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Her house was paid for, Gwen had argued. Her needs were simple. She had some savings, and she was still a part-time teller at Sweetbrook’s one and only bank. Unlike Amy, she hadn’t wanted more, as much as she’d wanted what she already had.
“I wish I had another solution, Mama. But I need this promotion. I don’t mind giving up the condo, the car or that fancy private school Richard insisted Becky attend. But I can’t afford to live in Atlanta on my current salary.”
“Then move back home,” her mother urged, as she had for months. “You two can stay with me until you find a job here.”
“I can’t ask you to do that. And I can’t move Becky away from her friends for good and ask her to start over with nothing. Atlanta’s the only home she’s ever known. She wants to live here. I won’t rip her world apart any more than I already have.”
“There are worse things than having nothing, Amy.”
“Yes. There’s going back to Richard and asking him for money—”
“Of course you’re not going back to him!” her mother interjected.
For years, Amy had kept the details about her marriage secret from Gwen. But her mother knew every ugly bit of it now.
“I have to prove to my daughter that a woman really can support her family on her own,” Amy continued. “That Richard was dead wrong when he said we’d never make it without him.”
She’d never seen her husband as angry as the morning she’d worked up the nerve to leave him. He’d controlled her every move for years. What she thought, and wore, and did, and with whom. Even how much she was allowed to focus on her career, insisting she curtail her responsibilities at work after Becky was born.
She’d tried to make the best of things when her marriage began crumbling less than a year after their wedding. She’d done everything she could to pacify Richard and save her dream of a perfect life with her perfect husband, downplaying the escalating verbal and emotional abuse. It took the bastard striking her in front of their daughter before Amy had finally had enough.
Richard could have fought her for Becky. Considering his connections as a high-priced corporate attorney, he would have won. But his sights had been on a priority far more important to him than his daughter. If Amy would agree to his demands of no alimony and the minimum child support the law allowed, he’d let Becky go. The money would be paid lump-sum into a trust account for Becky’s college tuition, not to be touched until she was eighteen. In return, he’d concede full custody, and Amy and Becky would be on their own—then maybe they’d wise up and understand just how much they needed him.
“You’ll come back to me,” he’d said in front of Becky the last time they’d seen him. “Once you’re on your own and realize how tough the world is, maybe then you’ll have some appreciation for all I’ve given you.”
He’d set Amy up to fail, just for the satisfaction of watching her crawl back to him. And as usual, he hadn’t concerned himself with their daughter, except for how he could use Becky to control Amy.
“I’m going to make things work for Becky here in Atlanta,” Amy vowed to herself and her mother. “She needs to see me standing up to her father. She needs to understand that a woman doesn’t have to put up with the way he treated me to be financially secure. She was there all those years, Mama, when her father belittled me, and I just took it. She watched me be a doormat for the sake of holding on to a man who didn’t respect me. I can’t even imagine what that did to her.”
“But you’re working around the clock now,” Gwen reasoned. “What happens when the promotion comes through, and Becky moves back in with you? Will you have any more time to spend with her after you make manager?”
“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.” Whatever it took, Amy was going to be the strong woman her daughter needed her to be. Becky wasn’t growing up afraid.
“But if you moved back here—”
“There’s no work for me in Sweetbrook, Mama.”
Amy’s other phone line chirped at the same time that her computer dinged. She juggled the receiver between her shoulder and ear, checked the phone display and clicked the e-mail prompt with her mouse.
It was Phillip Hutchinson on both counts, Enterprise Consulting’s senior partner, and her personal slave driver.
She didn’t bother to read the body of the e-mail or pick up the call. Not a man to worry about the constructive use of anyone else’s time, Phillip Hutchinson didn’t stoop to discussing details until those he’d summoned had quick-stepped their way to his corner office. His two-pronged bid for Amy’s attention didn’t bode well.
“I’ve got to go.” She typed and sent a quick I’ll be right there response to the e-mail. “I’ll clear a few hours Saturday to come down for a day trip.”
“Joshua White wants to set up a meeting with you and Becky’s teacher on Friday—”
“Josh White no doubt thinks the entire world moves at the snail’s pace he runs his elementary school.” Amy winced at the bitchiness in her voice, rubbing her temples, where a headache was building.
