* * *
I’m grappling with a string of melted cheese stuck to my chin when there’s a knock at Nick’s front door. We both pause, glancing at each other, and then Nick grumpily sets his pizza back on his plate on the coffee table. I follow suit and pause A Few Good Men. Although I’ve always been more of a Bruce Willis fangirl, there’s just something about Tom Cruise’s Lieutenant Kaffee as he stares down Jack Nicholson, smug, defiant gleam in his eyes and all.
“Are we expecting someone?” Nick asks.
I wipe my face off with my sauce-stained napkin and squint at the illuminated time on the microwave. “Not that I know of.” It’s barely eight; it just feels later than it is.
“Oh, no,” Nick grumbles as he peers through the peephole, but I can hear the smile in his voice as he opens the door. “Hey, Ma.”
“Sweetheart,” Mrs. Turner says in greeting and steps into the apartment. Nick leans down to hug her and she lifts herself to tiptoes. Nick got his height from his father, clearly. Mrs. Turner lets go after a quick squeeze and beams at him. She’s wrapped in a sable cashmere scarf and a snow-white trench coat. “It’s freezing out there.” When she sees me, her eyes light up even more. “Machaela! I was hoping you’d be here. I brought some things over I thought you could use, like clean towels, for example.” She winks at me and glances over her shoulder at Nick before she leans down to kiss my cheek with her cool lips.
I can feel winter wisping off of her, but it’s refreshing, and I wrap my arms around her in a hug, a bit awkwardly as I try to stand up at the same time.
“You didn’t have to do that, Mrs. T. The memory foam mats in the bathroom are already more than I’m used to, seriously. It feels almost like I’m at a resort.” I grin and wink at Nick, who’s shaking his head.
When his mom sees our picnic spread on the coffee table, her eyes widen. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think to call first. I’m just headed back from Costco in Benton and I wanted to drop some things off before I headed home.” She nods to Nick. “Nicky, honey, can you bring in the rest of the goodies from the car for me, please?” She peels off her layers and drapes her coat over the back of the couch.
Nick’s already wrapping himself up in a flannel coat. “I’m on it.” Although Nick gets a little overwhelmed sometimes by his mom, I also know that he adores her and loves being the center of attention most of the time. He has his mother’s heart and his father’s work ethic, and I guess his comical, winning personality is just, well, him.
The moment the door shuts, Mrs. Turner starts buzzing around his apartment, pulling a new package of toothbrushes and a few other bathroom items from a canvas bag. “How are you holding up, sweetie?” The tone in her voice sobers me. “I heard about your mom.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” I say casually. I walk over to help her tear the tag off a new oven mitt. “You are aware that he never uses the oven, aren’t you?”
She laughs. “A mom can hope, right? Besides, I figured you could use one while you’re here. I know how you’re used to cooking. And, being that he never does unless it comes from a box or bag, I figured I’d pick a couple things up for you. Plus,” she says whimsically, “I’m hoping that he’ll have a lady friend soon he’ll want to start cooking for.”
I’m not sure what she knows about Savannah and Nick’s relationship, so I don’t say anything, but I like the image she’s painting. “Nick as a Susie Homemaker? I should’ve gotten him an apron for Christmas.”
Mrs. Turner chuckles softly and pulls a couple beige towels from her bag. “Here you go,” she says, handing one to me. “Just make sure one of you washes them first, okay?”
I nod, pulling the tags off while she does the same with the other. She hands me a new set of flannel sheets, too, and I walk them into Nick’s room and toss them in the laundry basket. When I come back out, Mrs. Turner is staring at a family photo framed on the wall. I can’t help but notice she looks a little sad. I stop beside her and stare up at the portrait, trying to see what she sees. Nick’s young, maybe high school, and Mr. Turner and Nick have the same big goofy grins.
It takes a moment before Mrs. Turner is out of her trance and finally seems to notice me. She starts a bit and smooths her sweater down, smiling weakly. “Family can be a tricky thing, can’t it?” she asks, her eyes drifting back to the photo. Nick’s hair is cut short around his ears and he’s wearing a button-up polo and a pair of khakis, just like his father. The perfect family when he was young, and the perfect family now.
