Misconduct (21 page)

One irrefutable fact about parenting that I knew even before I was one was that there was no “right” way. No set list of proven methods to follow if you wanted your kid to captain a submarine or conduct orchestras or be president.

If you pushed them to succeed, they could resent you. If you didn’t push them enough, they could still resent you. If you gave them what they needed, they would complain about not having what they wanted, and if you gave them what they wanted, they may only want more.

How much was too much? How much was too little? How hard should you push to be able to call it encouragement, because if you pushed too hard, they’d call it bad parenting?

How do they know that you love them? How do you know if they love you?

How do you know if they’re going to be okay?

I stared out the car window, watching Christian talking to a couple of girls, and there was an ocean of regret for the years I’d missed. I could tell myself that he’d turned out well. Maybe if I had been in his life, he wouldn’t have become this strong or confident, but I knew I was making excuses. I should’ve been there.

Easton stood at the bottom of the stone steps, smiling as she talked to a parent, her arms crossed. The students had just gotten out of school, and although Patrick usually picked Christian up, I’d decided to be here as well. I’d worked through lunch, even stopping Corinne from ordering food, so I didn’t waste time eating. I still had a few loose ends to tie up for the day, but I could get to that after Christian and I had dinner.

“Patrick?” I leaned forward and handed him a small black bag. “Would you please take this to Miss Bradbury?” I told him. “And hurry Christian up, please.”

“Yes, sir.” He reached around and took the bag, then hopped out of the car, leaving me alone.

I watched as he traipsed over to Easton, interrupting her conversation. Politely, I was sure, knowing Patrick.

She smiled at him, and the parent waved goodbye to her as she took the bag Patrick offered. Her face was a mixture of surprise and something else I couldn’t place. Curiosity, maybe?

She knew Patrick, so she had to know it was from me. He bowed his head quickly, saying goodbye, and she dipped her head, peering into the bag.

I watched her, my heart starting to beat faster, and I had to remind myself that I’d see her Sunday.

She slipped her hand into the bag and picked out the small box. Opening it up, she plucked out the smoky gray Lamborghini lighter I’d stopped to buy on the way here.

Her eyebrows pinched together as she cocked her head, studying it. I almost laughed, because she looked intrigued but utterly confused. Easton, I already knew, wasn’t a woman who liked to be caught off guard, and I enjoyed gaining the upper hand this once.

She pushed the button and jerked a little, breaking out in a smile as the flame appeared. Reaching back into the bag, she plucked out the small white card and read my message.

Don’t set any fires without me,
it read.

She smiled to herself, the genuine kind of smile she always tried to hide. I knew if I were next to her I’d be able to see her blush.

Finally looking up, she met my eyes, and I saw the need there that I was hard-pressed to ignore as well.

The car door opened and Christian appeared, climbing in and dropping his bag before he sat down. When I looked back, Easton was just disappearing back into the school.

I loosened my tie and set my phone down on the console. “How was your day?” I asked.

“Fine,” he responded.

Yes. Fine.

Okay, yes, no, maybe, whatever
… His usual responses.

“Was that Sarah Richmond you were talking to?” I inquired. “Clyde Richmond’s daughter?”

He took out his phone and started scrolling with his thumb. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I talked to your mother today.” I crossed my legs, resting my ankle over the top of my other knee. “She would like you to go to Egypt for Christmas to spend some time with her.”

I didn’t want him to go. My father and his wife were planning a huge party, and Christian could get to know my side of the family better, not to mention that I’d never spent a Christmas with him.

But he sat there, focused on his phone, and nodded absently. “Yeah, whatever,” he mumbled.

I shook my head.

Picking up my phone, I texted him. Right there, two feet away from me, because he wouldn’t talk to me, so I had to text my kid to have a fucking conversation with him.

I would rather you stay.
I clicked
Send.

I heard his phone beep and watched his lips tighten when he saw it was from me. He started to look up but stopped, instead typing out a response, I assumed.

I don’t like you,
he texted back.

