Page 28 of Bad Mother

I’d never been very good at science. Like I’ve already told you, games were my thing. I wasn’t as good as Mother, but Iwasgood.

Better than most.

Worse than some.

Mr.Patches was an engaging and compassionate science teacher. If he called on you and you didn’t know the answer, he would say, “That’s all right. Make sure to go over page sixty,” or something like that so you weren’t embarrassed in front of your classmates. And then he’d wink and offer a smile and move on. And if youknewthe answer, he would clap twice and bang once on his desk and say loudly, “Oh! Doo-dah day!” And the class would laugh and clap with him, and if it was me who got the answer right, I would feel this unusual warm buzzing in my chest and realize I was smiling, too, even though I hadn’t told my face to do it.

One day, after the class had been dismissed and all the students were packing up, Mr.Patches called my name and asked if I’d stay after for a few minutes. This confused but didn’t alarm me, and so I put my books in my backpack slowly as the rest of the students filed out, and Mr.Patches stood by the door, smiling andtelling them to have a nice day as they left. He flipped the lock on the door and then approached me where I stood next to his desk, motioning for me to have a seat in the chair next to his. We both sat, and Mr.Patches turned to me and gave me a smile. “You’ve improved tremendously in this class,” he said, and once again, I felt that buzzing in my chest that made me feel happy and lighter in some way I couldn’t quite describe.

“Thank you, sir,” I answered. “I’ve been working hard.” And it was true. Without the anxiety of knowing Father might return from one of his trips any day, without having to make excuses and create outright lies for the bruises, cuts, and broken bones, I had been able to focus more fully on my studies. I knew I was still behind the other students, but for the first time, I thought perhaps it wasn’t that I was dull or stupid but that I’d been distracted by things the others weren’t and maybe it was a wonder I’d come as far as I had under the circumstances. The idea was liberating.

“Yes, I can tell you’ve been working very hard,” Mr.Patches said. “It shows.” He sat back in his chair and looked at me, and for the first time, I felt a prickle of unease. I pushed it aside, though. Mr.Patches was proud of me. That’s what he was saying. “You have so much potential,” he finished with a nod.

“Thank you, sir,” I said again, tongue tied, which wasn’t unusual for me.

But Mr.Patches smiled fondly, the way a father might smile at his son, if that father was fond of that son. “But,” he said, “while you’ve improved tremendously, you’re still slightly behind.” He put his hand up as though warding off my hurt feelings, though itwasn’t necessary. I was already well aware what he said was true. He leaned forward. “I have a plan, though. What would you say to some personal tutoring?”

Personal tutoring. My eyes shifted sideways, and I was suddenly nervous. My mother and I no longer had my father’s income, and while Mother was extremely creative and managed to maintain a lovely and comfortable home in the absence of his money, there would never be enough for extras like tutoring. “Well, I... um...,” I mumbled.

Mr.Patches seemed to understand my discomfort, and he jumped in immediately and said, “There would be absolutely no charge. I occasionally provide this service for students I consider extra special.”

I smiled, that pleasant buzzing feeling returning, though not quite as strongly.Extra special.“Okay, yes,” I said.

“Oh! Doo-dah day!” Mr.Patches said on a wide smile, glancing at the door. Somehow, I knew in that moment I’d never like that phrase again. Outside the door, the hall was utterly quiet. Everyone on this floor had headed home for the day. “We can get started right away.” He paused for only a moment. “By the way, I know someone who worked with your father,” he said, and my blood turned icy, the room pulsing around me.Oh no. Oh no.He was going to call the police. They were going to come to our house, spray that stuff that made blood shine under their special lights. Sweat broke out on my upper lip. Mr.Patches tilted his head, watching me. “He mentioned that the son of a man he worked with—a man whodisappeared—is in my class. He mentionedyourname, asked if I knew you. Isn’tthat a coincidence?” He peered at me more closely, and I swallowed. “I’m sorry to hear about your father.” He gave a grim twist of his mouth. “Sometimes fathers leave. They decide they just don’t like the life they’ve been living, and they pack up and just...go. Start new lives, I guess. Mine did too. That’s how I know what it’s like to be left behind.”