“Yes,” I say easily. “It can be very tricky.”
After a few breaths, she finally looks at me. “Machaela,” she says quietly and tucks her blonde gray-streaked hair behind one of her ears. “I know I’m just Nicky’s overbearing, shopaholic mother, but do me a favor, sweetie.”
Tentatively, I nod.
“Don’t ever compromise who you are or what you want for anyone.” Her amber eyes glimmer in the low light, and I wonder what exactly she’s trying to say to me. “I know the unknown can be frightening, and with everything that’s going on right now you might even feel lonely, but no matter what, never compromise your dreams or ambitions—not a single part of you—and especially not for a man.” I see pure, unadulterated emotion in her eyes and I’m a little stunned. Although I can’t be sure what she means, I get the feeling she’s confiding in me in her own way; she’s either unhappy now or she has been, and I’m not sure how to respond to that as I realize the picture-perfect Turner family might be cracked a little.
“I won’t, Mrs. T. Thank you.” And she has no idea how much her words truly mean to me.
She rubs her arms a bit and offers me a weak smile just as there’s thumping at the door.
“Oh, sweetheart!” She hurries to help Nick in with a giant case of toilet paper under one arm and a couple bags of goodies in his other hand. “I’m sorry. Thank you for doing that,” she says, all bubbly smiles and twinkling eyes again.
As Nick and his mom banter back and forth about the excessive amounts of toiletries she brought over for two people, I realize how easily she slides in and out of her Mother Dearest role and wonder how long she’s been playing a part.
* * *
Later, long after Mrs. Turner leaves, Nick and I reenact our favorite scenes from the movie. “My Jack Nicholson is a thousand times better than yours, Nick.”
“What? No way in hell. You can’t even get the face right.”
I bark out a laugh. “I’m okay with that.”
Nick raises a thick eyebrow. “Me too.” He laughs. “But I don’t think anyone can do a better impression than Tom Cruise can. It’s epic.”
“True,” I concede, and we both exhale and lean back against the couch, rubbing our bellies and groaning, stuffed full of pizza, parmesan breadsticks, and ranch dressing. I haven’t told Nick about my run-in with Bethany yet, and it’s been weighing on my mind ever since I realized she isn’t as bad as I’ve always thought. Or so I’m slowly grasping.
“Hey, Nick?” I ask, playing with a loose string that dangles from the woven throw that covers our laps.
He looks at me.
“I know Reilly knows, but . . . what happened between you and Bethany?”
His brow furrows slightly and his gaze wavers before he looks away and at the fish tank. “Which time?”
I know the poor guy has tried and failed to get to know her better, but it’s the why I’m curious about. “The first time you decided you liked her. I know it was when you and Reilly were in middle school, and I know you saw something that the rest of us never have, but I’d like to know what happened.”
He eyes me a minute. “Yeah? And why’s that?”
I shrug. “I guess because I feel like there’s more to her, too, and I’m just trying to understand.”
Nick thinks about it for a few breaths before he starts to explain. “The first time I ever really noticed Bethany—at least other than the sassy blonde the teacher always yelled at for being late all the time—was seventh grade. She�
��d gotten detention for talking back to Mr. Silverman, and I realized she always had attitude when she talked, but she rarely ever talked. Then I started paying attention more, for whatever reason.” He grunts in amusement and rubs his hand over his head. “I thought she was kind of mysterious.”
I’m about to open my mouth with a smart-ass remark.
“Yes, mysterious,” he repeats and shakes his head. “You’re so predictable.”
I throw a wadded-up napkin at him, unable to suppress a grin.
“Anyway, I started noticing her in line with me at milk break, waiting for a cheese zombie.”
I’m salivating again and I’m far from hungry. “God, I miss those.”
