ThisTimeNextDoor

by Gretchen Galway

  She drew back, palms out. Took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean that. I was thinking—I don’t know. Forget it.”

  “You think I’m going to leave now, don’t you? That I’m only here because of the baby?”

  Rose glanced over her shoulder. “Please. You’re going to wake her up.”

  “Everyone thinks I’m the bad guy. What the hell did I do? I’m here, aren’t I?” He turned around, massaging the back of his neck. “I don’t know how everything got so fucked up.”

  In a less friendly tone, she said, “Look, are you sure you don’t want to get out just for a little while? Get some air. Walk around the block. I’ll stay here with her.”

  “I was a happy, fun-loving guy, on top of the world. Now look at me.”

  He was feeling sorry for himself? After leaving Blair to face everything on her own for months? She wanted to slap him. “This is a lot harder for her than it is for you,” she snapped. “She has to—” she cut herself off. She has to deliver her baby tomorrow.

  It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

  He raised his bloodshot eyes. They were shining with tears.

  She took a moment to control her own emotions. Whatever he said, whatever he’d done or not done, this was no time to judge him. Admittedly she had thought this would be it for him, that he might even be relieved. Not swamped with grief, shaken and weak and afraid.

  So, maybe she was wrong about him.

  She touched his arm, struggled for words. “I’ll go to the store to get you some food. Fill up your freezer with easy meals. You probably won’t be up for cooking for a while.”

  Deflating, he sank against the counter, face in his hands. “Food,” he said, voice muffled. “As if either one of us is hungry.”

  “You will be.” She left him and went into the living room.

  Blair was stretched out on the couch, her slight form nearly invisible under a pink checkered comforter. Rose waited a moment to see if she stirred. Satisfied that she and John hadn’t woken her up, she headed back out to her car.

  Mark. She’d almost forgotten him. For a couple of minutes, lost in Blair and John’s loss, she’d forgotten about the smoothie of happiness and fear churning in her stomach about their night together.

  She stared at his car. He’d left without saying goodbye—but she’d told him they had to hurry.

  Did he even have her cell number? She didn’t have his. He could be sitting in there waiting for her to call the house. Or show up to work tomorrow. Or…

  Rose put her car keys in her pocket and walked up to Mark and Trixie’s front door. She’d make it quick, explain why, with Blair going into the hospital tomorrow, she wouldn’t be able to see him for a few days, maybe longer. This was going to be a rough time for Blair and she had to be there for her. And, perhaps, even for John.

  Trixie answered the door, her face unusually serious. “Oh! Hello.” She had a towel over her shoulder and a dog in one hand. Not the bug-eyed, tongue-happy Zeus, but a sleek little Chihuahua in an orange sweatshirt.

  Belatedly Rose realized she had no idea if Trixie knew Mark had been with her last night. She wasn’t smiling in that giddy way she had earlier. Just polite. “Sorry to bother you,” Rose said, her mind stumbling around for a neutral reason to be standing there. “I was wondering if Mark is home.”

  “He is, but…” Trixie glanced back into the house. She turned back to Rose, eyes looking past her. “Is it your car? Do you need the cables again? I can get them for you.”

  “No, it’s fine. I just…” Obviously he hadn’t told her they’d spent the night together or she’d be dragging her inside, grinning at her, popping the champagne.

  Wouldn’t she?

  “I just wanted to…” Rose tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Well, this time she didn’t have to lie to wiggle out of an uncomfortable situation. “I wanted to tell both of you that Blair has lost the baby,” she finished, sighing deeply. “I thought you should know.”

  To her surprise, Trixie nodded solemnly. “Yes, Mark told me.” Her mouth tightened. “It’s awful. I’m about to cook a casserole for them. Pathetic, but at least they won’t starve.”

  So, Mark knew already. But where was he? “I was just about to go to the store. I don’t know what else to do.”

  “She’s going into the hospital tomorrow?”

