“You’re not going to be any less scared or upset on Tuesday or Wednesday. Or even next Monday. And if you should decide to carry this baby to term…” Her throat wanted to close up as she envisioned her increasingly pregnant daughter walking the halls of the high school. Or transferring to the alternative school? “Chances are good you won’t make it all the way through the school year. So you’ll miss days then. You can’t afford to miss any now.”
Cait gulped.
“Do you want me to confront Trevor with you? I could call you both to my office....”
“No!” Her daughter leaped to her feet, her face a study in alarm. “You wouldn’t!”
“You have to tell him.”
“I know I do.” She swiped at her eyes. “I will. But I need to do it my own way, okay?”
“Fair enough,” Molly said, although she didn’t agree. “Just…pick your time carefully, okay? Maybe after school?”
Cait nodded. She was crying again. Molly’s heart was wrung by pity, but also some anger, and it wasn’t all aimed at Trevor. She would have sworn Cait was so mature for her age. Molly had nearly treated her as an adult. They’d talked openly about everything, including sex and birth control. And then brooding Trevor Ward had walked into West Fork High School and Cait’s brains had scrambled.
Hormones do that.
I thought I’d Kevlar-vest-armored her against making the same mistakes I did. So what happened?
Trevor happened.
And the truth was—she felt hollow, thinking this for the ten thousandth time and finally understanding it was true—you can’t protect your children. Not 24/7, without fail. Not the way you want to.
I didn’t believe it, Molly admitted, and now she felt grief.
* * *
“CAITLYN CALLAHAN CALLED,” Richard told his son. They didn’t get that many calls on the home phone. The ring had startled him.
Trevor grunted, one foot on the bottom step.
“The third time this week.”
“Yeah, like she can’t talk to me at school.” After that momentary pause, Trevor took the stairs two at a time.
Richard stared after him. What was going on? He’d only caught a glimpse or two of her, but enough to see that Caitlyn was an exceptionally pretty girl. Really pretty. There was a reason Trev had cut her from the herd within days of starting school here. Richard still didn’t know who’d dumped whom, but unless this girl was completely lacking in pride, he had trouble seeing why she’d make a nuisance of herself pursuing his son once he’d lost interest. There had to be plenty of other boys who’d be glad to fill the vacuum.
Frowning after Trevor, Richard gave some serious thought to calling Molly and asking what she knew. But hell, he knew that was overstepping. He had no real grounds for this uneasy feeling. Maybe girls had gotten pushier than they were in his day. Even then, there’d been a few who didn’t hesitate to call a boy, and call again. Let Caitlyn back Trevor into a corner at school if she was determined enough.
He tried to shrug it off, tried not to regret the lack of any good excuse to call Molly, maybe even see her. In the week since the high school dance, he’d come to his senses about asking her out. It was a bad idea all around. She would have said no and he’d have been humiliated. As long as Trevor stood between them, that wasn’t happening, even assuming she’d have been otherwise interested. Maybe next year, once Trev had graduated—if he did. Maybe then, if Richard could determine whether she was really single.
He went to the kitchen to find something to throw together for dinner. He wasn’t much of a cook, which embarrassed him some. But why would he be? Lexa had done the cooking when they were married, and later there wasn’t much motivation, not when the only person he was feeding was himself. Summers when he had the kids, he’d tried harder; made sure he served a vegetable with dinner, grilled steaks, made salads. Even followed a few recipes. The last summer they were here, Trev and Bree had taken turns putting dinner on the table most days, and both of them were pretty decent cooks. Lexa’s influence, Richard guessed. Went without saying that Trev hadn’t so much as turned on the coffeemaker for his father this year.
Trev slouched downstairs for the hamburgers, baked beans and corn Richard served for dinner. For the first weeks, Richard had tried talking during dinner about his day, maybe mentioning some things he’d read in the morning paper, offered an anecdote from when Trev was little. Talking, he’d discovered, was worse than the silence, so sometime in the ten weeks Trevor had now been with him, Richard had given up. They ate in complete silence tonight, although he wanted to ask, Why are you dodging that girl? Why can’t you make it clear you’re not interested? Or is she intent on saying something you don’t want to hear?
He felt a little chill at that last thought. What could she possibly want to say that would have his big bad son ducking and weaving? Was there any chance Trevor actually still had a conscience, and was avoiding the admission that he’d treated her poorly?
But—how had he treated her poorly?
“Please clean the kitchen,” he said, and pushed away from the table. “The Steelers are on, playing Kansas City.”
“Yeah, I don’t care about either team.”
Neither did Richard, but he still enjoyed watching an occasional game. He wasn’t a fanatic; he didn’t give up every Sunday to stay glued to the television. But tonight he thought it would be a good way to unwind.
His phone rang, and he had to go looking. He’d set it down on the kitchen counter when he started work on dinner. He didn’t recognize the caller’s number, which surprised him, but it was a local one.
“Hello?”
“May I speak to Mr. Ward?”
He knew who this was. “Ms. Callahan?” he said in surprise. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Trevor turn slowly from the dishwasher, a dirty plate in his hand.
“That’s right.” She sounded all buttoned-down, not pissed but not friendly, either. “Are you aware that Caitlyn has been trying to reach Trevor?”
“Yes, actually I am. I passed on a message this afternoon.”
“Since he’s refusing to speak to her, I have to ask if we can meet.” There was a pause. “At my home. And I’d appreciate it if you could bring Trevor.”
Oh, shit. This couldn’t be good. His eyes were locked with his son’s. Trevor couldn’t possibly hear what she was saying, but he was braced for something, and it wasn’t good.
“Yes, Ms. Callahan. When?”
“Is Trevor home now?”
“Yes.”
“This evening would work for us.” So Caitlyn was to be included in this showdown. Oh, shit, he thought again. “If tonight’s not good…”
“Tonight’s good,” Richard said. “Where do you live?”
She gave him her address
