Poor little oddball.
“Hmm?” Jenny looked toward her. “The knotholes?”
Ceejay shook her head.
“Oh, it’s the planks then.” Jenny leaned toward the tray. “More tea, Harlen?”
“Naw. I’ve got to be going.” The couch creaked as he rose to leave. “The deputies will be here shortly with her car.”
Jenny rose with him. “Thank you so much for coming by personally. Will we see you at the diner for lunch tomorrow?”
“Of course leaned over and kissed her t c. What’s Monday’s special?”
Her aunt accompanied him to the front door. “Meat loaf and mashed potatoes.”
“Any chance you’ll make one of your strawberry-rhubarb pies?”
“If we have any rhubarb left, I’ll make one just for you.”
The next best thing to counting was cleaning. She didn’t wait for her aunt to return to the living room. Ceejay slipped out the back door quiet as a shadow, heading for the grime on the windows of the carriage house.
Attached to the living quarters, the large bays that once housed the carriages and tack of her ancestors now held cobwebs, dust, and the accumulated junk from several generations of Lovejoys, stretching all the way back to the Civil War. Here was a project offering an almost endless escape. If she played it right, paced herself, she’d have to emerge only for her shifts at the diner. She wouldn’t have to face the curious stares, the pity, or the smugness any more than necessary.
Jenny stood in the doorway. “You’re not alone, honey.”
Ceejay nodded.
“You’re young, not even twenty yet. You’ll bounce back from this.”
“Just how does one bounce back from an unplanned pregnancy? Once this baby is born, is everything suddenly going to fall into place?” She rubbed harder at the windowpane. “How am I going to manage raising a child on my own? I have no education and no future.”
“You’ve got to make a plan.”
“I had a plan. I planned to go to nursing school, find a great job, move away, and maybe even get married and start a family of my own someday.” She swiped at the sweat on her forehead with the back of her wrist. “I wasn’t stupid like some girls. We used birth control.”
“What’s meant to be—”
“The condom tore.” She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and closed her eyes tight. “That’s not fate, Jenny. That’s an unfortunate accident resulting from an inferior product.”
“You can still start nursing school.”
“How?” She rolled her forehead against the glass. “The baby is due in the middle of the second semester, and I’m fresh out of options.”
“You’ll find a way. At any rate, you need to track Matt down.”
“I have no intention of tracking that rat-bastard down.” The thought of any contact with the source of all this pain turned her stomach. “He stole from me. How likely do you think it is that he’s going to pony up any kind of child support? Besides, as far as I know, he’s never held down a regular job. All he ever wanted was to get picked up as a driver by a big name on the NASCAR circuit, race cars, and drink beer with other motor heads.”
Jenny wrinkled her nose and waved her hand in front of her face. “Oh, Lord. The wind is shifting.”
The stench of hog farms to the west of Perfect permeated the carria aid="4OIQ0"><
CHAPTER TWO
FIVE YEARS LATER
IRONIC. HE’D SURVIVED A SUICIDE bombing in Iraq, but his stepbrother hadn’t survived the same Pennsylvania turnpike they’d been driving on for most of their lives. Noah shifted his balance as the remaining mourners trickled away from the Langford mausoleum. His prosthetic chafed, and exhaustion tugged at his already ragged edges. Leaning more weight on his cane, he tried to relieve some of the pressure.
His stepmother came to stand beside him. “The limo is waiting, and so is your father.” Allison’s eyes were red rimmed and swollen. “You know how impatient he is.”
“He can wait.” They stood side by side in the quiet, sharing their grief. Noah’s mind drifted back in time to when his father had brought Allison and her young son home to meet him for the first time. Despite the vast differences in their natures, they’d hit it off immediately. He’d always been the reflective and responsible older brother, while Matt had been wild, hot-tempered, and impetuous. Memories of the many times he’d extricated Matt from his own acts of stupidity ran through Noah’s mind. He chuffed out a breath of air and stifled a curse. He was going to miss his kid brother. No matter what, Matt always managed to make him laugh, and it had been far too long since he’d had anything to laugh about.
