last thing Will needed to hear was that anyone had given up any child at any time. She glanced at him. “I won’t believe it.”

“They didn’t, but Raina can tell you more.” Patrick nudged Will toward the door. “Let me have your backpack, buddy.” He took the green bag off his son’s shoulders. “Actually, if I were you, Mother, I’d wait for Raina to bring up the subject.”

“Mmm, hmm,” his mother said. She moved ahead of them to the door and leaned against the jamb. “Love you both.”

“Bye, Grandma. See you tomorrow.”

He managed to get out of her house without saying anything more about Daphne or revealing the strange, but overpowering, effect she had on him.

Gloria shut the door and Will scampered down the steps, pausing to leap onto the cobbled driveway with a superhero flourish.

Without warning, Patrick saw Daphne’s face. Smiling, with pure temptation in her eyes. Why hadn’t he kissed her in the park? A kiss was no commitment. It might be a test.

“Dad? Unlock the doors.”

Coming to his senses, he used the keyless entry and then opened the backdoor to help Will into his booster seat. He set his mother’s containers on the car’s floor.

“I’m hungry, Daddy. Can I have a bread while you drive?”

Patrick checked the belts. “Did you eat a good lunch?”

“Grandma said I did. I promise I won’t get crumbs on the seat.”

Hell, his car was more like a lunch wagon these days. He took out a roll and his stomach rumbled again, sending Will into another storm of laughter.

“Mmm, it’s good, Daddy.” He pinched off a piece and held it out. “Try some.”

Patrick popped it into his mouth. “Wow, that’s good, buddy.”

“Mmm, hmm. Let’s sing about the bus, Dad.”

“I’m chewing.”

“Okay. The wheels on the bus…The wheels…” He flung his feet. “Come on, Dad. Sing, too.”

Patrick pushed his homemade roll into his cheek and slurred along until they finished. “I’m glad you taught me this song, son.”

“You can chew for a minute. Do you know ‘Bingo,’ Dad?”

D
APHNE OPENED
her car’s trunk. She’d packed a couple of the arrangements in cardboard boxes to keep them from tipping over, and Miriam had asked her to bring the boxes back.

“I’ll help you.” Miriam startled her, walking up from behind. “Sorry,” she said. “I saw you drive up. Did you have any problems?”

“No. Everyone was home.” She stacked the boxes. “This is a pretty cool job. Everyone’s so glad to see me.”

“Anyone offer a tip?”

“No.” Miriam had asked her not to take them. “And I’d heard small towns are generous.” She lifted the boxes and shut the trunk as a greenish-silver SUV drove past. “But they sure are small.”