The Penalty Box (23 page)

“Who are you, Mother Theresa?” Mina snapped. Snake guffawed loudly, prompting Mina to grin. She obviously enjoyed having an audience.

“No,” Katie said. “I just—”

“—want what's best for him,” Mina mimicked. “Look, I'm his mother, I'll handle the situation as I see fit. Got it?”

“Got it,” Katie bit out.

Her tone must have gotten to Mina. Mina's face softened, and she put down her cards. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to be such a cranky bitch.”

“It's okay.”

“No, it's not.” She rubbed her arms anxiously. “It's just really hard, Katie. Figuring out what to tell him and what not to tell him. If I say I don't know who his dad is, I look like a total slut. If I tell him who I think his dad might be, then he might grow up and track these guys down.”

“And that's bad?”

“Yeah, it's bad,” Mina spat out. “One of 'em's married with three kids.” She looked at Katie sheepishly. “I was always looking for that daddy figure, I guess.”

“It's better he don't know anything,” opined Snake.

“Who asked you?” Mina sneered.

“I'm just sayin' it won't kill him not to know. I never knew who my old man was and I turned out fine.”

An image of Tuck ten years on began coalescing in Katie's imagination: he was covered in tattoos, flying up and down Didsbury's hills on a jerryrigged chopper, his name changed to 'Cuda.

“Yeah, you turned out great,” Mina jeered affectionately. She touched Katie's arm. “I'll do what I can if the topic comes up,” Mina promised her. “Okay?”

Katie sighed in capitulation. “Okay.”

 

 

Fourteen-seventeen Tittenhurst Drive. That was the address Katie was looking for as she crawled the affluent streets of the Ladybarn neighborhood in her ear, looking for Liz Flaherty's house. Weybridge, Cavendish, Claremont—even the street names conjured images of wealth. Back in high school, when Katie was restless and couldn't sleep, she would sometimes imagine these leafy silent streets, dreaming about how wonderful it must be to live in one of these grand houses, with their built-in pools and lush English gardens and security systems. She assumed everyone who lived here led a charmed, golden life, free from the pain and suffering of plain existence. It wasn't until years later she realized wealth was no protection from dysfunction or misfortune. Every family had skeletons and heartache.

Rounding Tittenhurst, she slowed her pace even more. A police cruiser going in the opposite direction slowed as it passed her, the officer behind the wheel blatantly staring her down. Did he think she was casing the neighborhood? The thought amused Katie immensely.

She finally found the house, a huge mock Tudor mansion boasting a small koi-filled pond and a tennis court. In the drive sat a sky gray Mercedes. Beside it, a red Dodge truck that Katie recognized as belonging to Lane, Gary's nanny. It was Lane who usually drove Gary to and from hockey practice. She seemed nice.

Katie parked her humble Neon behind the Mercedes and sat a moment, engine running. Would it be rude to just honk the horn for Tuck to come out? She wasn't sure she could deal with Liz Flaherty on an empty stomach. It was ten a.m. Liz probably wasn't even up yet. Katie killed the engine and headed up the front walk. Her usual Saturday morning attire consisted of yoga pants and a T-shirt, but not today; on the off-chance she might encounter Liz, she wore chinos, a sweater and a touch of makeup. She remembered something her mother had said years ago: Women don't dress for men. They dress for other women.
Boy,
thought Katie,
was she ever right about that.

Katie rang the doorbell, praying Lane would answer. Her hopes were dashed when the ornately, carved wooden door opened to reveal Liz in tennis whites.

“Katie.” Her voice was like dry ice. “Come in. I was just on my way over to the country club. Do you play?”

“What, tennis?” Katie asked, stepping over the threshold. “No.”

“Pity. It's a wonderful game. Invigoratingly competitive.”

“I'll take your word for it,” said Katie, gazing around the massive marble foyer that was bigger than her mother's house. She tried not to gawk or feel envy. It was truly a magnificent home.

“Is Tuck ready?” she asked politely.