The damp March chill had him reaching to rub an aching leg that no longer existed. The healing skin grafts running up his left side itched like the devil. Panic and pain had become his constant companions.
Allison placed her hand on his coat sleeve. “I have a favor to ask.”
“What is it?” Noah swallowed the lump in his throat.
“I can’t bear to sort through Matt’s things, and—”
“Let’s get going.” Edward Langford strode up to them. “Our guests will be arriving for the funeral luncheon before we do. I sent Paige on ahead with the relatives.”
Noah glared at his father. “You were saying, Allison?”
She tugged him away from the mausoleum and turned them toward the waiting limo. “Would you mind clearing out Matt’s condo? Everything can go to charity, of course, but there might be personal things we want to keep.”
“Have some of the staff take care of it.” Ed came up beside her. “Noah doesn’t want to rummage through Matt’s things.”
“I’ll do it,” Noah said. “It should be taken care of by family.”
His father jangled the contents of his pockets, a sure sign he’d worked himself up for something. on the verandaNoah nearly“Have you given any thought to your future, son?”
“I’ve only been home from the VA hospital for two days, Dad. Right now is about all I can handle.” He’d been avoiding this conversation, and his dad knew it. No slipping away or pretending to be asleep now.
“Give it a week or so, and then come work for Langford Plumbing Supplies. It would do you good and help you pull your life back together.”
Noah tensed. For as long as he could remember, he’d been pressured into joining the family business, like all the Langford males since his great-grandfather had founded the company. Nothing about plumbing supplies appealed to Noah. He’d always wanted a career in the military. Even now the army would find a place for him in some office, or commanding a training unit, but he’d lost his heart for the job. Yep. That ship had sailed, and he no longer had any sense of direction. Almost thirty, no career, a wrecked body and a shattered mind. Now what? “I’m not interested in working for LPS.”
“A Langford has always stood at the helm. You’re next in line.”
“What about Paige? She’s the Langford getting the Harvard MBA. Why not let her take over?”
“Paige doesn’t know thing one about plumbing supplies, and it’s always been the men who’ve run the business.”
“Are you hearing this?” He glanced at his stepmother. “Your husband’s a sexist.”
Allison nodded and turned her gaze toward the Philadelphia skyline and the benevolent Billy Penn statue keeping watch over their city.
“Paige is brilliant, Dad. You’d be a fool not to put her to work for LPS.”
“Right. I’ll put your sister in charge. She’ll fall in love with some guy, get married, and have babies. Next thing you know she’ll want to stay home, give teas, and support a whole host of charities like every other high-society woman in this city. We need you, Noah.”
Allison slid into the limo after her husband. “Hush, Ed.”
“I’m only thinking what’s best for my son.”
“No, you’re not. You’re thinking what’s best for you and LPS.” She reached into her purse for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “I j
ust buried my son. Do you hear me? My son. Noah has just come home. I will not have you drive him away with your harping.”
Warmth spread through Noah. Allison had rescued him from a desolate childhood filled with nannies and boarding school hell. She’d been the only mother he’d ever known and one of the few people who could stand up to his father. Noah leaned his cane against the seat and tried to make himself comfortable. “One thing at a time, and first on the list is Matt’s condo. When I know what I want to do, I’ll let you both know.”
“Take your time.” Allison patted his arm. “Maybe now you’ll tap into the trust fund your grandfather set up for you. It’ll give you some breathing room while you figure everything out.”
“I still think—”
“Edward.” Allison quelled him with a look.
Noah turned his attention to the scenery passing by the limo’s tinted windows. As a Langford, he’d to my grandma?” LucindaanNoah been born into the family wealth, while Matt had not. Painfully aware of the disparity, Noah had refused to touch the money in his trust fund. The family fortune meant nothing to him, or maybe being born a Langford meant he had more to prove—to himself and to the rest of the world.
