Just a Little Surprise | Tracie Puckett
Just a Little Series | Part 6
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Tracie Puckett. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the author: [email protected]
ISBN
Manufactured in the United States
First Edition April 2013
© 2012. All rights reserved.
Cover Photo © Dmitri Gromov | Dreamstime.com
Photoshop services for this installment cover art was provided by Rina (rinarinard) at fiverr.com
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Monopoly.
Chapter One
Tuesday, March 05
“Dad’s throwing you a surprise party,” Matt said, clipping the stem of a red rose. He dropped the flower in a crystal vase before plucking another from a pile.
“I hate surprises.” I leaned my arms against the shop counter, dropped my head, and groaned. “Didn’t you tell him—”
“I did—”
“And he didn’t listen?”
“Nope,” he said, adding another rose to the arrangement. After a few minutes of silently organizing the flowers in an attractive order, he carried the vase to the glass cooler and turned back. “Cut him some slack, Julie; he just wants to do something special for your birthday.”
Oh, yes. I knew that for sure. I’d caught on to his plan earlier in the week and asked Matt to reiterate my need for simplicity. I’d hoped that the extra effort might do me some good. Matt, please don’t let him throw me a party. Please talk him out of it. Please! But no amount of begging had paid off.
Charlie was going through with his plan whether I liked it or not. And he’d been building up to his monumental surprise for days. He’d (not-so-subtly) hounded me each morning with a million questions pertaining to party planning. This morning it was simply limited to what’s your favorite color? You’re not scared of clowns, are you? What time do you think you’ll be home Friday after your dinner with Kara?
While it was an incredibly sweet sentiment that he wanted to surprise me with a big, exciting, over-the-top birthday bash, the last thing I wanted was a party. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of being the center of attention. Furthermore, I hate surprises. Always have, always will. And that’s not me being stubborn; that’s just me telling it as it is. There’s nothing—I repeat nothing—good that has ever come from a surprise; not in my experience, anyway.
Then I’m left to wonder… who would even come? The invite list would be dismal, at best. I can easily count the number of my closest confidants on one hand: Charlie, Matt, Kara, and Bruno. And honestly, those are the only four people I’d even want to spend my birthday with.
So, when I added it all up, a party just seemed like a bad idea—a really bad idea. I didn’t want the hoopla, frills, and thrills. I’d much rather keep things as low-key as possible. But Charlie still hadn’t received that memo (either that, or he’d chosen to ignore every sign I’d thrown his way).
“Fine,” I said, giving in to Matt’s request to cut my uncle some slack. “But nothing too extravagant, okay?”
“You’re kidding yourself if you actually think I’ll get any kind of say in that,” he said, putting a big, red X across the order form he’d just fulfilled.
“Matt—”
“I’ll talk to him, Julie,” he said. “But I’m not making any promises. I’m not a miracle worker, you know.”
I watched my cousin with a keen eye, hoping my wide-eyed stare would earn me some sympathy. Unfortunately, Matt wasn’t so easy to break. He kept his head low and read over the numerous order forms strewn about the counter.
“Matt—”
“It’s one party,” he said, sounding as though he didn’t feel the least bit sorry for me. “You’ll get over it.”
“He didn’t throw you a party for your birthday,” I said, praying to hit a nerve. I desperately needed Matt on my side of this issue. So, if that meant playing dirty, being mean, and pulling out all the stops, I didn’t really care. I’d say whatever I had to say. I needed to make myself clear. No—surprise—party.
“I know what you’re doing,” Matt said, arching his brow. “I’m not falling for it—”
“But he ignored your birthday,” I said. “And now he’s throwing me a party? That hardly seems fair—”
“He didn’t throw me one because I asked him not to.”
“Great,” I said, realizing that maybe I wouldn’t need Matt’s help after all. “I’ll just ask him not to throw me one, then. Problem solved—”
“Except it’s not,” he said. “He’ll never go for that.”
“You said it worked for you!”
“Yeah,” he said, leaning a little closer. “But the last year hasn’t been nearly as craptastic for me as it has been for you. He just wants to do whatever he can to make you happy, Julie.”
“I know, but—”
“But nothing,” he said. “He’s not blind to what’s going on. No one is. Ever since your parents—”
“Don’t go there—”
“And Luke was the only person who’s been able to get through to you. Now that he’s out of the picture… we’re desperate—”
“Matt—”
“Let us help you,” he said. “I know you may not realize this, but we understand—”
“Well, look at the time,” I said, glancing at my watch.
“Don’t do that,” he said, not even the slightest bit oblivious to the fact that I was searching for an excuse—any excuse—to duck out and avoid the inevitable direction of this conversation.
“You’ll be home later?” I asked, reaching for the door.
“Yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes. “See ya tonight.”
