For the Children

Three years older than he was. Valerie took another sip of wine, watching the lights from the pool reflect the natural-rock waterfall.

“Thirty-seven.”

The youngest female judge ever to sit on the bench in Arizona’s Superior Court. And three years older than he was. When she was a senior in high school, he’d have been a freshman. But hey, her brother, Adam, would’ve been in sixth grade when his current girlfriend was a senior.

She lowered her glass, stared at him in the soft patio lighting. “Your father gave a vintage Corvette to a seventeen-year-old?”

He shrugged. Sipped his wine. Frowned at the pool. “He liked me.”

“I like my boys, too, but I sure won’t be giving them even a beat-up nonvintage sports car at that age.” It was too much too soon. In the hands of a young and restless spirit.

“I was an only child.”

“That’s still no reason. Did you at least have to work for it?”

“No.”

“Was it always that way? Expensive toys just handed to you?”

He emptied his glass, refilled it, and topped hers off, too. She didn’t intend to drink it. Based on how loose her tongue had become, she’d already had too much.

“Always,” he said several seconds later. “Toys and clothes. And places on teams.”

Valerie would have gasped out loud if his sardonic tone of voice hadn’t stopped her.

“You never had to work for anything,” she said, her voice softening as she glanced over at him. Wishing he’d look at her instead of out into the night.

“I worked hard at getting into trouble.”

“You rose above it.” And she knew the value of that. Knew how seldom it happened.

He sipped again. “So it would appear.” His eyes narrowed as he spoke.

Finally, she understood his lack of motivation. He’d never had to work for anything, which meant he’d never been taught a proper work ethic. She could help him with that. Work ethic was something she’d been born with.

And if she hadn’t, her parents had instilled it in her as a child.

Valerie took a couple of sips of the wine she wasn’t going to have.

She had to sit down with him, list his talents, find out what he loved. And hated. They’d find a place for him—something to do that used all aspects of his talents instead of just some.

His parents should have done that with him before he ever left high school. Was this why he’d been so unhappy in the corporate world? Because he’d had no goals? Nothing to work toward?

“What did your father do?”

“Owned and ran the Desert Oasis regional supermarket chain.”

“Oh!” She shifted in her chair, smiling. “I used to go to one of those stores—about ten minutes from here. I loved that place! And it was always so crowded. I couldn’t believe it when it closed five years ago. What happened?”

More wine. More staring. “He slowly handed his stock over to someone he trusted—who turned around and sold him out to a national chain.”

“And they closed him down?”

“He was well compensated.”

“Yes, but some things matter more than money.” She shook her head. “To have worked so hard and then lose everything like that…”

“He survived.” With a glance at his hardened expression, Valerie let it go. Yet she couldn’t help wondering about the bitterness in those last words.