Kisses And Kids (Congratulations Series #1)

by Andrea Edwards

  What would it be like to love someone so much? To feel that you were such a part of their lives? Trisha felt suddenly left out. As if she were watching a play that she’d never have a part in, and it saddened her. She turned slowly back to her raking and Susie joined in her efforts.

  By the time they had a reasonable pile raked up, Bob and the kids had joined them. Bob had his own rake, but the kids were more interested in jumping into all the piles. Trisha’s heart ached a bit as she watched them. Would she ever have a love to hold her through the night? Kids of her own?

  “They can be a real handful,” Bob said.

  Trisha looked up to find her brother watching her. And reading her mind apparently. “Oh, I know they are,” she said. “I’m around kids all the time, remember?”

  “It’s different having your own.”

  “I suppose.” This was the one thing she’d found most annoying about her brother—the fact that he was an expert on everything.

  “I always pictured you as having a lot of kids,” Susie said to Trisha.

  “I do,” Trisha replied. “We have almost a hundred members in the West Side Boys and Girls Club.”

  “No, I mean your own. You know, like seven maybe.”

  “Seven?” Trisha’s voice was more of a squeak, and she rushed to clear her throat. “That’s an odd number. And a lot for this day and age.”

  Susie just laughed. “Oh, I figured you’d have a few, adopt a few and gather a few more in other ways.”

  “I see.” Trisha went back to raking, more industriously this time. Seven? It was just a coincidence. They happened all the time. Nothing to get all hyper about. Nothing to pay any attention to.

  “So what are you guys doing in town?” Trisha asked brightly. “I thought you usually timed your visits around the Christmas holidays.”

  “Actually, we’re looking for a house.”

  “Not here,” Susie said quickly. “In the Chicago area.”

  “I’m joining a small accounting firm in Chicago,” Bob said.

  “Great,” Trisha said.

  “We’ll be a couple of hours away from here,” Susie said. “And not too far from my folks in Springfield.”

  “They’ll be glad of that.”

  “And so will Susie,” Bob said. “She didn’t like California.”

  “Not a bit.” Susie shook her head. “I like the changing seasons. I want to see a real winter.”

  “You’re my witness, Tish,” Bob said. “I’m going to need help the first day we get a windchill of minus forty degrees.”

  Trisha laughed, then laughed even more as Susie took off after Bob with a huge handful of leaves. He shouted his protests as the kids yelled their encouragement. Trisha just watched as Susie caught him and dumped her leaves on him. He retaliated, catching her so that they both lost their balance and fell into the leaves, laughing.

  “They seem really happy, don’t they?”

  Trisha turned to find her mother at her side. “Yeah, they do.”

  “Sometimes I used to worry,” she said slowly. “You know, that your father’s and my divorce would sour you two on marriage. But it didn’t seem to affect Bob.”

  Because he barely noticed, Trisha thought sourly. He was almost out of high school at the time and lived with Trisha and their mother only for that last year. Then he was off to college. Between visits to their father and summer internships, he had never really called their home his after that. He had never been there when their mother was struggling to make ends meet, working one job while taking night school classes to get a better job.

  “I think everything that happens in our lives affects us,” Trisha said slowly. “The good stuff and the bad.”

  “But I never wanted to make you afraid of marriage.”

  Trisha forced a laugh. “Afraid of marriage? Where did you get that idea? I’m not afraid of it. I just don’t have the time.”

  Her mother’s eyes were not laughing with Trisha. “And how would marriage take up more time?” she asked. “Instead of sharing your life with your cats, you’d share it with a man.”

  Trisha went back to raking. “I like my cats.”

  “You ought to have a man you like more.”

  * * *

  “Hi, Ben.”

  “Pat, good to see you.” The president of the chamber of commerce came around his desk to shake Pat’s hand, then, putting a hand on his shoulder, directed him to a sitting area in the far corner of his office. “To what do I owe this visit? You got another piece of good news for the city?”

  “Not today.” Pat shifted in the chair. “I’m here with my hat in hand. I need some money.”

  “Personal or business?”

  “It’s for the West Side Boys and Girls Club.”

  “I understand that’s become somewhat personal for you.”

  For a moment, Pat stopped in surprise. Was that a twinkle in Ben’s eyes? “The club needs a new van,” he finally said.

  “Have there been problems sharing yours?”

  “No.” Pat shook his head. “We’ve had no problems with sharing. The problem is that my department’s vehicle isn’t suitable for the club. It doesn’t provide enough seating for the kids.”

  Ben just nodded, that little smile still in place as if he were seeing some private joke.

  Pat tried to ignore it. “I’ve negotiated a price with Oberlin Motors,” he said. “What I need now is twenty thousand dollars.”

  “Has Trisha checked for the availability of grants?”

  “No,” Pat replied. “I’m doing this on my own.”

  “I think Trisha is more familiar with the grant request process than you are,” Ben said.

  “I know.” Pat shifted in his seat. “She did an informal check before. She got the word that things were fairly tight, especially since it was so close to the end of the year.”

  Ben nodded. “She’d probably have a good chance for next year. If she submits now, people can enter the request into the queue.”

