Suspicion Of Guilt. Tracey V. Bateman

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      “Which one?”

      “Which one what?”

      A sudden image of family after family flashed across his mind like a slide show, blinking faster and faster until all of the different foster mothers and fathers and foster brothers and sisters jumbled together into one enormous group. Then they vanished and in their place one terrifying image remained. Jonathon. Standing over the only two people Reece had ever felt truly loved him. The teen’s eyes had been more wild than ever that night as he looked at Reece. “I told you, man. I told you I was going to do it.”

      Thomas and Lydia Ide. The only two grownups he’d ever loved. He’d called them Mom and Dad in his mind but had never given in and said it aloud. He regretted that now. It would have meant so much to Mom.

      His throat constricted. He coughed into his fist, trying to ease the ache.

      “It’s getting late. I’ll be back in the morning to help move the furniture outside. It’s supposed to be sunny all day tomorrow. If everyone pitches in, you should be ready for lunch guests on Monday.”

      Her soft brown eyes clouded in disappointment. She squared her shoulders and respected his need to change the subject. “I appreciate all you did today, Reece. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

      Reece nodded, but turned away. He didn’t want to be drawn in by soft sentiments. There were too many emotions bombarding him at the moment as it was. The objective was to gain her trust, not lose his heart.

      Denni heard the door open slowly then click shut. She glanced at the digital readout on the clock next to her bed and sighed—12:18 a.m. Fran again.

      Closing her book, she set it aside and pushed back the quilt. She walked down the steps, the soft glow from the kitchen alerting her to Fran’s whereabouts.

      The muted sound of the refrigerator shutting made her smile. It reminded her of nights when she and her sisters would come in after dates. There was always an ice-cream powwow around the table.

      She stepped into the kitchen. “So, you waited up just like a mommy, huh?”

      Reality crashed the party in the form of Fran’s sarcastic tone. Her tiny frame leaned against the counter. She munched on a slice of leftover pizza, and sipped a can of cola.

      “Not exactly like a mother,” Denni said, not allowing her tone to betray her irritation. “More like a concerned friend.”

      A short laugh from the girl brought a frown to Denni’s brow. “What’s bothering you, Fran?”

      “Nothing.” She gulped the drink, glaring over the aluminum rim. “I just don’t know why you treat us like we’re fourteen years old. That’s all. I swear it’s almost as bad as that bat next door peeping out of her window at us every time we make a move. Like we’re always doing something wrong, or something.”

      “I don’t necessarily think you’re doing something wrong, but you know the rules of the house.” Denni observed the blond-headed girl. Gorgeous enough to have been a model if not for the perpetual sneer on her face. “You didn’t say goodbye after dinner. I was worried.”

      “Worried? About me, or worried that I won’t find a job? If all your girls aren’t productive contributors to the betterment of our great society, you might be considered a failure.”

      Taken aback, Denni grabbed a paper plate from the cabinet and helped herself to a slice of pizza to distract herself from the sudden hurt. “Come and sit with me, okay? Let’s talk about this.”

      Fran’s expression softened, but she gave a careless shrug. “Whatever.”

      “How was your day? We didn’t have a chance to talk earlier, what with cleaning the basement.” Denni would have to deal with the girl’s failure to make curfew, but not now. Not when Fran was on the defensive.

      “I didn’t find a job if that’s what you’re asking.” She slouched in the seat, propping her feet on the chair cattycornered from her.

      “I wasn’t asking.”

      Obviously, something—or someone—had slapped a huge chip on her shoulder today and she was raring for a fight. Denni refused to play into it.

      “I looked for one. Jobs just aren’t so easy to find when you don’t have a degree.”

      “I know. I could try to help you if you want me to.”

      In a flash, Fran shoved up from her chair, tipping it. It crashed to the floor. Anger flashed in her eyes as she faced Denni. “Would you get off my back? I said I’d find something.”

      Stay calm. Don’t kick her out just because she’s made you uncomfortable.

      Scared was more like it. Fran had exhibited a violent side more than once. But the tendency had never been directed at Denni or any of the girls as far as Denni knew. Slow-moving traffic, barking dogs, inattentive waitresses. All had suffered Fran’s sharp tongue.

      Denni stood and faced the shaking girl. “Fran, I know you’re trying to get a job, and I understand how frustrating it is that you can’t find anything. But I can’t allow you to treat me this way.”

      “What are you going to do, kick me out?” The girl persisted in her bravado, but Denni saw the slight tremble of her lip.

      Thank you for letting me see that, Lord.

      Without it, Denni probably would have asked her to find another place to live. Instead she stepped forward and lightly gripped Fran by her upper arms. “No, I am not going to kick you out. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

      Mouth agape, Fran stared through unbelievably blue eyes. “You’re kidding me.”

      Denni shook her head. “Of course I’m not, but we have to reestablish the rules first.”

      Fran rolled her eyes. “Figures.”

      “Especially when someone is obviously trying to hurt us, or scare us off, Fran. I want to know you girls are safe.”

      “I can take care of myself,” she muttered.

      Clamping her lips tightly, Denni dropped her hands from Fran’s arms. “I don’t doubt your abilities to handle yourself, but the rules exist for a reason and everyone abides by them. When you’re not going to be home by curfew you have to call and let us know where you are, who you’re with and how close to being home you are at the moment. Working late is the only exception to that rule.”

      As if by divine emphasis, the lock rattled and the front door opened. A second later, Leigh came into the kitchen. Just after Reece had gone home earlier, Leigh had been called in to cover another girl’s shift at the barbecue shack where she waited tables.

      “What are you two doing up so late?”

      “Getting lectured,” Fran groused.

      “I’m sure you deserve it.” Leigh smiled to remove the sting, but Denni could see in the hardness of her eyes that she meant it. Leigh worked hard at school and at work. Her payoff was a 4.0 average and СКАЧАТЬ