  Rose nodded.

  “Let us know if there’s anything we can do. Anything. Even if it means trapping Ellen in the basement.”

  That surprised a smile out of her. “I will. Thanks.” Rose hesitated, more confused than ever about Mark—where was he?—then said goodbye and went back to her car.

  Chapter 17

  ROSE WENT TO WELLYNELLY MONDAY morning, wishing she were with Blair at the hospital, but she’d been asked to stay away.

  “John and I need to be alone,” Blair had said, and Rose had to respect that. Even if she and John didn’t have a bad history together, it would be hard to have too many people around. She talked to John next, making him promise to call or text with any news, any requests, anything at all. They were starting the induction at nine, less than an hour from now.

  When Rose got to her desk she found a yellow note on her keyboard folded into a tiny square. She unfolded it, some of her worry lifting as she read the note.

  Come see me?

  -The Count

  Smiling, she folded up the note, then touched up her lipstick. Glancing around the cubicles, nodding hello at the people she’d gotten to know, she walked to Mark’s office. After all the pain with Blair losing the baby, it felt really good to have this life-affirming thing in her life. A little fling, a little fun. She could handle it.

  Because Mark was a nice guy. When she’d vowed not to have any more sex without a long-term relationship, she was imagining a guy like John. A user, a ladies’ man, a mimbo. The kind of guy who would have sex all night and then pretend not to know you in front of his friends.

  Mark wasn’t like that.

  She opened the door slowly without knocking, peeked around the corner.

  “Rose.” He stood up. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  He stared at her, glanced over her shoulder. “Got my note?”

  “Count von Count, I presume?”

  Smiling, he approached, sticking his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans. He wore a crisp white shirt, open at the throat, the sleeves pushed up.

  Caught up in the vision of his muscled forearms, Rose stood in the doorway and stared. Every time she saw him he got better looking. That Indiana Jones resemblance was no joke. Her heart was fluttering around her chest like a trapped butterfly.

  Hey, this is Mark. Just Mark.

  “I was thinking Dracula, but Sesame Street is better,” he said, moving closer. “I always related to that dude. Very OCD with the ‘von, two, tree.’” He strode over and pushed the door closed behind her shoulder. He was only inches away.

  She tilted her head back, moistening her lips, waiting for him to kiss her. It seemed longer than twenty-four hours since she’d touched him.

  But he didn’t kiss her. “Speaking of numbers, give me your phone number, woman,” he said, pulling out his phone and walking back to his desk. “I had no way to reach you.”

  Rose watched his retreating back, let out a breath. She went over and picked up a stress ball on his desk, trying to calm herself the heck down. Back to reality. “Where were you on Sunday?” She tried to keep her voice casual. “I talked to your mom at the door but I didn’t see you.”

  His annoyance was sudden and sincere. “You came to the house?”

  “Yes. Just—I talked to your mom. I didn’t know what to say, about us, so I told her about Blair and left.” She watched his face, more confused than ever by the emotions twisting his face. First he was angry, then… uncomfortable.

  “She’s at the hospital right now,” Rose added when he didn’t say anything.

  “Poor Blair. I—we’re next door if she needs anything. My mother’s in
touch.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Sorry about Sunday, by the way. I don’t know what happened. Maybe I was in the bathroom and she didn’t want to embarrass me.”

  Trixie hadn’t shown herself to be discreet or sensitive thus far, Rose thought. But out loud she said, “I should be at the hospital with Blair. I keep thinking I should be there.”

  He gave her a sympathetic look. “John’s with her, right?”

  “He better be.”

  “She knows your number if she needs you.” He held up his phone and looked at her expectantly, finger poised over the screen. “Unlike me.”

  She managed a smile. “So you can call me and then run away?”

  “So I can call you when my boss is about to find me naked in his house and thus I’m speeding away from it as quickly as possible.”

  “I’m allowed to have guests,” she said.

