or later you’re going to come home.”
“Mary—” he began.
“I’ll be waiting for your call. Bye, Matt.”
With that, she was gone, still able to outmaneuver him as neatly as always. He remembered standing in her kitchen his first morning there, cussing like a sailor, thinking to shock her, to make her turn her back on him, as everyone else had.
He soon learned that Mary didn’t shock easily, and she didn’t get flustered, no matter how filthy his language was. She’d used the same tone with him fifteen years ago, kindhearted, a bit bossy, but polite, as if he’d shown her the same courtesy she showed him. Then she’d smiled and proceeded to steamroll right over him, quietly making her wishes known, until somehow he’d decided he’d be better off doing what she suggested in the first place.
If that tactic didn’t work, shame did. She could make him feel like dirt without so much as lifting a finger. It was all in her eyes and the tone of her voice. No matter what he did wrong, she’d find out eventually. And she’d be hurt, as if she’d somehow failed him and not the other way around. She’d look at him and he could all but hear the words going through her head. What am I going to do with you, Matt? What have I done wrong that I can’t reach you?
Before long, she’d become his conscience. Even if he didn’t care what happened to himself, Mary did. Matt didn’t want to disappoint her. It became a litmus test for him. If I do this, what’s Mary going to think? What’s she going to say?
For the first time, he stopped to think before he shot off his mouth or let fly with his fists. With Mary on one side of him and Cathie on the other, he hadn’t stood a chance. Before they were done, he’d taken a long, hard look at himself and his life, figured out that there comes a time when it doesn’t really matter how screwed up anyone’s parents were. Maybe the world had dealt him a lousy hand, but lots of kids grew up without anyone who gave a damn about them. In the end, it was what he chose to do with his life that counted. Once he realized that, Matt had done surprisingly well for himself. He had a gift for numbers, something Cathie’s father had picked up on right away, and they’d no doubt called in some favors to get him admitted to the university here and to help get him a scholarship.
He had more money than he knew what to do with now, a company of his own that specialized in providing security for financial transactions over the Internet, a huge house, a car that positively reeked of money. He worked hard, and played just as hard when the notion struck him, which it seldom did.
He still couldn’t lie to himself well enough to say he was happy. It had all failed to satisfy him for some reason.
Matt eased back into the soft leather seat of his car and stared into the night.
As always, when he arrived at home, the place was dark and silent. He didn’t really want to go inside, which was ridiculous given what he’d paid for the place. It was too big for him and had never felt like a home. Tonight, it seemed worse than usual. Because his mind was on another house, an old one in the mountains, crammed to the rafters with people and laughter. With a sense of permanence. Of family.
Matt still remembered how it felt, living in the midst of the Baldwin clan. Their house had never been quiet or empty.
Shoving the memories aside, he pulled the car into the garage and walked into the kitchen, losing his keys, his wallet and his tie as he went. Upstairs in his bedroom, he kicked off his shoes and started working on the buttons of his shirt, the eerie quiet getting louder and louder with every passing minute.
Maybe what he needed was a woman. Someone to come home to, to fill the empty rooms and chase away the silence.
Glancing across the room at the big, wide bed, he imagined her waiting there for him on the nights when he came home really late. She’d have pillows propped against the headboard, one small light burning on the bedside table, a book in her lap.
Her hair would be long and loose, the light from the lamp glinting off of it. In his mind’s eye, he could see it so clearly, the image as enticing as any dream he’d ever had.
The woman lifted her head, smiled at him and held out her arms to him.
Cathie, he realized.
He was thinking of Cathie in his bed.
Matt knew what he had to do. He had to help her and then forget about her. He sure wasn’t letting her anywhere near his bed, even in his imagination.
There had to be a way to help.
It turned out to be so simple, he couldn’t believe it took him so long.
Money.
He had plenty, and she didn’t. She’d have doctor bills, tuition, child care, rent, utilities, diapers, all kinds of stuff. He wanted her out of that lousy neighborhood, too. Matt could do all that. She wouldn’t like it, but he simply wouldn’t take no for an answer this time. If her father hadn’t refused his help when Jim Baldwin had been so ill, Cathie would have finished college by now and maybe even been married. A baby wouldn’t have been a problem.
Matt was back on her doorstep shortly after eight the next morning, telling himself money was the answer. It was easy, too. He could write a check. He wouldn’t even have to see her again. Money. He was excited for the first time in years that he had so much of it.
Cathie opened the door wearing a pair of pale yellow, cottony pajamas. “Hi.”
She looked soft and rumpled, cold and dangerously touchable. Her hair was loose and falling around her shoulders, her eyes puffy and red and sad, and it seemed she’d come straight from her bed. He stared. She folded her arms across her breasts, as if to hide herself as best she could. He really had to stop thinking about her this way.
“When I heard the knock, I was sure my mother was here,” she said, stepping back to let him inside.
“I stalled as best I could, but it’s not going to work for long.”
“So, she’s on her way? Or is she waiting for you to report back to her?”
“She’s supposed to wait for you to call, but you know your mother.”
Matt wanted to know what her boyfriend said when she’d told him the news, wanted to know if she’d come to any decisions. But she looked like a stiff breeze could knock her over this morning, and he didn’t want to push.
“Have you had anything to eat?”
“No,” she admitted, wrapping herself up in a sweater that was thrown over the back of the sofa.
Good, he thought. Cover up.
“We could go get some breakfast,” he suggested. Get out of this apartment. Go somewhere they wouldn’t be alone.
“Matt, you don’t have to do this,” she said, a hurt look in her eyes that always managed to cut him to pieces. “I mean, I know my mother harasses you until you show up here.”
“She has. But she’s not the reason I’m here right now.”
Cathie frowned. He thought they were probably going to argue some more about his motives, when all he wanted was to keep her from kicking him out and to find out what that idiot who’d gotten her pregnant had said.
“Come on. I’m here. I’m hungry. You’re awake now. You’ve got to eat. I could cook something while you grab a shower and get dressed.”
Please, he thought, seeing bare feet and delicate pink-tinted toenails, get dressed.
She didn’t move. He could hear the faint sound of her breathing. Finally, she said, “You don’t even like me anymore.”
“Cathie.” He closed his eyes, simply unable to take the hurt he saw in her face. “I have never disliked you. Never even come close.”
Tears were glistening in her eyes the next time he looked up, and he wasn’t sure she believed him. “You thought I was a pest. You