  “I was hoping to get it done this year,” Pat said.

  “That could be a problem.” Ben put his hands behind his back and leaned back. “It’s too close to the end of the fiscal year for most agencies.”

  Pat liked Ben. The older man had been a strong friend in the three years that Pat had worked in this town, but today he felt a growing irritation build within him.

  “Twenty thousand isn’t all that much,” Pat said.

  “Depends on who you talk to,” Ben replied with a shrug.

  “You know we could get this van thing taken care of today. You kick in ten K and I put in another ten. One, two, three. It’s all done. Finito.”

  Ben just shook his head. His eyes had lost their twinkle. “I like going through regular channels.”

  Pat looked away for a moment. He’d thought he was coming here man-to-man. Friend-to-friend. Instead, he was feeling the way he had the day he’d gone to see Angel’s second-grade teacher and she kept brushing him aside, saying she wanted to talk to their father.

  Damn it, though. Pat wasn’t eleven anymore. He could handle things himself. “Trisha could—” He stopped and took a breath. “I mean, those kids could really use that vehicle now.”

  Ben leaned forward. “You’re making this kind of personal, aren’t you?”

  They exchanged stares, unblinking.

  “It’s okay to take a personal interest in Trisha Stewart,” Ben said. “But you have to be careful about letting that attitude get in the way of your business dealings.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Come on, Pat.” Ben tilted his head to the side slightly, a smirky kind of grin on his face. “This is a small town.”

  Pat just glared back. How much did Ben know? On the other hand, since his relations with Trisha were personal, what the hell business was it of anyone’s?

  “No one’s saying that you’re doing anything wrong,” Ben assured him. “There’s just a feeling around that you’re partial to Miss Ste
wart’s projects.” He shrugged and his smile grew slightly. “Actually, that you’re partial to Miss Stewart, period.”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “I didn’t say anything was wrong,” Ben protested softly.

  “I volunteer at the club and work with a couple of kids.” Pat found himself growing more irritated. “And we’ve had dinner a time or two.”

  “Pat.” Ben leaned forward on his elbows and looked him in the eyes. “You’re both young and unattached. What you folks do with your own time is no one’s business but your own.”

  “Damn right,” Pat snapped.

  “But when it’s personal,” Ben said, “you have to be careful about how hard you twist arms for Miss Stewart’s club.”

  “It isn’t her club,” Pat snapped. “It belongs to the neighborhood.”

  “You know what I mean.” Ben leaned back and looked away a moment. “I guess things got off on the wrong foot here. I’m sorry. Maybe I was out of line. But you really need to let this grant request go through normal channels.”

  Pat was about ready to explode with anger, but knew that would accomplish nothing. He stood up. “You’re probably right.”

  “It’s a good cause, Pat. And early next year Trisha will have her new van. I promise.”

  “I thought the vehicle would belong to the club.”

  “Come on, you know what I mean. She’s been there a few years now so Trisha and the club kind of get interchanged in people’s minds.”

  Not in his mind. That kind of mix-up would never happen. The club was an organization. Trisha was a warm, loving, beautiful woman. The club had a charter. Trisha had a warm body.

  “Let her keep using the development committee’s vehicle,” Ben said. “I’ll make sure she has a new one by January. February, at the latest.”

  The way these things went, that meant maybe March but certainly April. Pat felt his lips tighten. “Well, thanks for your time,” he said.

  “See you at the chamber luncheon next week?” Ben asked.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  He walked Pat to the door. “How you coming with that new warehouse over in the airport industrial park?”

  “They plan to make a decision by December 1.” Pat shrugged. “I think we have a good chance.”

  “That’s good. Real good.” Ben opened the door. “What was that going to be, about sixty or seventy new jobs?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well,” Ben said, putting an arm on his shoulders, “we all appreciate the good work you’ve been doing for the town.”

  Normally Pat was well-disposed to hear good words from Ben. He’d always thought the man was a straight shooter, but today...today Pat just wanted to get out of there.

  “Thanks.” He slipped away from under Ben’s hand and hurried out the door.

  “Oh, Pat.”

  Gritting his teeth, he turned.

  “She’s a fine, young woman. Intelligent, charming, and everybody likes and respects her.”

  “Shouldn’t you be telling that kind of thing to her board? She doesn’t work for me.”

  Ben grinned. “Have it your way, but just make sure you take good care of that little lady. We’re all very fond of her.”

  Pat could only nod his head, then hurry down the hallway. Once around the corner he leaned back against the wall and slapped it once with the bottom of his fist.

  Take good care of her. What the hell was going on? He and Trisha didn’t have that kind of relationship. Why was Ben telling him to take good care of her?

  Take good care of her. The words echoed in his head. They didn’t have that type of relationship. Or did they? Was everyone else seeing what he was too blind or stubborn to see?

  Take good care of her. The refrain seemed more stubborn than the most annoying ad jingle. He couldn’t be responsible for taking care of her. He couldn’t be responsible for taking care of anybody.

