Free Against All Odds by Irene Hannon

it. Prayers would come in handy about now.

6
     
    It didn’t take a PhD in communications to figure out Monica was already having second thoughts about her offer, Coop concluded as he took a seat at the table. Uncertainty flickered in her eyes, and wariness lurked in their depths. But he wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip away if he could help it.
    “Why don’t you tell me about your mother first?”
    To his relief, his backdoor approach worked. The barest hint of a smile tugged at her lips, and her tense grip on her mug relaxed.
    “Mom was great. We were best friends as well as mother and daughter, and there’s no one I admire more. She didn’t have a college degree, but she was smart and had an exceptional facility for languages. Wherever we lived, she became conversant in the local dialect within months. After she and dad divorced, she was able to turn that into a lucrative career as a translator.”
    “How old were you when they separated?”
    “Ten.”
    “That must have been tough.”
    To his surprise, she shook her head. “Actually, it wasn’t. Dad was never around much anyway. He traveled a lot, and he worked long hours when he was in town. After the divorce, Mom and I came back to the U.S., and for the first time in my life I had a permanent home. That meant a lot to me. Stability is very important to children.”
    “So are two parents.”
    “Not if they’re unhappy. Kids pick up those vibes.” She took a sip of coffee and gave him an assessing look. “I get the feeling you didn’t grow up in an ideal environment, either.”
    His fingers tightened on his mug. “Why do you say that?”
    “There was a touch of melancholy in your voice when you mentioned two parents.”
    Jolted, Coop struggled to maintain a neutral expression, buying himself a few seconds by sipping his own coffee. Either she was very good or he was slipping. When soliciting information, he was always careful to get more than he gave. Yet she’d picked up some subtle, revealing nuance. A “proceed with caution” warning began to flash in his mind.
    “My mom died when I was three, so I have no memories of a mother.” He recited the bare facts impassively.
    “I’m sorry.”
    He shrugged. “You play the hand you’re dealt. I survived. At least both of your parents were living.”
    “True.” She traced a circle of moisture on the table with one finger. “But death might have been easier to accept than rejection.”
    The soft, pain-laced words told Coop they were getting close to the heart of the rift.
    “You think your father rejected you?” His gentle response was more statement than query.
    “What else should I think?” Bitterness darkened her green irises. “When forced to pick between career and family, my father picked career.”
    “What do you mean by ‘forced’?”
    Twin furrows appeared on her brow. “Sorry. Bad word choice. My mother’s request was reasonable—and long overdue. After being dragged around to hot spots all over the world for years, she finally gave my father a choice. Take a domestic State Department job or end the marriage. At the time, we were in Tel Aviv. We’d been in Beirut before that, and there was talk Baghdad would be the next move. Mom wanted more stability— and safety—for me. My father chose to stay overseas. End of story.”
    “And you’ve resented him ever since.”
    “Do you blame me?” Her eyes flashed, daring him to challenge the validity of her feelings.
    “No. But that was a long time ago. His concern now seems genuine.”
    “Too little, too late.”
    “Are you saying he didn’t keep in touch after the divorce?”
    “He provided child support, if that’s what you mean. And he always sent a check for my birthday and Christmas.” Her tone was dismissive.
    “You mean he had no personal contact all those years?”
    She wadded a paper napkin into a small, tight ball. “On rare occasions he’d stop by to visit me,” she conceded, “but the encounters