No one listening would have guessed she was talking about the best friend she’d ever had. The friend she’d told to go to hell when he’d dared to judge her decision to marry Richard and leave Sweetbrook behind for good. The friend whose angry kiss had almost tempted her to change her mind.
“Honey, I really think you should talk with the man. He’s taken such a personal interest in Becky since she came here.”
“I know he has.”
Gwen had gone on and on about the time Josh was spending trying to make sure Becky settled into his school. He sounded like a bang-up principal. And before their friendship had imploded, he’d always been there for Amy. But why did he have to pick tonight of all nights to work her mother into a tizzy about Becky’s harmless antics at school? Wasn’t there something more important for the wealthiest man in town to be doing besides shoving Amy over the edge of sanity?
“I’m sorry to saddle you with all this, Mama. If there was any other way…”
“I love having Becky,” Gwen reassured her. “And she can stay as long as you need her to. But she thinks you’ve abandoned her. She needs to know that you want her with you, that you think this is the best place for her right now. That you care what’s going on at school.”
“I’ve told her how much I care. I tell her every time we talk.” Another e-mail message from Hutchinson dinged for her attention. The subject line read simply, NOW.
Amy e-mailed back a polite on my way, curbing the stream of obscenities she longed to spew at the man instead.
She was making compromises with her child she’d promised herself she’d never make. Her personal definition of hell. But sometimes a bad decision was the only alternative.
God forgive her if she was wrong.
“I’ve got to go, Mama.”
“You’ll call Becky tomorrow?” In her mother’s voice was that hint of the steel Amy had always admired.
Gwen was first and foremost a survivor.
Amy prayed nightly she could be half as strong.
“I’ll call tomorrow evening,” she said as she stacked the Kramer Industry papers, shuffling the files into order. “Tell Becky I love her, and that I know she’s going to do better with the other kids at school tomorrow. She’ll be fine.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“So do I.” Amy closed her eyes against the doubt she couldn’t keep out of her voice. “I love you both.”
Her mother’s “I love you, too,” had barely sounded when her office door jerked open. Amy pushed to her feet and hung up the phone.
“Mrs. Ree— Ms. Loar.” Phillip Hutchinson frowned in displeasure at his continued difficulty keeping her name straight. Even though she’d legally changed it back to Loar the same day she’d signed her divorce papers, he was still having trouble calling her anything but Reese. “I’ve got the Kramer IT director on the phone, and he wants to discuss the payout schedule.”
“Those papers are right here.” She shuffled through her folders, wincing as the one she needed slid from under the others. Papers fluttered to the floor between her and the desk. “Um, why don’t you transfer the call down here?”
“Pick up what you need,” he said with a shake of his head. “Leave the rest. I already have Jed conferenced in on the speakerphone in my office. If you’re too overwhelmed to handle a client’s unexpected requests, maybe we need to get you some backup on this project.”
Amy returned the remaining folders to her desk with a slap and a cool stare.
She’d managed every detail of this project from day one. This was her baby, and no one was taking this opportunity away from her.
“I’ll be right there,” she said in as close to a civil tone as she could muster.
Mr. Hutchinson’s eyebrow twitched upward, then he turned to leave. One final glance behind him at the disorganized mess covering Amy’s normally immaculate desk told her he hadn’t missed a single detail.
“Damn it,” she muttered once he was out of earshot. She dropped to her knees to re-sort the five-year payout schedule for the computer system and HR applications she was determined Kramer Industries would purchase.
Damn Phillip Hutchinson. Damn Richard. And damn Josh White, while she was at it. Why couldn’t they just let her be? Why couldn’t they let her win for a change?
With fear of failing yet again nagging at her, she marched through her doorway and down the wide hall that doubled as offices for the executive secretaries.
Everything around her looked expensive. Smelled expensive. Mahogany furniture glistened. She caught the subtle aroma of the polish the cleaning crew applied to keep everything sparkling. State-of-the-art computers and other office systems dominated each work space. Even the exquisitely maintained potted plants atop the desks had been arranged to present just the right image.
