Unnatural Calamities

by Summer Devon

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s a jerk but he’s Rachel’s father. We’re supposed to help him, right?”

  God damn it, Janey wanted to smack him and kiss him, the damn mind-reader.

  “I suppose. What are you thinking about?”

  He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “That I like the way your hair glows in the sunlight.”

  My, oh my.

  He sat back. “And I’m wondering, did I push too hard on the house?”

  She shrugged. “It’s what you’re like. I’m getting used to it.”

  “I want more than that. I want…”

  She looked up at the strange, pinched sound of his voice. He shook his head in that quick, characteristic way as if he were clearing water. His forget-about-it shake.

  She put down her fork and was glad for once to reassure him.

  “Hey, I’m planning on making a great wedding cake. Obviously I won’t make trouble about this marriage thing.”

  “Great. A bride who doesn’t say ‘I don’t’.”

  She smiled, but he didn’t.

  “Toph, are you okay?”

  His mouth softened. Not quite a grin. “I think I’m just greedy.”

  “You’re not a greedy man, Toph. Never.” She leered at him and waggled her eyebrows. “I should know. You’re very generous with your time and talents.”

  Was that enough to lift that gloom of his? She wished she could give him whatever it was he wanted—hand over her body, give him a child, make him a cake. She’d present him with anything, unless it was a pledge of her undying love. That was too freaking scary. That kind of danger was not her style, and certainly not for a control freak like him.

  As she watched Toph watch her eat, she began her latest mental mantra—Look out, Janey. Toph the tornado is too powerful.

  But when she let herself meet those warm coffee-brown eyes, a sinking, sick feeling gripped her.

  Oh my good gosh, at least half the reason for her fear lay in her own cowardly guts, and had nothing to do with him. She’d never before willingly thrown herself into commitment. It had not been hard to keep from making that mistake with bad boys in her bed. For one thing, if anything they were even less interested in commitment than she’d been. Was that why she wanted them in the first place?

  But Toph. Ah now, when he watched her, his eyes held the glimmer that warmed her through and through.

  Okay, she was grateful to feel the pliant warmth fill her up inside. A shift right on over to good old sex. Familiar and happy territory.

  “Bea is home,” he said softly. “Shall we drop the girls off there for a little while?”

  “What a very good plan.”

  After another panting and athletic episode in Toph’s bed, Janey dragged herself into her clothes so she’d be back before Rachel got home.

  The door to the apartment stood open.

  She walked into the living room. “Doodle bug, you home?”

  She stopped when she saw the door to her bedroom was also ajar.

  Something in her room thudded.

  Janey crept to the door and gave a small shriek of dismay at the blue-jeaned rear end poking out from under her bed.

  There was a scrambling noise and a muffled curse.

  Nina was wrong. They hadn’t caught up with Zack Blair. Sleazeball Blair was in Janey’s bedroom.

  He lurched to his feet, a gun in his hand, naturally. “Shut up.”

  The front door slammed. Rachel’s voice yodeled hello. Janey quickly closed her own door before she answered, hoping she sounded calm. “Hi, hon.”

  “Cynthia’s here, okay? Just for a half an hour while her mom goes to the store.”

  Damn. “Sure, love. Um… You guys can go on into your room. I got a lot of, um, stuff to do. Cooking.”

  Zack cursed. “Who the hell is Cynthia?”

  “Will you be quiet?” Janey whispered. “I don’t want Rachel to have to worry about you getting caught by the cops.”

  “Shit. Her worry? I’m the one who’s got troubles. Stupid cops. I just want my key. It’s a key to a bus station locker. Oh yeah, and there’s another to Uncle Billy’s safety deposit box. I stashed it under your bed. What the hell you been doing? Cleaning up?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I do occasionally clean under my bed. But I didn’t find a key.”

  She remembered the woman Mickey had hired while she was in the hospital.

  “Hold on a sec.” She turned to the bookshelf while he watched her. His creepy stare made her back ripple with awareness, as she found the clay container with the keys in it. If Zack had left the safety deposit box key here, Bill Blair must have taken it back.

