Karen Young - In Confidence

He was hurting, she knew that. Rightfully. He was entitled. He needed someone, something on which to focus his rage and pain. In that, he was no different from the other parents she saw who were bewildered and frustrated over their kids’ behavior. How much worse must it be to suffer the ultimate loss as Cameron Ford had? She drew a deep breath. “Something was going on, but he wasn’t willing to share it. At least, not with me.”

His eyes were icy with disdain. “And didn’t that tell you something?”

“What should it have told me, Mr. Ford?”

“Maybe you’re in the wrong business. Maybe these kids need someone who’s more skillful in connecting with them.”

She answered him coolly. “I can’t force a teenage boy to share his deepest thoughts.” Even knowing he needed to lash out, there was a limit to what she’d tolerate. “We can only do our best,” she said.

“Yeah, well, your best wasn’t enough to keep my son alive, was it?”

Out of compassion and professional restraint, Rachel bit back a sharp response. As the boy’s guidance counselor, she knew she’d done her best. She could have asked if Ford had done his best as a father. Where was he in Jack’s time of need? “I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by continuing our discussion just now, Mr. Ford,” she said quietly. “Maybe you need to give yourself some time to adjust to your loss, and then, if you’d like to talk, you know where to reach me.” Even before she’d finished, he was stalking to the door. “Just call the school to make an appointment.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” he said. Then, with his hand on the catch, he suddenly turned back. “Instead of answers, all I got from you today was a lot of evasion and bullshit. If this session is an example of your expertise, I think I understand why, when Jack was in trouble, you failed him. God help other kids in your care.”

Rose Hill, Texas

Five years later

Nothing about the start of the day hinted at the way it would end. Rachel Forrester’s routine didn’t vary from the moment she got out of bed at six in the morning. She showered first, as always, then she headed downstairs to get the coffee started and fix breakfast for the kids. When that was done, she took two steaming mugs back to the bedroom, timing it just as Ted was toweling off. Her husband was slow to get going unless he had an early surgery scheduled. Neither made much conversation. Ted didn’t like early-morning chatter.

“Is my black suit—the Armani—back from the cleaners?” he asked from the depths of the walk-in closet.

Rachel pulled the suit from half a dozen plastic-shrouded items hanging on her side of the closet. “It’s here with all this stuff that was delivered yesterday. I haven’t had a chance to separate it.”

Ted took it after she stripped away the plastic, then chose two dress shirts from the twenty-or-so hanging in his closet and walked to the large sliding glass doors where the light was better. “What looks best?” he asked, critically studying the effects of both shirts with the Armani jacket.

“Depends on the tie.”

He held up a smart black-and-gray tie. “This one.”

“Okay, the white French cuffs.” She paused in the act of buttoning her denim skirt and watched him put the shirt on. “Something special going on today?”

“I’ll be in Dallas. Walter finally convinced me that we should interview that internist out of Baylor. Fat chance persuading him to leave Houston to come to a town the size of Rose Hill.”

Rachel smiled. “Well, you’ll make a terrific impression.” Ted was an attractive man, still trim at forty-two, with just enough silver at the temples in his dark hair to add a distinguished touch. She walked over and took the cuff link he was fumbling with in his left hand and deftly fastened it.

“Thanks,” he said, then picked up his jacket.

“Will you be back in time to have dinner with us?”

He seldom did lately and she wasn’t surprised when he said he wouldn’t. After he left, forgetting the goodbye kiss she no longer expected, she stood looking at nothing in particular for a moment. She’d been thinking for a while that she needed to impress upon Ted the fact that he needed to make a little more time for his family. He was very busy, all physicians were nowadays, what with the strictures of HMOs and PPOs cutting into the profits and time off that doctors used to enjoy. It meant taking on more patients, and more patients meant more time at the practice and at the hospital. Still, Nick and Kendall needed their father. At fifteen, Nick, particularly, would benefit from seeing more of his dad. Maybe Kendall wasn’t quite so needy, but a nine-year-old girl deserved more from her daddy than she was getting.

With a sigh, she pulled a cotton-knit sweater over the denim skirt and added a leather belt anchored at her tummy. She quickly brushed her short, dark hair into its casual style, added a bit of blush on her cheeks and some soft plum lip gloss and—her one vanity—sprayed a bit of perfume near her throat. All done, she stood back and surveyed herself. No designer look to her, alas, more like a librarian. Still, if Ted had aged well, she hadn’t done too badly herself, she thought, even if she had to cover her best feature—unique amber-colored eyes—with reading glasses. At Rose Hill High School, her students were more comfortable sitting down with a guidance counselor in denim and a casual sweater than the latest designer fashions.

“Mom, where’s my CD player?” Nick appeared at the door of her bedroom. Tall and lanky, black-haired, with strong male features, her son was on the brink of manhood. She still couldn’t get used to her firstborn being six inches taller than she was!

“The last time I saw it was in the sunroom.”

“I had it after that.”

“Sorry, son. You know you’re supposed to be—”

“Responsible for my own stuff. I know, Mom.” He stood with his face wrinkled in thought. “I gotta find it. We’re—”

“It’s in the game room on the pool table,” Kendall called out from her room down the hall.

“Right!” Nick snapped his fingers. “Thanks, brat.”

Rachel made an exasperated sound. “Don’t call her—”

“Brat. I know. It slipped out.” Nick turned, headed down the hall. As he passed his sister’s room, he gave her door a friendly thump. “Thanks, sissy.”

“Ni-i-ick!” Kendall appeared, frowning ferociously, small fists propped on her hips.

“Oops.” He grinned and gave her ponytail a yank. “Thank you, Kendall Kate Forrester.”

“To the car in five minutes,” Rachel said, shoving her feet into a pair of Birkenstocks. Moving to the sitting area of her bedroom, she gathered up the dozen or so folders she’d worked on last evening. Each was labeled with a student’s name on a bright blue sticker. She often worked at night, as trying to concentrate in her busy office was often impossible. She paused a moment, taking in the chintz-covered love seat, the coffee table she’d restored herself, the pretty view of her backyard from the window beyond. She loved her bedroom. The design was hers alone. When she and Ted had built the house five years before, she’d planned for the master bedroom to be a retreat for both of them. Unfortunately, he spent only the time it took to shower, shave and get dressed there. Or to sleep.

Downstairs, Kendall was pouring kitty pebbles into the cat’s dish while a yellow-striped tomcat purred and circled in and out of her ankles. “Graham, be patient!” she scolded. “You’re gonna make me have an accident.” She set the bowl on the floor and stroked the cat a few times before standing up. She had chosen his name when they’d adopted him from the Humane Society, explaining that he was exactly the color of graham crackers. Rachel, feeling the push of the clock, found her purse and settled the strap on her shoulder.