Chapter Twenty-One
Three weeks later
“My God, this place…” Melody walked in after her long honeymoon in southern France, looking healthy, happy and very pregnant. “What sort of miracles have you worked in here, Kayla?”
Kayla blushed but kept tidying the glassware. She had no real concept of how to take an honest compliment, so she deflected them or ignored them altogether. “I changed a few things. I hope you don’t mind too much.”
“Hell no I don’t. This layout is a million times better.” As she eased herself onto a bar stool in the quiet before a busy fall Friday night, Melody exhaled with relief. “My feet… Your brother made me walk all over France, I swear it.” She leaned forward, peering at the sketch book Kayla had left open near the service area of the bar. “You’re chock full of surprises,” she said, turning the thing around. “This is beautiful.”
Kayla reached for it and slapped it shut, her face flushing hotter. “It’s nothing. Therapy shit. You know.” She’d been obsessed with drawing kids lately. Little kids playing, eating, sleeping, all in normal homes. But her drawings contained something darker. Every child she drew seemed miserable and terrified—at total odds with their apparent happy surroundings. They haunted her. But she couldn’t stop drawing them.
As she tucked the book under the bar, she changed the subject, taking the opportunity to fill Melody in on everything she’d missed. While they were catching up, Kayla sensed herself relaxing, re-inhabiting her happy place—the one she pretty much only found here, at work in the FitzPub, pouring booze she could never drink.
“All right, chica, I’m gonna check the back of the house and spend a few hours on my computer. Trent wouldn’t even let me bring the thing, you know. Such a bossy pants, that man.”
Kayla smiled at the sight of her new sister-in-law, thrilled beyond measure at the fact of her, that the woman had gone out of her way to find her and pull her into Trent’s universe. Something she doubted she would ever have done on her own. Which meant she never would have met Brock, of course.
The thought of him sent dark clouds scudding across her blue-sky attitude. He’d avoided her like the very plague since the wedding weekend. Hell, he’d managed to avoid her the rest of the wedding night. Not that she’d made herself accessible. She’d run inside, taken a long hot shower and fought the urge to cut herself for a few hours before falling into bed while the rest of the guests danced and drank the night away not far below her. The next morning, he’d been long gone by the time she’d made it down to the kitchen for a quiet breakfast while everyone else had slept off their hangovers.
She’d resumed her life, slipping back into it with ease while Trent and Melody honeymooned overseas and Taylor spent the month with her mother. It had been a relief. But she missed him more than she’d ever thought possible. And every day it got worse.
Her phone buzzed its way across the bar where she’d left it. She picked it up, her pulse racing at the sight of the number.
“Hello, is this Kayla Hettinger?”
“Yes, hi.” She walked around to the other side of the bar and sat before she fell over.
“Hi. This is Andrew Walker with Child Protective Services.”
“Yes, I know.” She winced. “Sorry. I’m just…eager to know the answer.”
“Yes, well, ah… I’m afraid I don’t have great news for you.”
“Oh.” She picked up a coaster and bent it in half, trying to keep from cursing the guy out. “So…the answer is no.”
“I’m afraid so. Your history, you see. You’ve been committed for drug addiction and you have a police record. I realize that you’ve turned things around but…”
“But I’m still a useless junkie and can’t foster that little girl.”
“That’s about the sum of it, yes.”
“Can you tell me one thing?”
“I can try.”
“Is she safe? Is she with a real family? Not one who fosters for the extra dough?”
“I can’t… Hang on a second.” She heard some shuffling around and the click of a door. “Ms. Hettinger, I’m not allowed to tell you anything about the child.”
“About June, you mean.”
“Yes, June. But…” He hesitated. “We have a family that’s trying to adopt her, not just foster her.”
“Oh.” Kayla knew she should feel happy for little June Dessen—the baby who’d clung to her for dear life that God-awful afternoon in the hospital. But she didn’t. She’d wanted to believe that her face-to-face plea to the Child Services people would have convinced them. But once a junkie, always a junkie. “Good,” she said, trying like hell to distance herself from it, from the girl, from the whole thing. “Thank you.” As she was about to end the call before she embarrassed herself by bursting into tears, the guy stopped her with his next words.
“I did check to see if they’d let you volunteer somewhere. You know, so you can help other kids. Not every agency’s amenable to people with records like yours but…”
“But?”
“I’m going to email you a list of places that said they’d consider your application. I suggest you try one of them, if you want to help.”
“Okay. I will. Gotta go.” She ended the call and gripped the phone for a few seconds, forcing herself down and away from the irrational anger. June Dessen is going to be adopted, not fostered. She’s going to be fine. Move on with your life, now, Kayla.
