Pursuing Sarah (Sarah Series Book 2)

by Julieann Dove

  “I’m Sarah. Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too. Darren, come over and meet Sarah.”

  Darren walked over and smiled—one of his cheeks bulged with food. “You any relation to Sam?” he asked, accidentally spitting a speck of bun.

  I looked at Sam. “Just friends.”

  “Don’t they all say that?” Trish stuffed a stray onion that’d fallen on her plate into her mouth.

  “Okay, well, I’ve got to get going.” I smacked my hands together, wiping away some crumbs the sandwich left behind.

  “Please don’t.” Sam said it with such pleading in his eyes. As if they’d eat him, too, if I turned the corner.

  “Yeah, don’t go. I’m just getting around to prodding you for more information.” Trish licked some ketchup from her fingers.

  Yikes. And that was my cue. Until Sophie walked out, being drug by the hooligans who had invaded her rest. Where did these people come from? Couldn’t have been far if they were toting a cart.

  “Sweetie, are you all right?” I asked.

  She smiled sweetly and ran toward me.

  I pushed the hair from her eyes and sat down on the sofa with her, whispering in her ear. “Did they lasso you and bring you out here?”

  “No, I came on my own. I thought you left.” She spoke low and kept her eyes locked on mine.

  “Almost made a clean getaway. Then the Clampetts showed.” I giggled.

  “The Clampetts?” she said loudly. Everyone stared.

  “I think I will try that pudding, Trish. It looks so yellow.”

  “Take a dish off the cart, hon. I made it with full-strength pudding—none of that low-fat junk.”

  Darren rolled his eyes. “Darling, don’t you worry about Monica. She’ll be gone soon. Then you can buy all your good stuff and we won’t worry about the cholesterol talks.”

  “I thought Monica was leaving? Didn’t you say she was getting married?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah, well, that ain’t happening,” Trish piped in.

  I spooned some pudding on a plate and offered some to Sophie. She politely shook her head and sat demurely beside Sam. The little neighbor had stolen my seat beside her. I looked to the lounge chair Trish occupied, and then to the side chair where Darren perched. The boy sat on the grass, and if I didn’t want to join him, I could squeeze next to Sam. I did.

  “The fellow she was marrying didn’t exactly tell her the whole truth ’bout things,” Darren said, foraging for more food on the top shelf of the cart.

  “The whole truth?” Trish almost choked to get it out. “He should be brought up on charges for polygamy.”

  “Trish, it’s not that. He’s divorced.”

  “Show me the documents.” She hit the chair, almost knocking her plate on the ground. “I knew something was wrong with that man when he turned down my chicken fricassee. Said it looked too creamy. What does he know? His car is filled to the brim with Burger King and McDonald’s bags.”

  I finished the tablespoon of pudding on my plate and set it on the ground. Sam’s leg rested against mine. Without missing a beat, he covered my hand with his. It was nice. Then it became uncomfortable. As though I’d have enjoyed it more if he was unconscious. Then I could stare at it, trace his fingers, and revel in the fact I was holding onto it. Now there was no purpose. What was he doing?

  “You tell me, Sarah.” She licked the back of her hand and proceeded. “Darren’s sister, who has been living with us for how long, honey?”

  “A year.”

  “A year—yeah, that’s about right. Anyway, she meets this man. He seems decent enough. Drives a Chevy, has a job where he’s night watch of a building. Not sure which one, but he always has to stay up all night and sleep all day. And so he pops the question.”

  I’m trying to listen to the scenario, but Sam’s hand on mine has me distracted. He glances over at me once and I don’t look back.

  “Everything’s a go. We have her pretty much packed up, and one days she comes home and says she’s found a piece of mail that says he owes child support.”

  I make eye contact again with Trish, nodding my head.

  “Turns out he was married and never told her. Even has a kid.”

  “What do you think, Sam?” Darren puts down his plate and grabs for his drink. “I mean, we all have pasts. He came clean about the ex and kid. Shouldn’t she just get over it? It’s not like he’s wanted for murder. He screwed up when he was younger, tried to do the right thing, and he’s moved on.” He snorted and shook his head. Almost like a bull while grazing in a pasture. “I want my den back,” he yelled out. “She’s got slips and her girlie things hanging all over my desk.”

