Bittersweet Surrender

by Diann Hunt

  Settling back into his seat, he tried to make sense of it all. He’d seen the business this place had brought in, and the amount of profits deposited just didn’t jive. It seemed to be doing better recently, but one thing that bothered him was the amount of money going into products. It seemed unusually high. Could Carly have messed things up that badly? He sighed.

  No use worrying about it now. Staring at the tangled numbers, he rubbed his blurry eyes and blew out a sigh. Time to get back to work. They couldn’t afford another tax extension, and something told him Carly wouldn’t be happy about the profits—or lack thereof.

  “Lunch was great, Rita,” Carly said when she settled into a rocking chair across from the sofa. “I don’t know how you do it on Sundays. I barely get myself to church on time. If I tried to prepare lunch ahead, I’d never make it.”

  Rita chuckled. “It helps cut corners to eat at home. I grew up on big Sunday dinners after church, so it’s no big deal to me.”

  “Well, you’re a marvel, that’s all.”

  Rita picked up her yarn and knitting needles from a basket next to the sofa. “Seems the only way I can talk to you these days is to schedule a facial or have you over for lunch.”

  Carly wondered if she should point out that Rita hadn’t talked all that much during the last facial.

  “Yeah, guess I should schedule a facial,” C. J. said, joining them in the living room.

  Rita looped yarn through the needles and said, “It wouldn’t hurt you. Men need to take care of their skin, too, you know.”

  Carly studied Rita. “Good marketing. Maybe you should come to work for us.”

  C. J. waved his hand. “She’s got her hands full just taking care of me.” He slipped onto the sofa beside his wife.

  Boy, he had that right.

  “Saying nothing of her second graders.” Carly and Rita exchanged a glance.

  “Speaking of children, when are you two going to give me a niece or nephew to spoil?”

  C. J.’s face clouded. “Like I said, she’s got her hands full just taking care of me.” The fierce expression on his face told Carly the discussion was closed.

  The knitting needles clacked and yarn twisted and looped in Rita’s hands.

  “Hey, sis, want to go in on a vacation condo?” C. J. breezed right through the tension.

  A sense of adventure might look good on some, but on Carly’s brother, not so much. Hello? Balance, anyone? Rita cooked at home so they could save money while he looked for every opportunity to spend it.

  “It’s in Florida, but they have locations all over the United States. It’s an awesome deal—”

  Carly held up her palm. “Stop right there. Not interested.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “It takes money, C. J. I don’t have that kind of money.” She wanted to add, “Thanks to you.”

  “Oh, come on. You could skim off enough profits for the condo and never even know it was gone.”

  Carly looked at him as though he had a screw loose, which of course, he had. “I don’t know what dream world you’re living in, but my spa ain’t there.”

  “I’ve seen how women come and go at your place. You have a gold mine.”

  Carly bit her lip. “One would think so,” she said thoughtfully. Her eyes turned to him. “But there are a lot of expenses involved with running a business. It’s not all gravy, you know.”

  “After five years, I would think you could afford a little something for yourself,” Rita joined in. “Though I’m not suggesting the condo,” she quickly added.

  C. J. cleared his throat. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know.” He got up from the sofa.

  Carly had no intention of telling them her plans for the money she’d been saving. She hoped this year’s disbursements would take her to her goal. Medical expenses were so costly, especially without insurance.

  “Where are you going?” Rita asked C. J.

  “Going riding on the bike.” He shoved out the kitchen door to the garage, and the roar of his Harley followed.

  Disappointment waved over Carly. No doubt she had upset him by bringing up the baby thing and then not showing more interest in the condo. “I’m sorry, Rita. I should have at least listened to him.”

  Rita shook her head. “No point in encouraging him. You of all people should know that.”

  “It seems I always say the wrong things. He acts as though I’m making all this money and refusing to share with him.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “Sometimes I just don’t understand your brother.”

  “That makes two of us. He’s always been that way. Even as kids, he wanted whatever I had. Is that the oldest-child syndrome?”

  “Maybe.” Rita continued to work the yarn through her fingers. “He’s been acting so different these days.”

  “How so?”

  Rita’s hands stilled and she looked up. “Distant. Distracted. Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s my imagination, but to be honest, sometimes I wonder if there’s another woman.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Between his work and his Harley, when would he have the time?” Carly started to laugh, but when she saw the worry on Rita’s face, she stopped herself. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Rita. I know my brother, and he would never do that to you.” Of course, she’d thought she knew Gary too. The familiar ache returned.

  “I hope you’re right,” Rita said, picking up her yarn and working again.

  “How’s his job going?” Carly asked, trying to shove away thoughts of Gary.

  “It’s going all right. You know C. J. He’s never satisfied. Wants to conquer the world.”

  “Yeah, he’s always been an ambitious sort. When he was a teenager, he worked as a newspaper carrier, burger flipper at McDonald’s, and groundskeeper at a local cemetery.”

  “And what did he do with all that money?”

  “Gadgets and cars.”

  Rita laughed. “He hasn’t changed much. Only now he’s into Harleys.”