After three days of visiting with relatives in town for the funeral, Noah was relieved to have a job to do. He turned the key and opened Matt’s condo door, half expecting to see his stepbrother’s ghost. The stillness inside sent a chill down his spine. He dropped the keys on the chrome-and-glass dining room table and wandered into the living room.
No one would mistake the place for anything but a bachelor pad. A single black leather couch faced a large entertainment center holding racing trophies, an enormous LCD TV, and video game equipment. Matt’s coffee table bore the hardened, sticky outlines of take-out cartons from countless solitary meals, and racing magazines littered the floor.
A familiar, well-worn denim jacket slung over the back of the couch slammed Noah hard against the finality of Matt’s death. His hair-trigger hold on reality snapped, and the blast-furnace heat of an Iraqi desert engulfed him in sweltering waves. Sweat beaded his forehead and made the back of his neck itch. Every excruciating detail from the worst day of his life came back in a rush—even the pain. Especially the pain.
“Lieutenant, civilian vehicle approaching from the east. Check it out, sir.”
Noah dropped the map he’d been studying and snapped his attention to the battered old truck cruising their way. “We’re still ten kilometers from Mosul. Intel reports this road has been secured.” Mosul was a hotbed of insurgents, which was why his platoon’s mission was so critical.
“Yes, sir, but that truck’s heading straight for us like it means business. Could be carrying IEDs.”
Noah grabbed the field glasses off the floor and peered into the oncoming vehicle. “It’s a couple of kids, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old. Probably locals trying to catch a glimpse of the Iraqi officials we’re escorting.” He lowered the glasses and nodded toward the line of vehicles in front of them. “Radio ahead and have Staff Sergeant Reilly pick up the pace. If the civilians get too close, we’ll fire a few rounds into the ground to warn them off. You hear that, Gunny?” Noah called over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir,” he called down from the artillery hatch.
Private Jackson picked up the radio to call ahead, and they were soon clipping along at a faster rate. The civilian truck responded by adjusting its speed, going off road, and angling toward them. Frowning, Noah lifted the field glasses again. The driver and passenger were talking and laughing, not the fanatical look of men intent on martyrdom. Not likely jihad. Still, it wouldn’t be the first time insurgents had used children to do their dirty work. “A couple of curious kids is all,” he muttered to himself. “Gunny, fire a round into the dirt in front of them.”
“I got a bad feeling about this, Lieutenant,” Jackson shouted over the sound of the machine gun discharging above them.
What could he do? Order a couple of teenagers killed install a washer and dryer.k. His because they were in the same desert? Noah kept his eye on the vehicle.
The truck turned sharply and accelerated, setting a collision course straight for them. “Shit! Blow the suckers out of the sand! Shoot to kill, shoot to kill,” he shouted his order, knowing it was too late. The truck increased its speed, plowing into their midst.
Detonating explosives lit up the road like the Fourth of July. The world became a kaleidoscope as Noah’s vehicle flipped. Metal fragments and body parts flew through the air, littering the sand, while the screams of the dying echoed all around him. Noah was pinned under his Humvee. Burning pain seared the entire length of his left side up to his armpit. He tried to catch a breath through the grit and the smoke and searched the perimeter for his driver. He found him—parts of him, anyway, and then everything went black.
Trembling, Noah gasped for air. He leaned against the wall for support and waited for the panic to recede. Guilt tunneled through him like a ravenous worm, leaving his psyche full of holes. Five men died because of his hesitation. In his nightmares, the dead paraded in front of him, their hollow eyes a condemnation of his survival.
The worst part was, he couldn’t predict what would set him off. Sometimes it made no sense at all. The tiniest incident with no discernible connection to Iraq would plunge him back into the middle of hell. He was trapped in some kind of time warp for the damned. Even after six months in the VA hospital with all that therapy, there were still days when the dead were more real than the living.
Wiping the sweat from his clammy forehead, Noah looked around at the artifacts of his stepbrother’s short life. How like Matt to die at a time when he needed him the most. No matter how irrational the anger, his stepbrother’s death left teeth marks in his soul. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself off the wall. He had a job to do, and the sooner he got started the better.