My shoulders dropped just a hair. He thought my father had abandoned his family, the way his had. He related to me. I let out a slow breath. “So,” he went on, “how’s tomorrow after school at your house?” Before I had a chance to say a word, he leaned forward, patting my knee. I dropped my gaze to his hand, which stayed on my knee, even after the patting had stopped. There was the feeling of something sinking in my stomach—something large and heavy. Mr.Patches’s fingers trembled slightly, and then he raised his eyes, looking into mine as his hand began to travel up my leg toward my thigh. I was frozen. I didn’t know what to do. That weight within me grew, stretching the lining of my stomach, making the contents move up my throat. Mr.Patches’s hand stopped at the juncture of my thigh and moved inward slightly, but then as quick as that, he lifted it, sitting back and smiling as though I’d imagined what had just happened. Or misinterpreted it.

Which was entirely possible. Ihadbeen raised with a suspicious mind, after all. Father had guaranteed it.

“I’ll drive you home,” Mr.Patches said, and though my legs felt stiff and awkward, I made myself move to the door and out to the parking lot with him,where I got in his car and he drove me home, waving and wishing me a good evening.

My father had hit me, he’d snapped my bones and made me bleed, but he’d never touched me the way Mr.Patches began touching me after school each evening as we sat at my kitchen table, a science book in front of us, nothing but a mere prop.

“Do you like it?” he’d ask, his eyes glazed and his breath short. And if I hesitated, his expression would grow stony, and he’d say, “Don’t make mefailyou. If you don’t graduate, you’ll be a nobody. You don’t want to be anobody, do you?”

No. I didn’t want to be a nobody.

But I already was.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was just after lunch when Gavin opened his office door, greeting Sienna. She looked slightly harried or maybe worried, a small wrinkle between her brows. This job was obviously running her ragged, and he had the strong urge to ease her burden. He hoped he could.

“Thanks for meeting with me. I do realize you have a real job that keeps you very busy,” she said as she stepped inside. “I appreciate your help, and I won’t keep you.”

“I have the time,” he told her. He’dmadethe time.

They’d sat at his desk the last time she was in his office, but he directed her to the small seating area this time, both so she could spread out the items she’d brought if necessary and so that there wouldn’t be a wide expanse of desk between them.

She’d said she would give him a call the night before, and he’d tried to convince himself he wasn’t waiting like some teenager, but that would be a lie. He’d been looking distractedly at his phone all morning, disappointed each time it rang and wasn’t her. Which was ridiculous on several levels, most importantly because if shedidcall, it would be to ask him about evidence for her case, nothing more. She’d finally contacted him an hour before, and he’d canceled two meetings so he’d be available—not that he’d tellherthat, but he’d been happy, even eager, to carve out all the time she might need.

He’d enjoyed her company far too much, limited and stilted at times though it’d been. He’d wanted to stay. Dammit, if he was being honest, he’d wanted to stand up from that stupid, uncomfortable-as-hellboxhe’d been sitting on that had been caving in under his weight, swoop her up in his arms, and kiss the hell out of her. He wondered if her taste would be familiar, completely new, or some exotic mixture of the two. He wondered if his hands would know the dips and curves of her body, like muscle memory that had lain dormant but might reawaken with a single touch. But he’d forced himself to push those thoughts aside. She was involved with someone else, and he’d given up the possibility of ever having her again when he’d left without a word.

Or had he? Her reactions, the places her gaze sometimes lingered—his mouth for example—made him wonder. And Gavin was not a man who liked to leave questions unanswered.

Sienna took a seat at the end of the leather love seat, and Gavin sat on the chair next to her, only separated by a wood-and-metal side table.

She set her briefcase on the floor and bent to retrieve the items she had brought, and he took the moment to let his eyes fall on each part of her. His gaze swept the elegant line of her spine, the slender side of her thigh, and the gentle swell of her calf. She was graceful perfection, and he’d always wondered how such a beautiful girl had come from two stout, ugly creatures like the ones who had called themselves her parents. Genes were a funny thing.

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