by Loree Lough
Alyssa turned and waved, and Noah saw Billie smile as she returned it.
“She’s nice, isn’t she, Daddy?”
“I guess.”
“I wonder why she doesn’t smile more. She’s very pretty when she smiles, isn’t she?”
“I guess,” he repeated.
“Do you think she’s as pretty as Mommy?”
“No way.”
He pictured Jillian, tall, willowy, too girlie to test a mountain bike, let alone ride one hard enough to mess up an ankle.
Alyssa sighed quietly. “She reminds me of Mommy, kind of.”
“She does? How so?”
“Mostly, the way she looks at me.”
Noah might have asked what she meant, if Alyssa hadn’t lifted her shoulders until they touched her earlobes, a sweet, dainty gesture that always made his heart thump with fatherly affection.
“I saw her looking at you that way, too,” Alyssa said.
“She did?”
“Uh-huh. Did it make you think of Mommy, too?”
He hadn’t noticed Billie looking at Alyssa in anything other than a polite, neighborly way. As for how she’d looked at him, impatience came to mind.
“Look there,” he said, leaning closer to the windshield. “Emily is loose again.”
Their neighbor’s goose was a regular escape artist. One of these days she’d waddle into the road, and that would be the end of her…if the county didn’t cite Meb for allowing her to violate the noise ordinance by honking at all hours. Noah parked on an angle, effectively blocking the alleyway as he dialed Meb’s number.
“No answer,” he said after seven rings. “You sit tight while I put Emily back into her pen.” After pocketing his keys, he uncuffed his shirtsleeves, then reached into the glove box and grabbed a pair of worn leather work gloves usually reserved for stacking wood in the back of the truck. Last time he’d tried to save Emily from getting run over by a car, she’d nearly blinded him with a flurry of fluttering wings. She’d bitten him, too, leaving nasty bruises on his forearms. To add insult to injury, she infected him with a bad case of mites. When Meb had found out about the mites, he had brought Noah a giant bottle of Listerine. “Shower, splash this on and take some antihistamine,” the farmer-turned-artist had said. The home remedy had worked…after two miserable, itchy weeks. This time, Noah wasn’t taking any chances.
It took nearly twenty minutes just to catch her, and another ten to ease her into the wood-and-wire pen Meb had built for her. After securing the latch, Noah noticed that Emily’s food bowl was empty, so he refilled it by pouring pellets through the mesh. The only human allowed near the enclosure was Meb. The only one allowed in the yard was Meb. To Noah’s knowledge, no one had ever tried to steal the iron and steel sculptures that were Meb’s trademark…and his livelihood. And no wonder, with a crazy, biting, mite-infested goose standing guard!
When he finished, Noah smacked the gloves against his thigh, then peeled off his shirt and dropped it into the nearest trash can. Better to lose it than risk bringing parasites into the apartment.
“So what are you in the mood for tonight, kiddo?” he asked, parking the truck in its usual slot.
“We haven’t had spaghetti in a long time. With meatballs, and garlic bread, too.”
Her mom’s favorite meal. “You got it, cupcake.”
The moment they were inside, Alyssa grabbed her crayons and a stack of construction paper.
“I’ll be in my room,” she announced, “drawing a picture of Emily. I might need help, spelling some things for Meb.”
“Soon as we finish eating. I’ll call you when it’s time to set the table, okay?”
He grabbed a T-shirt from his dresser drawer as she said, “Okay, Daddy.”
While he filled the pasta pot with water, he thought about what Alyssa had said earlier, and tried to remember how Jillian had looked at him. Nothing came to mind. Not even with his eyes closed. Worse, he couldn’t see her at all. Maxine, his Baltimore connection with the Marshals Service, had warned him about this three years ago, but he hadn’t believed it.
“What kind of man shares years and has a child with a woman—causes her death—and can’t raise a mental image of her?” he’d demanded.
“First of all,” Max had said, “you didn’t cause Jillian’s death. Senator O’Malley did. As for forgetting what she looks like? Trust me. It’ll happen. And when it does, it will prove you’re healing. Because you’re normal.”