  Sam cleared his throat and shifted on the cushion, never once taking his hand from mine. “Lying, in my experience, is never the right thing to do. I’ve learned the hard way on this. And I’ve known someone who denies the fact they have a child. That little boy or girl he has so cavalierly forgotten about and failed to mention to your sister, needs a dad, not just the child support, and he sounds like a real schmuck for not seeing this. It’s reprehensible. It’s unfair for the child.” He shook his head and clenched his jaw. “I’ve got nowhere in my life for people like that now. What does that say about him? Den or no den, Darren, I’d have to give her fair warning about a guy like that.”

  My heart sank. I knew he was talking about Gennifer, about her not coming clean to her husband about Sophie, but all I was seeing and hearing was finger-pointing at me. This was what I was doing. Minus getting married, I was withholding Rose from Sam. He’d never forgive me. Never. I slipped my hand from his and stood.

  “Thank you all so much. I’m so sorry. I really do have to be going.”

  Sam shot up from the sofa. “Now?”

  “Now.” I turned to the neighbors. “It was nice meeting you. And Sophie, I’ll check on you. Get some rest and take your medicine, honey.”

  “Well, okay. I didn’t get to prodding you for more information, but if you come back we should do this again.” Trish licked her fingers and went to stand.

  “No, please enjoy yourself. I’ll just go get my bag and see myself out.”

  “I’ll see you out.” Sam followed me.

  I got my bag from the foyer and met him on the porch. He was leaning against the railing.

  “I’m sorry, Sam. I really should’ve gone earlier. I need a shower…my hair is in need of…” My voice trailed as I looked down the street. Anywhere but at him. “I just want to get back.”

  He pushed off the banister and walked toward me. I took a gentle half-step back.

  “I won’t bite you, Sarah.”

  “I know. It’s just that I might smell. Tom didn’t have the best shampoo in that half-bath. I think it had manly spices in it. Some maybe not from nature.”

  He chuckled.

  We were a few feet apart. “Well…”

  “Well, will I ever see you again? Parked outside my house?”

  I laughed. “Nope, I think I learned my lesson. Mr. Pfizer can rest knowing I’m a reformed stalker, thanks to his diligence in neighborhood watch. I know he gets a workout with Trish and Darren.”

  “Yeah, they moved in about two years ago. A year after I put on my backyard edition.”

  “A shame you didn’t include a seven-foot-tall fence.”

  “Yeah. I think it would look obvious now.”

  “So just come out at night. Late, with no moon.”

  “I’ll try that.”

  “Well…” I reached out to go give him a hug. His neck was warm as I rested my cheek next to it. He wasn’t letting me go. “Sam, I have to go.”

  “Okay.” He pulled back, staring me in the eyes.

  I wanted so badly to kiss him. Too much water was under the bridge. I had to leave now while I had my wits. “Bye.”

  “Bye, Sarah.”

  I got into my car and refused to look back. I cried all the way to the hotel. In no situation did I ever imagine being faced with Sam again in my life. I
had my little piece of him tucked down in her room every night, and I was fine with it. Until now. Hopefully the plane ride back home, and all the miles left between, would cure that. It did once before.

  I dragged myself out of bed the next morning by eleven o’clock. Someone with a jackhammer and a wrecking ball insisted on having a party next door. I cracked my blinds to see just what the noise was. It seems when I arrived last night I was fooled into thinking all was the same on Pine Street. Silly me. There was now an entourage of pickup trucks, men wearing hard hats, and a dumpster—a lovely shade of pine forest green—parked outside. I could hear the murmur of men when the hammers weren’t striking. Three years of not a peep, two months of a real estate sign parked out by the mailbox, and wham! President whomever is gearing up to move in. I couldn’t wait to see who. If only their pre-show performers would bang a little less loudly so the losers next door could get a full twelve hours’ sleep. Didn’t they realize the house was cloaked in shame this fine morning…that some jezebel was trying to get rest? I sighed, thinking of Sam on his porch, looking at me with no knowledge of what I was doing…of who I had.

