“Well, there, missy, that was quite a feat,” said the same old man who had launched them.
Feat. Feet! Hers were now bare. “My flip-flops!” Or, rather, Jess's.
There they went, slowly drifting away.
She'd barely spoken before Chad slipped into the water and swam for them with Olympic star grace. Meanwhile, she stood on the dock, shivering and feeling like the world's biggest dingbat.
She knew she was blushing from her neck to her forehead. She tried to ignore it as he pulled himself back up on the dock with as much grace as he'd showed when he went in. The man looked good dry, but he looked incredible wet, with his hair and skin glistening. Rachel's mind did a quick leap from lake to shower and her blush got hotter when he took her ankle and lifted her foot. The hand to body contact made it next to impossible to climb out of that mental shower.
She watched as he slipped a flip-flop back on her foot, praying all the time, Please don't notice that my foot's too big.
Either her prayer worked or Chad was very gallant. He kept his mouth shut as he worked.
“Thanks,” she murmured after he'd finished. “I'm sorry you got wet.”
“It felt good,” he said, and retrieved the wine bottle and the canvas bag from the boat.
“You'd better get home and get out of those wet clothes,” said the old man, and slipped a wink in Chad's direction.
Chad was a gentleman and didn't wink back. He gave the man the leftover wine, then walked Rachel to her minivan and opened the door for her. “Sorry you fell in. I hope that didn't ruin the day.”
“Impossible,” she said, her gaze drifting to his lips.
He leaned an elbow on the minivan and smiled at her. “Good.” Then, before she could say anything, he kissed her. She felt it from her lips to her toes and everywhere in between. It produced so much heat she was surprised to find that her clothes were still wet when they'd finished.
“Thank you,” she murmured, not even sure which she was thanking him for, the boat ride on the lake or the kiss or for looking so hot in wet clothes.
“I'll see you soon,” he said and stepped back, allowing her to fumble her way into the driver's seat. Once she was in he shut the door. “Try not to catch pneumonia. I don't want to wait forever for that dinner.”
And she didn't want to wait long for another kiss. She nodded, then started the car and backed out of the parking space, trying to wipe the goofy smile off her face and look mysterious, even though, after falling in the lake, it was too late for that.
Mom was right. Whenever one door shut another opened. She'd have to step further inside before she knew if this was someplace she really wanted to be, but from what she could see it sure looked like it. After the heartbreak of her divorce, of seeing her husband leave her for another woman, she'd never envisioned herself with a man again, hadn't thought it was possible she'd ever be able to trust someone. Maybe, just maybe it was possible.
As soon as she got home and changed she called Jess. But she only got voice mail, which was odd since both Jess and Michael's cars were in the driveway. “Where are you? I'm dying to tell you about my romantic adventures,” she said. Oh, heck. Why wait for Jess to call back? She'd just run over there.
Jess's windows were open and Rachel heard the racket before she even got off her front porch. Jess was pounding on the piano, something classical and furious, and it accompanied angry male voices. This was, obviously, not a good time to talk. Disappointment at not being able to share was instantly swallowed by concern for her friend as she ducked back inside her house. Life on Cupid's Loop these days was like living on some giant seesaw. When one of them was going up the other was going down. If only they could all go up together.
Jess finally couldn't take it anymore. The two men in her life had had their moments over the years. She never knew if that was a father-son thing or simply a man thing. Most of the time she tried to stay out of the middle of their man clashes and let them work out their own relationship issues, which they always did. But this latest argument wasn't anywhere near getting worked out and the yelling was escalating to such a fever pitch that she was sure one of the neighbors would wind up calling the police.
She left the piano for the kitchen, where both the Sharp men had been going at it. Michael's expression was a study in parental anger and frustration as he scolded his son. “You're just being lazy!” he accused, one hand beating the air. “Get off your butt, grow up, and be a man, for God's sake.”
Mikey was a statue of stone and fire, glaring at his father. “ Thanks for understanding, Dad.” His voice broke and he whirled and marched out of the kitchen.
