A Man for Mom

by Gina Ferris Wilkins

  Rachel gave the woman the telephone number of an acquaintance who owned a small dump truck that he often rented out for just such purposes. “I’m sure you can work something out with him,” she offered helpfully.

  The woman hung up without even thanking Rachel for taking the time to advise her.

  Ten minutes later the phone rang again. Rachel didn’t allow herself to anticipate that time, which was just as well, since it still wasn’t Seth, but an emotional woman who had just discovered that her husband had loaded two plastic garbage bags full of laundry into the two-yard Dumpster they rented for their small business.

  “I was going to stop by the Laundromat on the way home this afternoon,” the woman explained. “I put the bags in the back room and he thought they were trash. I’ve had a few words with him, let me tell you. I’ve gotten behind on laundry and over half of the clothes we own are in those bags. Please tell me there’s some chance of getting them back.”

  Rachel checked the route sheet, then winced. This woman’s container had been emptied early that morning. The truck had been dumped at least twice since then. “I hate to tell you this, but the chances are very slim that you’ll get your things back,” Rachel said regretfully. “Those bags are probably buried under tons of garbage and cover dirt by now. The landfill we use is the only one for miles around and it receives trash from towns in three counties.”

  The woman groaned in dismay. “There’s no way we could, you know, sort of dig around a little?”

  “You could call the landfill and ask,” Rachel said, “but I’m afraid I can’t offer much encouragement. You should probably call your insurance agent and ask whether you’re covered under your homeowner’s policy.”

  This, too, was a familiar problem. People were always throwing things away by accident, and then dismayed when they couldn’t easily recover their property. They seemed to think the garbage was taken somewhere and neatly filed away for future retrieval, Rachel thought wryly after concluding the call. Trash disposal was something every household needed, yet few people ever wondered what happened to the bags of garbage once they were set on a curb or tossed into a container.

  Every municipality in the country was struggling to find something to do with garbage amid growing problems with overburdened landfills, increasingly stringent ecological regulations, rapidly rising prices. Recycling programs were underway, even in Percy, but processing costs were high and consumer demand for recycled products much too low. The industry still struggled for recognition from the public and suffered from shortsighted policies of the past and a reputation—rightfully earned, at times—for being haphazardly regulated, viciously competitive, and tarnished by association with organized crime.

  There were many times when Rachel wished Ray and his father had chosen to open a grocery store or a construction company rather than a waste-hauling business. Though she knew those professions came with their own sets of problems, there were times when her business seemed destined to self-destruct.

  She shook her head when she realized that her thoughts were wandering again from the tasks at hand. At least she hadn’t been thinking about Seth that time, she thought with a sigh.

  “Rachel?” Martha appeared in the doorway, solid and dependable looking in her blue polyester blouse and navy slacks, her oversize handbag tucked under one arm, a pencil still stuck, obviously forgotten, into her teased-and-lacquered red-dyed hair. “I’m leaving now. You should be going home yourself, soon.”

  Rachel glanced at her watch and winced. She’d accomplished much too little that day. And, worse, she knew she’d get little more done should she stay. “I’ll leave as soon as I clean off my desk,” she promised. “Good night, Martha. I’ll see you Thursday.”

  Martha nodded and turned to leave, then paused. “By the way, Rachel. Do you know anyone who drives a rusty old green pickup truck?”

  Rachel’s fingers tightened convulsively around the pen in her hand. “Why do you ask that?”

  “There’s one been driving past quite a bit this afternoon. Seems like he slows down when he gets to our gate, but then he goes on. One time he stopped on the street for a few minutes. I could see him from the window behind my desk. I didn’t think anything about it at first, but about the third time I saw him I started to wonder.”

  Rachel bit her lower lip, remembering the night she’d thought someone in a rusty truck had been watching her. “No. I don’t know anyone with a truck like that,” she said.

  Martha frowned. “Strange.”

  “Um, Martha? What sort of vehicle does Frank Holder drive?”

  Martha’s faded eyes widened. “Last I knew, he had a beat-up old van. But he was always trading one worthless piece of junk for another. You don’t think it was him in that truck, do you?”

  Rachel shook her head. “I have no reason to believe it was Frank,” she explained carefully. “And I haven’t heard from him since Leon warned him off. I just thought I should ask.”

  “Why don’t you call Leon now?”

  “And tell him what? That a pickup drove past the office a few times?”

  “You could at least have him find out what Frank’s driving these days,” Martha suggested.

  “Even if it was Frank, there’s no law stopping him from driving on public streets,” Rachel argued. “Unless he calls again, or something like that, I have no basis for a complaint.”

  “If it is him, then you do have a basis,” Martha returned firmly. “Stalking’s illegal in this state.”

  The word sent a cold chill slithering down Rachel’s back. “I don’t think Frank Holder is stalking me,” she protested, mostly because she didn’t want to even consider the possibility.

  “Nevertheless, I want you to be careful,” Martha said. “That Frank was always a wild one when he was drinking. And I heard he had a nasty habit of slapping around that silly little girlfriend of his. I guess that’s why she finally got fed up and left him. He’s a bad one, Rachel. I think you should ask Leon about that truck.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Rachel promised.

