A dish featuring rosemary included on tonight’s menu—wasn’t that just a coincidence? Did it matter if she was bringing the rosemary-infused dish over to Philip’s house on March 13, the unluckiest day of the year? Jada didn’t need Siren tokens or their mysterious pronouncements to point out the obvious.
If she carried a psychic burden, it belonged to Philip too.
Driving down the hill leading into town, she dismissed the strange coincidence. A fluke, really—while she liked the distinctive flavor of rosemary on poultry and Italian breads, she remained unconvinced the herb held any importance on a personal level. As for the burdens in her life, she handled them well enough.
On the patch of lawn before Philip’s house, Fancy stood cradling a baby doll. Waiting for rescue, presumably.
Coming across the grass, Jada buried her gloomy thoughts. Seven o’clock was past Fancy’s dinnertime. No doubt she was famished.
The child trotted up and leapt into her arms. She clung tight.
Jada balanced the carryout and one anguished first grader. “What’s the matter, girlfriend?” she asked. She rubbed her nose across Fancy’s cheek, which smelled faintly of peanut butter and tears. “Tough day at school?”
“I was bad.” Nuzzling close, Fancy hid her face. “In art class.”
“You got in trouble?”
“I hurt Penelope.”
Jada angled her neck. “You hit her?” The notion was foreign. Fancy never displayed aggression.
“I painted her.”
The explanation came as a relief. “Why did Penelope care if you painted a picture of her? She loves your pictures.” Fancy owned more art supplies than Picasso.
Fancy gave a heavy sigh. “I threw paint on her.”
“You did?” A bizarre summation, but Jada let it go. She carried the remorseful child into the house. Whatever the details, Philip would supply them.
In the cubbyhole foyer, she gasped. Grey threads of smoke drifted through the living room like ambling snakes. They trailed an acrid scent across the secondhand couch and the milk crates that stood in for side tables. In the kitchen, black smoke belched thick plumes around the stove.
Philip was swatting the air wildly.
“What’s for dinner?” she asked dryly. She lowered Fancy into a chair and placed the cartons of rosemary chicken on the table. Snatching the towel from his grasp, she nudged him aside to retrieve the pot from the oven. A terrible stench came from beneath the lid.
She placed the pot on the stove. “What’s inside? I’m afraid to look.”
“Pot roast,” Philip told her. He darted an embarrassed glance at the fridge. “I found it in the freezer.”
She lifted the lid, studied the charred remains. “Did you defrost?”
“Was I supposed to?”
At the table, Fancy rustled through the bag and flipped open a carton. “Chicken!”
Philip watched his daughter place the cartons on the table before returning his attention to Jada. “You brought dinner . . . again?” he asked.
“Tonight’s special at the inn. Rosemary chicken.”
“I love rosemary chicken.”
Appreciation made his voice husky and low, sending pleasure through Jada. “I know you do,” she murmured, dredging up a casual tone. To Fancy, she said, “Grab some mashed potatoes while the getting’s good. Don’t wait. Your father will plow through them.”
Aside from his lust for barbecue, there wasn’t much Philip enjoyed more than mashed potatoes.
The advice put Fancy in motion. Tossing her doll aside, she scrambled to the silverware drawer.
Gratitude washed through Philip’s strong features. “You’re a lifesaver, Jada. Thanks.”
“Thank your daughter. She requested the rescue operation.”
“She did?” He looked briefly at Fancy, rooting through the silverware. “When?”
“She picked up when I called.”
“Right.” He rocked back on his heels. “May I pay you this time? Actually, I insist.”
A typical response whenever she brought dinner over. “Stop offering, all right?” she remarked, smiling. “I’m not taking your money.”
Cash was always tight in Philip’s household. The equipment he cobbled together for his landscaping company was bought on the cheap at auctions. Rarely did his income allow for the extras, like new clothes for his threadbare wardrobe. His daughter fared better. Philip often took Fancy into Penelope’s consignment shop, allowing her to choose from the new batches of dresses as they appeared on the racks. Fancy’s outfits were secondhand, but usually looked brand-new.