This was where the powerful worked. The world of success to which Amy had always dreamed of being a part of. The Enterprise Consulting Group was where you wanted to entrust the future of your company’s computer systems and human resource applications. Yet every square inch of the place was a prison Amy had never seen coming.
She mentally squashed her introspection and the melancholy that always followed close behind. So what if she wanted to be anyone but herself right now. So what if she wanted to be anywhere but where she was, doing what she was doing.
She was going to make this work, and she was bagging her promotion. She and Becky were coming out on top this time. They were going to be safe and out of Richard’s control once and for all.
Unless you fail again, the little voice chimed in, right on cue.
No…not a chance. Not this time.
She was getting it right this time. Becky wasn’t going to pay the price for her mother’s mistakes. No matter what Amy had to sacrifice to get them through this.
CHAPTER TWO
“YES, MR. WESTING.” Amy nodded to herself, making adjustments to the project plan she was walking the Kramer Industries IT director through. “I’m confident your CEO will be more than pleased at the closing meeting on the thirtieth.”
She withdrew a spreadsheet from her folder and slid it across the desk toward Phillip Hutchinson. The senior partner’s slow nod as he reviewed the plans she’d sacrificed months of her life to produce, and his begrudging, “It all looks on target to me, Jed,” were as good as a standing ovation.
“Good.” Papers shuffled on Westing’s end of the line. “Now, let’s walk through the support contract again.”
“Yes, sir.” Amy dug out another set of papers. Lord, it felt incredible to be on top of her game. To be staring down the pressure and to have the right answer at every turn. To finally be in control of something, when the rest of her life was such a disaster.
“Let me fax you the schedule that details the two options.” She handed Mr. Hutchinson the paperwork. “Take a look at—”
The cell phone at her hip started doing the cha-cha.
She grabbed it, grateful beyond words that she’d remembered to turn the thing to Vibrate. At the top of Phillip Hutchinson’s list of meeting dos and don’ts was no, absolutely no, cell phone interruptions. But her cell was her connection with Becky and Gwen until she could bring her daughter back to Atlanta. Forget Hutchinson’s rules.
The man’s annoyed stare locked on to Amy. Her heart chose that moment to begin beating in her throat. She yanked the phone from her waistband, giving up any pretence of subtlety.
“Ms. Loar?” Mr. Hutchinson prodded.
The display revealed Sweetbrook’s area code, but it wasn’t her mother’s number.
“Ms. Loar!” he demanded under his breath.
Damn. What was it she’d been saying to Westing?
The phone buzzed in her hand.
Becky! Something must have happened. Was that the number for the Sweetbrook hospital?
“I’m sorry.” She passed her notes to Hutchinson. “I have to take this call.”
“I’m faxing you those support schedules now, Jed.” Hutchinson activated the fax machine at his elbow, his voice resonating professionalism. His eyes, however, raged with disapproval.
She forced herself to walk calmly from the room. She closed the door behind her and thumbed the Talk button on the still-shuddering phone, leaving her flawless spreadsheets, the countless hours she’d spent running and rerunning the Kramer numbers, to speak for themselves.
“Hello?” she said.
Please God, let Becky be okay.
“Hello?” an oddly familiar masculine voice echoed. “I was calling for Amy Loar… Reese. Amy Reese?”
“This is Amy Loar.” She garbled her words as she sank into every mother’s nightmare. Something might have happened to her child, and Amy was hundreds of miles away. “What’s wrong?”
“What? Nothing’s wrong, everything’s fine,” the man reassured her. “I mean, not exactly—”
“Who is this?” She finally took a full breath, as the initial edge of panic receded.
“Amy, it’s Josh…. Joshua White.”
She stared at the phone, a rush of childhood memories consuming her.
There was Josh, smiling and forever young, surely the handsomest senior class president ever elected, delivering his valedictorian speech at their high school graduation. Voted most likely to succeed. Brilliant. The only son of a wealthy Southern family whose forefathers had founded Sweetbrook over two hundred years ago. Josh had been so far removed from the reality of Amy’s own childhood that the fact that they’d hooked up as kids and stayed friends through high school was still a mystery to more people than her.