I stared at it, hating those words and feeling my chest tighten like a rubber band was wrapping around my heart.

I know,
I responded.

His phone beeped, and he hesitated, looking like he was wondering if he wanted to continue the conversation.

But he did.

You piss me off,
he admitted.

I nodded as I typed.
I do that to a lot of people.

I’m not a lot of people,
he shot back immediately.

I paused, feeling guilty that I’d made him think he was no more important than anyone else in my life.

I know,
I agreed.

He started typing, and I waited, but when he kept going and I hadn’t received a text, I stilled just as much out of gratitude as out of fear.

I was afraid he had more to say that would be hard to hear, but I was also elated that he was talking to me. Albeit texting, but it was still communication, and it was about as much open dialogue as we’d had since he’d moved in.

Patrick turned onto St. Charles and headed east toward the CBD when my phone buzzed.

I opened Christian’s message.

I used to see you on TV or in the newspaper,
he wrote.
You had time for everyone but me. I used to wonder what was wrong with me, and then I realized that you were just an asshole.

I gritted my teeth as I held the phone and tried to figure out what I was going to say to him. He was right, after all. There was no excuse and no reason good enough.

And I’d known this was coming.

Come on, Tyler.
You’ve had fourteen years to figure out how to make this up to him.
You got nothing?

My phone buzzed again.

You’re an asshole.
 

I texted quickly.
I know.

A huge asshole!
he shot back.

I know,
I replied again.

That was all I could do.

He was right, and if I didn’t stay calm, I’d push him farther away.

And I’m sick of this jazz shit!
he texted.

I forced away the smile that pulled at my lips. Patrick kept the music light – with no lyrics – per my request, since I often made phone calls or worked on my laptop in the car.

I texted back.
What kind of music do you like to listen to?

I licked my lips and looked up, calling out to Patrick.

“Patrick, could you put on a rock station, please?” I asked.

Without answering, he began spinning the dial in search of a different station. Finally, once he settled on a tune that sounded angry and talked about “home,” I leaned back in my seat and took the opportunity to push Christian further. He was talking to me – or yelling – but we still hadn’t accomplished anything.

We’ve got a party on Sunday,
I texted.
You could invite friends.

His phone beeped, and I glanced over out of the corner of my eye to see his eyebrows furrowed. Finally, he started typing.

I continued.
Food, music, swimming
…
You and your friends can enjoy the pool before it gets cold.

He sat there, staring at the text and wiggling his thumbs over the screen, looking like he wasn’t sure how to answer. He hadn’t said no, so I sent another text before he found a way to say no.

I invited Clyde Richmond. His daughter may come.
I hoped like hell that enticed him.

The luncheon was for business, but families and significant others were coming. Some bridges needed to be built, but it was supposed to be a relaxed occasion, as well. If Christian liked the girl, as he appeared to – and he had the safety of his friends – maybe he’d brave it.

He began typing, but it was a while before I got another text.

I invited a few people,
he wrote.

My jaw ached with a smile, and I looked out the window, letting out a breath. He must’ve sent a mass text to his friends. He was giving me a shot, at least.

I had one foot in the door.

“Are we going home, sir?” Patrick’s voice came drifting back.

And I blinked, realizing I hadn’t told him where we were going.

“Ah, Commander’s Palace,” I told him. I was starving.

“Not again,” Christian blurted out, startling me.

I twisted my head to see him scowling.

And I laughed to myself, because I liked it.
Give me anger. Give me annoyance. Just give me something.

I raised my eyebrows in expectation and waved my hand, inviting him to reissue the order to Patrick.

“Camellia Grill,” he told Patrick.

And I slipped my phone into my breast pocket, hoping I wouldn’t need it at dinner.

L
etting Tyler Marek push me into corners and whisper into my ear right under the noses of everyone around us was going to get me into trouble.

And him.

He had a lot to lose, too.

So why wasn’t I ending it?

I was standing in the middle of a burning room, daring myself to stay as long as possible before it was time to run.

“Are you ready?”