If she thought a quote from some required psychology course would help alleviate the fear, she was dead wrong, and he’d told her so. Besides, how could a person who’d never lost a spouse know what was normal and what wasn’t?
Much as Noah hated to admit it now, Max had been right about one thing: the day had come. She’d been off beam about that other thing, though, because he felt anything but normal. He could call her, put George’s “she’s a good listener” claims to the test…again.
Water from the tap overflowed the pot’s rim, shaking Noah from his daze. He emptied half the water down the drain, then carried the pot to the stove. He turned the burner on high, thinking it probably wasn’t a good idea to call Max. She knew every hideous detail of his past. That if he hadn’t joined forces with the corrupt senator, it wouldn’t have been necessary to choose between jail time and testifying against the man. If he hadn’t testified, the accident intended for him wouldn’t have killed Jillian, which prompted the decision to move from a fourteen-room house in Chicago’s River North neighborhood to a four-room apartment above a bike shop, living under assumed names, afraid to get close to anyone for fear that what happened to Jillian might happen to Alyssa.
Yeah, Max knew the details of his story and accepted the facts without passing judgment. Not that she needed to…
Noah despised himself enough for both of them.
CHAPTER FOUR
BILLIE SAT AT her desk, trying to get comfortable as she keyed in html code on a client’s website. Not an easy feat with one foot propped on an open file drawer. She missed her exercise ball, but since the accident, she’d had to make do with her old, non-ergonomically correct chair. That alone, she thought, hobbling toward the kitchen, was incentive enough to keep the ankle iced and elevated, per doctor’s orders.
The doorbell rang as she grabbed a fresh ice pack. According to the wall clock, it was nearly nine o’clock.
“What kind of nut drops by unannounced at this time of night?”
A peek through the front door’s sidelights told her: Troy, the oldest of her twin brothers, dodging moths drawn by the porch light.
She threw open the door. “Holy smokes, Troy, what are you doing here?”
“I, ah…” He chuckled quietly. “Good to see you, too.”
“Sorry. That didn’t come out right at all.” She wrapped him in a hug. “I’m just surprised to see you.” Stepping aside, Billie waved him into the foyer and tried not to stare as he dragged a big, bulging suitcase inside. “Good grief. Is there a body in there, or are you planning a trip around the world?”
He looked at the bag and shrugged. “I kinda left in a hurry, and just jammed stuff in there.”
“Uh-oh. What’s up?”
“Can we talk about it later?”
“How much later?”
“Feed me, and maybe I’ll feel like dredging up the bad news.”
“Always the tough guy, huh?” Billie pointed toward the hall. “You know where to stow your gear.” On the way to the guest room, he nodded toward the home office space she’d fashioned in one corner of the living room. “I’ll stay out of your hair. Promise. You keep designing those websites as if I wasn’t even here. This is temporary. I just need to get my head straight before I go ho—” He cleared his throat. “Before I go back…” he frowned slightly “…to Philly.”
He’d started to say home, and changed his mind. That worried her almost as much as the notion that her big, rough-tough marine brother, who’d earned a Purple Heart and a Silver Star in Afghanistan, had come her
e to hide. But from what? She hobbled alongside him and pointed at the hideous black soft cast the E.R. doctor had prescribed. “I’d never admit it to anyone else, but my ankle is killing me.” Silently, she acknowledged that if Noah Preston hadn’t insisted on driving her home earlier, it would hurt a whole lot more.
“What did you do to yourself this time?”
“Took a curve too fast during a race,” she said, limping along behind him. “You can have your Superman and Captain America. My hero is the tree that kept me from going over the edge.”
He rolled the suitcase into the guest room’s closet. “You’ve fixed the place up real nice. Hard to believe it’s only been a year since you moved in,” he said, glancing around. Then, pointing at her ankle, Troy said, “Let me guess. You’re planning to go out again, next chance you get.”