  She found the other key with a round yellow end on it, and shoved it at him.

  He gave her a push toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” She twisted past him, sat down on the bed and wrapped her arms around her middle.

  He waved the gun at her.

  “I mean it, Zack. I’m staying put. I won’t tell anyone you stopped by, but get lost. No, wait a sec.”

  She reached for her handbag and pulled out her wallet.

  “Here’s fifty bucks. Use it to catch a bus or something. Call if you need a lawyer. Otherwise, get lost and stay lost. Got it?”

  Zack’s eyes were scary slits. “Stand the hell up, Janey. We’re out of here.”

  “No. I’m not going to leave with you. You are already in serious trouble, don’t make more for yourself.” She clutched her black bag tight, determined not to show her fear. “Do you know that gun you’ve got will cost you ten thousand dollars and a year in prison if you’re caught? Get going. Good bye.”

  They stared at each other. Double daring the other to blink first. “Get lost, Zack,” she hissed. “Go.”

  He thrust the gun into his denim jacket and stomped from the room.

  Janey collapsed backward on the bed, weak with relief mixed with an enormous desire to shriek with hysterical laughter.

  Had it always been that easy? Could she and Toph have avoided all of it—getting shot twice, being handcuffed, living with fear through that long day and getting pregnant—by simply saying no? What an absurd joke. Figures that would be the punch line.

  Music boomed from Rachel’s room, but it wasn’t so loud that Janey, listening hard for the sound of Zack’s exit, couldn’t hear the sound of the bathroom door opening. One of the girls walked out into the hall.

  Janey jumped to her feet, praying Zack had gone, but then she heard Cynthia’s voice. “Omigod. Who are you?”

  The front door banged shut as Janey rushed from her room in time to see Rachel’s door closing. She raced down the hall, threw open the door. Rachel, on the floor painting her nails pale green, looked over at her, puzzled. Cynthia sat on the bed flipping through a magazine. She didn’t look up at all. Uh oh.

  “Hi,” Janey said, and backed out of the room.

  Relief that Zack hadn’t grabbed Cynthia battled with her screaming nerves. What could she tell the girls?

  She stood, shifting from foot to foot in the hall, waiting for Cynthia and Rachel to come busting out of Rachel’s room, demanding explanations.

  Silence. The girls stayed put.

  Fine with her; she’d have more time to figure out what to tell Rachel.

  She went to the kitchen and picked up the telephone.

  Good gosh, her fingers trembled and the panic that had first coiled in her as a suppressed laughing fit turned into plain old fright, delayed but still fierce, potent enough to make her fall into a chair because her legs grew unsteady.

  Suddenly, all she wanted was Toph. She wanted him to come over and hold her. She didn’t want to show him how scared she’d been. No, too much like the old parent-child thing. But if she could hide that fear, she’d get to cling to his strong reliable self. He would wrap his arms around her like a comfortable blanket, breathing safety and warmth back into her cold-with-fear being.

 
First she called Bill Blair. He deserved to know that Zack was still hanging around. Bill cursed and ranted and said he’d call the police.

  “Can you tell them I’ll come talk to them at your house?”

  He breathed hard for a minute. “Okay. I’ll let you know when they’re here.”

  Her fingers trembled as she searched her cell for Toph’s number. She’d called his house and he wasn’t there. She left a message on the answering machine. Good. She managed a calm, collected tone. He would think that she was only calling to inform him that they no longer had to wonder where Zack Blair was. She managed not to beg him to come as fast as he could.

  Janey was just giving in to her craving for him and scrolling down for his cell number, when someone knocked at the door. She hung up, and for once used the spy hole.

  Bea stood on the steps, glamorous in huge dark glasses. Margaret had told Janey that Bea did all of her shopping in New York or Paris. After that, Janey entertained herself when she met Bea by trying to guess which items came from where. These glasses must be some sort of New York Jackie Onassis retro thing.

