Chapter Twelve
“Miss Stewart. Hey, Miss Stewart,” Angie called out.
Trisha glanced up to see a witch and a hobo bearing down on her. “Yes, Angie,” she said, returning her attention to the task at hand. She was trying to repair a paper crown for a young king who had gotten into a shoving match with an Arabian princess. “What do you need?”
“Clarissa says we need the tubs,” Rulli said.
Trisha nodded as she fitted the crown back on the king’s head.
“You know, the ones we’re gonna use when we bob for apples.”
“Yes, I know what you’re talking about, Angie.” Trisha patted the still-sniffling king on the back and gently pushed him back toward the crowd. “There you go, Robbie. Now don’t start anything more with Amanda. You know how she is when she gets angry.”
Two little girls came skipping over. “Look, Miss Stewart. We’re princesses, too.”
Trisha looked down at her own Gypsy costume. Perhaps it was a bit outdated. “Isn’t that wonderful?” she said.
“Miss Stewart,” Angie repeated, tugging at her sleeve.
“Oh, yeah.” Trisha reached in her pocket. “You want the key to the storeroom.”
“No,” Angie replied. “We want the tubs for the water.”
“I know. And the tubs are in the storeroom, which is locked, which is why you need the key.”
“But somebody’s gotta carry the tubs for us.”
“How about Kevin?” Trisha asked.
“He can’t,” Rulli said. “Harry Gordon’s got a bloody nose and he’s tryin’ to make it stop.”
Trisha sighed. She couldn’t leave her post; at least she shouldn’t.
“Maybe Pat can get the tubs,” Rulli said.
“Nah,” Angie said with a sneer. “He’s a grump. He don’t wanna do nothin’.”
“Maybe he don’t feel good,” Rulli said.
Trisha glanced toward her office where she had last seen Pat and found him still there, one of the few adults here not in costume. He was leaning against the wall and frowning out at the sea of little bodies undulating around him.
“I’m sure he’d be happy to carry tubs for you,” Trisha said. Well, maybe happy wasn’t the right word. But she was sure he’d do it. “Go ask him.”
Trisha had hoped his mood last night would just be a temporary thing, that it was just the result of a bad day or not enough sleep or eating the wrong thing at lunch. However, he’d arrived just as sour today.
No, that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t that he was really crabby and snapping at everyone. It was more that he was apart from them all. As if he’d built a wall around himself and would let no one close.
She watched as Angie and Rulli made their way through the crowd to where Pat stood. He took the key from Angie, but there was no lightening of his expression. In a few minutes, he was back with the tubs, carrying them over to the tables that Clarissa had readied. Angie and Rulli were bouncing around, full of energy and excitement, but Pat seemed to be in a different world. Once Clarissa started filling the tubs with a hose running from a maintenance room, Pat went back to his post by her office.
Staying along the walls where the kid density was the least, Trisha was able to get to his side. “Hi,” she said, wanting to take his hand in hers, but he was so stiff, so forbidding. She shoved her hands in her pockets. “How are you doing?”
He looked at her. “All right.” He looked away again.
She wished he would hold still for a minute so that she could see into his eyes. She needed to find reassurance there. She needed to learn that whatever was bothering him had nothing to do with her. That in an hour or so, or even a day or two, he’d be fine. But every time she tried to pin his eyes down, his gaze darted away.
“Your costume’s great,” she told him above the noise.
That caused him to glance down at his jeans and short-sleeved shirt.
“Your standard businessman-after-work getup,” she explained.
He didn’t crack a smile. “I was never much into Halloween.”
Was that at the root of the problem—did this party bring back bad memories? She could understand that about Christmas or his birthday, but Halloween? What kind of bad memories could be associated with it?
She leaned in closer so she didn’t have to shout. “Halloween’s always been one of my favorite holidays,” she said. “I loved pretending to be someone else for a few hours.”
“So I gathered.” His gaze swept across her Gypsy costume. “You look like one of the kids.”
