by Amy Jarecki
“Yeah, Mom, what’s with you?” Amanda asked.
Rebecca stomped her foot. “I’m fine. Couldn’t be better.”
She tensed with skin-crawling dread when Matt placed his hand on her shoulder. “I wanted to let you know that my mom called and asked me to go home to Malibu for the holidays. I was thinking of booking a flight. Would that be all right with you?”
Rebecca’s mouth gaped. “Why on earth would you need my approval?” Her head spun, the thick air in the room suffocating. “I’m sorry, everyone. I have a pregnant Chihuahua that I need to tend to. Please excuse me.”
Stepping outside into the freezing night air proved pure relief. She burst through the studio door and stood against it. The dogs sounded a raucous welcome while her head throbbed with complete confusion.
He isn’t even man enough to tell me about her. How long has he been back with her? Going to Malibu to meet with Mom? Yeah right. Going to Vegas to tie the knot is more like it.
Rebecca paced, ignoring Bruno who launched into an incessant barking marathon.
I’m so mad I could scream. I can’t go back out there, I just can’t.
She pulled out the cleanser and scrubbed the dog bath, using all her strength to wipe out every imagined spot.
With the water running, she didn’t hear the door open, but the icy chill that ran up her spine told her he was there.
“I didn’t want to leave knowing that something’s got you upset.” Matt walked up right behind her.
Rebecca scrubbed harder. “I said I was fine.”
“So you said.”
Rebecca threw the scouring pad in the sink and spun around. “Go to Malibu and see your family. I’m sure they miss you.”
Just get the hell out of my house!
“You’re not mad?”
“Why on earth would I be mad?”
Matt scratched his head. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you when I get back.” He leaned in for a kiss and Rebecca turned her head. Hesitating, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek and then pushed out the door.
Rebecca tore off her rubber gloves and swiped the tears from her eyes.
How could I be such a fool? Damn him.
Rebecca glanced down to her pregnant smooth coat, Sara, who was due to whelp soon. She had been watching her closely. Pregnant Chihuahuas could get in trouble fast. She prided herself in the fact that she had never lost a mother and she didn’t intend to lose Sara.
Her heart smiled for a fleeting moment as she lifted the little dog, careful to avoid putting pressure on her swollen belly. “Hey Sara, how’re you doing, little darlin’?” Sara licked her hand and curled up in her arms. Rebecca took her to the rocker and gently stroked her fur, humming while she petted the dog with the gentleness of a mother hen. Sara’s huge black eyes gazed adoringly at her as she reveled in the pampering. Rebecca continued to rock, the need to care for this helpless creature giving her strength, helping to rebuild the wall between her and the world. Rocking her life back to the way it was before Matt Johnson rang her doorbell and smashed through her fortress.
***
Matt had a feeling he shouldn’t be boarding the plane as he stood at the gate, ticket in his right hand, Patches in a black nylon carrier slung over his shoulder. Why hadn’t Rebecca returned his calls or his texts? What was going on with her? She barely acknowledged his presence at training the other night. He knew something was bothering her, but what?
What am I doing anyway? She has teenaged kids. Hell, she keeps telling me there’s no room in her life for me. Maybe that’s why she was so cold. Maybe she didn’t want me there for Christmas. Jeez, I thought she’d care, for Chrissake!
“Now pre-boarding first class passengers only.” The attendant in a Santa hat chimed with a cheerful voice.
Matt unconsciously moved forward and handed the woman his boarding pass, relieved he had a first class seat and a nonstop flight. He could have a couple of beers and leaf through his football magazine. Having spent his entire life in Southern California, a trip home might be what he needed to clear the tension that had his gut in knots.
The flight attendant brought him a beer right away. He closed his eyes and let himself relax into the comfortable seat, Patches in the carrier on his lap. His mind cast back to his East Coast Operations. The work he did in Pennsauken saved the company a half-million per year and with that track record, his phone no longer startled him when it rang. His work yielded enough clients to keep him busier than he wanted.
