Nothing, actually. Still, she wasn’t entirely heartless.
“Would you like some lemonade?” Guy asked.
“No.” She tugged her crossed arms deeper into her chest.
“Will there be a yard sale?” he asked.
She blinked at him. “A yard sale?”
“To get rid of all my junk.”
Maybe he wanted to go into assisted living and just didn’t know how to ask, or how to pay for it. In that case, he wouldn’t give her a hard time. Everything would be nice and easy.
“Well, I guess that’s a reasonable question,” she said, mentally ticking off what needed to be done while she was here. “I suppose we could have a yard sale, although it would be easier just to throw everything away.”
“Everything? Aren’t they sometimes allowed to keep the things they treasure most?”
They? Patients in homes? “I suppose, yes.” She bit back a dry laugh at the very thought that he’d ever treasured anything. He certainly hadn’t treasure his wife and daughter. “What would you like to keep, Guy?”
“Well…” He rubbed his hands over his worn pants, thinking. “I guess my needlepoint and knitting.”
The deputy sheriff of Mimosa Key did needlepoint and knitting? When did that happen? After his early retirement or his wife’s death? “Sure, you can hang on to that stuff.”
“And my recliner?”
Oh, he had loved that throne. Although by now he probably had a new one. “I guess it depends on space.”
“You’ll handle everything or what? You bring in a team?”
“I’m pretty efficient,” she said. “I’ll need a few weeks, I imagine, to get all the paperwork together, but I’ll start the preliminary work tomorrow.” God, this was going to be simple. He wanted to leave. No fight.
And with Guy, that was saying a lot.
“It won’t be hard because I’m all alone,” he said, sounding unbelievably pathetic.
Yeah, and whose fault was that? “That’s… good,” she said.
“Don’t have a wife,” he said sadly, adding a slightly wobbly smile. “I mean, I did, but I can’t remember her.”
Words eluded her. He forgot? What he’d done? How much misery he’d inflicted? Did he forget the time he threw an encyclopedia at his wife’s head or poured her favorite cologne in the toilet or—
“If you’re ready to go in, I can make tea,” he said, clearly on a whole different wavelength than she was.
Tea? Since when did he make tea? Oh, he could certainly fling a pot of it at someone who pissed him off.
She would not forget, even if he had.
He pushed up. “Come on, then, um… what’d you say your name was again?”
“Jocelyn.” Did she really have to go in? No, she didn’t have to put herself through that. Not yet. She’d go back to the villa, make some action lists and phone calls. That would be so much better than touring her childhood home with the man who ran her out of it.
“Actually, Guy, my work here is done.”
“Done?” He laughed heartily, the strangest sound Jocelyn could ever remember hearing. A real laugh, from the gut. “I don’t think so, Missy. I kind of knew you were coming, so I started cleaning everything out for you.”
He knew she was coming? “Did Will call and tell you?”
“Nah, William would never ruin the surprise.” He pulled open the screen door, then pushed the wooden front door, which was no longer the chipped dark green stained wood she remembered from the last time she was here. This door had been refinished and painted a glossy white.
Will?
Another ribbon of guilt twisted through her, followed instantly by a squeeze of fury. How could Will be so nice to him? After what had happened?
“Come on, come on.” Guy urged, waving an age-spotted hand.
She’d have to go in sometime.
She followed him into the front entry, instantly accosted by the dark punch of miserable memories. The linoleum was the same, yellow and white blocks that covered the entry and led into the kitchen that was oddly placed in the front of the house. That weird exposed brick wall, painted white now, still stood, separating the entrance from the kitchen and living room around the corner.
Without thinking, she touched the shiny paint of the bricks, her hand slipping through one of the decorative openings. He’d thrown her mother against this wall once. She jerked her hand back and took a good look around, into the kitchen, past the dining room, down the hall to the bedrooms.
Holy, holy crap.
The entire house was one giant hot mess. Kitchen cabinets were open, vomiting dishes, glasses, cookware, and utensils. In the dining room, the buffet doors gaped wide to reveal empty shelves, but stacks of china and vases and a few tea sets covered the dining room table.
This was what Will called “taking care of him”?
“I know, I know,” Guy said, shaking his head. “I got a little ahead of myself, but it was that marathon they ran this morning.”
Jocelyn finally looked at him, trying to make sense of his words. But nothing made sense.
“Who ran a marathon?”
“On TV! I don’t remember seeing you, though.” He put a hand to his forehead, pressing hard as if he could somehow force his brain to cooperate. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here now and… and…” His features softened into a smile, raw appreciation and affection filling his expression. “Oh, Missy. I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re going to help me.”
“You are?” She still couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to give her an argument about moving, even if he didn’t have a clue who she was.
“Of course I am.” He reached for her again, this time snagging her hand. He squeezed it between his two fists, all the strength of those thick hands gone now, just weak, gnarled fingers that didn’t seem capable of the fury they’d unleashed so many times. “I’ve been waiting for you ever since I saw you on TV.”
She blinked, shocked. “You have?”
“Well, I think it was you.” He squirreled up his face again.
