The Word of a Child (24 page)

She curled her bare feet under her on one end of the couch,
while he sat beside her but not touching.

"Tracy admitted today that Tanner never touched
her," he said without preamble.

"Oh!" Her first reaction was delight for Gerald's
sake, her second dismay as she foresaw the fallout. And finally, she thought
about Tracy, who had been afraid she was pregnant. "Oh," she said,
more softly.

"She won't tell me who did rape her, but says it was
rape."

"Poor Tracy!"

"I scared the crap out of her when I started dancing
around the subject of her mother." The lines on his face deepened.
"I'm not sure I want to know what we're going to find out."

"No." Mariah tried to imagine being so young and
unable to trust her mother. "Did you find out anything about the
father?"

"He's dead. Has been for years."

She gave an automatic nod. "Have you let Gerald Tanner
know yet?"

"No, but I called Mrs. Patterson. She's arranging a
meeting first with just you, Tracy and her on Monday morning. I want her to
hear Tracy's story before she talks to Tanner." He told her, then, about
the myriad cruelties dished out by the computer teacher. "I'd gotten hints
from some of the other kids. I want to make sure Mrs. Patterson knows. How she
handles it is her business."

"Tracy will have to be pulled from his class."

"Oh, yeah." He frowned in silence at the far wall
for a minute. "He could insist that we file charges for making a false
accusation, which she could hardly dispute."

"Will he?"

"I hope not. I doubt it, after the principal is done
with him. At least, if I judge her right."

"He may have more compassion than you're crediting him
with." She hoped.

"Could be." He sighed and took her hand, looking
down at it as he traced the fine bones along the back.

She looked at his bent head and wondered why this man of all
others made her feel so much. The merest touch, a clear, penetrating glance,
the rumble of his voice, all were enough to make her feel light as air, as
giddy as … as a woman in love for the first time.

No. She couldn't be in love with him. Not yet. And she'd
loved Simon, or been in love with him, anyway. Somewhere along the way, what
she felt died. Maybe she wasn't capable of permanency. Otherwise, why—?

Don't think about it,
she
told herself. Not right now. She didn't know what Connor felt or wanted yet.
She was entitled to … to flirt and go dancing and maybe even have an affair,
wasn't she?

The phone rang, a sudden, shocking sound, and she jerked.

"Excuse me." She took her hand back. On the way to
pick up the telephone she'd left in the kitchen, Mariah felt Connor's gaze on
her.

"Simon," she said, a moment later.

Connor half stood, then sat back down. His eyes were dark,
steady.

As if he hadn't been so angry the last time, her ex-husband
said, "I promised Zofie I'd come to her soccer game tomorrow. She wasn't
sure of the time or where it is."

"Oh. Um … sure." Damn it, he'd wonder why she
sounded so flustered, she thought. Turning her back on Connor, she went to the
refrigerator where she'd posted the soccer schedule. She told Simon, "One o'clock at the far field at Meadow Park."

"Okay." He was silent for a moment. "I assume
Zofie's in bed?"

"Yes, I'm sorry."

"No, just tell her I'll be there."

"No problem." Now she sounded so darn cheery and
synthetic, she despised herself. "She'll be glad you're coming. I'll see
you there, Simon."

Connor was on his feet when she went back to the living
room. "I should probably be leaving. It's after nine o'clock."

On a Saturday night. She knew the real reason: he didn't
like the reminder of the way he'd stepped into her life. He wanted to forget
Simon existed.

But she couldn't, because he was Zofie's father. He would be
part of her reality forever, because they were linked through their child. If
Connor couldn't accept that…

She was jumping ahead again. Way ahead. They'd just had a
first date. They weren't in love, weren't thinking forever.

"Oh? Fine," she said pleasantly. "I'll be
seeing you Monday, I assume."

"I gather Simon's coming to the game tomorrow?"

She nodded.

"I'd thought about…" He stopped, the muscles in
his jaw knotting. "Never mind. None of us is ready for that."

"No." She was proud of how calm she made that
sound, when the very idea had her heart drumming. "I know I'm not."

He nodded, his gaze shuttered, and went to the door.

Following him, she felt a sickening sense of disappointment.
Was this it? What should she say?

He reached for the knob, then turned abruptly. "When
can I see you again, Mariah?"

"Monday…"

"No. Really see you. Talk to you." He reached out and
gripped her hands, his warm and powerful. "Kiss you."

If she'd thought her heart was beating fast before, now it
was deafening her. "Would you like to come for dinner Monday night? Zofie
will be here, too, but…"

His smile was slow and crooked. "Yeah. I'd like that a
lot. I'd like to get to know her."

"I'm glad," she whispered.

He kissed her with stunning intent, his hands staying on her
lower back and nape, but she felt the rawness of his need in the teeth that
closed on her lower lip and the rigid bar that pressed her belly when she
melted against him.

I'm not in love,
she
told herself again, as he set her away from him, gave her a last smoldering
look and left with a curt order to lock up behind him.
Not yet.

But she didn't believe herself.

Chapter
11

«
^
»

S
unday was one of those
days when Mariah was reminded of why she'd been drawn to
Simon in the first place. He was waiting at the parking lot when she pulled in,
ready to hoist Zofie into the air with a flash of white teeth.