  “Good afternoon.” Bea had warmed up to her enough to show pearly teeth as she smiled. “I’m here to pick up Cynthia for her riding lesson.”

  Janey called the girls and then shuffled back to her room. When Bill called, she had an elaborate story ready for Rachel, all about going over to ask him some questions about furniture but all the lies were wasted. Rach lay on her stomach, reading and she didn’t even look up from her book.

  Janey persisted. “I’ll take my cell so you call if anything happens.”

  “I’m not a little kid, Janey,” she muttered and turned a page.

  The cops didn’t insist on coming into the apartment, thank goodness. After about a half hour of questions she came home and collapsed on the bed. She felt for her cell phone to try Toph one more time and then realized she’d left it on Bill Blair’s kitchen counter—and he’d gone out.

  Later on she’d tell Rachel what happened with Zack. Now she was too tired to move so she’d take a nap. She could indulge in exhaustion. The business with Zack was over and done with. Even he wouldn’t be dumb enough to come around any time soon. No more surprises. Except she couldn’t help waiting for another shoe—heck, another batch of shoes—to drop.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Toph picked up Cynthia from the riding stable. She tossed her hardhat into the back and climbed into the car, unconscious of the filth on her boots. Something was wrong. His daughter was as fanatically tidy as her mother.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hello.” He wondered if boy troubles had finally swept into Cynthia’s life. Something was wrong. He knew he only had to keep quiet and she’d eventually tell him about it.

  Sure enough she began, slowly, to talk. But not about her life. “Hey, Dad, how well do you know Janey? Rachel’s aunt?”

  “I am marrying her.”

  Not really an answer, but Cynthia might not notice.

  “What I mean is, I know why you’re marrying her and stuff.” She paused. “But I mean. The thing is.”

  Toph’s scalp prickled. Something bad. Cynthia knew something bad.

  Very quietly so as to not frighten himself or her, he asked, “What is it, pumpkin?”

  At once he knew it had to be horrible because she didn’t object to the pet name. Her answer was also very quiet. “It’s just that when I was there today? This afternoon? I saw a guy there. I think he might have been a really good-looking guy? And he was coming out of her bedroom. I told Mom, and she said you’d probably want to know.”

  Toph managed to speak at last. “What did Rachel say?”

  Cynthia twisted a strand of her silky dark hair around her finger. “I didn’t say anything to her. I was too wimpy. She, like, just about worships her aunt? And I didn’t want her to flip out or anything. So should I say something?”

  Somehow Toph managed to reassure his daughter. And drop her off.

  He got home. And tried to call Janey. No answer. And maybe eat something, though he wasn’t sure what. He even read the newspaper, though he wasn’t sure what he read.

  He tried calling Janey again, but the phone rang about a thousand times then went to voice mail. No answer. And then it went to voice mail without ringing.

  Cynthia’s words ground into Toph’s brain, ripped through him.

  The thought of a man in Janey’s bedroom made him want to bellow with rage. He thought of her in bed. That complete loss of control, that sense of fun. Her sweet body in someone else’s arms? He probably should calm down before he talked to her, but he didn’t think he’d ever cool off until he talked to her.

  The idea that a man might have held his wife-to-be kept him awake. More than that. His response to his damn response kept him awake. Was he going nuts here? He paced his room. At midnight, he went for a swim in the ice-cold pool, but his nerves still clamored and screamed at him.

  A strange, good-looking man in Janey’s bedroom. And where was she now?

  Never in Toph’s life had he lost sleep over a woman. A girl, yes, if you counted the time Cynthia had pneumonia. And he’d lost sleep with a woman more than once. But even when Bea left him, he hadn’t lost his mind or sleep. He’d worked hard to try to save his marriage, yet even when it was clearly over, he’d slept just fine. And he certainly didn’t remember gut-wrenching anguish.

  Other people did not have this kind of power over him.

  Speaking of his ex-wife, she’d called him often enough in the middle of the night. His turn.

