Flash Point. Metsy Hingle

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      Four

      “Please have a seat, Ms. Santos,” the receptionist at the law firm of Callaghan and Associates told Kelly as she was ushered into an office to wait for Peter Callaghan late Monday morning. “Can I offer you anything to drink?”

      “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

      “Very well. Mr. Callaghan will be with you shortly,” the young woman said, and left the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

      Still unsettled by her encounter with Jack the previous day and the disturbing vision that had led to it, Kelly looked at her watch. She felt as though she’d been in New Orleans for weeks instead of just a few days. Eager to put those days behind her as quickly as possible so she could return to New York, she stared at her watch. And she waited. When several minutes ticked by and Peter Callaghan still hadn’t made an appearance, she tapped her foot, growing more restless by the second.

      Patience was not one of her virtues, she admitted. The fact that she was being forced to wait in a lawyer’s office only added to her discomfort. One of those psychological hang-ups from her childhood, she guessed. All she knew was that Peter Callaghan’s office made her think about those countless offices she’d been in and out of as a kid. Social workers, child psychologists and various state agencies—all insisting on regular evaluations of her. Granted, Peter Callaghan’s office was a far cry from the cramped, dreary bureaucratic offices she’d been sent to as a child. But there was still something about the scent of all those law books, about seeing them lined up on the shelves along with the legal documents hanging on the walls, that triggered her old feelings of being trapped and helpless. Just as she’d felt trapped and helpless all those years ago as she’d been shuffled through the state and legal systems.

      But you’re not a child anymore. They no longer have any power over you.

      Kelly drew in a steadying breath, released it. She wasn’t a child anymore. Nor was she trapped in the system, she reminded herself, echoing the voice in her head. She was the one in control of her life now—not some judge who saw only another unwanted child dependent upon the juvenile system. She didn’t have to shift in and out of a string of foster homes and St. Ann’s any longer. She didn’t have to subject herself to any court-appointed psychologist. Nor did she have to allow anyone to poke around in her mind, asking her a bunch of stupid questions and then diagnosing her as a troubled girl who made up stories about visions to get attention.

      What am I doing? Why am I even thinking about all of this stuff now?

      Because she was back in New Orleans.

      Coming back had triggered all those unpleasant memories that she’d left the city in order to escape. And just as soon as she finished her meeting with Peter Callaghan and collected the items that Sister Grace had left her, she’d escape again, she promised herself. She’d take the first flight back to New York and forget all about the past and the last few awful days.

      Too restless to sit, Kelly stood and began to wander about the room. It really was a beautiful room, she realized, noting the expensive drapes, the plush rug with an inlaid pattern, the artwork. She paused to admire a group of Calder prints that adorned one wall and the marble sculpture that sat on a stand in the corner. Moving over to the credenza she found herself studying the array of framed photographs. There was one of Peter Callaghan with a beautiful brunette woman taken in a garden lush with spring blooms. Another shot featured the elder Mr. Callaghan with a smiling Peter dressed in his graduation cap and gown, holding up his law school diploma. She moved to the next photograph, which depicted the entire Callaghan family—Mr. and Mrs. Callaghan, Peter, his sister, Meredith, and Jack.

      Given how young Meredith looked in the picture, Kelly suspected it had been taken more than a decade ago, probably back when she and Meredith were still in high school together. There was something warm and moving about the picture of them as a family unit, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it was like to share such a family bond—to look at another person and see a resemblance of yourself in them, of them in you. To know that you belonged.

      After hesitating a moment, she picked up the photograph for a closer look. There wasn’t an ugly one in the bunch. Blond-haired and blue-eyed, they had toothpaste perfect white smiles and elegant bone structure. Every one of them was gorgeous. But Jack, she mused as she traced her fingertip along his face, Jack seemed to have been blessed with an extra dollop of everything. An extra inch or so in height over his father’s and brother’s six-foot frames. His hair was a darker shade of blond, his eyes a deeper blue. Even his smile was a fraction wider, a touch brighter.

      “Ms. Santos, please forgive me for keeping you waiting,” Peter Callaghan said as he hurried into the room. “I’m afraid I got tied up in court,” he told her as he dumped his briefcase next to his desk and strode over to her with his hand extended. “I’m Peter Callaghan.”

      Kelly quickly returned the photograph to the credenza and shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Mr. Callaghan.”

      Surprise flickered in his blue eyes. He arched his brow a fraction. “We’ve met before?”

      “A long time ago and only briefly. I’m not surprised that you don’t remember,” she said, and already wished she had never mentioned it.

      “Well, I am. I can’t imagine how I’d forget someone as lovely as you. Tell me, was I temporarily blind?”

      “No,” she said with a chuckle. Another charmer. Just like his brother, she thought, and she couldn’t help wondering if it was part of the Callaghan’s genetic makeup, since even Meredith, whom she’d always considered a bit self-centered, could be charming when she chose to be. “It was more than ten years ago and I wasn’t all that memorable.”

      “Now, that I don’t believe.”

      “Trust me, it’s true.” While her looks had changed little over the years, her fashion sense had. And if she was at all memorable now it was due in large measure to her learning how to select the right clothes and making sure she wore the clothes instead of vice versa. That alone had been one of the nicer perks about the business of selling beauty, she thought.

      “Now you’ve got me curious. Where was it that we met?”

      “At your sister Meredith’s high school graduation. I was the scrawny girl with stringy blond hair who gave the valedictory address. Afterward, you were kind enough to compliment me on my speech and wished me good luck. As I said, I wasn’t particularly memorable.”

      “But you were,” СКАЧАТЬ