Crossroads (6 page)

At just that moment Mitch looked at her, and she felt herself dissolving in the warmth of his dark brown eyes. A sudden surge of longing swept over her, setting off warning bells in the recesses of her heart and sending shock waves rippling through her. For a woman who thought she'd tamed her physical needs, who had convinced herself that she'd built up an immunity to their power, it was extremely disconcerting to discover that it had simply taken the right man to
reawaken her long-dormant desire. The fact that she wasn't in the market for romance—nor, she suspected, was he—didn't seem to matter. The attraction was real and seemed to have a life of its own, which scared her. And made her want to turn and flee. In fact, she intended to do just that at the first opportunity. In the meantime, she needed to focus on something else.

“So tell me about the farm. How big is it?” she asked, grasping at the first thought that came to mind.

If Mitch was surprised by the abrupt change of subject, or noticed the slightly breathless quality of her voice, he didn't let on. “It's a nice spread,” he replied easily. “About five hundred acres. Uncle Ray leases most of it to a tenant farmer now, but he still works about a hundred acres. It's enough to keep us busy.”

“Do you spend all your free time there?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much. It's a nice change of pace.”

“I have some friends who own a farm near Jefferson City,” Tess told him. “It's smaller than your uncle's—probably a couple hundred acres, mostly fields, some woods. Bruce and I used to go out there sometimes on the weekends. He always enjoyed it. Of course, that was in the old days. I doubt that a farm would hold much appeal for him now. It wouldn't be cool.” She sighed. “It seems like sometimes…sometimes I hardly know him anymore,” she confessed in a disheartened tone.

Her face grew sad and forlorn, and Mitch fought a powerful impulse to reach over and take her hand. He deliberately reached for the potato salad instead.
“Adolescence is tough on everyone,” he commiserated, purposely adopting a clinical tone. “But most kids get through it unscathed. Some just need a little more help than others.”

Tess nodded. “Like Bruce. How do you spot kids like him?”

He shrugged. “I pay attention, especially to mid-term transfers. They often have problems adjusting and finding their niche. It's not rocket science.”

“No. It's more difficult than rocket science,” Tess declared emphatically. “Because human beings aren't as predictable as rockets. Especially adolescents.”

“They can be just as volatile, though. But there are patterns of behavior that pretty consistently indicate trouble, if you know what to watch for.”

“Which clearly you do. How did you learn so much about kids, Mitch?”

It was an innocent question. But his gut twisted painfully, and he found it difficult to swallow the bite of potato salad he'd just taken. They were dangerously close to off-limits territory, and he bought himself a moment to formulate an answer by taking a long, slow drink of his soda. “I was young once,” he replied at last, aware that his response was incomplete and unsatisfactory. But it was all he was prepared to offer.

Before her reporter skills could kick in, prompting her to ask a follow-up question, he turned the tables. “You mentioned in our first meeting that Bruce has a problem with self-esteem. As Chris pointed out in the meeting you attended, self-image is a big part of what drives adolescent behavior. Kids who have issues in this area are often susceptible to peer pressure.
But it's a bit unusual to find that problem in teenagers who have at least one very loving, involved parent in their life—which Bruce does. It's more common when kids come from homes where the parents are apathetic or even abusive.” He hesitated, and when he spoke again his tone was more personal than professional. “Can I ask you something, Tess?”

She broke off a piece of her brownie and let it crumble through her fingers. She knew where this was leading. Peter. She'd never talked about her relationship with her ex-husband—to anyone. Had never felt the need to dredge up those unhappy memories. Until now. Suddenly she wanted to share the trauma—at least some of it—with this man whose kind, sympathetic eyes seemed to invite confidences.
Please, Lord,
she prayed silently,
help me find the courage to share this hurt I've held so long in my heart. And the courage to trust my instincts about this man, who seems so compassionate and caring.

Her heart thudding painfully in her chest, she drew a deep breath and spoke quietly. “You want to know about Bruce's father.”

“I
have
wondered where he fits into the picture,” Mitch admitted, his eyes watchful, his tone careful.

“He doesn't.”

Mitch looked surprised. “There's no contact at all?”

“No. Unless he happens to remember to send a check to Bruce at Christmas. But the lack of contact isn't a negative in this case.” Tess took another deep breath and gazed at him directly. “Peter—my ex-husband—was a lousy father. It's as simple as that. When we first got married, he said he didn't want
children right away. When Bruce came along two years later—quite unexpectedly—I accepted it. Peter didn't. I thought he'd eventually come around, but he never did. He resented Bruce for intruding on our lives, and he held him to impossible standards. Bruce tried so hard to please him—” her voice broke, and she forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath “—but nothing he did was good enough. In the beginning I tried to make excuses for Peter, but kids are smart. Bruce knew how Peter felt about him. Yet he still kept trying to win his love. Only, Peter didn't have any to give—to Bruce or, as I finally realized, to me.”

