Blame it on Cupid

by Jennifer Greene

  “Which brings me to my last question,” Merry said slowly. “The real mom figure. Charlene’s mother. I keep worrying about her—if she’s still alive, where she is, if she could show up in Charlene’s life. What I should do if she did show up.”

  Lee didn’t hesitate. “That would be a legal issue, Merry. Basically out of your hands. I don’t think you need to borrow trouble. She hasn’t been part of Charlene’s life in all these years. But if she shows up, just call me. It’ll be my problem after that.”

  “I believe the mother knew Charlie’s family in Minnesota, so she could have heard that Charlie died, that her daughter’s alone. That’s why I keep thinking about it.”

  “Well, you can think about it until the cows come home, honey. Charlie used to worry that she’d show up, too. But basically there’s nothing anyone can do unless the woman actually appears and then tries to make some kind of claim on Charlene. Let’s not worry about a cow that hasn’t even left the barn, okay?”

  Maybe the attorney thought all his folksy cow metaphors were reassuring, but on the drive home, Merry was antsier than ever. At least she’d gotten those issues off her chest, but the meeting hadn’t solved anything.

  The deeper she got into this guardian business, the more she realized that Lee couldn’t give her answers. Neither could any outsider. The only answers that seemed to matter had to come from inside her.

  How unfair was that?

  Quickly, though, she pushed that annoying thought aside. Charlene was going to be home from school shortly…and then they had a sleepover to prepare for.

  If there was one thing Merry was outstanding at, it was parties.

  Charlie was going to have a fabulous night tonight with her friends, or Merry was going to die trying.

  A hum started in the back of her throat and built to a full-fledged zesty mood. It didn’t even bother her when Charlene walked in the door from school, as excited as a sleepy turtle. Charlene was never going to be the kind of kid to dance on the table with joy.

  Merry was. In fact, she figured she could do enough boogie-woogie-ing for the two of them.

  “Merry, you don’t have to do all this. You don’t have to fuss at all,” Charlie kept saying. “It’s just some kids coming over.”

  “We’re not fussing. We’re just getting stuff ready.” Like pushing all the living room furniture against the walls so there’d be room for a half-dozen sleeping bags. Like baking three batches of brownies, four platters of chocolate chip cookies, and a half dozen flavors of chip dip. Like piling up a dozen DVDs to choose from. Like heaping pillows around, and games, and decks of cards.

  “What are you wearing?” Merry asked Charlie, who looked down at her khakis with surprise.

  “What I’ve got on. Why not?”

  “That’s fine, that’s fine,” Merry assured. “I just thought maybe you’d like something more comfortable….”

  “I’m comfortable.”

  “Okay. No prob.” Maybe Merry had sneakily hoped that having a bunch of girls over might coax Charlene to try some different clothes, but one step at a time. Obviously her friends didn’t care how she looked, right? Because eight had all accepted invitations to the sleepover.

  Merry was just heaping pretzels and chips on a plate with fresh dip when the back door rang.

  “I’m in the bathroom,” Charlie called out.

  “That’s okay, I’ll get it,” Merry called back, and jogged to the door, higher than Charlie was at the idea of company, voices, laughter—a houseful of fun—this evening. But then she opened the door. And said curiously, “Hi. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Robin. I’m here for the sleepover. And you’re Charlie’s Merry, right?”

  For a moment Merry lost her voice, but then she bobbed her head like a wind-up toy. “Of course. Come in, come in. Robin.”

  He did. And that was just the thing. She’d mentally pictured Robin as a chirpy little preteen, apple-cheeked, kind of plump. Not as a tall skinny reed with gangly arms and a face full of zits. A tall skinny male reed. The word male being the operative shock.

  “Hey, Charlie?” he yelled out as he traipsed through the kitchen, wearing boots that looked about a size fifteen.

  A boy, Merry repeated to herself. Not that sleepovers with boys were that odd. It’s just…Charlene was eleven. The best-friends era. The best-girlfriends era. Or that’s how she remembered it.