  Martha didn’t look satisfied. “I’ll wait with you here until you get your desk cleaned off. I don’t want you leaving alone.”

  “Thank you, Martha, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ll be careful.”

  Martha shook her head, her double chin firmly set. “I’m not leaving until you do.”

  Rachel knew better than to argue when her bookkeeper got that particular look on her face. She surrendered. Ten minutes later, her desk was clean, her purse in her hand, and the two women walked side by side outside to the small parking lot that held only Rachel’s car and Martha’s old station wagon. Both looked automatically out at the street. Several cars were passing at this time of day, workers on their way home for dinner, but the rusty green truck was not among them.

  “I’m sure we overreacted,” Rachel said.

  “Maybe so. But I still think you should mention this to Leon.”

  Rachel promised again to consider Martha’s advice. Martha didn’t drive away until Rachel had secured the gate locks and closed herself back into her own car. They drove down the street together, turning different directions at the next traffic light. Martha waved goodbye.

  Rachel headed toward the day-care center to pick up her children. She rather wished Martha hadn’t even mentioned the pickup. It was probably just someone driving around, killing time on a lazy afternoon, she reassured herself.

  She had enough to worry about right now. She didn’t need to add the possibility that she was being stalked by an embittered ex-employee!

  * * *

  Paige had a special request for dinner that evening. “Could we have hot dogs and macaroni and cheese tonight, Mama? Real macaroni and cheese out of a box, not that kind that Granny Fran makes.”

  Aaron quickly seconded the request.

  Rachel grimaced in response to Paige’s artless comment. Trust her children to prefer the powdery dry mixed macaroni and cheese to Granny Fran’s home-b
aked casserole! But she agreed to the menu the kids had asked for, since she hadn’t planned anything else in particular.

  “Is Seth going to eat with us?” Aaron asked hopefully.

  Rachel shook her head. “Tonight it’s just the three of us.”

  “We haven’t seen him in forever,” Paige said with a sigh.

  “It’s only been three days,” Rachel remarked. “I’m sure Seth has other things to do.”

  What was he doing? Why hadn’t he called?

  Was he, perhaps, sharing dinner with another woman tonight?

  She tried not to dwell on that possibility, finding it just too depressing.

  It didn’t take her long to make the dinner her children wanted. She cooked peas as a side dish; hot dogs didn’t seem such a guilty pleasure if they were served with something green, she rationalized. The children seemed to thoroughly enjoy the meal. Rachel could hardly touch a bite.

  After dinner she busied herself with housecleaning—doing laundry, mopping floors, scrubbing sinks—anything to keep her mind occupied so she wouldn’t dwell on her problems. Any of her problems.

  She was on her knees scrubbing a faint soap ring off the children’s bathtub when the doorbell rang. She looked in dismay at her damp T-shirt and grubby jeans. Her arms were soapy, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. She wasn’t wearing shoes. If that was Seth, showing up without warning after not calling for three days...

  “I’ll get it,” Paige yelled.

  “Find out who it is first,” Rachel admonished, though she knew Paige always asked before opening the door.

  Celia appeared in the bathroom doorway a few minutes later. “Doesn’t this look like fun,” she commented, glancing at the cleaning supplies in the plastic carry tray at Rachel’s side.

  “I live to attack soap scum,” Rachel assured her gravely. “What’s up, Celia?”

  “Oh, nothing. I just felt like dropping by. Anything I can do to help?”

  Rachel looked at her sister’s immaculate cream-colored slacks and matching sweater. “I don’t think you’re dressed for it. But, as it happens, I’m finished here. Let’s go into the kitchen for some coffee.”

  Celia agreed without argument.

  Rachel soon noticed that her usually exuberant younger sister was unnaturally subdued that evening. They talked about Paige and Aaron, agreed that they would both miss having their grandmother in town, compared stories of their workdays, though Rachel deliberately avoided any mention of a rusty green truck. Only then did Rachel finally ask, “Is there anything in particular you want to talk to me about?”

  Celia looked into her coffee cup, as though she’d found something of great interest in the half inch of lukewarm beverage that remained. “Nothing specific,” she evaded. “I just wanted to spend some time with you tonight.”

  “I’m glad you did. You know I always love talking to you. But I wish you would tell me what’s bothering you. I can tell there’s something.”

  Celia shrugged. “Oh, you know. Just the usual stuff.”

  Which meant exactly nothing. Rachel hazarded a guess. “You’re okay financially?”

  Celia rolled her eyes. “I’m fine financially.”

  “Problems at work?”

  “Nothing of any significance. It’s kind of boring sometimes, but it’s okay.”

  Rachel thought she’d just found a clue to Celia’s mood. She still believed her sister was restless, bored with the routines she’d fallen into during the past couple of years. Rachel had warned Celia when she’d moved back to Percy that small-town life had its own charms, but adventure and excitement were rarely part of them. Celia had claimed then that she didn’t want adventure and excitement. She just wanted a good job, a secure future, the opportunity to see her family often, she’d said. Rachel had worried then that there would come a time when Celia would want a great deal more than Percy had to offer.

