The Man She Knew

by Loree Lough

  “I need to stretch my legs,” he said, heading for the hallway.

  Maleah followed him.

  “I could use some fresh air. How about we take a walk around the block, like we did when I was a kid?”

  He slung an arm over her shoulder and led her into the foyer. “Sounds like the perfect ending to a perfect evening.”

  They put on their coats.

  “We’re going for a walk,” Frank hollered, and pulled the door shut behind them. They’d barely hit the walk when he said, “Curiosity got the cat, did it?”

  “Only because I adore you.” She linked her arm through his. “I want to know what’s going on, so I can help if I can.”

  “Not much you can do, sweetie. At least not until we know what we’re dealing with.”

  Now, he was just scaring her.

  “Which doctor did you see?”

  “Valenti.”

  His cardiologist. “Why, specifically?”

  “Had a routine exam couple weeks ago, and he suggested a couple of tests. Run of the mill stuff.”

  “Such as?”

  They’d reached the corner.

  “Can you believe anyone could let their property go this way?” he said, pointing at the Stewarts’ weedy, unkempt yard. “It’s where they live, for the luvva Pete. Have they no pride of ownership?”

  “It’s a shame they let the place go,” Maleah agreed. “But maybe it’s because Mr. Stewart has a heart condition or something.”

  “Well, aren’t you the subtle one?” He laughed. “Valenti brought me back for an ECG, MRI...” He patted his chest. “And sent me home wearing this Holter monitor.”

  To track his heartbeats during a twenty-four hour period. “How long before you’ll have all the test results?”

  “A week, give or take.”

  She pulled him closer to say, “You’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

  What she really meant was You have to be fine, because I don’t know how to live without you.

  She glanced up, into the golden glow of the street lamp.

  “Looks like those li’l snowflakes are sliding down the light beam, doesn’t it?” Frank observed.

  He’d always been the poetic one in the family. But why did she get the feeling he was about to ask about Ian, again?

  “At the risk of being labeled a nosy old man, can I ask you a question?”

  “You can ask...”

  He chuckled. “You still love the guy, don’t you.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “A lifetime of interrogating people. And picking up your cues over the years.”

  Dare she admit the truth? “I hate upsetting the family. Their behavior is rooted in love. I’ve always known that. But what they think they know doesn’t exactly jibe with the truth.”

  “Few things in life do. But I didn’t ask what you’d do if the clan approved. And you still haven’t answered my question.” He slowed his pace. “You have my word. Whatever you say is between you and me.”

  She had good reason to believe him. It had been Grampa who’d helped her care for the kitten she’d found at the playground up the street, getting it cleaned up before she asked permission to bring it home. It had been her job to grab the mail on her way into the house after school, and on the day she’d found the letter, detailing why she was in danger of failing chemistry, it had been Grampa who’d signed the form...after soliciting her oath that she’d study hard and bring up that grade before report cards came out. And it had been Grampa who’d held her, without saying a word, when they took Ian away.

  “Sometimes,” she began, “I think maybe I do still love him. Other times—hate is way too strong a word—but the memories bubble up and overshadow any good feelings. It’s enough to make me wish I’d never run into him again.”

  “You two were pretty much inseparable in the beginning, despite your dad’s reservations.”

  She couldn’t even try to deny that.

  “You enjoyed working with Ian on the Kids First events...”

  “He’s good at what he does. And works tirelessly. And everyone on the team loved him, because when he puts his mind to it, he’s so easy to be around.”

  “Always was a charmer, that boy.”

  A charmer. She visualized his gorgeous smile and the way it lit up his dark eyes...and just about everything around him. “Let me ask you a question.”

  Frank met her eyes.

  “What did you think of him, before, you know...”

  “I was ambivalent. He seemed okay. Too quiet for my taste, but then, he didn’t exactly give off bad vibes, either. It just seemed there was something a little sinister—for lack of a better word—brewing in that head of his. I blamed his so-called mother, leaving him at a time when kids most need a stable home. And that sorry excuse for a father.” Frank shook his head. “Not to excuse what he did, mind you, but considering who raised him, I wasn’t surprised when he started running around with that pack of two-legged wolves. What he did with them, though? Now that puzzles me to this day.”

  Maleah sighed. “Same here.”

  “Ah well, live and learn, I guess. If you say he’s a changed man, that’s good enough for me.”

  He fell silent as they passed the old playground, where the swings, merry-go-round, and spring-loaded horses wore a thin coat of snow that glittered under the lights.

  “So what will you do, cupcake?”

  “What will I do about my, um, my friendship with him?”

  “Friendship, you say?” Frank huffed. “Potato, potahto.”

  “If I knew, I’d tell you, Grampa. Honest I would.”

  He patted the hand that held onto his elbow. “I know, I know. Thing is, I want you to be happy. Same goes for Grams, your mom and dad, Joe. Heck, put his feet to the fire, and I’ll bet Eliot wants that, too...even if it means you found it with Ian.”

