Father Of The Brat. Elizabeth Bevarly

were a pretty big deal to my mom. She thought the Republican party was made up of a bunch of fascists who wanted to turn the world around and go back to the way it was in 1951.”

      Carver smiled to hear such a young kid spout such adult rhetoric. “Well, it is, isn’t it?”

      Rachel smiled, too. “I don’t know. They seem harmless enough to me. Stalling the crime bill that way was a pretty crummy thing to do, though. The gangs in L.A. are incredible. A bunch of pin-striped old guys wouldn’t last a minute in some of the neighborhoods I’ve lived in.”

      She was way too grown up for a twelve-year-old, Carver thought. She shouldn’t even know about things like crime bills and gangs. She should be worrying more about how to get a playing card to make just the right clicking noise when inserted into the spokes of a bicycle wheel. Even during the turbulent sixties, he and other kids like him had managed to hold on to some of their innocence. Nowadays, it seemed, kids had to cash in their innocence early in order to survive.

      “You do a lot of stories about foreign countries for the magazine,” Rachel continued, stirring Carver from his reverie. “Human rights and stuff.”

      “I cover a lot of ground, I guess, yeah.”

      “So that means you’re gone a lot of the time.”

      He nodded. “I’m out of the country a good part of the year. And there are times when I have to do a lot of domestic traveling to research and back up my stories.”

      Rachel nodded, too. “That’s okay. I can look after myself.”

      “So you’ve said.”

      She tilted her head and lifted her chin defiantly, but she still didn’t look at Carver. “Well, it’s true.”

      “I believe it.”

      He wanted to say more, but had no idea how to address a twelve-year-old girl he had just discovered was his daughter. Fortunately, Maddy chose that moment to join them, and cleared her throat discreetly to announce her arrival. Carver smiled his gratitude, then realized she couldn’t possibly understand how much she’d just helped him out.

      “Uh, Maddy,” he said, standing awkwardly. He gestured toward the girl who remained seated. “This is Rachel. My daughter.”

      Maddy arched her brows inquisitively, but didn’t ask what had convinced him to change his mind so quickly and irrevocably. Then she looked down at Rachel, and he could see by her expression that she noted the dramatic resemblance between father and daughter as well as he. She looked back up at Carver and smiled, then turned her attention back to the girl.

      “Nice to meet you, Rachel,” she said, extending her hand.

      Rachel stood, looked at Maddy’s hand for a moment as if she didn’t understand the gesture being offered, then brushed her own palm against Maddy’s. “Hi,” she said a little breathlessly. “Are you my new stepmom?”

      Maddy bit back the furious denial she felt coming, and tried to tamp down the odd sensation of delight that threatened to spiral out of control at hearing the suggestion. “Uh, no,” she said. “I’m Maddy Garrett. I work for the Child Welfare Office of Pennsylvania.”

      “Oh, the social worker,” Rachel said with a knowing nod.

      Yeah, the social worker, Maddy thought, squelching a wistful sigh. She supposed that was all she would ever be to anyone. Still, that was something. There were a lot of people out there who needed her, kids who wouldn’t stand a chance without her. Unfortunately, thanks to the society and bureaucracy that went along with her work, there were a lot more who fell through the cracks, too, a lot more who were let down.

      “Yes, I’m the social worker,” Maddy told Rachel, trying to inject a little more fortitude into her voice than she felt. “I’ll be helping you and your father out for a little while, to make sure everything runs as smoothly as possible.”

      She glanced at Carver, and her heart turned over at the look on his face. He was staring at his daughter as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real. He looked confused, tired, shocked…and…and kind of proud, she realized. Something in his demeanor told her he wasn’t quite as unhappy about this situation as he’d first let on.

      “Looks like the two of you are off to a pretty good start,” she said.

      Rachel turned to look at her father. “So how about the nose piercing thing?” she asked. “You never said for sure.”

      Maddy, too, turned to Carver, hoping for clarification.

      “Rachel wants to get her nose pierced,” he explained. “Her mother gave her permission before she died.”

      “Oh, I see,” Maddy replied, although she couldn’t see at all why anyone would want to do something like that to herself.

      “So, can I?” Rachel asked again.

      Carver turned to his daughter, trying not to buckle under what would be his first parental decision. “No,” he finally said. “Sorry, kiddo, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. Maybe when you’re eighteen.”

      “No?” Rachel said as she jumped up from her chair and glared at him.

      Even if she was only twelve years old, she was already taller than Maddy, and Carver suddenly felt about as awkward around his daughter as he had around his adolescent nemesis. Rachel’s demeanor changed dramatically in a matter of seconds, from a nonchalant preteen to a raging tower of indignation. It was amazing, he thought, the energy that was wreaked by unstable hormones.

      “No?” she repeated, her voice rising about ten decibels in that one syllable. “What do you mean, ‘No,’?”

      Although he was taken aback by the suddenness of her attack, Carver was able to maintain a stoic control. He’d dealt with scary kids before, he reminded himself. Back when he’d spent a week at a New Jersey youth detention center for a story he’d done on juvenile offenders. The trick was to stay calm and never let them know how terrified you were of them, no matter how badly you wanted to bolt.

      So Carver turned to look Rachel right in the eye, settled his hands on his hips and calmly repeated, “I mean, ‘No. You can’t do it.’”

      Rachel gaped at him as if he had just slapped her. “I can’t do it?” she asked.

      He sighed heavily. “That’s what I said. You can’t do it. Hasn’t anyone ever said no to you before?”

      Instead of answering his question, Rachel ran an impatient hand through her hair and glared even harder. “Oh, man, I should have known what a bastard you were going to be.”

      This time Carver was the one to gape. His voice and posture were deceptively calm as he asked, “What was that?”

      “I said you’re a class-A bastard,” Rachel was quick to reply.

      Carver blinked once, turned to Maddy for support, then saw that she was as surprised as he by the turn of events. He scrubbed a hand over his face, reminded himself that Rachel was just a kid—a kid who’d recently lost her mother— and tried to remain calm.

      “Look,” he said, “why don’t we just forget you said that and start over. We can go home, get situated—”

      “Go home?” Rachel cried. “Home is L.A. I’m not going anywhere with you, you sonofa—”

      “Hey!”

      Carver’s tone of voice was sufficient to stifle the girl’s outburst, but she continued to glare daggers at him as she crossed her hands over her chest. She tilted her head back, thrust her chin out and frowned.

      “One more blowup like that,” he said, “and I’ll…”

      He’d what? he wondered. What did he know about parental ultimatums except for what he’d learned being on the receiving end of them for most of his youthful years? And a quarter century had passed since he was Rachel’s age. The