“Mikey, wait,” Jess pleaded.
He shook his head and brushed past her.
She glared at her other half. “Go after him.”
Michael shook his head. “Not this time, Jess. He needed to hear that. If he wants to throw a tantrum, let him.”
“Oh, for God's sake,” she said in disgust. She ran to the front door, hoping to catch Mikey, but of course she was too late. She got there in time to see his old Chevy roar off.
She marched back to the kitchen where Michael was pouring himself a glass of iced tea. “He's gone.”
“He'll be back,” said Michael, his voice hard. “You can't beat free room and board.”
“That was a mean thing to say.”
“It's the truth, Jess.”
Jess glared at him. “Well, right now he needs free room and board.”
“Right now he needs to grow up.”
Of course, Mikey needed to grow up, but he also needed their love and understanding and support. In the good times and the bad. “You didn't have to be so hard on him.” She opened the dishwasher and yanked out the top rack. For a moment she debated between putting the dishes away and throwing them at her husband. No sense ruining good dishes. She turned her back on him and went to work.
Michael sighed. “We're not doing him any favors letting him hang out at home and turn into a bum.”
“Everyone needs a favor once in a while,” Jess said, slamming a mug on the cupboard shelf. “Would you want me riding you about getting a job?”
Michael's brows dipped. “You're not comparing me to our son, I hope. I'm looking, Jess. What's he doing?” He didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he took his drink and went to the family room. Back turned to her, he grabbed the remote and shot on the TV.
Jess shoved the rest of the dishes into the cupboard. One of her favorite mugs had gotten cracked. With a scowl, she tossed it in the garbage then let her anger propel her back into the living room. She sat down at the piano once more and began to bang. What was happening to them? They'd always been a happy family, a close-knit family. Now were a few financial troubles going to make them unravel completely? It sure looked that way. She banged harder and began to cry.
She cried off and on most of the night, and when her son still hadn't come home at two in the morning she cried some more. She tried his cell phone but only got his voice mail. “Mikey, just call and let me know you're okay,” she begged.
But he didn't.
He's asleep, she told herself, that's why he's not calling back.
But where was he sleeping, in his car? With a friend, of course, she assured herself. He was fine. Even if he wasn't there was nothing she could do. She had no idea where he was and he wasn't answering his cell.
She finally went to bed around three, where she tossed and turned. At some point she slept, but then she dreamed her son was huddled inside a dirty sleeping bag on a downtown street in Seattle, a few clothes parked next to him in an old grocery cart. She awoke with a sob. It was nearly six, useless to try and sleep now that she was freshly keyed up. Next to her, Michael, the tough love king, lay snoring. She felt a sudden urge to hit him. Instead, she got up, padded down to the kitchen, and made coffee.
Michael came down at six-thirty.
“Mikey never came home,” Jess greeted him with a punitive frown.
“He's fine, Je
ss. He's probably sacked out at one of his buddies’.”
“You need to call him,” Jess said, handing over a mug of coffee.
Michael shook his head, before taking a sip. “Not this time.”
“Michael. Our son didn't come home.”
“Our son is a big boy now. If he chooses not to come home that's his business.”
Her eyes filled with tears and she turned her back on her husband. All this misery to prove a point—Michael should be ashamed of himself.
“Jess,” he said softly, “I know this is hard. But you're not a man and there are some things you don't understand.”
“Well, then, thank God I'm not a man,” Jess snapped. “This is how people end up not speaking for years.”
“We'll be speaking,” Michael assured her. He kissed her on the cheek, took his mug, and left for work.
It was his last week. After this no one in the family would be working but her. She closed her eyes and had a sudden vision of all three of them lined up on that city street in their sleeping bags.
“Oh, stop,” she told herself. What a silly, unrealistic thought.
But the possibility of her husband and son growing increasingly estranged was not unrealistic. It fell like a stone into her heart. She went upstairs to shower and get dressed, hoping Mikey would call before she left to teach kinder gym. Otherwise, it was going to be a long, hard day, maybe the first of many.