The next part was even harder, and Tess dropped her gaze to stare at the mangled brownie on her plate. When she spoke her voice was so soft that Mitch had to lean closer to hear. “I married Peter when I was twenty. He was the first man I'd ever seriously dated, and I mistook infatuation for love. He was handsome and ambitious and successful, and I was flattered when he took a fancy to me. It was only later that I realized what the real attraction was—my father's political contacts. Peter was a lobbyist for the theme park industry, and my dad was a state senator. He had the connections Peter wanted. I was just…just the means to an end.”

Even after so many years the admission hurt, and Tess paused to draw a shaky breath before venturing a look at Mitch. Instead of the pity she'd been afraid of finding in his eyes, she saw something else entirely. Something surprising. Anger. Controlled, but simmering just below the surface.

“He was an idiot.” Mitch's voice was low, but intense.

Tess's eyes widened at the unexpected comment, but before she had time to analyze it, he spoke again. “How long were you married?”

“Too long. Ten years chronologically, but it felt like a lifetime. Frankly, our marriage began to deteriorate almost immediately, and it disintegrated after Bruce was born. But I kept hoping things would improve. Even when I went back to school to finish my degree, I still did all the things that were expected of the wife of someone in Peter's position. I kept thinking that if I just did a better job as a wife, he would learn to love me—and Bruce.”

“I take it that never happened.”

She shook her head sadly. “No. I stayed far longer than was healthy for anyone. We were all miserable. Not that anyone would have guessed. Peter put up a good front publicly. In his profession, it was in his best interest to keep up the pretense of being a solid family man.” Tess gave a brief, bitter laugh. “What a joke. We were a family in name only.”

“What finally made you decide to leave?”

Tess gazed at him, into eyes that beckoned her to open her heart and share her pain, to tell this final secret. She
wanted
to. Wanted to exorcise the ghosts of that final humiliation. But even now, years later, the words wouldn't come. The memory still hurt too much. No, she couldn't talk about that final degrading moment, the turning point when only one option had been left to her. Not even to this man, who she suspected would treat her disclosure with understanding and gentleness.

“I was worried about Bruce. About the damage that had already been done, and the damage that would continue to be done if we stayed. And Peter had an offer to move on to bigger things in Washington. The time was right for us to go our separate ways.” Which was the truth. Just not the
whole
truth. But it was enough. For now.

Tess crumpled her napkin with hands that weren't quite steady and forcibly lightened her tone. “So now you don't have to wonder about Bruce's dad anymore. He's out of our life. Which is no great loss. And we're doing fine on our own. Better, really. I just wish I could erase the scars he left with Bruce. But I'm working on it.”

And what about the scars he left with you? Mitch wondered silently. Though he suspected she would deny it, they were there. He could see them in the sadness and disillusionment in her eyes, which spoke eloquently of her own pain as well as the pain she felt on behalf of her son. Yet she had spunk. And spirit. And strength. She was a survivor. She had made a courageous decision, and then done what was required to create a new life for herself and Bruce. But she'd also clearly paid a price. In stress. Uncertainty. Tension. Emotional distress.

Mitch's throat tightened and he was again tempted to reach over and take her hand. Again he held back, afraid of where that simple touch could lead. He'd vowed years ago to stay away from personal involvements. Friend, adviser, counselor, confidant—he could handle those roles. But nothing more. Yet more was exactly what his heart wanted from Tess Lock
wood. So he needed to keep his distance. For both their sakes.

“I'm sorry, Tess.”

It was a simple but heartfelt comment. And it was all that needed to be said.

“Thanks. I am, too. Frankly, I never thought I'd end up being a single mom at thirty-six. I really believed in that ‘till death do us part' vow we took before God, you know?”

The wistful note in her voice tugged at his heart, and he could no longer resist the temptation. He reached over and covered her hand with his. “Don't stop believing in it, Tess,” he said huskily. “It can happen.”

His gaze locked with hers, and for just a moment she stopped breathing. And started believing.

“Can I tell you something, Mitch?” she said impulsively, her throat tight with emotion.

“Of course.”

“Your wife was one lucky woman.”

Tess wasn't surprised that Mitch seemed taken aback by her personal comment. She was taken aback herself. But she
was
surprised by the raw pain that seared through his eyes. And by his response.

“Dana wasn't all that lucky, Tess,” he said flatly. “Frankly, I wasn't the best husband.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “I have a feeling you're being too hard on yourself.”

