by Francis Ray
First thing was getting him to eat. When she’d put the things for lunch into the refrigerator, she’d seen the uneaten sandwich she’d left him on Monday, the fish on Tuesday. She had a sneaky suspicion that he wasn’t taking care of himself.
Opening the refrigerator, she took out the gumbo and popped it into the microwave, then went back and took out the salad and bottled lemonade. She shook her head on seeing the only things left inside were three bottles of beer. She’d snooped that morning and found nine empty bottles in the trash beneath the sink. Alec was definitely having problems, but drinking wouldn’t help. It only caused more problems.
Her eyes briefly shut as a painful memory tugged at her.
“What’s the matter?” Alec asked, joining her in the kitchen.
“Nothing. Please have a seat.” Going to the cabinets, she took down two glasses and filled them with ice before turning to the table. The timer on the microwave sounded.
“I’ll get it.”
Surprised but pleased, Celeste said, “Thanks, and don’t forget to use pot holders. Please put it here.”
Alec placed the Corning Ware dish on the stainless-steel tray, then reached over to hold Celeste’s chair. She smiled her thanks and took her seat. As soon as he did the same she bowed her head and blessed the food. Reaching for his bowl, she filled it to the brim. “I hope it’s not too spicy. I learned the recipe from Gina, then added my own touch.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” Alec reached for his spoon.
Aware that a lot of men didn’t like to talk while they were eating, Celeste decided to wait until Alec had eaten a bit before she picked up the conversation. Which was a good thing because Alec was hunched over the table, his head down as he ignored her. Celeste couldn’t remember a man ever ignoring her.
“How is it?”
“Fine.”
Her delicate brow arched. The three men she’d been engaged to had raved about every dish she put in front of them. Alec was definitely a challenge, but one she was up to. “How did you come up with the idea to build the gazebo?”
“Maureen admired Sam and Helen’s when she and Simon visited,” Alec answered without lifting his head. He kept eating.
“Did you build theirs?” she inquired.
“Yes.”
“What else have you built?”
His head slowly came up. It was all Celeste could do to keep from squirming under his intense gaze. “Perhaps you should eat so we could get back to work.”
So, he wasn’t going to be easy. She picked up her spoon. “How long do you think it will take to finish?”
“Too long.” He stood, taking his bowl to the sink. He rinsed it out and placed the earthenware in the dishwasher. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. You should be finished by then.”
Celeste leaned back in her seat. It seemed Alec couldn’t be prodded. He was a harder nut to crack than she had anticipated. Perhaps she should let it go. Then she thought of the nine empty beer bottles, the desolation in his dark eyes.
No way.
Standing, she cleaned up the table and put the food away. Upstairs, she prepared the next length of wallpaper. She was three rungs up when Alec walked into the room. His face was closed. She knew without saying a word that there would be no more talking. He’d been pushed as far as he was going to be pushed.
Continuing up the ladder, she began working. Alec held the ladder, moving back as she came down. She’d never known someone who could remain so still while such turmoil was in their eyes.
Alec obviously wanted to be alone, but he’d put aside his own wants to make sure she was safe. Even after she’d pushed, he’d stayed to ensure her safety. Very few people would be that unselfish. Alec was a man worth saving.
She’d let him have today, she thought as she stepped off the ladder for the last time and found the room empty. But she wouldn’t stop trying to get him to open up. She hadn’t healed until she’d finally stopped running from her demons and instead confronted them.
Alec needed her, whether he knew it or not.
Finished for the day, she loaded her van and climbed inside. Before pulling away, she took one last look at the house and envisioned Alec’s face when he opened the refrigerator.
Tomorrow would be very interesting, she thought as she drove down the quiet street.
The tension didn’t finally start to leave Alec until he heard Celeste’s van start up. She got to him. There was both sympathy and challenge in her beautiful dark eyes. His hands clenched. She probably knew what had happened to him. The shooting had made national news, thrusting him into an unwanted spotlight.
He’d saved his own life and that of his partner, but he’d taken a life in the process. Sitting on the ground in front of the base of the gazebo, he looked at his hands, saw the fine tremor, felt perspiration dampen his skin.
Closing his eyes, he tried to think of anything except the startled face of the man he’d killed. Celeste’s face appeared. Only she wasn’t smiling as usual. Her small chin jutted in challenge, her eyes seeing too much.
Alec scrambled to his feet, raking his hand through his hair. Thinking of a woman was the last thing he needed to be doing. Annoyed with himself and Celeste, he went inside the house.
He didn’t stop until he stood in front of the refrigerator. He jerked open the door, his hand already reaching for a beer. His long necks weren’t there. Even knowing he’d put them on the top shelf, he opened every bin. Empty. He straightened, seeing the gumbo and salad. His eyes narrowed.
Celeste.
He slammed the door shut. She didn’t know who she was messing with, but come tomorrow she would!
. . .
With every rotation of her wheels, Celeste’s trepidation grew. No one liked being manipulated. She should know that better than anyone. Yet that was what she had done.
At the next stoplight, instead of pulling through, she took a right, then a left, and headed back to Maureen’s house. Her hands flexed on the steering wheel. Alec wasn’t going to be happy with her, and she had brought it all on herself.
