Mulberry Park (16 page)

“It was all right. I brought Trevor home to play with Analisa today.”

“Good. Did the visit go well?”

“It was fine.” She bit her lip, wondering how he’d feel about what she’d done and whether she should even bring it up.

“Your words say one thing, but your tone and demeanor suggest something else. What happened?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary—at least as far as the kids and their playtime went. Trevor is a little older than Analisa and not as impressed with dollhouses as she’d hoped he would be, but when I suggested a board game, they ended up having fun. Actually, so did I. It’s just that I feel sorry for the kid and think he’s being neglected.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, he lives with a guardian who isn’t ever home, so consequently, he’s at the park from dawn until dusk. And since he rarely has a lunch with him, some of the others have been bringing extra to feed him.”

“My brother and I had a lot of freedom as kids. And a sandwich made by someone else usually tasted better to me than one I threw together. Maybe he’s learned to leave his lunch at home. Are you sure he’s neglected?”

“There’s a sadness about him, and he’s never supervised, which worries me. There are so many dangers, not to mention predators, waiting to take advantage of a lone child. And I’m not just talking about molesters. Trevor’s had a couple of run-ins with a teenage punk and was afraid to walk home on occasion. Then last night, after he’d been alone most of the day, his guardian left him to fend for himself and went out drinking with friends. From what I understand, she got in late and had a hangover this morning.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yes, it is. So I decided that if I didn’t do something about it, no one would.”

Sam’s expression softened, and his eyes zeroed in on hers. “What did you do?”

“I made a report to child protective services.”

“Hey. At least someone’s looking out for him.”

She shrugged. “It just seems so unfair that some parents have children they don’t appreciate, while others adore their kids and lose them.”

Sam placed his hand over hers, warming her from the inside out, then slowly removed it. “Sometimes life isn’t fair.”

“Isn’t that the truth?”

They both fell silent for a while. Lost in their thoughts. Claire finally took a sip of her wine, hoping to shed her concern for Trevor, but she was having no such luck.

What would happen to the boy if the court removed him from his guardian’s care? Where would he go?

For the briefest of moments, she wondered if she would be able to offer him a home. But to be honest, she wasn’t sure. Her heart might not be up to it.

Sam lifted his glass and studied the straw-colored liquid, then took a drink. “I had lunch with a friend and colleague today—Jake Goldstein.”

“Oh?”

“He represents Russell.”

Claire stiffened.

“The parole board meets with him on Thursday.”

She’d known July twenty-fourth was coming up, but since she wasn’t at work with a calendar prominently displayed on her desk and a schedule to keep, she hadn’t realized it was so soon.

Sam took a sip of wine. “I know we talked about this before, so when Jake asked me to talk to you on Russell’s behalf again, I refused. But I see you have a real heart for kids. And I think you need to know something about Russell’s son.”

She didn’t want to know anything about the man or his little boy. She wanted Russell to remain distant—locked away, not only in real life, but in some shadowed part of her mind, as well.

And although she felt compelled to stand and turn her back on Sam, to grab her purse and head for the door, she couldn’t seem to move or speak.

“Russell’s wife died of cancer a year or two before the accident, and he was left to raise their only child, a boy who’s about nine or ten now. I have no idea where he is or who’s taking care of him while his father is in prison, but according to Jake, Russell believes the boy is depressed and suffering from the loss of both parents.”

Claire didn’t want to see any child hurt, but what did Sam expect
her
to do? If the parole board released every incarcerated parent who’d left a grieving family at home, they’d have to free half the prison population—if not more.

“Maybe you should visit Russell,” Sam said. “Talk to him in person.”

“At the state
prison
?” How could he suggest such a thing?

He shrugged. “You could decide whether he’s truly sorry and if he’s paid his debt to society.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Maybe if you talked to him in person, you might be able to put the past behind you.”

Tears welled in her eyes, as Sam’s voice morphed into Ron’s:
Dwelling in the past is making me crazy, Claire, not to mention what it’s doing to
you.

