Tara Quinn - For the Children

“It’s complicated.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“I just had a baby.”

“I know! Congratulations! Did you get the outfit I sent?”

“Yes.” Susan paced the kitchen floor, stepping only on the diamond-shaped markings in the pattern. “I’m late with thank-you notes and I’m really sorry. Alex mailed the last of them this morning.”

“Then you’re way ahead of where I was!” Valerie laughed. “The twins were six months old before I got around to even thinking about thank-you notes.”

Susan didn’t feel “ahead.” As a matter of fact, she was sliding back so fast she was terrified. Everything confused her.

Except that she had to protect Alex. And baby Colton.

“My ex-husband is trying to challenge Colton’s paternity.”

“What!”

“He says the baby is his and not Alex’s.”

“Is the man insane?” Valerie asked, and then continued, “No, wait, we know he’s insane. But he can’t be that insane! You’ve been divorced for three years!”

“I know.” She was blowing it. Wasn’t putting enough indignation into her voice. Valerie was her only hope of winning this.

“Is there some reason for him to think the child is his?”

“Colton is Alex’s son.”

“But is there some reason your ex might think otherwise?”

“No, of course not,” Susan said, trying to collect herself. “We slept together once, after the divorce, and he’s claiming that as the reason he’s doing this, but the timing’s all wrong.” God, she wished that was so. Still… “He doesn’t want Colton, Valerie. Think about it. Think about him. He’s just doing this to get back at me. It’s a control thing, you know that.”

She sank down to the kitchen floor, and pulled hard at the cuticle of her middle finger with her teeth. Valerie just had to believe her. She had to.

Alex didn’t know about that night she’d found the bastard crying at the cemetery. And she’d die rather than hurt Alex. Besides, Colton was Alex’s son.

At least, it was possible that Colton was his son. If she’d been late before she got pregnant.

Alex was in the delivery room when Colton was born. He’d been the one to bring her home, care for them both, support them both. He was home every night, helping with baths, watching Susan feed their baby, planning for his future.

Alex was Colton’s father. His name was on the birth certificate.

Valerie asked a couple of pointed questions. And then rang off, telling Susan not to worry. The jerk didn’t have a leg to stand on and Valerie was going to knock it out from under him, anyway.

Arms wrapped around herself, Susan left the phone on the floor and let all the tears fall.

She’d hoped the pain was behind her.

And was beginning to believe it would never be.

HER AFTERNOON CALENDAR behind her, Valerie picked up the phone to make a couple of calls on behalf of Susan Douglas, but it rang before she could punch in a number.

“Hello?”

“Mom, it’s Blake.”

“Hi, Blake!” Valerie’s heart jumped. “Tryouts over so soon?”

Sitting there at her desk in her navy silk suit with the matching two-inch-heeled pumps, her judicial robe on a hanger not three feet away, she crossed her fingers like a little kid.

“Yeah, we just got home.”

Blake didn’t sound heartbroken, but…

“So?”

“I made the team.”

“Oh, Blake, I’m so proud of you guys! I knew you’d get it.” With a grin so big her cheeks hurt, Valerie breathed her first easy breath of the day. “When do practices start?”

“Right away. Coach thinks we can win a lot but he says we have to practice hard.”

Sounded good to her. Brian was going to have to eat if he wanted to play.

She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

She had some leverage. Something to give Brian motivation. Something to begin building the self-esteem his father had done so much to destroy, although neither boy had been fully aware of the damage.

And Blake! He’d finally put forth the effort to get something he wanted. And been rewarded.

She could just kiss the crossing-guard coach.

“What’s your coach’s name?”

“Kirk.”

“Kirk what?”

“I don’t know. He told us to call him Kirk.”

Kirk it was. She could hardly wait to drop the boys off in the morning and give the man her utmost thanks.

Maybe there was something she could do for him? Give him a step up to a job that would pay more than the minimum wage a crossing guard made. She knew a lot of people and—

“Mom.”

“What?”

“Brian didn’t make the team.”

KIRK CHANDLER WAS the crossing guard’s name. She’d read it on the paper Blake had brought for her to sign the night before.

He was a nice guy. It was obvious he had a real affection for kids. She’d go see Mr. Chandler, explain the situation and he’d let Brian on the team. Valerie was so certain of that she sent Blake to school with the signed form in his book bag. And told both boys to show up for practice that afternoon. Everything would be fine.

She’d promised them.

The school’s lunchroom was cavernous without the cacophony of sound and movement created by hundreds of young people with half an hour of freedom in the middle of the day. She’d only been there once before, when Blake had forgotten a science report that counted for fifty per cent of his grade, and she’d had to run home between calendars, get the report and meet him during his lunch break to give it to him.

Though there were still several people milling about—a few lingering kids, a janitorial crew pulling large trash cans on wheels from table to table, some cafeteria workers—she spotted Kirk Chandler right away. Dressed in blue jeans and a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he was over in a far corner of the room, engaged in what appeared to be a serious conversation.

With Abraham Billings.

Not wanting the boy to see her, she backed up and waited until he’d left the room before approaching her sons’ basketball coach.

“Mr. Chandler?”

He turned immediately.

“Mrs. Simms.”

Completely out of character, Valerie hesitated for the briefest moment to take the hand he held out, but that moment was long enough to make her feel self-consciously foolish. His skin was warm, the size of his palm making her feel small, fragile. His grip was firm.

“Ms. Simms,” she said. “I’m Ms., not Mrs.”

Great, Val, any other imbecile remarks you’d like to throw out there?

“Blake and Brian went back to class half an hour ago. Were you looking for someone?” he asked, his eyes alight with appreciation. Probably because of the figure-enhancing black pantsuit she was wearing.

“Yes. You.” She walked beside him to the door of the cafeteria. “I wanted to speak with you before basketball practice this afternoon.”

“I’m on playground duty next door at the elementary school in a couple of minutes,” he said, starting slowly down the hall. “We can talk there.”

His voice was…calming. Masculine, but not too deep. Smooth without being smarmy.

“What does playground duty entail?” She could easily see him out there shooting baskets with the boys. Or refereeing a game of Red Rover.

The clacking of her heels seemed inordinately loud against the tile floor.

“A lot of standing, mostly,” he said, sending her a sideways grin as they walked.

The halls were deserted, quiet, as they passed one classroom door after another, all of them closed. Still, with the low ceilings and colorful banners placed every few feet on the walls, the air felt a bit close.

“You don’t organize activities?”

“Not for recess. The kids aren’t out long enough. We’re just there to make sure no one leaves. And that they don’t kill each other.”