Family in Progress

“Personal or professional?”

“Both.” She took a sip of her wine, shrugged. “Mostly personal, I guess.”

And that was all she said. He wanted to question her further, to know what it was that had suddenly put the shadows in her usually sparkling eyes, but he didn’t know her well enough to press for details. Yet.

“What about you?” she asked, turning the tables. “Why did you come to Chicago?”

He decided that if he wanted her to share her secrets—and though he wasn’t sure why, he knew that he did want her to open up to him—he needed to start. “The obvious answer is for my job. But I don’t think I would have even considered the offer at Classic if I wasn’t already thinking that I needed to move my family out of Crooked Oak.”

“Because the memories were too painful?” she asked gently.

He shook his head. “The memories were one of the things that made it so hard to leave. But as hard as it was to lose my wife, I was afraid that if we didn’t make a new start somewhere else, I would lose my daughter, too.”

He took another sip of his soda and wished for a moment that it was something stronger. But he was driving, and he never fooled around with alcohol when he was going to get behind the wheel of a car. “After her mom died, Caitlin’s grades dropped dramatically. She started skipping classes and hanging with a questionable crowd at school.”

His knuckles tightened around his glass as he thought about what they’d been through. The meetings with her teachers and guidance counselors and principal. The phone calls from the manager at the movie theater from which Caitlin and her friends were banned for causing a ruckus, from a friend who’d found Caitlin puking up the alcohol she’d drunk, from the police who’d been called in when she’d tried to swipe a tube of lip gloss from the neighborhood pharmacy.

He’d been at his wit’s end, desperate to stop his daughter’s downward spiral without the slightest clue as to how to do it.

The darkness of the memories had become so all-encompassing he almost forgot Samara was there until she reached over and touched her hand to his arm. It was a casual touch, an offer of support, and somehow more.

Her gaze lifted to his, and he saw both surprise and awareness in the ebony depths of her eyes, as the air around them fairly crackled with the sudden tension between them.

Then she dropped her hand and leaned back in her chair. When she spoke, her voice was soft, her tone even, and he wondered if he’d imagined the sizzle in the air.

“The loss of a parent is a big deal at any age, but the loss of a mother would be even more devastating to a girl making that transition from child to woman.”

Steven winced. “Please don’t talk about transitions and womanhood—she’s only twelve.”

Samara laughed. “Twelve going on twenty, I imagine.”

“You’d be right,” he admitted reluctantly. “I miss the days when I used to complain about tripping over Barbies every time I turned around.”

“Does she like Chicago?”

“I have no idea.”

Samara’s brows rose.

“I have no idea about anything that goes through her mind,” he expanded. “She doesn’t talk about school and she has no interest in extracurricular activities. Though it’s early in the year, I’ve met with all of her teachers, and they’ve assured me she isn’t having any trouble in any of her classes, but I don’t see any excitement in her, either.”

“She’s twelve,” Samara echoed what he’d told her. “And as I recollect, the preteen years are filled with anxiety and intensity and definitely lacking in excitement.”

“Maybe,” he allowed.

“How is your son doing?”

“Tyler loves it here,” he said. “He’s made new friends, joined the science club at school, and has started playing hockey this year.”

“And what about you?” she asked.

“Me?”

She smiled at his obvious surprise. “Are you glad you moved?”

He caught her gaze again, held it as the tension flared once again. “I think I’m going to be.”

Chapter Four

Steven didn’t know a lot about photography, but he could tell that Samara was in her element behind the camera. Just as he could tell that she was completely out of her element when it came to anything to do with cars.

Of course, all of the guys on his project team were more than happy to explain what needed to be explained as they moved along. A couple had even offered to continue their discussion of pistons and plugs or whatever topic over drinks after work. Samara was always politely firm in her refusal.