I nodded and opened the door, stepping out into the cool spring evening. The faint orange glow of the sun shined through the branches that lined the street of the district. Birds flew from tree to tree, softly singing and chirping. Fresh flowers bloomed on every curb, serving as a great reminder that the snow days were far behind us. It was truly the most beautiful day—weather-wise, of course—that Oakland had seen in months. Just the sheer thought of short-shorts, flip-flops, and beach balls had me yearning for the next few months to fly by.
But the wind picked up moments later, reminding me that it was still too early to get excited about the upcoming summer days. I took a moment to pull the zipper tighter on my jacket before looking up, but my attention to the sidewalk came a few seconds too late. By the time I turned the corner, my body had slammed directly into another, throwing me back on the sidewalk with a forceful thud.
I didn’t even bother looking up to identify the person I’d collided with. Instead, I assessed the burning wounds on my scraped palms and rubbed the blood off on my jeans.
“Oh my God.”
I closed my eyes at the sound of his voice. It only took a millisecond to identify exactly whom it belonged to. Through great reluctance (and even more humiliation), I finally managed to look up and meet Luke’s brown-eyed gaze. Towering over me in jeans and an Oakland PD sweatshirt, he extended his arm to help me up.
“Jules, are you—”
“I’m fine,” I said, knocking his hand away. I managed to stand up—without an ounce of grace, go figure—and immediately noticed the woman standing at his s
ide.
Rebecca.
Not wanting to give either of them the satisfaction of witnessing any more of my embarrassment, I pushed between them and kept walking for home. Tears stung my eyes almost as painfully as the sidewalk dirt stung the open wounds on my palms.
That was just like Luke to swoop in and hurt me when I least expected it.
And it was just like me to walk away… never giving him the chance to make it right.
God, there were plenty of things I wanted to say to him, thousands of questions I wanted to ask, and a million possible responses he could give. But I’d already spent the last week avoiding him by all means possible… I couldn’t turn around now and demand answers.
I’d shut him out for too long. My chance for closure had long since passed.
“Julie,” Luke said, reaching back and taking my wrist. He turned me gently back to him, and our chests brushed on contact. I gnawed on the inside of my lip as I stared at him, watching his eyes soften with the slightest bit of moisture. “I’ve been trying to reach you for a week—”
“Yeah, I got that from your dozen voicemails,” I said, not letting his tone faze me. Whether he knew it or not, Luke had an incredible knack for manipulating my emotions. And as hard as it would be, I had to stay strong; I couldn’t let him get to me the way he expertly could. If I let Luke hurt me again, it would be no one’s fault but my own.
Stay strong, Julie. Stay strong.
I pulled my arm from his grasp and turned to walk away yet again.
“Julie—”
“Goodbye, Luke,” I said, not turning back.
I couldn’t know for sure, but I assumed he watched me until I disappeared around the next building. Something heavy—something acutely similar to that feeling of being watched—pulled at my heart as I rounded the corner and put him out of sight.
And it didn’t make a bit of sense.
Was he watching me walk away just now? If so, why? What could he possibly have to say to me? And how in the world could he expect me to just fall back into his arms (after I’d blatantly gone out of my way to give him the silent treatment)? How could he stand there—practically brushing shoulders with Rebecca—acting like nothing had ever happened?
How could he? Who did he think he was?
For crying out loud! It’d only been five days since I found out that Luke might’ve been lying about a whole lot more than what I’d ever suspected.
She’s not his daughter.
Yep. That’s the report I’d gotten back from Matt the day after my cousin and I had spotted Luke, Rebecca, and her kid in the park together. Naturally, I had to assume that there was a lot more to that threesome than what I knew. After all, Luke and Rebecca had gotten so close so fast. And maybe that’s because they’d known each other once before… maybe because they’d shared something much greater than what I’d ever imagined.
While I did my best to avoid learning the truth (per Bruno’s gentle request to mind my own business), Matt made it his mission to find out everything he possibly could. He did a little digging, a little poking around, and finally—after his investigation failed to bring any new news to light—he just flat-out asked Luke what was going on. And Luke didn’t let on about much. All he’d told my cousin was that he and Rebecca weren’t romantically involved, nor had they ever been. According to Matt, Luke was vague, but adamant about how he’d met his new friend. Apparently he met her the same way Grace and Lonnie had; she came in looking for a job, and he was there. He swore that he’d never met her until then, that her daughter was not his daughter, and that our suspicions were beyond absurd.
He refused to explain himself, especially to Matt. He said if I wanted to know the real story, I had to be patient… and I’d have to hear it for myself. He said that it was his life, his decision whether or not he would share anything, and he would let me know when he believed I was ready. Furthermore, he stressed that he wasn’t about to let Matt operate as a middle man. That pretty much ended any hope of me finding out exactly what kind of relationship Luke had with Rebecca; I wasn’t about to go begging for answers (no matter how much I wanted them!).
