Just Breathe. Susan Wiggs
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the remark.
“People talk to you,” he said.
She neatly tiled her burger with a layer of pickle slices. “And you would know.”
“What about Edie and Glynnis?” he asked, naming her two best friends. “You talk to them all the time.”
“Edie’s busy with her church group and Glynnis is all freaked out lately because her mom’s dating Gloria.”
“Why is she freaked out?”
“Come on, Dad. I mean, when it’s your own mom…” She wrinkled her nose. “Kids don’t like their parents dating anyone.”
He glowered at her. “Present company included, I assume.”
“Hey, if you want to go out with some woman—or some guy, even—don’t let me stop you.”
“Right.” Will knew she had a million tricks up her sleeve for keeping him from dating. Given the roughness of her early years, her clinginess was understandable. No big deal for the time being, though. He wasn’t seeing anyone.
“Maybe I set the fire,” she suggested. “Out of boredom.”
“Don’t even joke about that.”
“My life’s a joke. And I am bored. Edie and Glynnis live too far away. I don’t have a single friend right here in Glenmuir.”
He pictured her at the big glass-and-brick school, a long bus ride into alien territory. Only a handful of kids lived in Glenmuir, but naively he had hoped she would make other friends and head into high school with a bigger peer group. “Hey, I grew up here, too. I know it can be hard.”
“Sure, Dad.” The look she gave him spoke volumes. She poured warm tomato soup over the burger, then centered the top bun on it. She took a large bite and slowly chewed. Despite her delicate beauty, her fingernails were lined with dirt.
Will knew instinctively that now would be a bad time to make her wash her hands. Lately, he wasn’t so hot at reading her mercurial moods, but he knew that much. He had practically made a career out of reading parenting books, even though they all seemed to give conflicting advice. One thing they agreed on was that rebellion stemmed from a need to escape parental control, running up against a need for boundaries and limits. Not that it made dealing with a thirteen-year-old any easier.
“What, you think I had it made?” he asked.
“Hello? Granny and Grandpa told me pretty much your life story. Including the fact that you were this big basketball and baseball star, and a straight-A student.”
He grinned. “In their totally objective opinion. Did they tell you I used to bike to school instead of taking the bus because I was scared of being picked on?”
“Like that’s supposed to make me feel better?” She ate methodically, without a single wasted movement.
He was grateful to see her eating. According to the reading he’d done, Aurora was definitely at risk for an eating disorder. She fit the profile perfectly—beautiful, intelligent, driven to succeed…and a loner with self-esteem issues. Abandonment issues, too, given her history.
“How about we discuss things you can do to be happier at school?” he suggested.
“Sure, Dad,” she said, stabbing her fork into the macaroni salad. “I could try out for the cheerleading squad or the chess club.”
“Either one would be lucky to get you,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, lucky them.”
“Damn, Aurora. Why do you have to be so negative?”
She didn’t answer right away, but took a long drink of milk, then set her glass on the table. A pale mustache arched over her lip, and Will was struck by a jolt of sentiment. He suddenly saw her as the silent child who had come, uninvited, into his life eight years before, clinging to the hand of a woman who had wreaked havoc on both of them and left a raft of emotional wreckage in her wake.
Then, as now, Aurora’s looks had been striking, wide brown eyes and glossy black hair, creamy olive-toned skin and an expression of bewilderment at a world that had treated her harshly. From the first moment he saw her, Will had made it his mission to atone for the sins committed against this child. He had given up his dreams and plans for the future in order to protect her.
And not once, not for a single second, did he regret any of the sacrifices he made.
Or so he told himself.
She wiped her mouth with her napkin and suddenly she was thirteen-year-old Aurora again, half-grown, her appearance turning womanly in a way Will found intimidating.
“She’s Salma Hayek,” Birdie had remarked last summer after taking Aurora shopping for swimsuits.
“Who’s that?”
“Latina actress who looks like a goddess. Aurora is absolutely gorgeous, Will. You should be proud of her.”
“What, like I had one damn thing to do with the way she looks?”
Birdie had conceded his point. “What I mean is that she’s growing into her looks. She’s going to get a lot of attention because of it.”
“And getting attention for looks is a good thing.”
“It was for you, little brother,” Birdie had teased. “You were the prettiest thing the high school ever saw.”
The memories made him wince. He had been so full of himself, he was probably swollen like a tick with unearned pride.
Then Aurora had come into his life, helpless as an abandoned kitten, and everything else had ceased to matter. Will had dedicated himself to keeping her safe, helping her grow, giving her a good life. In turn, she had transformed him from a self-centered punk into a man with serious responsibilities.
“Why do I have to be so negative?” Aurora mused, finishing every crumb on her plate. “Gee whiz, Dad. Where do you want me to start?”
“With the truth. Tell me from your heart what’s so intolerable about your life.”
“Try everything.”
“Try being a little more specific.”
She stared at him, mutiny in her eyes. Then she pushed back from the table and went to get something from her backpack—a crumpled flyer printed on pale pink paper. “Is that specific enough for you?”
“Parents’ night at your school.” He knew exactly why that upset her, but decided to play dumb as he checked the date. “I can make it. I’m not on duty that night.”
“I know you can make it. It’s just that I hate it when they expect parents to show up.”
“What’s so bad about that?”
She plunked herself back down in her chair. “How about I have no mother. No idea who my father is.”
“He’s me,” Will said, fighting now to keep anger down. “And I’ve got the adoption papers to prove it.”
Thanks to Birdie, the family’s legal eagle, he had a father’s rights. Those had never been challenged—except by Aurora, who sometimes dreamed her “real” father was a noble political prisoner pining away for her in some Third World prison.
“Whatever,” she said, her inflection infuriating.
“Lots of kids have single parents,” he pointed out. “Is it really that bad here?” He gestured around the room, indicating their house. The wood-frame house, built in the 1930s, was nothing fancy, but it sat a block from the beach and had everything they needed—their own private bedrooms and bathrooms, a good stereo system and satellite TV.
“All right,” she said. “You win. Everything is just super.”
“Is this some new