“Yes,” she answered, then opened her arms. “Come on over here for a hug.”
Cassie hesitated a second, then slid from the chair. Sharon squeezed the little girl tight, wanting, wishing, aching. She swallowed the urge to scream. If Grant had been standing next to her, she would have choked him. Instead, she hugged tighter and said, “He’s bringing pizza for dinner, so he shouldn’t be too late.”
An hour later the front door opened and Grant hollered, “Anyone home?”
Cassie rushed from the kitchen, Brittany bouncing at her heels, and Sharon was left to put the last of the cooling cookies away. She forced herself to slowly wash and dry her hands, and carefully compose her face before she turned and greeted Grant when she heard him walk into the kitchen. Cassie walked quietly at his side, clearly suffering from a scolding. Only the pup looked happy, eyes bright, whole body wiggling with excitement.
Sharon forced a smile. Grant met her gaze, then said, “Cassie, go wash up.” He waited until the little girl was out of earshot. “Shall I lie down on the floor so you can stomp on me now?” His voice was quiet, tinged with weariness.
Sharon tried not to notice the dark shadows beneath his eyes, the hollows in his cheeks that had deepened since last week, the way he held himself so tensely, almost rigidly, though exhaustion clearly etched his face.
Anger fled as quickly as it had come. “Oh, sit down, she said quietly. “Stomping is too good for you. Besides, you know as well as I do that I never can stay mad at you. Even when you deserve it.”
A smile curved his lips but didn’t erase the weariness in his eyes. He set the pizza on the table, walked to the fridge and pulled out a soda. Snapping the can open, he turned to face her. “I’m sorry I had to call you at the last minute like that.”
“So am I, but only for Cassie. You know I enjoy having her.”
He nodded, then tipped the can to take a long swallow of carbonated drink. Then he set the soda on the counter he now leaned against. “I don’t mean to take advantage—”
“That should be the least of your worries,” she said.
He paused. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Maybe you should have bowed out of the meeting.”
“I couldn’t.”
“And if I hadn’t been able to pick Cassie up?”
He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and didn’t answer. He bowed his head slightly, and his dark-blue eyes suddenly filled with a bleakness that sent chills along Sharon’s spine. He seemed so very alone.
She stepped closer, laid a hand against his chest in unspoken support. Grant lifted his head, dark gaze intense.
“That is one hell of a shiner she has.”
“I know.” Sharon let her hand slide from him with a sigh and a step back. “I suppose we should be grateful she’s coming out of her shell. But she was in trouble three times this week.” She took a deep breath, then plunged on, certain he wouldn’t want to hear her words but believing a lesser friend would keep silent
“Grant, I know you are doing your best, but Cassie needs more of your time.” She ignored the tightening of his mouth, the narrowing of his eyes. “You work too many long hours, and…well…I wonder if you understand how hard it is for her when you’re gone. And I can’t help but wonder how much longer you can do this alone, Grant. I am not—”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Grant said in a low, hard voice.
Anger blazed in his eyes. Sharon automatically took a half step back at the intensity.
“First Catherine’s parents and now you. Well, you are wrong. Damned wrong.” He swept a hand through his hair, leaving it tousled. “I cannot believe that you are even saying this. I thought we were friends.”
His eyes were glittering, accusing her of betrayal. Sharon mentally stiffened, then lifted her chin and met his gaze without flinching. “You know very well we’re friends, but that has nothing to do with the subject at hand.”
He arched a brow, a dark slash that seemed to accentuate the anger she sensed simmering inside him.
“What exactly are you suggesting I do? If you think for one minute that I am going to hand my daughter over to my in-laws, think again.” His voice turned acidic.
“I have no answers,” she snapped, stung by the tone of his voice. “Nor am I suggesting anything of the kind. All I am saying is that the present situation is not good enough. Okay? Not for you. Not for Cassie.”
Silence stretched between them, fraught with tension.
“I love my daughter. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her,” Grant finally said.
The huskiness in his voice tugged at Sharon’s heart. She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat and ached for both Cassie and Grant. “I know you do,” she half whispered, “and so do I.” Then she cleared her throat. “I am sorry I brought it up. It’s just…well…it is important I’m worried about Cassie. And I’m worried about you.”
Grant tucked Cassie into bed, wincing each time he looked at the black eye. It didn’t take an intellectual giant to see that her temper had worsened since Catherine’s death and that his absences did not help, but what was he to do? His job required a lot of his time. It also provided them with a nice home, and Cassie a closet full of clothes and an overflowing toy box.
He remembered well the sharp-edged knife of need, of want, when others had seemed to have it all and he had nothing. The humiliation of wearing secondhand jeans, owning two pairs of socks and one pair of shoes—the cheapest sneakers to be had—when starting grade school. His hands tightened into fists. Cassie would never suffer that sort of humiliation. Ever.
His mother had done her best, but being widowed and left with three boys to raise had not been easy. He had started mowing lawns and shoveling sidewalks to earn money when he was nine, and had been working ever since.
He shuddered, forced his fists to relax and shook off the memory before it dragged him deeper into the past. After closing Cassie’s bedroom door, he walked to the den, flipped on the desk light and settled into the leather chair.
Sharon’s words haunted him. He knew she’d spoken from the heart with the best of intentions, and that she’d spoken from experience. As a child of parents who were commercial fishermen, Sharon had suffered violent motion sickness on even the calmest of days at sea, so each fishing season she had lived with Grant and his family. She knew well what it was like to be left by her family for long periods of time. Which was exactly why Grant could not dismiss her words easily.
If only his mother lived closer than Seattle, if she were in better health…. He mentally snorted. If only…what a waste of time!
Both brothers lived in the lower forty-eight, thousands of miles from being any help. They had their own families, their own lives. And he knew with chilling certainty that Cassie did not need another sitter. She needed a mother.
A mother could not be had without that woman first becoming his wife.
Wife. He closed his eyes and fought the memories. But the night seemed ripe for ghosts of the past, so they came, stronger than he this time, whirling through his mind with a flood of muted color like old photographs, faded, comers curled.
Catherine, face flushed with happiness on their wedding day. Happier yet with the birth of Cassie. A fleeting happiness soon dimmed, replaced by a growing anger and discontentment She had hated Anchorage and wanted to move back to California, though she had known before their marriage he had every intention of living in Alaska and building a career there. Grant had hoped, as a last straw, that accepting a promotion to construction manager and moving to Valdez, building a new house, would please her, would somehow provide the miracle needed to salvage their marriage.