“Why wouldn’t I? I love cycling.” It had saved her, in more ways than one. But since Troy knew that almost as well as she did, Billie saw no need to remind him of those awful, scary months following the stillbirth.
“Maybe I’ll get a bike and go with you, see if riding can fix what’s wrong with my life, too.”
The sadness in his voice wasn’t lost on Billie.
“Another fight with Victoria?”
He only shook his head.
“You’re way too good for her,” Billie said. “I never understood what you saw in—”
“Do me a favor and drop it, okay?”
She took one look at his all-business expression and decided to press him for details later, after he’d had a meal and a good night’s sleep. “You still driving that small convertible?”
“Yeah….”
“Then we’re in luck. I traded my car for a small pickup, and it came with a double bike rack. I know where we can get you a great mountain bike, too…if Victoria hasn’t talked you into another cruise or something.”
“Billie, c’mon. Give it a rest, will ya? You don’t hear me asking when you last talked to that idiot you married, or how you can afford this place after caving to avoid a confrontation with the jerk—who took way more than he deserved in the divorce settlement—if you ask me. Or if you regret giving up your job as a flight attendant just because Chuck the Pilot didn’t like you being in the air when he wasn’t.” Her brother took a breath and plowed on. “Or if you’re sorry you left Philly, where the baby is buried.”
“Okay. All right. I get the message. I’m sorry! If I’d known you would bring up every awful thing in my past, I never would have—”
“I’m the one who’s sorry.”
And he looked it.
“I have a good mind,” she said, pretending to pout, “not to show you where the extra hangers and clean towels are.”
Troy laughed halfheartedly. “You’d only be punishing yourself….” Wiggling his eyebrows, he said, “Now show me what you’ve done with the place since we moved you in.”
Billie gave him a tour of the five-room cottage, and then headed to the kitchen to pour two glasses of iced tea. Troy carried the tumblers and followed her to the back deck, where she flopped onto a lounge chair.
“I can’t believe how much you did in such a short time,” her brother said. “The folks made it sound like you were living in an unfurnished shoebox.” He sat on the other lounge chair. “If I could find a place like this, I might never go back.”
Evidently, things with his fiancée were worse than Billie had thought. “I know you’re vulnerable right now, so maybe this isn’t the best time to tell you there are at least two houses for sale within walking distance.”
He didn’t comment, and instead gestured to her small, fenced-in yard. “Did you plant all that stuff?”
“Artfully dodged, Jack Dawson,” she teased. “And to answer your question, yes, I planted all that stuff. Gardening is way cheaper than a therapist.”
Troy reached across the space between them and squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you’re doing well. You had us worried there for a while.”
“Us. What a laugh. I know the rest of the family meant well, but you were the only one who was really there for me after Chuck dumped me.” She returned the squeeze. “And whether you like it or not, I intend to be there for you, too.”
“I’m countin’ on it.” He leaned back, crossed one ankle over the other. “So are you seeing anybody?”
“Between the web design business and cycling, there isn’t time for stuff like that,” she answered. “Besides, I’m not exactly girlfriend material.”
“Yet.”
Billie only shrugged. Thankfully, he hadn’t quoted their parents: “It’s been two years, Billie. You need to get hold of yourself. Put Chuck in the past and move forward with your life.”
She had moved forward. New home, new job, new friends and hobbies. But she was far from ready to consider a new man in her life.
Troy stared up at the sky. “Yeah, this is great, all right.”
His stomach rumbled, and he explained, “Like I said, I left in a hurry.”
“What say I make us each a sandwich?”
Inside, he sat at the bar counter as she assembled the ingredients. “It’s almost as if you knew I was coming,” he noted.
“Don’t flatter yourself. Ham and Swiss on rye toast is my favorite sandwich, too, remember.”
They ate in a comfortable silence.
Billie thought of how their parents didn’t seem to have any trouble airing their grievances. Clearly, it was a trait she and Troy hadn’t inherited. He rarely talked about his overseas assignments, and even when he did, the discussions were tip of the iceberg, at best. Except for that night several months after the stillbirth, when he’d come to make sure she was all right. It had been the two-year anniversary of the roadside bomb that had wiped out all but four men in his unit.