Her son finally eased her anxiety, reporting in that afternoon just as she was settling down to watch Dr. Phil counsel people whose lives were worse than hers.
“Mikey, I've been so worried. Where are you?”
“I'm staying at Danny's,” he said, his voice stiff.
“For how long?”
“Till I get a job. Dan's mom says I can stay here as long as I want.”
Jess's heart cracked and she felt suddenly sick. They'd said that, too, and then Michael had changed the rules.
“Look, Mom, I gotta go,” said Mikey, his voice taut.
Jess sighed. “Okay. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he assured her, and then he was gone, leaving Jess with nothing but a dial tone and a heavy heart.
She went to her piano and played Greig's “Piano Concerto in A minor” then moved on to Shostakovich.
Banging the keys helped her work out some of her sadness and anger, but she still had plenty left over when she was done. It kept her in the clutches of a bad mood the rest of the day and she was still feeling grumpy when she arrived at Rachel's house late that afternoon to take her friend shopping.
Rachel took one look at her and demanded, “All right, what's wrong?”
“Other than wanting to kill my husband? Nothing,” Jess replied.
Rachel gave her an empathetic look. “You two are the closest thing I know to a perfect couple. You're not going to go bursting my bubble, are you?”
“Wouldn't dream of it,” Jess said, and managed a smile.
“What wouldn't you dream of?” asked Tiffany, who was now in the open doorway.
“Never mind,” said Rachel, sensing Jess didn't want to talk about her problems on the home front.
Rachel was right. Jess didn't want to talk about it, not with her girlfriends, not even with her husband. Especially not with her husband. He would be lucky if she ever talked to him again.
• 17 •
“Have you got your money?” Tiffany asked Rachel before they set out on their bargain shopping safari.
Rachel held up a twenty-dollar bill. “I do.”
“Twenty dollars?” That was what Rachel was spending on a new single-and-ready-to-mingle wardrobe? Tiffany was good but she wasn't that good.
“This is all I'm going to spend,” Rachel announced. “Anyway, I am who am, and anyone I date may as well know it up front.”
“Absolutely,” said Jess, “but you can still be who you are and have some hotter clothes.” She linked arms with Rachel and led her out the front door, adding, “Remember, there's nothing wrong with self-improvement.”
Tiffany smiled and followed them out. Jess was one smart woman.
Bargain Boutique was a fairly new business, located in Valentine Square in what used to be a jewelry store. Bonnie, who ran the consignment store, was as tall as Rachel. She was now a regular at Salon H, always coming in to get her nails done, maintain her blondeness, or add hair extensions. Tiffany had alerted her that they would be arriving with a bargain makeover in tow. She'd described Rachel in great detail and now Bonnie stood ready with an assortment of clothes for Rachel to try on.
“Just like at Nordstrom's,” Tiffany explained.
“Only more affordable,” added Bonnie.
“I hope so,” said Rachel. “I've got a whole twenty to blow.”
Bonnie shot a look at Tiffany as to ask if Rachel thought she could work miracles there at Bargain Boutique and Tiffany managed a little shrug. She moved over to the clothes Bonnie had set aside and started sorting through them. “Since we've only got twenty to spend, that's out. And forget the jeans.”
“I already have jeans anyway,” added Rachel. She drifted over to a rack and began moving clothes. She pulled off a yellow sweater set and held it up for Jess to see. “This is pretty.”
Jess snatched it from her and hung it back up. “Not on you.”
Rachel pouted. “Why not?”
“It will turn your skin sallow,” said Tiffany, pulling out a knit navy top. She paired it with a hot pink sweater, then handed them to Rachel, along with a sleeveless black satin top. “Here. Try these on.”
Still pouting, Rachel took the items and stepped into the dressing room at the far corner of the shop.
Meanwhile, Tiffany kept sorting through the clothes. “Yay! You did have some hot shorts.”
