by Dana Marton
Earl Cosgrove, a complex human being. One of the mysteries of the universe, Luanne thought. She grabbed a newspaper from the counter. “Room #44,” she said, and Veronica added the charge on the computer.
Luanne dropped off the paper in front of the trucker’s door, then she finished room #46 and moved on to #47, her last one for the day. Thoroughly trashed, that one, pizza boxes on the bed, garbage everywhere, the furniture moved around, mud ground into the carpet, shampoo bottles floating in the toilet.
She had a fishnet she’d picked up at a garage sale for twenty-five cents for things like that. Live and learn was the name of the game in the hospitality industry.
She decided to leave the toilet-fishing expedition for last and headed over to the dresser, keeping fingers crossed. With a nice tip, she could still salvage some of the birthday celebration. She could at least spring for a boxed mix for the cake. Otherwise, she was going to have to frost her half box of graham crackers.
She cleared off the dresser. But under all the garbage, she found absolutely nothing.
Okay. No big deal. She closed her eyes for a second and swallowed the lump in her throat. People had more serious problems than not being able to buy a cake.
Friday. Date. Good things ahead.
She finished the room, doing the best damn job she could, then put the biggest smile on her face and went to pick up the kids from Jen.
Jen O’Brian had been her best friend in high school. They went their own ways for a while when Jen shipped off to college and Luanne stayed home to work and help her mom pay the bills. Even when Jen came home, she got married and had a baby, too busy to hang out. But Luanne and she became friends again once Luanne took guardianship of the twins after her mother’s death, and Jen began watching the girls.
Jen was on the phone when she opened the door. Doctor, she mouthed, then said into the phone, “Okay, yes. We can try that.”
Luanne gathered up the girls and left her friend to take care of business, simply whispering a “See you later,” as she headed out the door with the kids. Jen was desperate for another child, currently in the throes of her sixth round of fertility treatments.
“Bobby cut Daisy’s hair with the play scissor,” Mia tattled on their way home.
Luanne whipped back to look. Okay. No chestnut curls were missing. Thank God for plastic scissors.
“I pushed him down,” Mia said proudly, her brown eyes glinting. “We’re family, and we protect each other.”
Luanne winced. “When I said that, I meant that I’ll protect you two chipmunks, because I’m the big sister.”
“I’m the big sister too,” Mia argued.
“No fair. One minute,” Daisy mumbled. “I’m not a baby.”
“No, you’re not.” Luanne smiled at them in the rearview mirror. “You’re both big girls. You’ll be four tomorrow. You’ll be going to preschool soon.” Her throat tightened. She wasn’t ready for the girls to head out into the world.
She drew a deep breath and took the opportunity to add a teachable moment into their day as they got out of the car in front of the tiny two-bedroom ranch home she rented. “You shouldn’t push anyone, Mia. Okay? If you do that at school, you’ll get in trouble with the teacher.”
“I don’t want to go to school.”
Daisy looked doubtful too, but she didn’t say anything. For the most part, she let Mia do the talking. Luanne worried about how that would work at school if the two got separated, put in different groups. Something she’d have to ask about when they went in to register. A problem for another day.
For the next couple of hours, she focused on nothing but Mia and Daisy. She wanted them to feel loved and wanted, not a problem she’d inherited that she had to shuffle around in between her chores and work. She played with them, read to them, fed them, bathed them, got them into their pj’s. Only when they were settled in front of the TV for their favorite cartoon did she get ready for her date.
She began by showering the spray-cleaner smell out of her hair. Next, she dragged on her best jeans, topped it off with a cute silk top that she’d found at Goodwill, fitted to her curves but with a decent neckline, not too slutty, not too nunsy, just right for a first date.
She had no money for drinks, but Tayron, the bartender, had promised her a drink on the house the other day when she’d given him a ride. She could nurse that one drink all night, no problem. She wasn’t a big drinker. She’d picked Finnegan’s because it was public, and because if they went to a restaurant and her date wanted to split the bill, she wouldn’t be able to pay for her half.
