CRY UNCLE

by Judith Arnold

  Mary, not Pamela, was the expert when it came to child custody hearings—and she was the one who’d told him he had to clean up his act and present himself as a proper family man before his in-laws attempted to spirit Lizard away.

  “What don’t you know?” he asked.

  “Whether you and Ms. Hayes can make this marriage work.”

  Joe turned back to watch his niece and his bride-to-be. It wasn’t dismay he read in Pamela’s face, he decided: it was disgust. Evidently she had an aversion to little girls with mud caulking the cracks between their toes, graffiti on their butts, and the ability to lecture their elders on the difference between fennel and anise.

  So what if Pamela didn’t like Lizard? Joe had never intended the marriage to work, except as a charade. When it was time for him to get married for real, it would be to a woman who was loose and sultry and buxom, who thought muddy feet were just fine.

  “It was your idea,” he reminded Mary. “You told me I had to settle down if I wanted to convince the courts to let me keep Liz. You know as well as I do that most of the single women on the island aren’t settling-down material. Or else they’re into multiple settlings, like Kitty.”

  “In other words,” Mary said skeptically, “there’s not a single local woman you could make a marriage with.”

  “I would have picked you,” Joe said with an ingratiating smile, “but Frank got to you first.”

  Mary grinned. “Even if he hadn’t, I would have turned you down. The last thing I want is children, whether my own or someone else’s. And if you ask me—” she directed her gaze through the screen and watched as Pamela picked a gingerly path through the rows of sprouts, her arms akimbo and her nose twitching in distaste “—your fiancee doesn’t seem too enamored of children, either.”

  “She said she was willing to give it her best shot. That’s the most anyone entering a marriage can do,” Joe said, as if he were some sort of expert on the subject. “All of which is academic, anyway. I don’t have time to waste. I’ve got to get this marriage up and running before the Prescotts make the scene.”

  “Which should be sometime in early August,” Mary reported, riffling through the folder of papers she’d pulled from her tote. “Your in-laws want to move Liz to California so she can get settled in by the end of the summer. They want her to be fully at home in their house before she starts kindergarten.”

  Joe grimaced.

  “I’ve written to their attorney that you aren’t going to relinquish custody,” Mary said, separating a paper from the stack. “This communication from their attorney arrived yesterday.”

  Joe took the letter. Beneath an intimidating letterhead appeared several paragraphs of neat type, most of which he was able to translate from jargon into English. The gist of it was, the Prescotts intended to fight him for custody. They considered him unfit as a parent, and they had money to burn, and they would do whatever was necessary to remove the Liz Kid from the pernicious influence of the Brenner half of her family.

  The letter only confirmed what he’d already known, but it ticked him off anyway. “What a crock,” he grumbled, tossing the sheet onto the table. “They’re so damned eager to take Lizard, but they couldn’t spare a thought for her well-being while they were raking in the profits in Singapore.”

  “Their position is that, although they wanted Lizard right from the start, they felt it was in her best interest to remain in the United States.”

  “Her best interest.” He snorted. “It was in her best interest to stay with someone who was willing to turn his life inside out for her. They weren’t willing to do that. I was.”

  Mary patted his shoulder. “I’ll make sure that argument gets entered into the record.”

  But Joe was on a roll, and he wasn’t going to let Mary’s assurances silence him. “They were traipsing around the Far East, making a bundle on their development deals while I was rocking Lizard back to sleep when she woke up in the middle of the night screaming for her mother. They were attending formal dinners at the American Embassy while I was teaching Liz how to pee in the potty and chew with her mouth closed. Don’t tell me they’re better parents than I am.”

  “Relax, Joe. I’m not telling you that.”

  “Of course I’m the better parent. But it’s not enough, is it. I’ve got to have a wife by my side. We both know that if I appear before the court as a bachelor I haven’t got a prayer.”

  “I’ll try not to take that as a commentary on your faith in my abilities,” Mary muttered. “There’s no question about it, Joe—you do need to present yourself as square as a chess board. And I’ll admit, Ms. Hayes looks like just the kind of woman who could model for a chess board.”

  Especially her figure, Joe thought churlishly. “Okay. So if she’s so perfectly square, how come you think my marrying her won’t work?”

  Mary waved her hand toward the back yard, where Pamela stood rigidly, her expression one of vague horror, while Lizard scampered in circles around her, yammering about sage as it pertained to assorted voodoo rituals. “Perhaps the expression ‘fish out of water’ means something to you.”

  “She’ll learn to swim.”

  “Look at her. She’s dressed like a northerner.”

  “She is a northerner.”

  “She’s got a manicure.”