Jack looked over the hood at me, straightening his navy blue and pink polka-dot tie over his pink pin-striped shirt. Not many men would brave such a color, but New Orleans men were a different animal, and it looked good on him. Especially with his matching navy blue slacks.

I smiled lazily. “Ready for what?” I asked, glancing at Kristen Meyer as she climbed out of the back of Jack’s Jeep.

Tyler had said I could bring a friend, and I thought it would be more comfortable – or comforting – to have backup when I knew Jack was going to spend his afternoon schmoozing.

“Are you ready for the party?” Jack repeated. “You’re Miss Antisocial-Constantly-Uncomfortable-Wants-to-Be-Home-Instead-of-at-a-Party-Ever, so I guess I shouldn’t worry, right?”

His lips were spread from ear to ear, pleased with his own assessment of me, and I just rolled my eyes.

“Ah.” Kristen spoke up, smoothing down her sleeveless knee-length peach dress. “So it’s not just me. She’s always difficult.”

She shot me a joking glare as she put her hands on her hips and grinned.

Apparently she thought we were close enough to insult each other in good humor.

I cocked an eyebrow. “Just because I don’t bounce around like I’m in a Skittles commercial doesn’t mean I’m difficult.”

And I walked off, hearing their snorts behind me as they followed.

I almost went for the side door, next to the covered driveway, but I caught myself just in time, remembering I had to keep up the pretense that I’d never been here and most guests wouldn’t use that door. Of course, my brother was informed about how close Marek and I had gotten, but that didn’t mean I could be careless.

Before we even reached the front door, though, it opened, a butler I hadn’t seen before greeting us.

“Good afternoon.”

“Hello.” I nodded, taking a few steps into the entryway and stopping.

Kristen and Jack strolled in behind me, and the sunlight fanning across the floor slowly fell away as the door closed.

I inhaled and instantly dipped my head, trying to hide the smile caused by the flutters in my stomach. I loved his smell, and I suddenly realized my new favorite place was being curled up in his sheets, where that scent covered me.

“Ms. Bradbury,” I heard a voice say from above.

I looked up, seeing Christian descend the dark hardwood stairs with one hand on the cast-iron railing, and I immediately felt a light layer of sweat break out on my forehead.

Yes, this was definitely inappropriate. I shouldn’t have come.

“I didn’t know you’d be here.” He looked at me quizzically as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Yeah, I shouldn’t be, should I?

I forced a smile, taking him in. I was glad to see I hadn’t over- or underdressed.

He wore black slacks with black shoes, and while he hadn’t put on a tie, he still looked dressy in a light blue oxford with his sleeves rolled up. I’d decided to take advantage of the warm October weather and wore a sleeveless dress that fell just above my knees, but while it was mostly white, it was filled with a spatter of pink and blue flowers in the middle that looked a lot like a watercolor painting. It was vintage, and I loved it.

“Hi, Christian,” I greeted in a light voice. The pleasant-teacher one I used for the students. “Yes, your father invited me. This is my brother, Jack.” I waved my hand, joking, “He’s nicer than me. I promise.”

He nodded but didn’t smile.

“And you know Ms. Meyer.” I gestured to Kristen.

Christian gave her a half smile, but there was something that still wasn’t right. I didn’t know if he’d already been put off before we got here, or if it was my overactive sense of guilt that he might not want me here, but he seemed displeased about something.

We’d made some progress in class, and his work outside of the classroom was excellent. Whatever was bothering him wasn’t getting in the way of his performance, so I could only hope it had nothing to do with me.

The quiet butler in his white jacket and black tie approached us. “Everyone’s out back,” he told us. “Down the hall and you’ll see the glass doors.”

“Yeah,” Christian spoke up. “Follow me.”

And he turned around, leading us to the back of the house. The echo of mine and Kristen’s heels drowned out any other sound as Christian took us across the white marble floors of the entryway to the slate tiles of the kitchen toward the French doors leading out to the patio.

“Wow. Look at this place.” Kristen’s whisper was filled with awe.