She put on fresh makeup, tried for smoky eyes, ended up looking like a raccoon on drugs, wiped it off, tried again. Her eyes were a lighter shade of brown than the twins’, not exactly pretty, but maybe interesting.
You always emphasized your best feature to draw attention from the worst. If you emphasized everything, you came off overdone and slutty, which she wasn’t. And she didn’t like her lips anyway; she had a stupid crease in the middle of her bottom lip.
Okay, clothes, check; makeup, check. She sprayed perfume in the air, then walked through the cloud of scent so it’d cling equally to her shirt, skin, and hair. She never sprayed perfume directly on her clothes. No sense in staining a perfectly good top.
After she finished, she drove the girls back to Jen’s for a prebirthday sleepover.
“Ready for the party tomorrow?” Jen asked Luanne after hugging and kissing the girls silly. She loved them as if they were her own.
“Almost.” Luanne bent to take the girls’ shoes off.
“How about for tonight?” Jen grinned, offering her a cola. “You look sexy.”
“I wish.” Luanne tugged at a stray lock of hair as she accepted the drink.
Without a curling iron to give her blond locks body, her hair was seriously limp and way too fine for any kind of volume, unlike Jen’s thick reddish-brown waves that could have starred in a shampoo commercial. Where Luanne was too thin from running around and being on her feet almost constantly, Jen actually had curves, especially since Bobby had been born—the kind of curves men noticed.
Luanne looked at her own chest. “Do you think this top is too low-cut?” she asked, hit by a sudden wave of insecurity. “What if Brett thinks I’m a total hussy?”
“Yeah, because that’s what guys think when they get a glimpse of boobs.” Jen rolled her eyes.
Then she glanced at the girls giggling on the couch, her gaze distant, an odd look coming over her face as she turned back to Luanne. She blinked, then a smile replaced her strange expression. “Oh, to be single and going on hot dates.”
“You don’t want to be single and going out on hot dates.”
Jen was a family gal through and through. She wanted a second child badly to give Bobby a little brother or sister, so her son could have what the twins did.
“Fine. I want to be home with a bushel of kids.” She smiled a little wider. “I do. But you deserve a hot date.”
“I’ll settle for nice.” Her first date in a year, Luanne thought. Nice would have been an excellent start.
“How about hot sex with a nice guy?” Jen suggested ever so helpfully.
“Not on a first date.”
“You’ve known Brett for a while now.”
“Over the Internet.”
“He’s a dog walker. You met him in a goldendoodle online fan group. I don’t think anyone who’s into poodle–golden retriever mixes so much can be a creep.”
Luanne nodded. In their online communications, Brett had never been anything but a gentleman, kind, funny, romantic. She was more than looking forward to meeting him. She had butterflies in her stomach. “I better get going.”
“Kisses!” Mia launched into a frenzied hug immediately.
Luanne hugged her, then Daisy in turn. “You behave for Jen, okay? Go to bed without giving her trouble.”
They promised, with angelic faces that seemed impossible to doubt. If only she didn’t know better. She gave
them the mother look. “I mean it.”
“Relax. They’ll be fine.” Jen walked her to the door, then dropped her voice. “I’ll want every dirty detail tomorrow. Take notes so you don’t forget anything.”
“What, no video?”
“Video will work. Hey, I’m a married woman, living vicariously through you.”
“Billy is a great guy.”
“Except when he has one too many beers and gets into a fight with one of his dumb Irish relatives.”
“Again?”
Jen rolled her eyes. “I’m sick of his Irish temper and his fifty Irish cousins. Well, at least he knows he’s done wrong, so he’s sweet as pie, trying to make it up to me. I’m so gonna milk that for all it’s worth.”
Okay, so that was a little messed up, but being in a relationship still seemed like an incredibly nice thing, not having to make all the decisions alone all the time, have someone to curl up against at night. Billy wasn’t perfect, but for the most part, he was one of the good guys. Luanne had high hopes for Brett in that regard.
