The House that Love Built

by Beth Wiseman

  Patsy stood up, cleared the bowls from the table, and was running water in them when Harold’s arms circled her waist from behind, fueling the already heady sensation she got in his presence.

  “What would you like to do today?” His lips brushed the back of her neck, soft as a whisper. She turned to face him, cupping his cheek in her hand.

  “I don’t care what we do, as long as we’re together.” Standing on her tiptoes, Patsy touched her lips to his. It felt so familiar, as if no time had passed. She tried to force all her fears aside and just bask in his embrace, let the joy consume her. But she knew this wasn’t forever.

  One day, maybe soon, he will leave me again.

  Brooke turned another page in the photo album she’d brought home to lend to Owen. Then she reached for his business card on the end table by the couch, picked up her cell phone, and dialed the first two numbers before hanging up. She’d been doing that for three days—mostly because of the two e-mails that had popped up on her phone from Travis’s mother. Just knowing they were there created a rush of guilt that stopped her every time.

  She loved Travis’s parents. She really did. But conversations with them sometimes felt like alcohol poured on an open wound. They tried to keep in touch, and she was good about sending pictures of the kids and news about what was going on with them. But she preferred e-mails over phone calls and personal visits, and she had to admit to relief that they lived so far away. She’d taken the kids to spend one Christmas with them in Colorado, and that was all she could endure. Having them close, seeing them often, would just be too painful.

  “I thought that photo album was for that Mr. Saunders guy.” Spencer sat down on the couch beside her, munching on a cookie.

  “It is.”

  “Then why haven’t you given it to him yet?”

  Because I’m attracted to him, and I find that a bit unnerving. “I just haven’t had time.”

  Meghan came into the room and plopped down on her pink beanbag chair. “I thought we were going to go see Grandma tonight.”

  Brooke stretched her legs out on the coffee table in front of her. “We were, but Grandma said she had some other plans.” She scratched her chin. Something was up with her mother. It had been over a week since Brooke and the kids had seen her, and that seemed a bit ridiculous since Mom only lived three miles away. But she’d had some sort of excuse every time Brooke called and asked to stop by. One night she was tired. Then it was Bingo night. The last time Brooke called she was going shopping with a friend. Oh, and twice she was going to visit one of the other residents. Brooke knew her mother. Mom was probably sick and didn’t want Brooke to know. Tomorrow she was going to just show up, whether Mom liked it or not.

  She jumped when her cell phone rang, glanced at the caller ID, and realized she’d looked at Owen’s card enough over the past three days to recognize his number.

  “Well, I’ve covered this place over and over,” Owen said when she answered. “And I’m convinced there isn’t a hidden bunker.” He chuckled. “But I couldn’t help but wonder if you’d found the pictures you were talking about, something that might give a hint.”

  Brooke cut her eyes quickly in Spencer’s direction, then stood and hurried out of the room. “I did,” she said, talking softly until she was in the privacy of her bedroom. “And I found the letter Adeline Hadley left behind.” She paused. “I was going to bring everything over, just hadn’t got around to— Spencer, what do you need?” She covered the phone with her hand as her son entered the room. “Spence, I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Let’s go tonight,” Spencer said. “I want to help look for the bunker.”

  “No. Leave. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Spencer grunted but left the room. Brooke uncovered the phone when she heard Owen asking if she was still there. “Sorry. Spencer helped me find the photo albums, so now he’s all interested in the bunker.”

  “Is he, now?” Owen paused. “Well, why don’t you all come over and help me look?”

  Brooke glanced at her watch. “Um, well, I still need to feed the kids some dinner, then we could—”

  “Listen, I really appreciate you finding those things. I know that couldn’t have been easy—I mean, going into the store and everything. So let me order some pizzas, you bring the kids over, and we’ll all see if we have any luck finding this bunker I am beginning to believe doesn’t exist.”

  “Well, I know my son would be happy about that. And both Meghan and Spence love pizza. But why don’t I just pick up some on the way?”

  “No. This is on me. Just head over whenever you’re ready.”