The echo of her ex-husband’s accusations slammed into her, making it hard to breathe, let alone think. For some reason, Ron had insisted she was hanging onto Erik. He’d wanted her to “let go,” but she couldn’t. How was she supposed to pretend her happy, dark-haired son had never lived, never laughed? Never loved?

Erik’s death and their different coping mechanisms had strained a frayed marital bond until it could no longer hold two grieving parents together.

And now, Sam was implying the same things Ron had.

Emotions—too varied to name—swam in her eyes until she could barely see, and an ache the size of a boulder filled her chest.

If Claire didn’t keep Erik’s memory alive, who would?

And what about justice? Why shouldn’t the man responsible for Erik’s tragic and senseless death pay for his negligence?

Yet none of it would bring her son back. Or put her broken heart and spirit to rights. She was torn. Scattered. And she needed to pull herself together.

Pushing aside her wineglass, she blinked back the tears and stood. “I really need to go.”

“I’m sorry, Claire.” Sam slid his chair back and got to his feet. “I just don’t want to see you hurt anymore. The pain is going to kill you, if you let it. I’ve had to deal with guilt and anger, too. And now, even though I’d like to bury the hatchet and make things right, I can’t.”

She understood where he was coming from, yet she wanted to lash out at him. To ask where his father was right now. And ask whether Sam had ever gone to visit, whether the man was truly sorry and had paid
his
debt to society. It was a retort she might have unleashed on Ron, if it had fit. But she didn’t want to fight. Didn’t want to strain the fragile connection she and Sam had forged.

If she didn’t get out of this house, she was going to break down and cry, and she didn’t want to show him her pain, her weakness. Didn’t want to lose control in front of him.

Was she really as unbalanced as Ron had suggested?

Her heart threatened to explode, and she fought the urge to hurl the wineglass from the deck, to upend the table and throw it to the floor. To scream at the heavens and demand justice. Relief. Peace.

Anything other than pain.

“Did you hear me?” Sam slipped an arm around her waist and drew her to him. “I’m sorry, Claire.”

For a moment, she leaned into him, rested her cheek against his chest, gripped the lapel of his jacket and held on tight. She breathed in the faint scent of man and musk, accepting both Sam’s strength and support.

Then she rallied.

She didn’t want Sam to see her like this, which she feared would lead him to feel sorry for her. To see her as a victim.

You’re not the only one in the world who’s lost a child
, Ron had said.
Give me a break, okay? See a priest or a rabbi, go to a counselor, take some medication. Just get over it so we can get on with life.

She wasn’t sure what she wanted out of Sam. But not that. Not
this
.

She cleared her throat, drawing away. “I’ll call you later this evening—about tomorrow.” She would return to watch Analisa, if he still wanted her to.

But right now, she had to go.

Trevor lay on his back on the top of his bed, his hands tucked under his head. He stared at the ceiling, where somebody who used to live here had stuck a bunch of stars—little yellow ones. They were supposed to glow in the dark, but they really didn’t work very good anymore.

He wished he could go outside and look at the real stars, but he was grounded.

After Mrs. Harper had dropped him off this afternoon and driven away, he’d found a note that Katie had left for him on the kitchen counter. It said,

He did and found out that Katie had started feeling a little better around noon and had decided to go to work after all.

“We need the tip money for groceries,” she’d told him.

He’d felt bad knowing she was probably still sick and had to work anyway. But there wasn’t much he could do to help. Last month, he’d asked a guy at Paddy’s Pub if there was any work he could do, like sweeping and doing dishes and stuff. But the guy had only laughed. “Are you nuts, kid? Beat it.”

That left the job of earning money on Katie, so he couldn’t blame her for being mad at him when he called her at the diner.

“So where did you go?” she’d asked—and not very nicely. “I assumed you were either hanging out at our complex or at Mulberry Park, but when I went looking for you, I couldn’t find you.”

“I was at Analisa’s house.”