  Carly nodded. “Maybe one day he’ll grow up.” Why did she always feel as though she needed to make excuses for him? He was her older brother. He should be the protector. Just like Gary . . .

  “Maybe.” Knit, purl, knit, purl. Rita was gaining speed.

  “So what are you making?” Carly asked, trying to steer the conversation into a more positive light.

  “A baby blanket for one of the teachers at school. Her baby is due in September.”

  Carly’s heart squeezed for her sister-in-law. If only she could think of a way to get C. J. to have testing. It was a small price to pay for a baby. A nagging thought wouldn’t let her go. Did C. J. really want a child?

  “I’m truly sorry, Mrs. Capp.” Tearing off a gift certificate, Carly scrawled in a figure and handed it to the older woman. “This is good for a free massage. I hope it makes up for the discomfort.”

  The disgruntled customer grabbed the coupon and lifted her three chins. “Well, just make sure it doesn’t happen again.” She turned and waddled out the front door.

  “‘Rainy days and Mondays always get me down,’” Carly sang when Scott joined her on the way to the kitchen.

  “You know, that would make a good song.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “What was that all about?” He grabbed a mug, filled it with coffee, and handed it to Carly.

  “Oh, she claims I scrubbed her face too hard during her facial.” Looking into her cup, Carly added, “Where’s the whipped cream?”

  Scott ignored her question. “Did you?”

  “It’s Monday morning. I’ve already dealt with a grumpy customer, and you’re offering me a cup of coffee with zero whipped cream? How can you live with yourself?”

  “Uh-oh. Magnolia trouble?” he asked.

  “That woman is trying to kill me. She emptied all my candy dishes. Can you imagine? Every last chocolate, gone! Who does she think—”

  “Carly.”

  “—sh
e is? Those were my—”

  “Carly.”

  “—chocolates. I paid good money for those. She has no right—”

  “Carly.” Scott grabbed her arm.

  She blinked. How dare he interrupt her soliloquy? “What?”

  “I did that.”

  She blinked again. “You?”

  “Yes, me. While you were giving the facial, I went upstairs and dumped your candy. I told you I was going to help you. Besides that, you told me you were really trying not to eat as much candy.”

  Clenched fists pulsed at her side. She glared at him. “Notice the ‘as much’ part of that comment? That implies still eating some. Get it? You make me exercise, take away my whipped cream, and all my candy? You’re sadistic. You’re heartless. You’re Benedict Arnold!” She turned and stomped off.

  She had cut back; what more did he want?

  This fight wasn’t over by a long shot.

  “You want to hear the latest scoop?” Amber asked, leaning in to Carly by the filing cabinet. Carly loved Amber. She could always count on the young woman to fill her in on the latest office gossip. But it was also the very reason Carly never confided personal things to her coworker.

  Carly bent a listening ear. “Shoot.”

  “Melissa Winters is after Scott.” Amber stood tall and grinned like a Cheshire cat.

  “Oh.” Carly shoved the filing cabinet closed with a bang.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Carly walked over to her desk. “Oh, I don’t know. That woman just grates me the wrong way.”

  Amber held her hand to her throat and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Whatever do you mean? Why, I think she’s just the sweetest little ol’ thing.”

  Carly laughed. “You’re bad.”

  Amber shrugged. “Well, I’ve got to get back to work. You’d better warn Scott to be on his guard.”

  four

  Scott popped the tab on his soda, kicked out his recliner, and took a swig from his can. Some days he came close to telling Carly how things really had been between him and Ivy. That the last year before she died, Ivy just wasn’t herself. Still, the timing never seemed right.

  Maybe it was his fault, like she’d said. If he hadn’t worked such late hours, she might not have filled her time with online gambling. For Ivy, a little wasn’t enough. It had to be more and more until it became a real problem, nearly stripping them of their marriage and their finances.

  Everyone thought they’d had the perfect marriage. But things weren’t always what they seemed.

  The phone rang.

  “Please tell me you’re not reading comic books.” Brian’s voice was always good to hear. Though he was four years younger, Scott and his brother were close. Scott wouldn’t have made it through that whole thing with Ivy had it not been for Brian helping him through. Brian was the only one who knew Scott and Ivy’s marriage had been in trouble. He could tell Brian just about anything.

  “Nope. Just got comfortable in my chair, though, and Spiderman is within reach.”

  Brian gave a slight laugh. “You’ve heard of kids giving up their blankets? It’s time you got over it, big brother.”

  “Never.”

  “It’s bad for the macho image, I’m telling you.”

  “I think I’ll risk it.”

  “So are you dating anyone yet?” Brian’s question rattled Scott a little.

  “Whoa, where did that come from?”

  “Just looking after you. So are you?”

  “Um, not yet.” He was getting frustrated with all this concern stuff. Why couldn’t people leave him in peace?

  “What are you waiting on?”

  “A woman. They’re usually needed to qualify as a ‘date,’” Scott said.

  “Hey, we have plenty of women in this town,” Brian argued. “Surely, you’ve come across one by now that you could take to dinner.”

  Scott ran his hand through his hair. “Is that why you called?” He loved his brother, but this constant nagging to go on a date was driving him crazy.

  “What about Carly?” He was armed and dangerous.