“The boys should be down in a moment,” Liz replied, an unpleasant smile frozen on her frosted pink lips. Katie couldn't escape the feeling she was being sized up. From the moment she'd stepped into the house, Liz's eyes had swept her from head to toe several times, assessing, perusing. She knew Liz did that to everyone, but the intensity and displeasure of Liz's gaze made this feel more personally intrusive somehow. Katie glanced away.

“Did Tuck behave?” she asked, focusing on the gorgeous spiral staircase.

“A perfect angel,” Liz assured her. “Although someone does need to teach him the proper way to eat soup. He tends to slurp.”

Katie grit her teeth. She was not going to take the bait.

“How's your book coming?” Liz asked.

“Fine,” she replied, surprised Liz was able to retain a fact about someone other than herself in her head.

“About athletes, isn't it?” Liz's tone was pointed.

“About how team sports shape male identity.”

“Not exactly bestseller material.”

Ignoring the barb, Katie looked up at the ceiling, then at the artwork in gilt frames lining the walls. “This house is really beautiful,” she made herself say, hoping the change of topic would help.

“Well, it helps to marry a rich man.” Liz regarded Katie. “That
is
one of the reasons you're sleeping with Paul van Dorn, isn't it?”

Katie stared at Liz.
“Excuse me?”

“Oh, c'mon,” Liz purred as if they were the oldest and dearest of confidants. “I know all about you and Paul.”

How?!
Then it came to her: Tuck.

“Honestly,” Liz continued, picking up her tennis racket and swinging it as if hitting an imaginary ball, “there are other ways to ensure your nephew gets lots of ice time besides screwing his coach.”

“How dare you?” Katie hissed.

Liz leveled her with a shrewd stare. “I could say the same to you.”

Katie's hand shot out to stop Liz's racket in mid-swing. “I'm not in the mood for games, Liz. Speak plainly or shut up.”

Liz's mouth curled into a sneer. “You think he's all yours, don't you?”

“What are you talking about? I don't understand.”

Liz clucked her tongue. “No, of course you don't.” Carefully placing her racket against the wall, she sauntered over to a Chippendale sideboard, returning with a rolled-up pair of socks. “Will you please return these to Paul? He left them here.”

Katie's chest constricted. “You're a liar, Liz.”

“Check with Gary,” she replied, smiling sweetly as she retrieved her racket and headed out the door. “Sorry. Gotta run. Don't want to be late for my game. Enjoy the rest of your day, Katie. I'm sure you can find your way out.”

Katie wolfed down
another bite of her chocolate donut as she stared forlornly out the windshield of her car. Leaving Liz's, she dropped Tuck off at home and drove directly to the nearest Dunkin' Donuts, where she ordered a large coffee and a dozen donuts to go. Still in the parking lot, she had worked her way through two jellies and one Bavarian crème before diving into the chocolate. She washed down another big bite with a shot of hot coffee. She didn't care if this was a bad way to cope and she didn't care if she got fat again. The donut was delicious and the taste of sugar and fat as it filled her belly made her feel so much better. At least for now.

Liz's bombshell had knocked her for a loop. The minute Katie got Tuck in the car she'd wanted to interrogate him, demanding to know if he'd told Gary about her and Paul. But she was so heartsick and upset she knew she'd make a mess of things. Better to wait until she was thinking clearly to find out how the cat had slipped out of the bag.

She didn't know what to think or believe. So what if Liz handed her a pair of socks, claiming they were Paul's? Any idiot with socks could do that. It was Liz's chilling, “Check with Gary” that clinched it. For Liz to even
say
that . . . Katie smashed the rest of the donut into her mouth. Was it really possible Liz's nine-year-old son could vouch for Paul's having spent the night—maybe many nights—at Liz's? Katie lay her forehead on the steering wheel. “I knew I should never have come back to this stupid town! I knew it!”

Her hand crept back to the open box of donuts beside her. Lifting her head, she went to take a bite of a sugar-glazed she'd pulled out, then stopped herself. Stuffing her face was only masking the pain, not solving it. She needed to deal with the real issue. She closed the box and stashed it on the backseat, intending to bring it home. Her mother and Tuck would be delighted.

