At home, she found Fezzi snoozing on the couch, his tummy fat with the biscuits she always overfed him while she sipped her coffee. Constance took a shower, then joined him. She got tired quickly these days. This morning was no exception, but as her lids drooped, Constance noted that her fatigue felt different. Rather than thick and lethargic, she felt wrung out. Rather than foggy, her head was clear, her muscles spent. She had enough time for a quick snooze before she met Sunny for lunch, so she gave in to the intoxicating pull of sleep.
Just before she nodded off, Constance saw in her mind again Rhett’s eyes—an unusual mixture of amusement, interest, resignation and pain—and heard his voice, deep and honest: Nice work, My Pretty Pony.
six
“How are my babies?” Constance asked before Sunny had even had a chance to sit down. “The ones who didn’t die, anyway.”
Sunny held up a hand and frowned. “Too soon.”
“Tell me about it.”
“The rest are doing really good.” Sunny peeled off her coat. “Dr. Winters says it’s a miracle Chevy’s so sweet, considering the life she’s led. And Pete came by. He’s excited about the pups. He says hi.”
Constance waved, as if Pete were in the room.
“Oh, and—” Sunny tossed her coat in the booth and slid inside “—Janice Matteri has issued a warning. Stay off her land, or else.”
“Or else what?” Constance opened her menu. “I won’t let her touch a hair on your head.”
“I know.”
“But—” Constance wagged a finger “—you better pay attention to me now. You need to watch your step. I know your heart’s in the right place, but you’re playing with fire.”
“Janice Matteri is the one who better watch out.” Sunny peered at her own menu. Constance had always thought her reckless, and wasn’t shy about saying so. Sunny’s typical retort was that Cici was cautious enough for the both of them. “She’s going to be sorry she ever darkened my doorstep.”
Constance snorted. “Famous last words. I’m not bailing your ass out like I did when you were in high school.”
Sunny snorted back, though she suspected Cici might not be kidding. Back then, Cici was following Daddy’s orders to “take care of your little sister—no matter what,” a directive Constance had followed to the letter since Mom’s death. But Mom had been gone since Sunny was five years old, and now Daddy was gone, too. At some point, Constance might just decide she was done taking care of her impulsive baby sister.
Sunny’s gaze went between the salad and pizza menus, which were adjacent to each other. The pancetta and ricotta pizza sounded crazy good, but the Mean Green Salad would sit so much better in her stomach.
Right then, the waitress showed up, pad and pencil in hand. She had puffy hair, colored yellow when it should have been white and a name tag that read Dolores. “What can I get you girls?”
“I’ll have the Mean Green Salad,” Sunny piped up. “With the dressing on the side.”
Dolores scratched on her pad.
“I’ll have the pancetta and ricotta pizza,” Constance said. “Can you do that with extra pancetta?”
“Sure, honey.” Dolores scratched on her pad again. “Nice choice.” She collected the menus.
Once she was gone, Sunny pressed her lips together and shook her head. Constance had always been able to eat anything she wanted without an ounce of discomfort. Sunny once watched her down sausage links and a stack of pancakes with butter and syrup directly before a twenty-mile training run. After, she reported having the best run of her life.
“What?” Constance rubbed her belly. “I’m hungry. You wouldn’t believe the workout I did this morning.”
Sunny narrowed her brow. “Workout?” She reared back and studied her sister. “Hey. Did you go to my spin class? When I wasn’t coaching? On purpose?”
“No. Well, sort of.” Constance smiled at whatever look was on Sunny’s face. Confusion? Irritation? Probably both. “I went over to your spin class—yes, on purpose, because you weren’t coaching—but I never made it inside. All the giggling and brightly colored towels were just too much.”
“I see.” Sunny dug out the mini tape roller she kept in her purse and ran it over her chest, grabbing up the dog hair she’d missed before she left the house. “And?”
