They left the lobby and headed to the Lexus parked at the far edge of the lot, taking up two spaces to protect the paint from dings. She used to scold him for inconveniencing others, but today she welcomed the distance from the crowd.
When they reached the car, he started to open the passenger door. “It’s hot. Get in and I’ll run the A/C.”
“No.” The car seemed like a trap to her, or a cage, so she stopped by the trunk. “This will only take a minute.”
“Sure. What is it?” He let go of the handle without a complaint. Maybe he really was changing. She hoped so, because it would make the future easier for everyone.
“I want to make sure we’re clear on something.”
“Is this about Max?”
“No.”
He studied her, his eyes slightly narrowed. “So it’s about Uncle Maury. And Zeke.”
“No. It’s about you and me.”
“Then it’s about Max.”
As usual, Hunter needed to win, and he was using their son to do it. “Let’s leave Max out of it.”
“I can’t. What you do affects Max, and that affects me.”
Me. Me. Me. Along with I, it was Hunter’s favorite word. But what about words like you and us, even others? People were pawns to him, even his own son. They’d quarreled enough in the past that she knew better than to fire back. The only way to win with Hunter was to refuse to play his game.
She forged ahead. “I’ve told you before that our relationship is over. Just to be clear, I’m saying it again.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
He was blowing her off, dismissing her, so she repeated herself. “It’s over, Hunter. I’m moving on.”
He leaned a hip on the Lexus. “It’s not over, Julia. And you know it. You’re just confused right now.”
She wasn’t the least bit confused. Daniel had faced a den full of lions; Julia was trapped in the same way but with a tiger, the most cunning cat in the kingdom. A creature that stalked its victims, lunged unseen, and fed on a kill for days.
Refusing to be Hunter’s prey ever again, Julia swallowed a retort, spun on her heels, and started back to the church.
Hunter clamped his hand on her shoulder and forced her to turn around. “I will not lose you—or my son—to anyone. And especially not to a pious snot like Zeke Monroe.”
There was no doubt now. Hunter had come to church for his own purposes, though maybe he’d heard the message of faith in the sermon. Forgiveness was his for the asking, but Hunter would never ask.
Julia didn’t have the energy to deal with him now, so she stripped all the anger from her voice. “We don’t have to agree, Hunter. But we do have to be good parents. Whatever happens, I won’t interfere with your relationship with Max. You will always be his dad.”
Hunter folded his arms over his chest. “This is because of Zeke.”
“No. Not at all.” The last thing she wanted to do was jump from one relationship to another. “This is about me and how I’ve changed. I want to be honest with you. And fair.”
Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “You’re chasing after Zeke, aren’t you? Just like you did in Berkeley.”
“Fine!” She flung her hands in the air. “Blame Zeke. Blame me. Blame anyone but yourself. That’s what you always do.”
She turned to leave but caught sight of his hand slipping inside his coat. Her gaze shot to his cynical smile, and she knew whatever he was doing was meant to bring her to her knees. Don’t ask. Don’t play his game.
But the question burst out of her. “What are you doing?”
He withdrew his phone, tapped the screen, and raised the device to his ear. Staring at her with slitted eyes, he remained silent until whomever he called picked up.
“Uncle Maury. How are you?”
As badly as Julia wanted to walk away, for Zeke’s sake she took the bait and listened.
“About that visit to Caliente Springs,” Hunter said more to her than to Maury, “I think you should move fast. Ginger Travers wants out now, and she thinks her brother will come around with a little persuasion.” Pausing to listen, he leaned against his sporty car as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “The week of September tenth? That should work. In fact, I’ll take the whole week off. That’ll give you some flexibility, and I can spend a lot of time with Max.”
No. No. No. Her pulse pounded with the beat of a war drum. With as much nonchalance as she could muster, she listened as the conversation dragged on another five minutes.
“That’s it,” Hunter finally said to Maury. “I’ll check with Ginger about the dates. You can expect a call from her or the GM. His name is Zeke Monroe. If you say ‘frog,’ he’s supposed to jump.”