“So what was the phone call with the doctor? Everything okay?”
Jen shrugged. “Switching me to a new drug. No big deal. I swear, some of the hormone injections make me wacky.”
“I’m keeping fingers, toes, eyes, and legs crossed for you.”
“Yeah, that’ll make you attractive for your date,” Jen deadpanned, then shook her head with a grin.
Luanne walked to her Mustang with a last wave. She was smiling too as she slipped behind the wheel. Okay. Here we go. Hot date.
Finnegan’s was just a few blocks away, within walking distance, but she wasn’t sure how late she’d stay out and as safe as the town was, she didn’t like walking in the middle of the night. She was all the twins had. If anything happened to her, they’d be all alone in the world.
She shot down the road and was at the neighborhood bar in three minutes. Honestly, so fast she didn’t even bother switching the ABC song to adult music.
Finnegan’s kept with the Irish theme, green booths, Sláinte signs all over the place. As soon as she walked in, she could smell the bacon they sprinkled on their famous baked potato soup. Guinness flowed freely at the tap at the gleaming mahogany bar, the clientele several steps above the dive bars along Route 1. The owners’ son, Harper Finnegan, was a local cop who helped out when he wasn’t working at the station. His presence kept the shady element away.
Music filled the cavernous room, a local band covering everything from old Beach Boys hits to mournful Irish ballads. The bar was a safe place for a single woman on a Friday night, or any other night of the week.
Luanne scanned the hundred or so people around the tables and on the dance floor. No sign of Brett. She’d seen dozens of pictures of him on his Facebook page. She didn’t think she’d have any trouble recognizing him.
Tayron, tall, kind-eyed, spotted her as soon as she walked up to the bar.
“Hey, girl.” He flashed a wide smile. “What are you drinking tonight? My treat.”
She thought about a beer, then decided to go wild. “Something colorful and fancy.” She raised her chin. “Something with an umbrella.”
She could have one drink, spend a couple of hours here with Brett, then be perfectly fine to drive home later. “How’s school?”
Tayron studied engineering at West Chester University by day, bartended in the evenings. He also fit a second job into his schedule, at the local lumberyard—which gave him the muscles that got him the big tips, which helped to pay tuition, everything coming together in a circle of life, according to him.
“Finals are a bitch.” But he grinned, always upbeat.
In less than a minute, he had a cocktail glass in front of her, an orange-red drink with an umbrella and a plastic thingy that looked like a burst of fireworks. “Meet Finnegan’s very own Irish Comet.”
She sipped and moaned from the sweet, tangy flavor. She cast him a look that she hoped conveyed her full gratitude. Sipped again. “Makes me feel like I’m on a cruise ship.” The fanciest place she could imagine that would serve drinks like this.
Tayron grinned at her. “So who’s the guy?”
She sipped again. “Who says I’m here on a date?”
“Your sexy shirt.”
Too sexy? Okay, no. She was not going to start obsessing over that now.
“Someone I met on Facebook a while back.” While the twins were at story hour at the library Tuesday nights, she usually hung out online. “He’s single. Dog lover.”
Which was pretty important to her. She and the girls sometimes volunteered at the local shelter. They used to have Macy, the best dog that ever lived, had lost her last year, and were waiting until money wasn’t so tight to get a new puppy.
Tayron leaned forward so he wouldn’t have to shout over the music. “From around here?”
“Philly. He has three goldendoodles. He’s a dog walker.” Apparently, you could make a living from something like that if you lived in a big city. Seemed like a dream job to Luanne. Like being a resort-spa secret shopper. “He has two sisters. Loves kids.”
Brett had told her he was usually the default babysitter for his two nieces, ages two and three. “He gets me.” She smiled. “Not the type to look down on a small-town motel maid who is raising two little girls.” One of his sisters was a single-mom waitress.
“Sounds like a good guy.” Tayron moved off to serve another customer.
Luanne stirred her drink and allowed herself a dreamy smile. Brett was great. Easy to talk to, at least online. She glanced at her watch. He was also five minutes late. Not a big deal, considering he was driving out from the city. Friday night traffic could be crazy.