  For a moment, hope pulsed in her heart. And just as quickly, it faded, thanks to too many doubts.

  “You’re a young, beautiful woman, Maleah, with a heart that’s bigger than your head. You deserve the whole white-picket-fence scene, and there’s no reason you shouldn’t have it just because the guy made a stupid, stupid, stupid mistake when he was a lonely, confused, bitter kid.”

  In other words, if she and Ian miraculously managed to get beyond the wall separating them, he’d back her up? Maleah shook her head. It was just too much to hope for. “Guess we’d better get to the house.”

  “Or your grandmother will send out a search party.”

  Turning, they headed back toward the Turners’.

  “Any idea what color you’ll paint your kitchen this time?”

  She looked at the pristine blanket of snow that swathed each blade of grass, every tree limb, and the rooftops. “I’m kinda leaning toward white.”

  “Great minds think alike.”

  They walked the rest of the way in companionable silence, and as he led her up the walk, she stepped in front of him, wrapped him in an enormous hug and said, “Love you to pieces, Grampa...”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Ditto, kiddo.”

  “...so take real good care of yourself, okay?”

  Laying a fingertip atop her nose, he winked. “All right, I’ll give up the cigars, just for you.”

  “Cigars! I thought you quit, years ago!”

  “Hey, you’ve got your secrets, I’ve got mine.” This time, he kissed her forehead. “But we’ve always had each other’s backs. Still do, right?”

  “Right.”

  “If this Ian guy makes you happy, go for it.”

  “Much as I appreciate your support, if that means you’re not really giving up the smokes, no way. I’ll go to my grave a lonely ol
d spinster before I make a deal like that.”

  Frank laughed. “Man, you drive a hard bargain. All right. Soon as I get home tonight, I’ll hunt up every cigar stashed around the house and trash the lot of ‘em.” He held up his hand, as if taking an oath. “Word of honor.”

  The hand then wrapped around hers.

  “Now let’s get inside.”

  She had her grandfather’s approval to fix the broken connection between her and Ian.

  The big question now echoed what he’d asked moments ago:

  What will you do?

  Maleah had no idea, but she knew this: it was high time to make a final, firm decision, one way or the other.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THANKSGIVING AND CHRISTMAS passed with the usual Turner fanfare: too much food, an overabundance of decorations and more gaily-wrapped packages than in years past. Maleah believed her grandmother and mother went overboard because of her grandfather’s diagnosis: Dilated cardiomyopathy, the cause of his shortness of breath, swollen ankles and vague complaints of fatigue. Test results showed that unbeknownst to him, Frank had survived a mild heart attack, prompting a prescription for an anticoagulant. If exercise, changes in diet, and the now-official no-smoking orders didn’t improve the condition, he might need a pacemaker.

  But since another more serious heart attack was possible, the family agreed during no-Frank-allowed meetings to coddle him...until he noticed and fought it. And so far, so good. She might have enjoyed the festivities more if her brain hadn’t fixated on Ian. How had he celebrated?

  As the new year approached and the subject of resolutions flooded social networking sites, the media and even the Institute, Maleah could think of just one major change that needed to take place in her life: Ian.

  It shouldn’t be so difficult, choosing a time and place for the face-off that would provide them both with a conclusion that would open the door to healing...or heartache. The timing needed to be right. Had he recovered enough to return to the bistro?

  As she parked in her assigned space at Washburne, Maleah’s cell phone rang.

  “Is this my sweet Leah?”

  Kent O’Malley. Who else would dare call her that? The only person she’d ever let get away with it had been Ian...

  “You’ve reached Maleah Turner,” she replied in her most businesslike voice.

  “Oops, my mistake. I forgot you’re not crazy about the nickname.”

  “That’s true.” And to assure he realized how disinterested she was in moving forward with him, Maleah added, “Who’s calling, please?”

  He punctuated the brief pause with a grating snicker. “Well you’ve sufficiently deflated my bloated ego, Mah-lee-ah. This is Kent. Kent O’Malley?”

  “Oh, of course. Hi. Sorry...”

  “No problem. But hey, the reason I’m calling... I know it’s last-minute, but I’m hoping you’re free on New Year’s Eve. All day, and beyond the witching hour.”

  Day after tomorrow? Nothing like waiting until the last minute. Especially for one of the most important date nights of the year. She considered playing the “Let me check my calendar and get back to you” game, but few things annoyed her more than pretense.

  “As it happens, I’ve made other plans.”

  Kent laughed. Not the deep, robust sound that made her heart pound, like Ian’s, but not exactly annoying, either.

  “My own fault, I guess, for waiting until the last minute. Looks like I’ll have to ring in the new year alone again.”

  Again? A self-made millionaire who’d been photographed at red-carpet events with fashion models, TV personalities and corporate types? Maleah had a hard time believing it.

  “Well, Happy New Year,” she said, ending the conversation.

  The back doorbell rang, and when she saw Vern on the porch, Maleah threw open the door.

  “Looks like you got more of that stuff on you than on the walls,” he observed, stepping inside.