  “Relationships between coworkers are always bad.”

  “I didn’t get that impression from Sylly.”

  “Really?” His eyes narrowed. “What did he say to you?”

  “Nothing. But he seems like a fun, good-natured guy. I doubt he’s going to get all pearl-clutchy about people having sex with each other.”

  “Regular people, no problem. WellyNelly people, yes.”

  “Come on.”

  “Really.”

  Rose rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ve been here a month and I already know about three office romances.” She counted on her fingers. “Von, two, tree office romances. They aren’t even sneaking around, either.”

  “Well, they should.”

  She didn’t buy it. “Since when are you so uptight about the rules?”

  “I’m very uptight. Look at me.” He held out his hands. “Geek, remember?”

  “Not about authority. For instance, you never leave your door open. We get an email every week about that.”

  “An exception.”

  “That proves the rule,” she said.

  He looked at the door again. Stepping close to her, he lowered his voice. “I never would’ve run out like that if it weren’t for Sylly. When you mentioned he was coming, I ran out of that house like a bat out of hell.”

  She looked into his eyes, not appreciating his analogy. “At least you put the pillows back together.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “How did you manage that, by the way?”

  “Strong visual memory,” he said. “So… Rose…” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes?”

  “Have you forgiven me about taking off on Sunday? I swear, leaving you was the last thing I wanted to do.”

  He had such a sweet face. Gentle, soulful eyes. “There was a lot happening that day.” She didn’t want to be a pushover, but she didn’t want to be unreasonable either. “Couldn’t you have hacked my phone number from the WellyNelly database?”

  “You only gave them the old house number. I checked.”

  She smiled. “Okay, okay.” She went over to the desk and wrote down her cell number.

  As she handed him the paper, he wrapped his hand around her fingers, gazed into her eyes. “Without my vampire suit, I’m not sure how to do this.”

  “Dial?” She stepped closer, lowered her voice. “It’s all about finding the right buttons.”

  His jaw tightened. “I want to see you again.”

  “You do?”

  “I do. How about tonight?”

  Her skin tingled at the idea. She closed his eyes, let herself enjoy the way he was stroking the tender skin between her knuckles. Heat pooled between her thighs.

  But then she remembered. Opening her eyes, she squeezed his hand and stepped back. “I’d like that, but we’ll have to wait a few days. Blair, you know? I want to be there.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  “They might not want me around, but if she calls, I don’t want to be, you know—”

  “I understand.” He stuck his hands in his pockets again. “Tomorrow?”

  “That still might be too soon. I just don’t know how it’ll be for her. She might still be—”

  “Sure, of course. I’m being selfish.”

  “It’s sweet.”

  “It is?” He brightened.

  “Yeah. Nice to be wanted, you know.”

  He shot her a smoldering look. “Oh, you are that.”

  She felt herself flush all over. Unbalanced, she couldn’t think of a snappy reply.

  “Will you—” He looked down at the floor, then up at her. “If you want to see me, later, when you come to the house to see Blair, I’ll be there. Just knock on the door.”

  “All right.”

  “Or wave. Sigh loudly. Glance in my direction. I’ll be there, ready and waiting.”

  She had to smile. “Okay.”

  “And willing,” he said, not smiling back.

  God, she wanted him. Her mouth was dry. “Maybe we could have lunch together tomorrow,” she offered.

  “Here?”

  “I thought we’d go out for a burrito or something,” she said. “The taqueria down the street is popular. We could walk there.”

  “Let’s wait until we can have dinner. Out of town, far away from this place. That would be better.”

  Better?

  “When you feel okay about leaving Blair.”

  Out of town?

  “All right. I’ll let you know. Maybe this weekend.”

  “Right.” He strode away to the door and pulled it open. “I hope Blair is all right. My mom really wants to do something to help. I’ve got her tied to her piano with duct tape, figuring they need some time without a crazy busybody neighbor lady butting her nose in.”