  Rachel wanted very badly to ask if Celia was still staying in touch with Damien Alexander. The man was one of Rachel’s biggest worries as far as her sister was concerned. The well-known hotelier was a familiar face in the society publications, often photographed at exclusive celebrity parties, usually with a beautiful woman or two at his side. He was rich, handsome, powerful and sophisticated. Celia had met him by accident several months earlier when he’d come into the bank where she worked for a meeting with some local landowners in connection with a resort he was considering building on nearby Greers Ferry Lake.

  Rachel wasn’t surprised that Alexander had noticed Celia. He was reputed to have a keen eye for beautiful young women. Nor was she surprised that Celia found him fascinating—after all, he was so different from the men Celia was usually surrounded by. But Rachel couldn’t help worrying, as usual.

  Celia was, at heart, a sheltered, small-town girl. Could she really hold her own with a man of Damien Alexander’s reputation? Would she emerge unscathed from an involvement with him, from a sudden exposure to the fast lane? Or would she fall victim to the dangerous temptations just waiting out there to prey on naive young women?

  She wanted very badly to ask if Celia had been in contact with Alexander lately, if he had anything to do with her distraction tonight. But she was afraid that Celia would only turn the questioning back to Rachel’s own complicated social life, and ask questions about Seth that Rachel wouldn’t know how to answer. Maybe the reason Celia hadn’t mentioned Seth thus far was because she was concerned about the same thing.

  Celia didn’t stay much longer. She kissed the children, then turned to hug Rachel. The hug was a bit more fervent than usual. “Celia?” Rachel asked, drawing back in concern. “Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to talk to me about?”

  Celia shook her head and flashed a bright smile that looked completely artificial. “Don’t start your famous worrying, Rachel. I’m fine. Really.”

  “If you need to talk...”

  “I know where to come,” Celia said. “Good night, Rachel.”

  Rachel closed the door after her sister with a frown. Obviously something was bothering Celia, despite her denials. She just wished she knew what it was.

  This was all she’d needed today, she thought with a sigh. One more thing to worry about.

  She thought inconsequentially of Granny Fran, and her advice for Rachel to have more fun. “I’m waiting for that fun to start now, Granny,” she murmured. “Anytime would be nice.”

  There was no answer, of course. Rachel shook her head in self-directed derision and went to finish cleaning the bathrooms.

  * * *

  Seth called that night, after the children were in bed. “I guess you were wondering what happened to me,” he said with a note of apology in his voice.

  Rachel considered coolly assuring him that he hadn’t even crossed her mind. She didn’t—both because it would be rude, and because she knew he wouldn’t believe her. “Well, yes,” she admitted. “I guess you’ve been busy?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Oh.” He could at least have taken advantage of the excuse she’d offered him. She wondered what he wanted her to say next.

  “Why don’t we take the kids out for pizza Friday night?” Seth suggested. “We can go to that place that has all the games for the kids to play after they eat.”

  Rachel found herself chewing her lower lip again. That was one nervous habit she was going to have to stop, or she was going to end up lipless, she thought in exasperation.

  “Rachel? What’s wrong, don’t you like pizza?”

  “I like pizza.”

  “So, what? You don’t like me?” Though he still spoke lightly, she knew he wasn’t entirely joking.

  She couldn’t tell him what really worried her. That she wasn’t sure they should include the children in their plans during this early, tentative stage of dating. Paige and Aaron were already so attached to Seth—Aaron, in particular. Should she encourage them to spend more time with him? Could they continue to be friends even if nothing further developed betwe
en Seth and Rachel, or would Seth disappear from their lives altogether? Would the children be bitterly disappointed if that happened? She already knew she would be.

  “Rachel?” Seth said again, and this time he sounded very serious. “What’s wrong?”

  I’m scared, Seth. I want to know where you’ve been for the past three days, why you haven’t called me, but I don’t feel I have the right to ask. I don’t want you to hurt my children, and I don’t want you to hurt me. But mostly I’m afraid because I’ve missed you so very badly the past three days.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” she lied. “Pizza sounds fine. The children will look forward to it.”

  “Great,” he said, sounding relieved. “See you then, okay?”

  “Sure. See you then.”

  She carefully hung up the phone, then spent a few wasted moments lightly pounding her forehead with her fists and wondering just how long it would take for the men with the white coats and the straitjackets to show up at her doorstep. She was feeling very much out of control of her life these days.

  Chapter Ten

  It didn’t take Rachel long Friday evening to realize that something was different about Seth. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. He teased with the children, and with her, as easily as he had before. He smiled and laughed and talked during their pizza dinner, then enthusiastically helped the children win prize tickets in the game room. But something was different.

  Maybe it had something to do with the times she glanced his way and found him looking at her with an odd expression in his eyes. An expression that seemed to be made up of several emotions she couldn’t quite identify. She only knew that every time he looked at her that way, she temporarily forgot how to breathe.

  He didn’t linger long after he drove them home that evening. He kissed Paige’s cheek, ruffled Aaron’s hair, then sent the children off to change for bed before giving Rachel a kiss that weakened her knees. His voice was rather husky when he stepped back and said, “Good night, Rachel. I’ll call you tomorrow.”