“I’m so sorry, baby. Let’s get you home and in bed.”
She thanked Mrs. Biddle, told the woman she hoped no one else got sick, then put her son into the car. They’d barely made it home and to the bathroom when he threw up. She put him in his pj’s and tucked him in bed. Then she hurried downstairs to get some ginger ale.
She was just opening the can when she heard Brad call, “I’m home.”
Speaking of opening cans... Here was a can of worms she wished she’d never opened. Nothing for it now but to brave it out. Brad would get the point and she’d hire the boys to come back and return all the furniture. The guys could play poker at the kitchen table tonight. It would all work out.
He was in the kitchen now. “Where’s Petey?”
“He’s in bed,” she said, pouring ginger ale into a glass. It made a good excuse not to look at her husband. “He came home with an upset stomach.”
“Poor kid. I’ll go see him.”
“Take this,” she said, handing Brad the glass. “Don’t let him have more than a sip. He threw up a few minutes ago.”
Brad disappeared upstairs and Stef made a phone call, hoping she could get the boys to come back now. She only needed everything out of the room long enough to make her point. Why hadn’t she asked them to hang around?
And why had she gotten rid of the card table? Maybe they could get it back from the donation center.
“Sorry, Stef, Randy went to Herman’s with Buck and James,” said her teenage mover’s mom. “Did you need them for anything else?”
Boy, did she ever. Could she drive to the hamburger joint and home before Brad came downstairs?
Now Brad was back in the kitchen. “Thanks. Um, I’ll get hold of him later,” she said.
“Who were you talking to?” he asked as she ended the call.
“Oh, no one.” Okay, how could she start this conversation? Brad, before dinner we need to move some furniture. Guess what? I have a surprise for you. That would do it. Everything would be all right once he learned about the new game table. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Yeah?” He was smiling. It was almost as if the miserable week they’d been having had never happened. His cell rang. “Hold that thought.” He took the call. “Yeah, we’re still on for tonight. No, I’ve got beer. The game? Oh, man, I forgot to set it to record.” He started walking away, down the hall, toward the basement steps.
“Brad, don’t go down there!”
“Be back in a minute,” he called over his shoulder.
That was what she was afraid of.
He was back in less than a minute. He wasn’t on the phone anymore and he wasn’t smiling. In fact... What was that old saying about if looks could kill?
“What happened to my room?”
This was not the moment to ask how it felt to have everything upside down right before a party.
“You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Some kind of sick joke?”
“I only wanted you to know how I felt when you tore up everything right before Griffin’s shower.” You weren’t going to say that. Remember? But it was out. The point had been made.
Why didn’t she feel good about it?
His eyes narrowed. “Cute, Stef. Real cute. There’s just one difference. I was trying to do something nice for you. This...”
Was vindictive. And that was why she felt like crying instead of snickering. Her self-righteous anger died, like a strong wind that had blown itself out. “I forgot about the poker game.”
“Yeah, right.”
He marched upstairs and she followed him. “I really did, Brad. I’m sorry.”
“Where is everything, Stef? At the dump?”
“No, it’s out in the garage. Well, all except the card table.”
“Where’s that?”
“Um, I donated it.”
“What!” They were in the upstairs hall now and he whirled around and gaped at her. “You gave away my card table?”
“It was old and ratty. I’ve got something better coming.”
“There’s always something better, isn’t there? It was mine, Stef. You gave it away without even asking. But then, what’s new about that? You’ve been doing a lot of stuff without talking to me first.” He marched into the bedroom and pulled a duffel bag from the closet.
“What are you doing?”
“You moved out all my stuff. Obviously, I’m next.” He threw the duffel on the bed, strode to the dresser and yanked open a drawer.
“Brad, don’t be like this.”
He ignored her, throwing jeans and socks and underwear into the bag every which way.
“Brad!”
“Daddy?”
She turned to see her son standing in the doorway rubbing his eyes, his hair mussed, cheeks flushed. Great.
“Where are you going, Daddy?” he asked.
Brad grabbed his duffel. He walked over to where his son stood and knelt in front of him. “Daddy’s going to go visit a friend for a while.”
“Can I come, too?”
“Not this time, big guy.” Brad took his hand and led him back to his bedroom, and Stef trailed miserably after. She watched as Brad tucked him in. “You need to stay here with Mommy. She’s in charge.” He didn’t smile at Mommy when he said it.
“Brad. Please.”
He ignored her. “Don’t worry,” he told Petey. “If you feel better tomorrow, I’ll come get you and take you to your game.”
Petey nodded, reassured that all was well. “Okay, Daddy.”
Brad kissed him good-night, then ruffled his hair. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.” He picked up his duffel and started to leave, walking past Stef without looking at her.
“You forgot to kiss Mommy,” Petey called.
Brad took a step back and gave her a frosty kiss on the cheek that stung like a slap, then left the room.