Humiliating Zeke was vintage Hunter. It disgusted her. But even worse, this kind of behavior would rub off on Max. She couldn’t stand the thought, but how did she stop it? She couldn’t. But like Daniel, she could muster her faith, stand her ground, and rely on God to deliver them all. With the blacktop burning through the soles of her thin sandals, she watched every change in Hunter’s expression for clues that would help Zeke.
The instant he finished with Maury, he made a second call. “Ginger, it’s Hunter Adams. I just spoke to my uncle.”
Julia couldn’t hear Ginger’s side of the conversation, but Hunter’s smirk confirmed her worst fears. She was firmly in his camp. Furious but not surprised, Julia listened until Hunter said good-bye, then she spun on her heels and headed to the church.
“Julia!”
She walked even faster. But Hunter shouted again, this time in a singsong. “You forgot something.”
More bait. Another gambit to force her to bow to him. But if she didn’t turn around, she’d come off like a pouting child. Chin high, she pivoted and saw Max’s backpack dangling in Hunter’s hand. In spite of the hot sun, her face paled at the thought of her son’s clothes, his favorite stuffed bear. Ordinary things a father should love and respect, but Hunter didn’t respect anyone, especially her.
He wanted her to grovel. She could feel it. If the backpack had belonged to anyone but Max, she would have stalked off. But her son needed his things. Forcing an air of calm, she walked back to the Lexus. When she reached the car, Hunter held the backpack even higher, flicked his wrist, and made it spin. She tried to grab it, but he jerked it away.
Slapping her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m reminding you that Max belongs in Los Angeles. Come home, Julia. I’ll tell Uncle Maury that Ginger changed her mind, and Zeke the Freak can have Caliente Springs. The choice is yours.”
No way would she make a deal like that. Never. “That’s not going to happen. I signed a contract to plan a wedding. I’m staying and so is Max.”
His voice came out in a purr. “I don’t want to fight about this, Julia.”
Of course he didn’t want to fight. To Hunter, not fighting meant you do what I want. In his world, every choice was black or white; he won or lost. And he always had to win. But he wouldn’t win today. With God’s help, Julia could handle his threats.
Meeting his gaze with a forceful one of her own, she repeated her position. “I won’t leave Caliente Springs until my job is done.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Fine.” He tossed the backpack at her feet, forcing her to squat in front of him to pick it up.
Keeping her eyes locked on his, she lifted the backpack and stood tall.
Hunter climbed into the Lexus, started the engine, and powered down the window. Sunglasses in place, he gave her a cocky salute. “See you later, babe.”
She stared back, watching until the Lexus cruised out of the parking lot. When the vehicle was out of sight, every muscle in her body went slack. Weak from the fight, she hugged the backpack tight and tried to pray. She knew she was forgiven and God loved her. He loved Hunter too, and that meant she needed to forgive him. That was surprisingly simple. The problem was knowing she
’d have to forgive him so many times, because he’d always be part of her life.
Finally, after several moments, the emotions sank back below the surface and she returned to the church where her mom, Max, and George were throwing pennies into a fountain. When Max hurled a coin as hard as he could, Ellen and George grinned at each other with so much affection Julia caught her breath. Hunter had never looked at her that way, but Zeke had.
She called to the trio from ten feet away. “I’m back.”
Ellen hurried to her. They were out of Max’s earshot, but Ellen still spoke in a hush. “How did it go?”
“Awful.” Keeping one eye on Max and George, she told her mom everything.
“I was afraid of that. Ginger called George a few minutes ago. He said he’d give me the details later, but I think you just explained it.”
“Mommy!” Max waved to her from the pond. “We’re making wishes. Can I have more pennies?”
“Sure.” It felt good to indulge him in something harmless, so she dug in her purse for some coins as she walked with her mom to the pond. With Max occupied, Julia turned to George. “You know what’s going on, right?”
He propped his hands on his hips. “Yes, I do. Zeke has orders to prepare for a visit from Maury Applegate the week of September tenth. That’s a week from now. We have some time to prepare, but this problem is bigger than all of us put together. If you ladies are agreeable, I say we join hands and pray.”
