He hadn’t meant the words to come out like that. Wasn’t sure he’d meant them to come out at all. Somehow, over the years of observing rather than living, he’d forgotten how to communicate.
“What do you mean, can’t?” she challenged. “Don’t you mean won’t? That you don’t want to?”
No, that wasn’t what he’d intended. It had been so long since his wanting had played a part in anything that he no longer even asked himself what he wanted.
“You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.” He bit down hard, controlling the tension gripping him. “I’m not father material! Wouldn’t be good for a child.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Phyllis said, apparently not having heard his admonition about trust. Or perhaps it was the fact that he hadn’t done anything to earn her trust that had her arguing an inarguable point with him. “You’re great with your students,” she continued. “Patient, firm. It’s obvious they adore you.”
No one adored him. No one got that close. He made certain of that. “I control the grade book.”
He could feel her eyes on him again. “You really believe that’s all it is?”
“Of course.” That was all it could be. “I have a past, Phyllis,” he told her, sounding a little too adamant. They had to get over this once and for all so they need never visit it again. “I’ve made mistakes that would inevitably reflect on anyone closely associated with me.”
“Everyone reaching our age has made mistakes. Either that or they haven’t lived.”
“I can’t be a father to that child.”
He’d grown up the child of a convict. Knew how that fact insidiously wore away at a boy’s self-esteem, his confidence. His sense of who he was. Coming from a family of cons did something to a kid, made him something he might not otherwise have been, convinced him of things he didn’t even recognize until it was too late.
Matt might not be guilty of the crime of which he was convicted, might even have won his acquittal, but only because the evidence hadn’t been strong enough the second time around to pass the “beyond reasonable doubt” provision. No one really knew—except Matt himself—what had happened between him and Shelley Monroe. Shelley wasn’t certain herself, although Matt knew full well what she wanted to believe, what she chose to believe. She thought Matt had slept with her that day in his office when she’d been too drugged to remember what had happened. It was what she needed to think.
He understood that now.
Understood, too, that a lot of what had happened between them was his own damn fault. Shelley had longed for love and acceptance. At fourteen she’d already been conditioned by the life she led, the choices she’d made, to take her validation, her self-worth, from her body. Because of that, she’d needed badly to believe that Matt found her body worthy, that he considered her attractive. And so, like an idiot, he’d given her the verbal praise she’d seemed so desperately to require.
He hadn’t even been able to ease his guilt with the knowledge that he’d never ever thought about Shelley as a female. The idea of having sex with a fourteen-year-old girl, no matter how much older than her years, hadn’t entered his mind for even a second. But, he had, perhaps, fallen just a little in love with the woman he knew she could someday become.
Which was one of the reasons he sent her a support check every month. He might not be the father of her child, but he wasn’t completely free of responsibility for what had happened. Besides, then and now, he saw her potential—a potential she was well on her way to achieving.
Shelley was one of those rare people who had grit and talent, wit and compassion and that ability to see a bit deeper, go a bit farther, than most people.
Phyllis let out a heavy sigh, bringing Matt back from the hell he’d visited less and less over the past four years—and almost hourly, it seemed, during the past month. She’d stopped rocking. Rested her head on her pulled-up knees.
“What exactly do you want, then?” He could feel her gaze on him, but didn’t turn to meet it.
“I’m not sure,” he answered honestly. Having come this far, he didn’t see that he could answer her in any other way. “I just feel I should be doing something. Watching out for you, if nothing else.”
She took a quick breath and he held up his hand to forestall the argument he knew was coming. “We hardly know each other,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But at the moment, we share a very intimate problem and I can’t seem to forget that.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he continued when she didn’t have anything to say to that. “I’m honestly very glad that you’re doing so well with all of this, and I don’t want to make things more difficult for you. It just seems as though I’m getting off too easy here. Life doesn’t work that way.”
“I didn’t think of that.” Her voice was soft, compassionate, compelling him to meet her gaze. It was as warm as her voice had promised, and though he knew he should, Matt couldn’t look away. “What you’re saying makes perfect sense,” she went on slowly, still reaching inside him with that gentle, open look. “It might seem odd to admit this, considering the circumstances, but I guess I’ve been the selfish one here.”
He had to look away. Or drown. “I’d hardly say that.”
“I haven’t been fair to you, but I’m not sure how to remedy that.”
He wasn’t sure, either. And was finding it a little difficult to breathe. “Maybe we should just leave things as they are for the moment,” he said, stretching his legs in front of him in preparation for standing.
It was time to go.
“As long as you’re really okay…” he added.
“I’m fine,” she said, and sounded as if she meant it. She even met his eyes again, but somehow, though their eyes met, her gaze didn’t touch him as it had before. “But you—”
“Don’t worry about me. I’d say any discomfort I’m feeling is far less than I deserve.”
They stood together.
“You’ll call me if you need anything?” he asked, looking down at her, reluctant to leave her there—even while he couldn’t get away fast enough.
God, she was beautiful.
“I promise,” she told him, and he believed her.
And with that he was going to have to be satisfied.
IF PHYLLIS HADN’T LOVED Tory Sanders so much, she’d have skipped her younger friend’s baby shower the next day. She’d been nauseated almost every morning that previous week, though thankfully not at all during her time with Matt the day before, but nothing compared to the way she was feeling on Sunday afternoon. The taste of grape juice she’d had during communion at church had turned her stomach, and by two o’clock—the time for Tory’s shower—her traitorous insides had not yet righted themselves.
Because the shower was a double one, for Tory and for Randi Foster, both of whom were expecting their first babies within the next six weeks, they’d all decided to have it at Becca Parsons’s large home up on the mountain rather than in Phyllis’s little bungalow. As she gathered up the presents she’d wrapped the night before, Phyllis couldn’t help but be grateful for small blessings.
She’d have died for sure if she’d had to prepare food and tidy her house for the onslaught of all of her friends. As it was, when Cassie came by to pick her up, Phyllis had to make a mad dash from the car and back inside to her bathroom before she was ready to go.
What Cassie didn’t know was that the shower was a surprise for her, too. The entire town was turning out to celebrate with their golden girl.
“You have to tell them,” Cassie said softly when they were