Cabin Fever

by Marilyn Pappano

  Chapter Twelve

  THE NEAREST AVAILABLE PARKING SPACE TO Small Wonders Nolie could find was half a block away and across the street. By the time she stepped into rather than over the minitorrent rushing along the curb to the drain, then hustled down the block, her shoes were soaked again. Fortunately, she’d managed to spare the hem of her dress by lifting it practically to her knees. Leanne’s warm greeting when she walked through the shop door made up for the chilly discomfort, though.

  “I thought you couldn’t make it.”

  “So did I, but . . .” Nolie shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on the bright red coat tree just inside the door, then sloshed her way to the back. “Have you eaten? Since I’m already wet, I can wade over to Harry’s.”

  “No need. I ordered a sandwich from the sub place down the block, and it’s big enough for three. Come on back.”

  Nolie slipped out of her shoes while Leanne served the sandwich on paper plates with chips—baked, but hey, not everything could be fattening. They curled up on the wicker sofa and love seat, ate, and discussed the sort of things Nolie used to talk about with her girlfriends back in Arkansas. Nothing of major importance—kids, clothing, weather, TV shows—but comforting all the same. While Chase was way beyond nice, he didn’t have quite the same interest in hairstyles or diet woes that Leanne did. It was a lovely way to spend a rainy afternoon . . . at least, until an older woman walked through the door.

  Leanne rose from the couch, a smile ready on her lips before it started slipping. “Oh. Mom. Look, Nolie, it’s my mother.” She grabbed Nolie’s hand and pulled her to her feet and toward the woman who stopped near the cash register, almost as if she intended to use her as a shield. “Mom, Nolie Harper. Nolie, my mom, Phyllis Wilson.”

  “I think she got the idea, Leanne.” The woman’s cool gaze swept Nolie up and down, and her mouth tightened, as if to keep in the admonishments fighting to get out. Nolie could all too easily imagine them: Barefoot in a place of business? Eating when you certainly can a ford to skip a meal or two or twenty? If that hair color’s natural, something can be done about it, you know, and if it’s not natural . . . Followed by a disapproving shake of the head.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Wilson.”

  “Yes, of course.” Phyllis turned her attention to her daughter. “I called you Saturday evening. I wanted Danny to spend the night with us.”

  “We were out.”

  “So I understand. Georgia Blakely over at the grocery store told me she saw you and Danny coming out of the Miller house on her way to work Sunday morning. At nearly seven A.M. Not going in. Coming out. As if you might have—oh, dear, is this jumping to conclusions?— spent the night there.”

  Appalled, Nolie edged back to stand next to a rack of tiny frilly dresses. Her mother never would have taken that tone with her. Heavens, she would swear her mother couldn’t have scrounged up that much sarcasm to save her life.

  Apparently, it wasn’t an unusual thing for Phyllis, because Leanne didn’t seem the least bit surprised. “What I was doing Sunday morning is none of Georgia Blakely’s business, Mom.”

  And it’s none of your business, either. Nolie silently urged her to say the words, but Leanne was a better person, or at least in better control of her impulses.

  “No denial. So it must be true. This-this Jackson person moves into town one week and you’re in his bed the next.” Phyllis rolled her gaze heavenward. “It must be your father’s influence.”

  “Leave Daddy out of this, Mom.”

  “God knows, I did the best I could. I sacrificed for you and your brother. I made a home for you. I took care of you. And this is the thanks I get. My daughter can’t find a single man to meet her high, high standards for marriage, but has no problem finding plenty of them to sleep with, and my son—”

  “Leave him out of this, too.” Any hint of politeness, patience, or resignation was gone from Leanne’s voice, making the words hard and icy, to match the pale, frigid look she wore.

  Phyllis opened her mouth, then closed it again. Wise choice, Nolie thought, retreating farther by trading the frilly dresses for the cover of a display of summer shorts and tops.

  “Did you come by for any reason other than to find out if I’m sleeping with Cole Jackson?” Leanne asked.

  A miffed expression pinched Phyllis’s face. “Actually, I want Danny to come over this evening.”