There was no fooling herself that he meant this in a positive way. She bristled slightly and looked away herself. “Well, I don’t need anybody to walk me home,” she said loudly. She could play the game as well as he. “Or tuck me in at night.”
“That’s good to hear.” There was no emotion in his voice—no anger, no impatience. They might as well have been discussing crop rotation in Outer Mongolia, for all the interest his voice conveyed. If he wanted to be left alone, why couldn’t she just leave him alone?
She couldn’t. Did that make her pathetic or caring? She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer. “Another hour and we’ll start clearing them out. Most of the kids’ll be ready to go home, but there are always a few diehards.”
“I imagine,” he said.
“Miss Stewart.” A devil had come running over. “My horn’s falling off.”
Trisha pulled out the hairpins that had been anchoring the horn to the little girl’s hair.
“Maybe I should go outside and take a look around,” Pat said.
Trisha looked up from her repair job. “Ray will take care of that.”
“Ray?” He frowned at her. “Ray who?”
“Ray Kazur. He’s an off-duty cop. He helps out at all our parties.” She finished pinning the horn back on. “There you go, Stacy. Good as new.”
The girl bounced off, allowing Trisha to let her breath out slowly. Did Pat really want a breath of fresh air or did he just want to get away from her?
She looked over the room. The face painting in the corner seemed to be winding down, but the apple bobbing was going full tilt. The noise level wasn’t lowering any. Maybe that was what was getting to him. She could barely hear herself think and she was used to the noise.
“If you want to step outside a minute, go ahead,” she said. “We have enough adults here to cover things.”
“That’s all right.”
“Now’s the time to take a break,” she pushed. Maybe he needed a short time-out. “We have less than an hour to go, but then there’s cleanup.”
“I’m fine.”
“Cleanup shouldn’t take long, though,” she added, then took a deep breath. She felt like a novice about to go off a high dive. “Maybe we can go out afterward? Someplace quiet.”
Pat’s eyes searched the crowd for a century. Her stomach grew tight, her hands sweaty.
“I think I’ll take a rain check,” he said. “I’m a little tired. I wouldn’t be good company.” He pushed himself away from the wall. “I think I will take you up on that fresh-air offer, though.”
Trisha stared at his back as he made his way to the door and out of her sight. She turned away to stare out over the party, but she was teetering on the brink of tears.
Well, he certainly was tired. There was no doubt about that. The question was of what—her, the kids, or all of the above?
* * *
“Sounds like they’re raising the roof in there.”
Pat started at the voice and turned from his contemplation of the night. It was a cop in uniform. “I take it you’re Ray?”
“Yeah.” The officer stuck his hand out. “Ray Kazur.”
Pat shook his hand. “I’m Pat—”
“Pat Stuart.” The man chuckled. “Hey, everybody knows you.”
Pat didn’t say anything. His face had decorated the local paper and news channels a lot lately, but he wasn’t really comfortable with the notoriety.
“You were
the quarterback on the ‘81 Washington team,” Ray said. “You really took Adams to the cleaners for the city championship, passing for two touchdowns, running for one yourself and tackling that defensive back that made that interception. Man, ain’t nobody ever gonna forget that game.”
Pat felt himself relax. Those were some of the good times, before things went all to hell with Angel. “Yeah, things went well for us that night.”
“I’ll say.” Ray laughed. “We really stuffed it to those east siders.”
Pat just smiled.
“You remember Corrigan was their coach that year?”
“Yeah.” The city’s current mayor had been the Adams High School football coach back then.
“Well, sometimes he comes to the station and gets on his high horse about something. And when he does, me and some of the other west-side boys remind him of that game.”
“Brings him back down to earth, does it?” Pat asked.
“Like knocking the rungs out of his ladder.”
They shared another laugh and Pat took a deep breath of the cool night air. It had been a good idea to come out here. Get away from things and talk about the past. They paused a moment while Ray scanned the parking lot. It was quiet, with nothing moving as far as Pat could see.