“Mommy will be right back,” she told her son, then chased Brad down the stairs. She caught him at the door. “I’m sorry, Brad, but I just wanted you to see how it felt.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe you need to see how it feels not to be appreciated.” With that parting shot, he threw open the door and marched off down the front walk.
* * *
Charley was hosting a party on the back patio of Zelda’s to celebrate the restaurant’s sixth anniversary. “If you can make it past five years, chances are good that you’ll be around for another ten. And that’s worth celebrating.”
Indeed, it was. Charley had survived a lot, everything from a husband cheating with one of their employees to a fire that closed her down while she rebuilt. But she’d come back stronger than ever and had ended up with a much better second husband. All her friends were more than happy to help her celebrate.
The mountains provided a beautiful backdrop and a tired sun still managed to warm people’s shoulders as they milled about, drinking cocktails and eating appetizers.
Cass had been put in charge of the anniversary cake and had made a gigantic chocolate one with raspberry cream filling, decorated with the profile of a flapper to fit the restaurant’s art deco image. She’d sampled both the filling and the frosting, and they were delicious, if she did say so herself.
Speaking of delicious, here came Grant Masters strolling up to her. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a shirt with a soft brown sweater that complemented those dark eyes. She told her hormones to behave themselves and took a drink of her Chocolate Kiss.
“If it isn’t my favorite roofer,” she greeted him.
“My favorite baker,” he responded.
“How are you enjoying Icicle Falls?” she asked. “Do you feel you’re settling in?”
He nodded. “Oh, yeah.”
“Met any interesting people?” Like Muriel Sterling-Witt
man. Yes, she was fishing.
The fish didn’t take the bait. “A few,” he said vaguely.
She tried again. “I assume you’ve met our local celebrity by now.”
“Celebrity?”
“Muriel Sterling-Wittman. She’s had several books published.”
“Oh, yeah. Nice lady.”
“Not to mention beautiful.” And wise and kind. Impossible to compete with. Cass consoled herself with another sip of her chocolate drink. Oh, yeah, crème de cacao, chocolate syrup, booze—if a woman couldn’t be beautiful she could at least drink Chocolate Kisses.
“Yeah, she is.”
“She’s available.” Why was she reminding him?
“She’s not really my type.”
Hmm, now, that was interesting. There was hardly a man in Icicle Falls—including younger men—who didn’t drool over Muriel. “Don’t tell me you’ve got something against beautiful women.”
A waiter came up with a platter of hot wings and Grant took one, checked it out, took a bite.
Quit keeping me in suspense. “I heard you guys went out.” Okay, now she sounded like a fourteen-year-old girl, trying to squeeze info out of her crush. She needed to stop fixating on Grant Masters. But darn, how could she stop when he was so darned sexy?
He shrugged. “We did. Like I said, she’s nice.”
“Whoa, damning with faint praise.”
“I like my women a little...cheekier.”
“Cheeky. There’s a word you don’t hear very often.”
“Not these days. Are you old enough to know what it means?”
“Of course I am!”
He studied her. “How old are you, anyway?”
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to ask a lady her age?”
“Are you even fifty?”
“Hey, don’t rush me.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Don’t tell me you’re prejudiced against younger women. Not that I’m young enough to qualify for that.”
Her phone summoned her. Someone had a very bad sense of timing. Who was it? Most of her friends were here. It had to be one of the kids.
“Go ahead, answer it,” Grant told her. “I’ve learned that no woman can resist a ringing phone.”
“I can,” she said, but he grinned and walked away. Darn. Probably using the phone as an excuse to leave. At least she now knew she didn’t have to compete with Muriel. And Grant almost seemed interested.
Except why was he asking about her age? Surely there wasn’t that big an age difference between them. Anyway, who cared? They were both adults.
The call was from Stef and, remembering their conversation at the bakery, Cass suddenly had a bad feeling. She took the call.
“Brad’s left,” Stef wailed. “I should have listened to you! I hate this house and I hate my life.”
“I’ll be right over.”
Chapter Fifteen
Cass gave Charley a congratulatory hug, explained that Stef was having a crisis and then raced home to Blackberry Lane. Stef was a mess when Cass got to her place. She’d already used almost a whole box of tissues. All that was left of her makeup was a faint brown track down one cheek, and her eyes were puffy and bloodshot.
“He’s gone. We’re through,” she wailed. Loud enough to wake the dead.
“Where’s Petey?” The last thing her son needed was to see his mommy like this.
“He’s in bed. He’s not feeling well.”
“So he has no idea what’s going on?”
“He saw us fighting. Brad told him he was going to visit a friend. Oh, Cass, what if he doesn’t come back?”
“Did he take his golf clubs?”
“No.”
“Then he’ll be back.”
“That’s not funny,” Stef informed her and started sobbing again. “We should never have left Seattle. We had a nice little rental in Skyway. We were happy.”
“You’ll be happy again,” Cass reassured her, rubbing her shoulder. At least she hoped they would. “Every couple fights.”
“We don’t. Not like this!” The wailing began again.