  “What about her?”

  “She’s nice to look at, available, and you’re already good friends.”

  “She was Ivy’s best friend.” He couldn’t believe they were even having this conversation. He and Carly? Dating? Ridiculous.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Doesn’t seem right. Not only that, she’s been writing steadily to some guy, and he’s moving back to town.”

  “Okay, so you have a little competition. No big deal. The best man will win.”

  “No contest from what I hear,” Scott said. “The man is an ex-Marine. Probably has arms the size of tree trunks.”

  Brian laughed. “I saw you two weeks ago and you had a few ripples yourself.”

  “Ripples, yes. Cement blocks, no.”

  “I still say the best man will win. From what I know of Carly, she’s a smart woman. She’ll look beyond the muscles.”

  “It wouldn’t work with Carly. We’ve been friends too long. She’s more like a sister.” Scott took a swig from his soda.

  “Guess I’ll just have to get my wife to bring some of her friends over for you.”

  Scott cringed. “Oh, man, don’t do that, Brian. I’m not ready.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. She and the kids are gone to see her mother for a while. That’s why I’m calling. I thought we could hang out while she’s gone, do some guy things that I don’t normally get to do.”

  Scott grinned. “Such as?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. See an action film, play paintball, go hunting. You know, guy stuff.”

  “And you say I’m the one who hasn’t grown up?”

  “Okay, I’ll come over and we can read comic books.”

  They talked awhile longer and decided to get together soon and go see a guy flick at the theater. When they hung up, Scott scratched his jaw and picked up his soda can again. “Carly Westlake and me. Now there’s one for the books.”

  He shook his head and laughed.

  Once Carly arrived back at her desk at the end of the day, she couldn’t believe her eyes. There in all its wonderful glory sat her candy dish, filled to the brim with . . . pistachios. At this point, she was just thankful to eat. Anything. Jogging to her desk—Scott would be proud of her—she settled in, opened the lid, pulled out a couple of nuts, and set to cracking the shells.

  It was then that she noticed Scott at the filing cabinet.

  “Did you do this?” she asked, digging into the jar for more.

  “Yes, but remember, moderation.” He walked over to his desk rather pompously, she thought.

  Sometimes he just irritated her.

  She popped a couple of nuts into her mouth. Oh, the tragedy of it all. It was like eating tree bark when your heart was set on hot fudge.

  For a moment indecision crowded her mind. Jake should mean infinitely more to her than chocolate, but she confessed to a moment of pause.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She looked up sheepishly. “Thanks for your help, Scott.”

  “You’re welcome.” He grinned. “We still have time to jog before dinner. Go change your clothes. Magnolia will have dinner when we get back.”

  Carly’s gaze pinned him in place. “You have talked with Magnolia about this?”

  “Yep. She’s going to help us both.”

  “Did you two take out an insurance policy on me? What?”

  He shrugged. “I said I wanted to lose weight, and I’m serious about it. Magnolia is a good person to have around when you want to lose weight. Her passion for health spills onto everyone and everything around her. Not to mention her cooking would keep anyone from overeating.”

  “I don’t even want to talk about that. Did you bring your sweats?” Carly asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “All right. I’ll go get dressed and meet you back down here.”

  “Sounds good. I have a few things to do in
the office.”

  Her weak legs carried her halfheartedly up the stairs, knowing full well that she was going to treat them unkindly over the next hour. By the time she reached the top step, Jake’s handsome face had all but faded from her memory. Unfortunately, so had her beautifully decorated home—which, as she viewed it now, was totally unrecognizable.

  Her living quarters had vomited furniture. Everywhere.

  Magnolia sat on the end of her sofa, which had replaced Carly’s nearest the television. She looked up and waved—obviously, even she realized Carly might miss her in all the clutter. “What do you think?” Her eyes were bright and perky, and her hand flapped with glee.

  “I think it’s . . . cozy.”

  Magnolia chuckled and stumbled her way over to Carly. “I know it looks a bit jumbled right now, but we’ll figure it out. We can make this place look good.”

  “It looked good before.”

  “It will look more lived-in now.” Magnolia’s eyes sparkled like a little kid on an adventure.

  Words clattered against the backs of Carly’s teeth and it took everything in her not to set them free.

  “Scott told me you were going jogging. I’ll have vegetable enchiladas ready for you when you return,” Magnolia said as though they had no choice in the matter. Which, of course, they didn’t.

  “Thank you. I’m going to put on my sweats now,” Carly said, then headed for her bedroom. “What if I were a cook?” She asked no one in particular as she yanked her sweats from the drawer in her room. Pinkie stared at her, head cocked to one side, but said nary a word.

  Smart dog.

  “She’s taken over my kitchen.” Carly looked at Pinkie. “Do you believe that?”

  She didn’t.

  “Maybe I would like to cook in my own kitchen.” Carly’s sweats protested as she wiggled them up over her thighs. “Okay, so maybe I don’t cook, but it’s nice to know the kitchen is there for me if I’m hit with sudden inspiration to whip up something.”

  Pinkie looked doubtful.

  “It could happen.”

  Pinkie held her ground.

  “Who asked you?”