open. “What do you want?”
“Conversation,” he said. “Join me?”
“I said I’d call you when I was ready.”
“I can’t go along with that, Leila. Something went wrong between us. You needed me, and I wasn’t around. I assumed you’d talk to me if the divorce bothered you.” He rubbed his temple. “That’s a lie. I assumed you’d be mad and I’d notice if you couldn’t get over it.”
“It’s not just the divorce.”
“What else?” Nonspecific questions made him wary. They made any subject fair game.
“Did you and Mom ever love each other?”
He stared at his daughter, who could only be hurt by the truth, but Maria’s words came back to him. Listen to her. He couldn’t listen if she wouldn’t talk. He had to persuade her that talking to him was safe, even if he had to start with a hurtful truth. “I loved your mother once.”
“I’m not stupid.” She looked at her feet. “You stopped loving her how long ago?”
“It wasn’t overnight. You’re old enough to understand how complex relationships can be.”
“Maybe I don’t want to talk after all. Leave me alone, Dad.”
Another door slammed in his face. What the hell had happened to him? And why? One moment he’d been on the bench in court, minding his own and the people’s business, and the next, his daughter never wanted to see him again, and he was putting on a public show with a woman who didn’t necessarily want him near.
He’d started this mess. If he was going to get his own life back, he had to find a way to talk to his daughter. He had to make sense of what was happening with Maria. And he had to find out the truth about Griff Butler.
He did what he should have done weeks ago. He pulled out his cell and dialed the sheriff’s number.
Tom Drake’s assistant answered. “He’s not here right now, Judge Sloane. May I have him call you?”
“If you would. Do you have my number?”
“I’ll take it off the caller ID. Is this about a particular case?”
He’d added enough fodder to the local gossip. “No. I’d just like a word with Tom.”
T HANKSGIVING SPECIALS were already running on Wednesday when Maria wove a path through ceramic turkey platters and foil autumn leaves to meet with a human resources manager for Canon’s Department store.
An air of holiday anticipation reached even the waiting room where Maria filled out her application. People hurried in and out of the office ahead of her. Some were applicants, others were employees with questions. All wore infectious smiles.
Recently unused to smiles, Maria got distracted and made a mistake on her application. She crossed out the wrong graduation date under College Information and wrote the correct year.
Would her interviewer assume she was careless? Or was approaching financial ruin making her paranoid?
The office door opened and a man came out. “Miss Keaton?”
She stood, a little anxious but hopeful. The day before Thanksgiving wasn’t a bad time to interview. She offered her hand. “Good morning.”
The man shook it. “I’m Kevin Herbert. Come inside. May I have your application?” He pointed to a plush chair across from his desk. “Have a seat. I’ll need a minute to go over your app. Usually, my assistant collects these for me and I take a few seconds to read them and gather my thoughts, but today…”
She muttered something—who knew what?—andhoped she made sense. Smiling, he sat in his own chair and smoothed out her application on his desk.
Maria concentrated on not glancing at the scratch of ink.
“You wouldn’t stay long in this job,” Mr. Herbert said.
“I would.” She’d lie until her nose shot through the wall of the next room to get a paycheck. “I wouldn’t waste your time if I didn’t want the position.”
“The ‘position’ is sorting towels in the Home and Bath department. Occasionally, you’d have to ring up a customer’s purchases.” He flipped the application over and studied her education
“Conversation,” he said. “Join me?”
“I said I’d call you when I was ready.”
“I can’t go along with that, Leila. Something went wrong between us. You needed me, and I wasn’t around. I assumed you’d talk to me if the divorce bothered you.” He rubbed his temple. “That’s a lie. I assumed you’d be mad and I’d notice if you couldn’t get over it.”
“It’s not just the divorce.”
“What else?” Nonspecific questions made him wary. They made any subject fair game.
“Did you and Mom ever love each other?”
He stared at his daughter, who could only be hurt by the truth, but Maria’s words came back to him. Listen to her. He couldn’t listen if she wouldn’t talk. He had to persuade her that talking to him was safe, even if he had to start with a hurtful truth. “I loved your mother once.”
“I’m not stupid.” She looked at her feet. “You stopped loving her how long ago?”
“It wasn’t overnight. You’re old enough to understand how complex relationships can be.”
“Maybe I don’t want to talk after all. Leave me alone, Dad.”
Another door slammed in his face. What the hell had happened to him? And why? One moment he’d been on the bench in court, minding his own and the people’s business, and the next, his daughter never wanted to see him again, and he was putting on a public show with a woman who didn’t necessarily want him near.
He’d started this mess. If he was going to get his own life back, he had to find a way to talk to his daughter. He had to make sense of what was happening with Maria. And he had to find out the truth about Griff Butler.
He did what he should have done weeks ago. He pulled out his cell and dialed the sheriff’s number.
Tom Drake’s assistant answered. “He’s not here right now, Judge Sloane. May I have him call you?”
“If you would. Do you have my number?”
“I’ll take it off the caller ID. Is this about a particular case?”
He’d added enough fodder to the local gossip. “No. I’d just like a word with Tom.”
T HANKSGIVING SPECIALS were already running on Wednesday when Maria wove a path through ceramic turkey platters and foil autumn leaves to meet with a human resources manager for Canon’s Department store.
An air of holiday anticipation reached even the waiting room where Maria filled out her application. People hurried in and out of the office ahead of her. Some were applicants, others were employees with questions. All wore infectious smiles.
Recently unused to smiles, Maria got distracted and made a mistake on her application. She crossed out the wrong graduation date under College Information and wrote the correct year.
Would her interviewer assume she was careless? Or was approaching financial ruin making her paranoid?
The office door opened and a man came out. “Miss Keaton?”
She stood, a little anxious but hopeful. The day before Thanksgiving wasn’t a bad time to interview. She offered her hand. “Good morning.”
The man shook it. “I’m Kevin Herbert. Come inside. May I have your application?” He pointed to a plush chair across from his desk. “Have a seat. I’ll need a minute to go over your app. Usually, my assistant collects these for me and I take a few seconds to read them and gather my thoughts, but today…”
She muttered something—who knew what?—andhoped she made sense. Smiling, he sat in his own chair and smoothed out her application on his desk.
Maria concentrated on not glancing at the scratch of ink.
“You wouldn’t stay long in this job,” Mr. Herbert said.
“I would.” She’d lie until her nose shot through the wall of the next room to get a paycheck. “I wouldn’t waste your time if I didn’t want the position.”
“The ‘position’ is sorting towels in the Home and Bath department. Occasionally, you’d have to ring up a customer’s purchases.” He flipped the application over and studied her education
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