Free Never Again Good-Bye by Terri Blackstock
Authors: Terri Blackstock
for back pay and a little objective, unwelcome advice. One of these days you’ll listen to me.”
“One of these days,” he agreed, looking up again, his sad eyes breaking her heart. “But not today.”
Sherry straightened and gave him a regretful smile. “Then I’ll keep telling her you’re not available to take her call,” she said. She started for the door, but Wes stopped her.
“Sherry?”
Sherry turned back to him, the beginning of a smile tugging at her lips.
“Thanks,” he said.
“No problem,” she answered, then closed him into the tiny office, alone with a million problems for which he had no solutions.
L aney sat in her car and propped her elbow on the open window as she gazed wistfully at the busy playground of Amy’s school. After several days of watching, she had determined the time every day that Amy’s class had recess. She had watched day after day, learning small details about her daughter that she hadn’t known before. She knew that her two best friends were a little blond girl with a pixie haircut who followed Amy around like a shadow and the redhead named Sarah, who had played with her at the park. She knew which boys she liked to have picking on her from the way she smiled and fought back when one pulled her hair or tripped her. And she got to know a bit about Amy’s teacher from the way she punished the rowdy children and slackened the reins on the behaved ones. What she didn’t know, however, was whether Amy had come to terms with what she had learned and whether she would react with hostility or pleasantness when Laney confronted her again.
A deep chasm of sadness ached inside Laney, and she closed her eyes. It wasn’t fair, she thought. Life was so cruel. The flicker of fear and dormant despair in Amy’s wide eyes the night they’d told her came back to her. If the child had slashed a knife right through her heart, Laney couldn’t have felt worse pain. She opened her eyes again and sought out her daughter drawing in the dirt with a stick. Why couldn’t it have turned out differently? And why had the cold warning in Wes’s voice when he’d made her leave been haunting her ever since? Why did the misery in his eyes keep her awake at night? Because he was a good man and she liked him, she told herself, and hurting him was the last thing she wanted.
“What am I going to do?” she whispered, not letting herself cry. If Wes wasn’t a gentle, caring father, if he wasn’t so capable, if the only happiness she’d seen in him hadn’t been tied up in that little girl, she would have been in court in a flash. If that sparkle of vulnerability, that guarded hurt-me-but-not-my-daughter look, that expectation of pain for both of them didn’t shine so apparently in his eyes, she might have been able to decide what to do. Why wouldn’t he take her calls? Why couldn’t they at least discuss it?
She watched as Amy’s teacher strolled out toward the playing children and sat down on a bench. Amy ran to her and tugged on her sleeve. Her teacher, a good-natured, older woman, put her arm around Amy’s shoulders as the girl chattered up at her.
A woman’s touch. Laney was glad she was getting it somewhere. But who would Amy turn to once school was out?
She wondered if Wes really did have what it took to raise her alone. Laney’s own father certainly hadn’t. She had learned very young that tears were only tolerated in the privacy of her bedroom with the door closed. She’d gotten random hugs from housekeepers and neighbors, and, like Amy, from teachers. But it was far from enough.
Amy needed a mother. And no matter how nurturing and caring Wes could be, at times all the good intentions in the world fell short. Times when the girl would cry out in the night for a mother, perhaps not even knowing herself that that was what she cried for. Laney wanted to be there when she did and hold her and comfort her the way she had so needed to be comforted as a child. She wanted her
“One of these days,” he agreed, looking up again, his sad eyes breaking her heart. “But not today.”
Sherry straightened and gave him a regretful smile. “Then I’ll keep telling her you’re not available to take her call,” she said. She started for the door, but Wes stopped her.
“Sherry?”
Sherry turned back to him, the beginning of a smile tugging at her lips.
“Thanks,” he said.
“No problem,” she answered, then closed him into the tiny office, alone with a million problems for which he had no solutions.
L aney sat in her car and propped her elbow on the open window as she gazed wistfully at the busy playground of Amy’s school. After several days of watching, she had determined the time every day that Amy’s class had recess. She had watched day after day, learning small details about her daughter that she hadn’t known before. She knew that her two best friends were a little blond girl with a pixie haircut who followed Amy around like a shadow and the redhead named Sarah, who had played with her at the park. She knew which boys she liked to have picking on her from the way she smiled and fought back when one pulled her hair or tripped her. And she got to know a bit about Amy’s teacher from the way she punished the rowdy children and slackened the reins on the behaved ones. What she didn’t know, however, was whether Amy had come to terms with what she had learned and whether she would react with hostility or pleasantness when Laney confronted her again.
A deep chasm of sadness ached inside Laney, and she closed her eyes. It wasn’t fair, she thought. Life was so cruel. The flicker of fear and dormant despair in Amy’s wide eyes the night they’d told her came back to her. If the child had slashed a knife right through her heart, Laney couldn’t have felt worse pain. She opened her eyes again and sought out her daughter drawing in the dirt with a stick. Why couldn’t it have turned out differently? And why had the cold warning in Wes’s voice when he’d made her leave been haunting her ever since? Why did the misery in his eyes keep her awake at night? Because he was a good man and she liked him, she told herself, and hurting him was the last thing she wanted.
“What am I going to do?” she whispered, not letting herself cry. If Wes wasn’t a gentle, caring father, if he wasn’t so capable, if the only happiness she’d seen in him hadn’t been tied up in that little girl, she would have been in court in a flash. If that sparkle of vulnerability, that guarded hurt-me-but-not-my-daughter look, that expectation of pain for both of them didn’t shine so apparently in his eyes, she might have been able to decide what to do. Why wouldn’t he take her calls? Why couldn’t they at least discuss it?
She watched as Amy’s teacher strolled out toward the playing children and sat down on a bench. Amy ran to her and tugged on her sleeve. Her teacher, a good-natured, older woman, put her arm around Amy’s shoulders as the girl chattered up at her.
A woman’s touch. Laney was glad she was getting it somewhere. But who would Amy turn to once school was out?
She wondered if Wes really did have what it took to raise her alone. Laney’s own father certainly hadn’t. She had learned very young that tears were only tolerated in the privacy of her bedroom with the door closed. She’d gotten random hugs from housekeepers and neighbors, and, like Amy, from teachers. But it was far from enough.
Amy needed a mother. And no matter how nurturing and caring Wes could be, at times all the good intentions in the world fell short. Times when the girl would cry out in the night for a mother, perhaps not even knowing herself that that was what she cried for. Laney wanted to be there when she did and hold her and comfort her the way she had so needed to be comforted as a child. She wanted her