“Nice of you to help out like this,” Pat said.
Ray leaned against the stair railing, still facing out toward the lot. “Yeah, but guys like you, you’re the ones that make the real difference.”
Pat froze as if an Arctic wind had suddenly blown through. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “I just come here once in a while,” he said.
“Don’t matter.” Ray shook his head. “You’re a real hero to these kids. There are little ones playing flag football who pretend they’re you.”
A horror crept through Pat’s soul. “That’s crazy,” he said. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
Ray just laughed. “You been away too long, man, if you really think that. The kids here think you’re a hero, big-time. And it’s not just the football. They know what you’re doing now—a big-time executive, flying around the country, making sure folks have jobs.”
“I don’t want to be anybody’s hero,” Pat protested.
“Sometimes you don’t have a choice,” Ray said. “Besides, what did you expect once you started working at the club? You’ve been like a big brother here for all the kids to look up to and lean on.”
“But that’s not what I wanted,” Pat said, his spirits sinking so low, they’d need a ladder to see a worm’s belly. “Nobody should be looking up to me, leaning on me, or anything like that.”
“You think they ought to be looking up to some crud selling drugs on the street corner?”
“No. No.” Pat took a deep breath, trying to still the panic in his gut. “It’s just that I don’t think I’m much of a role model. I’ve screwed some stuff up in my time.”
“So? You think the rest of us haven’t, too?” The cop pushed himself away from the railing. “Well, I’d better take a tour of the parking lot. Don’t want nobody dinking around with the cars.”
The officer walked briskly back into the lot and Pat felt his insides totally collapse. He really had no one to blame but himself. He should never have come back here. He’d been doing well in Oakland. There’d been no reason to leave. Certainly there’d been nothing here for him. The past was dead and buried. He could have hired an agent to sell his grandmother’s house and just gone on with his life.
But no, a chance to return to South Bend had come up and he’d jumped at it. And if he was really honest with himself, he’d have to admit that it was like returning to the scene of the crime. Like pulling at a scab to see if it would still bleed. Angel was gone, and Pat had to convince himself that the pain was, too. That he was free of the guilt.
Only now, here he was, with a passel of other people leaning on him. People that he would surely let down because he never knew the right thing to do. He’d done it before. What right did he have to think he wouldn’t do it again?
“Pat,” Trisha said.
He turned and looked into a beautiful pair of green eyes. They were too beautiful and he had to look away. It was time to reconsider that offer from Toledo. Leaving would be the best thing he could do for everybody.
“People will be coming to pick their kids up soon,” Trisha said. “Could you stay here by the door and keep the kids in? They shouldn’t leave here unless they’re accompanied by an adult.”
“Okay.”
Trisha was about to go back into the building when she paused. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” He smiled at her. “I just had a little upset stomach. Probably something I had for lunch.”
“We might have something in the medicine cabinet. Want me to check?”
“No, I’m feeling better now.”
She looked at him a second before nodding and going into the building. Pat stepped just inside the door, breathing deeply as he willed himself to relax.
He’d give those Toledo people a call first thing Monday morning and see if they were still interested. He could tell everybody it was time to move on. That South Bend was getting back on its feet, and Toledo had some special challenges he thought he could meet. Sure, he’d miss things here—certain people especially—but it would be for the best. He knew that, even if they might not initially agree.
“Hey, where’s Ray?” Angie said, bouncing up to him. Rulli was right behind her like a shadow. “Ray always watches the door at our parties.”
Pat smiled at the two kids. They’d be two of the ones he’d miss. Somehow they’d wormed their way into his heart, but they’d get along all right. Trisha was looking out for them and she was better at that than he was.
“He’s out patrolling the parking lot. You want me to go get him?”
“Nah,” Angie replied.
“Don’t worry, Pat,” Rulli said. “You’ll do okay.”
“Yeah,” Angie said. “Just make sure nobody don’t go home with no strangers.”