  She sank against the counter to get a grip—until the doorbell rang a second time. Two fresh-cheeked kids were piling out of a BMW in the driveway—one was a redhead with more freckles than skin. “Sandra,” she identified herself. “And you’re the cool Merry, right?”

  “I’m Merry, for sure—come on in, honey—and you’re—” Oh, God, oh God.

  “Bo.” Bo pumped her hand, as if he’d been taught manners. She couldn’t see the top of his head because he was that much taller than she was. He had young eyes. He was just so football-player-big. And he knocked three things down just trying to walk through the kitchen.

  So there’d be two boys, she mentally told herself cheerfully.

  Only then came Quinn. And Quinn wasn’t a girl, either.

  And then came Tanguy, and Merry had expected someone of another culture, but damnation, she’d expected a girl from another culture. Not a four-foot miniature boy with his hair iced with mousse and a diamond in his eyebrow. Not that she had anything against tattoos or piercings. She didn’t. But her opinion of body holes had changed since becoming a mom last month.

  The last guest showed up five minutes later and took up the entire doorway. The name was Cyr.

  Another boy. This one was wearing fatigues like Charlie’s. He was blond, blue eyed, and carrying a suitcase big enough to survive in Europe for six months.

  The next big question in her life, Merry thought, was whether to have a heart attack immediately or wait a half hour. Maybe it’d be easier to just get it over with….

  JACK ALMOST NEVER GOT the kids on a Friday night. Kicker invariably had a date and Cooper got something going with this guy friends. This time, though, Dianne had something she needed to do, so he’d picked up the boys. Coop just had a three-cavity trip to the dentist, so the only one whining too loud about the Friday confinement with Dad was Kicker.

  He’d brought home soup for Coop, and Po’Boys for him and Kicker, rented some classic guy flicks. The three of them were settled in the dark living room, chilling with some good blood and guts when the phone rang.

  Kicker—it was a knee-jerk reaction for him to gallop at the sound of a phone, any phone—bounded over the back of the couch to reach it.

  “Considering it’s the house land line, I’d think the call would be for me,” Jack said dryly. “Not like it’s your cell.”

  “I know, I know,” Kicker said, but he still smashed it to his ear as if hoping the latest female sex symbol in his class had located him here. Which, as far as Jack could tell, it might very well be. Girls seemed to find Kicker everywhere. They all sounded giggly and breathless.

  Jack zoned back on the movie, kicking off his shoes. It had been a long work week. Good one, but he was more than ready for a weekend. Still…another minute passed and Kicker was still on the phone. Kicker could talk for hours that way, but something cocked Jack’s parenting trigger, even though all he caught were bits and pieces of Kicker’s side of the conversation. At least initially.

  “Hey, it’s okay. I could come right over, if you want. In fact, Cooper and I could both come over….”

  Jack pushed up to a sitting position.

  “…or my dad. We could make Dad come over….”

  Jack stood up, quick as a spring.

  “Naw, I don’t blame you for having an edge on. So maybe it’s cool, you know. But I totally get it, why you’re freaked. You know what? Coop and I could just come over and—”

  Jack shook his head at his son. Kicker motioned to the phone. Jack motioned to the phone, too. The sign language was exuberantly physical but didn’t seem to
communicate a damn thing to each other.

  “Naw,” Kicker said, “I’m telling you, my dad wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, he’ll probably be the one to come over. That’s what friends are for, you know? Calling when shit goes on. I mean, when stuff goes on. I didn’t mean to say shit. I mean…”

  Jack made a firm motion, clearly indicating—in sign or verbal language—to fork over the telephone. Now.

  “Okay, Merry, one of us’ll be over. Just detox until then, okay? Yeah, stay cool.” Finally Kicker hung up.

  “What?” Jack demanded. The single word communicated enough. He didn’t need a full sentence.

  “It’s Merry—”

  “I realized that when you used her name,” Jack said wryly.

  “You know, for a woman her age, she is so cute.”

  “Skip the detail. Get to the grit, Kicker. Now.”

  “She thinks she’s got a big problem. I don’t think she does, but anyway. The deal is, the squirt’s having a sleepover. No sweat, right? Only it turns out there’s a houseful of boys.”

