C.J. Carmichael - Star-Crossed Parents

Happy, sure. But what about responsible? Considerate? Mature? Leigh didn’t say anything, not wanting to start another disagreement.

Leigh took a deep breath, then restarted her car. The pain in her neck had subsided overnight, but she had a feeling she was about to get another.

M USIC BLARED from the open windows of Josh Wallace’s cottage. For once the sound of the hip-hop rhythm she usually found so annoying was welcome to Leigh, simply because Taylor liked it, so it was familiar. And precious little had felt familiar to her since she’d started on this unplanned and unwanted voyage of hers.

The path to the cottage was much easier for her to negotiate today in loafers. She hoped that was an omen things were going to go more smoothly with Taylor, too.

Though something told her they wouldn’t.

She climbed up the porch stairs and knocked loudly so the kids would hear above the music. It took a few minutes for someone to come to the door. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Taylor.

Rather than invite her inside, Josh stepped out onto the landing, closed the door and positioned himself like a guard dog between her and the handle.

He had on jeans, and a tight T-shirt that emphasized his long, lean torso and the breadth of his shoulders. His expression held such a contradictory combination of vulnerability and strength, that for a second Leigh felt a long-forgotten yearning.

The innocence of first love. It really was a wonderful thing in a young person’s life.

But then she remembered what love could do to a young woman. She remembered, and she raised her chin high. “I’m here to speak to Taylor.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Hartwell.” Josh’s tone was respectful, but firm. “She doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Don’t tell me I can’t see my own daughter.” Why was he doing this? Was Taylor okay? She tried to step past Josh, and when she couldn’t, she called out over his shoulder. “Taylor? Are you in there? Are you all right?”

Josh frowned, his composure cracking. “Taylor’s fine.”

“Why am I not surprised to hear you say that? I’d like to see for myself. Or would you prefer I called the police?”

He shook his head. Gestured her toward the door. “Sorry, Taylor. I tried to tell her—”

“Taylor?” Leigh stepped into a room that smelled like freshly made toast. Her daughter sat at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in her hands. She was wearing a T-shirt on top. Leigh couldn’t see what she wore for bottoms.

At least she was safe.

But Leigh wasn’t encouraged by the mutinous gleam in her eyes.

“Honey, we need to talk. Could you come outside, please?” Leigh couldn’t be here in this house where…everything…had happened. No matter how she tried not to notice details—like her daughter’s blouse from yesterday flung on the back of the sofa—she noticed.

Boy, did she notice.

“There’s no point in talking, Mom. Josh and I are in love.”

Abruptly the music stopped. Josh must have turned the player off. He walked past, headed for the coffeemaker and poured himself a cup. Neither he nor her daughter offered Leigh any.

“Love. Taylor, how can you say that? You barely know one another.”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand. Josh and I have been e-mailing for a long time. I do know him and he knows me, too, better than anyone, even better than Kerry does. Or you.”

Her daughter’s words stung, the way they’d been meant to. Leigh’s friends always marveled at how close her relationship with her daughter was. Even during the churning adolescent years, they’d been able to talk, to enjoy time together.

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