  “Your nails could use a little TLC, too,” Joe snapped. Mary had the hands of a forty-year-old—which made sense, since she was forty—but the fingernails of an eight-year-old. She’d bitten them down to nothing, a bad habit having returned from the dead after she’d quit smoking a year ago.

  “Get real, Joe. What do you think people around here are going to say when you suddenly show up with a woman like Pamela Hayes on your arm? They’re going to know it’s a sham.”

  He clasped his hand over his heart and gave Mary his most sincere smile. “They’re going to think I’ve turned over a new leaf.” Leaning back in his chair, he extended his legs, too restless to sit still but unwilling to let Mary see how close to the bull’s-eye her darts were hitting. “As wives go,” he said, “Pamela’s not bad. What makes you think a woman like her would never be my type?”

  Mary’s scowl spoke volumes.

  He shrugged. “Before Lizard fell into my lap, the very concept of a wife was beyond my comprehension. But I’ve changed. Surely you can see that.”

  Mary leaned forward and glowered at him. “It doesn’t matter what I can or can’t see. All that matters is what a judge is going to see, and the court-appointed advocate for Lizard. What they’re going to see, Joe, is a Key West low-life bar owner—”

  “A small business entrepreneur,” he corrected her.

  “With a woman who’s much too classy for him.”

  “Maybe she finds low-life bar owners irresistible.”

  “As the saying goes, ‘Tell it to the judge.’”

  “And anyway, I’m not a low-life,” Joe argued. “I haven’t partied hearty in three years. I work my tail off and pay my bills. I’ve got a car. I’ve got a Visa card. I’ve got a mortgage.”

  “Have you got a necktie?”

  “I’ll buy one,” he promised.

  “You’ll need one.” Mary slid her folder back into her tote. “If you want to marry that woman, I wish you the best of luck.”

  “Gee, thanks, Mary,” Joe grumbled. “If that’s going to be your attitude, I may not invite you to the wedding.”

  “If you want a wedding present from me,” Mary warned, rising to her feet, “you’d better invite me.”

  Chuckling, Joe stood as well. “What the hell, then—I’ll invite you. I definitely want a present from you. Something really bridal. Sterling silver napkin rings, okay? Or matching champagne flutes tied in white satin ribbon.”

  “Watch your step, Brenner, or I’ll buy you a marital aid.”

  “Aagh!” Joe made a strangled sound. “Do that and I’ll find myself another lawyer.”

  Mary smiled smugly and hoisted the straps of her tote onto her shoulder
. “You need me more than I need you, honey. Do me a favor—” she inclined her head toward Pamela “—and try not to hurt her, okay? She doesn’t deserve what you’re going to do to her.”

  Before Joe could think of a clever retort, Mary was gone.

  He should have accompanied her around the house to her bicycle, but her parting words had shaken loose his tenuous grip on etiquette. What did Mary think he was going to do to Pamela? What terrible thing that Pamela didn’t deserve?

  He was providing the woman with a new identity, far from a criminal who might or might not be out to get her. He was giving her a home and the use of his name for as long as she needed them. He was paying her expenses and offering her a credible excuse to remain on the island.

  Why would Mary think that Joe was going to hurt Pamela?

  Sure, she wasn’t his type. Sure, anyone who knew him well might have trouble believing he’d turned over a new leaf. But...

  But he still remembered the way she’d felt in his arms yesterday, her tears dampening his shirt, her body slim and taut against his. He still remembered the sheer dread that turned her eyes as pale as zinc, the fear that made her turn to Joe, of all people, for solace.

  He still remembered the way she’d called him Jonas.

  He stroked the day-old stubble of his beard, wondering if being Pamela’s husband meant he would have to shave on a daily basis. Hell, marriage was supposed to be about compromise. If he had to shave every day, he would. The truth was, he was doing it—shaving, getting married, compromising—for Lizard, not for Pamela.

  He pushed open the screen door and descended the back steps to the yard. Pamela was standing beside the scruffy patch of garden, her hands on her hips and her eyes wary. Lizard, up to her elbows in dirt, was babbling. “See this? It’s a weed. Birdie says a weed is just a plant that didn’t get enough love.”

  “A weed is a plant that isn’t happy unless it’s choking all the other plants to death,” Joe asserted.

  Lizard peered up at him and wrinkled her nose in disdain. “That shows what you know,” she scoffed. “Birdie says, half the people in the world are weeds. They just need a little love.”

  “I’ll go along with the first part—half the people in the world are weeds. Maybe three-quarters.” Joe glanced at Pamela, hoping to find an ally. Pamela remained impassive, her gaze darting back and forth between uncle and niece. “So, Pam, has Lizzie told you everything you ever wanted to know about chives?”