A vision of Rebecca winning B.I.S. with Bruno in the Philly show flashed through his mind. He smiled at the memory. The only thing he looked forward to in New Jersey was everything Rebecca. He loved dog training and the show ring. What a rush.
God, he didn’t want to throw it all away now. He still had so much to do with Ryan. Jeez, and the kid needed a mentor. Besides Matt was confident he’d eventually manage to win Amanda’s approval—he hoped the upcoming dance would at least help crack the ice. Dammit, Rebecca’s family had become his family. He wanted it. He wanted her.
The raw honesty of that admission made his heart sink. He’d spend Christmas like all the others, with his parents. Sometimes a girl would be with him, like last Christmas he thought he was happy when Monica gave him a set of Mizuno golf clubs.
The flight attendant tapped him on the shoulder and told him Patches needed to be stowed under the seat in front of him. Opening his eyes, he nodded and slid him into place. Frightened, Patches gazed back at him through the gauze. “Sorry, buddy. Gotta follow the rules.”
A pretty blonde woman sat next to him. “What a cute dog.”
“Thanks. He’s my pal.”
“Nice. I used to have a Chihuahua.”
“Oh?” Matt asked. The woman yammered, giving him her life’s history and sad story of how her darling Chihuahua had been killed by a coyote while camping in Arizona.
“What a tragedy,” he said with a bland tone to his voice.
She didn’t take his cue and rambled on. “Yes. I’ll never forget it. Did you know there’s a big storm over the Rockies? I wonder if we’re going to get some turbulence. I absolutely hate it when the plane shakes—scares me to death…”
Matt mindlessly pretended to pay attention while she launched into a mind numbing dissertation of the weather in every city between Philadelphia and LA.
Normally Matt would listen with keen interest, thinking of how he could talk the pretty woman into a date. Now, however, he nodded politely letting her talk.
Once he’d had a couple of beers, he pretended to be asleep so that blondie would shut up and watch the movie or anything rather than bother him
Hell, a beautiful blonde wants to talk, and I can’t even bear the sound of her voice.
Landing in the late afternoon, Matt rented a car to avoid being ferried around by his parents. A dark blanket of clouds hung over the December Los Angeles sky, but before heading home, he drove to the pier. After Patches relieved himself, Matt put him back in the car since he was shivering like a maple leaf in a gale.
As Matt walked down the wooden planks, the sky opened with a downpour and wind ripped through to his bones. His eyes squinted as the moist salt air stung his face.
The pier was deserted but the sea smelled like home. As a boy, this had been his playground. He looked over at the empty volleyball court. He and Brad had won innumerable matches right there in a more carefree time. It was an era before Monica, before Rebecca and a number of other forgotten women.
He flashed back to his college days. He used to walk down the beach after a game. The Bruins had beat USC, an upset. He felt like King of the Hill as he and a few guys from the team paraded through the hot sand, tossing the ball. Kids came up asking for autographs, a couple of old-timers walked up to shake his hand and when he turned around, he found an entourage of bikini clad women following.
The fleeting fame that came with his success as quarterback, his well-muscled and tanned skin—it all seemed like another life, a dream that washed o
ut to sea with the foamy swells below.
The angry whitecaps of the ocean pounded against the pier. As he watched, mesmerized by the motion, he wondered what it would be like if he jumped in. Would he be sucked out to sea by the rip tide? Would the force of the ocean drive him into the pier? The grey-green of the winter water captivated him in her spell reminding him of his battle for life in the Cooper River.
Rebecca had come to the hospital. She cared. He knew she did.
Leaning over the rail, a bolt of lightning cracked above and jerked him out of his trance. Soaked, he turned and looked at his rental car. He’d splurged and gotten the Porsche.
Why not?
His tennis shoes sloshed as he made his way back to the car. He drenched the seat and turned on the heater to full blast but when he walked up the drive to his parent’s house, his shoes still sloshed. His father was a retired CEO, having spent his years working in the oil industry. Ralph and Sally Johnson purchased their home on Malibu beach in the 1970s, a home for the elite. Ralph took pride in the fact that he owned it outright but still complained incessantly about the taxes as if he couldn’t afford them.
