April Fools’ Day, 12:00 noon
Four days after she’d overheard Ms. Carson and her father arguing, Heather clutched her books to her chest and walked down the senior wing of Eastside High School, listening to the banter, the cursing and the whispered words of love. She hadn’t visited this area of the school much, but knew her destination. Kids jostled to get around her, others made snide comments about moving her butt out of the way, but she just stopped and stared at what she’d come to see. Locker number 453. Empty now for two months. Did anyone really miss Ron?
“Hey, babe, need some help?”
Pivoting slightly, Heather looked at the tall, gangling boy with spiked hair and a bad case of acne. “Yeah,” she muttered. “I do.”
As she turned and walked away, she heard him murmur to his buddy, “Cra-zy.”
“That’s me. Crazy.”
No, Heather, you’re just sad.
She spotted Sandi and Matt ten feet down the hall. But they didn’t see her; they were glued to each other. Matt had his hand in the back pocket of Sandi’s jeans and she held on to his rib cage. They talked in low, secret tones and Heather did a U-turn to avoid them. Their closeness made her ache.
“Everyone has someone else,” she told herself, “but me.”
You have your father. And Ms. Carson.
“But they don’t have each other. Because of me. I drove her away, just like my own mother.”
Nah, kid. Remember what the lady said. You aren’t responsible for other people’s decisions. Particularly the decisions of adults.
“Yeah, sure.”
Heather traveled across the building with plodding steps. The counseling suite was a zoo, as usual, and she slipped into Ms. Carson’s office unnoticed. Scanning the room where she’d sat with people who cared about her, she pictured Ms. Carson teasing Matt into agreement, coaxing Sandi into talking and urging Ron to share. The vision was immediately transposed with the same woman, weeping in the DiMarco living room.
Barraged by memories she couldn’t stand to think about, she removed from her backpack a small picture the school photographer had taken of her, scribbled something on the back of it and placed it in the corner of the metal frame that held Lisa’s photo. Then she left, quietly and unobserved, like she did everything.
o0o
April Fools’ Day, 1:00 p.m.
Nick hit the punching bag as hard as he could, time and time again, but it didn’t help.
“Nothing will, you fool.”
I can think of one thing.
He landed a mean right jab. “Don’t even mention it.”
Listen, buddy, you can’t kid me. I saw those scribbles on the legal pad. All the reasons you should call her.
“But I didn’t call, did I?” he said as he pummeled the bag with five quick ones in a row.
No, instead, you tossed and turned for hours just like you have for five nights running. Ever since you gave her that stupid ultimatum.
He whacked even harder but finally had to stop and wipe the sweat from his eyes with his old football jersey. “Think of something else, DiMarco, like how happy Heather was this morning.”
Almost bubbling, she’d come into the kitchen, kissed him and Jason a sunny hello and chattered through breakfast.
Pretty sudden change, isn’t it?
She’d been morose for most of the past week, but he’d thought it was because his vile mood had rubbed off on her.
Viciously tearing off his gloves, he headed for the track. Joris, Beech and Stowe really understood the need to work off tension when they installed this gym on the ground floor, he thought as he hit the specially designed pavement. And someday it would all be commonplace in his life. This exercise facility. A chic office. And lots and lots of money.
“I don’t need anything else,” he told himself as he sped around the circle.
You need Amanda.
“No, I don’t. I’ll find another woman, sexier, more experienced, more understanding of my needs.”
Fool!
o0o
April Fools’ Day, 1:15 p.m.
“Really, Amanda, I can’t believe you asked me to meet you in this hovel.” Robert Carson sniffed at the fast-food restaurant with distaste, sipping coffee, the only thing he would risk ordering. He looked so out of place in his five-thousand-dollar suit that the sight was almost comical.
Amanda hid her smirk behind the greasy, dripping burger she’d purposely chosen, along with a biggie fries and milk shake. Robert Carson detested fatty food and eyed hers with derision. “I warned you this was a bad day for me to meet you,” she said. “When you insisted, the only time I could spare was lunch. Since my break is so short, I thought it expeditious to meet near school.”
All right, I admit I’m baiting him. But Nick said...
Her smile faded, feeling again the gnawing, aching hole inside her caused by Nick’s absence from her life.
Robert was talking and she focused in to alleviate some of the pain. “I decided it was time for a heart-to-heart chat. Your mother and I are concerned about you and your involvement with this DiMarco family I’ve done some investigating and there are things about him you should know.”
Dropping the burger, Amanda stared openmouthed at her father. “You’ve investigated Nick?”
“Yes, I have. Craig mentioned his tumultuous marriage to Joshua Cohen’s wife, but do you know the details?”
Amanda began to sweat. First her palms got clammy. Then her forehead. Robert recited information Amanda already knew...they’d married young, the two pregnancies...no money...