“You need a drink,” Cass said.
“Easing my sorrow with alcohol, that can’t be good. I’ll turn into an alcoholic.” Louder wailing.
“Chamomile tea, not booze. Do you have any?”
“I think so. Tea won’t help. Nothing’s going to help.”
Cass gave her shoulder another pat and then went to the kitchen to heat water. She also called in reinforcements. “We’ve got trouble over here at Stef’s. You’d better come over.”
“I’ll be right there!”
Griffin showed up minutes later, and soon the three women were sitting at the kitchen table, mugs of tea in front of them and a fresh box of tissues next to Stef. Petey had been checked on and was soundly and cluelessly asleep.
“You guys told me not to do it,” Stef said, her voice wobbling. “Why didn’t I listen?”
Good question. “Because you were angry,” Cass said. She’d been there, done that, let the anger build until it reached the inevitable point of explosion. In her case, there’d been too many explosions. Finally there’d been nothing left.
Except three great kids. Because of them, she could never completely regret marrying Mason.
“I thought somehow he’d laugh it off,” Stef said miserably.
Griffin gaped at her. “Seriously?”
Stef crumpled up a tissue and added it to the growing pile. “I don’t know why I thought that.”
“Well, he is normally pretty easygoing,” Griffin conceded.
“It was stupid. He was having friends over for poker tonight.”
“Oh, no,” Griffin said as the story got worse.
“Oh, yes. I forgot. I really did. I tried to explain that to him.” Here came more tears. Stef yanked another tissue out of the box. “Now look what’s happened.”
“It’ll be okay,” Griffin said earnestly.
“What can I do?”
“First of all, put his room back together,” Cass advised. “And come up with a good peace offering. And you have to pull yourself together for Petey’s sake. You can’t drag him into your drama.”
Stef nodded and blew her nose.
The little cuckoo popped out of Stef’s kitchen cuckoo clock and began to chime the hour. Eight o’clock already. “I’ve got to get home and get to bed,” Cass said. When you were a baker it was early to bed and early to rise. “Can you stay?” she asked Griffin.
“Of course,” Griffin said.
Cass told Stef one more time that everything would work out, then made her way down the street to her own house. After the craziness at Stef’s, the quiet in her place offered a spa-like calm.
Lady Gray trotted up to greet her, and she picked up the cat. “So much drama,” she murmured. “Be glad you’re a cat.”
Lady Gray leaped out of her arms and trotted off down the hall toward the kitchen.
“Very subtle,” Cass called after her. “But I’m not feeding you again.”
Hmm. Speaking of food, she hadn’t had a chance to eat at the party. But it wasn’t healthy to eat right before bed.
She followed the cat to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of milk. Then she got her stash of Oreos from the cupboard. A baker eating store-bought cookies—what would her customers say? Well, woman did not live by gingerbread alone.
She limited herself to two cookies, then went upstairs, brushed her teeth and went to bed, where she lay a long time thinking about Stef and her troubles and then marriage in general, which of course led her to think about her own marriage.
Really, she and Mason were better off apart. And her life as a single mom hadn’t
turned out badly. It still wasn’t. Except, darn, the problem with being on your own was...well, you were on your own.
Lady Gray jumped onto the bed, then started walking up her middle. She stomped on a boob a couple of times before settling down, giving Cass’s chin a head butt and purring.
“I have you, don’t I?” she said, petting the cat. “And you’ll do just fine. We’ll do just fine.”
Sure.
* * *
It was a long night, the longest night ever. Griffin sat up with Stef until around one, before Stef took a step outside her own misery and realized she was being selfish and talking her poor friend into a stupor. How many hours could you spend listening to a woman’s reminiscences about everything from when she first met her husband (Starbucks on lower Queen Anne) to their first kiss (under the mistletoe at her parents’ house) to where he proposed (in front of the troll under the Aurora Bridge). She talked about the first time she’d tried to make lasagna and what a mess she’d made. “But it turned out great. And I can’t say that for our marriage,” she’d concluded and started crying again.
Poor Griffin. She hadn’t signed on to be a shrink when they became friends.
Nonetheless, she’d told Stef to call her in the morning if she needed her for anything. Stef had finally dozed off sometime in the wee hours. She was far from ready to wake up when Petey came into her room around seven thirty. “I’m all better.”
“Good,” she said, reaching up and pushing his hair back from his forehead. He was such a cute little boy. He had Brad’s friendly face and reddish hair. Brad’s disposition. Which was just as well. She certainly didn’t want him to take after her.
“Can I go to my game?”
“Let’s see if your breakfast stays down first.”
“It will,” he said. “Will you tell Daddy?”
“Yes.” If she could find him. “First, though, you need to get dressed and have some breakfast.”
“Okay!” Petey bounded out of the room and Stef dragged herself out of bed and into the shower. Nothing like a shower in the morning to make a girl feel...no better at all.
Starting Over on Blackberry Lane--A Romance Novel Page 18