The white adobe house with a red tiled roof overlooked the beach, with two palm trees out front. Matt noted the sharp contrast between his parents’ beach retreat and Rebecca’s Victorian. Though this had always been Matt’s home, the place where he grew up, for some reason he felt like a guest. Instead of barging right in, he pressed the doorbell and waited until his mother opened it.
His mom’s careworn face beamed when the door opened. “Matt? Oh my goodness, you’re soaked. What happened to you?”
He could already smell the sugar cookies. “I went to the pier.”
“In this weather?” She gave him a peck on the cheek rather than her usual bear hug. “It’s a wonder you weren’t struck by lightning.”
“Yeah. When a bolt cracked overhead, I figured it was time to go.” Matt held up the nylon crate. “This is Patches.”
“He’s adorable.” Mom opened the crate door. “Come out here and give me a cuddle, cutie pie.”
Matt’s father stepped up, shaking his hand, a proud glint in his eye. “You’d better get your butt out of that rain.”
Matt tossed his gear in his boyhood bedroom, which took him back in time by a couple of decades—Ram’s bedspread and all. His room had an adjoining bath where he stood on the football-shaped mat, stripping off his wet clothes and jumping in the shower. The warm water scalded his icy skin, but relaxed him. Usually Matt hopped in and out of the shower, efficiently taking care of business so that he could get on with more important things, but today he lingered and let the water melt away the tension—nothing like a trip home to calm the spirit and ease his stress.
In a pair of old Levi’s, bare feet and a loose red plaid flannel shirt, Matt descended the stairs, noticing the proud Christmas tree in the living room for the first time. His mother had the knack for trimming the most picture-perfect Christmas trees he’d ever seen. He knew it made her happy to have him home. When he lived in Malibu, he made a point to drop by every week or two and as an only child, his mother reminded him frequently that his absence tore her apart.
Mom, in her bright red apron decked with a jolly picture of Santa, peeked out from the kitchen, Patches on her heels—the dog knew where the food came from. “Ah, now that’s my Matthew. You look like the college boy that loved to spend Christmas with his Momma.”
Matt gave her a warm hug. “Thanks. It feels good to be here. The tree’s amazing. Every year you outdo yourself.”
“Why thank you, son. You know I do it for you.”
Matt sauntered over to the family room to find Dad in his La-Z-boy with the TV tuned to a football game, Rams vs. the Giants. The thought of watching a game with Dad was a welcomed diversion. “What quarter is it?”
“First. It just started.”
He flopped onto the couch just as he always had with one leg draped over the arm rest. “Got any popcorn?”
“Nope, ask your mother.”
Matt waited until a commercial break. The nice thing about watching football with Dad was they could spend time together without talking much. He could decompress. “Want a beer?”
“Sure.”
Moseying into the kitchen, Matt found his mother stirring a bubbly mass. “Smells good.”
“I’m making fudge, your favorite, and I’ve got a roast in the oven, too.”
He put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulders. “You always take care of me, Mom.” He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a couple of beers. “You got any popcorn?”
“You’ll spoil your dinner.”
Matt laughed and snatched a bag of potato chips off the counter, heading back to the family room.
Mom followed. “I invited some of your friends over for dinner.”
Matt stopped. “Oh? Tonight?” He’d rather just have an evening with his family.
“Yes. I hope you don’t mind. I know you had a rift with Brad but I thought it was time for you two to make up. Anyway, you shouldn’t be all the way across the country in nasty old New Jersey. Your home is here in Malibu. Just look out the window at the ocean. You love it here.”
After she mentioned his partner, Matt failed to hear anything else. “You invited Brad?”
“Yes, honey, he’s always been your best friend.”
Matt’s mood grew as dark as the dreary weather outside. “You know he’s dating Monica.”
“Yes, he mentioned that.” Mom turned to the fudge, stirring with renewed vigor.