Or the dresses weren’t secondhand: Jada suspected the Sirens were hoodwinking their favorite single dad. It was a safe bet they were purchasing the stylish little-girl dresses on shopping sprees to Cincinnati or Columbus, then slipping the outfits onto Gift of Garb’s racks whenever Philip strolled by with his daughter. Although he despised charity, he loved treating his daughter like a princess.
Jada retrieved the milk from the fridge and poured three glasses. “When I buy my first house, plan on helping with landscaping, big-time,” she told him. Pride creased the lines around his mouth, hastening her to add, “Philip, I don’t want your money. I’m happy to help.”
“Lately, you’ve been helping a lot.”
“My pleasure, totally.”
“Well, thanks. I’m not sure what I’d do without you.”
The kitchen wasn’t much larger than a shoebox, and he was standing too close. Philip’s dark-brown hair was damp, presumably from a quick shower. He smelled deliciously minty from the soap he purchased because Fancy loved the fragrance. In tandem, they reached for the glasses. Her shoulder brushed against the sturdy wall of his chest. The contact thumped unwanted delight through her veins.
The disconcerting emotion urged her to move back a safe distance. “What’s going on with Fancy and Penelope?” she asked, searching for neutral ground.
“I’ll tell you when little ears aren’t present.” He nodded at his daughter, plopping a scoop of mashed potatoes onto her plate. “We’re having another big-girl issue.”
“Worse than the skirmish over TV?” Fancy had won that battle. They now split weekend viewing between Disney movies and sports channels.
“This debate is a whole lot more interesting,” Philip said.
Jada started for the table. “I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”
“Me either,” he said, chuckling.
They ate in companionable silence. Fancy plowed through her meal, battling with her father over the last of the potatoes. When she hopped down from her chair to plunk her silverware into the sink, she made a wide berth around him.
Sensing discord between father and child, Jada pushed away her unfinished meal. “Fancy, may I help with your bath—if your father doesn’t mind?” She recalled the conversation with Linnie about the flower girl dress. Bath time would allow an opportunity for a girl chat.
The offer seemed a reprieve, and Fancy eagerly took her hand. “Daddy won’t care.” She tugged Jada away from the table.
Philip held his palms up. “Go for it.” He eyed Jada’s half-finished meal. “Do you mind?”
He was wolfing down the remains as Fancy steered her into the bathroom. Condensation glazed the mirror. Philip’s jeans, boxers, and work shirt were heaped on the floor. No one working in the landscaping trade came home looking neat and tidy, but the amount of grunge on his clothes was impressive. If Jada didn’t have a bead on his chosen occupation, she might have assumed he spent his days rolling in mud like Porky Pig.
The clothes were a harbinger of worse to come. Summoning the courage, she yanked back the shower curtain.
“Fancy—”
The duet they performed was long perfected. The six-year-old opened the cabinet beneath the sink, then slapped a bottle of bathroom cleaner into Jada’s hand. Next came the sponge. Bending close, Jada began scrubbing the scum left behind by a hardworking man.
Backing away from the
tub, Fancy wrinkled her nose. “Icky.” She untied her pink tennis shoes.
“You said it.”
“Why do boys like dirt? Dirt is scummy.”
Jada finished scrubbing, leaned back on her haunches. “Scummy. Nice word choice. Where did you pick it up?”
“The third graders. At recess, one of the girls told a boy he was scummy for picking his nose.”
“Yuck.” The mock shudder she gave made Fancy giggle. “You’re smart to listen in, and pick up new words.”
The compliment brightened the child’s impossibly translucent cheeks. “Do you like dirt? My daddy loves it.”
“Actually, I do. I like the scent of the earth after a rain, and the end result when your father and his crews finish a job. Plants need dirt to bring them food. We’d never have flowers if they didn’t have good soil to grow in.”
“I like flowers.” Daintily, Fancy tucked her shoes against the wall. “I help Daddy plant them in our garden.”
“You’re a good helper.” The eager child had been trotting behind Philip with plastic gardening tools since she took her first baby steps. For such an outwardly rugged man, Philip displayed remarkable gentleness with his child. “I don’t know what your father would do without you,” she added, aping the sweet comment Philip had made to her before dinner.