Pulling into the driveway, she grabbed the key to the front door and quickly went inside. She had barely gone five feet before she saw Alec, his eyes narrowed with anger.
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m sorry. I thought—”
She almost shrieked as he quickly closed the distance between them, towering over her. “Stay out of my life.”
“The beer is in the cabinet over the refrigerator.”
“Don’t interfere in my life again.”
Her knees trembled, but she stood her ground. “I left the rest of the gumbo.”
He leaned closer until she could see her reflection in his eyes. “I poured it out.”
“Poured it out! You imbecile! Do you know how hard I worked, how long it took, to make that gumbo?”
“No one asked you,” he said.
“My mistake. If you want to wallow—” She bit off the words she’d been about to say. If he had been angry at first, he was livid now. His lips flattened into a forbidding line.
Stalking over to the door, he yanked it open. “Leave!”
Her temper abated as quickly as it blew. She had overstepped. “Alec—”
“Now!”
When she messed up, she really did a bang-up job of it. “I’m sorry. I won’t bother you again.” As soon as she stepped over the threshold, the door slammed behind her. Her bungling attempts to help him through a rough time had made things worse, not better.
Why hadn’t she listened to Gina?
Alec cursed a blue streak all the way to the kitchen. Who in the hell did she think she was? His life was his own.
Picking up the small step stool in the kitchen, he placed it in front of the refrigerator, climbed on, and lifted the cabinet door overhead. Muttering, he grabbed two bottles with one hand and one bottle in the other. They were still cold. She must have hidden them just before she left.
Stepping off the stool, he
carefully placed the two bottles on the counter when what he really wanted to do was slam them down. One irritated twist of the cap of the third bottle and it came free. He took a long swallow. He wasn’t some drunk you had to hide the booze from.
He tilted the bottle to his lips again and again. He’d been drinking beer since he was sixteen.
So he’d had a couple every night since he’d arrived, so what? So he might have one in the morning. He could hold his liquor. Only pansies got drunk off a beer. He tilted the bottle and frowned when he discovered it was empty.
He spat out an expletive, reached for another bottle, and unscrewed the top. He was entitled to a beer with all the stuff he was going through. The worst thing that had probably happened to Little Miss Sunshine was a broken nail.
She might think she knew, but she didn’t know squat. The stark terror he lived with daily. The fear that he’d never be able to return to a job he loved. The guilt that he couldn’t assuage. The knot in his gut that he let his family down. The inescapable knowledge that because of him a child would never know its father.
He took a swallow, then another. No woman, especially one he’d just met, was going to stick her nose in his business. It wasn’t the hard stuff. She’d better stay—
The phone rang behind him. He spun sharply toward the sound. The room tilted. He reached for the counter to steady himself and hit a beer bottle. He heard the click of the bottle hitting the granite top, reached for the bottle . . .
And missed. He watched helplessly as the bottle seemingly in slow motion hit the granite floor, shattering. Alec stared as the foaming liquid spread out on the floor, the shards of brown glass scattered in every direction. Behind him, the phone clicked on.
“I doubt if you’ll get this, since you didn’t get the message we left Monday night, but if you happen to be in the kitchen and listening, turn on your bleeping cell phone,” Patrick said.
Brianna’s happy laughter sounded in the background. “He’s practicing so he won’t say any bad words around our baby.”
“I’m glad you’re here. Night,” Patrick bade.
“Me, too. You’re going to make a wonderful uncle,” Brianna said. “Good night.”
The machine clicked off. Alec lifted his head and stared from the machine to the mess on the floor. You’re going to make a wonderful uncle. His eyes shut.
Would a wonderful uncle guzzle two bottles of beer in less than a minute? Blame someone else for his shortcomings? He stared at the bottle still clutched in his hand.
In the past, a six-pack of beer would last a month unless friends came over to his house. He enjoyed a cold beer after a day of working in the yard or when he was out with his friends, but one had been his limit.
“I’m certainly going to try, starting now.” Putting the empty bottles in the trash, he went in search of cleaning supplies.
“I should have listened to you,” Celeste said when Gina opened the door. Celeste had driven straight there from the confrontation with Alec.
“Come on in and tell me what happened.” Gina curved her arm around Celeste’s trembling shoulders. “We can talk in the den. The children are in their rooms.”
Celeste sat down on the sofa and told Gina everything. “I thought I was helping. He was furious.”
“Celeste.”
“I know.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “I stuck my nose in someone else’s very personal business and made things worse.”
“You were trying to help,” Gina consoled.
“That’s of little comfort. I was so sure I had all the answers, that he’d come around to my way of thinking just as others have.”
Gina rubbed her hand up and down Celeste’s arm. “What are you going to do now?”
“Mind my own business and focus on renovating Maureen’s suite,” Celeste said. “What I should have done in the first place.”
Wanting to take Celeste’s mind off what had happened with Alec, Gina said, “Guess who stopped by today?”
“Since you’re smiling, it wasn’t Robert, I take it.”