She felt better, if only for a minute. The real issue was Paul. Was he cheating on her? Salty tears trickled down the back of her throat. Crying meant she cared and she hated that. She didn't want to care. She didn't want to
hurt
.

She had to talk to Tuck
and
Paul and find out what was going on. Paul would deny sleeping with Liz. Tuck would deny telling Gary. But Tuck was a terrible liar. All Katie had to do was stare at him, maybe speak sternly, and he'd cough up a confession. In that regard he was more like her than Mina.

 

 

“
Tuck? Can
I come in?”

Katie knocked softly at Tuck's bedroom door, which he'd started to lock. Katie understood completely: It was the only way to get any privacy, and it drove her mother crazy.

“Come on in,” Tuck grumbled, unlocking the door.

Katie was surprised to see a book in his hand. Usually his butt was glued to the chair in front of his computer.

“What are you reading?”

“
Harry Potter.
Gary let me borrow it.”

Katie nodded approvingly. Liz might be an intimate of Lucifer, but Gary was a nice kid. He was exposing Tuck to new things, which was good. So much of Tuck's life up until now had been about deprivation.

“Do you like it?”

Tuck shrugged. “It's pretty good.”

“Mind if I sit down?”

Tuck shrugged again, pushing a pile of dirty clothing off a nearby chair and onto the floor. An aroma arose, that of sweat and dirt and mischief. Katie was glad to see his room was a bit untidy. It meant he finally felt at home. “Am I in trouble or something?” he asked nervously.

Katie sat. “Why would you think that?”

“I dunno.” Tuck perched on the edge of his bed, bouncing anxiously. “Usually people only come to my room when it's something serious or something.”

“That's not true. Nana comes to your room all the time to give you your clean laundry and change your sheets.”

Tuck frowned. “I don't mean that.”

“I know you don't.” Katie glanced around. “Did you have fun at Gary's?”

Tuck nodded. “He's got a maid. And a nanny. And his own TV!”

“Wow! So, what did you guys do?”

“Watched TV. Oh, and he's got this really cool computer game where you can play hockey against Wayne Gretzky and Mark Messier!”

“Wow!” Katie enthused again. “That sounds like fun.”

“It was.”

Katie's hands curled around the arms of the chair. “Speaking of hockey, did you tell Gary about me and the coach?” Alarm flashed in Tuck's eyes. “It's okay if you did,” Katie assured him quickly. “I just need to know.”

Tuck stopped bouncing. “Do you promise you won't get mad at me?”

“I promise.”

“Do you swear on a stack of bibles you won't get mad?”

“Yes,” Katie replied patiently. “Now tell me.”

Tuck gulped and began babbling. “We were playing the hockey game on the computer and talking about hockey and the team and Gary said he'd seen the coach naked and I said no way and he said yeah the coach had slept over his house and I said well big deal the coach is going out with my aunt and he said no way and I said yes way but it's a secret.”

“I see.”

“Are you mad at me?” Tuck asked, sounding scared.

“Of course not.” Katie struggled to regain her breath. “I just need to know if you boys said anything to Gary's mother.”

Tuck looked down at his swinging feet.

“Tuck?”

He wouldn't look at her, choosing to recite to the floor instead. “We went down for dinner and Gary's mother was there and Gary said tell your cool secret and I said no and he got mad so
he
told her and then she started asking all these questions and stuff.”

Katie felt a burning behind her eyes. “What kind of questions?”

“Just, you know, if you and the coach were in love and if you ever slept over his house and stuff like that.”

“And what did you say?” Katie managed.

“That you slept over sometimes but I didn't know if you were in love.” Tuck looked up at her, the color draining from his face. “Am I in trouble?”

Katie sat down beside him on the bed. “Honey, I've already told you,
no
.”

“I didn't mean to tell, Aunt Katie, it just kinda came out.”

Katie put her arm around him, surprised when he didn't rebuff her. “I know, sweetie. Don't worry about it.”

“Mrs. Flaherty was really nosy,” Tuck said defensively.