He’d hurt me, and the more I crawled back to him, the more he’d continue hurting me. And as much as I wanted to lie to myself and say that I was over it, I wasn’t. I was mad; I was aggravated beyond the point of comprehension that Luke didn’t have the nerve to come to me with the truth. I’d never thought of myself as a person who deserved much, but I knew I deserved something more than what he was giving me. I thought the fact that I’d been his girlfriend merited me some kind of right to know what was going on in his life. But apparently he didn’t see things the same way.
I was through trying to understand.
As I turned the corner to take the short stretch of sidewalk home, my cell rang. No doubt it was him, but I pulled the phone from my pocket and answered anyway.
“Luke, leave—me—alone—”
“Julie?”
But the voice wasn’t his. It belonged to someone else I loved dearly, someone who’d proven time and time again how much my happiness meant to him.
“Bruno,” I said, dropping my head. “Sorry, I thought—”
“Listen,” he said, cutting me off. “I’ve got news… something I should probably share.”
“Okay?”
“Are you home?”
“About two minutes out—”
“I’m going to swing by,” he said, letting go of a heavy sigh. “I’d rather do this face-to-face—”
“What’s going on? You sound flustered—”
“Let’s not do this over the phone, Julie. I’ll be at the house in ten minutes. We’ll talk then.”
Tuesday, March 05
“Let me get this straight,” I said, praying that the sinking feeling in my stomach would subside. I gripped the results of the DNA test between my fingers and read the papers again. “Their genes match?”
“The kid and Luke, yes. Less than a quarter, but a match nonetheless,” Bruno said, sliding off his barstool. He paced the kitchen floor as I shut the folder, opened it, and then shut it again.
“Do you mind telling me how you happened across these results?”
Bruno took a large gulp from his coffee mug. From the dark circles under his eyes to the lines inset in his forehead, it looked like his caffeine jolt wasn’t doing much to keep him awake. He pinched the bridge of his nose before dropping his hand. “I’ve lost weeks of sleep over this, Julie. I’ve had a hunch; since the day they came into the diner together, something hasn’t felt right. My gut’s telling me something, but I’ll be damned if I believe it before I have any proof.”
“Proof of what?” I asked, eyeing him a little closer.
“His tie to Rebecca,” he said. “To the kid.”
“And?”
“I’ve watched him ‘round the clock,” he said. “I’ve listened in on all of his conversations. I’ve kept a close eye on all of his interactions, especially ones with Rebecca. But I kept coming up empty-handed.”
“So you were spying on Luke?” I asked, trying to not to smile at the irony. Just weeks ago, Bruno was breathing down my neck about the consequences of spying on the people you love. And now here he was— looking as though he’d lost more than just a few nights of sleep— telling me that he’d done exactly what he’d warned me away from doing.
“Damn straight. Luke, Rebecca, the kid… anyone who might have the slightest insight on what’s going on.”
“Why?”
“Believe it or not, Miss Julie, I adore you,” he said. “And I promised you that there was more going on than what we saw on the surface. I’m going to prove that… for your sake and my own.”
“Losing your sanity?”
“And too much sleep,” he said, brushing past the topic as though it was the last thing he wanted to discuss. “There’s something here that we’re not seeing, but I think I’m on the right track. I’ve got some guys doing some background research as we speak. I’m fairl
y certain we’ll have an answer by week’s end. I don’t know what’s going on yet, but I will.”
I gave Bruno a twisted smile and shook my head.
“What?”
“I thought you trusted Luke,” I said. “I thought you had a million reasons to believe he was trustworthy, honorable, worthy of a world of respect.”
“Things change,” he said, shrugging.
“So it seems,” I said, leaning over the center island. “But you didn’t answer my question earlier.” He raised his brow as if he didn’t remember what I’d asked. I lifted the folder that held the DNA results. “How’d you get this?”
“Oh, Luke was easy,” he said. “Saliva from his coffee mug in the break room.”
“And the girl?”
“Molly,” he said. “You’ve seen her, right? She’s a short little booger—bright blue eyes, dimpled cheeks, bouncing blonde curls. You couldn’t mistake that hair for anyone else’s.”
“True.”
“And I saw one of those stray curls clinging to her mother’s coat at the flower shop. Snatched it up, took it over to the lab, and asked the technician for priority placement. Few days later and bam! Results were ready.”
“But only a small percent of matching genes,” I said again, looking over the results for the hundredth time. “Does that mean she’s family?”
“Yes.”
“But I thought you said—”
“Lonnie and Grace didn’t know her before she showed up in Oakland,” he said. “They’ll swear to that. As far as I know—as far as they know—Rebecca’s not related. Molly is.”
“I don’t know how this stuff works,” I said, hoping Bruno could provide the insight that I needed. “Does this mean… Luke is Molly’s dad?”
“Not possible,” he said. “A paternity test would’ve concluded a much higher percentage—much closer to fifty percent. We’re looking at less than twenty-five percent between Luke and Molly.”
“So… what, then?”
Just a Little Surprise Page 1