Leaning forward, her father uncharacteristically took her hand. “He isn’t exactly the kind of man you’re used to, Amanda. He’s too earthy, too of the streets.”
She stopped Robert’s catalog of Nick’s shortcomings with a vicious shake of her head. Her heart beat faster and her stomach churned. “When did you have Nick investigated?”
Scowling at the interruption, Robert pulled back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Right after you stormed out on us at Christmas.” He peered at her for a moment, and his features softened. “I know we haven’t always gotten along, dear, but I wish you’d listen to me on this. I care about you and only want what’s best for you.”
Amanda believed him for a moment. There was something different about this whole conversation. “Father,” she asked, “what did you hope to accomplish by inviting Nick to the gala?”
Robert kept his attorney’s unflappable composure, but his eyes glimmered with conflicting emotions. “Don’t make me spell it out, Amanda.” When she remained silent, he sighed and said, “I believe you needed to see he doesn’t fit in our world. You needed to see he tried it once before and failed miserably. You needed to see him beside Porter and Craig.”
Amanda wanted to laugh. Porter and Craig looked liked milquetoast next to Nick. Neither had ever been able to set her pulse spinning with just a glance.
Very carefully, she folded her napkin and pushed her food away. She looked over her father’s shoulder and tried to understand his point of view. Though she was angry at his machinations, she knew it wasn’t his fault that she’d lost Nick.
“Father, Nick and I are no longer seeing each other for a lot of reasons, not because of what you’ve done. But I resent your interference in my life and you need to know that I won’t tolerate it anymore. If you continue to try to control me, I won’t be a part of your life at all.” She held his gaze and was surprised by the hurt she saw there.
“Amanda,” he said hoarsely, sitting forward to grasp her hand again. His was cold. “I’ve already lost one daughter. I can’t lose you, too.”
Her throat clogged. There had been too much loss, too much sadness in her life. But she had to be strong. “Then you need to think about what I’ve said.” She stood before she could relent. “You have another chance with me, but I swear it’s the last one.” She turned on her heel and left Robert Carson alone in a foreign world, and with his foreign emotions.
o0o
April Fools’ Day, 3:00 p.m.
The DiMarco apartment was still and silent when Heather let herself in. It was never this quiet, because someone was usually here for them. Or occasionally it was just her and Jason. But she was never alone. Today, the eeriness of it suited her mood.
“I’m alone because I lied,” she said into the emptiness.
She’d called her grandmother from school and told her she wouldn’t be getting off the bus at the older DiMarcos’ house today, as planned. She’d said she was going to Tammy’s for dinner instead and her father had okayed this.
“Doesn’t matter anymore, though, does it?”
Of course it matters. Ms. Carson just told you yesterday how much you matter to her.
Carefully hanging her jacket on the coat tree, Heather straightened the throw rug and walked to her room. She put her books on the desk and stowed her backpack in the closet. Then she remade her bed and sat down on it. It would be good to be free from all this. Free from the constant worry over disappointing someone, from the fear of making anyone unhappy. She saw again her father burying his face in his hands.
“I sure blew that one, just like everything else. Well, no more. No more.”
Unbidden, she beard Ms. Carson’s voice. Heather, I can help you through this. So can your dad.
But they just didn’t understand.
Restless, she sprang from the bed, went to her dresser and removed a bag. Inside was a fragile porcelain unicorn. It was delicately detailed, and Aunt Beth had said it reminded her of Heather so she’d bought it at the World’s Fair.
Jason loved this figurine. When he was sad or in pain, Heather would let him hold it, stroke it, and keep it on his nightstand until he fell asleep. Quietly, she made her way to his room. She opened the door and strode over to straighten the bedspread and put his sneakers away. It was a chore for Jason to keep his room tidy, but he tried real hard.
Looking around at his superhero posters and his baseball photos, she scowled. “Why you, Jase? You’re so sweet, so nice, so uncomplaining. Life just isn’t fair.”
But you know that, Heather. And Ms. Carson’s right, you have to make it as fair as you can and tough out the rest.
Heather placed the bag on his bed where he wouldn’t miss it, wiped at the tears that were flowing at the thought of never again seeing the brother she loved so much, and left his room.
Back in the living area, Heather took one more glance around. Her eyes lighted on a photograph. Her father was on one knee for the camera, holding her on his leg, grinning at the lens. For the first time, she realized her mother must have taken the shot. It was more than she could bear. She raised her hand and traced the outline of his face. “I love you, Daddy. I’m sorry.”
Again, her counselor’s words came through. He loves you so much Heather, so do your grandparents, and Aunt Beth. Think about that when you’re feeling down.
“No,” she said aloud into the empty apartment. “They’ll be better off without me.”
