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“Do many kids find themselves on a flyer and call home?” she asked.
“I haven’t kept track, but every once in a while someone does. It’s not nearly often enough, though.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Not quite two years. I was Luke’s secretary at UCLA, and when he left the Psychology Department to come here, I came with him.”
Catherine slit open another flyer and found a smiling girl with braces on her teeth. “He
left UCLA for Lost Angel? Wasn’t that an unlikely career move?”
“I’ll say.” Pam checked Luke’s door and again lowered her voice. “It was more of a mission. Luke’s sixteen-year-old daughter committed suicide. The day after Marcy was buried, he walked off the UCLA campus and never went back.”
That awful news hit Catherine with the force of a tightly clenched fist, and the envelope she’d been about to open fluttered to the floor. She’d found Luke short-tempered and rude, but now she understood why his anger ran so deep. Ashamed for having misjudged him, she brushed away a tear and bent to retrieve the letter.
“I can’t think of anything worse than losing a child,” she murmured.
“It was a terrible shame. Marcy was such a terrific kid, but her boyfriend broke up with her just before the prom, and she took a handful of her mother’s sleeping pills. Maybe she just meant to scare her boyfriend, but she didn’t wake up. That was the end of Luke’s marriage too.”
Pam turned back to the figures she’d been entering into her computer. “How did we ever get on such a distressing subject?”
Catherine felt sick. She’d had no idea that Luke had suffered such a tragic loss, and she now felt a kinship she hadn’t even dreamed they might share. Her curiosity numbed, she kept opening letters and stacking up flyers until Pam left for lunch. Then she went to Luke’s door and knocked lightly. Once he’d invited her inside, she rushed through a clumsy apology.
“The other day, I made some stupid remark about your playing martyr, and I’m sincerely sorry.”
Luke gestured toward the chair opposite his desk and waited for her to sit. “That wasn’t one of my best days, either, so let’s just say we’ve exchanged apologies and forget it. Now, tell me the truth. Was I too rough on the Tubergens?”
His charming grin caught Catherine completely off guard, and she could scarcely believe she was talking with the same man. The silver tint to his hair made him appear older, but now that he wore a relaxed smile, she doubted he was forty. Thoroughly distracted, she tried to recall what he’d asked, then wasn’t certain how to reply.
“Perhaps rough is too strong a word.”
“Pick another, then. You’ve taught English, so your vocabulary has to be extensive. How would you describe me?”
Arrogant, opinionated and dictatorial swiftly came to mind, but Catherine had come to apologize rather than insult him anew. “I’m not sure where to begin,” she hedged.
Luke left his chair and came around to lean against the front of his desk. “Look, I know I was less than cordial when you came in to interview, but I’ve spoken with too many other lovely, well-educated women who hope to volunteer between tennis games and luncheon dates. They usually bail on us before the month is out. I was thinking of them, and that was totally unfair to you.”
His obvious sincerity only served to increase Catherine’s discomfort, and unable to remain seated, she left her chair and circled it to create a safe barrier between them. “I’ll agree your tone was a bit sarcastic, but I misjudged you too. My only excuse is that I was unaware of your situation.”
Luke’s dark brows dipped slightly. “And just what situation is that, Mrs. Brooks?”
Now that Catherine had had the opportunity to see him with more than a thoughtful or threatening frown, she could appreciate how remarkably expressive his face truly was. At present, he looked puzzled, but she feared she was treading upon dangerous ground and licked her lips nervously.
“I was referring to the loss of your daughter.”
Luke crossed his arms over his chest and again allowed a caustic edge to sear his words. “You must have found Pam in a talkative mood this morning.”
“Oh, please, you mustn’t be angry with her. Clearly she’s devoted to you, or she wouldn’t have followed you here from UCLA.”
“Oh, Christ.” Luke jabbed his fingers through his hair and, for a moment, looked as though he might yank out a handful. “She gave you the whole pathetic story, didn’t she? I’ll bet she even threw in the bitter divorce.”
Catherine hadn’t meant to upset him again, but she felt as though the floor had opened beneath her, and she scrambled to break her fall. “You’re a psychologist, so you must know it’s never wise to harbor such sad secrets.”
Luke straightened up. “Don’t lecture me on the finer points of psychology, Mrs. Brooks. There’s a tremendous difference between a man willingly confiding the details of his private life and someone else blabbing them all over town without his consent.”
“I can’t dispute that,” Catherine agreed calmly. After all, she’d had ample opportunity that morning to describe herself as a widow and not taken it. She wouldn’t have been pleased if Luke had waved her application and announced it to the group, either. In boots, she was his equal in height, but she still felt at a terrible disadvantage and inched toward the door.
“I’m sorry, but I meant only to offer an apology and say that I know how lost and alone you must feel.”