  Brooke sat down on her bed. “How did you get my cell phone number?”

  “Juliet at the store. She said you were out running errands earlier today, but I didn’t want to call you while you were busy.” He paused. “Is that okay—I mean, that she gave me your number?”

  “Uh, yeah, it’s okay. Then I guess we’ll see you soon.”

  After they’d said good-bye, she walked into the living room. “Let’s take a ride,” she said to the kids. Pointing a finger at Spencer, she added, “Are you going to behave yourself around Mr. Saunders?”

  “Yeah, Mom. His house sounds cool if it’s got a secret hiding place no one knows about.”

  Brooke grabbed her keys and slipped on her flip-flops. “Remember, it might not really exist.”

  Either way, they were all going to eat pizza at Owen’s house, and something about that gave her a warm feeling all over. She glanced down at her worn-out blue T-shirt. “I’m going to change.” A quick inspection of both her children, and she realized that Spencer needed to do the same thing. She waved a hand toward the stairs. “Clean shirt, please.”

  Spencer rolled his eyes but complied. Brooke fed Kiki, then wiped Meghan’s chocolate ring from her mouth. Ten minutes later they were on their way.

  Owen wasn’t exactly sure why he had invited Brooke and the kids over. Loneliness, probably, and curiosity about those pictures. It surely couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that she’d been on his mind since Friday. He shook his head, reminding himself not to do anything to lead her on. Lost in thought, he didn’t check his caller ID when his cell phone rang.

  “Hi, Owen.”

  His chest tightened at the sound of Virginia’s voice. He forced himself calm, if not a bit formal. “Hello, Virginia.”

  “How’s the house coming?”

  Good. She knows. “Great. You were right. Smithville is a wonderful place to live. Picture perfect.” He gritted his teeth as he smiled.

  “Good. I’m so glad you’re happy.”

  Happy? You evil— He took a deep breath and was trying to dream up just the right retort when she spoke up again.

  “You got a letter from your uncle. Do you want me to forward it to you?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Owen paused as he thought about Denny, his eccentric uncle who was traveling the world and checking items off his bucket list. Owen rattled off the address to Virginia, half hoping she’d drive by sometime and see the picture-perfect house that she was never going to live in.

  “Okay, I’ll put it in the mail.” She was quiet for a few moments. “I’m glad you’re doing okay, Owen. I really am.”

  Virginia, are you serious? He opened his mouth to unload on her, but then he saw Brooke pulling into his driveway, and he decided to take another approach. “I have to go. My date is pulling in.” He squeezed his eyes closed and cringed, knowing that wasn’t exactly what was happening.

  “Date?”

  “I have to go, Virginia. Thank you for forwarding the letter.” He pushed End on his phone, pleased with the role reversal that left him feeling in control. Usually Owen ended up screaming and yelling at her, then she would hang up on him. This would give her something to think about. Maybe she’d even be a little jealous. He smiled as he walked out to the car.

  “You beat the pizza delivery guy here,” he said as the driver-side door opened and Brooke stepped out.
Wow. How could anyone continue to make jeans, T-shirts, and a ponytail look so good? The kids climbed out too, and Owen decided to address the little girl first, unsure what kind of response he might be in for from Spencer. “You must be Meghan.”

  Her blond ponytail bounced behind her as she nodded. Big brown eyes met Owen’s. She was a mini Brooke right down to her white flip-flops and painted toes.

  Brooke rounded the vehicle, toting a photo album and her purse. She nodded toward her son. “I believe you already know Spencer?”

  The poor kid wouldn’t meet his eyes, and his face turned three shades of red. Owen decided to cut him some slack.

  “Nice to see you again, Spencer.” He winked, then motioned for them all to come in. When they reached the living room, Owen pointed to the wall. “I got the living room painted over the past couple of days. What do you think of the color?”

  Owen homed in on Brooke’s face. His work in public relations had lent him some special skills, or so he thought, and he wanted to see her initial reaction to his unusual color selection.

  “It’s very nice,” she said in a monotone voice as she avoided his eyes.