He brushed her comment aside impatiently. “No. It's true. I was too caught up with being a cop, working long hours and weird shifts. I loved Dana—but my job always came first. And a lot of things suffered
because of that.” He gazed at her directly, his face somber. “There are a lot of regrets in my past, Tess.”

“You don't have a corner on that market,” she said gently. “I guess all we can do is learn from our mistakes and move on.”

The ghost of a smile touched the corners of his lips. “You sound like my uncle. He's always telling me the same thing.”

She smiled in return. “And have you taken his advice?”

“I'm trying.”

“That's all any of us can do. That, and put our trust in the Lord. My faith was the one absolute in my life for a long time. Even when my world was falling apart, I knew that I wasn't alone.”

Mitch sighed. “I wish I could say the same. There was a time in my life when I felt totally abandoned and lost. But thanks to my uncle, I found my way back to my faith. That's one of the things I'm most grateful to him for.”

“Speaking of your uncle…” Tess reminded him gently.

Mitch glanced at his watch. There was no way he'd make the farm before dark. But somehow he didn't care. His gaze connected with hers again, and there was an intensity in his eyes, a message in their depths, that made her pulse suddenly trip into double time. “He'll understand. Besides, can I tell you something, Tess? When it comes to regrets, the past hour with you isn't one of them. Except for that.” He reached over and gently tapped the edge of the burn with a whisper-soft touch of his finger.

Tess gazed down, trying to still the staccato beat
of her heart. She couldn't very well say it, but she'd gladly burn the other hand for another hour with this special man. Not that it could ever lead anywhere, she reminded herself. Her first priority was Bruce, and the last thing she needed to do was complicate her relationship with her son by starting one with his enemy.

“I enjoyed it, too,” she replied softly. “And the burn will heal.”

But not her heart, she thought as they said goodbye. For just a brief moment she'd had a taste of something she'd never experienced, even in her marriage—a meeting of souls. She and Mitch had connected at some elemental level—physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. In other circumstances, there would be great promise in this relationship. But she had to put her relationship with Bruce first. And it didn't look as if she could have both. Which meant only one thing.

She would have to add yet another regret to her already long list.

B
y seven-thirty Tess was angry. By eight o'clock she was getting worried. When there was still no sign of Bruce by eight-thirty, she was beginning to panic.

And by the time the phone rang at nine o'clock, she was frantic. Her voice was shaking as she struggled with a simple hello.

“Ms. Lockwood?” The male voice was unfamiliar.

“Yes.”

“This is Sergeant Roberts of the Southfield Police Department. We have your son here at the station. He was a passenger in a car that was involved in an accident.”

Tess's stomach plummeted to her toes, and her lungs stopped working. “Is he all right?”

“He's scared. But not hurt. Only the driver was injured. A laceration above his eye that needed stitches. I'll be happy to give you the details when you come to get your son.”

“I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Tess replaced the receiver and sank onto a stool by the counter as her legs suddenly gave way. She forced herself to take a long, slow breath and then buried her face in her hands. She wanted to cry—with relief…frustration…anger…fear…and a depressing feeling of helplessness. She'd been afraid that Bruce was heading for a run-in with the law. But she'd hoped that she'd intervened in time to keep that from happening. At least this call wasn't related to lawbreaking, she consoled herself. But the next time it very well could be—unless she quickly figured out a way to get her son to see the light and straighten up.

As it turned out, the summons to the police station wasn't quite as innocent as Tess had assumed. Sergeant Roberts was waiting when she arrived, and once she was seated across his desk he didn't waste any time getting to the point.

“Ms. Lockwood, are you aware that your son was drinking this evening?” he asked bluntly.

She stared at him, her eyes widening in shock. “What?”

The sergeant grunted and pulled a sheet of paper toward him. “I guess that answers my question.” He consulted the document in front of him. “According to his statement, he and several friends went to Little Italy and got a take-out pizza, which they washed down with beer. Then they switched to gin and went cruising. Eventually they drove into a tree. The driver's blood alcohol level was well above the legal limit. Frankly, they got lucky. They could have killed someone. Or been killed themselves.”

During the officer's recitation of the facts, Tess felt the color slowly drain from her face. When he finally
looked up, his stern expression eased slightly and his voice lost its clinical tone.

“Would you like a drink of water?”

Tess shook her head jerkily. “No. Thanks.” She took a deep breath and met the officer's gaze directly. She didn't want to ask the question, didn't want to believe it was possible, but she had to have all the facts.

“Was…was Bruce drunk, too?”

