Once a Good Girl.... Wendy S. Marcus

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      CHAPTER THREE

      VICTORIA struggled down the steps to the front door to see who Jake was talking to, stopping short at the sight of Kyle, holding a pie box, his expression a disturbing mix of suspicion and loathing.

      “Go downstairs, Jake,” she said, needing a few minutes to talk to Kyle, to diffuse his anger before making any formal introductions. Although, based on the way they studied each other, Kyle had a pretty good idea who Jake was. And vice versa.

      Her son turned to her, looking hopeful and excited. Of course he’d recognized his father, whose picture he spoke to every night before bed. “But it’s …”

      “I know. Go downstairs and give us a few minutes to talk.”

      “I don’t—”

      “Now.” She flashed him the look that said she meant business then moved her gaze to Kyle. “What are you doing here?”

      “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He glared at her, dared her to refuse him.

      Every instinct she had screamed: Slam the door in his face, grab your son, and run. She needed time to talk to an attorney to find out Kyle’s rights. Her rights.

      To talk to Jake about his expectations and set limits on the time he’d spend with his dad, if any. To prepare her son for the possibility Kyle might not be in town long and might not be interested in playing an active role in his son’s life. And most important, she needed time to figure out how to protect herself, both personally and professionally. He’d almost ruined her life once. She would not give him the chance to do it again.

      “No,” she answered, hoping he’d leave, sure he wouldn’t.

      “But, Mom …” Jake whined.

      She pointed to the door of his playroom. “Down. Stairs.”

      “Can I take the dog?” Jake asked.

      For the first time she noticed Tori sitting quietly, looking up at her, watching her life unravel. “No,” she said.

      At the same time Kyle said, “Yes.”

      Discord, two minutes into co-parenting.

      Victoria tilted her head and shot Kyle her best evil eye, the one guaranteed to make most people squirm. Kyle was not most people. He simply shrugged. “Livi loves animals. I came to see her.”

      “Aunt Livi is dead,” Jake said matter-of-factly, and walked downstairs into his playroom. With a flick of the wrist from Kyle, his dog followed.

      “Close the door,” she said to her son.

      Jake did.

      Except for pictures and the many stories Victoria had repeated through the years, Jake had little memory of his grandaunt who’d died a few weeks before his third birthday, leaving Victoria alone to care for her son. Not that Aunt Livi had been much help the last year of her life, but she’d tried.

      Kyle paled, clutched the storm door, his knuckles white. “When?” The word came out hoarse.

      His upset did not surprise her. Kyle and Aunt Livi had had a special bond. “Despite his upbringing he’s a good boy. There’s something special inside him. We can’t let it go to waste.”

      She’d sure changed her tune when Victoria wound up pregnant, and Kyle wound up gone.

      “Five years ago,” she answered. “Heart attack.” Victoria still harbored guilt that taking in her pregnant niece against her brother’s wishes, dealing with his threats and harassment, and helping a distraught teenager care for her infant son had been too much for Aunt Livi’s fragile heart. That Victoria had been at least partially responsible for the death of the woman who’d loved her like a daughter and, in return, she’d loved like a mother.

      Tears threatened.

      Not a day went by that she didn’t think of Aunt Livi.

      “And you live here now.”

      “She left everything to me and Jake.” The house and second mortgage. The car and car loan. Unpaid taxes. Credit-card debt.

      The news about Aunt Livi seemed to neutralize Kyle’s anger, leaving him weary. “May I please come in?” Even though he could have pushed right past her, he stood on the porch and waited for an invitation. “Looks like there’s something more we need to discuss after all.”

      “Now that’s where you’re wrong,” she said, ignoring the cold air chilling her exposed skin, not wanting him inside her home. “We needed to talk eight years and eight months ago, when I learned I was pregnant. Or maybe eight years and six months ago when my father figured it out and issued his ultimatum: ‘Get an abortion or get out.’”

      “That sanctimonious bastard wanted you to kill our baby?” СКАЧАТЬ