That stopped him. “Hey, how am I supposed to know who are the proper adults?” Pat said. “You’d better get—”
“Can’t,” Angie replied. “We gotta go.”
She was out the door before Pat caught up with her, grabbing her arm before she totally dashed off. Rulli came outside after them.
“Our aunt Rose is here,” he explained.
An elderly woman was hurrying across the parking lot. “Am I late?” she asked, puffing hard as she came up. “I’m sorry. I was—”
Suddenly she stopped and stared openmouthed at Pat. “Oh, my God,” she wailed.
Trisha was suddenly at Pat’s side. “What’s wrong?”
“I have no idea,” Pat said.
“Oh, my God,” the woman just kept repeating.
“Mrs. Harris,” Trisha said. “What’s wrong?”
The woman pointed a shaking finger at Pat. “You’re Patrick Stuart,” she said. “You’re Angel’s big brother.”
“Yeah,” Pat said slowly. What was going on?
Ray was hurrying over, other people were spilling out of the club and people were coming from newly parked cars, attracted by the woman’s cries, no doubt. Kids, adults, other volunteers. But no one seemed to have any idea what was going on. They were all just staring at the elderly woman.
She began to weep. “Thank you, God,” she called out, looking up to the heavens. “All I can say is, thank you, God.”
Trisha went over to the woman and put her arm around her shoulders. “Mrs. Harris, are you all right?”
The woman turned to Trisha. “He’s Angel’s big brother,” she said. When this brought no response, she went on. “You know. Angel. Angie and Rulli’s father.”
“What!” Pat cried.
He took a step forward, then stopped. His mind and his body were frozen with shock. Angel had kids? Pat turned slowly to look at Angie—at her wide innocent eyes that were indeed so like Angel’s. And little Rulli, w
ith his wide smile that should have reminded Pat of his mother.
“It can’t be,” Pat said, even though he knew it to be true.
“But their last name is Ingram,” Trisha said.
The woman just shrugged. “That was Maggie’s last name. They were young and thought they had all the time in the world to get married.” Her voice turned harder, more defiant. “But Angel’s name is on the children’s birth certificates. He was their father.”
Pat just stared at the woman, a million questions flying through his head. None of this made any sense. “But what about Angel’s funeral?” Pat asked. “You weren’t there.” He waved at the kids, almost afraid to look at them again. “They weren’t there.”
“Maggie and Angel were living in Plymouth,” the woman said. “He had work there and they had a nice little house they were renting. But when he was in the accident up here, all the police found was his old driver’s license.”
“With his South Bend address on it?” Trisha asked.
The woman nodded. “They called Angel’s grandmother but she hadn’t seen him in years, either, so she just called you,” the woman said to Pat. “Poor Maggie didn’t know what had happened. They had had a fight, and she thought Angel was still mad. It wasn’t until a week later that she found out he had been in a car wreck.” The woman wiped at her eyes. “Maggie never got to tell him goodbye.”
The crowd murmured its sympathy, but Pat felt numb. This was like a dream.
“I remember you from the Washington football games,” the woman continued. “Angel, he always went with Maggie—they met in junior high—and he was so proud of you. He kept saying how you were his big brother. He told everyone.”
So proud of you. Pat had to turn away, his eyes awash with tears. Angel had been proud of him? Was this the same Angel who had turned so bitterly on him just a few months later? Pat couldn’t speak, could barely breathe.
“And now,” the woman went on, “my prayers are answered.”
“What prayers?” Trisha asked.
Pat turned back.
“For these little tykes,” she said, indicating Angie and Rulli standing nearby, their eyes as wide as saucers. “Now they got somebody to take care of them.”
Pat found their eyes all turning to him. His heart wanted to leap for joy at finding that Angel wasn’t truly gone, at having the chance to make things right after all this time. But Pat’s soul turned heavy as he thought back to that last argument. Angel wouldn’t want him to have anything to do with his kids. Pat had no doubt about that; Angel’s words still echoed in his head after all these years.
Kisses And Kids (Congratulations Series #1) Page 22
