her, then slowly backed out of her parking spot.
pass behind her, then slowly backed out of her parking spot.
As she hit the brakes, she spotted Eric in her rearview mirror. He walked toward the mal, his hands stil in his jacket pockets, his shoulders hunched, his breath creating cloud puffs as it hit the frigid night air. He looked tired and alone, and moved as if he were in pain. Remembering his bruised ribs, she wondered if that was why he'd been so restless during the movie. She wondered if he might have re-injured them during that “awesome” fight the night before.
And now he was going out to drink again?
Lord. Didn't the man have any sense?
You're determined to think the worst of me, aren't you?
She shifted into drive and tried not to think of him at al.
* * * *
Monday afternoon Emily was at her desk auditing a stack of medical charts when Sarah Ferguson poked her head in the door.
"Hey, how's it going?"
"Al right. I'm just trying to catch up on my paperwork."
"I see the flowers stopped coming."
"Yes, thank God. I was beginning to—"
The phone rang, interrupting her. She motioned for Sarah to stay and picked up the receiver. They'd long since ironed out the wrinkle in their friendship caused by Eric Cameron's visit. As for the man himself, Emily hadn't heard from him since she and Robbie had left him at the mal four nights ago.
"Dr. Jordan."
It was Robbie's principal, Dr. Manzelrod. “I'm sorry to disturb you at work, Dr. Jordan, but we need to talk. Your son's been in a fight with Glen Simms."
"Robbie? Fighting? With Glen?” Impossible. The boys were best friends. “Are you sure?"
She was. Both boys were sitting in her office, Glen nursing a split lip, Robbie sulen and refusing to speak to anyone. How soon could she get there?
"I'm on my way.” Her mind spinning, Emily left the hospital. Robbie in a fight? She stil couldn't believe it. He knew how she felt about fighting. About aggressive behavior. She'd made it clear to him the first time she'd caught him in a push and shove match on the playground. It had to be a mistake. An accident, at best.
Twenty minutes later Emily knew better. It hadn't been an accident at al. Her son had hauled off and hit his best friend when he'd refused to believe that Eric Cameron had said that Robbie had the makings of a born hockey player and promised to convince her to makings of a born hockey player and promised to convince her to let him join the Mites Hockey League.
* * * *
Robbie had to stay after school for three days as punishment. On the third day, running late as usual, Emily puled out of the hospital parking lot in no mood for anything but a hot meal and a quiet evening at home. Within minutes she was caught in a snarl of rush-hour traffic. Rattled, she searched for a side street to exit onto.
Usualy she forced herself to face her fear of heavy traffic head on.
She knew it was the only way she could hope to overcome her fears, but the stress of the past few days with Robbie was taking its tol.
The counselor at the women's shelter had told Emily her traffic anxieties stemmed from feelings of being trapped, of being unable to control her environment—of being unable to escape the danger that lurked outside her door. Traffic tended to bring out the worst in people and the impatient, angry looks on some drivers’ faces reminded her of the look on her father's face—just before he would fly into one of his rages.
It had been thirty years, but Emily would never forget the hours she'd spent in her bedroom, afraid to move for fear of making noise, afraid to turn on the light when night fel for fear of attracting her father's attention. Feeling helpless and terrified, she'd huddled in a corner, hugging her Pooh bear to her chest as she listened to her father rant and rave, her mother plead and cry. She'd never known father rant and rave, her mother plead and cry. She'd never known when the door might open, or what she might find on the other side of
pass behind her, then slowly backed out of her parking spot.
As she hit the brakes, she spotted Eric in her rearview mirror. He walked toward the mal, his hands stil in his jacket pockets, his shoulders hunched, his breath creating cloud puffs as it hit the frigid night air. He looked tired and alone, and moved as if he were in pain. Remembering his bruised ribs, she wondered if that was why he'd been so restless during the movie. She wondered if he might have re-injured them during that “awesome” fight the night before.
And now he was going out to drink again?
Lord. Didn't the man have any sense?
You're determined to think the worst of me, aren't you?
She shifted into drive and tried not to think of him at al.
* * * *
Monday afternoon Emily was at her desk auditing a stack of medical charts when Sarah Ferguson poked her head in the door.
"Hey, how's it going?"
"Al right. I'm just trying to catch up on my paperwork."
"I see the flowers stopped coming."
"Yes, thank God. I was beginning to—"
The phone rang, interrupting her. She motioned for Sarah to stay and picked up the receiver. They'd long since ironed out the wrinkle in their friendship caused by Eric Cameron's visit. As for the man himself, Emily hadn't heard from him since she and Robbie had left him at the mal four nights ago.
"Dr. Jordan."
It was Robbie's principal, Dr. Manzelrod. “I'm sorry to disturb you at work, Dr. Jordan, but we need to talk. Your son's been in a fight with Glen Simms."
"Robbie? Fighting? With Glen?” Impossible. The boys were best friends. “Are you sure?"
She was. Both boys were sitting in her office, Glen nursing a split lip, Robbie sulen and refusing to speak to anyone. How soon could she get there?
"I'm on my way.” Her mind spinning, Emily left the hospital. Robbie in a fight? She stil couldn't believe it. He knew how she felt about fighting. About aggressive behavior. She'd made it clear to him the first time she'd caught him in a push and shove match on the playground. It had to be a mistake. An accident, at best.
Twenty minutes later Emily knew better. It hadn't been an accident at al. Her son had hauled off and hit his best friend when he'd refused to believe that Eric Cameron had said that Robbie had the makings of a born hockey player and promised to convince her to makings of a born hockey player and promised to convince her to let him join the Mites Hockey League.
* * * *
Robbie had to stay after school for three days as punishment. On the third day, running late as usual, Emily puled out of the hospital parking lot in no mood for anything but a hot meal and a quiet evening at home. Within minutes she was caught in a snarl of rush-hour traffic. Rattled, she searched for a side street to exit onto.
Usualy she forced herself to face her fear of heavy traffic head on.
She knew it was the only way she could hope to overcome her fears, but the stress of the past few days with Robbie was taking its tol.
The counselor at the women's shelter had told Emily her traffic anxieties stemmed from feelings of being trapped, of being unable to control her environment—of being unable to escape the danger that lurked outside her door. Traffic tended to bring out the worst in people and the impatient, angry looks on some drivers’ faces reminded her of the look on her father's face—just before he would fly into one of his rages.
It had been thirty years, but Emily would never forget the hours she'd spent in her bedroom, afraid to move for fear of making noise, afraid to turn on the light when night fel for fear of attracting her father's attention. Feeling helpless and terrified, she'd huddled in a corner, hugging her Pooh bear to her chest as she listened to her father rant and rave, her mother plead and cry. She'd never known father rant and rave, her mother plead and cry. She'd never known when the door might open, or what she might find on the other side of
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