But I refused to look around. If I did, I’d see the door leading to the study where he’d mauled me four days ago or the stove where I’d made breakfast wearing only his shirt.

“It’s a large house,” I commented to Christian ahead of me. “I mean for just you and your dad.”

We all walked through the doors, and Christian turned around, regarding us casually.

“He’s my father, not my dad,” he pointed out, looking around. “And this is his house, not mine.”

Reaching over, he grabbed a bottle of water from the neatly lined-up beverages on the refreshments table and offered a cocky smirk. “Have fun,” he said, and then spun around, walking away.

My brother appeared at my side, shaking his head and watching Christian stroll away to his friends. “Pretty cold for a fourteen-year-old.”

Yes, he was.

However, I couldn’t help but envy him. Maybe if I’d known my own mind at that age as well as he did, I wouldn’t have behaved so stupidly. He stood his ground, he knew who he was, and he held everyone to a standard. Christian wasn’t denying himself good things because he was damaged. Rather, he was shielding himself against harmful things because he’d been disappointed.

Sometimes second chances were too much to ask. Or maybe he’d realize that his dad was still learning.

“Ms. Bradbury.”

Speak of the devil…

Elation swept through my chest, and I couldn’t keep the smile at bay this time.

Turning around, I held out my hand, keeping up appearances. “Mr. Marek,” I greeted as he took my hand, a mischievous look crossing his face.

He was dressed in a black suit, cut to flow with the shape of his body.

And even though the suit was dark-colored, his white shirt and light blue tie gave off a casual and bright appearance for a luncheon set outside.

He took longer than necessary, holding my eyes just enough to tell me I was on his mind, and then he turned to my brother, holding out his hand.

“Jack, right?” he asked.

My brother held out his hand, taking Tyler’s. “Yes, sir. Jack Bradbury.”

“Hi, Mr. Marek.” Kristen held out her hand. “I’m Ms. Meyer. I teach —”

“Earth Science.” He cut her off, nodding and taking her hand. “Yes, I know who you are. Welcome.”

I glanced around, wondering how long I should stick around before I left. Jack would undoubtedly stay until the party ended. The amount of suits here, all important people in New Orleans, was a social buffet for my brother, and I was sure he couldn’t wait to start making the rounds.

Kristen had the personality to fit in anywhere. She probably made friends easily. I was different.

Not difficult, just different.

And right now I was sure I’d have more fun at home repotting some plants or sharpening my new steak knife set.

“Well, make yourselves at home,” Tyler told us, gesturing with the rocks glass he held in his hand. “Food and refreshments are over there, so feel free to help yourself and mingle.”

He spared me a quick glance before addressing my brother again. “There are some people I’d like you to meet,” he told Jack, taking him away.

“And, Ms. Bradbury?” He turned back around, leaning in. “The ladies are over there.”

He nodded to the clique of beige and pink congregating around the tables, laughing and talking.

“It’s probably safer,” he said, and I jerked my eyes back up to him just in time to see his smug smirk before turning away.

Safer?
 

As in,
I’ll be less intimidated?

I snorted, following Kristen over to the refreshments. Maybe he was teasing me. Maybe he was challenging me, but I wasn’t bored anymore.

Picking up a champagne flute filled with some kind of orange liquid, I floated around the party with Kristen, taking in the lively atmosphere and the beautiful day. The backyard was paved with more slate tiles, similar to the ones in the kitchen, with sparse sections of lush grass here and there. There were a few trees, as tall as one-story houses, and around the perimeter a cast-iron fence and a vast offering of foliage, including ferns, rosebushes, and neatly trimmed hedges.

There were tables with hors d’oeuvres and refreshments, as well as a full bar, because New Orleanians drink for everything. Even funerals. Lunch would most likely be served at the tables instead of buffet style, because, well, Tyler Marek didn’t do business half-assed.

And this luncheon was business.

The centerpiece of the backyard was a rectangular-shaped pool with deep blue tiles, which made it look like the Mediterranean Sea. Or so I believed. I’d actually never been there.

