Since the scene took place shortly before Kit’s accident, she could hear the frustration and fury in her daughter’s voice. It had taken an hour of cajoling for Kit to get the whole story about the afternoon. By that time she was even angrier than Emma.
“All she does is bad-mouth you, Mom.” Emma switched to a Mississippi Delta twang that was such a good imitation of Mrs. Lockhart that Kit was startled. “If your momma took care of her family like a decent woman, your daddy would still be living at home instead of that puny little apartment. I told Jimmy when he said he was gonna marry her, I said, ‘She’s a mean ’un, you mark my words. Never cook you a decent meal or iron your shirts or keep a halfway decent house.’”
Kit had to laugh in spite of her anger. “Don’t you ever let her hear you do her that way, Emma Lockhart. Don’t let your daddy hear you, either.” She wrapped her arms around her daughter and pulled the child into her lap. She could hear Emma’s sniffles against her shoulder. “I don’t care what she says about me, Emma, but you shouldn’t have to listen to that stuff.” She smoothed her daughter’s hair. “She loves you, sweetheart, and she loves your daddy. She’s unhappy, is all.” What Kit actually wanted to say was that the woman was a harpy. “I’ll tell your dad she upset you.”
“No, Mom, you can’t! He’ll just get mad at me for telling. She goes on and on about how Daddy’s perfect, and you’re some kind of monster who goes around shooting people. She says you spent all his money and now he’s poor because he has to pay child support when you already make more than he does. She says I’d be better off living with her. I don’t want to live with her, Mom! I’d die. Where she lives smells like old people, and she hates cats.”
“Don’t you worry about that, baby. I wouldn’t let you live anywhere but with me.” Besides, Jimmy never wanted custody of you. She could never tell Emma that.
Emma touched her mother’s cheek in that way that melted Kit’s heart. It generally got her everything from a new doll to an ice-cream cone before dinner. “You can tell Daddy I don’t have to go back there ever again, right, Mom?”
Kit wished that were possible, but Jimmy would never agree, and once Emma was out of her sight and under his care, he could drop her anywhere he wanted. All she could do was talk to him and tell him that Mrs. Lockhart was making Emma unhappy. If he held true to form, he’d talk to his mother, but it wouldn’t change her behavior for more than one visit. Kit cuddled Emma and rocked her as she had when she was a baby. She ought to feel some sympathy for Mrs. Lockhart. She’d had a hard life. She’d had Jimmy when she was well into her forties in some unpronounceable Delta town in Mississippi.
Apparently, Jimmy’s father had spent his days over coffee at the local diner and his nights playing poker and drinking illegal booze with his farmer buddies. His wife had not only worked the farm pretty much by herself, she’d canned, sewed and baked biscuits from scratch three times a day.
Her experience should have made her applaud Kit’s desire to become a police officer and not be dependent on her husband. Instead, she resented anything Kit did that didn’t involve pampering Jimmy. Kit cursed the day Mrs. Lockhart had rented out the Mississippi farm and moved to a retirement condo in Germantown.
“Daddy keeps saying he’s going to take Meemomma and me down to the farm in Mississippi so I can ride a horse. He says he wants me to see where he grew up.” She sighed. “’Course, he never does.”
Until Kit’s accident, Emma had used the sudden and unexplained onslaught of stomachaches or even extra homework to keep from going with her father. Since Kit’s accident, she’d tried to use “looking after Mom” as an excuse.
Of course, Jimmy blamed Kit when Emma didn’t want to stay with him. He would never admit that after so many broken promises, a child like Emma would simply stop asking to be disappointed.
Kit knew Jimmy loved Emma, but she didn’t fit into his lifestyle.
He didn’t seem to realize that all too soon she’d be a teenager and then an adult, and he would no longer fit into her life.
Kit hadn’t wanted to ask him about his support check this afternoon. It was two weeks late. Before, when Kit had been making good money with the police department, the money hadn’t mattered so much. Now, even with her disability pension, she had to watch every penny. Jimmy’s check could at least buy Emma a new pair of Nikes from time to time.
Pushing herself away from the front door, she went to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and reached for a beer, then stopped and took a diet soda instead. Her mother was right. She didn’t have a problem with alcohol now, but boredom could very well lead to a major one if she didn’t watch herself. Besides, she really didn’t like the taste of beer.
Drink in hand, she walked from the kitchen to the den, where she turned on the television and stretched out in the recliner. She had closed captions on a number of channels, but there never seemed to be anything she wanted to watch. She tried to practice lipreading, but the faces were too often turned away or backlit.
So how to spend the afternoon? Running? Didn’t appeal to her. Besides, it was probably going to rain again any minute.
Riding her bicycle? Without Kev in the basket to warn her about traffic, she was asking for trouble.
The flower beds in the backyard badly needed to be cleaned up and weeded for spring, but she couldn’t get up any enthusiasm for that, either.
She needed a job, dammit! A job that she went to and worked at and then came home and rested from. A job that paid actual money and gave her actual satisfaction. She’d never been a stay-at-home housewife and mother.
What was she going to do with the rest of her life? Live on her pension? Sure, if she wanted to sweat every bill. She’d never wanted to be anything but a policewoman from the time she was five years old.
When the single thing that defines you as a person is taken from you, who the hell are you?
CHAPTER THREE
MONDAY MORNING Mac met Mark Scott walking down the hall of the clinic with his little black-and-white mutt at his heels.
“Morning.” Mac bent down and scratched Nasdaq’s ears while the little dog wagged its whole body. “I need to talk to you. Ten o’clock.”
“Okay,” Mark said, looking at Mac suspiciously. “Please don’t tell me you’ve discovered the newest piece of equipment to make you the perfect surgeon and it only costs two million bucks. I get enough of that from my beloved wife.”
“Sarah simply believes in buying the best for our clients,” Mac said with a perfectly straight face.
Mark rolled his eyes. “She’d been after me to buy the best from the first day she walked into this place. She made my life a living hell until I gave her what she wanted.” He grinned. “I got payback, though. She’s not only made me the perfect wife, she’s given me the perfect daughter. Not a bad trade-off for an ultrasound and a laser. So what do you want?”
As business manager of Creature Comfort as well as vice president of Buchanan Industries, Mark split his time between his cubbyhole in what had once been a storage room at Creature Comfort and a palatial office on the top floor of Buchanan Towers. Since Coy Buchanan—Rick Hazard’s father-in-law—had bankrolled Creature Comfort in the beginning, it was only right that Mark keep an eye on the clinic’s bottom line. However, clinic revenue had increased so much in recent months that he was around less and less these days.
“I do not want equipment.” Mac looked down at Nasdaq. “And put that dog on a diet.” He turned his back on Mark and walked toward his office.
He met Nancy coming out of his office with a sheaf of files in her hand.
“Oh, there you are,” she said, and thrust the files at him.
“And I’m supposed to do what with all this?”
“That’s a leading question,