  “You hate it.” Owen drew in his eyebrows and took a deep breath.

  She turned to face him, expressionless. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I feel like I’m inside an orange!” Meghan piped up.

  “Meghan, be nice.” Brooke playfully put a hand over her daughter’s mouth as both grinned.

  “I knew it. It’s supposed to be way darker than this, sort of a dark rust color.” Owen shook his head. “But I figured I’d see what you thought before I painted over it, on the very off chance you liked it.”

  “Lots of repainting going on in this house. I said from the beginning that you would be good for business.”

  Owen felt bad for not buying his latest supplies from her store, and he was considering an excuse to give her when her cell phone rang in her purse. She excused herself and walked back into the entryway, but Owen heard her.

  “Oh no. What’s wrong?” A long pause. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Everything okay?” Owen asked when she walked back into the room.

  “I think so, but that was my mom’s retirement villas. I need to go visit with the administrator.”

  “Now?” Owen looked at his watch. “The pizzas should be here any minute. Do you have time to eat first?” He could tell she was getting ready to bail, and he didn’t feel like eating alone.

  Spencer came to the rescue. “Mom, you said we were having pizza and could look for the hidden bunker.” He crossed his arms across his chest.

  “Spencer, don’t act like that.” Brooke turned to Owen. “I’m sorry about this. Sorry you ordered pizza for us and that we have to leave.”

  “Just leave Meghan and Spencer here.” Owen smiled as he nodded at Spencer. “We can look for the bunker while you’re gone.”

  Brooke bit her lip. “I don’t know, Owen. I’m not sure—”

  “Please, Mom.” Spencer batted puppy-dog eyes at her.

  Owen knew she was considering whether she knew him well enough to leave her children with him. He’d do the same in her place. “I understand if you’re not comfortable with—”

  “No, it’s okay. They can stay.”

  Owen saw a flicker of apprehension as her jaw tensed, but he suspected the more pressing matter at the retirement place might not be something she wanted her children to hear.

  “I hope everything is okay. We’ll be eating pizza when you get back. Just take your time.”

  She was quickly out the door, and when Owen turned around, Spencer and Meghan were both staring at him. He realized he hadn’t babysat anyone’s kids before. Neither he nor Virginia had nieces or nephews, and by Virginia’s preference most of the couples they ran around with didn’t have children either. Owen fought the bitter bile in his throat, struggling to focus on the situation at hand.

  He looked at both children and took a deep breath.

  How hard can babysitting be?

  Nine

  Brooke hurried into the administration office at the Oaks. She would have never left the kids with Owen if she hadn’t recalled that Juliet had run a background check on him. Once Juliet figured out how to check out a person for less than five dollars, it had become almost like a hobby for her. You were fair game if you were new to town, and Juliet paid an extra ten dollars for a more extensive search if someone was asking her out. She’d deemed Owen worth the ten bucks as well, and he’d come out clean as a whistle.

  Still, Brooke didn’t know Owen all that well, and her stomach was churning. She hoped to make this as quick as possible.

  Mrs. Doyle’s office light was the only one on as Brooke walked through the main lobby, and all kinds of crazy thoughts ran through her head as she recalled her mother’s avoidance over the past couple of weeks. All Mrs. Doyle had said on the phone was that they had concerns about her mother and could she please come to the office to discuss it.

  “Brooke, honey, this could have waited until tomorrow, but I could hear the worry in your voice, so I was happy to stay late this evening.” Mrs. Doyle looked at her watch, and Brooke doubted that Mrs. Doyle wanted to stay much later. It was already six thirty.

  “Is Mom okay?”

  “As I said on the phone, she’s fine. We are just . . . well . . . concerned about her, her . . .”

  Brooke shifted in her seat across from the director and tapped her foot nervously. “What is it? Concerned about what?”

  Mrs. Doyle was not much younger than Brooke’s mother, a small woman with short gray hair, cropped bangs, and—at the moment—a face that was turning red. She placed her palms firmly on her desk and sat taller.