And then, glancing to the left, I instantly paused, seeing a single tennis court. I narrowed my eyes.

Why hadn’t I noticed that this week when I was here?

It wasn’t like I’d spent any time outside, but I’d taken a look through the doors at least and noticed the pool and the beautiful landscaping.

My feet and legs tingled with the desire to get on the court and break a sweat. I suddenly wanted to hold a racket and chase the ball again. For years I’d try – sporadically – to get back on the court and feel comfortable, but it never worked. Now I wanted to.

A love of tennis may have been “beaten into me,” so to speak, but it was still love.

The guests had separated into factions, it seemed. Christian, along with a few friends I recognized, had plates loaded with food and were disappearing back into the house, probably for a movie or video games. I couldn’t imagine this scene was a lot of fun for them.

The ladies – or wives – had grouped off, and while they appeared to be enjoying themselves, I didn’t want to surrender to whatever mold Tyler challenged me with. Many of the ladies, I was sure, ran charity organizations, wrote successful blogs, and had careers of their own; however, there was still a good-ole-boy mentality in this city that kept women on the sidelines.

I set down my empty glass and picked up another of the same drink. It was nonalcoholic but still a delicious concoction of orange juice, pineapple juice, and Sprite, I believed.

With Kristen following, I headed over to Jack as he chatted with a small group of men, including Tyler, Mason Blackwell, and a few others I didn’t recognize. I couldn’t imagine why Tyler had invited Blackwell – I knew he didn’t like him – but I was sure it had everything to do with business and nothing to do with pleasure.

“The other party has already endorsed Evelyn Tragger,” one of the gentlemen said casually, speaking to Blackwell. “She’s plainspoken and hard-nosed. She has a good reputation north of Baton Rouge, and she’s very popular with certain circles here.”

“And she is not happy with you, Mason,” another guest joked before taking a sip out of his rocks glass.

I stopped behind Blackwell, no one noticing my presence.

“Of course she’s not,” Blackwell asserted. “Most unmarried women are disgruntled.”

The group broke out in laughter, some nodding in agreement, and their ignorant, pasty, self-satisfied smiles suddenly irritated me.

Straightening my back and crossing my arms over my chest, I cocked my head. “And because you’re male that makes you worthy of office?” I retorted.

Everyone turned to face me, suddenly noticing I was there, except Jack. He simply let his head fall back as he sighed, probably bracing himself for my antics, which he knew all too well.

Blackwell looked at me with a half smile and definite amusement in his eyes. The three gentlemen I didn’t recognize regarded me with interest, appearing surprised but not the least bit offended. I had no idea what Tyler was thinking, but I could feel his gaze on me.

“Uh, gentlemen.” I heard the laughter Tyler kept contained. “This is Ms. Easton Bradbury. She’s a—”

“Voter,” I finished for him, pinning Blackwell with a stern stare. “And I’d like to know, Mr. Blackwell, why it is that with one hundred senators in this country, only about twenty are female?”

I didn’t so much care either way about the gender of our leaders, but I was interested in hearing his answer.

“None of them are from Louisiana or from the South, for that matter,” I added. “In fact, Louisiana has elected only one female senator throughout history.”

That was a lie. There’d been three, actually, but I wanted to see if anyone would correct me.

He stood there, one hand casually sliding into his pocket and the other holding a glass of something brown.

“The job goes to whoever is qualified,” he answered, and I almost laughed.

“Twenty-eight percent child poverty rate,” I pointed out, “and one of the largest prison inmate increases in the country.”

Politics and history went hand in hand. I couldn’t love one without being informed about the other.

I held his stare. “We’re also the unhealthiest state in the union, based on obesity, suicide, alcohol consumption, and teen pregnancy.”

His stare faltered for a split second, and I deduced either he was unaware, aware but didn’t care, or he had no response.

The problem with people like Blackwell was that they treated public service as an extension of their careers. It was a means to gain influence and change laws that kept them from making money in whatever manner they chose. Their public service wasn’t about the public at all.