And then she remembered the last time she’d seen him. His expression had darkened with disappointment, his voice angry and hurt as he passed his small-town judgment on her pending marriage to a man he didn’t think was good enough for her.
“You’re marrying him for all the wrong reasons,” he’d said. “He won’t make you happy.”
“And you’re an expert on me and what makes me happy,” she’d retorted.
“I’ve gotten pretty good at watching you throw the important things in your life away in your pursuit of success, yes.” His hands had shook as he cupped her cheek. “It makes me sad to see you putting so much faith in this guy and his money. His promises that this better life of his in Atlanta will make you happy. It makes me… It makes me want to show you what you could have if you came back to live in Sweetbrook.”
And before she’d known it, the anger in the eyes of the man she’d secretly had a crush on for years had heated into something new, something that felt as forbidden and thrilling as the kiss that had followed—
“I’m the principal of the elementary school in Sweetbrook,” Josh said in the here and now.
“I… I know who you are, Josh.” She checked her watch. “It’s ten o’clock at night. And I’m in an important meeting.”
“I see.” The friendly note drained from his voice. “Your mother mentioned you kept late hours at the office, but I thought by now you might have time to talk.”
“I’m trying to close a deal with an important client.” Amy’s cheeks singed at the censure she couldn’t believe she was hearing in his voice.
“What I’ve called to discuss about Becky is equally important, I assure you,” he reasoned, “or I wouldn’t have bothered you.”
As if taking time for her daughter was too much of a bother. Amy’s spine stiffened.
Maybe he had seen Richard for the snake he turned out to be long before she’d wised up. Maybe Josh had been right all along, that her big plans for her life in Atlanta wouldn’t make her happy. But he didn’t know her anymore. He couldn’t begin to comprehend the kind of trouble she was digging herself and Becky out of. Or how much she despised herself for each minute she couldn’t be with her child.
“How did you get this number?” she asked, biting back her favorite childhood label for him when he was being a pain—butthead.
“Gwen gave it to the school when she registered Becky. I have it here in your daughter’s file.” He was full-on Principal White now, his voice as formal and as superficially polite as hers. “Just at a glance, I’d say the behavior problems and incidents Becky’s racked up in just the month she’s been with us constitute an emergency by anyone’s standards. In case you weren’t aware of what’s been going on down here, I wanted to bring you up to speed.”
“I’m aware of everything that’s happening with my daughter. I talk with her every night,” Amy snapped. “I’m very interested in her life, and I stay as involved as I can be.”
“I wasn’t judging you, Amy.” He sounded genuinely hurt.
“Sure you were.”
She’d been down this road before. For months now, as a matter of fact, ever since the mothers of Becky’s friends first learned about Amy’s increased hours at Enterprise after the divorce. The frenzy of unsolicited concern and advice that had ensued—after dance practice, at the car-pool stop to and from school, after birthday parties and sleepovers—had made Amy’s decision to remove Becky from her exclusive private school even easier. They couldn’t afford the tuition any longer, and Amy didn’t need the daily reminder of how badly she was failing as a mother, no matter how hard she tried.
“I called to discuss Becky’s issues at school,” Josh offered, his tone edging toward reasonable. “Not to comment on your priorities as a mother, or your relationship with your daughter. I’d like to help.”
“Look.” Amy unclenched her jaw. Chided herself for overreacting. The man was just doing his job. She glanced at her watch again. “I’ve already spoken with my mother, and I’m just as concerned as you that Becky’s having difficulty in school—”
“Then you’re planning to be here Friday?”
“What?”
“For the SST meeting.”
The door to Mr. Hutchinson’s office opened. The senior partner stepped partially into the hall.
“Ms. Loar, I need you in here.”
She raised a finger to signal for another minute. Turning her back as the door closed less than gently behind her, she gritted her teeth against the screaming tantrum that would be a really bad idea.
“Josh, I’d be happy to stop by the school as soon as I wrap up my project here. I don’t know what this SST meeting is, but Friday’s out of the question, I’m afraid.”