  * * *

  The balloon exploded with a blast that killed off the chatter and laughter in the study room. And added an extralong cut to the mouth of the jack-o’-lantern Trisha was carving. She looked over at Pat. He was pulling the neck of the burst balloon off the tank nozzle, a look of extreme annoyance in his eyes. She went over.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” he asked and reached into the box for another balloon. “It was just a stupid balloon.”

  They were decorating the club’s study room for tomorrow’s Halloween party, and ever since Pat had arrived about half an hour ago, she’d thought something was wrong. He seemed distant, silent and unsmiling. She’d thought he needed a mindless task such as filling balloons with helium gas, but now she wasn’t so sure.

  “It was just a defective balloon, that’s all.” He slipped another one on the tank and filled it.

  “Maybe we should have someone else do that for a while,” she said.

  He pulled it off and knotted the neck. “I only broke one balloon,” he pointed out wearily. “If your budget’s that tight, I promise to buy replacements for all of them that I break.”

  He sounded so tired, so lifeless. “It’s not that,” she insisted. “I thought you might want a rest. These jobs can get boring.”

  He shrugged. “Life can get boring.”

  Maybe letting him work alone wasn’t a good idea. She could cheer him up easier if he were by her side. Besides, she liked having him near.

  “Come on.” She slipped an arm through his. He remained as stiff as a board but did come with her. “You can help me hang the streamers.”

  “I’m supposed to blow up these balloons,” he said, indicating the box full of balloons.

  “I’ll have Jeff do them.”

  “Why? Because I can’t?”

  “No,” she replied, putting on the cheerful tone she used for the little children who got whiny. “I just want to give someone else a chance to do it.”

  He made a slight face and looked at her.

  “Hey, that’s a very desirable job.” She pressed a finger to his nose. “There were a lot of complaints that I was playing favorites when I gave it to you.”

  “Who was complaining?” he asked. “Jeff?”

  Trisha laughed and hugged his arm to herself. “I need a strong body to lean on,” she said.

  “Maybe what you need is a telephone pole.”

  “You can’t hug a telephone pole,” she said.

  “Of course you can. They’re what? About eighteen inches in diameter. That shouldn’t be any problem for you to put your arms around.”

  Normally these were the kinds of words they used in their verbal byplay, but tonight’s tone wasn’t right. There was no laughter in his voice.

  “I want to string some streamers,” she said. “I need someone to hold the ladder. It’s a bit wobbly.”

  “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

  “You sure?”

  He stopped and stared at her. “I just stand there and hold the damn thing. What’s so hard about that?”

  “I just didn’t know if you were feeling well.”

  “I’m fine.” But his eyes didn’t meet hers, darting away like a little kid afraid of getting caught.

  “Okay,” she said slowly. She let her arm slip out of Pat’s and he made no move to retrieve it. Come to think of it, he’d made no effort to keep it there earlier, either.

  Trisha stopped at the ladder and picked up the roll of crepe paper. “I was just going to drape this along the edge of the windows and doors,” she said. “Or do you have any other suggestions?”

  He just shrugged. “Whatever,” he said. “Looks all the same to me.”

  She sighed, her eyes willing his back to her, but his gaze continued to roam. She climbed up the ladder and taped the end of the paper to the window frame, then came back down. When Pat just stayed there, unmoving, she tapped the ladder.

  “Could you move it down a few feet?”

  He did as she asked, no words needed. She taped another section of the
streamer, then came back down. This time Pat moved the ladder on his own, but it didn’t really signal an improvement in his mood.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  He looked at her as if she’d inquired about the health of his cobwebs. “No.”

  “Have a hard week?”

  “No harder than normal.”

  She climbed up to hang some more streamers only because she’d run out of questions. Or maybe chickened out of them.

  “You don’t have to come tomorrow to help,” she said when she’d come back down.

  “That’s okay.”

  What did that mean—that he was coming or not? She didn’t have the guts to ask. One more climb up the ladder and that section of windows was done. In silence they moved to the next one.

  “How’s that warehouse project coming?” she asked.

  “Okay.”

  “Doesn’t it get discouraging to work on these projects and then have them go someplace else?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Didn’t it get discouraging to try to find out what was wrong and not get anywhere? Extremely. This was a small window and done too quickly. They moved on to two more doors and then they were done. And she was no closer to cheering Pat up. In fact, she’d picked up a share of his gloom.

  “It’s starting to look pretty good, isn’t it?” she said, looking around the study room.

  A couple of workers were tying the balloons to the backs of chairs. Another was arranging cornstalks and uncarved pumpkins in the corners. A giant spiderweb made out of yarn had been stretched across the back wall, and earlier in the week, the kids had painted Halloween scenes on the office windows that looked into the room.

  “Yeah, great.”

  But there was about as much excitement in his voice as in her heart. It was probably just his job, she told herself. He had a stressful job with lots of traveling. It had to wear him out at times. Maybe she should feel good that he was relaxed enough with her to let go when he was tired.

  Her heart thought she was stretching it a bit, but her mind refused to mull over it anymore.

  “Well, let’s get to the jack-o’-lanterns,” she said. “I think they’re all that’s left to do.”