Tara Quinn - A Child's Wish

Such a passionate speech from this woman startled Mark. But then, women had a tendency to do that more often than not.

His relief was less easy to accept. He was Meredith Foster’s boss, nothing more. If he had to fire her, he would.

“She’s very consistent with her classroom results,” he said now, choosing his words carefully.

Pen held poised above the plastic clipboard, Ruth studied him. “My ex-husband insisted that Tommy change schools,” she said, naming a private institution across town. “Larry Barnett is a powerful man.”

Mark nodded.

“He won’t let this drop.”

It was confirmation he’d rather not have had.

“With your support, Ms. Foster might be able to keep her job.” Mark didn’t miss the plea in her voice or in her eyes.

“What she did was completely inappropriate.” He said what his job required him to say.

“What she did could very well save my son’s life.”

It was Mark’s turn to study her. “You’re saying there’s truth to her claim?”

The woman began to write again—rapidly. “I’m not saying that.”

“Then what?”

“Nothing, really.”

“If you know something you have to speak up, ma’am—if not to me, then to someone else. The authorities. You could be Tommy’s only hope.”

“I’m very well aware of my son’s safety requirements, Mr. Shepherd.”

She was a frightened woman, afraid of her ex-husband’s power.

On the other hand, if Tommy denied the abuse and his school counselor saw no evidence of it, and if his mother knew nothing, what was the flack all about?

One woman’s intuition.

It was pure craziness.

“If, as you say, your husband’s pursuing this, then it would help Ms. Foster a great deal if you went public with how you feel about her.”

She was writing so fast he didn’t see how she could possibly have read the questions. “It’s best if I stay out of this.”

Best for whom? Tommy? Not if he was being mistreated. Best for her, then?

“Are you keeping Tommy away from his father? Or at least having supervised visits?”

A bitter chuckle was her first response. “You obviously aren’t familiar with my husband,” she said. “If I tried to keep the two of them apart he’d find a way to take Tommy away from me completely.”

“The courts wouldn’t agree to that. Not without compelling reasons….”

“The ‘courts’ is one judge, when it comes down to that.” She spoke quietly, but not without cynicism. “Whatever judge is assigned to the case…. And with Larry’s contacts, you can bet he’d be assigned a judge who would be sympathetic.”

Mark was well aware this kind of thing happened. On television. In big towns. In other people’s lives. “Then why hasn’t he done that—gone to court already?”

“It wouldn’t be convenient,” she said simply. “Larry likes to play. Being responsible for a child 24/7 would hamper his freedom. And taking a child away from his mother might lose him some votes. Still… If there’s any possibility of people believing the truth of Ms. Foster’s claims, he’d get full custody simply to show that he has the stellar reputation to do so. It would shut up his critics. If he has any.”

Barnett had the woman sufficiently boxed in. There would be no help from her.

Assuming they needed help.

Assuming Mark had any intention of supporting Meredith Foster.

Or was Mrs. Barnett just bitter and slightly off the mark and her husband was to be pitied and taken seriously? If Mark had to put money on it, he’d probably choose the latter scenario.

“So if Barnett continues to have access to Tommy, how did Ms. Foster’s statement have any bearing on the boy’s welfare?”

“It put Larry on notice.”

Eyes narrowed, he watched her carefully for signs of dishonesty—shifting eyes, nervous twitches, lack of focus. There were none. She made that statement as if it were a given, as if Barnett had a reason to be on notice.

“Is Larry Barnett abusing his son?”

“Not that I know of.”

Mark tossed down his pen, frustrated with the entire mess. No one knew anything and yet a student had just been yanked from school, Mark’s reputation had been smeared in the local paper and Meredith Foster could lose her job.

“Do you believe he is?”

“I hope not.”

“But there’s a possibility.”

She stood. “I really must go,” she said, laying the clipboard on the edge of his desk. “Tommy won’t want to wait for me to pick him up after his first day in a new school.”

Mark rose from his chair and walked her to the door.

“Did Barnett ever hit you, Ruth?” His use of her first name was calculated, but he justified his attempted manipulation with the thought that it was for a good cause.

“No, of course not. Now I really have to leave.”

“Will you give me a call if anything changes?”

She nodded and was gone.

“MORE WINE?”

Meredith hesitated as her friend held the half-empty bottle of expensive Riesling over her glass. “I shouldn’t,” she said. In the morning, she’d have a roomful of feisty eight-year-olds to face. “But okay.”

Susan topped up her own glass next. “Thanks for coming, by the way. I’d already made the pasta this morning, and you know how I am about eating it fresh.”

“Hey, I’m the one who benefited here,” Meredith said, relaxing for the first time that day. “I can’t believe you aren’t upset with Mark for leaving you in the lurch at the last minute.”

Susan shrugged. “It was up to Kelsey, and based on our track record chances were good that she’d say no.”

“But you made the pasta anyway.”

“There’s always hope.” Susan grinned.

Toying with her butter knife, Meredith said, “You feel more conflicted than nonchalant here, woman.”

“And it’s eerie how you see right through me.”

“I’ve known you a long time.”

“About as long as I’ve known you, and you can be falling apart inside but I won’t know it until it actually shows on the outside.”

The knife slipped from Meredith’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be!” Susan’s talented, steady fingers closed over Meredith’s, drawing her gaze downward first and then to Susan’s eyes. “I need you, Mer. I rely on you to understand me when I can’t see myself—to find me in the muck and pull me out.”

“I’m not a magician. Nor am I always right.”

“Of course not. You aren’t always tuned in, either. I love you for all kinds of different things, but this gift you have…I want you to know that I realize how important it is. I believe with all my heart that it’s as real as you are.”

Meredith’s eyes rimmed with tears she didn’t even try to hide. It’d been a long few days filled with far too much emotion, leaving little time for the familiar routines of life. Everyday events she needed in order to keep everything in perspective.

“So tell me what’s going on with you,” she said a moment later. “Is there a problem with Mark?”

“No.” Susan sounded sure, but her eyes were clouded. “He’s a great guy,” she continued. “Warm, considerate, patient, funny. Sexy as hell….”

Meredith reached for the butter knife again, twirling the little handle back and forth between her fingers. It wasn’t that she was prudish, but she didn’t need to hear about Mark and Susan doing…it. Didn’t need to think about Mark in that way.

Because it was too easy to picture?

Please, no, don’t let it be that.

“So what’s the problem?” she asked, pulling her mind firmly back to the conversation. “He’s sexy, but you aren’t turned on by him?”

Why the hell had she said that?