Diana Palmer - Night Fever

“I’m sorry I got caught,” Clay said when they were halfway home. “I guess you’re having a pretty hard time of it, being stuck with Granddad and me and Mack.”

“I’m not stuck with it,” she lied. “I love you all.”

“Love shouldn’t make prisons of people’s lives,” Clay said. He glanced sideways at her, with a crafty look in his eyes that she didn’t see. “Really, Becky, I didn’t know what I was getting into.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” she said, forgiving him anything, just as she always had. She managed a smile. “I just don’t know what to do, how to cope. The district attorney was pretty rough.”

“That Kilpatrick man,” he muttered icily. “God, I hate him! He came to see me at that juvenile hall. He stared right through me and made me feel like a worm. He said I’d wind up just like Dad.”

“You won’t,” she said stubbornly. “He had no right to say such a thing!”

“He didn’t want to let me go,” Clay said hesitantly. “He tried to talk Mr. Brady into putting me in reform school. He got upset when he couldn’t get him to agree. He says anybody who fools with drugs deserves to go to jail.”

“Mr. Kilpatrick can go to hell,” she said fiercely. “We’ll get by.”

“Look,” he began. “I could get a job—after school, you know. I could make some money...”

“I’m doing fine,” she said, almost choking on the words. “You don’t need to get a job,” she added, missing the flash of anger on his face. “I’ll take care of you, just like I always have. You finish school and go to work then. You’ve only got this year to go. That’s not so much.”

“Look, I’m seventeen!” he burst out. “I don’t need looking after anymore! I’m sick of nothing but working around the farm and never having any pocket money. There’s this girl I like and she won’t give me the time of day. You won’t even let me get a damned car!”

“Don’t you cuss me!” she flashed at him. “Don’t you dare!”

“Let me out.” He reached for the door handle, his eyes daring her. “I’ll do it, I swear. Stop this car and let me out!”

“Clay, where are you going?!” she demanded when he was on the pavement.

“Somewhere I can be what I want to be,” he said harshly. “I’m not your little boy, Becky, I’m your brother! You just don’t get it, do you? I’m not a kid you can order around! I’m a man!”

She slumped a little, stretched toward the open door, her hazel eyes weary, her face heavily lined. “Oh, Clay,” she said heavily. “Clay, what am I going to do now?” She broke down, and tears ran down her cheeks.

He hesitated, torn between standing up for his independence and erasing that look from Becky’s face. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but he wasn’t quite in control of himself these days. He had these violent mood swings....

He slid back inside the car and closed the door, eyeing her warily. He felt suddenly older as he realized how much an act her strength really was. Guilt sat on him like a rock. He should never had added to her burden by acting like a stupid kid.

“Look, it will be all right,” he began hesitantly. “Becky, please stop crying.”

“Granddad will die,” she whispered. She dug for a handkerchief in her purse and wiped her eyes. “He’ll find out, no matter how hard we try to keep it from him.”

“Hey. How about if we move to Savannah?” he suggested, and smiled. “We could build yachts and get rich.”

That brightness lifted her spirits. She smiled back. “Dad would find out that we had money and come looking for us,” she said with graveyard humor.

“They said he’d been arrested. Did you know?” he asked her.

She nodded her head.

He leaned back in his seat, glancing out the window. “Becky, why did he run out on us when Mama died?”

“He ran out on us long before that. You wouldn’t remember, but he was always out with the boys, even when you and Mack were being born. I don’t think he was ever around when we really needed him. Mama gave up eventually.”

“Don’t you give up, Becky,” he said suddenly, turning his gaze back to hers. “I’ll take care of things, don’t you worry.” He was already thinking of ways that he could make enough money to take some of the financial burden off her shoulders. The Harris boys had made one or two suggestions. He didn’t have Becky’s conscience, and there was plenty of money to be made. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, and he’d be careful not to get caught twice.

“Okay.” She turned into the driveway, wondering how to break the news to their grandfather, how to cope with the future.

She hoped Clay would do what the juvenile officer had told him to. She hoped that being arrested had scared him. Maybe it would keep him straight.

She didn’t know what to do. Life had become too complicated. She wanted to run away.

“What are you thinking?” Clay asked with dark perception.

“I was thinking about the chocolate cake I’m going to bake for supper,” she hedged, and smiled at him. The smile took more effort than Clay would ever know.

Chapter Three

Granddad took the news of Clay’s arrest better than Becky had expected him to. It was a blessing that Clay had been arrested in town, and not at home. To his credit, he didn’t balk at going to school, for once. He got on the bus without an argument, with Mack right behind him.

Becky settled Granddad in his armchair in the living room, concerned at his silence.

“Are you going to be all right?” she asked after she’d given him his pill. “Should I ask Mrs. White to come and sit with you?”

“I don’t need fussing over,” he muttered. His thin shoulders lifted and fell. “Where did I fail your father, Becky?” he asked miserably. “And where did I fail Clay? My son and my grandson in trouble with the law, and that Kilpatrick man won’t stop until he’s got them both in jail. I’ve heard all about him. He’s a barracuda.”

“He’s a prosecuting attorney,” she corrected. “And he’s only doing his job. He just does it passionately, that’s all. Mr. Malcolm likes him.”

Her grandfather narrowed one eye and looked up at her. “Do you?”

She stood up. “Don’t be silly. He’s the enemy.”

“You remember that,” he said firmly, his stubborn chin jutting. “Don’t go getting soft on him. He’s no friend to this family. He did everything in his power to put Scott away.”

“You knew about that?” she asked.

He sat up straighter. “I knew. Saw no reason to tell you or the boys. It wouldn’t have helped things. Anyway, Scott beat the rap. The witness changed his mind.”

“Did he change it—or did Dad change it for him?”

He wouldn’t look at her. “Scott wasn’t a bad boy. He was just different; had a different way of looking at things. It wasn’t his fault that the law kept hounding him, no more than it’s Clay’s. That Kilpatrick man has it in for us.”

Becky started to speak and stopped. Granddad couldn’t admit that he’d made a mistake with Scott, so he certainly wasn’t going to admit that he’d made one with Clay. It wouldn’t do any good to have an argument with him over it, but it left her holding the bag and Clay’s future in her own hands. She could see that she’d get little help from Granddad now.

“Becky, whatever your father did or didn’t do, he’s still my son,” he said suddenly, clenching the chair hard with his lean old hands. “I love him. I love Clay, too.”

“I know that,” she said gently. She bent down and kissed his leathery cheek. “We’ll take care of Clay. They’re going to give him some counseling and help him,” she said, hoping she could make Clay go to the sessions without too much browbeating. “He’ll come through. He’s a Cullen.”