The man shook his head. “We could smell the gin on his breath. He claims he only took one drink of beer and a sip of the gin. Frankly, I'm inclined to believe him. We did a Breathalyzer, and he was clean.”

Tess swallowed with difficulty and closed her eyes. Though he'd made some very bad choices, he'd somehow found the strength to temper his response to peer pressure when it came to drinking.
Thank You, Lord, for that,
she prayed fervently. But the police officer was right. Things could have been so much worse.

When she finally opened her eyes, the sergeant's gaze was more sympathetic. “Has he been in trouble before, Ms. Lockwood? Some of the other kids are familiar to us, but I don't recall seeing Bruce before.”

“We've only been here since the first of the year. Bruce has had some adjustment problems at school, but I've been addressing them. I'd hoped we were making some progress, but…” Her disheartened voice died away.

The man frowned. “Look, ma'am, we see a lot of kids in here who are heading down the wrong path. But the fact that Bruce didn't drink with his buddies
is a good sign. Trust me. It's tough to say no in that situation. I wouldn't give up on him yet.”

Tess sent him a grateful look and straightened her shoulders. “Thank you. I don't plan to. Just the opposite, in fact. If he thought I was being tough before, he's in for a real shock now. Is he being charged with anything?”

He rose. “Not this time. He was just a passenger, and the Breathalyzer was negative. But we put him in a holding cell. More for effect than anything else,” the man said, flashing her a quick grin. “I'll take you back. And just so you know, I read him the riot act and put the fear of God into him. I think it made an impact.”

He paused outside a door, entered a security code, then ushered Tess through. “Do you want me to give you a few minutes back here, or just let him out?”

Tess looked around—at the sterile, unfriendly walls, the security cameras, the barred windows, the stripped-down furnishings. “I'll take the few minutes back here,” she said firmly.

He nodded and stopped beside another door with a small window. Tess glanced inside, and her heart contracted painfully. Bruce was huddled in the corner, sitting on a cot, hugging his knees to his chest. His head was down, and his shoulders were hunched and tense. She could almost feel his fear.

Sergeant Roberts fitted a key in the lock and swung the door open. “He's all yours. I'll be back in fifteen minutes,” he said quietly.

Tess took a deep breath and stepped inside. A moment later she heard the door shut and lock behind her. But her attention was focused on her son, who
was now staring at her with wide, wary and very scared eyes. Her first impulse was to rush over to him, take him in her arms as she had when he was a child with a nightmare, and reassure him that everything would be all right. But he wasn't a child anymore. And this nightmare was real. As for everything being all right—she couldn't guarantee that. It wasn't in her power.
He
had to help. And so she held her ground silently, waiting for him to speak first.

After several long seconds he drew a shuddering breath. “Aren't you going to say anything?” he asked in a subdued tone.

Tess willed her voice to sound calm and in control, even if her insides were churning. “Like what?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. Mother stuff. Tell me it was wrong to miss the curfew. And to ride with the guys when they were drinking.”

“You said it for me.”

He sighed. “I guess I'm grounded for life.”

“Certainly for the foreseeable future.”

He looked at her steadily. “I just tasted the beer and only had one sip of gin.”

“That's what the sergeant said you told him.”

“It's true.”

“How old are you, Bruce?”

He eyed her warily. “You know.”

“And what's the legal drinking age?”

“I know what it is, Mom.” He dropped his head to his knees and turned away.

Tess took another steadying breath and moved to the straight chair beside the cot, praying that she would find the right words, words that would make an impact on her son. At this proximity, she could
see the tearstains on his colorless face, and once more she wanted to simply pull him into her arms and comfort him. But the time wasn't right. Not yet.

“Let me tell you something, Bruce. It took a lot of guts not to drink more than a sip. Peer pressure can be pretty powerful, and I admire you for saying no. But that wouldn't have saved your life if the accident had been worse. You needed to say no sooner. Drinking and driving don't mix. You know that. Fortunately, only the driver was injured. And his stitches will be out in a couple of weeks. But he won't get rid of his juvenile record so easily.”

Bruce turned to her, and she saw the fear in his eyes intensify. “Are the police going to…to book me?”

Tess let him sweat it out for a moment before she shook her head. “No.”

His relief was palpable. “So I can go home?”

“Yes. But take a look around you while we wait for the sergeant to come back, Bruce. And remember it. Because whether or not you end up back here is up to you.”

Bruce studied the small cell, distaste written all over his face. And when they finally heard the key being inserted in the lock, he was on his feet instantly.

Sergeant Roberts opened the door and then silently escorted them back to the reception area.

Tess held out her hand. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

He took her fingers in a firm grip, then turned to Bruce. “You've got a good mother. Listen to her.”

