The kid raised both eyebrows and widened innocent green eyes. “This what?”
He waved both hands in a gesture that encompassed the entirety of her. “This…THIS! The way you’re dressed.”
She seemed genuinely puzzled. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Where do I begin?”
The kid glanced down at herself and shrugged. “I’m going to the beach with Luke and Mikey. This is how I always dress for the beach.”
He plunked his coffee cup on the counter so hard that hot liquid sloshed over the rim. At the sudden movement, Igor leaped to the floor and slunk off toward the living room. Grimly, he said, “Not any more, it’s not.”
“What are you talking about? It’s just a bikini. Mom always let me wear it. Everybody—and I mean freaking everybody—dresses this way!”
“Yeah? Well, your mom isn’t in charge any more. I am, and you are not leaving this house looking like a two-dollar hooker. I’ve known drag queens who wore less make-up.”
Her eyebrows went higher. He’d snagged her interest. “You know drag queens?”
“That’s not the point! You are not going anywhere dressed like that. Sure as hell not anywhere with two sixteen-year-old boys! I may be an old fogey now, but I was once a sixteen-year-old boy, and I’m not so old I’ve forgotten what it was like.”
“You’re kidding, right? They’re my cousins!”
“At sixteen, hormones trump blood every time. And only one of them is your cousin. Mikey’s only a pretend relative.”
“Oh, my God. I can’t believe you! Are you trying to ruin my life?”
“You’re fifteen years old. You’re not supposed to have a life.”
His daughter squared her jaw. “You are seriously behind the times, and I am not dressing like something out of a Dickens novel just to please you!”
“Hold that thought.” He marched to the wall phone, picked it up, and dialed his sister’s number. When Jesse answered, he said, “Just the person I wanted. I need an expert opinion.”
“Go for it,” his brother-in-law said.
“Fifteen years old. Make-up six inches thick. A bikini that leaves nothing to the imagination, and a belligerent attitude. Thinks she’s wearing this attire to go to the beach with Luke and Mikey. As I just reminded her, I was a sixteen-year-old boy once. I need your take as someone who spends a lot of time with teenagers. Is this appropriate attire? Does everybody—and I mean freaking everybody—dress this way?”
“Those are two very different questions. Yes, it’s pretty much what they all wear these days. The bikinis get smaller and smaller every year. And no, it’s not what I’d consider appropriate attire under the circumstances. I was a sixteen-year-old boy once, too. Not all that long ago, if you count it in dog years.”
“So I’m not overreacting?”
“Trust me. If there’s one thing I know, it’s teenagers. Locking her in a chastity belt and a suit of armor wouldn’t be overreacting.”
“And you won’t be offended if I read your son the riot act before I allow my daughter to get into the car with him? And threaten to kick his ass from here to Chicago if he so much as lays a finger on her?”
“In your shoes? It’s what I’d do.”
“Thank you.” He hung up the phone, turned back to Paige. “The jury’s in. Go back into your room and change into something presentable. Shorts and a tee shirt will work just fine. Decent shorts. The bikini can stay here. While you’re at it, you can scrub that crap off your face until you look a little less like Mae West.”
“I don’t even know who Mae West is, and I hate you. I really, truly hate you.”
“My heart bleeds.”
“If Casey was here, she’d tell you how ridiculous you’re being!”
“Casey’s not here right now, and I’m the king of this particular castle. Of course, if you really value her opinion that much, we can always wait for her to get home. You’ll probably miss your ride, but, hey, that’s your funeral, not mine.”
She squared her jaw. Her shoulders. Glared at him. He glared back. For a full ten seconds, they stared each other down. And then she turned, stalked across the kitchen, and slammed into her room.
He reached for his cup of coffee, abandoned on the counter, and realized his hands were shaking like a wet dog after a rainstorm. He picked up the cup, tossed its contents into the sink, and left it sitting there. Crossed the room, opened the fridge, and took out a beer instead. Popping the cap, he brought the bottle to his mouth, upended it, and took a long, slow swallow.
And said to nobody in particular, “That went well.”
Casey
Her meeting had run late, so she’d swung by the bowling alley and picked up a pizza for lunch. Clutching the box to her chest while spicy and delicious aromas wafted directly up her nose, she kicked off her shoes in the shed and let herself into the house. The kitchen was silent, peaceful, the lack of rap so blessed, she nearly fell to her knees in gratitude.
Somewhere in the distance, Junior Walker softly asked the musical question, What does it take (to win your love)? Casey set down the pizza and followed the music to the living room. Rob was slumped on his tailbone on the couch, those endless legs extended, bare feet resting on the coffee table, Igor purring softly in his lap. He held a half-empty bottle of Heineken tilted against his thigh, and with his head leaned back against the cushions and his eyes closed, he wore a look of such supreme bliss, she was reluctant to interrupt.
She moved silently to the couch, knelt on the cushion beside him, and settled there, curled up with knees folded and her feet tucked neatly beneath her. He opened his eyes, looked at her, and struggled to focus. “It’s that sax,” he said. “It gets me every time.” He thumped his chest. “Right here.”