She straightened her shoulders and got to work for the night, shoving baby June and grownup Brock out of her head as best she could. When Trent landed in one of the bar chairs, there to pick Melody up a while early so he could have a beer and talk to her, the sight of him made her ears buzz. She hadn’t wanted to ruin Melody’s wedding weekend any more than it had already been tainted by the weather and various trauma-dramas so she’d acted as normal as possible around her brother.
But she would never, ever forgive him for spilling the truth about her disgusting past to Brock, no matter his motivation. As he settled in, trying to get her to look at him so he could gauge the level of her anger, she ducked into the kitchen to avoid him. When Melody wandered out of her office, packed to go home, she smiled at Kayla and tried to pull her out into the bar. “Let’s get dinner, just the three of us. You’re off in twenty and it’s not busy anymore.”
“No, no, thanks. You guys go on. I have…some things to do.”
Melody peered at her, her dark eyes concerned. “What did he do?”
“Who? What? Nothing,” she insisted as she bent to putting silverware and napkin packets together.
“I’m sorry, but that’s not how this family is going to operate.” She put her hands over Kayla’s, forcing her to drop the napkin. “It’s taken us too long to get our collective act together, Kayla. And I’m not going to waste any more time lying to each other. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Kayla sighed. “Can we not do this here?” She jerked her chin toward the kitchen staff.
“Fine. Come with me.” She leaned out into the bar. “Trent, mi amore, join us in my office, please?”
“No… Melody, please.”
“Excuse me, but did you not hear me a few seconds ago?” The woman’s eyes flashed. Kayla bit her lip, realizing that she had nothing in the face of her sister-in-law’s strong personality. “I thought so. Now, come on.”
She and Trent sat in the chairs across from Melody, who sat behind her desk, her hands folded on the surface in front of her. “So, who’s going to tell me what’s going on?”
Trent glanced at Kayla then at his wife. “I told Brock about her…about the abuse. The night before the wedding. We fought, as you know, because I thought he’d hurt her. That he’d put some bullshit move on her which had made her cut herself.” He lifted his chin. “I stand by it, though. He needed to know.”
Melody’s eyes widened. She glanced at Kayla for confirmation. Kayla nodded, her guts roiling. Everyone knew about her—about how disgusting and filthy she was. She shivered, picturing herself in one of many hotel rooms, waiting for whatever man was paying her stepfather. “I need to go.” She stood. “Now that we’re all clear here.”
Melody motioned for her to sit then turned to face her new husband. “Trent, that is a serious betrayal of Kayla’s trust. I don’t blame her for being mad at you.” Her nostrils were flaring. Kayla could tell she was keeping a tight rein on her anger and admired her for it.
Trent sighed and slumped into his chair. Kayla almost forgave him then. Last thing he deserved was both his wife and his sister ganging up on him. But then she recalled how Brock had looked at her after she’d thrown herself at him for that last kiss in the rain. He’d been sickened by her. And she knew why now.
“Don’t worry about it, Melody. Trent and I will work ourselves out.” She sensed Trent’s gaze on her. But she refused to meet it. “You guys should go on home. You probably need to get off your feet.” She elbowed Trent, knowing he’d leap to attention if he thought Melody was overtired or otherwise taxed. As she figured he would, he flew into bossy mode, demanding that Melody stop playing at psychotherapy and get home to rest, pronto.
“I haven’t seen or talked to him since that night,” she blurted out as the two of them were headed out of the door. “If that’s any comfort to you, brother.” She emphasized the last word, still furious with him, but figuring it for the best—as Brock had said that night.
“It’s not, K. I don’t want you to be unhappy. And I told him that night to go up to the house and find you, talk to you, work through it. I take it that he didn’t do that.”
She twisted her fingers together. At night, before she drifted into restless sleep, she could hear his voice, calling her name. His fist, pounding on her bedroom door that night until he’d given up and had gone away, leaving her in peace. “He tried,” she admitted.
Melody touched her cheek. “I hate to see you so upset, chica.”
“I’m a grownup, Melody. I’ll sort out my own shit. Now go on and rest, enjoy your married life back in Michigan.” Things were out of balance again, now that they were back. It was making her antsy. It was making her want Brock even worse—just to see him, hear his voice, know he was around. But he’d steered clear of her and she didn’t have the nerve to ask Evelyn about him, not after that God-awful wedding. No matter how badly she wanted to, or how worried she might be about his mental state. She’d gone back to her old meeting place, the crappy community center near her just as crappy halfway house, thinking—hoping—he might join her. But of course, he hadn’t.
He knew her worst secrets. She had no doubt, based on his disgusted reaction to her after their last kiss, that he found her as filthy as she was. So at least she knew that much about him. That if she’d gotten around to telling him everything, he would have bolted in horror. So maybe she should be thanking Trent for saving her some heartache, not shunning him, unable to even look him in the eye without wanting to scream.