  “We are concerned about your mother’s lifestyle.” Mrs. Doyle raised her chin a little.

  Brooke cocked her head to one side, confused. “Her lifestyle?”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Doyle lifted her chin even higher, casting her eyes down at Brooke. “Your mother is entertaining men in her apartment—or at least one man.” She leaned forward. “His car is here some mornings, and two of the residents have told me that they’ve seen them making out like teenagers, right outside in the parking lot or on her front step.”

  “What?” Brooke had a mixed reaction as she tried to process this information. She was very happy that her mother must have found someone so late in life. But Mom wasn’t the type of woman who would sleep around without being married. That part was disturbing. “Maybe it isn’t the way it looks.”

  Mrs. Doyle frowned. “I think it is. And this is a small, close-knit community.” She raised her eyebrows. “People talk, don’tcha know?”

  Brooke nodded, realizing that this explained her mother’s desire to be left alone. She has a man in her life. “I will talk to my mother, Mrs. Doyle. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.” She stood to leave, and Mrs. Doyle walked around to the other side of the desk to stand next to her.

  “I thought you’d want to know. We try to give our residents as much privacy as they need, but if we suspect that something dangerous or inappropriate might be going on, well, we tend to reach out to a loved one.”

  “I understand.”

  Brooke couldn’t walk fast enough to get to her mother’s apartment.

  Patsy hurried to her door and looked through the peephole, then gasped.

  “It’s Brooke.” She ran to the couch where Harold was sitting. “Hurry. Get up and go hide in the bedroom.”

  He stood up slowly, floundering in place. “Are you sure, Patsy? Are you sure you don’t want to just get this over with?”

  Patsy shook her head as she coaxed him into her room. “No, no. Not tonight.” She closed the door behind him, ran a hand through her tousled hair, then pulled her blue robe snug around her. She opened the door a few inches and poked her head out. “Brooke, honey, what are you doing here?”

  “Mom, are you going to let me in?” Her daughter’s tone was insistent, so Patsy opened the door
wide and let her in.

  “I wasn’t expecting you.” Patsy forced a smile, hoping Harold stayed quiet.

  Brooke walked around the small living room and kitchen, eyeing every nook and cranny. Patsy was thankful she’d cleaned the dishes in the small sink and put them away.

  “I’ll bet you weren’t expecting me.” Brooke pulled her purse up on her shoulder, scratched her forehead, then stared at Patsy.

  “Where are my grandchildren?” Patsy’s stomach clenched tight, and she tried to avoid looking at her closed bedroom door.

  “Uh, with a friend.” Brooke sat down on the couch and crossed her legs, her purse still on her shoulder.

  Patsy didn’t sit down. She didn’t want to do anything that would encourage Brooke to stay. She cut her eyes toward the closed bedroom door, then caught herself and quickly looked back to Brooke.

  “Hiding someone in there?” Brooke raised an eyebrow as she nodded toward the bedroom.

  Patsy swallowed hard. “What are you talking about?”

  “The jig is up, Mom.” Brooke uncrossed her legs, stood up, and walked to Patsy. “I know you’re seeing someone.” She touched Patsy on the arm. “And that’s okay, but can you be a little more discreet? I mean, really, Mom. People are talking. I got a call from Mrs. Doyle, and she said people have seen you kissing a man in the parking lot.”

  Patsy’s knees went weak, and she could feel her bottom lip quivering.

  “Momma . . .” Brooke’s tone was soft and soothing. Patsy loved it when Brooke called her Momma rather than Mom. The name reminded Patsy of happy times, back when Harold had been in their lives. She waited for Brooke to go on. “I love you, Momma, and I want you to be happy, and I’m sure I’ll love whoever you’re seeing. But I’ve got to be honest with you.” Brooke shook her head. “This isn’t how you raised me, and I’m a bit shocked that you are . . .” She pulled her eyes away. “You know.”

  “It’s not what you think, dear.” Patsy latched onto both of Brooke’s arms. “I’m not doing anything bad, if that’s what you’re thinking.”