Secret Star by Nancy Springer Page A

remembers,” Kam said.
    Benson Mathis let out a long breath. Now that it had finally happened, he was very calm. Tess was in the house; there was a chance that it would be all right. He would get to talk with her. “She remembers everything?”
    Kamo sat down across from him and looked levelly at him.
    Ben Mathis had to know. “She remembers about her father?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd—” Suddenly he couldn’t quite say it.
    Kam said it for him. “Her mother shot you before she killed herself.”
    Ben Mathis nodded. “Is Tess—is she talking about leaving?”
    â€œI think she’ll be okay once she gets some sleep.”
    Benson Mathis was no fool. He noticed that Kam had not really answered him, and he knew what that meant. He swallowed, then said, “Kamo—thank you for bringing her back.”
    He saw that he wasn’t the only one having trouble with this; the hard-looking youngster actually blushed. Ducked his head. After a minute the kid said to the floor, “Well—I was barking up the wrong Rojahin. I should go away and let you alone.”
    â€œSon, you come around here whenever you want.”
    His head came up, and his smile was almost worth the trouble.
    Kids. More and more Benson Mathis realized they came and went like butterflies, visitors in the life. For the past four years it had been Tess, Tess, Tess, but four years was just a drip-drop in the ocean of time. When she grew up and left, or when she fell in love and left, or even if she yelled that she hated him and left—it would hurt, but his life would go on.
    He asked, “What set her off? Did something happen?”
    â€œOh. Yeah, some jerk she works with has been bothering her.” Kam stood up to go.
    Benson Mathis frowned. “Bothering her?”
    â€œHe won’t be bothering her anymore. She took care of him.” Kamo headed for the door. “And I plan to take care of him some more.” Then he hesitated with his hand on the doorknob, looking over his shoulder. “You okay, man?”
    â€œSure.”
    Kam nodded and left.
    Benson Mathis sat up in his wheelchair all night. Did not sleep.
    Tess slept as if she had been knocked on the head. No nightmares, no dreams. But when she woke up the next morning she felt dead. She didn’t want to get out of bed.
    Her old windup clock said five till ten. Daddy had let her sleep, as if it weren’t a school morning or there was a funeral or something.
    She lay there.
    After a while she heard thumping noises—Daddy’s wheelchair bumping against her door as he tried to open it. A pulpy scraping sound as one of his footrests put yet another gouge in the wood. She pulled the blanket up to her neck as he got the door under control and rolled in.
    At the sight of his familiar, ordinary face—weary, careful—her unfamiliar rage blazed. “Get out of here!” She turned away so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “Let me alone.”
    He did not go away. Instead he wheeled over to the bed and put his hand on her face, stroking the hair back from her eyes.
    His gentleness hurt. She lashed out as if he had touched her with a branding iron. Her hand smacked his arm. “Get away!” She lunged out of bed, but he rolled back to keep her from getting out the door.
    â€œTess. Listen to me.” His voice quavered. “I know how you feel—”
    The hell he did. “You killed my father!”
    â€œI had to. He was trying to kill me. Tess, the jury acquitted me. It was self-defense.”
    Some sane portion of her was trying to combat the anger, trying to be fair. Had Daddy done anything so terribly wrong? But the hurt-child portion of her didn’t want to hear it. “You should have told me!”
    â€œCouldn’t, Tess. When it happened—it set you back bad. Real bad. You wouldn’t talk to nobody. You just clawed and bit and screamed. I was afraid they