  “Bea?”

  She managed crisp enunciation, even when emerging from sleep. “Toph? What time is it?”

  “Two, maybe. How would I know? Listen, do you think Cynthia could be wrong?”

  “Toph, do you realize it’s two a.m.? Is there something wrong?”

  He hissed, “I just want to know, do you think maybe Cynthia saw a shadow?”

  He heard a long silence, and Bea’s soft murmur to whatever his name was, her latest admirer. Philip. Bea was very strict with Cynthia’s morals, but not with her own.

  “There’s something wrong. You sound so frantic. I’m having trouble understanding. Is this something to do with Cynthia?”

  “No, no. She’s at your house tonight, remember?”

  Bea’s relief sounded clear. “Yes. That’s right.”

  A soft shuffle and the hum of a fan probably meant she’d moved into the bathroom.

  “Now would you please tell me why you’re so upset you feel the need to call me in the middle of the night?”

  “I suppose the same reason you call me in the middle of the night,” he said at last. “I’m confused.”

  “You, Toph? No possible way.” She gave a soft musical laugh. Amazing she could manage it in the middle of the night. “What is wrong? Tell me the truth this time.”

  “I don’t know. I’m going crazy. I can’t figure out what to do.”

  “Aha.” Bea’s voice filled with triumphant discovery. “I know what you’re talking about. The Carmody Woman and the man that Cynthia saw at Rachel’s house.”

  “Obviously. Didn’t I say that?”

  “Toph. You’re shouting. You never shout.”

  “That’s the point. What the hell is the matter with me? I don’t yell,” he yelled. “I don’t lose control.”

  Bea sighed. “My Lord. You are an ass. For one of the most astute men I know, you are being completely and utterly dense.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Toph! You must stop yelling at me.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “What I am talking about is that you are in love with This Carmody Woman.”

  Oh. My. God. All at once he had trouble catching his breath.

  “Toph? Are you still there?”

  His head was swimming but he heard himself saying, “No, no. That’s nonsense.”

  And why exactly was it nonsense? When he asked himself that question, he couldn’t
find an answer other than love, passionate love, was not something he did.

  Bea was talking again. “Very well, I’m wrong. I do not care to argue with you at two in the morning. But I would like to point out that never in the years we were together—heavens, in all the years I’ve known you—have you ever displayed this much…ah, emotion. If it’s not love, perhaps you’re merely losing your mind?”

  “Maybe that’s it. Sorry to bug you, Bea.”

  “I’m right, you know. I often am.”

  “I know I know you are.”

  “And why don’t you call the Carmody Woman in the middle of the night?”

  “Yeah, right, maybe.”

  “Now you’re snarling. Stop it, please. And just one more point I’d like to make, Toph? If you’d demonstrated anything like this behavior when we were married?”

  He grimaced and wished he hadn’t bothered her.

  But her next words shocked the heck out of him. “We might still be married. Good night.”

  She hung up softly.

  Did Bea mean women wanted hysterical idiots for husbands? Fine. No, perfect, actually. Then to hell with calling, he’d go over there in person. He yanked on jeans and a tee-shirt and jammed his bare feet into loafers.

  As he drove, way too fast, he realized he was grinding his teeth. And occasionally pulling at his hair.

  He wouldn’t frighten her. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Christ, no. He flashed on the image of her sweet round face, and those big eyes staring up at him the way she had watched Zack. He’d have to figure out how to hide the horrendous storm inside him and talk to her without bellowing.

  It was just that he deserved the truth. His heart sank to his heels when he considered that particular point. He didn’t want the truth. He wanted Janey Carmody. He wanted to dance with her every week of his life.

  Fine. He could be ruthless. Once he knew the score he’d count on that ruthlessness to get what he wanted. No, what he required. At first she had been a solution for his boredom, delicious Janey in his bed and a baby. But Janey turned into more than that. Without her he might as well sleepwalk through life. Without her version of the world or her nurturing energy he was incomplete.