Bonnie held up a halter top with a floral pattern in varying shades of red. “I thought this would look good on her, too.”
Tiffany checked the price. It was only seven dollars. “Absolutely.”
“Oh, yeah,” agreed Jess. “That goes in the keeper pile.”
Tiffany turned to see that Rachel had stepped out of the dressing room to model the black top. Combined with her long, dark hair it turned her into a goddess of sleek. Well, as long as you ignored the bits of gray in her hair and the fact that she was wearing those ugly tennis shoes with her jeans. She struck a pose. “What do you guys think?”
“Perfect,” Tiffany approved. “Add some silver jewelry and a pencil skirt and it will be totally hot.”
“Or she could wear it with her jeans and some cute shoes,” added Jess, drifting over to the counter to sort through a basket of jewelry.
Rachel nodded decisively. “I'm getting it. That's ten dollars. I have ten left to spend.”
Tiffany looked at the floral top and frowned. “I guess we'll have to put this back.”
“I'll get it for her,” offered Jess. She held up a sterling silver cuff bracelet. “And this.”
“No, you won't,” Rachel called from the dressing room.
“Yes, I will,” Jess insisted. “We're not out of money yet.”
Rachel stepped back out, modeling the navy top and pink sweater. “That looks great,” Tiffany approved.
Rachel nodded. “I'll take it. And that's the end of my money so I'm done.”
Tiffany took the white shorts over to her. “Try these on. They're only five dollars. If they fit I'll buy them for you.”
“Then we need to get her some decent sandals,” said Jess.
“I'm afraid I can't help you there,” said Bonnie.
“That's okay,” said Tiffany. “There's a great discount shoe store over in the mall. Don't worry,” she added, knowing Rachel was firm on not spending any more money. “I'll take care of it.”
Both Rachel and Jess looked at her like she'd fessed up to planning a bank robbery. “I don't think going anywhere near the mall is a good idea,” said Rachel.
“I have some tip money. And I've got eBay money coming in at the end of the week, to
o.”
“Which you're supposed to be using to pay off your credit cards,” Rachel reminded her.
“It's okay. I can handle it.”
“So can I,” Rachel said decidedly. She snatched the shorts from Tiffany without even bothering to try them on and marched to the counter. “I'll write a check for all this, then use my cash to buy sandals. Will you take a check?”
“Sure,” Bonnie said, looking guiltily from one woman to the other like it was, somehow, her fault Rachel was spending more than she intended. “By the way, Tiffany told me about how you're helping each other with saving money. I think it's a great idea.”
“Well, we're trying,” said Rachel.
“Think of all the money we just saved,” Tiffany told her, feeling immensely pleased with how much she was accomplishing for her friend on so little.
“I'm still not sure about the mall,” Jess worried as they left Bargain Boutique.
“I'll be fine. If I even touch anything, you guys pull me away,” said Tiffany.
“Gladly,” said Rachel. “We don't want Brian to murder you and bury you in the backyard. Which he'll probably do if he sees you coming home with anything more.”
Rachel's words jogged Tiffany's memory. She suddenly had a vision of a small pile of packages sitting on the porch. She'd bought a few little bargains on eBay. It was nothing much, but Brian might not understand if he saw them. She checked her watch. Could she make it to the shoe store and then home before Brian got there? She was sure going to try.
Jess was still putting on her seat belt when Tiffany roared off down the street. “Whoa,” she protested. “Where's the fire?”
“I still have children to raise,” Rachel added as they squealed around a corner. “And you can't afford another speeding ticket.”
Tiffany wasn't sure she could afford another fight with Brian, either, but she slowed down to a semireasonable speed.
The Shoe Bin was Rachel's favorite discount shoe store. “We'll find the best bargains here,” she said as they walked in.
Jess got stalled in front of a display of flashy flip-flops. Rachel stopped, too, but Tiffany pulled her away. “Come on. They'll have those on the aisle anyway.”
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