  “Sorry. We have plans.”

  “I can guess what plans you and Cole Jackson have,” Phyllis responded with a sneer.

  Leanne’s only response was a shrug.

  “Well, when do you think I might be allowed to see my only grandchild?”

  “How about at the church picnic Saturday afternoon?”

  “You know, Leanne—” Apparently Phyllis thought better of whatever she’d been about to say. She nodded once, stiffly, and said, “Very well.” Then, head high, mouth pursed sourly, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the store.

  For a long time the shop was quiet. Finally, Leanne exhaled loudly. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Don’t apologize.” Nolie had been part of a few ugly scenes before, notably her last few conversations in person with Marlene and Obie. Thankfully, though, she’d been spared any witnesses to hers.

  They returned to the sitting area and the cookies they’d moved on to after the sandwich and chips were gone. Leanne nibbled at hers before regretfully laying it down. “My plans tonight aren’t with Cole. He’s got a couple of late appointments, so I’m taking Danny and Ryan to dinner and a movie.”

  “Why, Leanne!” Nolie said in a scandalized voice. “You lied to your mother?”

  Leanne laughed. “I didn’t exactly lie. She assumed, and I let her, though I’m sure that’s still lying in her book.”

  “So . . . tell me about Tall, Blond, and Handsome.”

  Leanne’s gaze drifted across the street to the Jackson house, and a tender look came across her face. She was smitten, Nolie’s grandmother would have said, and Nolie would agree 100 percent.

  “He’s very sweet, very charming . . . and incredibly hot.” Her wicked grin came and went, replaced by a faintly troubled frown. “I like him a whole lot—more than I should. Maybe more than is safe for me.”

  “Why is that?” Nolie asked the question, though she knew the answer perfectly well. Broken hearts were slow to mend and tough to live with in the meantime.

  Leanne shook her head regretfully. “I wasn’t looking for a relationship. After the last loser, I swore I wouldn’t get involved with another man again. Then I met Cole, and I thought it couldn’t hurt to have lunch with him, or to dance with him at the Starlite, or to have dinner with him last weekend. But I was wrong. It could hurt, because here I am, already sleeping with him and half in love with him, and truth is, I’ve only known him a few weeks.”

  “Sometimes it doesn’t take very long,” Nolie gently pointed out.

  “No kidding,” Leanne agreed with great feeling, then turned pensive again. “When I’m with him, I think . . . he just might be that elusive Mr. Right we’re all supposed to be searching for. He’s interesting, he’s good with his son, he talks, he cooks. Danny likes him and worships his son. Ryan’s the big brother Danny’s always wanted.”

  “But when you’re not with him? . . .”

  “I keep wondering when the Jekyll/Hyde transformation is going to start. You know, they’re all charming and sweet in the beginning, but eventually their true colors show through. Greg took off because I got pregnant. Steve dumped me because of Danny. Richard was already married. What’s it going to be with Cole? He’s gay?”

  Nolie snorted. “Not if he spent Saturday night with you.”

  “And Sunday night. And Monday.” Leanne colored a bit even as she languidly fanned herself. “Oh, my, my . . . So maybe he’s on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, or he’s an alien from outer space seeking to colonize earth.”

  “Well, they do say men are from Mars.” Nolie took one more cookie from th
e bag, swearing it would be her last. “Here’s a novel idea: Maybe he’s exactly what he seems—a sweet, charming guy who’s a good father, a prospect for a good husband . . . and incredibly hot.”

  “Mr. Right. Wouldn’t that be something after all the Mr. Wrongs I’ve had?”

  “Hey, hope for the best. You deserve it.”

  As did she.

  Was it any surprise that Chase sprang immediately to mind?

  “I WISH YOU’D CHANGE YOUR MIND AND GO WITH US.” It wasn’t the first time Saturday Nolie had made the remark, but it was the first time it had sounded so plaintive to Chase. She was referring to the church picnic, of course. She’d closed the store at noon, then come home to change clothes and try one more time to change his mind. Once he convinced her that wasn’t possible, she would pick up Micahlyn, then head for City Park.