“Is she coming too?”
“Why yes, of course.” She pulled the liquid chocolate from the stove and set the pot on the counter. Concern knitted her graying brows. “Honey, what happened between you two? You look like you’re still upset.”
Matt had initially told his parents that he had been the one to break up with Monica. Weeks later he announced that he would open East Coast operations to expand their business. After being grilled by his mother, Matt finally let it out that he’d had a rift with Brad, but embarrassment had prevented him from pouring out the details about the breakup.
He set the beers on the counter. “It was Monica, Mom. She’s evil. Brad’s just a gullible guy who fell into her trap.”
“Really?” She shook her head. “I always thought she was too pretty to be a nice girl. I must admit it didn’t break my heart when you told me you broke it off.”
“Any way we can cancel? You could call them and say I’ve got the flu.”
The doorbell rang and Mom gave him a sheepish cringe while Patches ran in circles and barked in a pitch that could make crystal shatter. “I guess not. Just go watch the game and have a nice time.”
Matt picked up the dog while his mother opened the door and invited the unwanted guests inside.
“Brad, Monica. What a surprise.” Matt managed to play the part for his mother. Underneath he seethed. He wished she would have discussed it with him first or at least given him a day to settle in. A knot in his shoulder threatened to hold his neck in a vice and he grimaced when he rubbed it.
Matt begrudgingly got everyone a drink while his mother set out hors d’oeuvres. Miserably, he sat on the couch and scowled at the game. Monica rambled on about how successful her trip to New York had been and her upcoming return trip. Matt stared at the television with an occasional nod. Brad drank his beer with a quirky grin fixed in place. Matt’s head pounded. Everything had just become perfectly miserable.
When the game ended with a Giants victory, Brad apparently saw an opportunity to make small talk. “So Matt, you a Giants fan now that you’re back East?”
“Not when they’re playing the Rams.”
Mom popped her head into the family room. “Dinner’s ready. Matt, would you please get a bottle of cabernet out of the cellar?”
Dad collected wine and set up a nice storage cellar in the basement. Matt knew his father kept it well stocked and he knew where the good stuff was hidden, but for this m
eal, he would select something on the low end. Familiar with Monica’s discerning eye for anything expensive, he knew selecting a ten-to-twenty dollar bottle of wine would be seen as an insult. Good.
Opening the door to the basement, Matt pulled the string to illuminate the light. He wondered why his father never bothered to install a switch—such a simple, inexpensive thing.
The wine cellar was an air-conditioned cedar room standing alone in the dimly lit, unfinished basement. Opening the door, Matt picked up a bottle to examine the label.
He jumped when Monica, having not made a sound descending the rickety steps, appeared in the doorway. “It was nice of Sally to invite us over.”
The knot in his gut stabbed him. “Yeah. She surprised me.”
“I wanted to give you an opportunity to apologize.” Her voice cooing—Matt had heard that before. She was scheming.
He gave her a mocking smile, irritation pinched between his brows. “Apologize? For what?”
“For being such a bully to me.”
“Was I? I’m sorry, I guess.” He kept his tone sarcastic.
“Matty, come back to Malibu, your mom would love it and we could start over.” Monica stepped up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, spooning her body against his. “I told that skinny redhead that I’m going to marry you.”
Every fiber of his body froze.
What did she say? Skinny redhead?
Nostrils flared, Matt whipped around, breaking away from her sickening grasp. “You what?”
Monica stepped back, eyes wide as saucers. “I knew it. You’ve fallen for that woman.”
Eyes narrowed, not quite sane, he grasped her shoulders. “Wait a minute. Ex-act-ly what did you say to her?”
“She was at your house. She opened the door and I told her we were getting back together.”
“Why on earth would you say that?” His mind raced. “She was at the condo?”
Monica looked down. “Well, she looked upset anyway. I think she was leaving—you know I hated it when you kissed her on TV.”
Matt squeezed her shoulders harder and gave her a solid shake. “Focus, Monica. Why did she look upset?”