But suddenly she wasn’t so sure. To rid herself of doubt, she walked around the room, turning facedown every single picture of her that was there. Next to one on the bookshelf was a framed snapshot she hadn’t seen before—it was of Ms. Carson, her and Jason. Heather was mesmerized by the happiness on the counselor’s face as she peered out at the camera. And Jason looked happier than she’d ever seen him. But it was her own image that struck her the most. She had that sense of joy, too. And it was thanks to the woman in the picture.
Holding the photo close, she walked to the bathroom, but slower this time, less sure.
o0o
April Fools’ Day, 4:00 p.m.
Nick rubbed his sore eyes and sank into the leather chair. The report he was working on was giving him a headache in more ways than one. It outlined several borderline procedures for yet another wealthy client to pay fewer taxes. Ah, the luxuries of the rich. Soon, they would be his, too.
Amanda doesn’t want that kind of life anymore.
He slapped the papers down on the desk. “Well, I do.”
But did he really? If it meant spending his days keeping the rich and their money together? Didn’t he want to do something useful with his life? Like Adam Sherwood.
Like Amanda.
Swearing vilely under his breath, he leaned back and closed his eyes. It always kept coming back to her, to a pair of azure eyes that sparkled with laughter at some silly joke, that darkened with arousal when he brushed her lips with his thumb, that shone with admiration when he did something she approved of.
“So she’d rather see you in a job like Adam’s,” he said aloud again to no one in particular. “Who cares?”
You do. So does Heather. So does Jason, for that matter.
Nick forced his thoughts away from Amanda to Heather. Glancing at the clock, he wondered if she’d reached his mother’s house yet. Something passed through him, some sense of foreboding like the one that he’d had the day he found her with the photo album of Suzanne. He picked up the phone just as there was a knock on the door.
A young, well-groomed lawyer poked his head in the office. “Oh, good, Nick, you’re here. Mr. Joris is ready to discuss the new file now.” The junior partner was everything Nick wanted to be. Why did he seem insipid today?
Shaking off the introspection, Nick disconnected and made a mental note to try his mother as soon as he could. He followed the man out of the office, still feeling uneasy.
o0o
April Fools’ Day, 5:00 p.m.
Amanda bent into the bar, mercilessly stretching her leg muscles. She tried to clear her mind, but images haunted her. Matt and Sandi groping for some direction in this crazy world. Her father’s confusion as she left the restaurant. The look of horror on Nick’s face when she told him she was going to call Suzanne.
But thoughts of Heather dominated. She did two pliés and knitted her forehead, remembering how she’d discovered the teenager had been in her office. It wasn’t until she was about to leave that she saw Heather’s picture tucked into the frame of Lisa’s photo. By chance, she turned it over. There was something about the message that bothered her but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She was touched by the declaration of Heather’s love for her, but something was just not right.
The instructor led them through ronds de jambe and several pas de bourrée. Amanda lifted her foot, thinking about the counseling sessions. Nick had let Heather keep seeing her professionally, at least for now. She’d met with the girl once alone and once in the group. Heather didn’t say much either time but Amanda noticed a strange calm about her that was frightening.
True to her word, Amanda had phoned Suzanne Cohen, but Heather’s mother was out of town for a week, so Amanda hadn’t been able to get that ball rolling, either. Heather had seemed to accept this delay with weary resignation.
The dance steps got complicated soon and she was forced to concentrate on them. But in the cool down, her mind turned to Nick.
God, she missed him, his long slow kisses, his hand trailing down her spine, how full she felt when he was inside her.
You could call him.
No, he’d made his position clear. She needed to concentrate on Heather. She was so vulnerable now, so like Lisa, she...
Lisa...Heather...the frame...I love you...
Amanda stopped in the middle of a long, low stretch. No. Heather’s message had said, I love you too. I love you too. Heather had obviously heard Amanda say she loved her. And there was only one time Amanda had done that. Five nights ago in the DiMarco living room.
No! No! Heather must have overheard their whole, horrible confrontation over Suzanne.
Lisa...Heather...Ron...Heather...Oh, my God, not again, please, not again.
Leaping off the floor, quicker and faster than she had done during any of the dance routines, Amanda rushed to her backpack and pulled out her cell, punched in Nick’s cell number. It rang once, three times, six times...no answer. She spotted the directory and made a split-second decision. She’d call Nick’s office, and if he thought this was a ploy, then so be it. She would not ignore her grim hunch about his daughter.
This phone rang only once before a brisk, efficient voice answered, “Joris, Beech and Stowe. May I help you?”
“I need to talk with Nick DiMarco. He’s a clerk in your office.”
There was a slight pause. Amanda wondered if perhaps clerks didn’t get phone calls.
“Just a moment. I’ll try to locate him.”
Oh, Lord, Heather may not have a moment.
The woman came back after what seemed like hours. “I’m sorry. Mr. DiMarco is in with Mr. Joris.”