“He’d be sad without me.”
“He would.”
A fan of lashes hid Fancy’s eyes as she removed her socks. “Jada, will you tell me something?”
“Sure.”
“Why is March the weepy month?”
The question lingered between them. Checking her expression, Jada turned on the tap. Thrown by the query, her mind went blank.
“Daddy hates March,” Fancy offered. She stuffed her socks in her shoes, then approached. “He told Uncle Daniel. He said March makes him sad.”
Jada reached for the bubble bath.
What else had Fancy overheard?
The flowing water rushed and churned, building a mountain of bubbles. This was shaky ground, with no clear path in sight.
While she searched for a proper response, Fancy wiggled the dress over her head. She folded the garment and placed it on the counter. “Uncle Daniel doesn’t like March either. I could tell. He looked weepy too.”
“I’m sorry,” Jada murmured.
“Me too,” Fancy said. The animal instinct small children possessed sent her gaze slowly across Jada’s face, weighing her reaction. Fancy resembled a fawn poised at the forest’s edge, fearful of the danger in open ground. “Do you hate March, Jada? Like Daddy and Uncle Daniel?”
“I don’t hate March.” Her heart throbbing, she helped Fancy into the tub.
“Then why do you look sad?”
“I’m not sad.” Jada stirred the bubbles, glad for a way to dispel her emotions. “You might have misunderstood what your father said to Uncle Daniel.”
“What’s misunderstood?”
“It means you didn’t hear right. Sometimes grown-ups talk about stuff kids don’t get.”
“They shouldn’t do that.”
“Not everything grown-ups talk about is meant for you to hear. Don’t worry about it. Your father and Uncle Daniel don’t have anything against March. Spring begins this month. Who wouldn’t love that?”
“I love spring.”
“Your daddy does too.” Dropping the subject, Jada decided to tackle the issue of the dress for the wedding and Linnie’s fear that she wasn’t in like aces with her fiancé’s niece. “Here’s a question: Is there anything you don’t like?”
Considering, Fancy scooped bubbles over her knees. “I don’t like Andy McFee.” She trailed water across the caramel-colored skin of Jada’s forearm. “He’s bad. He squishes worms for fun.”
“The monster.”
“Boys are stupid.” Fancy picked up the mermaid Barbie wedged against the bath tile. One of Jada’s more recent gifts, a favorite bath time toy. “Not Daddy. He’s only stupid when he tries to make food.”
“Linnie isn’t a very good cook either, but she’s not stupid,” Jada offered, taking a more direct approach. She picked up the washcloth. Gently, she cleaned the delicate oval of the child’s face. “What do you think of Linnie? Do you like her?” She set the washcloth aside.
“Are brides supposed to be scary?”
“Linnie isn’t scary.”
In silent dissent, Fancy lifted her shoulders. Lowering them, she dunked the doll beneath the bubbles. “Sometimes Linnie whines like a donkey.”
“She does not!”
The child demonstrated her version of a donkey’s whine. The high-pitched squeal echoed off the tiles. When Jada stopped laughing, Fancy said, “Linnie whines when Uncle Daniel talks about the wedding. She doesn’t like being a bride.”
“She doesn’t like crowds or making big decisions. But she likes you very much. Don’t you like her too?”
The wrong question, apparently. Fancy crossed her arms, a naked slip of a girl brewing in her bath. “Isn’t a wedding like a big party?” she asked pointedly.
“Sure.”
“Big girls pick their own party clothes, don’t they?”
“Usually,” Jada agreed.
“I’m a big girl.”
“Totally. You’re the biggest little girl I know.” A smile threatened Jada’s lips. She fought it down. A child’s rank on the mysterious steps to maturity was a serious matter. Making light of an imagined slight wouldn’t keep her in aces with the child. “You’re practically a grown-up.”
“Then why did Penelope show my class a photo of the dress I didn’t pick, and why does Linnie get to choose? I always pick my party clothes. Does Linnie get to pick everything for her scary wedding?”