“And I’m afraid we can’t put this off.” His statement resonated with the same determination she’d once admired. Only there was an unforgiving edge to Josh’s controlled manner now. A harshness at complete odds with the easygoing charm that had tempered his personality when they were kids.
“We’re just going to have to put it off.” Amy took a calming breath. “I appreciate your call, and I’ll make an appointment with the school secretary for a few weeks from now—”
“You don’t understand. We’re having the meeting Friday, with or without you. If you can’t make the time to be here, we’ll do what we think is best for Becky in your absence.”
His disapproving tone snuffed out Amy’s last attempt to keep the conversation polite, just as it had that night over ten years ago when he’d decided he knew what was best for her life.
Privilege and money had smoothed Josh’s every step from childhood. After college, he’d returned to Sweetbrook to take his rightful place in his family’s legacy of service and philanthropy to the community. He was principal of Dr. David C. White Elementary School, for heaven’s sake. She’d heard his marriage had fallen apart a year or so ago, but beyond that it seemed his life had worked out exactly according to his master plan. How could he possibly understand what it was like to fight and struggle, and all the while know you’re stuck in a no-win battle you might never escape from?
“I do appreciate your courtesy.” She nearly choked on the words. “But how exactly do you anticipate having a parent-teacher conference without the parent present?”
Butthead!
“The Student Support Team meeting is for Becky’s benefit, not yours,” he explained. “It’s a little more formal than you sitting down for a chat with her teacher. Your daughter’s facing some tough challenges, and she’s going to need all the help she can get. I’ll be there Friday, along with her teacher, Mrs. Cole. So will our staff counselor. Together, we’ll come up with a set of strategies that we hope will help school become a more successful experience for Becky.”
“What challenges? What strategies? Becky’s upset because of the hours I’ve had to keep the last few months. Because she blames me for how my marriage ended.” Amy clasped the pendant dangling around her neck. “My daughter doesn’t want to be in Sweetbrook, so she’s acting out a little more than usual at school. I’ll be there in a few weeks, then she’ll settle back in here with me. Don’t you think you’re overreacting with this SST thing? Becky’s going to be fine.”
“She may not be, Amy. Not without some help.” Josh’s concern radiated across the crackling cell connection. Gone was the all-business principal who couldn’t keep his intrusive opinions to himself. In his place was the friend whose shoulder Amy had cried on the summer her puppy had died in her arms after being struck by a car. Gwen had been at work, Amy hadn’t had anyone else to turn to, and Josh had been there, as always. Steady, certain, unflappable. “Her teacher’s concerned that part of Becky’s acting out may stem from frustration over a learning disability—”
“What learning disability?”
“The purpose of the SST meeting is to discuss Mrs. Cole’s suspicion that Attention Deficit Disorder may account for some of Amy’s disruptive behavior in the classroom.”
“Attention Deficit…” The muffled sound of the conference call going on behind her faded. Her surroundings shimmered to a hazy white. “I don’t understand….”
“We think Becky may be dealing with ADD, on top of the other issues you mentioned earlier.”
On top of the other issues…. The words clamored through Amy’s head. Issues that were her fault. On top of Becky losing her family and being separated from the life and home that were all she’d ever known. On top of her needing Amy the most, just when it was impossible for her to be there for her little girl. On top of all that, Becky might have—
“ADD?” she whispered. She didn’t know exactly what that meant, but she knew enough to be scared. She covered her mouth with a shaking hand. Tears threatened, blurring everything around her. “But I had no idea…. How…?”
“It’s going to be okay, Amy,” Josh said. “We’re going to figure this out.”
His reassurance was like a lifeline, and she found his use of the word we wasn’t as offensive as it should have been, given the way he’d been subtly pointing his finger at her moments before.
“Ms. Loar.” Phillip Hutchinson was standing beside Amy. She had no idea how long he’d been there. “Mr. Westing has another question about the payout schedule. I need you to walk him through it.”
The man was all but tapping his foot for her to hop-to.
“I…” Amy fought for words, fought against the sensation that her world was slipping out from under her.
“Amy, can you make the SST meeting?” Josh’s voice sounded in her ear, cornering her, pressing for an answer with as much tenacity as her boss.