  “I know. I’m a very sloppy painter.”

  “But your cut-ins look professional.”

  Hands pocketed, he walked around the room. “Much better than that green. I approve.”

  “I was just about to put on a pot of tea. Want some? I have chocolate chip cookies...”

  “Homemade or store-bought?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Then I’ll stay.” He laughed. “It isn’t like I have back-to-back appointments.”

  She plunked the brush into the bucket that held her collection of paint tools, washed her hands and filled the kettle.

  “So what’re your plans for New Year’s?” Vern wanted to know.

  “I have a date, but he’s got some surprise lined up.”

  “With the ex-con?”

  Maleah hid a frown.

  “No, he’s a business associate. Sort of.”

  “Sort of, eh?” He smirked. She gave his shoulder a playful smack. He got real serious, real quick. “Just pullin’ your leg. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

  She slapped his shoulder again. “I know, I know.”

  “What are you doing for New Year’s?”

  “Same ol’, same ol’. I’ll park myself in front of the boob tube with a bowl of buttered popcorn and a can of Bud and watch the fireworks over the Inner Harbor. Gotta find a good movie to watch, though, ’cause those bands and singers drive me nuts.”

  “I tend to channel surf while that stuff is on, too.”

  “Young’un like you? You’re kidding.”

  “It just so happens I love big band music. And that’s never part of the entertainment, not on any of the stations.”

  “Big band, huh?” He bit into a cookie. “So...can you jitterbug?”

  “People have called me Ginger Rogers, I’ll have you know.”

  “You’re one of a kind, Maleah Turner,” he said as she slid a mug in front of him. “One of a kind.”

  She held out a box of brightly packaged tea bags. “Choose your poison, Vernon.”

  He decided on Earl Grey chai, unwrapped it, and dropped it into the mug.

  “That’s my favorite, too,” she said, following suit.

  “If I’m not getting too personal, how are things going with the, ah, the ex-boyfriend? Is he back to normal after the big accident?”

  “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I have no idea. I stopped by to see him soon after his release from Hopkins, but haven’t made the time to look in on him since.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Because...?”

  “Keeping your distance that way sends a message, loud and clear.”

  “Such as?”

  “If you’re avoiding him when he’s all messed up like that, well, what message would you take from that?”

  “That I don’t care,” she said, mostly to herself.

  “Do you?” He spooned sugar into his mug. “Care about him, I mean?”

  “Of course I care. He asked me to marry him, once upon a time, and I said yes.”

  “Maybe so, but a lot of water has sloshed under that bridge since then.”

  Not so much that she didn’t still wonder what life might be like with Ian at her side... “Piece of advice? When you finally get around to checking on him, don’t mention this date you’re going on.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause if he’s still burnin’ a candle for you, it’ll send the wrong message, that’s why.”

  He slurped the tea. “Then again, maybe that’s the idea...to let him know you’re not interested...”

  “That’s my dilemma. I need to figure out what I want, and get some idea what he wants.”

  “I take it you like livin’ in limbo, then.”

  “I don’t follow...”

  “You
ask me, you’re playing it safe. Or so you think. No decision postpones the inevitable.”

  “Which is?”

  “Finding out he beat you to the punch...and decided he doesn’t care about you that way anymore.”

  And that, as the cliché said, hit the nail square on its head. Without realizing it, that’s precisely what she’d been afraid might happen.

  “I only have one New Year’s resolution...to figure things out about him, once and for all.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Vern drained the mug and got up. “Thanks for the conversation and the snack.” In the open doorway, he said, “When you clean yourself up, be sure to get that blotch of paint out of your hair.”

  Maleah locked up and, yawning, put the mugs into the dishwasher. And after returning the tea container to its shelf in the pantry, she decided to skip the shower and go straight to bed. Maybe, just maybe, an idea would come to her as she slept, and by morning, she’d know how to arrange a meeting with Ian.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SHOULDN’T HAVE TURNED off your cell, Ian thought, reading the phone’s caller ID screen. Maleah had called shortly before midnight. “Sorry I haven’t checked in with you sooner,” the short message began. “I hope you’re healing up well. Happy New Year, Ian. See you soon, I hope.”

  The way she’d rushed from the apartment that day, he’d thought it best to leave her alone.

  “Wrong again,” he growled. When it came to Maleah, he couldn’t seem to do anything right.

  “You’re up and at ’em early.”

  His dad, seated in Gladys’s usual morning spot, turned a page in the paper.

  Ian limped over to the island and poured himself a cup of coffee. “I could say the same.” For the past week, he’d been walking with just one crutch, but hadn’t yet figured out how to carry liquids without spilling them. Much as it bugged him to ask for help, he said, “Hey Dad, would you mind setting this on the counter for me?”

  Brady relieved his son of the mug. “Are you joining me here, or should I put it by your chair?”

  “Right here’s fine,” he said.

  “Your hard work is paying off,” Brady said with an approving nod. “Gotta hand it to you, son. You came through this like a real trouper.”