The Good Daughter (20 page)

Sniffing, wiping her runny nose, she opened the small zipper pocket on her backpack and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper. She unfolded it on her lap, smoothing the creases.

If you ever need anything.

Delilah stared at his name and number.

If you ever need anything.

Well, he offered,
she thought, walking to Mrs. Dellinger’s desk and asking to borrow the phone.

J
ude was sitting in a bar in east Oakland, feet up on a chair, a beer at his elbow, when his phone rang.

He didn’t know the number, but then he didn’t recognize most of the numbers that showed up on his phone. “Yeah,” he said, answering.

“Jude?”

The voice was slightly tremulous and he pictured white-blond hair and a small tight face. The little girl next door. “Speaking.”

“It’s Delilah. Your neighbor.”

He stared at the toes of his boots. They were badly scuffed. “Yeah, Delilah?”

“I, am, um, in trouble at school. Think I’m being kicked out.”

Jude said nothing.

“They need a parent here at Memorial at three,” she continued in the same flat, strained voice. “But Mama can’t. She’s in bed with an ice pack and Howie…” Her voice trailed off. “Can’t call him.”

“What did you do?”

“Kissed a girl.”

“I guess they don’t like that at school?”

“No. It’s not allowed.”

“You like girls?”

“No.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Felt like it.”

“So you do like girls?”

“
No!
And I don’t know why I did it. Okay? It was stupid. I was being stupid. Happy now?”

He didn’t answer and silence stretched across the line. Jude slowly turned the heavy silver-and-brass ring with the Virgin Mary on his fourth finger with the pad of his thumb. He wasn’t Catholic. Didn’t go to church. But the ring was like a brass knuckle if he had to fight.

“Please, Jude,” the girl whispered. “You said—”

“At three, huh?”

“Yes.” She gulped for air. “But come a few minutes early because you need to sign in at the office and tell them you’re there to see Miss Brennan, my English teacher.”

Jude’s brows pulled. He recognized the name and tried to place it. He could picture a face, too—wild red hair, blue eyes, wide mouth—but why? Where? Brennan. Brennan. And then it came to him. Capitola…The teacher. The beach house. Interesting how things came full circle. He’d liked Kit Brennan. He was looking forward to seeing her again. “I’ll be there.”

K
it was in her classroom after school, door open, waiting for Delilah and her parents. She was tired. Out of sorts. It’d been a long day and she’d been dreading this meeting all day. She wasn’t looking forward to talking to Michael and Missy about Delilah. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing Michael at all.

Eager to get the parent meeting behind her, she rose from her desk and was just about to move to the table and chairs in the corner where she’d work with students, when Delilah entered the room.

Kit looked at her, and then past her, and blinked in surprise.

The biker guy…Jude.

She stared at him, stunned. This afternoon his long black hair was caught in a ponytail, but otherwise he looked exactly the same—slash of high cheekbones, dark eyes, square chin. He was dressed in black leather, too, and holding a helmet in one hand.

“Jude?” she said uncertainly, wondering if he was Delilah’s father, but couldn’t see how. He was very dark and Delilah was so fair.

“Kit,” he replied, extending a hand to her.

She shook his hand, still bewildered. His fingers closed around hers. His hand was firm, his skin dry and warm. “You’re Delilah’s father?” she said, letting his hand go and stepping behind the table.

He set his helmet on the table, pulled out a chair for Delilah, and then sat down next to her. “A guardian.”

Kit sat down across from them, opened Delilah’s student folder, glanced over her registration form, emergency contact form, and shook her head. “You’re not on here. I need to speak with her parents.”

Jude turned the folder around and, grabbing a pen off the table, scrawled his name and number beneath Howard’s name on the emergency contact form and shoved it back at her. “There,” he said. “I’m listed. Now what happened?”

Kit felt a bubble of indignant fury. “That’s not legal, Jude”—she broke off, focused on what he’d written, reading his last name—“Knight.”

“You’re not a cop, Kit, your uncles are. And I’m not here because I enjoy playing school. I’m here because Delilah’s mom is ill and her stepdad is out of town.” He glanced at Delilah, and then back at Kit. “So what’s happened? Why is she in trouble?”

Kit drummed her fingers on the folder. “Perhaps I need to call Michael, include him here in a conference call—”

“Michael?” Jude interrupted. “Who’s he?”