“The pictures were blurry, but it was me,” she admitted. “There’s more to it than you see on TV, believe me.”
“Oh, I bet there is.” He laughed and squeezed her hand. “But just so you know, you’re not making a mistake. I need this so much. It’s all I’ve thought about since I saw you on TV.”
A wave of pity washed over her, watering down a lifetime of old feelings. Well, at least this would go smoothly. Then she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about locking him in some home. And maybe she could let go of some of that hate. Maybe.
“So, what happens first?” He asked brightly. “When do the camera people get here? And, when do I get to meet that big black bossy lady with the flower in her hair?”
“What are you—”
Behind her the screen door whipped open and Jocelyn turned to see Will frozen in the doorway, looking at her with almost the same degree of shock he’d had this morning outside the villa.
“William!” Guy practically lunged toward him, arms outstretched. “You are the best son in the world. How can I thank you for getting her here?”
The older man reached up and grabbed Will in a bear hug, flattening his gray-haired head against Will’s chest.
Over his head, Will stared at Jocelyn, his mouth open but nothing coming out.
“You did it,” Guy said, finally leaning back to beam up at Will. “You got Clean House here and this pretty girl is going to make my life perfect. I love you, son, you know that?”
Jocelyn put a hand on the cool brick wall to steady herself. Not because the old man misunderstood why she was there. Not because he thought she was there to make his life perfect. Not even because he thought Will Palmer was his son and she was a stranger.
He’d just never, ever said the words I love you unless he was weeping in apology for having hurt someone or broken something. The words had always been meaningless to him.
But not now. Guy really did love Will.
And as Will patted Guy’s back, comforting the old man, it was clear that Will loved Guy, too.
And the irony of that was one bitter pill on her tongue.
Chapter 5
Jocelyn looked more real, more beautiful, and even more stunned standing in the entry of her own home than she had when Will had accidentally discovered her at Casa Blanca.
With one more gentle pat on Guy’s back, Will gave Jocelyn a pleading look, hoping she’d just go along with this.
“He thinks I’m from a TV show called Clean House?” she asked, obviously still confused by what had unfolded. “Why don’t you tell him—”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, a little forcefully as he eased Guy away from him. “Why don’t we go talk privately about…” His gaze moved beyond her to the kitchen. “Holy shit, Guy, what the hell happened here?”
“Now there’s no need to cuss, son. I just got a little ahead of the game. This lady, this… uh, uh… what was your name again?”
“Jocelyn,” she said with barely restrained patience. “Jocelyn Bloom.”
Guy didn’t even blink at his own name. “This Jocelyn is going to straighten it all out and set things right for me. That’s what she does, right? Isn’t that what you do, Missy?”
Will held his breath, watching a series of emotions play over her refined features. Dismay drew her dark brows together and doubt made her lower lip quiver slightly. But she finally lifted that deceptively delicate chin and nodded.
“Yes, actually, that is what I do.”
Will exhaled slowly, fighting the urge to give Jocelyn a hug of gratitude. “Why don’t we go somewhere and talk about the details,” he suggested. “Guy, you take a load off in the living room and I’ll show Jocelyn around.”
“Is this the part where they do a tour?” Guy asked. “The ‘before’ tour?”
“Yes,” Will said, stepping closer to Jocelyn. “But you have to sit down and let me take Jocelyn on the tour.”
“Why?” he asked. “I want to show her everything.”
Will gave another look, practically begging for help.
“He’s right. I have to see everything without you. Go sit and we’ll be back after I’ve looked around.”
Oh, man. He could kiss her. “C’mon. We’ll start out in the…” He looked around at the chaos. “Garage. It’s through the laundry room over—”
“I know where it is.” She rounded the brick wall and made her escape through the unused—and just as messy—office that led to the laundry room.
“Will.” Guy grabbed his arm. “Thank you.” He reached up for another hug. “I don’t deserve you, you know that? You’re such a good son.”
“It’s okay, Guy. Let me talk to her.” Will inched him aside, knowing Jocelyn was damn near liquid mercury when it came to disappearing between a man’s fingers. She could well be gone when he got into the garage.
He found her standing at the door to the garage, listening to the exchange. Shit.
“Hey, thanks,” he whispered, coming closer. “Let’s go out there and talk.”
She slipped into the garage and he followed, closing the door and gathering his wits. He’d thought of nothing, absolutely nothing, all morning but the impact of seeing Jocelyn Bloom.
He’d talked to Lacey and found out that Jocelyn was here for an “indefinite visit”—and he supposed he knew why—but after how she acted this morning, he didn’t imagine she’d come to see Guy on her own. At least not this soon.
“I’d been hoping to bring you down here myself,” he said, giving voice to his thoughts. “I thought I’d ease you into what to expect.”
She arched a dubious brow. “Then why did you make that closing shot about you taking care of him? I mean, what was that if not a way to get me here?”
“Desperation, I guess. Look, Jocelyn, I—”
“I’m sure there’s plenty of desperation in this situation. But I’ll take care of it for you and you’ll be free. I’ll take care of the problem.”
