The silence that followed their teasing spoke louder than any words. Andrew was worried, which only made two of them.
“What is this book about?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“What?”
The panic in that single word made Garrett do something he hadn’t done in a long, long time. He lied—straight out and with no remorse. There was no reason Andrew should improve his ulcer until he had to.
“I’m superstitious about this one. I don’t want to talk about the book until it’s done.”
“Okay.”
Though Andrew didn’t understand things that were weird and spooky, he understood people who were. Or at least pretended to. Authors had all sorts of superstitions, eccentricities and routines that they used to convince themselves the work would come out all right. Andrew knew better than to mess with any one of them.
“Then I guess I won’t keep you.” Andrew still didn’t sound convinced that Garrett wasn’t dancing naked beneath the full moon, when he should be working like a good boy.
“And maybe you could stop calling me all the time?”
If Garrett had actually been writing, the phone would have driven him batshit. As it was—the phone was driving him batshit.
“I’ll stop calling. I’m just a little worried.”
At times Andrew was the mother Garrett had never had.
“Relax. Have I ever let you down?”
“Now would not be the time to start.”
That was what Garrett liked about Andrew. The man could always be counted on to leave him in the cheeriest of moods.
The utter stillness of the house did not make him want to write, as it was supposed to. Instead, without Andrew for a distraction, what Garrett wanted to forget he could only remember.
Livy.
An autumn wind casted through the window, ruffling his hair with the scent of the river, stirring moist cool night across his face. Still he burned for her, deep down where no breeze could ever cool him.
Because of the ghosts in his past that wouldn’t stop haunting him, Garrett had rarely looked back. Instead, he’d always looked forward—next town, next book, next adventure. Because whenever he had looked back, Garrett had seen Livy and ached for her.
Why did he keep teasing himself with tiny tastes of a woman who despised him? For that matter, why did she keep giving him small sips? To torment him? Or because she could no more stop the pull of the past than he could.
The joy he’d once found in Savannah had been the deepest he’d ever known. Yet this time all joy seemed lost to him—except when he gazed into the face of his son.
He should focus on Max, leave Livy alone. But he knew that no matter his good intentions, if she let him touch her he would. Then he’d lose himself in Livy the way he had the last time, until he’d become afraid there would soon be nothing left of himself.
She didn’t believe he’d ever cared for her. She thought she’d meant nothing. She couldn’t be further from the truth.
To save himself he’d run away, and had ended up losing more than he’d ever imagined when he’d left a part of himself behind.
Livy said she didn’t need him. Once, Garrett had said such things, too. It had taken him years to realize that sometimes what he said he needed the least was what he really wanted the most.
Could that be true of Livy, as well?
Chapter 10
As soon as Livy snapped her seat belt into place, Klein put the car into gear. Although she would have liked nothing better than to lean her head against the seat and rest, Livy didn’t have the time or the luxury.
“What’s the charge this time? Civil disobedience? Creating a public nuisance? Littering? Soliciting? What?”
Klein gave her a slow sideways glance. “Theft.”
“No way.” Livy’s response was automatic. “Impossible. My mother is the least covetous person I know. What on earth would she steal?”
That slow glance came again, but this time Klein’s lips twitched. “A goose.”
“She didn’t.”
“The sisters say otherwise.”
Livy should have known this was coming. She should have expected it. Her mother had been fuming over the sisters’ ghost goose for months now, and she hadn’t been fuming silently. Everyone in Savannah knew how Rosie Frasier felt about that goose. What should have surprised Livy was that Rosie had waited this long to take action.
“What, exactly, do the sisters say?”
Klein didn’t answer right away, instead concentrated on the road as he negotiated a one-way square.
Savannah was beautiful, ancient and special. But the historical section was difficult to navigate. There were no cross streets, only square upon square. To get from one side to the other, a driver needed to be familiar with the streets, then drive up some, down others and around and around at times. Which made it much easier to walk.
At last Klein came out of the one-way roundabout and returned his attention to Livy. “Rosie felt the goose was being exploited.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. With her, someone’s always being exploited.”
“She called for its emancipation.”
“And?”
“The sisters say she emancipated it.”
“I was afraid of that. She’ll give it back.”
“You really think so?”
Livy opened her mouth, shut it again, then scratched her nose. “We could pay for it?”
“That would work with any other goose. But the reason the sisters are so mad, the reason they’re pressing criminal charges…”
“Besides the fact that they’ve got the feud of their lifetime going with Rosie?”
“Besides that, I hear this goose is exceptionally rare.”
Livy started seeing those black flecks again. Only this time they were shaped like dollar signs. “How rare? Give me numbers, Klein.”
“Not money rare. Trained rare.”
“Trained?” Livy scoffed. “The thing stays in the yard. I’ll buy them a poodle.”
But Klein was already shaking his head. “They want their goose back. Nothing else will do. Your mother had better cough up one trained goose quick.”
“She will if I have to give her the Heimlich myself.”
Klein slowed to the curb. Livy’s gaze went from her darkened home to the lights next door. “I should probably leave Max here rather than drag him off to see Gramma in jail.”