  Half the town would be there regardless of whether they attended the church, and there would be more food than any three such gatherings could consume. The women would gather in groups and talk, the men would gather and gossip, and the kids would play as if there were no tomorrow. Everyone would make Nolie and Micahlyn feel as if they’d lived there forever, and they would have a great time and make new friends.

  Friends who didn’t mind going out to dinner or a movie or a picnic, who didn’t have reason to hide from everyone. People with whom spending time might appeal to Nolie more than hanging out at home with him night after night.

  Still, he shook his head. “Sorry.”

  A frown wrinkling her forehead, she stared at him a moment, then accused, “No, you’re not. You’re perfectly happy being the hermit up here.”

  He didn’t bother to tell her she was wrong. Lately he’d noticed an increasing restlessness, a desire to do something. He just didn’t know what. Pack up and take off? Get a job—any job that would occupy his time? Look into the possibility of getting his law license reinstated? Oh, yeah, right, now there was a goal for him. It would be a cold day in hell before he’d go back to practicing law. Nearly two years in prison had cost him his interest in and his respect for the judicial system.

  Maybe he could just spend time with people. Lead a normal life. Make a normal life for himself.

  But to have a normal life, he would have to have people to share it with, and the only people he wanted to share with were the two he had no future with.

  Deliberately he shifted the subject. “Are you opening the store again after the picnic?”

  “Probably not. It depends on what time we leave—and whether any of our customers aren’t at the park.” She gave him one of those pursed-mouth looks, then sighed. “I guess I’d better go, then.”

  “Have fun.”

  Her snort made his mouth twitch with a grin. Primly she said, “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “Oh, I know. But if I show you, you’ll never make it to the park, and Micahlyn will be disappointed.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her toward the car parked in front of his house and walked her down the steps. “Go. Have fun. Make new friends.” But not too much fun, he silently clarified, or too many friends, and certainly none that was male.

  Reluctantly she got into her car, waved, then drove away.

  Long after her car disappeared from sight and the sound of its engine faded into the distance, he still stood there. Just stood. He had no place to go and nothing to do. No one to visit, no one to miss him, no one to give a damn whether he stood there in the pine needles and dirt the entire rest of the day and into the night. He felt empty. Forgotten.

  Or maybe he was just feeling sorry for himself because everyone in his immediate world got to go where they wanted and do what they wanted, while he was stuck out here— What was it Nolie had said? Being the hermit. Being. Not playing.

  So where did he want to go? Somewhere. And what did he want to do? Something.

  “You’re a great help,” he muttered aloud as he stalked back to the porch. “You don’t even know what the hell you want.”

  Besides Nolie.

  He went inside the house and fixed a frozen dinner for lunch, ate a couple of bites, then threw it away. Stretched out on the sofa, he surfed the channels, looking for something that could hold his interest on TV, but found nothing. There wasn’t any cleaning to do, or any need pressing enough to justify the ninety-mile round-rip to Howland. He was edgy and restless and bored, and couldn’t find a damn thing that helped.

  Swearing, he grabbed his keys and went to his truck. Driving was good, even without a destination. He could get out of the valley, clear his head, and pass the few hours— five at the most—until Nolie was home again.

  Unless she met someone she liked at the picnic.

  Someone with more to offer than nothing.

  When he reached the end of the dirt road, his natural inclination was to turn left. He tried his damnedest to follow it this time, but for some perverse reason he turned right instead. He made another right at the first street he came to, then continued a zigzag route to a little-used lot on the back side of City Park.

  The streets around the park had been reduced to one lane of traffic, thanks to the vehicles parked on either side. The food was spread out on tables under the trees, and people were everywhere, with folding chairs, quilts, or boulders for seats. The kids seemed to run wild, though he knew from past experience that there were always a few adults watching over them, usually Miss Agatha—yeah, there she was, with Miss Corinna, sitting on a blanket at the top of a small rise.

  He couldn’t pick Nolie out of the crowd, or his sister or, thankfully, his parents. He did see some familiar faces, as well as plenty that weren’t. But what could he expect after sixteen years away?