“Then interrupt them, please,” Amanda said, annoyed.
“We don’t interrupt the partners for anonymous callers. Perhaps you’ll leave your name and I’ll have Mr. DiMarco return your call when he’s available.”
Amanda hung up. In the time it took for the receptionist to patronize her, she’d made the decision to go to his office. Her dance class was only five minutes from where she’d once dropped Nick off at the high rise in the city.
Fifteen minutes later, she strode through the marble and oak lobby to the receptionist’s desk. She hadn’t thought of how she looked until she saw the woman take in her appearance. Still dressed in mauve tights, leotard and baggy shirt, Amanda hadn’t even changed her beribboned ballet shoes.
“I need to see Nick DiMarco,” she said without preamble.
The receptionist scrutinized her with disdain.
Amanda stood tall and implacable before her. “I just telephoned. He’s in with Joris. Call him immediately.”
The woman sucked in her breath. “I told you, I can’t do that.”
Drawing herself up, Amanda assumed a combination of her socialite haughtiness and her best schoolteacher voice. “Yes, you can. This is a family emergency. If you don’t summon him right away, I’ll go in there myself.”
When she saw the receptionist reach for the phone, she took a step forward so she came up flush with the intricately carved desk. “If you call security, a teenager’s life will be on your conscience. Do you really want to live with that?”
It did the trick. While she waited for Nick, she tried to call his home again.
After three long minutes, Nick hustled through the door. “Amanda,” he said hoarsely, scanning her exercise attire. “What is it?” His demeanor revealed no annoyance, no embarrassment, just genuine concern.
Pulling him aside and out of earshot of the clearly curious receptionist, she tried to remain calm. “Nick, where is Heather?”
“At my mother’s. Why?”
Oh, God, had she just imagined all this because of Lisa and Ron?
“Why?” He gripped her arm.
She bit her lip. “I’m worried about her. A few things happened in school and I—”
But she broke off when he pulled out his cell and clicked into a number. “I’ve had a bad feeling about her all day. She was unusually cheerful...Yes, Mom, hi, it’s Nick. Is Heather there?”
Amanda watched him, holding her hands to her mouth, palms together, thumbs hooked under her chin. She knew the answer to his question before he confirmed it. “No, no, that’s okay. Yes, she’s probably at Tammy’s and forgot to tell me. No, I know you can’t go over there with no car. Stay with Jason and I’ll call you back.”
His face was ashen when he hung up and his whole body sagged. “Did you drive?”
“Yes. I’m illegally parked out front.”
Nick grabbed her hand and ran for the door. They were inside the car and on their way before he spoke again. “You think she may do something to herself, don’t you?”
It was the hardest question Amanda ever had to answer. “Yes, Nick, I do.”
As they spun away, Amanda reached over and cradled his hand in hers. He held it tightly on the torturous trip to his house. Both were haunted by their own private demons and neither spoke.
o0o
April Fools’ Day, 6:00 p.m.
Heather lined the pills up next to each other and then sorted them into little piles by color. Frowning, she got up and took milk from the refrigerator. The painkillers her father used for his knee were in capsules and she’d never learned to swallow those things. Deliberately, she broke open the few that were left and dissolved them into the glass of liquid. She knew she’d be able to chew the remainder of the codeine pills Aunt Beth had left here, but would have a harder time with Jason’s prescription drug. Without touching any of them, she sank into the chair and closed her eyes.
“It’ll be over. No more blame. No more guilt. And, the best—no more pain.”
And no more Jason, no more your dad, no more Ms. Carson.
She opened her eyes and glimpsed at the picture of the three of them again, which she’d set up on the table. “There’s no other way to escape it.”
But louder, and clearer than the voice in her head, she heard, There are always other ways to stop the pain. Ms. Carson had said it a thousand times.
She’s right, kid. There are other ways.
Slowly, Heather got up from the table, left the macabre banquet untouched. Picking up the frame, she trudged to the back of the apartment. She entered the bedroom, dimly lit from the fading spring sun, and inhaled all those wonderful smells that were her father. A tear trickled down her cheek as she thought of how she’d hurt him.
His ever-present legal pad was on his night table and she saw his hand-written notes. She read aloud. “Number one—You’re just being stubborn. Number 2—She’s probably right about Suzanne. Number 3—You aren’t objective about this.”
Heather read all nine reasons, then dropped onto the bed. Ms. Carson had said, Adults have to make their own way, Heather. You can’t change things for them. And you aren’t responsible.
Was Daddy making his own way? Would he take care of this himself?
Suddenly, Heather was really tired, but she felt calmer and a little better, too. Carefully setting the paper down, but holding the picture close to her heart, she crawled up on the bed, hugging her father’s pillow to her chest like a baby’s security blanket. Its scent comforted her and she closed her eyes.