“One day, she wasn’t in line. I’d seen her in first period, so I knew she was at school. But I thought, whatever, maybe she’s not hungry today. Anyway, I hadn’t finished my homework so I went to science early and she was in there, sitting in the back like she always was, and I could tell that she’d been crying.” He pauses for a moment. “I tried to ask her what was wrong, but she told me to go away. You know me, I clearly couldn’t do that, so I bugged the crap out of her until she finally told me—and she started crying again.”
“What was wrong with her?”
He glances at me and then back at the fish tank. “She said she’d gotten in a fight with her parents and she thought her little brother might get taken away from them.”
My eyes widen, and I wonder what horrible thing might’ve happened that would result in her brother being removed from the household.
“She wouldn’t tell me much else—I think she was embarrassed—but I got the impression her parents aren’t good people.” Nick looks at me. “I didn’t say anything to you guys because it felt wrong to tell other people about her problems. But I did tell my parents, hoping they might be able to do something for her. Whatever they did got her in trouble and she was pissed off at me after that and she’s been pushing me away ever since.”
I stare at him. “I had no idea.”
Nick lifts a shoulder and tucks his hair behind his ear. “I think she hates that I know and she’s punishing me.”
“You might be right about part of it, but I don’t think she hates you.”
“Yeah? Well, I’ve tried to talk to her off and on for years, and the one time anything happened between us freshman year was because she initiated it. But even that didn’t last. One kiss and I’ll admit a sneaky grope later, she was shoving me away from her all over again, like it suddenly hit her what she was doing. Every time we’ve been thrown together since, she acts like she doesn’t even know me.”
“And yet you still like her,” I think aloud.
We exchange a sidelong glance but don’t say anything more about it. It’s clearly a touchy subject for Nick, like talking about it still betrays Bethany in some way, so I leave it alone.
“Thank you,” I say, “for telling me.” He meets my gaze. “That actually makes a lot more sense, believe it or not.”
Twenty-Eight
Mac
“Yes, ma’am. He replaced your brake pads and rotors, and he’s putting your tires back on as we speak. You should be good to go for your trip, and since it’s only Monday, you’ll have your car a whole two days early!” I almost can’t hear Cathy over the sound of the impact gun Reilly’s using to tighten the lug nuts. I stare at the connecting door, willing it to close on its own.
The front door dings, and I peer over the counter to find Nick’s hazel eyes dancing merrily as he lifts up my Batman lunch pail. I silently assess the haircut I gave him last night, appreciating how much better he looks with his hair trimmed a bit shorter, no longer stringy enough to tuck behind his ears.
“Alright, Cathy,” I say. “Sounds great. See you this afternoon.” I hang up the phone, my stomach suddenly growling as I imagine the leftover olive and pepperoni pizza in my pail.
“Lunch for the pretty lady,” Nick drawls from the doorway. The shoulders of his jacket are flaked with snow.
I clasp my hands to my heart and jump to my feet. “My hero!”
He puts on his cheesiest cowboy smirk and saunters in. “I figured you’d be a damsel in distress right now.”
“You have no idea. I’ve been sort of swamped since I got in this morning, but I’m ravenous.” Once again, my stomach rumbles right on cue. I set my lunch down and lean in to kiss his cheek. “Are you heading to Lick’s?”
“In a bit. My shift doesn’t start until two. I figured I’d stop by and see my dad at work. I haven’t talked to him in a while.”
“I’m sure he’d appreciate that.” Given what Nick said about him acting strange, one would hope, at least. I walk around my desk. “Are things any better with Savannah?” I ask the question carefully, because I haven’t seen her nor has he mentioned her much since the party.
His gaze veers away from me, telling me all I need to know. He fiddles with the rack of air fresheners and thumbs through the maps that line the wall around my desk. “I’m pretty sure she’s moving back home to help her parents. She just hasn’t told me yet.” He shrugs. “It’s only a matter of time.”