Julia nodded. “I’d like that.”
When she called Max, he dropped the remaining coins with a kerplunk, dashed to her side, and gripped her hand. Ellen gripped his other hand, and they both offered their free hands to George.
“We’re going to say a prayer,” Julia told Max. “Like we do at bedtime, when we thank God for things.”
“Like for food,” Max said. “And for Daddy.”
“Yes.” She managed to sound cheerful for Max’s sake, but she felt like Daniel thanking God for the lions.
They bowed their heads, and George began. “Well, Lord. Here we are, and we need your help.”
There was nothing formal about the rest of his prayer, nothing poetic or profound. George prayed in the down-to-earth way Zeke used to pray in Berkeley.
Julia’s mind drifted to the Bible buried in the cardboard box, a picture that had bothered her ever since she saw it. Even if he had a new Bible, he would have put the old one on a shelf or passed it along to someone. Even more telling, he hadn’t brought up his faith a single time since she’d been in Caliente Springs.
Oh, Lord. What happened to him?
George finished, and Ellen asked God to give them all the courage to trust Him. Julia choked up, because she knew the personal struggle beneath her mom’s prayer.
It was Julia’s turn. Feeling awkward, she was grateful God could see past her stammering to her heart. “Lord, I’m worried about Zeke. Help him. Please.” She prayed out loud for God to give Zeke the wisdom to cope with the problems coming his way, but in the quiet of her mind she prayed for his soul. Father God, something is terribly wrong. He’s cold and distant to you. He’s hurting. Help me to know how to help him . . . if I even can.
After a pause, George said, “Amen.”
The breeze stilled, leaving only the gurgle of water cascading over the rocks. As they walked to the car, the calm certainty that she needed to speak to Zeke settled into Julia’s bones. She sent him a text. Need to see you. Your house?
He sent back one line: Yes. ASAP. You OK?
Sighing, she typed back the only truthful answer she could give. Yes and no. We need to talk.
twenty-one
With time to kill before Julia arrived at his house, Zeke decided to make short work of emptying his parents’ storage boxes. As he stepped into the garage, his father’s voice rang in his ears.
“It’s Sunday morning, Zeke. Why aren’t you in church? Get busy, son. Those boxes won’t unpack themselves. If you’d stacked them in order, number one wouldn’t be on the bottom, and you’d have that list. You’d know what’s in them.”
All good points, but to use one of Cowboy Chet’s favorite words, Zeke didn’t give a hoop-dee-doo about emptying the boxes in order. Between Ginger’s phone call about Applegate’s visit, the Bible on the workbench, and the mental picture of Julia sitting next to Hunter in church, he was in a sour mood when he slit open Box No. 12.
Bath towels. Old ones. Nothing but rags, thanks to a family of mice who had set up housekeeping sometime in the past. He shoved the box aside, took a marker, and wrote DUMP in big messy letters across the top.
Box No. 8 held his grandmother’s good china. A family heirloom to be sure, and something for his sisters.
As he crossed out his dad’s precise No. 8 and wrote Grandma M’s Dishes, he choked up. For all his irritation with his father, Zeke had good memories too. Even great ones. Like the Christmas the kitchen sink clogged and he and his dad had washed the dishes in the bathtub. To a boy, that was a riot. Somehow it had been a lot easier to be a perfect kid than it was to be a perfect man.
By two o’clock, the garage looked like a bomb had gone off. Crumpled newspaper overflowed from the recycle bin and littered the floor. Family treasures were piled against a wall to be sorted later, and stuff for charity was in a heap in the middle of the garage. The eight sealed boxes that remained stood in a sloppy stack with number one on the bottom.
Zeke’s hands were black with newspaper ink and his mood matched when he sliced into Box No. 11. He was about to pull back the flaps when Julia’s Outback rumbled up the street. Leaving the box, he strode down the driveway to meet her.