“I don’t think it’ll scar him for life to see Rosie in jail. Might help him to understand where she spends so much of her time.”
“Let’s hope so.” Livy shoved open the car door.
“Does Max know?”
She glanced back at Klein, puzzled. “What?”
“That Stark is his father.”
Could a person’s heart really stop? For an instant, Livy thought hers just might. “W-why would you say that? Max’s father is d-d-dead.”
“You never stutter unless you’re lying. You can’t fool me. I detect things for a living.”
“When did you detect this?”
“A minute after I met the man. You noticed I didn’t like him.”
“I wondered what your problem was. I didn’t think you’d suddenly come down with a case of undying love for me.”
“Not that you wouldn’t be worth it, Counselor, but I make a much better friend than a lover.”
The sadness in his voice caused Livy to pause. But Klein shook his head. He would not talk about himself. He never did.
“How did you know?”
Klein lifted his huge hand and tapped a surprisingly long, elegant finger to his cheekbone. “Max has his father’s eyes.”
And here Livy thought she was being ultrasensitive. “Is it that obvious?”
“Not to someone who isn’t used to looking beneath the surface. Once I noticed that, I noticed other things. The way Stark touched you.” Klein stared out his window, as if seeing something a long way off. “How you leaned into him when he
did. What was between you is too intimate to be new. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to deduce you’ve got a big lie on your hands.” He shifted so he could look her in the face, and the odd dreamy expression was gone. “Max doesn’t know, does he?”
“No.”
“When are you going to tell him?”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Ever?”
Klein’s voice was so incredulous she twitched. “You don’t know J.J.”
“No, I don’t. Who the hell is J.J.?”
“His pen name is Garrett Stark. His real name is J.J. Garrett. He specializes in running off in the night. I’m not going to let Max get attached to his long-lost daddy so he can be crushed when the man finds a new and better toy.”
“You think Stark would do that?”
Livy threw up her hands. ‘‘I’m obviously no great judge of character. I didn’t think he’d leave before, so I was the one left holding the baby.”
What had she really known about the man she’d loved? They’d been little more than children, caught up in a whirl of new emotions and each other. They had shared their bodies and their dreams. But Livy had not shared her past and J.J. had not shared his.
“You should still tell Max.”
“Wouldn’t it be better for Max if he continued to think his father’s dead rather than to lose him?”
“There’s a difference between dying and leaving.”
“Is there? Having been on the receiving end of both, I have to say they felt the same to me.” She blinked to keep the heated tears in her eyes from dripping down her face.
Klein patted her shoulder, awkwardly, like a big puppy that couldn’t quite control his limbs. But he meant well.
“One problem at a time,” Livy said. “Right now I can’t think of anything but Mama and her golden goose.”
Klein allowed the topic of Garrett Stark to drop, though she still sensed his disapproval hovering heavy within the close confines of the car.
“Grab Max, and we’ll see to one problem at a time.”
*
Lucky for Max his gramma was in trouble again, which took the heat off of him. He’d known he was in for it the moment he’d walked away from school. But an afternoon learnin’ how to stomp on the fears that haunted him was worth a whole lot of time in his room.
Even though his mom said, “I’ll talk to you later, mister,” and the spark in her eyes showed she wouldn’t forget, she didn’t start yellin’ at him in front of the Hammonds like he’d expected. Not that she yelled much, but he figured if there was ever a time for yellin’, the time was now.
They traveled in silence to the police station, which was okay with Max. The less said about anything the better.
Detective Klein parked in his space, and together the three of them went inside. Max had liked Detective Klein the first time he’d met him. He looked like that droopy dog Duke on the Nick at Night show about the oil-rich hillbillies. How could you not feel warm and fuzzy about a guy as sad as that?
Max liked the old shows on Nick at Night almost as much as he liked the old horror movies on Saturday afternoons. Besides his mom smiled a whole lot more when she found him watchin’ the story about a man named Jed.
Turned out they were also lucky Detective Klein was along, because the policeman at the front desk didn’t want to let Max in to see Rosie. He’d never gotten to see her in jail before, and while he loved her bunches, he really wanted to see what she looked like behind bars.
The detective eyed Max and winked. Max glanced at his mom, who seemed real nervous and jumpy, but she was starin’ at the wall and not at him, so he grinned and winked back. Detective Klein liked kids—kids knew that sort of thing—and he was nice, deep down where nice counted. Max heard that in his voice.
The detective returned his attention to the policeman. “You go get some coffee while I take care of a few things.”
The other man didn’t seem happy, but he went. Max figured that happened for Detective Klein a lot. He was huge. What would it be like to be so big no one picked on you? Max thought he might like it.
“Livy?” Klein stared at Max’s mom with a frown so deep, the lines between his eyes and around his mouth were like crevices in a rock.
Max peered back and forth between the two of them. Something was up. Had his mom told Detective Klein about Max skipping school? Were they really taking Max to jail, and Rosie wasn’t even here?
No, his mom would never lie to him. She’d say right out, “You’re busted, buddy. Off to jail you go.”