I school my expression and reel in everything I want to ask him—the are you sures and things could changes. I’m about to change the subject when the sound of a back-up beeper comes from outside. We both look out the glass door to see one of the Hank’s Truck and Tow vehicles backing an older white Range Rover into our lot. It looks familiar, but I can’t place it at first. It’s when I register the bleach blonde jumping down from the tow truck with hair cascading down her white fluffy coat that I realize whose car it is.
Reticent, I look at Nick to find his jaw flex beneath his stubble and his eyes narrow so slightly I’m not sure it really happens.
Of course she’s here, for the first time in history. And so is Nick. Bethany’s talking to someone I can’t see through the glass door before she hauls it open and walks inside. She has a nine- or ten-year-old in tow.
“We’ll only be a minute,” she says to him and brushes his brown hair out of his eyes. Both Bethany and the boy look at me, his gaze darting quickly away. Bethany lets out a breath and pulls her gloves off one by one.
“I’m going to say hi to the guys in the shop,” Nick says quickly. He sidesteps Bethany and the boy and disappears.
Bethany’s gray eyes fix on the empty doorway before looking away.
Other than Nick’s unexpected presence, she seems nonplussed to see me in spite of our previous, mostly hostile “conversations” with one another. Then again, I’m sure she knew she’d find me here.
“We were right downtown,” she prefaces, like that’s the reason she decided to come to our shop. When I just stare at her, she continues. “I think I’m having starter trouble.” She unzips her jacket a smidge and fans her flushed skin. I’m not sure if it’s that she’s uncomfortable standing across from me, that Nick is there, or the temperature of the office that makes her temple begin to glisten a little.
Reeling myself back in to business mode, I turn to the computer and open my repair order window. “Starter, huh? What makes you say that?” I remotely register my dad outside, talking to the tow truck driver. “Did it make any noise at all when you tried to start it?” I glance up as Bethany shifts her gaze from the boy, whose eyes haven’t stopped scanning the room, back to me.
The air hammer kicks on in the shop, the loud rattle booming in the office as I clack away on my keyboard. “Yeah, it sounded like it was trying to start, but it just went on and on. Usually if I wait a minute and try again it will work, but this time . . . I gave up after a handful of tries.”
Bethany steps closer to my desk. “We were picking something up at the cleaners, it hadn’t been more than twenty minutes, max.” As I type away, taking notes, it dawns on me that her usual flippant air is nonexistent, just like it was the night of the party—just like it was at the salon. I’m beginning to notice a curious pattern.
The boy finally moves from his spot a few feet away from
her and stops in front of the rack of car fresheners. Although I can’t see what he’s doing, the crinkle of plastic wrappers and the intention in his eyes tells me he’s moving them around. I can’t help it—I lean over the counter. He’s arranging them by color.
“Sorry,” Bethany says, sounding a little exasperated. “He likes things to be in order.”
I shrug, grateful that he’s organizing them for me. “No worries.”
“Jesse, this is Mac. Can you say hi?” Bethany runs her fingers through his longish hair again. It’s a loving, endearing gesture that’s surprising to witness, but even Bethany’s tone of voice is encouraging and tender.
“Hi,” he says distantly. It’s obvious he’s either too busy organizing or uncomfortable.
“I dig your shirt, Jesse,” I say, pointing to the Jurassic Park logo on the front. “That’s my favorite movie.”
“It’s my favorite shirt,” Jesse says, meeting my eyes for a second before he busies himself looking at the maps.
Bethany shakes her head. “He doesn’t do well with new situations and people,” she quickly explains, and I can tell she’s starting to get antsy. “What else do you need to know about the Rover? I’ve been meaning to get it looked at, but I just—I haven’t had time.”
Jesse winces every once in a while as he organizes and I totally tune Bethany out. The air hammer comes on again, the incessant buzz and pop and hum echoing through the building. This time Jesse looks almost angry. He finally glares up at Bethany. “I want to go.”
“I know, in a minute, okay? We have to deal with the car. Try to be patient, please.”
I walk over to the connecting door between my office and shut it. The sounds lessen, muffled by the wall separating us, and Bethany flashes me a relieved, almost grateful expression. There’s a first for everything . . .
Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Page 50