  If he had any guts at all, he would get out of the truck and go in search of Nolie, Leanne, and the nephew he’d never known. He challenged himself to do just that, and even went so far as to grip the door handle when the crowd seemed to part, and standing there, not a hundred feet in front of him, were his parents. His mother was wearing the vague smile he hated, the only one she’d ever smiled after a few years of living with his father, Earl was doing his friendly have-I-got-a-deal-for-you salesman shtick, and each was ignoring the other.

  Other than a few more lines on their faces, more gray in Earl’s hair, and an extra twenty pounds around his middle, they looked the same as Chase remembered. One strong, hypercritical man and one weak, uncaring woman who never should have married, much less produced children. Thirty-six years they’d been married and, judging from the way they were avoiding each other now, thirty-six years they’d been miserable.

  Damned if he would give them the chance to make him miserable again.

  Not even for Nolie.

  Still gripping the door handle, he started the engine and left.

  THE PARK WAS BUSTLING WITH ACTIVITY, EXACTLY the way a park should, Sophy thought with satisfaction. Tables stretched end to end under the ancient shade trees, their pale pink cloths fluttering in the light breeze, their weight capacity put to the test under the vast display of food. There were salads of every type and ethnicity, serving dishes filled with fried chicken, chicken salad, chicken and dumplings, sweet-and-sour meatballs, Italian meatballs, and barbecue meatballs, ribs and sliced ham, deep-fried turkey and egg foo yung, side dishes and desserts . . . ah, desserts to make a woman—er, angel—sigh.

  She did just that from her place on a sturdy branch of the tallest of the trees, directly above the first of a half-dozen dessert tables, and swung her legs in the air. There were so many familiar faces—Nathan and Emilie Bishop and their brood; Kelsey and J.D. Grayson and their half-dozen; Police Chief Mitch Walker and his family; Tom and Holly Flynn and her half sister, Bree. Little Rachel McKinney rode on her father’s shoulders, wide-eyed at the sights and sounds but keeping her mother, Maggie, in sight, and Alex and Melissa Thomas strolled arm in arm in the warm sunshine, chatting with Gabe and Noelle Rawlins.

  As if she’d heard her name whispered in Sophy’s thoughts, Noelle, a f
ormer guardian herself, looked high up into the tree, smiled, and gave a little wave. Sophy wiggled her fingers back at the only soul around at the moment who could see her, then continued to survey the scene.

  Below, Ben Foster and Sebastian Knight were making selections from the dessert tables for their wives. Both Lynda and Melina loved sweets and were fortunate enough to burn off the extra calories with no trouble at all. Nolie Harper, choosing between salads a few yards away, wasn’t blessed with as efficient a metabolism, but that didn’t seem to matter one bit to Chase Wilson . . . though the stubborn man wasn’t here today to show it.

  Abruptly the branch dipped and leaves rustled as Gloria settled next to Sophy. She was smiling brightly—when wasn’t she?—and balancing a plate of Miss Corinna’s no-bake cookies and Miss Agatha’s favorite peanut butter cookies. Gloria’s favorite, too, judging by how many of them she’d piled on the plate.

  “Where have you been?” Sophy asked. “Besides raiding the food table.”

  “I took some cookies,” Gloria admitted, “but I was also putting a dish out.”

  “Since when did you bring food to any of Bethlehem’s potlucks?”

  “Why, isn’t that the way these things work? Everyone shares in the cooking, and everyone shares in the bounty.” Gloria’s attempt at innocence wasn’t a rousing success, and after a moment of enduring Sophy’s sternest look, she sighed heavily. “Oh, all right, so I never have before, but we have a job to do, you know. Sometimes it just requires little nudges, like the one that persuaded Selena Knight—”

  “Melina.”

  “—to make Julia—”

  “Julie.”

  “—a part of her family.” Airily, Gloria waved at the quilt beneath a maple, where the private investigator and the formerly homeless teenager were surrounded by family and friends. “But sometimes we have to shov—er, nudge a little harder.”

  Sophy frowned at the woman. It probably wasn’t appropriate to be so suspicious of another guardian, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. “Where is this dish you brought?”