“We talked about that this morning, Trevor, but I didn’t give you permission to go anywhere.”

“Well, I thought you
sort
of did…”

“Your dad would shoot me if I turned you loose all day long. It’s bad enough I can’t afford a sitter and you have to spend the whole summer at home in front of the TV.”

Trevor didn’t say anything. Katie didn’t know he wasn’t home all that much.

“I’m supposed to be watching you while your father’s gone, and he’s worried sick about you. I don’t think he’d even like you going to the park for a little while each day, but I tried to be nice by letting you get out of the house some. Now I’m not sure I can trust you to follow the rules.”

“You can. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I just wanted to have a little fun. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“I
don’t?
” Katie’s voice got loud, letting him know he’d blown it by saying the wrong thing. “I’m twenty-four years old, Trevor. And that may sound ancient to you, but I’m still young. Some would say I’m too young to take on the responsibility of a child your age, but I love your father—and
you
. So I don’t mind working my butt off to pay the rent, but keep in mind that I’ve given up a lot, too. My friends, my social life…”

“At least you got to go out last night.”

“I went out to dinner with a friend who just found out she has a ‘suspicious’ spot on her lung. And instead of eating a meal, which would have been nice, I chose the soup, okay? It’s not like I was wasting money. Or having a party.”

“That’s not what I meant.” And it wasn’t.

She didn’t say anything for a minute. Then she made a huffy sound. “Just go to your room, okay? And stay there until I get home. It shouldn’t be long. I’m really dragging. That food poisoning took a lot out of me.”

Trevor glanced at the clock on the dresser: 8:07. Katie had gotten home about an hour ago and let him come out to eat. She’d fixed chili beans, although she didn’t make herself a bowl.

“I’m kind of nervous,” she told him as she munched on a saltine.

“How come?”

“Because the parole board meets Thursday.”

He stuck his spoon into his bowl, but left it there. “What do you think will happen?”

“I have no idea.”

“Maybe we should…you know, pray about it.”

“It wouldn’t hurt.” But she made no move to take his hand or talk to God out loud like Analisa had done, which Trevor was kind of hoping she’d do. He wouldn’t suggest it, though. What if she thought he was dumb?

He finished his chili, and she picked up his bowl and put it in the sink.

“Can I watch TV?” he asked.

“No, not tonight. You’re still grounded.”

Still?

She was being all nice, like she’d gotten over being mad, but now here he was—back in his room again. He’d probably end up in here forever. And when his dad finally got out of prison and came home looking for Trevor, he’d find a shriveled-up corpse with big, black eyeholes just staring at the dumb glow-in-the-dark stars.

Life really sucked. And there was no one in the whole wide world who could do anything to make it better.
No one.

His thoughts drifted to Analisa.

That’s when you should ask God to do something
, she’d told him the other day.
All you got to do is believe and ask
.

Then today, while he and Analisa ate turkey sandwiches and orange slices for lunch, Mrs. Harper went looking for a game for them to play together, and Analisa had started in on him again. “Just like I did with my letters. You have to ask God to fix things, then believe He’s going to do it. Remember when you and I prayed for the bike?”

“Yeah, and I got a
skateboard
instead.”

Analisa had slapped her hands on her hips and frowned. “Sometimes you have to let Him do it
His
way, Trevor.”

“Okay, so maybe I believe He
can
help. What makes you think He
will?
”

“Because He loves you and doesn’t want you to be unhappy. But you have to believe in Him. That’s the way it works. You have to have
faith
, and if you don’t, you can’t expect miracles.”

He’d thought about that for a while.

“You know what faith is, don’t you?”

Not really. But he didn’t want her to think that she was smarter than him, so he didn’t answer, which was okay. She told him anyway.

“It’s when you see a new little baby that used to be inside its mommy’s tummy. And when you see a butterfly come out of a cocoon. And when you look up in the sky and see a shooting star. You don’t understand
how
God did it, but you know that He did. ’Cause stuff like that doesn’t happen by accident.”