“I just stood outside and watched. Was getting ready to leave.” Constance waved the spin class away. “But then I saw the place across the street and...well, first I saw the bakery, let’s be honest, but then I saw the place across the street and I... I don’t know. I went in. I actually went in and just started doing the workout. It was kind of surreal.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Sunny unwrapped her straw and plunked it into her water. “You went into the place across the street? Semper Fit? The place with the crazy people who run in the rain and flip tires down the street? On impulse?”
“Ah.” A light flickered over Constance’s face. “So that’s what the tire is for.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Then again, why was she surprised? Leave it to Cici to want to punish herself in the worst way possible.
“I learned some new moves.” Constance did a bunch of things with her arms, including what looked like rappelling a mountain.
“You climbed a mountain?”
“People were climbing ropes, Sunny. Ropes, hung from the ceiling. And they didn’t have the knots in them. You know, ones you could use to step on to climb up?” She snapped her fingers. “None of that. These people were climbing knotless ropes.”
“You climbed a rope?”
“Of course not. I rappelled myself to the floor and climbed back up again. With a rope in my hands. It was hard.” She held up her hands and showed off what looked like rug burn on her palms.
Sunny eyed her sister’s baggy sweatpants and basketball sweatshirt that dated back to when the Washington Wizards were still named the Bullets. It was thin with age and had a tear at the collar. “What did you wear?”
Constance considered that in silence. “The new shoes you bought me.”
Carefully chosen words and emotions neatly contained. Typical Cici. “And? What else did you wear? Please tell me you didn’t wear that.” Sunny pictured Constance struggling with a rope in her oversize sweats and bit back a grin.
Constance mumbled something around her straw.
“What?”
“I might’ve—” she set the water down “—worn a T-shirt with a unicorn on it.”
“Oh, good Lord. Not—” Sunny traced a horse figure on her chest “—the one from when you were a teenager?”
Constance nodded.
“Mean Green Salad.” Dolores appeared with their order. “And a yummy pizza.” She smiled at Constance as she slid the pie in front of her. “You want Parmesan on that, hon?”
“Of course.”
“Of course,” Dolores agreed. She whipped out a handheld grater and went to town, leaving a fluffy pile of cheese on top of the saucy pie. “Enjoy, ladies.”
“That’s the same look one of the guys had on his face when he saw the shirt,” Constance said as soon as Dolores disappeared. “Kind of amused, but without the horror. That stricken look of horror you’ve got going on there.” Constance waved her fork in a circle near Sunny’s face. “Hey, the unicorn was the only clean shirt that fit. I got really slender during my running days. Even in high school I was thicker. From all the cheerleading.”
“You were definitely really slender when you were running all those miles,” Sunny agreed. “But wait. A dude laughed at your shirt?” She dug into her bed of greens. “That doesn’t sound very friendly.”
“No, he didn’t laugh.” Constance forked in some pizza and chewed thoughtfully. “Not with his voice. He kind of laughed with his eyes. They’re this cool brown color. With a hint of mossy Irish green.” She looked out the window, like she was r
emembering. “Hazel? Like they’re brown and green, but can’t make up their mind.” She turned back to Sunny. “He wasn’t laughing at me. He was just kind of...smiling without smiling. And when I touched him, his energy was rough. Not rude, like you’re thinking. Just rough. And...” Whatever else Constance was going to say ended in a shrug.
“Uh-huh.” Sunny dabbed her lips with her napkin. She wanted to meet this guy. Pronto. “So, when you going back?”
“Going back?” Constance’s gaze shot up from her plate. “Who said I was going back?”
Sunny stuffed more salad in her face to squelch the gurgling her stomach made at the aroma of Constance’s hot, cheesy pizza. “You seem kind of excited about it.” She chose her words carefully. “In fact, you look a little different.” She wasn’t lying, even though Sunny wasn’t above that sort of thing. But Constance really did have a certain glow about her that she hadn’t seen in a while. When Sunny had walked into the restaurant and spied her sister by the window, she’d attributed the bright skin and tiny smile to the new puppies. Constance always got a little high from a rescue, even though she pretended to be all business about it and acted like she helped the dogs purely for Sunny’s benefit. Now, Sunny wasn’t so sure that glow had anything at all to do with dogs.