  “Good old duct tape.”

  His eyes met hers. “Yeah. Though she’ll probably make them another casserole.”

  Too many emotions were spinning around inside her to deal with the way her chest squeezed when he looked at her like that. “Food is good.” With a smile and a wave, she walked away, dwelling over how he hadn’t wanted to have lunch together. Was she just being too sensitive because of what had happened with John?

  Probably. One of the pitfalls of starting one relationship when you hadn’t recovered from another.

  If it was a relationship.

  Too much to worry about right now. She went back to her desk to work and wait for news about her friend.

  And to cool the hell off.

  * * *

  “I’m fine,” Blair said.

  It was early Saturday afternoon, one week after losing the baby. Blair had been in the hospital for almost two days but insisted she was fine: John took off work and was with her every second. They were closer than ever. She was fine, she said, over and over.

  Rose wasn’t surprised at all when Blair had called Friday afternoon, weeping. Rose’s tentative plans with Mark to catch a movie—and each other afterwards—were put on hold. She went over to the house and watched reality TV with Blair until one in the morning. If John minded her being there, he didn’t let on, just made an extra batch of popcorn and kept quiet.

  Rose did glance at the house next door on her way home, and again when she drove up that morning, but she didn’t see Mark.

  After sitting with Rose over a lunch she didn’t eat, Blair was pouring potting soil into a recycled yogurt container at the kitchen sink. Her hair was pulled up into a high, sleek ponytail, her face pale but carefully made up with concealer, eyeliner, lipstick.

  Rose didn’t believe her for a second. “You don’t have to be fine, you know.”

  “We named her Catherine,” Blair said quietly, not meeting her eyes. “After my grandmother. Even though she was barely three months—” Her voice caught.

  “It’s a beautiful name,” Rose said, feeling her own throat tighten.

  “It was just one of those things, the doctor said. They don’t know why she—she didn’t—” Blair cleared her throat. “A huge percentage of pregnancies end in miscarriage. You just don’t know about it because you don’t even know you’re pregnant.”
/>
  But you did. “I’ve heard that.” Rose put her hand on her back and stroked gently.

  “So, you don’t have to keep coming over here to make sure I’m all right,” Blair said. “I’m totally fine.” She patted the soil into the container, checked the drain holes she’d punched at the bottom, set it on a saucer to catch the water.

  “Okay.”

  Blair turned to her. “You don’t believe me.”

  “Sorry. No.”

  “What can I say to make you believe me?”

  Rose looked at the pot. “What are you growing?”

  “What?”

  “In the pot.”

  Frowning, Blair looked down. “I don’t know yet.” Her lip quivered. She poked her finger into the soil.

  Rose put an arm around her. “Let’s get out of here. You’ve been stuck in this house long enough,” she said. “We can drive down to College for coffee. Maybe stop into the bakery for that sourdough you love.”

  “I should be here when John gets back from the gym.”

  “Why?”

  Blair frowned. “I just should.”

  “We’ll leave a note.”

  Dropping her hands to her sides, potting soil dripping down onto the floor, Blair stared off into the foggy distance out the window. “I wonder if he’ll leave me a note.”

  “When?”

  “When he leaves.”

  Rose felt so powerless. “You don’t know yet what’s going to happen.”

  Blair turned to her. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For not just saying, ‘Of course he’ll stay,’ when you don’t know either.”

  “This isn’t all up to him, you know.”

  Blair turned on the faucet to wash her hands. Dark water with flecks of white pooled around the drain. “He’s kind of a key player.”

  Rose watched her bring the soap to a lather. “Have you talked at all?”

  “He says he loves me.”

  “That’s good.” Rose paused. “Right?”

  “What else can he say?”

  Nudging her in the arm, Rose, said, “I can imagine a lot worse.” She turned off the water, handed Blair a towel. “‘Yo bitch, get the hell out,’ for instance.”

  Blair smiled. “That might be a relief.”