She stayed at the bar, facing the door, and slowly sipped her drink as she kept an eye out for a tall blond guy with a dimple in his chin. She was looking forward to a great night. Not that she could stay out too late. Big day tomorrow. She had a lot planned for the twins’ birthday.
They were going to go to the playground in the morning. Then home to a party with friends, super simple, just games and sandwiches. Then the park had a free children’s play that afternoon, The Wizard of Oz. Broslin had its own amateur theater company that put on several plays each year.
The presents were already bought but not yet wrapped, all from garage sales. Amazing how people gave away twenty-dollar toys for a dollar when their kids got tired of them. Their loss, her gain.
Luanne considered the ladybug cake. Well, no help for that. She took another sip and thought several uncharitable thoughts about the guests who’d stiffed her on the tip.
While she was at it, she allowed herself a brief daydream where she smacked the trucker upside the head when he’d grabbed her ass. She felt the weight of the spray bottle as she swung it, heard the satisfying clunk, saw the dazed expression in the man’s eyes, then the shame as he came to his senses. He issued a hasty apology, then a ten-dollar tip to make up for his assholery.
There, that made her feel much better.
She glanced at her watch. Brett was definitely late. Didn’t matter really. She had nothing else to do. She didn’t have to work until Monday. She shuddered at the thought of another encounter with Earl.
He’d be walking home around now. He didn’t like to get up early, usually ambled into work around noon, but then he tended to stay pretty late. He lived two blocks from here. For a moment, she thought about going out back—he usually cut through the alley behind the bar—to demand her five hours of overtime money.
But since she knew it would be pointless, she stayed in her seat and slipped into another little daydream. This one involved her red Mustang in the back alley, speeding toward Earl, making him dive for the garbage containers. She lingered over the thought of him emerging coughing and cursing, covered in rotten banana peels.
She rather liked that image.
But she liked her job better, so she stayed where she was and entertained herself by watching the crowd. A couple of inebriated college kids per
formed some pretty interesting dancing. By the time she glanced at her watch again, Brett was forty-five minutes late.
“You look bored,” a pleasant voice came from behind her before she could admit to herself that she was seriously disappointed.
She turned to look into nondescript brown eyes, in a nondescript but pleasant face, matching brown hair. The guy was in his midthirties, a couple of inches shorter than her.
A shy smile made his face interesting. “Can I buy you another drink?”
Before she could decline, he flashed her a puppy-dog look and added, “I was stood up. Giving up and going home seems too pathetic. If I at least have a drink with a pretty woman, it’d do wonders for my self-esteem.”
She found herself smiling back at him.
“Okay,” she said, and finished her drink. “I’m Luanne.”
“I’m Gregory.” His eyes moved in a good-natured roll. “I know. Even the name is geeky, right? You’re probably thinking I’m the kind of guy who deserves to be stood up.”
“Nobody deserves to be stood up,” she told him. And when he ordered another round for her, she thanked him.
Chapter Two
Luanne struggled in a dream where someone was using a chain saw to slice up her head like a watermelon, the noise as overpowering as the pain.
She woke with an unbearable headache, forced her eyes open to a slit, and glared at the phone ringing on the nightstand. Ever so slowly, the events of the night before came back to her. The bar. Brett not showing. The other guy. She closed her eyes again. She couldn’t remember the name. Then it came to her on a thunderclap of pain: Gregory.
She groaned. Good God, how much had she had to drink? She hoped she’d had the good sense to walk home instead of driving.
The phone kept ringing, each chirp drilling into her brain. She picked it up just to quiet it.
“Luanne!” Jackie yelled on the other end.
Luanne pulled the phone a little farther from her ear. “What is it?” Was she late for work? She blinked. No. She had the weekend off. The twins’ birthday. She glanced at the clock. She had to pick them up from Jen in an hour. In spite of the pounding in her head and the rolling in her stomach, she forced herself to sit.