The ride home was silent. Tess glanced toward Bruce a couple of times, but in the dim light she couldn't read his expression. Had tonight had any im
pact at all? she wondered. Would it be a turning point—or only make things worse? Had she handled the situation the right way—or only widened the gulf between them? Unfortunately, Tess didn't have the answers to those questions, she acknowledged, deeply discouraged and suddenly bone weary as she pulled into a parking place near their apartment.

Bruce followed her to the door, head down, hands in his pockets. But she saw him take a deep breath when they stepped inside, heard his relieved sigh, could feel the almost palpable easing of tension. Tess dropped her purse on the couch and turned to him. “Are you hungry?”

He looked at her in surprise, his gaze wary. “Yeah.”

“How about an omelet?”

“Okay.”

“Why don't you go change while I make it?”

He didn't need any urging to shed the clothes he'd worn in jail, Tess noted. In fact, a moment later she also heard the shower running. Maybe his visit to the police station
had
made an impact, she thought hopefully.

She joined him at the table, sipping a white soda as he devoured the food.

“Aren't you going to eat anything?” he asked between bites.

She shook her head. The thought of food made her stomach even more queasy than it already was. “I had something at the carnival.”

“With Mr. Jackson?”

“Yes.”

He thought about that for a minute. “Are you going to tell him about this?”

“He won't need me to tell him. The police let the school know when any of the students get into trouble.”

Bruce looked at her. “How do you know?”

“Mr. Jackson told me during the interview for the story.”

“Is that legal?”

She almost laughed. “I think it's an informal thing, Bruce. Not an official report. Mr. Jackson used to be a cop, remember. He's got contacts there. They talk. Things come up.”

“Yeah.” His face fell. “He'll really be on me now.”

Tess reached over and touched his hand. He seemed surprised, but he didn't pull away. “He cares about his students, Bruce. And I care about
you.
Can you imagine how frantic I was tonight when you didn't show up? And when the police called….” She choked and paused, struggling for control. “That's every parent's worse nightmare.”

Bruce looked at her, the contrition in his eyes sincere. “I'm sorry, Mom,” he said softly. “I didn't mean to worry you.” He patted her hand awkwardly.

She looked at her son, tall now, the soft features of childhood giving way to the angular lines of adolescence. Lately she could see in his face the man he would soon become. Where had the years gone? she wondered in disbelief. It seemed like only yesterday that he was climbing onto her lap for a bedtime story. So much had changed in the intervening years, she thought wistfully.

But one thing hadn't changed. She still wished for him exactly what she had as she held him so tenderly in her arms the day he was born—a full and happy life, filled with love and satisfaction and contentment and a deep, abiding faith that would see him through adversity. She had vowed that day to do everything in her power to make that wish come true, and she had tried mightily through the years to honor that vow. That was why these past few weeks had been so difficult, she realized. They had reminded her that even deep maternal love couldn't shelter a child from the pain of loss or the consequences of mistakes. But she
could
stand by him. She
would
stand by him. And he needed to know that. To believe it.

“I know you didn't, Bruce. And I know you're going through a tough adjustment right now. I just wish I could put a bandage on the situation and make it better, like I did when you used to fall and scrape your knee. But I can't. You're old enough now to make a lot of your own decisions. All I can do is let you know that I'm always here for you. And that no matter what happens, I'll always love you. Will you remember that?”

Bruce nodded. “Yeah. And…I love you, too, Mom.” Embarrassed now, he pushed his chair back and stood. “I guess I'll head to bed.”

“Me, too.” She stood as well and reached for him, closing her eyes against the world as she held him tightly for a long moment in a bear hug. “Sleep tight.”

It was what she used to say as she tucked him in at night, and Bruce finished it for her. “And don't let the bedbugs bite.”

“Things will be okay, Bruce,” she told him fiercely, pulling back to look up at him. “Tomorrow can be a new beginning.”

His eyes clouded, and the troubled expression he'd worn for the past few weeks slipped back into place. “Maybe,” he replied noncommittally. “Good night, Mom.”

Tess watched him disappear down the hall, tension coiling in her stomach once again. “Maybe” wasn't good enough. She wanted guarantees. But as she'd learned long ago, life didn't come with them.

 

Tess frowned, then highlighted the last few sentences in the article she'd written about Mitch and hit Delete. The closing was way too subjective. For the first time in her career she was having a hard time keeping her personal feelings out of her writing. And she was having lots of personal feelings. Too many, in fact. They kept intruding on her thoughts no matter how hard she tried to keep them at bay. And she was really trying. But it was a losing battle, she admitted with a resigned sigh.