No answer came to mind, and Jada allowed pleasure to crease her face. The benefits of big-girl status were a weighty matter, especially for the uber-feminine Fancy. She’d been selecting her own party clothes from age four onward—long before first grade, when she achieved the designation of “big girl.”
The discussion was still ongoing when Philip joined them in Fancy’s bedroom. Jada had just finished helping his daughter fill her play crib with dolls and seat most of her stuffed animals around the small table that occupied a corner of the room.
“All set?” He drew back the covers and helped Fancy into bed. He sent Jada a curious glance. “What were you talking about in the bathroom? The discussion sounded pretty animated.”
Jada handed Fancy the doll she’d decided to sleep with tonight. “Offer me a glass of wine, and I’ll dish,” she murmured.
“Deal.”
She kissed Fancy on the forehead. “Sweet dreams.”
“I love you, Jada.”
The endearment pulled Philip’s attention off his daughter and over to her. His gaze roamed across her face with the intensity of a lover’s caress. The desire to meet his eyes rose unexpectedly in Jada. Heat tickled her neck. Her movements felt awkward, clumsy, as she bent toward the bed.
“I love you too,” she replied, giving Fancy a loud, smacking kiss on the forehead. Laughter rang out, cooling the supercharged air surrounding Philip.
She went out, to give him a moment alone to say goodnight.
Two glasses of Chablis were waiting when he sauntered into the kitchen. They went out back, to the deck he’d added to the house last summer. Mismatched outdoor furniture from the local Goodwill provided an inviting seating area.
Politely, Philip waited for her to seat herself. “What’s the deal?” He lowered his wine to the small table between them. “Between water splashing and what sounded like my kid’s donkey imitation, the conversation seemed interesting. What were you discussing?”
“Party-girl clothes,” Jada supplied. “In particular, what a big girl should wear to the wedding.”
Alarm flitted through Philip’s greenish-gold eyes. “Damn. I promised Linnie—”
“Forget about the flower girl dress,” she said, cutting him off. “Your daughter wants to pick her outfit for th
e big occasion.”
“I’m taking her shopping for a dress? By ‘shopping’ I mean a quick tour through Gift of Garb? Penelope will scare up something presentable for a wedding.”
“You’re not that lucky,” Jada said. A nervous grin tickled the corners of her mouth. Her amusement fizzled as Philip’s eyes lingered on her, his expression betraying confusion and something deeper, something Jada preferred not to identify. She took a hasty sip of wine. “Here’s some advice. Don’t attempt to talk Fancy out of her decision. She’s dug her heels in.”
“On what to wear to the wedding? I’m not sure I’m ready to hear this.”
Chapter 4
Night crept across the yard. Savoring the privacy, Philip listened to her explanation.
He’d always loved Jada’s voice, the honeyed cadence of her words, her full, throaty tone. She’d acquired a sultry voice clear back in junior high, when most of the girls sounded like screeching hens as they complained of acne or engaged in petty fights. Jada always stood above the fray, a natural leader in any group, with her maturity and dark beauty.
He took care not to stare as she revealed why his kid dumped paint on Penelope today at school. He hid the emotions flaring inside him as she described Fancy’s request for what she’d like to wear to the wedding. If he fixed his hungry eyes on Jada for too long, she’d shut tight, like a clam.
Sorrow nicked Philip. When they were young, Jada hadn’t thought much of him, if she’d thought of him at all. She’d thought even less of him once Bodi Wagner crashed into his life.
An unsettling thought he dismissed.
After Jada wrapped up, he said, “Fancy was angry at school because Linnie picked out the flower girl dress without her input?”
Jada chuckled. “She’s your daughter,” she reminded him. “You know the rule. Big girls choose their own party clothes.”
“What if the party is a formal occasion costing twenty thou?”
Linnie didn’t have money to spare, not with the Wayfair only recently in the green. But Daniel? He’d gladly raided his nest egg. Philip was still amazed at how his older brother had leapt into the feminine world of wedding planning with gusto.
The Season of Silver Linings Page 5