She took the Heineken from his hand, raised it to her mouth, and took a sip. “I brought pizza.”
“I know. I can smell it.”
She helped herself to another sip of beer. “Tomatoes, mozzarella, pepperoni, green peppers and onions—”
“I might’ve done something that maybe I shouldn’t have.”
She glanced at Igor and said, “Do I even dare to ask?”
The cat didn’t answer, just stared back at her, his huge, blue Siamese eyes wide with mistrust.
“I was right. Damn it, I was absolutely, one hundred percent right! It’s just that…maybe I could’ve been a little gentler about it.”
“Oh, Flash. What did you do?”
“If only you’d seen the way she was dressed. You remember that bikini you wore in Nassau?” His eyes sought hers. “The one that, um…snagged my interest?”
“The one you picked out? It would be hard to forget.”
“This looked just like it. Except it was on my daughter. My friggin’ daughter! All that skin. All that damn bare skin. She’s only fifteen! And she’d slapped on make-up so thick she could’ve grouted tiles with it.”
“And you freaked.”
“What was I supposed to do? She was headed to the beach with two sixteen-year-old boys. There’s no way I could let her out of the house half-naked like that. I have to protect her against her own stupidity. It’s my job. Except…I maybe went a little overboard.” He paused, sighed. “I wasn’t very nice to her.”
“How not very?”
“I told her she wasn’t leaving the house looking like a two-dollar hooker.”
“I bet that went over well.”
“And I made her change into shorts and a tee shirt. She wasn’t impressed. She invoked your name. Told me that if you were home, you’d let me know what a flaming ass I was being. She didn’t use those exact words, but that was the gist of it.”
She ran a fingertip around the lip of the beer bottle. “What am I going to do with you, MacKenzie?”
“This is tougher than I thought it would be. This whole parenting thing. I didn’t expect it to be easy, but this is ridiculous.”
She nudged an annoyed Igor away, eased her
self over and took his place on her husband’s lap. Handed him the beer bottle and, combing her fingers through his hair, said philosophically, “We’ll survive this. If we survived disco, we can make it through anything.”
He let out a soft snort of laughter. Fiddled a little with the collar of her shirt. “I guess we are bulletproof, aren’t we?”
“Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. That disco—” She took a sip of beer. “That was some nasty stuff.”
“Like a persistent rash of unknown origin.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “And then, there was New Wave.”
“We survived that, too. A Flock of Seagulls. I mean, what was that hair all about? And don’t forget rap.”
“I’m trying to forget rap, but I keep being reminded about it. Up close and personal.”
She slipped a hand beneath his collar and rubbed the back of his neck. He sighed and said, “We’re dinosaurs, aren’t we?”
“Yes, but take comfort in knowing you’re my favorite dinosaur. Don’t let this get to you. It’s bad for your health. Sitting here brooding, while your daughter’s probably frolicking on the beach and doesn’t even remember the two of you had words.” With her free hand, she began kneading his shoulder. “Look at you. Your muscles are all tied up in knots. What you need is a good massage.”
He made a slight adjustment to her fit on his lap, left a hand resting lightly on her thigh. “That’s not the only thing I need.”
“You have sex on your mind again, MacKenzie?”
“When do I ever not have sex on my mind?”
“Point taken. You know, I had no idea when I married you that you’d turn out to be such a hot-blooded stud.”
This time, he let out a full belly laugh. “I have to keep you around, if only for the entertainment value. And don’t be coy with me. You knew what you were getting yourself into. You shacked up with me for three months before we said our vows. That should’ve been sufficient time for you to get the picture.”
“I suppose that is a valid point. Although you make it sound really tacky.”
“Damn right, it’s valid. And, tacky or not, you like it as much as I do. So…” He ran a fingertip down her bare arm. “The kid won’t be back for hours. Are you listening, Fiore? HOURS. We’re all alone. While the cat’s away, I think the mice should do a little howling.”
“That’s one whopper of a mixed metaphor, MacKenzie.”
“I have a whopper I’d be glad to share with—”
“This conversation,” she said archly, “is rapidly deteriorating into twelve-year-old-boy territory.”
“Sorry. I forgot you’re still in lady mode until you take your clothes off. Let me rephrase that. Come upstairs with me to the Love Shack, and I’ll show you a good time. A very, very good time.”
“Why, in the name of all that’s holy, have you built your life around snippets of song lyrics?”
“I have no idea. Maybe to annoy you?”
“Then you’ve certainly accomplished your mission. What about the pizza? It’s already getting cold.”
He leaned forward and kissed the corner of her mouth. “That, my sweet, is why God invented microwaves.”
“Well,” she said. “We can’t argue with that logic, can we? Give me five minutes to take the dog out, and I’ll meet you upstairs.”
Paige
While Luke sat under a neighboring beach umbrella, doing his best to impress some little blond chickie in a yellow string bikini, Paige and Mikey left their stuff on the blanket and walked the hard-packed sand at the water’s edge. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Sorry that he put you through the Spanish Inquisition. He’s a total jerk.”
Hands tucked in the pockets of his tropical-print shorts, Mikey walked with a loose, measured stride. “Don’t be so hard on him. He’s just doing his job as a dad.”
