unfinished business
Chapter Six
Robyn settled into her car with a frustrated sigh. What was wrong with her? Sam was right about one thing. They were strangers, and as such, it shouldn't matter to her so much how he worked out his problems. He was obviously an intelligent man who loved his daughter very much. He would figure it out.
But that was just the problem. It did matter to her. She could tell herself that it was because she had a weakness for daddies and daughters, but it was more than that. She felt drawn to both father and daughter in a way that worried her. She didn't want to be left hanging as to the outcome of their situation. She wanted to be a part of the solution.
Pushing the thoughts from her mind, she leaned over and started the engine. It was getting late. The sun was almost completely gone. Her father would worry if she didn't check in soon.
* * *
Sam pulled his truck to a halt at the end of the drive. Mark's car was parked in the same position as when he'd left, but another, smaller vehicle had joined his, effectively preventing him from pulling into the driveway. One more thing to add to the tally of things that had taken place in the span of a couple hours.
Already he could hear Mrs. Parker, his next door neighbor, scolding him. She would urge him in a manner uniquely her own to have his guests pull in farther, or to use better planning. Sam didn't usually have enough guests to raise her ire, but he'd often been the recipient of her stated displeasure when someone else along the street did. The joke went that she was a one-woman neighborhood watch. He thought he could make out her silhouette in an upstairs window.
He sighed, hoping that the dreaded lecture wouldn't come that very evening. He simply did not have the energy for it. He wasn't sure he had the energy for what he was to face now. Mark's call had warned him, but that didn't make him any more prepared to face the woman that he had once thought of as the love of his life.
"Hello Sam." She resolved out of the shadows cast by the house and met him halfway. She didn't look amazingly different. Certainly not like the images that he'd painted in his mind as the years began to pass. He'd expected her to look harder somehow. But she didn't. In the dim lighting, he could almost pretend as if the intervening years hadn't happened at all, that there was no rift between them built by addiction and betrayal. He could pretend that she was still his beautiful wife whom he loved deeply and who loved him in return.
But he was a man at one with the reality. She wasn't that person. She was the woman who'd ripped his heart out a thousand times and more on her downward spiral, refusing every attempt he'd made to help her. He could not expose himself or his daughter to that kind of pain ever again. Best to simply have this conversation and send her on her way. With that determination, he returned her greeting.
"Hello Cassandra."
She smiled tentatively and took a few steps closer. Too close. Familiarly close. He could feel the heat of her body as she continued the motion and reached a hand for his brow.
Sam flinched back. He couldn't help it.
She paused in mid motion, her expression knowing as she met his gaze. "I'm not going to hurt you," she said. "I thought I saw a bandage." She brushed his hair aside, her fingers moving lightly against the skin beneath. "What happened? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." He took a step back, away from her touch. "It's a long story." His tone made it obvious that there was no more to be said on the subject.
She sighed and let her hand drop. "Surely you're not still angry with me, Sam. You always forgive me. I was a mess before. I was sick."
Sam shook his head. The excuses were old even as she said them. He wouldn't allow himself to be made the guilty party in this. That road was closed. He simply wanted to get back to the subject at hand.
"Why are you here?"
She smiled nervously, an undertone of excitement in her motions. "Because I'm getting my life back together. I'm out of the half-way house, now. I've got a job and an apartment. I'm ready to have my daughter in my life again."
Sam stared at her, dumbfounded. "What? It's that what this little visitation was about today? You're ready to have her in your life? It's been years since you left us, Cassandra. In all that time, you never wrote, and you never called. Not even a post card! She doesn't know who you are anymore."
"So she'll learn," Cassandra insisted. "Before I wasn't ready. I couldn't be her mother. But now I can. She's my daughter and no one can take that away. No even you. So if you're angry with me, be mad at me, Sam! Don't take it out on her."
Sam was incredulous, and so furious that he had to hold his breath and mentally force himself to calm down. "Has it escaped you that you scared the child to death showing up at her school like that? You cannot do that. Without a word to anyone. I'm her father. I'm the one who has loved her and raised her for seven years, Cassandra. I'm the only parent that she knows. If you want to see that little girl, you come to me and then we'll discuss it."
"No." She pointed an angry, accusing finger in his direction. "No! Absolutely not. You can't dictate when I'll see my own daughter. You're trying to control this situation like you always tried to control everything. You just want to keep her from getting to know me. Well, I won't have it, Sam. I'm warning you right now. I won't have it!"
With those parting words, she brushed by him and stomped off to her car. Sam was left standing in the driveway as she backed recklessly out, narrowly missing his truck. As she sped off along the street, he ran a hand over his eyes and then lightly over his temples where a headache was starting to pound. Suddenly, the anger washed out of him, leaving him hollow and exhausted.
Mark materialized beside him. "She's gone, huh?"
"Yeah," he replied softly, only glancing in his friend's direction. "I think I made her mad."
"Um. I could tell by the acoustic squealing of her tires."
Sam half chuckled. "I'm probably going to hear from Mrs. Parker about that, too."
"Oh yeah, you definitely are. Looks like she left tread marks." His voice lowered as he added, "As usual."
Sam shot him a sharp look. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Mark shook his head. "Nothing, really. Sandra just has a way of leaving an impression. On the street. On your heart. Beth's."
Mark was hinting at something, and Sam had no desire to try to figure out what it was. He shot him a look of warning.
"She had a key, Sam," Mark admitted. "She was coming into the house when I stopped her."
"What?!" For the first time since he'd learned of Cassandra's reappearance, real fear entered his heart. It had never occurred to him to change the locks, because he'd truly never expected to see his ex-wife again. It was time to remedy that situation.
"I need to change the locks," he murmured.
"I already called," Mark informed him. "They'll be here in about thirty minutes."
"Thanks."
"No problem." Mark paused and Sam knew that there was more. He waited for it.
"Listen, I hate to beat a dead horse here, but I really think you need to keep someone around until Sandra cools off. So maybe it isn't Robyn Sommers, but you need someone who can handle Sandra and who won't frighten Beth."
"Okay." Sam gave a resigned shrug. Mark was right. He did need someone. And Robyn Sommers was good with Beth. She'd be a good choice. The rest he was too tired to worry with. "I'll work it out with the after school administrator. Maybe Robyn can be there with her while she's there."
"Why not just let Robyn get her from school and keep her at your place? It might work out better, then you don't have to worry about how the school or the other kids will react to your daughter having an, um, body guard."
"Fine." Sam agreed as the white van of McCall's Locksmith Service pulled into the driveway.
"They're early," Mark commented. "Would you like for me to call Ms. Sommers?"
"Think she'll believe you?" Sam found it in himself to ask dryly.
"Har dee har har." Mark shot back.
"I'll call her if you'll handle McCall there. Meantime, I need to figure out how to explain all of this to my seven year old."
Mark gave him a supportive pat across the shoulder. "Well, don't worry about dinner. I've got that covered."
Sam was grateful for that. He'd completely forgotten about dinner.