  I checked my phone. Maggie called at seven. It was nice to see her number show up. Luckily she’s forgotten or made less hype in her mind about everything predating her first date. Ah, the first date. I remember those. Now I was reduced to ex-husbands, Hester Prynne-sized lies, and the regret of overthinking anything could ever happen between friends. Michael was hopefully off riding a motorcycle somewhere, getting back to his roots, and Carter…Carter was probably trading escrow on a new house for a second sucker punch from Paige. I gave them one year, tops.

  I licked the spoon of my chocolate milk and waited for Maggie to pick up. “Hey, how did it go?”

  “Um, he was really nice.”

  “Really nice? He didn’t try anything? How disappointing.” I sunk down on my sofa, tracing the outline of bunnies on my pajamas.

  “Sarah!”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. I felt like I was cheating the entire night. I kept looking over at him…driving that stick shift. You know, people in the real world have manual transmission. What’s with all the shifting? And then at the restaurant, he pulled out my chair. For crying out loud, who pulls out chairs? I thought I was on camera all night. Some little cheater show, and Michael was recording it to show Charlie when he grows up: Your Mother: The Slut She Was.”

  “Maggie! Stop it. No one is watching you. And Dr. Bennett is hip, and a gentleman. Don’t cut him down for opening doors and pulling out chairs. That’s the mark of a true gentleman.” I thought about Sam and gagged the cold spoon down my throat as a way of self-discipline. Darn you, Sarah Keller!

  “I’m just not used to it. I’m used to ‘Go sit down. I’m going to the john. Order my usual.’”

  I laughed. “That’ll come on the sixth date.”

  “Yeah, right. There won’t be a sixth date. I’m swearing off men for life.”

  “I assure you, it isn’t all the hype you hear about.”

  “It’s just that I came home, looked at my son sleeping, and had to whisper I was out with another man. I felt extremely dirty. Like I was raising my child in Angelina Jolie fashion.”

  “Hey, she married Brad Pitt.”

  “And how long did that last?”

  “Longer than most of us thought it would. And she said in magazines that she didn’t introduce the men she dated to her children. She waited to see if anything would materialize first.”

  “So I’d live another life? Go out bar hopping when my son’s asleep? Wait until the guy proves himself worthy of meeting him? What kind of life is that?” I heard her scream. “I can’t do this, Sarah. I’m either going to remain single to the death like you, or…or…I don’t know.”

  “Gee, thanks. To the death, huh?”

  “Well, the alternative of having your child raised by someone other than their dad is scary. What if they correct him when I didn’t feel correcting was needed? Or what if you ever have another child and the first one is left out because it’s only a step? Or, and I’ve given a lot of thought to this one, what if he goes with Michael and the other baby wonders who Michael is and why can’t they go?”

  “Wow, how much time do you give this? You only went out for grilled chicken. Give the guy some time to scratch himself and burp in front of you.”

  “Sarah, this is serious. I’ve messed up royally. I don’t want to be an Angelina. I want to be a Maggie and Michael. I’ll learn to be okay with having him not be attentive to my needs. At least Charlie will be able to have us both full-time in his life. Do you know Dr. Bennett wears argyle socks? Who would know? I never look at his socks—do you? Michael wouldn’t be caught dead in argyle.”

  “You like argyle. You used to have an argyle sweater. Remember wearing it with those corduroy pants? I thought you were the stuff.”

  “Gag. My mom found a sale and bought me three different colors of corduroy. They were too heavy. You know how hot I get inside closed places.”

  “Like pants?” I laughed. “Well, I think you should let the dust settle on the date. Don’t fall into easy. Michael is easy.”

  “That’s what you think. That man is complicated.”

  “Well, give it time anyway. Don’t rush to make any decisions. Think about what makes both of you happy.”

  “Charlie. That’s easy. And if it’s what’s most important, maybe we should try counseling again.”

  “Okay. Maybe you should. Just don’t go into it thinking the only reason is because you don’t want a step-dad. Think that you want Michael.”

