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“Let’s go,” I said to Miguel, not looking at Tyler, putting as much distance as I could between us. Between Tyler and the apology I’d been waiting ten years for. And the truth that he’d seen in me, despite my efforts to hide it all.
My hands shaking, I pulled open the door of my car.
A few moments later, Miguel slid in beside me and a shadow fell over my face. I knew without looking that Tyler stood beside my car, blocking out the sun.
“You okay?” Miguel asked.
“Just great,” I said. I lifted my glasses to the top of my head and turned to look at Tyler, gilded with sunshine and charm, a beautiful, faithless Apollo sent to ruin my life. Again.
He’s helping you, some unwanted sensible voice pointed out. He’s doing what you couldn’t ask anyone else in this town to do, so how about you drop the bitch routine and act like a decent person?
I didn’t want to be sensible. I didn’t want to be forgiving or humble. The high road had no interest for me, because I had the terrible feeling that accepting this apology might lead to forgiving him, which might lead to spending time with him. Which might lead places I had no business going.
Nope, I’d keep my anger and stick to the low road. Where I was safer.
Wednesday morning, I dropped the kids off with Tyler at the Sunrise Breakfast counter for scrambled eggs and milk shakes.
At eight in the morning.
Only Tyler, I thought, torn between exasperation and uncomfortable fondness.
I can be your dirty little secret again.
His words lived on in my body, stoking fires that had long been cold.
Talk to your father.
Those words were bothering me too.
And it would be driving me out of my mind if I didn’t have much bigger problems to deal with.
Like Nora Sullivan and the potential destruction of my career to worry about.
At some point during my sleepless night I had made up my mind that I wasn’t going to make anything difficult for Nora, I was just going to rip the bandage, as it were, right off, instead of pulling it back one careful, painful piece at a time.
And maybe today I’d get some kind of sign, an answer about my doubts that I was right for this job.
But twenty minutes later when Nora Sullivan walked in my office, I had a brief panic. In a glance, I knew why Miguel ran. Hell, I felt like running. Nora looked like the kind of woman who knew how to give bad news and didn’t mind doing it.
Unbelievably, the woman wore a pink silky shirt with a little lace at the neck. It was like a bulldog with a ruffled collar.
“Nora,” I said, standing up at my desk to shake the woman’s hand, trying my damndest to get this meeting off on even footing. “Thanks for coming in.”
“It’s my job,” Nora said, and sat in the chair opposite my desk. Nora wasted no time before taking a file from her briefcase and moving my nameplate and my academy mug filled with pens and highlighters to the side.
Make yourself at home, I thought, trying to keep my cool while Nora opened the file.
“You’re younger than I expected,” Nora said.
I had heard that a lot, but now I wondered for the first time if it was a problem. “I worked harder than most to get here,” I said. “My age has not affected my work.”
Nora pursed her lips. “Well, it certainly explains some of the mistakes you’ve made with Miguel.” She bent back to my file while I seethed with embarrassment and self-consciousness. “We got a call—”
“From whom?” I asked.
Nora glanced at me through thin blond eyelashes. “That’s confidential.”
I knew that, but hearing about that anonymous tip sparked my anger and I sat in my chair, surrounded by the portraits of the chiefs that came before me, including my father, and fumed.
“Nora, I was hoping we could make this as easy as possible—”
Nora sat back. “You were?” she asked. “Your actions previous to this meeting would suggest a total unwillingness to make this process easier.”
My stomach dropped into my knees.
It’s going to be like that, is it?
“We’ve started the investigation process and opened a file on Miguel Pastor and his sister,” Nora continued. “According to school records, Miguel’s had some truancy issues. Nothing too alarming and his grades are good. His sister—”
I held up my hand. “I’ll tell you what I know,” I said, and I grabbed the edge of that Band-Aid and ripped.
I told Nora about Miguel’s trying to steal the car, how Tyler didn’t press charges. About the informal community service and finally about Miguel’s father. The abuse.
“Are there medical records substantiating the abuse?”
I shook my head. “He lied, and I let him,” I said, meeting Nora’s disapproving eyes. “We knew the doctors would call the office of community services and Miguel was adamant about not going to foster care. He worried about he and his sister getting split up—”