“No.” Constance waved her hands over her pizza. “No way. That workout was horrible.”
“Okay.” Sunny shrugged. Unable to stand it anymore, she reached over and stole a slice of Cici’s pizza. Cici didn’t even blink. “But you went,” she pressed as she bit into the cheesy slice. “And you stayed. And you’re kind of glowing.” Sunny chewed and swallowed. “Holy shit, this is good.”
“I am not glowing.” Constance stabbed her fork into Sunny’s salad and stuffed the greens into her mouth.
“Whatever you say.”
They ate in silence for a while, both their own food and each other’s.
When Sunny next spoke, she changed the subject. “I’m going to do the Christmas fundraiser again this year.” She crunched on a crouton and waited until she’d swallowed completely before continuing. “You’re coming, right? I’m going to run the whole thing, like I did before. I’ll need you to massage my biggest donors. The more important they feel, the more they open their wallets.”
Constance laid down her third slice, half-eaten. “Of course. Anything for the dogs.”
Sunny dabbed her lips with her napkin and slid her empty bowl to the edge of the table. Daddy had died midway between Halloween and Thanksgiving last year. Six months ago, Josh had packed up his sorry ass and moved out. The year hadn’t been easy on Constance, and Sunny hadn’t been one hundred percent sure her sister would be on board for the holidays this year. “You don’t have to do the party if you don’t want. Just the massages. You’ll do those, right?”
“I just said I would.”
“I know. It’s just that—” Sunny drew a deep breath “—I know you’ve said you don’t feel like you bring the same energy to your work since Daddy died and since Josh...well.” Sunny pressed her fingers over her mouth. “I was just checking.”
Constance shrugged. “I’ll do the massages.” She shoved her remaining pizza away. “Those rich donors want the classic spa massage. They want to say, ‘My shoulders hurt,’ and have me rub their shoulders. They feel smart and in charge and you get money for the dogs. It’s a no-brainer.”
Dolores came by with the check, which Sunny grabbed. “Are you cooking for Thanksgiving?” Sunny’s intention had been to steer the conversation toward something that made Constance happy, like cooking. But then, she hadn’t cooked a Thanksgiving feast last year, with Daddy being gone.
Constance was staring out the window again, and Sunny got the distinct feeling she’d ruined whatever glow her sister had come in here with. “Yeah, I’ll cook.”
Sunny slipped a bill in the little folder. “I’ve got to get home to the brood.”
Constance nodded, still not meeting Sunny’s gaze.
Sunny reached out and covered her sister’s hand with her own. Constance snapped her head around. “I think you should go back to the rope-climbing, tire-flipping gym tomorrow,” Sunny said. “If you want my opinion.”
Constance slid her hand away. “Did you hear what I said?” Her tone held the cold iron of Daddy’s voice when anyone tried to tell him what to do. “I hated that place.”
“Yeah.” Sunny grabbed her purse and rose up. “I heard you. You hated that place.”
seven
It sounded like bullets were raining down on the roof of the Humvee. Thousands and thousands of bullets. How were that many bullets even possible? He waited for the roar of the rockets, but they stayed just inside the ghost of his memory, taunting him.
Rhett woke in a cold sweat, well ahead of his alarm, to a black, sleeting sky. He held his head between his knees for a second, drawing air steadily in and out of his lungs, before he threw back the covers and stepped onto the cold floor. He peeked out the window. The side streets that led to his town house looked dicey, but the main roads had probably been sanded. Still, with schools closed and miniature hail hitting the windows, attendance at the gym would be minimal. He sent out a mass email, canceling classes for the day, and followed that up with notifications on social media.
Then he fixed himself a protein shake and limped his way to the front door. The colder it got, the worse his leg felt. Going in was probably a stupid move; no amount of warming up was going to get his muscles functioning today. He opened the door and faced the dark sky. His breath turned to steam. At 5:30 a.m., the moon still hung like a yellow beacon. Ice pelted him gently in the face. Nobody else was stirring.