He blew out a breath, his hands aching to hold her, his heart still not settled from the unnaturally wild beat that had started when he saw Lacey’s car in front of the house. “It’s really not a problem,” he said slowly.
“Caring for an infirm old man who—”
“He’s not exactly infirm.”
“—is living like a pig and—”
“That mess just happened.”
“—once threatened to kill you and now thinks you’re his son.”
He stared at her. Of course that night would be right under the surface, waiting to bubble up, waiting to rip him apart, waiting to suffocate him in guilt because Will had been able to forgive, if not forget.
“He’s changed, Jocelyn.”
She gave a mirthless, dry cough. “I see that.”
“No, I mean, he’s really a different man.”
“He has no idea who I am,” she said, still cool and controlled and pretending to be unaffected by something that had to affect her. “But he certainly has a fondness for you.”
“He’s confused.” He attempted a smile. “I guess that’s obvious.”
She folded her arms tightly against herself, defensive and still defiant. “I guess I should say thank you for what you’ve done.”
But, whoa, she sure didn’t sound like she meant it. “Look, I came back here a year and a half ago to fix up my parents’ house and get it on the market and I had no intention of speaking to the man.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets as if that could stop the need that still made them ache. All these years and he still wanted to touch her.
“So why did you?”
“Because I’m… human. And he was in sorry shape.” Alone, pitiful, and, god damn it, a really nice guy. “I started just by taking his trash to the front on pickup day and then cutting his grass when it got to be a mess. Normal, neighborly things. I fixed a few things, like his broken sink and the back screen door that didn’t close and—what?”
With each word she’d grown paler, smaller, more constricted in her posture. “What? You’re asking me what, Will? Do you know why the screen door was broken?”
He swallowed hard. “I can guess.”
“Then why would you do anything for him?”
He took a slow breath. “Because he’s sick, Jocelyn.”
“Then you should have called me.”
Guilt slammed him. He should have called her. Not just when he realized how bad Guy was, but fifteen years earlier when she disappeared from Mimosa Key without saying good-bye. He knew she was up at UF, but he didn’t call. He just let time go by, and then too much time went by.
“I saw you last year for thirty seconds and you bolted.”
She swallowed guiltily. “I had a…”
“Phone call, I remember. But how could I call you then when it was obvious how you felt?” He recognized his own rationalization and swiped a hand through his hair in frustration.
“I’ll get the house cleaned up and get him squared away,” she said quietly. “I hope that can be done with a minimum amount of fuss or, to be honest, interaction with him.”
He tried to focus on her words, the efficient tone snapping him to attention.“You mean, you’d go along with this? You’d pretend to be on that show? Because that would be great. You know, when he doesn’t get his way, he—”
“I know what happens when he doesn’t get his way.” Her voice was icy, and he could have kicked himself. Of course she thought she knew what happened when he didn’t get his way, except she didn’t know this Guy; she knew a different Guy. “And like I said, I do this for a living. You’d be surprised how many people are willing to pay for a life coach to do nothing more than organize closets and files. Then we’ll get him situated somewhere.”
He tilted his head, trying to understand. “What do you mean?” Except, deep in his heart, he knew exactly what she meant.
“In a home somewhere.”
Yep. Exactly. “He’s in a home. His home.”
She raised her chin, looking remarkably strong for such a petite woman. But she’d always been strong. Even at her weakest, most broken moments, Jocelyn had a backbone of pure titanium. It was one of the things he’d once loved about her. One of many.
“He can’t stay here,” she said simply. “And you can’t be expected to care for someone who isn’t your father, no matter how much he thinks he… likes you.”
Did she think he couldn’t still read every nuance in her tone and delivery? They’d known each other since they were ten. “He said he loved me.”
“Yes, well, I imagine he says a lot of strange things.” She bit her lip and crossed her arms so tight he could see each tendon straining in her hand. Man, she was wired for sound.
“That probably hurt your feelings, since he doesn’t even recognize you.”
She let out a dry laugh. “You’re assuming I have feelings where he’s concerned, Will. Or did you forget what kind of man he was?”
“I didn’t,” he said softly. “But he did.”
“And that makes everything okay?” Her voice rose with incredulity.
“I understand how you feel because I felt the same way when I first got here. But over time, shit, he kind of grows on you.”
Her eyes grew wide in shocked disbelief.
“Maybe you could…” Give him a chance. Was that even possible? “Think about this a little more.”
“I’ve thought about it enough.” She turned as if she were looking for something—or just couldn’t face him anymore.
“I just don’t think he needs to be put away like some kind of criminal.”
She whipped back around to flatten him with a dark glare. “He is a criminal and you might have gone all soft at the sight of him, but I didn’t. I won’t. I never will.”
“Maybe there’s another way,” Will said. “He’s old and out of it. He’s sick and demented. But this is his home. It would be cruel to—”
“Cruel?” She threw the word back in his face like a ninety-five-mile-an-hour fastball. “Are you serious? He wrote the book on cruel. He hit my mother, Will. He threatened to shoot you. He… he…” She clenched her jaw and drew in a shaky breath. “He is a very bad man.”
Barefoot in the Rain Page 5