“So how’s the website business?”
“I’m doing well enough to keep the wolf from the door.”
“I didn’t see the Cannondale anywhere around,” he said. “Did you wreck it in the accident?”
“It’s a little scratched and dented, but not totaled.” She remembered all the repairs Noah had told her he’d make. “The guy at the bike shop might need to order parts, but,” she said, pointing at the ankle, “I’m not going anywhere for a while, anyway. From the way he talked, it didn’t sound expensive. At least, I hope it won’t be. I hate to dip into the savings I’ve squirreled away for real emergencies.”
“Real emergencies?”
“The furnace is on its last legs, and so’s the water heater. And in a year or two, I’ll probably need a new roof.”
“Sounds like you’re planning to make Ellicott City your permanent home.”
Billie shrugged. “I guess I am.” She looked around at the mismatched flea market lamps she’d rewired, the cushiony sofa she’d reupholstered, the glass-topped coffee table she’d made from an old wire spool. Billie didn’t even care that “shabby chic” wasn’t chic anymore, because piece by piece, she’d rebuilt her life, just as she’d rebuilt the bar counter in the kitchen.
“Mom won’t be happy to hear you’re not coming home. She figured you would…eventually.”
“Soon as that twin of yours and his wife have a couple of kids, she’ll have happier things to distract her. Besides, this is the last place Chuck will think to look for me.”
“Todd and Dani aren’t planning to have kids for another year or two. Besides,” Troy added, “after accusing you of getting pregnant on purpose to justify cheating on you? Even Chuck isn’t stupid enough to get in touch with you.”
Billie harrumphed.
Her brother paused, then turned in his chair. “Whoa. Are you saying he did?”
“No. I haven’t heard from him since the house sold. I just don’t want him adding insult to injury by calling to say he sold all our furniture.”
“Or worse,” Troy added, “to announce that scuzzball he left you for is pregnant.”
That hurt far worse than Billie cared to admit.
“I sti
ll can’t believe he got more upset about losing your half of the house than about losing the baby.”
Billie shook her head. “Why would that upset him? He never wanted her.” Heart pounding with the bitter memory, she said, “He never believed she was his, anyway.”
“That’s bull. You know it, I know it and that no-good piece of garbage knows it.”
“There’s ice cream in the freezer,” she said, interrupting his tirade. “What’ll it be? Ice cream sandwich or chocolate marshmallow swirl?”
He glanced at the clock. “Ice cream. At ten-thirty. You’re kidding, right?”
She started for the fridge. “If we’re gonna be up all hours, rehashing our sad pasts, I want something to sweeten the atmosphere.”
“Our sad pasts,” he echoed. “If that means you expect me to spill my guts about what happened between Victoria and me…”
“I’m going to get it out of you sooner or later,” Billie said matter-of-factly.
“You still a fan of the evening news?”
“Are you still a jarhead?”
She knew what he’d say, and Troy didn’t disappoint: “Once a marine, always a marine.”
But ten minutes into the late-night news, he was dozing, one arm crooked over his face as he sprawled on the couch. The scene reminded her of happier times with her twin brothers. “Lost my job,” he said at last, without moving.
“No way. Why? Your boss loved you! I was there, remember, when he announced you were the new regional manager. Is he having money troubles?”
“No, he’s doing great. I’m the one who’s having troubles. Not money troubles, but…” Troy levered himself up on one elbow. “I just couldn’t live the lie anymore.”
“What lie?”
“Don’t get me wrong—I care about Victoria—but I’m not in love with her. I know you believe she thought of me as nothing more than a paycheck, but she’s really a great gal, and deserves to be with someone who’s crazy about her.”
He sat up, leaned both elbows on his knees and clasped his hands in the space between. “So I sat her down and told her the truth, then gave the boss two weeks’ notice. No big surprise…she gave me the weekend to clear out.”