“I’ve managed to survive for fifteen years without one of those, and I don’t need one now, poking his nose into my business, where it doesn’t belong.”
“Maybe, but you know he’d argue that that’s exactly where it does belong. In your business. And if you think that’s bad, try having a dad who teaches at the high school. And watches your every move.”
The breeze blew a strand of hair into her face, and she brushed it away. A few yards ahead of them, a gull strutted into the surf, wings spread wide, skinny little legs braced against the rushing water. “Yeah, I guess you win that one. It’s just…we had a wicked fight before you got there. He didn’t approve of the way I was dressed. He made me go back to my room and change.”
“Don’t worry about it. You look great. Some of these girls here—” He raised his head and glanced around. “—look like they’re advertising it for free. Like the kind of girl you don’t bother to call the next day.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “I don’t think they’re advertising. It’s just fashion. It’s what girls wear.”
“Well, it looks trashy to me. I mean—sure, I’m a guy. I’m not blind. But just because they look good on the outside doesn’t mean there’s anything good on the inside.”
“Wow. An independent thinker. I suspect most guys don’t see it that way. For instance, Luke. He doesn’t seem to be having any problem with it.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “In case you hadn’t noticed,” he said, “Luke and I are not cut from the same cloth.”
“No kidding.”
“But we’re friends. Don’t ask me how that happened, because we don’t have a thing in common. Not one thing. But I like the guy. He’s solid. Somebody I’d want on my side in a fight.”
“I guess you’re lucky, then, since you’re stuck with each other. I had a friend in Boston who absolutely hated her stepbrother. The guy was a total douche. But she was stuck with him anyway.” Paige folded her arms across her chest. “So your dad teaches high school?”
“Yep. English. Pretty much every kid who’s gone through Jackson High in the last ten years has had the privilege of taking English with Mr. Lindstrom.”
“Did you have to take it with him?”
“I did. We pretended like we didn’t know each other, even though everybody knew we did. It was brutally painful.”
“But you get along, right? Out of school?”
“Sure. My dad’s an okay guy. Tough, but fair. I think yours probably is, too. If you give him a chance.”
“Why does everybody keep flogging that same horse?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should start paying attention to what they’re saying, before the damn thing dies.”
Another breeze caught her hair, and she was glad she’d worn the hooded sweatshirt. Here at the Maine coast, it was chilly for late August. Most of the girls in their tiny bikinis had goose bumps in places she didn’t want to think about. “So,” she said, “college in another year?”
“If Dad has anything to say about it, yes. He thinks I don’t stand much of a chance of success in today’s world without a college education.”
“You don’t agree with that?”
“I’m still undecided. He’d like to see me go to Farmington. That’s where he went, and it’s a good school. I wouldn’t have to live on campus if I didn’t want to. I could commute. That’s what he did.”
“You could still live at home. That would be good.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He kicked at a stone, slick and smooth, packed hard into the wet sand. “I kind of like the idea of being on my own. It’s not bad, living here with my family. But sometimes I get the urge to pack everything I own in a suitcase, hop in my truck, and head for the West Coast. See some of the country along the way. Figure out what I want to do with my life. That’s hard to do in a little backwater town like Jackson Falls. How am I supposed to know what I want to do, where I want to be, if I’ve never done anything or been anywhere?”
“You don’t strike me as a wanderer. I’d imagine you as more of a homebody.”
He leaned down to pick up a long strand of seaweed. “Things,” he said, “
aren’t always what they seem.”
“No,” she said. “They aren’t.”
“So, Luke tells me you’re a singer.”
“Not really. It’s just something I fool around with.”
“Not what Luke says. He says you’re good. Are you planning to do something with it?”
She hunched her shoulders and tucked her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to live that kind of life. Putting yourself out there, knowing you’ll face rejection, that you might never make it, no matter how much effort, no matter how much heart and soul, you put into it. But—” She shrugged. “Music is what makes me feel good. You know? Sometimes I think I could really do something with this. And then I think of my old man, and it’s like having a bucket of cold water dumped over my head.”
“Why? He’s had a really successful career. He could probably help you. Give you a leg up on the competition.”
“That’s the thing,” she said. “I don’t want his help. I want to prove I can make it on my own. Because if he helped me, and I was successful, I’d spend the rest of my life wondering if that success was because I was good, or because my old man was an aging rock star who called in a few favors.”
“You might not want to let him hear you talking about him that way.”
They exchanged glances, and then she let out a snort of laughter. He smiled, and his whole face changed. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go see if we can drag Luke away from Lolita and find some onion rings or something.”
Casey
He’d closed the bedroom blinds so that only soft light filtered through. At one open window, a whirring fan exchanged stale air for fresh. In the dim light, he was fiddling with the stereo. She stood there for a moment, drinking him in, head to foot. Something tightened in her throat. What was it about those damn bare feet of his that got to her every time?
He turned, studied her face. And smiled. “Dance with me,” he said.
She crossed the room and stepped into his arms. He felt warm and solid, lean and lanky and wonderful. She lay her head against his chest and said, “Flash? There’s no music playing.”
Days Like This Page 11
