psychologist?â
âIâm not a psychologist. Iâm a cheerleader.â Shegave his shoulder a final comforting squeeze. âYouâre going to be okay, Toby.â
Her encouraging words echoed inside him as he strode down the hall to the pediatric ICU, where Andy Lowenthal was awaiting his first grueling round of chemotherapy. What Toby was going through with Lindsey was nothing compared with what Andy would be going through over the next several weeks. Besides, Allison was right. Plenty of people before him had raised adolescents successfully. He wasnât such an ignoramus that he couldnât master the necessary skills, as well.
Still, it would be easier if he had Jane by his side, fighting the good fight with him. Or any woman. Someone who understood the way a girlâs mind worked. Someone who could help him make sense of it. Someone Lindsey could confide in, and trust, and admire.
Someone who could whisper to Toby, when desperation threatened to drag him under, that he was a good father and a good man, and his daughter was going to turn out fine.
CHAPTER FOUR
S USANNAH HOOKED the pot of impatiens on the beam in the porch of the overhang and stepped back to look. The delicate pink blossoms spilled over the edges of the pot, soft and drizzly. It still amazed her to think she had managed to escape from one life and transport herself all the way across the continent to another, entirely different life, one with mint-fresh spring afternoons and porches with overhangs from which a person could suspend a pot of flowers. Along with disorientation, she felt a kind of pride that sheâd accomplished this.
Her life was really hers. She could do what she wantedâsleep late, read every page of the newspaper over a leisurely breakfast, discuss worldly matters with MacKenzie and shop for groceries at midnight at the all-night supermarket. Sheâd done that last evening and discovered the store nearly empty at that hour. In her eyeglasses and with her hair pinned up, sheâd gone unrecognized by the drowsy cashier.
Sooner or later, she would emerge from behind the eyeglasses and let her hair down. Sooner or later sheâd allow the small, safe world of Arlington, Connecticut, to learn who she was. Eventually, she hoped, she would become yesterdayâs news and no one would give a damn that sheâd once been a familiar face on TV.
She heard the high-pitched babble of young voices drifting down the street on a breeze. Turning, she saw a throng of children spilling out of the yellow school bus that had stopped at a corner several blocks away. They separated into twos and threes, chattering, giggling, the boys shoving and chasing one another, the girls conferring in private huddles. A trio of girls walked slowly along the sidewalk. As they drew nearer, Susannah recognized one of them as Lindsey.
The other two girls peeled off, veering onto a side street, and Lindsey continued on toward her house alone. She wore a snug-fitting T-shirt and even snugger jeans that displayed a body just beginning to emerge from gawky little-girl skinniness. Her hair was held off her face with a headband, and her eyes were large and dark above delicate cheekbones.
She was awfully pretty, Susannah thought. In a few years, Toby was going to have his hands full keeping boys away from her. Susannah sensed that Toby was the sort of father who would stand guard at the front door, protecting his daughterâs virtue with his fists if necessary.
She shouldnât consider the idea of a protective daddy such a turn-on. But it didnât matter how many times she told herself not to think about Toby Cole as anything more than a congenial neighbor. Merely glimpsing his daughter walking home from the bus stop caused Susannah to remember his intense gaze, his gentle voice, the sensual motions of his hands.
She ought to keep her distance from the Cole family. She ought to apply herself to her new lifeâwriting,
âIâm not a psychologist. Iâm a cheerleader.â Shegave his shoulder a final comforting squeeze. âYouâre going to be okay, Toby.â
Her encouraging words echoed inside him as he strode down the hall to the pediatric ICU, where Andy Lowenthal was awaiting his first grueling round of chemotherapy. What Toby was going through with Lindsey was nothing compared with what Andy would be going through over the next several weeks. Besides, Allison was right. Plenty of people before him had raised adolescents successfully. He wasnât such an ignoramus that he couldnât master the necessary skills, as well.
Still, it would be easier if he had Jane by his side, fighting the good fight with him. Or any woman. Someone who understood the way a girlâs mind worked. Someone who could help him make sense of it. Someone Lindsey could confide in, and trust, and admire.
Someone who could whisper to Toby, when desperation threatened to drag him under, that he was a good father and a good man, and his daughter was going to turn out fine.
CHAPTER FOUR
S USANNAH HOOKED the pot of impatiens on the beam in the porch of the overhang and stepped back to look. The delicate pink blossoms spilled over the edges of the pot, soft and drizzly. It still amazed her to think she had managed to escape from one life and transport herself all the way across the continent to another, entirely different life, one with mint-fresh spring afternoons and porches with overhangs from which a person could suspend a pot of flowers. Along with disorientation, she felt a kind of pride that sheâd accomplished this.
Her life was really hers. She could do what she wantedâsleep late, read every page of the newspaper over a leisurely breakfast, discuss worldly matters with MacKenzie and shop for groceries at midnight at the all-night supermarket. Sheâd done that last evening and discovered the store nearly empty at that hour. In her eyeglasses and with her hair pinned up, sheâd gone unrecognized by the drowsy cashier.
Sooner or later, she would emerge from behind the eyeglasses and let her hair down. Sooner or later sheâd allow the small, safe world of Arlington, Connecticut, to learn who she was. Eventually, she hoped, she would become yesterdayâs news and no one would give a damn that sheâd once been a familiar face on TV.
She heard the high-pitched babble of young voices drifting down the street on a breeze. Turning, she saw a throng of children spilling out of the yellow school bus that had stopped at a corner several blocks away. They separated into twos and threes, chattering, giggling, the boys shoving and chasing one another, the girls conferring in private huddles. A trio of girls walked slowly along the sidewalk. As they drew nearer, Susannah recognized one of them as Lindsey.
The other two girls peeled off, veering onto a side street, and Lindsey continued on toward her house alone. She wore a snug-fitting T-shirt and even snugger jeans that displayed a body just beginning to emerge from gawky little-girl skinniness. Her hair was held off her face with a headband, and her eyes were large and dark above delicate cheekbones.
She was awfully pretty, Susannah thought. In a few years, Toby was going to have his hands full keeping boys away from her. Susannah sensed that Toby was the sort of father who would stand guard at the front door, protecting his daughterâs virtue with his fists if necessary.
She shouldnât consider the idea of a protective daddy such a turn-on. But it didnât matter how many times she told herself not to think about Toby Cole as anything more than a congenial neighbor. Merely glimpsing his daughter walking home from the bus stop caused Susannah to remember his intense gaze, his gentle voice, the sensual motions of his hands.
She ought to keep her distance from the Cole family. She ought to apply herself to her new lifeâwriting,
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