“Delilah’s stepfather.”

“Delilah’s stepfather is Howard,” Jude corrected. “Howard Dempsey.”

Kit shook her head. “No, it’s not. It’s Michael. I know that for a fact—”

“His middle name is Michael,” Delilah interrupted coolly. “His first name is Howard. I call him Howie.”

Kit rifled through the papers in front of her, flustered. “Are you sure?”

“Look at the emergency contact form,” Jude drawled. “I signed beneath his name. Howard M. Dempsey.”

Kit did another paper shuffle, located the form, and studied the names on it; there was no Michael. Just a Howard M. Dempsey. And a Howard M Dempsey signature…

Kit’s heart fell and she felt more than a little sick. Glancing up at Delilah, she asked, “He doesn’t ever use Michael?”

Delilah laughed bitterly. “Not unless he’s on Craigslist. He’ll use it then.”

Craigslist, Kit repeated silently, stomach heaving, throat swelling closed. Michael was on Craigslist? Why? She shuddered inwardly, disgusted. Disturbed. But why should she be surprised? Everything about Michael—
Howard
—was proving to be disturbing.

Kit swallowed hard, collected herself. “And your mom, Delilah? You said she’s ill?”

Delilah nodded briefly. “Can’t get out of bed.”

“And Michael?”

“Howard,”
Delilah corrected fiercely.

“H-H-Howard,” Kit stuttered. “He’s…where?”

“Traveling.”

“And who is taking care of your mom?”

Delilah’s chin lifted. “I am.”

Kit said nothing, her gaze resting on Delilah’s pale face, set off by choppy blond hair. “I’m worried about you.”

Delilah shrugged. “I’m okay.”

Kit’s brows knit. “I’m not so sure. And the fact that neither your mother nor father—”

“Stepfather,” Delilah corrected.

“—stepfather could be here troubles me.”

Delilah said nothing. Jude didn’t speak. Kit took a deep breath, increasingly unsettled. This wasn’t going as she’d planned, and she’d planned what she’d say to Michael and Missy carefully. But without them here, and with Jude sitting across from her, acting all laid-back and relaxed, she felt unfocused and didn’t think she was getting through to Delilah. The girl was in trouble. Walking on very thin ice now. No room for error.

“Sister Elena has suggested that perhaps Memorial isn’t the right school for you,” Kit said, looking only at Delilah and yet aware of Jude’s gaze. He might be kicking back in his chair but he was watching her intently. “I disagreed with her, and I fought for you today, Delilah. I’ve asked her to please give you another chance.”

“Why?” Jude asked softly.

Kit looked at him. His strong features looked hard, almost harsh, in the artificial light of her room. “Why would I fight for Delilah?” Her forehead furrowed. “Wouldn’t you?”

He didn’t answer her, just stared right back at her, his dark gaze steady, piercing, but revealing nothing.

Deliberately Kit shifted her focus back to her student, determined to reach her. “I think we are good for you, Delilah. You’re obviously very bright, and I believe you can achieve a great deal, but you have to want to be here. You have to make an effort. You have to try to fit in, and get along, and do the assigned work. You
need to prove to Sister and all your other teachers that you deserve to be here. Because I think you do. I saw today what you can do—” She saw Delilah’s smirk. “And no, not the kiss. That was wrong. Stupid. You have to know it was stupid.”

Delilah shrugged. “I won’t kiss her again.”

“Or anyone,” Kit retorted grimly.

“Or anyone,” Delilah agreed.

“There’s no more chances. This is it,” Kit added, looking from Delilah to Jude, wanting to be sure they both understood. “She’s suspended for the rest of the week. She can return Monday. But she’s on probation. Sister and the other teachers will be watching her, monitoring her behavior, and if they don’t see improvement, she’ll be asked to leave. It’s as simple as that.”

Jude looked at Delilah. “You understand?”

Delilah sighed, closed her eyes.

“Miss Brennan’s trying to help you,” he added, “but she can’t do anything if you won’t help yourself.”

“So you’ve heard that one, too,” Delilah muttered.

“What do you have to do?” he asked her.

She sank lower in her seat. “Follow the rules. Do my work. Not cause any trouble.”