Go back to bed, his body screamed.
Fat chance, his mind responded.
Rhett unlocked his Jeep with his remote, sprinkled the stairs with salt, took his steps gingerly, slid once, reflected briefly on the stupidity of his journey and got in the car, anyway.
He put the Jeep in low gear and drove slow. The ten-minute drive took twenty, but he got there in one piece. He spent some time salting the perimeter of the building, but then settled in the office and turned on the computer.
Rhett kept telling himself he didn’t have anything better to do, and that the roads weren’t so bad. He pulled up yesterday’s waivers and dug through them. Once he found hers, he admitted, for a brief second, this was one of the reasons he’d come into work today.
There were three forms, but only one was for a woman. Specifically, the redhead who had the balls to come in here wearing a unicorn T-shirt. It wasn’t the standard—not like one of the “special unicorns” that were in fashion right now, the tight tank tops meant to suggest how unique its wearer was, despite the fact that a dozen other women were wearing the same damn unicorns.
No. My Pretty Pony had come in here wearing some kind of early nineties throwback that reminded Rhett of the dolls Mel favored when she was a little kid. Mama used to say, “Go on, Rhett. Play with your little sister. Brush the ponies’ hair.”
And he’d been forced to scrape miniature plastic brushes through the rainbow-colored manes of the little horses that gave Mel so much delight.
Constance Morrigan.
That was her name. She was thirty-three years old, and she’d come in here wearing a fucking My Pretty Pony T-shirt.
Rhett laughed to himself. He pictured her again as the sleet pattered a relaxing tune on the tin roof. The ragged short hair—not classic red and not blond, but both; what did they call that? Strawberry?—looked like a little kid had taken scissors to it. Ironically, her hair had looked much like what Rhett had once done to one of Mel’s ponies in revenge for losing his cap gun in Andy Simmons’s backyard. Mama had grounded him for a week over that. Mel, forever a kind and forgiving soul, had begged Mama to shorten his sentence and declared she liked her “punk pony’s” new do.
The luxurious hair on My Pretty Pony’s unicorn
shirt hinted at what Constance Morrigan’s hair might look like if she weren’t determined to have the ugliest haircut on the planet, which is what Rhett had sensed. She was trying to hide anything about her that might be attractive, including that oversize shirt that draped her soft, curvy hips. Everything about her had been soft and curvy, though Rhett had sensed a harder, firmer woman buried beneath it all. The ghost of an athlete was in her face, her concentration, her determination to finish that stupid workout Hobbs had programmed. Any other newbie would have run from it.
Rhett was certain he didn’t know Constance Morrigan. Who could forget a name like that? But there was something familiar about her. Something about her eyes, which were the impossible blue color of an arctic glacier. Not cold, but vivid. Which could be good or bad. They were the kind of eyes that told it like it was, but also made it hard to hide anything.
A set of headlights washed through the gloom, over the front of the building, temporarily blinding Rhett through the window he faced. Who the hell would be out in this weather? Besides himself.
The headlights disappeared around the corner. Maybe it was a salt truck, or somebody from the strip mall across the way. After a moment, Rhett heard somebody try the front door.
Seriously? Somebody had shown up for the 7:30 class? He shouldn’t be surprised. His gym attracted a lot of diehards and addicts, even if their poison was fitness instead of a much less healthy drug. It was probably Tatiana, with her overworked body and bullish personality. No way in hell was Rhett giving her a one-on-one. She could do some open gym since she’d dragged her ass here in the sleet, but he’d have her out in an hour, tops.
By the time Rhett got to the front door, the figure was already moving away, taking steps gingerly along the sidewalk. He didn’t recognize the person from behind, clad in a large blue jacket and stocking cap. Despite his better judgment, Rhett poked his head out.
The figure stopped and peeked over her shoulder. She turned and headed back his way, her boots crunching over the salt he’d put down. “Are you open?”
Rescue You Page 6