“Max Broussard,” Gina told her, then said, “I showed him the things I thought should be changed at his inn and he wants to hire me. He’s supposed to call tonight.”
Celeste’s eyes widened. “Gina, that’s wonderful. You have a good eye.”
“But I’m not trained. What if I make a mistake?” Gina said, voicing her concern.
“Even the best get it wrong at times,” Celeste said. “But apparently Max liked your ideas.”
“He did.” Gina’s smile returned. “If I’m not sure of something, can I call you?”
Celeste frowned at her. “I ought to hit you for even asking.”
Gina laughed. “I guess I’m just nervous. He’s offered to pay me.”
“Shows he’s a fair man. Interior designers charge by the job or the hour. Once you’ve seen what needs to be done you can decide how you want to do it.” Celeste took her friend’s arms. “Don’t falter. Be firm. You have a service he wants.”
“I’ll try, but I’m not as assertive as you are,” Gina said softly.
“And look what happened,” Celeste said. “Alec was so angry, but beneath the anger was the sadness.”
“Men don’t like being told what to do.” Gina wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. “Robert never listened.”
“Looks like Max is the exception.” Celeste stood. “Let me know how the conversation goes. I’ll probably be up.”
Gina walked her to the door. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“I can’t help thinking I made things worse.” Celeste shook her dark head. “He helped me today, was concerned for my safety, and I repay him this way.”
“You don’t know that you made it worse.”
Celeste shook her head. “You didn’t see his face. I’ve never seen anyone that furious.”
“Do you want me to go with you tomorrow?” Gina asked, concerned.
Celeste smiled in reassurance. “Even furious with me, he controlled his anger. Alec Dunlap is not the type of man to abuse a woman.”
“Men change,” Gina whispered, then hastened to explain as Celeste’s eyes narrowed. “I meant about their feelings. Robert never hit me. He just stopped loving me.”
“His loss,” Celeste said fiercely. “One day he’ll see it, but you will have moved on to a better life.”
“You don’t know how much I want that.”
“Start by believing in yourself as much as others do. Take the job Max offered.”
She tucked her head for a moment. “You think I’m a coward, don’t you?”
“I don’t have cowards for friends. You try so hard to please everyone; from tonight on please yourself. You deserve happiness, but sometimes you have to fight for it,” Celeste whispered.
“Like you did before you came to Charleston.”
A shadow moved in Celeste’s eyes. “Yes.”
“You wanted Alec to fight, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but I handled it the wrong way. Get back inside. I don’t want you to miss that call. Night.”
“Why don’t you come by for breakfast in the morning? I can tell you about the conversation with Max.”
“You can also check on me,” Celeste said, with a lift of her brow.
Since it was the truth, Gina didn’t deny it. “I’ll expect you around eight. You know you love my biscuits.”
“All right. See you in the morning. Night.”
“Good night.” When Celeste pulled away from the curb, Gina closed the door, then headed for the stairs. She wanted to check on Gabrielle and Ashton.
In front of Gabrielle’s closed door, Gina said a swift prayer to find the right words, then knocked. “Gabrielle.”
Silence.
Gina lifted her head, praying for guidance. After Gina settled the squabble earlier, Gabrielle had given her the silent treatment. Ashton had taken advantage of it and talked almost nonstop about how “neat” Mr. Broussard was, how Ashton hoped he could come
to his game Saturday.
“He won’t,” Gabrielle said with entirely too much malice.
“He said he would if he could, didn’t he, Mama?” Ashton said, his face filled with a mixture of hope and fear.
Gina frowned at Gabrielle before turning to Ashton. “He said he’d try, but remember, he has to run his inn.”
Ashton’s head fell forward. “He’s busy, just like Daddy.”
At that moment Gina could have gladly strangled Robert. He’d been even worse at missing games and practices once he walked out and filed for divorce. He’d been to two games all year and left both times before they were over. He had yet to attend a practice.
It was bad enough that Robert didn’t pick the children up every other weekend as he was supposed to; he showed no interest in their extracurricular activities, in them. His response to Gabrielle being the captain of her booster squad was, That’s nice. Her school team had already performed at two football games and, again, Robert was a no-show.
“I’ll be there,” Gina said, watching Ashton’s head slowly rise. “I’ll be yelling for you and your teammates.”
He’d smiled and the crisis was averted—for the moment.
Now standing in front of Gabrielle’s door, Gina faced another crisis. She felt as if she were doing a delicate balancing act. One wrong move and she’d lose Gabrielle. There were too many bad influences out there, just waiting for troubled teens.
“Gabrielle, honey. Can I come in?” Gina’s mother would have had the door open the moment one of her children thought to ignore her, and when she finished with them their backside would have been sore and their father would have been waiting for his turn.
Gina’s paternal grandmother had a saying: “Spare the rod and ruin the child.” Her parents had taken the saying to heart. Gina had taken the new approach—talking and reasoning—and it wasn’t working. Gabrielle wasn’t listening or talking.
Gina opened the door. At her desk Gabrielle quickly closed a small pink leather-bound book and swung around in her chair. Her lids were puffy. Gina felt her own eyes sting. It wasn’t easy growing up.