  Lord help me if she ever found out I kissed him. I was deranged. She’d understand. Destitute single people can slip up once in a while. And if she doesn’t buy into that, I’ll tell her I was trapped underneath corduroy when it happened. Corduroy is her weakness.

  “Let me go. I’ve got to find a blender to put my head inside.”

  “Okay, just don’t hit the puree. I might need that brain to decipher what Michael says when I suggest further shrinking.”

  “You got it.”

  I got off the phone, stared out at some of the men walking with clipboards, and found me a marshmallow Peep. Easter wasn’t so far off that they weren’t still good. I ate a few heads off and looked through the mail I had scattered on the table. I would be happy when Rose was back. She kept everything so organized. It was her purpose in life, she’d say. To be my keeper. Gosh, I loved that little munchkin.

  I picked up my phone again and texted Liz: “SOS.” She’d understand the reference.

  Five hours later…five episodes later of The Gilmore Girls…and a half bag of stale marshmallows and a bowl of Fruity Pebbles swimming in my stomach, I heard the doorbell ring. Liz was the limit. I texted hours ago. With no reply, she finally was making her scene.

  I flung open the door to see Carter there. He held an unmarked brown paper bag and a pizza box—grease fingerprints marked the sides.

  “What in the world are you doing here?” I asked, almost sounding ungrateful. Let’s face it—I hadn’t seen him since he crawled down the hole of the forgotten with Paige.

  “I ran into Liz, or let me rephrase that, Liz practically ran me over with her car at lunch and said you cried out for help.”

  “Then she did receive my smoke signal. Yet she sent you?”

  “May I?” He held up the loot as though it were becoming cumbersome.

  “Certainly.” I stepped aside. “Just put it anywhere.”

  He placed them on the coffee table inside the living room and pushed off his shoes. He was still wearing his shirt and tie. It was too hot for a jacket.

  “Let’s see, as she was peeling out, I vaguely remember her yelling out the car window to take chocolate cake. Seeing as I haven’t eaten dinner, and chocolate cake shouldn’t be one of the major food groups for you either, I went with Chinese and pizza. We can go out for cake later, if you want. If you’re not still in a corner, sucking your thumb.
Which is exactly the thought I had when Liz yelled out to go save you.”

  I watched as he pulled down his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. He grinned as he folded up his sleeves before he walked to the kitchen and washed his hands. I pulled up my yoga pants and straightened my hair. I was sporting grunge to the max. I ran over to the mirror and checked the corner of my eyes and crease of my mouth. All clear.

  “So, what’s with the smoke signal? You seem in one piece.” He leaned in and smelled my hair. “I see you’ve showered within the last seventy-two hours. Where have you been, anyway? I didn’t see you at the summer PTA meeting. You missed it. Not that I stayed long, but Misty Carpenter got up and again and nominated herself for activities chair.”

  “No way. Not her. No one will ever dance again if they let that go down.”

  He handed me a plate, walked back to the living room, and slid his legs underneath the table, opening the box of pizza. “I think they were ready for her this time. Mrs. Puttman stood and said there was already a chair for that committee. And you know when Mrs. Puttman speaks…”

  “No one argues.” I finished his statement. Mrs. Puttman was a scary woman. I purposely walked down a different aisle at the grocery store when I saw her pushing a cart my way. Rumor had it she once sat in jail for a night because she took the law in her hands after Robin Metcalf got his driver’s license. He was a rebel and played his music too loud. Suffice to say, he doesn’t anymore.

  “Yeah, it was a riot.” He lowered the tip of the cheese pizza into his waiting mouth, with eyes closed. “Mmmm…”

  “Want a drink?”

  “Sure. Do you have any tea? Soda? I’ve had a gallon of water today. I feel like I’m going to start spurting out from my orifices. Do you know I had to use the restroom an unprecedented amount of times today? I was beginning to get looks from Cindy.”

  “Yum. Orifices, you say? While I’m about to eat, no less,” I said from the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of tea for him and a can of soda for me. “Here.”

  He took it and unscrewed the top. “Well? Are you going to spill it? Where have you been, and why haven’t you checked in?”