The Wrong Man. Laura Abbot

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СКАЧАТЬ Kylie began. “This one boy made fun of me. He said I didn’t know how to ski.”

      Weezer nodded. “We can do something about that.”

      “And the girls all ran off at recess.”

      “Did they invite you to join them?”

      Kylie concentrated on burrowing her hands deep in Scout’s fur.

      “Kylie? Weezer asked you a question.”

      “Uh, yeah.”

      Weezer made a show of examining the dog’s paw. “Why didn’t you play with them?”

      “I don’t know them.”

      “But—” Trent began.

      Holding up her hand, Weezer forestalled him. “Let me ask a question. How will you ever get to know them if you don’t give them a chance?”

      Kylie’s cheeks reddened. “I dunno.”

      Weezer let that sink in before continuing. “If you think really hard about it, I bet you can come up with one or two bright spots in your day.”

      “Well, maybe.” Kylie sat back, deep in thought.

      “Lacey was okay, I guess.”

      “What about your teacher?”

      “Oh, she’s so pretty, and really, really nice.”

      “See? There’s a big plus. What’s her name?”

      “Miss Cameron. And we’re going over there tonight for pizza and she has this cat named Mona and she invited us.”

      Startled, Weezer glanced up at Trent, who shrugged helplessly. What in the world was going on? Trent and Libby’s divorce, though mutually agreed upon, had been far from amicable. So far as Weezer knew, the two hadn’t had any contact in years.

      Finally Trent spoke. “What was I to do? My daughter wanted to meet Mona.”

      “Miss Cameron says she’s a beautiful gray cat. I’m so excited.”

      At least the child was showing enthusiasm for something, a vast improvement from the beginning of this conversation. But Trent had moved to a kitchen chair and sat tensed like a cougar waiting to pounce.

      Weezer seized on a diversionary tactic. “Kylie, why don’t you help yourself to a couple of cookies, put on your coat and boots and take Scout outside to play.”

      “Can I?” The girl leaped to her feet, grabbed two snickerdoodles and her parka and headed for the door.

      “C’mon, Scout.” Tail wagging, the dog joined her, and the two of them exited in a gust of frigid air.

      Weezer pulled two cups from the cupboard, then poured coffee. When she placed Trent’s in front of him, she tilted his chin. “Out with it. What’s this all about?”

      He brushed a hand through his hair. “Damned if I know.”

      “Dinner? Pizza? I practically raised you, boy. I think you do know.” She sank into the chair across from him.

      “I wasn’t aware Lib taught in Whitefish.”

      “You could’ve asked me. But you made it clear a long time ago that she was off-limits in our conversations.”

      “When I left for Billings, I never intended to return. I was happy with Ashley.” His voice sounded tortured.

      “I know you were. But you were running, too. When you do that, the past has a way of circling and nipping you in the behind.”

      He stared into the depths of his coffee. “Tell me about it.”

      “So how come the meeting tonight?”

      He sighed. “Kylie.” Weezer waited for him to continue. “It’s the most excited she’s been since I decided to move here. I don’t know, the bit about the pizza just popped out of my mouth.”

      “You’re sure this is only about Kylie?”

      Trent slumped back in his chair. “No.”

      “I see.” Weezer stalled by taking a sip from her cup. “Be very careful, son. You and Kylie don’t need any more hurt and disappointment.”

      “Neither does Lib.”

      “Good. I hope you remember that.”

      “It’ll be just this once.”

      Just this once? Weezer doubted it. Even when he was a youngster, Trent’s expressions had been transparent. And right now what she saw on his face was longing, pure and simple.

      LIBBY RESISTED changing her clothes. She didn’t want to give Trent the impression that anything special was going on. In fact, part of her didn’t want him to step foot in her home. After their divorce, she had sold or given away the few belongings they’d owned jointly and had haunted antique shops and estate sales, gradually accumulating enough to furnish her modest house. She loved the wood grain of her oak coffee table, the high back of the armchair, the prints of native flora on the wall, the faded Persian rug she’d bid too much for at an auction. The place wasn’t fancy, but it was hers. Her sanctuary.

      Trent’s presence here would feel invasive.

      Furthermore, she was having difficulty picturing Trent as a single father. He’d never shown the slightest interest in parenthood. Instead, he’d always laughed and said, “Hell, Lib, I’d be a lousy father.” His rationalization was that since his own father had walked out on him when he was four, he’d had no role model. He’d then go on to say by way of justification, “A baby deserves a daddy who knows a little something.”

      Hindsight suggested he’d been right.

      Oh, why had she ever agreed to let them come?

      Yet even as she asked the question, she continued laying her silverware and colorful plates on the sunshine-yellow tablecloth.

      How could she have let Kylie tug at her heartstrings like that? Was it because she was Trent’s daughter—the child they’d never had together? Or was it because Libby was motherless, too, and identified with the little girl. Seeing Kylie reminded her so powerfully of the day she herself had come home from school to the news her mother would never return from the hospital.

      Libby needed to be on her guard to keep this relationship professional. She was a teacher extending kindness to an emotionally needy student. Her previous relationship with the girl’s father was irrelevant.

      Just get through this evening.

      Precisely at six, she heard a vehicle pull into the driveway, then doors slam. She stood, smoothing her skirt, willing indifference. “Hello,” she said holding the door open. “Smells good,” she mumbled as Trent stepped by her with the pizza box, trailing a scent of tomato sauce and oregano. “Let me take your coats.”

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