Handprints. Myrna Temte
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I needed an expert opinion to be sure I wasn’t imagining anything.”
Erin inclined her head toward Kitty. “She should be playing, but she’s just sitting there all by herself. She’s not even watching the other kids, and she looks so sad, I can’t believe she’s not crying.”
“Do you think she’s clinically depressed?”
“It’s impossible to be sure without talking to her, which we both know I can’t do without her father’s permission,” Erin said with a grimace.
Abby gave Erin’s forearm a squeeze. “Just give me your best professional guess.”
“My best professional guess is that the poor child is depressed and probably has been since her mother died,” Erin replied. “She’s showing classic symptoms, and God knows she’s got a good reason to be depressed. At the very least, she needs an assessment.”
“Thanks.” Abby breathed a soft sigh of relief to have her own perceptions verified. “How do I convince her hardheaded father to change his mind about counseling?”
Erin shot her a wry smile. “Remember he’s a prosecutor, which means he’s probably a just-the-facts kind of a guy. Don’t get emotional when you talk to him or he’ll turn you off.”
Abby rolled her eyes toward heaven, then admitted, “Well, it’s already too late for that. I think his face would crack if he actually smiled. Every time I call him in for a conference, he acts like I’m imposing on his precious time. I’m telling you, he’s a royal pain in the—”
“This isn’t about you or grumpy Mr. Granger,” Erin interrupted. “It’s about a little girl who needs help.”
Wincing, Abby pretended to look behind Erin. “Where do you keep it?”
“Keep what?”
“That guilt cannon you just fired at me.”
Erin chuckled. “Hit the target, did I?”
“Dead center,” Abby confessed. “And you’re right. It’s about Kitty.”
“What happened with him yesterday?”
Abby shrugged, then looked away. “I lost my temper and sort of let my mouth run away without my brain.”
“You’ve got to stop doing that, Ab. How bad was it?”
Abby replayed the conversation, editing out his parting shot. Erin remained quiet, clearly allowing Abby’s words to echo in her mind.
Abby sighed when the silence stretched out, then finally said, “I really blew it, didn’t I.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“What can I do?”
“He might appreciate an apology.”
“Well, so would I.” Abby bit off an indignant huff. “I could have handled it better, but he wasn’t exactly Mr. Nice Guy, either.”
“Abby,” Erin chided. “What are you going to do for Kitty’s sake?”
“Well, I could write him a note tonight, and he’ll get it on Monday.”
“Why wait until Monday?” Erin said in a calm, infuriating manner. “That gives him a whole weekend to build up his defenses, and it’s exactly what a man like your grump would expect.”
“He’s not my grump,” Abby protested. “He’s not my anything, thank heaven. Where are you going with this?”
Erin fell silent for a moment, then said, “Do something he won’t expect. Push him off balance for once.”
“I’d rather push him off a cliff.” When Erin simply stared at her in response, Abby gave in. “All right, it’s hard to imagine him off balance, but I’ll bite. What won’t he expect?”
“You’ve always met with him at school,” Erin said. “Why don’t you invade his turf for a change?”
“What?” Abby yelped, appalled at the idea.
“It’s perfect. Show up at his house tonight with an apology and a plate of cookies as a peace offering.”
“He’ll throw me off his property.”
“Mr. Dignified, Public Servant Granger?” Erin laughed. “He will not. He’ll have to be gracious, and you’ll get a chance to see what he and Kitty are like at home. You can collect a lot of information from a home visit.”
“And you’d be happy to interpret that information for me.”
“Absolutely,” Erin agreed. “Are you willing to try it?”
Abby considered the question, wondering where she would find the courage to deal with Granger the Grump twice in one week.
“All right, I’ll do it. And this time, I’ll be absolutely logical and businesslike, if it kills me.”
Abby glanced at Kitty again. She was a beautiful child with fine, shiny black hair no ponytail holder could contain for long, sad brown eyes, an adorable little nose and a sweet bow mouth that rarely smiled. “She’s the sweetest little girl in the world, and I can’t stand seeing her look so lost and alone all the time.”
“She’s his daughter, Ab.”
Abby stiffened. “I’m not likely to forget that. But what kind of a father can’t see what’s happening to his own child?”
“Don’t be so judgmental,” Erin scolded her. “He’s probably struggling to get through one day at a time, like most other single parents. He still may be suffering with his own grief. Or he may be in denial. None of which makes him a bad father.”
Sniffing, Abby crossed her arms over her breasts. “Well, there is no way I’m going to back off and let him ruin that child.”
Erin pinned her with a stare. “I thought you weren’t going to get involved with your students anymore.”
“I’m not.”
“Then who was that warrior-woman I just heard? Mighty defender of the girl-child and all that?”
Abby turned her head away. “You imagined her.”
“If it looks like a duck and it quacks like a duck…” Erin uttered a wry laugh. “I think maybe we should reconsider the idea of your going to his house.”
“Don’t be such a worrywart.” Abby smiled and squeezed Erin’s arm again. “I’m just going to convince Mr. Granger to hire you as Kitty’s therapist. You’ll take wonderful care of her, and I’ll be able to leave Spokane knowing she’s going to be all right.”
“And you’ll stop at recommending me? You promise you won’t get any more involved with the Grangers than that?”
“It depends on Mr. Granger and Kitty.”
Erin shot her a worried look. “Abby—”
Abby let out an exasperated huff. “Trust me, there’s no danger of starting a personal relationship that could become a problem later. I’m a professional. I know what I’m doing.”
Chapter Two
Can’t you see that your child is suffering?
“No, she’s not,” Jack muttered as he drove home on Friday night. He knew about suffering from first-hand experience. Kitty had suffered the most when she’d been in therapy before, dammit, but Ms. Walsh didn’t understand that. Or maybe she just didn’t want to believe it.
Wishing he could strangle someone, he tightened his fingers around the steering wheel until his knuckles hurt. He’d gone over his meeting with Ms. Walsh in his mind a hundred times since yesterday, but her words continued to haunt him.
And