Besides, Max wasn’t scared of jail. Rosie had told him all about it, and from her point of view the place sounded like one big slumber party. Still, when they got back where the prisoners stayed, Max breathed a sigh of relief to hear Rosie’s voice coming from behind the bars.
“They say Renee Rondolia, his simple, lost soul denied final rites, wanders on moonless winter evenings throughout Savannah. When you hear the cool river wind whistling through the trees, glance out your window or perhaps down a shadowed city street, then you might see his large, hulking figure coming for you.”
Max hurried past the other two, ignoring his mom’s urgent, “Max!” as well as her hand, which snatched for his shoulder. He’d gotten so used to avoiding that hand, he didn’t even have to think about it. But he did trip over his big toe and slam into the cell door, catching himself with his free hand before he got a nose full of iron. His cast skidded along the bars as if they were an xylophone.
He pressed his face through the opening. Rosie was surrounded by several women dressed pretty weird—which was saying a lot, considering how Rosie dressed. Right now she wore big, loose, orangey-red pants that looked like something out of an Arabian Nights movie and a T-shirt that said, It’s as bad as you think and they are out to get you.
“Hey, Rosie! Are you guys havin’ a slumber party?”
Her smile made him warm all over. No one had a gramma like Rosie. “Hey yourself, sugar. I was just telling a story to pass our time.”
He took in the brightly painted faces and really short skirts of the ladies. One of them wore a leopard bra, though why she had on a bra and no shirt, Max couldn’t quite figure. Still, it was pretty, in a jungle sort of way.
“Like your boots,” he told that lady, because her boots matched her bra, and she must have searched all over Georgia to find something like that.
“Thanks.” She cracked her gum louder than Max had ever heard.
“Mama, what are you doing in there?” His mom glared at Klein. “Why is she in with the regular population?”
“She is the regular population. This time around she’s garnered more than a nuisance charge.”
“It’s nonsense, and you know it.”
“I’m not the judge. You can tell him all about it tomorrow at the hearing.”
“I don’t want any special privileges.” Rosie joined them on her side of the bars. “Besides, I don’t like to be alone, and the girls wanted a story.”
“Rosie tells the best stories,” Max put in, uncertain why his mom was mad about the pretty ladies. They looked ready for Halloween, and Max loved Halloween. On that one night, magic walked all over the place.
“My stories aren’t half as good as yours.” Rosie put her fingertip to his nose and flicked it.
“The one you were tellin’ sounded good. Who’s Renee Rondolia and why was his soul lost?”
“Mama,” Livy warned.
“He’s going to hear about Renee eventually. Everyone does. The story is as much a part of Savannah as the river.”
“He doesn’t need to know now. That legend scared the sh—” His mom glanced at him, then pursed her lips. “The pants off of me when I was eighteen.”
If something scared the sh—pants off his mom, Max really wanted to hear about it.
“I’ll only ask Sammy tomorrow,” he pointed out.
His mom glared at Rosie, and Klein, too, when he snorted, then she turned to Max. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”
Rosie rolled her eyes behind Mom’s back, but Max knew better than to laugh.
“A long time ago there was a man named Renee and he was simple—”
“What’s simple?”
“Not the brightest crayon,” Rosie put in. “If you know what I mean.”
“Ah.” Max nodded. “Like Sammy. Two cans short of a six-pack.”
“Max!” His mom groaned. “Where do you get this stuff?”
He shrugged. “Around.”
His mom pushed on her eyelids as if they hurt. After a deep breath, she dropped her hand. “Anyway, Renee was slow. When a girl turned up dead, the town blamed him. He died. They buried him in the marsh and that’s where he stayed. Got it?”
Max squinted at his mom, then turned to Rosie with his eyebrows raised.
“She sure knows how to take the fun out of a good story, doesn’t she?” Rosie asked.
“I’ll say.”
“Never mind, you two.”
Mom sounded real annoyed, so Max kept his mouth shut. He was still on her list, and he didn’t need to make her any madder at him than she already was. If he was really lucky, the missing goose would be all the trouble Mom could handle for one night and maybe a few days, too.
Sometimes Max wondered if Rosie tried to get in trouble so in comparison the things Max did wouldn’t seem so bad. That would be just like Rosie.
“Klein, I want her out of this cell.”
“I like it in here.”
“And we want more bedtime stories,” said the lady who seemed to be wearing a shiny purple bathing suit with orange shorts over top. Except the shorts might fit Max, even though the lady was a whole lot bigger.
“Mama, where’s the goose?”
“Goose?” Rosie batted her eyelashes and Max laughed.
“Max!” His mom pointed to the corner.
“Come on, kid.” Klein led him away.
“What’s goin’ on?” Max whispered urgently.
“Just listen and don’t interrupt. You can find out a lot that way.”
“Tell me where you put the goose. Then I’ll give it back and this will all go away.”
“No can do.”
“Why the hell not!” Mom shouted.
The place went quiet.
“Uh-oh,” Max murmured, as Rosie’s cheery smile went south.
Leave it to Max (Lori's Classic Love Stories Volume 1) Page 12