Cleaning and packing could wait. He’d take care of the financial stuff first and look for a will. “One thing at a time. One thing at a time.” Chanting his mantra, Noah headed down the hall toward the second bedroom, where Matt kept his computer. He glanced into the bathroom. Clothing overflowed from the hamper, as usual. Towels, dirty socks, and jeans lay in a heap on the floor.
Matt had always been full of glory dreams. He’d been determined to burn up the racetrack and make millions in endorsements. Gorgeous women were going to throw themselves at his feet. He’d be written up in racing magazines all over the world. Noah’s dreams had been much simpler, or so he’d thought. See the world, fight terrorism and tyranny, take a stand on the side of freedom and justice.
None of their dreams had turned out the way they’d planned.
He entered the second bedroom and turned on the iPod dock sitting on the shelf above the desk. He thumbed through Matt’s music and selected U2, cranking up the volume until he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. Taking a seat at the desk, he opened one drawer after another in search of the cheap address book where Matt listed his account information alphabetically. The passwords were right there for anybody to steal. How many times had he told his stepbrother his system sucked? Everything a thief needed in one place, so like Matt.
A bulky Tyvek envelope lay on top of the pile of folders and loose papers in the bottom drawer. Noah started to lift it out of the way when he noticed it was addressed. Curious, he pulled the envelo in exchange for s . His pe out and read: Ceejay Lovejoy, RR1 Box 65, Perfect, Indiana. Giving the bundle a squeeze, he wondered about the bulk. Who was Ceejay Lovejoy? Noah upended the unsealed envelope. Stunned, he watched several stacks of hundred-dollar bills hit the desk.
“What the hell?” He thumbed through the bundles, counting. Almost ten thousand goddamned dollars! He reached inside and pulled out a handwritten letter. Matt’s familiar scrawl riveted his attention. Glancing at the date, his eyebrows rose. It had been written three years ago. Written and never sent.
Ceejay,
It’s been two years since I left, and not a single day goes b
y that I don’t regret stealing from you the way I did. I’m sorry I took your money and your car. When I found out you were pregnant, I panicked. I know that’s no excuse, but you knew I never had any interest in getting married or having kids. If I’d stayed, I would’ve put pressure on you to end the pregnancy, and you would’ve put pressure on me to settle down. We would’ve ended up hating each other.
It’s going to take me a while to scrape it together, but once you receive this letter, you will find a cashier’s check for two times the $5,000 I took from you and a life insurance policy naming you as the sole beneficiary. It’s the best I can do. I hope you can forgive me. I’m sorry, Ceejay. I never meant to hurt you the way I did, but it never would’ve worked out between us. This way, I saved us both years of misery.
Matt
It took reading the letter through three times before Noah could absorb it all. “What the hell, Matt?”
Noah leaned back in the chair, rubbed his face with both hands, and tried to pull his thoughts together. He’d always known Matt was irresponsible and more than a little self-centered, but never in his wildest imagination had he believed his stepbrother capable of such coldhearted, selfish cowardice.
He stared at the pile of cash covering the laptop keyboard. Why keep the cash here, and not in a bank? Stupid question. Matt liked to stay under the radar, and he’d probably been doing something slightly illegal to earn the money in the first place. Like side bets on the races maybe, or some other under-the-table dealings he really didn’t want to know about.
Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he hit speed dial and waited for his father to pick up. “Dad, do you have a minute?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Have you ever heard of Ceejay Lovejoy?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“We need to talk.” Noah ran a hand over his buzz cut. “Is that coffee shop down the street from your office still there?”
“What’s this about, Noah?”
“Matthew left a letter and ten thousand dollars to a woman in Indiana.” Or close to it. He’d throw in the last remaining bills himself. It was the least he could do. “She was pregnant with his baby five years ago. You and Allison might be grandparents.” The other end of the line went quiet for several long seconds.
Far from Perfect (Perfect, Indiana: Book One) Page 2
