After her items arrived and starting selling, of course.
Twenty thousand was less than she’d made at eighteen.
But the commission was more than she could hope to make anytime in the near future.
Still, she’d be gone most of the time. Away.
Mirabelle had given her two months to think about the offer. The position wouldn’t be available for another three months.
She had time to weigh the pros and cons. But her gut was telling her that she couldn’t take the job. She wasn’t going anywhere until Tatum had graduated from high school and was settled in college. And then she still wasn’t leaving. She’d learned that in her life family came first, and for her, because of her past, that meant that she had to be where they were. In case they needed her.
So that they knew she was there for them.
She opened her laptop. Opened a blank word processing document and started to type.
About a little boy who was hiding things. Who had thoughts about violence. And a gentle heart. A boy who was angry, and who loved to read and have family picnics. Who wanted to lash out and liked puppies. A boy who was smart enough to keep his true feelings hidden, talented enough to mask his feelings with an artistic presentation, tender enough to see the value in doing the project at all and young enough to put his frustrations right there for all to see. If they looked.
She was telling the story that she saw when she looked at Kent Paulson’s collage. She might be right. Or not. She could be reading him spot-on, or be a bit off the mark.
But she knew she wasn’t completely off. Talia had a special talent for interpreting people’s collage work. Her instructors in college had seen it. The psychologist who supervised her master’s thesis work, a project involving the use of collage in assessing children, saw it.
She finished the report. Sent it to Sedona’s home printer. Only one light bobbed on the ocean now. Didn’t mean it was the only boat out there. Inevitably there were others. But it looked like the only one. Looked starkly alone.
Like her. She wasn’t alone. She had family who loved her. Really and truly loved her. They’d have to really love her to see the real her in spite of her past.
Yet as she sat there, contemplating the report she would deliver in the morning, she had never felt so starkly alone.
For one week, she’d almost felt like a mother. From a distance. On the outside looking in. But still...
And now, she’d see Mrs. Barbour in the morning and then just be Talia again. A woman who’d given up her son for adoption seconds after his birth.
Not if you’re doing it for me. And him.
Tatum’s words had been playing in her head all weekend. Her little sister wanted to meet her nephew. Her only nephew as far as any of them knew. Tatum needed family almost as bad as Talia did.
And what about Kent? She’d abandoned him once. Was it right or wrong to do so again? He’d seemed to like her.
Maybe he’d just liked her art project.
His “see ya” hadn’t sounded particularly...anything. Just polite. It certainly hadn’t seemed to faze the boy that they were never going to see each other again.
If ten-year-olds even thought that way. She had. But then, she’d been an adult at five.
What if he thought she’d still be around the school? That he’d be seeing her just like he saw all of his other former teachers?
Was she really thinking about seeing him again?
Could she keep pretending she wasn’t looking for a way?
But it had to be for the right reasons. She had to do it for others. Not just for herself. Not to give her a sense of self-worth or because it felt good in the moment.
The thought was followed by another. She wasn’t in a position to determine what was best for Kent.
She should just let it be. Deliver her report to the principal and leave well enough alone.
Unless she really believed she could help him.
What if he looked her up as an adult and she found out that he’d suffered something she could have prevented?
She had a plan. Not that she’d told anyone. But she knew about a program that might help Kent Paulson.
If she dared take this any further.
If she dared... Because she might get hurt? Or because someone else might?
The truthful answer to that was both.
One o’clock passed. Then two. Talia sat on the back porch, watching the bobbing light become two again. And then three. Ships passing in the night.
She held her coat close, shivering. Because she couldn’t do anything else. She was frozen on the precipice of making a new life with better choices, or remaining in the old one in a new city with the same old mistakes.
How did she trust herself to know the difference?
She’d thought, when she’d run away at sixteen, and then again at eighteen, that she was doing the right thing. Not all women grew up innocent. Not all were mother material...
She sat there until her mind quieted and there was only resolution left. She stood, just before three, and went inside to go to bed. She would have to get up in a few hours, but she knew what she was going to do when she did.
BY TEN O’CLOCK Monday morning Sherman had already chaired a couple of productive meetings. His staff was scurrying about the office, making things happen. He’d suffused the air with a positive energy that would make him a mint if he could sell it.
And every time the phone rang his stomach lurched. Kent was back in class today. They’d had a fairly decent weekend. If you didn’t count the rudeness at the table when he’d taken him to meet the representative of an animal rights coalition for lunch on Sunday. He’d thought Kent would enjoy hearing about the animals. Had even contemplated the idea of adopting a pet, if Kent asked him.
But his son had put on the headphones to the video game Sherman hadn’t even known he’d brought along and ignored every attempt he made to quietly get Kent to put the thing away.
At eleven, when Gina stuck her head into his office, announcing that Kent’s principal was on the phone, he was almost relieved to get it over with. The principal had mentioned a private school to him a couple of times, a place where troubled boys went. He was not sending Kent to one of those places.
But he might have to find an alternative. A private school that he could afford. So that Kent could get himself kicked out of there, too?
“This is Sherman,” he said into the phone, his eyes closed as though he could block what was coming.
“I’m sorry to bother you...” Sherman leaned as far back as his chair would go, throwing an ankle up over his knee, as Mrs. Barbour rattled on about another teacher, one he hadn’t yet heard of, who’d come to her about Kent. Eyes still closed to the rest of the world, he let her prattle on, knowing that somehow they were going to get through this.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. His old man’s words to him before he’d left with his army unit for the overseas mission that had killed him. Remember that, son. His father’s last words to him.
“I’ve read the report, Mr. Paulson, and I think it would be in Kent’s best interest if you at least met with her.”
Wait. What? Foot landing on the ground with a thud, he sat up. Opened his eyes and said, “Why does she want