  “Boys?”

  “Yeah. She thought they’d be all girls. And instead Charlene asked a bunch of guys in her class. One girl, I guess. But the rest guys. And maybe they’re just eleven and twelve, but they’re all set up to sleep on the living room floor together. She said she called a few parents. They already knew, didn’t seem to care at all.”

  “But…”

  “Merry probably wouldn’t have, either. She said. If it was up to her. But it’s not that simple anymore now, because she suddenly turned into a mom. So now she thinks she’s supposed to protect the squirt. I loved it, her asking my opinion. She actually listens, you know, Dad? God, she’s so cute.”

  “Would you skip the cute, Kicker! Fill in the rest of the blank—”

  “She’s upset. So I said I’d come sleep over. Me and Coop. Like no biggie, right? Nothing to walk next door. She has a tube, or we could take the belly telly. I think she’s tight about nothing, but who cares? Easy enough to go help her.”

  “Let’s see,” Jack said. “You think it’d logically help her to have two more boys sleep over there?”

  “Well, I did think there might be a little ironic problem there,” Kicker said ingeniously. “That’s why I brought up your name. I knew you’d be willing to go over, be another parent helping her. It was never like it had to be Coop and me.”

  Jack scowled at his son, feeling pressured and antsy. “It’s not a good time for me to go anywhere. Cooper feels rotten—”

  “That’s not a headliner. But he’s just gonna lay there and watch vids. And you don’t mind going over—”

  “What makes you think you know that?” Jack asked.

  “Dad. You just pulled on your jacket.”

  Damn kid. See a pretty face and that’s it, out went the common sense, offering to do anything and everything without a second thought. And because Kicker had been hot to play White Knight, Jack was stuck tromping across the cold yard.

  He thumped on her back door, but no one answered for obvious reasons. Music was playing so loud inside that there was an imminent threat of shattering glass.

  He thumped again, then turned the knob and poked his head in. “Merry?”

  She didn’t need him. He knew what she’d volunteered for. Sleepovers were torture for parents, but primarily because they involved noise all night and a god-awful mess. In that age-eleven bracket, though, at least in their neighborhood, there was little worry about drinking or drugs or big-ticket trouble threats. He got it, though. Her fret was the boys and girls sleeping in the same room.

  “Merry?” He stomped through the kitchen—although “waded” was probably the more accurate term. Overhead lights blazed on the carnage. Cans and paper plates overflowed from two bags of trash. Spilled pop made several puddles on the floor and counters. Open plates of brownies looked as if mad dogs had made a run on them.

  “Mer—?” He sampled one as he tromped through, and then almost had to stop dead. Man. Maybe there were better foods than brownies, but offhand he couldn’t think of any. And hers were nectar for the gods. “Melt in your mouth” didn’t begin to cut it.

  He whipped back to the counter just to sneak one more, and then, of course, couldn’t talk straight. “Mryth?”

  The body who barreled into him almost ousted his mouthful of brownie—which would have been a criminal loss. On the other hand—hell times three—she was beyond criminally appealing.

  “Oh, Jack,” Merry said fervently, “I’m so, so, so glad you’re here.”

  Cripes, back when, even his dog hadn’t been that glad to see him. No one had been. Besides which, she snared his damn heart, just looking at her—the wide eyes, all distraught. She was wearing a big old sweatshirt, so loose in the neck that the slim slope of one gorgeous shoulder peeked through. Her hair was all glossy and loose and tumbled all over the place. She belonged in bed. Right now. His bed. With him.

  But then he remembered—he wasn’t here for that. “Okay, just tell me what the deal is.”

  “All the boys—I called their parents. One after the other. I just couldn’t believe they wouldn’t care their kids were sleeping over at a girl’s house—”

  “But they were okay with it.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re not.”

  “Damn straight I’m not!”

  “Then just send ’em home, Mer.”

  She peeled off his jacket, which could have been an aggressive seduction invitation—God knew, it made Wilbur rise at the speed of sound—but he suspected it was just that she was trying to keep him from leaving. “You don’t understand. I can’t let Charlene down. And the boys coming are really my fault.”