“That’s right,” Kit said, glancing at Delilah, then Jude, still unable to believe he was sitting here, in her room, across from her. What a small, small world it was, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. “You’ve got to be on time. Have your homework done. And pass your classes. Can you do that?”

Delilah nodded once.

Kit leaned forward, stared hard at the girl. “I want to hear you say it, Delilah, and I want to know you mean it.”

Delilah sighed again but she met Kit’s gaze. “I’ll do it,” she said testily. “Okay?”

“Do what?” Jude pressed.

“Study. Pass my classes. Be on time.”

“Thank you,” Kit said quietly, and then glanced at Jude.

He was looking at her and their gazes locked for a moment. Kit felt a strange little flutter in her middle. His firm lips slowly curved into a crooked smile. “Thank you,” he said, getting to his feet. “She’ll be back Monday.”

Delilah and Kit rose, with Delilah lugging her black-backpack onto one shoulder.

“You’ve got my number,” Jude added, reaching for Delilah, and shepherding her to the door. “Call me if you need me.”

Kit watched Jude and Delilah walk out the door and into the hall. Once they’d disappeared, she sat down hard.
Lord Almighty, Jude Knight…

He was the last person she’d expected to see today, and yet he’d strolled into her class in bad-boy black leather as if he belonged here. And oddly enough, sitting next to pale, sullen Delilah, he did. Kit didn’t know what role he played in Delilah’s life, but the girl seemed to trust him. And need him. Although Kit wasn’t so sure that was a good thing.

Sighing, she glanced over the emergency contact form to the place where Jude had scrawled his name and number. And it was a scrawl. A fierce, in-your-face, screw-you signature that impressed her for all the wrong reasons.

Delilah was in trouble, wasn’t she?

D
elilah kept glancing at Jude as they walked out of the school to where he’d parked his motorcycle in front of the building, in a parking spot painted
VOLUNTEER
. Of course he’d park his bike wherever he felt like it.

“Thanks for coming,” she said as he fished in his leather coat pocket for his key.

“Why’d you kiss her?” he asked.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Kendra, the girl. She didn’t like me.”

“You think she likes you now?”

Delilah stifled a giggle. “No. But everyone laughed.”

“At her, or you?”

Her smiled disappeared. She felt a wave of exhaustion. “Me. Her. Both. I don’t care. And that’s why I kissed her. Because I don’t care. I don’t care what any of them think. Spoiled rich kids.”

“A lot of kids are on scholarship here. They’re not all rich.”

“They look spoiled.”

“You’re wrong.”

Delilah didn’t like his tone. “How do you know?”

“I grew up here. You just moved here. Maybe instead of hating on everyone, you give people a chance.”

“Why? We’ll just be moving again soon.”

He stared down at her a long moment, before thrusting his helmet at her. “Put this on.”

She looked down at the black helmet. “What for?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“I can catch the bus.”

“I’m taking you home so I can talk to your mom.”

“She’s sick.”

“She’s hurt,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Delilah’s lips pressed together. “She won’t talk to you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

He shrugged. “If she won’t talk to me, I’ll just have to talk to Howie.”

Delilah’s breath caught in her throat. “You wouldn’t do that!”

“Then you don’t know me.”

M
issy met him in the living room in her robe and slippers. Jude had taken a seat in one of the big leather armchairs, and Delilah had taken a position at the window. Together they watched her mother move toward the dark leather couch and slowly lower herself until she was sitting down.

Her brown highlighted hair was pulled back in a low messy ponytail. She had small, neat features—ordinarily she’d be a pretty woman, the cute high-school-cheerleader type—but now she just looked lost inside her pink robe, the fuzzy chenille fabric swallowing her up, and the purple and blue bruises staining her face reminding Jude of pastel-colored Easter eggs.

She didn’t look at him, though, her gaze fixed on the oak-and-glass coffee table between them. “Dee said you helped her at school,” Missy said, her voice raspy, as battered as the rest of her.

She’d been choked. Her vocal cords were bruised. Jude stifled pity. It was useless and time was short. Howard could pull into the driveway any minute and Jude couldn’t be here. Missy couldn’t handle another beating. “Delilah’s been suspended,” he said bluntly. “She can return Monday. But she has to make an effort. Do her homework. Not cause any trouble.”

Missy glanced at her daughter. “Are you causing trouble, Dee?”

“No,” Delilah said.

Jude shot her a sharp look.

“Yes.”