"You going to score today?" he demanded.

"Two goals," the first-grader claimed, as he
lowered her to the ground.

"That's my girl."

They walked as a family to the field, Mariah carrying her
lawn chair and umbrella, Simon trying to steal Zofie's soccer ball, her
dribbling it away from him and giggling. The wet grass squelched underfoot. Wet
maple leaves, fallen from the trees ringing the parking lot, stuck to the
white-and-black soccer ball. A steady but gentle rain fell. Simon, typically,
wore only a sweatshirt. He was too macho to admit to needing rain gear. Looking
around, Mariah saw that he wasn't the only father who insisted on coming
without the slicker and umbrella every mother carried.

He had always loved his daughter. Knowing that was why from
the beginning she had felt so conflicted when she tried to imagine him touching
Zofie sexually. Did the fathers who abused their daughters love them, too? Or
did they see them only through the filter of their own needs and wants? If so,
did any of them put on as good a front as Simon had?

After she'd asked Simon to leave, Mariah had gone through a brief
stretch of educating herself. She'd checked out every book the library had
about child sexual abuse and the juvenile justice system. Somehow her questions
were never answered. She never
saw
any of those fathers, or the way they interacted with their children.

Simon and she had had a decent love life. He wanted her
almost nightly, with urgency that hadn't flagged. The fact that she rarely
became very aroused wasn't his fault, but hers—it was one of the reasons she
doubted her ability to love a man forever. Why had she gone from finding Simon
incredibly sexy to hoping he'd fall asleep without turning to her, all in the
space of a year or two of marriage?

One of the many things she'd never learned was whether a man
could do that—make love to his wife as if she satisfied him—and then stalk a
child the very next day.

Now, mostly, she didn't let herself think about what hideous
wants Simon might be disguising. Three years had passed, long enough, surely,
for him to have given himself away.

Zofie had no reservations about her dad. There was never any
hesitation when he held out his arms. She loved him in an uncomplicated way
Mariah preserved. He couldn't be a pedophile and resist abusing his daughter,
could he? The fact that he clearly hadn't must mean he had been innocent, that
Mariah didn't have anything to worry about when Zofie was with him.

Zofie's trust in her dad left Mariah feeling more guilty, of
course, because why else had she left him?

Today Simon stayed beside her when Zofie raced off to join her
teammates in warm-ups.

"She's a great kid, isn't she?" he said, watching
her dribbling around cones in a line with the other girls.

"Yeah." Momentarily linked in harmony, they were
relaxed enough to let their shoulders brush. "She is. She's doing well in
school, too. I'll make sure she takes some books when you pick her up Saturday,
so you can see how well she reads. She's already at least a grade level
ahead."

He nodded. "I was never that good in school. She takes
after you."

"Well,
I
wasn't much of an athlete, but look at
her." It was easy to be generous. "She gets that from you."

He looked at her, his dark eyes puppy-dog puzzled. "How
did we go wrong, Mariah?"

She must have stiffened.

Simon shook his head. "Scratch that. I shouldn't have
asked. I don't want to get into it with you today, Mariah. Let's just enjoy
watching Zofie play."

She nodded and avoided his gaze as she unfolded her lawn
chair and sat, glad of the distance it gave her from him.

Once the game started with the referee's blown whistle, she
was engrossed. Zofie played without the timidity of many girls this age,
throwing herself into the fray. She scored right before half-time, darting past
the goalie who had come out to intercept her and gently tapping the ball into
the net. She'd managed to get muddy as well as wet, but her grin shone from a
dirt-streaked face as she paused for congratulations before going for her snack
and to huddle with the coach.

Second half she played goalie, as she often did, her petite
body swathed in the extralong, colorful top and her face in the mask. She made
heroic saves, throwing herself atop the ball, getting kicked hard once and
still rolling away to protect the ball. She came swaggering off to pats on the
back from her teammates, giving them in return.

"Great goal!" she called to one, the mask pushed
up, as she arrived at her parents' side.

"Thanks!" the friend called. "See you
Tuesday!"

"Practice?" Simon asked.

"Mmm-hmm. The coach has cut back to two afternoons a
week, with the weather so miserable and it getting dark so early," Mariah
told him.

He laid a hand on Zofie's shoulder. "Have you two had
lunch? How about we go out to McDonald's?"

"Yeah!" she exclaimed, her pleading eyes turning
to Mom. "Can we?"

She forced a smile. "Why not?"

Simon followed Mariah in his own car. She was glad to see a
teammate of Zofie's and her family had arrived ahead of them.

Carrie and Zofie hugged, bounced up and down and talked
about the game and school.

"Why don't we sit together?" the other mother
suggested.

Mariah had to introduce Simon. She did so simply, as Zofie's
dad, not knowing whether the others even knew she was divorced. Conversation
was general, the girls had a great time and Mariah was saved from an intimate
threesome.

The real trouble, she had to admit, was that she was afraid
Zofie would mention Connor. If she kept dating him, it would happen, she knew
it would, but she wasn't ready. Panic fluttered every time she imagined Simon's
fury.