As she approached, a yellow dress swished around her legs with a lightness that countered the grim set of her mouth. Every instinct told him to draw her into his arms, but his hands were filthy. He held them palm out to show her. “I better not touch you.”
She raised a brow. “You’ve been busy.”
“I’m finally emptying the boxes.” He motioned for her to follow him. “Let’s go inside. I’ll finish later. Where’s Max?”
A pleased smile curved her lips. “At the cottage with Grammie and George. When I left, my mom was on the couch with an ice pack on her ankle, George had his guitar out, and Max was teaching him the words to ‘The Wheels on the Bus.’”
In spite of his grim mood, Zeke smiled. “They go ’round and ’round, as I recall.”
“All through the town,” Julia added.
“The memory’s vague, but I remember singing that song as a kid on family road trips. My sisters and I used to make up silly verses, including one where a bug went splat-splat-splat. It drove my dad a little crazy.”
He watched Julia survey the mess and the remaining boxes. “Why don’t I help you finish?” she asked. “We can talk out here.”
Zeke would have preferred to wash his hands and sit in the air-conditioned house, but his dad was right. The boxes wouldn’t unpack themselves. On the other hand, Julia didn’t belong in the garage in her pretty dress.
“You’ll get dirty.”
“I’ll take my chances.” She walked over to the box he’d slit open just before she arrived, reached inside, and unearthed an orange Nike shoebox.
Zeke recognized it instantly. Grinning, he crossed the garage and lifted it from her hands. “This box is mine. I forgot all about it.”
“What is it?”
He set it on the workbench, wiped his hands on a rag, then lifted the lid. One by one, he placed the four Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in a row. Scratched and missing their weapons, Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, and Michelangelo were heirlooms to him.
Julia smiled up at him. “I bet you played with these for hours.”
He picked up Leonardo, his favorite, and maneuvered the toy into a fight stance. “I saved the world more than a few times with these guys. Too bad they’re not real, because it looks like we’re in for a fight with Maury Applegate.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“So tell me about Hunter.”
Zeke tossed another ball of newspaper toward the overflowing can. “I have a pretty good idea what happened thanks to that phone call from Ginger. He must have called her right after the service.”
Julia huffed. “You don’t know the half of it. He deliberately made the call right in front of me.”
“So he’s making it personal.”
“Yes. It’s just like I thought.” She picked up Raphael, though Zeke doubted she knew he was the Turtle who usually threw the first punch. “Hunter’s doing this to punish me. The trip to church was a sham, which I suspected. I made sure he knew we were through.”
“So how did he take it?”
“Badly. But I think he finally believes me.” She set Raphael back on the workbench and hopped up on a stool. In a tight voice, she told him about the confrontation in the parking lot, Hunter’s phone calls, and finally about the backpack. When she finished the story, she laced her hands in her lap. “Hunter’s a permanent part of my life because of Max. I pray about the situation all the time.”
She looked at him expectantly.
Trapped! Zeke could admit the truth about his lost faith or deflect with platitudes. With his throat dry and tight, he turned away before he realized how it would look to her. Superheroes didn’t dodge hard questions, but Zeke felt like Leonardo stripped of his mask and swords.
Finally he choked out, “That’s good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. Turning abruptly, he pulled another shoebox out of the carton, opened it, and saw a bunch of G.I. Joes. “Hey, look at these—”
Julia gently closed the box lid. “I’ll look later. Right now, I’m worried about you.”
“Me? Why?’
“You’re different than you were in college. You used to talk about your faith all the time. It defined you. And now it’s—it’s gone. I don’t know what to think.”
Busted. Unable to meet her gaze, he turned back to the Turtles, arranging them just because he could. “You’re right. I’ve changed. But it has nothing to do with you. It’s between God and me.”
“I don’t understand.” Her gaze shot to the things piled on the workbench, including the Bible from the Berkeley box. When he repacked the other stuff, he had left the Bible out, unsure what to do with it. Julia nudged the worn book with her fingertip. “Before we broke up, you wanted to be a minister. I remember how committed you were.”
Someone Like You Page 18