  “Your fault how?”

  “My fault because I should have asked her. But since I didn’t, and since I okayed this, now I can’t embarrass her in front of her friends. For Pete’s sake, Jack, it’s the first fun thing she’s wanted to do since her dad died. She’s as serious as a saint most of the time.”

  “So they’re likely good kids if they’re her friends, because she’s as straight as an arrow to start with…so maybe they’re a little young to worry they’re into orgies quite yet?”

  “I played strip poker when I was eleven.”

  So much for thinking about Charlene and her friends. “You did?”

  “And the same year raided Mrs. Simpson’s liquor cabinet. Got drunk in Bobby Smith’s tree house. Damned near killed ourselves, falling out. We did that at ten.”

  “You did?”

  “And my girlfriends all got into this thing, worrying they were gay, how’d anybody know? So we had a sleepover, asked over Joey Meyers, who was two years older than us and the heartthrob of the eighth grade. We asked him to kiss us all so he could get a reaction.”

  “God. Where were you when I was eleven? All I remember is camping in the woods with my parents.”

  “What I did isn’t the point, Jack. The point is that I thought I’d be great for her, great with her. Because I wouldn’t be judgmental, it’d be easy for me to be understanding because I’m not that far from her age. I know kids do things. I know they survive them. I know they’re stupid sometimes. So I could naturally be someone she could really talk to—”

  He opened his mouth to sneak a word in, but should have known Merry hadn’t worn down yet.

  “Only now, I suddenly turned into a parent. Before this, I had no idea that being a parent could be this terrorizing. Especially because she’s a girl. You know it’s worse for a girl. Boys can’t get pregnant.”

  Jack peered around the corner, just trying to see where the bodies were stacked. As it happened, none of them appeared within listening range, even if they could hear over the movie and music. “Not that I’ve paid any attention, but I’m pretty sure she’s a long way from being able to get pregnant, either. I mean, aren’t you talking flat as a board—?”

  “She’s getting bumps! And besides, it’s not that far down the pike when she could! A
nd the one boy—the big one, the older one—he took off his shirt, said he was hot. What am I supposed to do? Walk out of the room? Leave them all alone in there?” She shook her head wildly. “I don’t think so.”

  “Okay, okay. But maybe we could ratchet the terror level down a couple of degrees, you think?”

  “It is racheted down. Because you’re here. In fact, just being able to talk to another parent, an adult…you…”

  A couple bodies suddenly stumbled through the doorway—Charlene and a crony. Both of them had empty bowls and were clearly looking for a refill. Charlene beamed a smile when she saw him. “Hey, Mr. Mackinnon. How’s it going?”

  “Not bad. I hear a movie in there—”

  “Yeah.” She named an action flick. “The first version. The good one.”

  God knew what made him say it, but he offered, “A classic already.”

  “Yeah, I think so, too. Although if they keep doing sequels, maybe they can come up to that level.”

  The idiot in his head came out with more malarkey. “Mind if I watch for a minute?”

  “’Course not.”

  The kids disappeared. Merry looked at him.

  “So we’ll just go see the lay of the land, all right? Get an impression from some inside reconnaissance.”

  She looked at him as if he were brilliant. Which, of course, he actually was—but his IQ wasn’t usually what women found appealing about him—and that was wildly assuming they found him appealing to begin with.

  As far as inside reconnaissance, though, he couldn’t help but notice the changes she’d made in the house. Candles. A bunch of fresh flowers. And there were piles of fluffy rugs—the kind guys hated; all you ever did was trip on the darn things—but they were in rich reds and blues and greens.

  But more than that, the change in artwork startled him. Maybe Jack had always thought Charlie’s taste in art was a little gruesome, but that was generally a what-the-hey. Charlie was into art for investments. Besides, one man’s art was always another man’s trash.

  The huge, wild canvases of crazy colors all over the place were definitely trash. But they were…fun. Sensuous. Interesting. Different from anything he’d seen before.