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“What kind of more sensitive material?”
“Amber McDonald,” he said. “Amber Walker now.”
She’d just had a letter from the little girl’s mother a couple of weeks before. Amber had gone to a slumber party—had had a great time—and had called her step-father to come get her the next day. It was the first time she’d allowed herself to be alone with him—with any man—since her abuse and she’d acted as though it happened every day. Her mother was very hopeful.
Meredith was, too.
“Obviously we can’t speak about her publicly,” Mark was saying. “But we can include the information in a confidential packet.”
“What do you think about that episode?” Meredith asked, too tired to figure it out on her own. Tired physically. And tired of feeling ostracized. She could keep her feelings to herself. They didn’t mark her in any way. Didn’t show. No one would know they were there and she could be normal, just like everyone else.
In another town. And if she was fired for moral turpitude, in another career.
“I think you saved a little girl’s life.”
“So why is this time any different?”
“You didn’t get lucky.”
He thought the previous time had involved luck. As if she’d just guessed that little Amber was being molested. As if she played some kind of Russian roulette with children’s lives. Meredith wasn’t surprised by his words, but she was shocked by how much they hurt her.
She stood. “You’d better go.”
Reaching for her wrist, Mark pulled her down beside him on the couch. “Meredith, listen, I’m on your side.”
She couldn’t look at him. “How can you say that? You don’t believe I know what I’m talking about.”
“I believe you think you do,” he said, the softness of his words compelling her to listen. “And if a wrong is unintentional, it’s not moral turpitude.”
Peering at him, Meredith tried to focus, to allow the bit of relief teasing her heart to flower into something powerful enough to heal the panic.
“They don’t have to prove that I intended to hurt Tommy, only that I intended to speak a false statement in an effort to help him.”
“All you have to do is convince the school board that you believe what you say you do.”
“How do I do that?”
He shrugged, gave her a soft grin. “I have no idea how you do it, but I know it’s true,” he told her. “You’ve certainly convinced me that you believe in yourself.”
Well, that was something. Especially since she wasn’t sure anymore that she even knew who she was, knew where she stopped and other people started.
His hands were on his thigh
s. Strong hands. Capable. Gentle. And she was in them. He didn’t believe in her gift. But he believed that she did.
He seemed to think that might be enough.
“HERE’S YOUR BAG.” Kelsey shoved the brown paper package at Kenny, hardly looking at him. She’d run as fast as she could across the playground, checking behind her the whole time. She looked behind her again, scared to death that someone would be there, seeing her do this.
“Thanks,” Kenny said. “How you been?”
“Fine.”
“Oh.”
“Well, ’bye.” She bent to push her way back through the bushes and climb over the fence.
“Hey, wait.” Kenny stepped forward. She could see the ratty bottoms of his jeans just above his black tennis shoes.