  Pamela managed a feeble smile. “What did your lawyer have to say?”

  “She thinks we’re perfect for each other,” he lied.

  Pamela frowned. “If she really said that, I think you ought to consider looking for a smarter lawyer.”

  Joe laughed. The corners of Pamela’s lips twitched upward, as if she wanted to smile but she didn’t find anything amusing in the situation. If Joe allowed himself to think about it, he wouldn’t find it all that amusing, either.

  He watched Lizard race to the side of the house and return dragging the hose. “I’m gonna water,” she said less than a second before she aimed the nozzle half at the garden and half at Joe’s feet and squeezed the lever.

  Joe didn’t care about getting his sneakers wet. He did care about getting Pamela’s pristine outfit splattered, however. Grabbing her arm, he yanked her out of the way.

  She stumbled against him, then shook free of his clasp and took another step back. Her brows dipped in a frown as she watched Lizard wield the hose as if it were a boa constrictor she was wrestling. The hose seemed to be winning the tussle. Silvery arcs of water doused the rhododendrons, the lilacs, the king palms and the rear shingles of the house.

  Joe scrutinized Pamela’s sour expression and heard Mary’s voice echo in his skull: A fish out of water. Although if Pamela stuck around in the back yard much longer, she would most definitely be in water.

  He heard Mary’s voice again, haunting, warning: She doesn’t deserve what you’re going to do to her. What he was going to do, assuming Pamela married him, was saddle her with an obstreperous little girl with a soft spot in her heart for weeds. And it was true, Pamela didn’t deserve that. Joe wasn’t sure anyone—himself included—did.

  “You hate Lizard, don’t you,” he said, so Pamela wouldn’t have to say it.

  Pamela meticulously dusted a few flecks of dirt from her hands. “No, I don’t hate her.”

  “But the idea of living with her makes you want to run howling into the night.”

  “She needs a little guidance,” Pamela said. “And a lot of soap. But I can tolerate her.”

  Tolerate? It was one thing for Joe to joke about his niece’s feral proclivities, and quite another for Pamela to imply that Lizard was to be tolerated, like bad weather or a booster shot. Tolerate?. Architect Hayes ought to realize that marrying her was the ultimate act of tolerance on Joe’s part.

  He wasn’t going to get into a competition with her over who was being forced to tolerate more than whom. What mattered was that his in-laws were planning to fight Joe’s custody claim, and he had to get his act together pronto.

  Turning his back on the havoc Lizard was wreaking with the garden hose, he faced Pamela. She stared past him at Lizard, but Joe took her hands in his, urging her attention to him. Her hands felt cool, and once again he was astonished by how slender and silky they felt.

  “Pam,” he said, gazing directly into her metallic eyes, wishing they would thaw for him—not melt into tears the way they had yesterday, but show some warmth, some receptivity. “I’ve got to be down at the Shipwreck in about a half hour, so we really ought to work some stuff out. You’ve spent two afternoons at the house, and maybe that’s not enough time to get a feel for things. But time isn’t something we’ve got a whole lot of. Do you think we can make a go of it?”

  Either she was blushing, or the sun had added some color to her face during the hour she’d spent in the yard with Lizard. Her eyes, if not exactly warm, sparkled with ironic humor. “Is this a proposal?”

  He smiled wryly. “If you’ve got to ask, I guess I haven’t done a very good job of it. You want me to get down on my knees?”

  “No—the ground is too muddy. It’s a wonder Lizard hasn’t washed away the entire yard with that hose.” She slipped her hands free of his and crossed her arms, although it looked as if she were actually hugging herself.

  “Okay, so...” He hated to pressure her, but he was under a bit of pressure himself. “Do you want to go forward with this marriage set-up?”

  She managed a limp smile. “No better ideas have presented themselves, Jonas. I guess we may as well.”

  “Great.” He had to force enthusiasm into his tone. If only she’d sounded a little less resigned, a little more excited...

  Why would she? He was as excited about the prospect of marrying Pamela Hayes as he’d be about scheduling a dental appointment. He knew it was good for him, he knew it was necessary, he knew it would make his life better in the long run, but really, a guy didn’t kick up his heels and shout for joy at the thought of getting his ivories professionally cleaned and flossed.

  He might have only been imagining it, but Pamela seemed to tighten her grip on herself. “What sort of time frame are we looking at?” she asked.

  “The sooner, the better. I’m friends with a semi-retired judge up on Big Pine Key. I think we can get him to do the honors. You didn’t want a church wedding, did you?” Cripes, they hadn’t even discussed religion. For all he knew, Pamela could belong to a cult or something.

  “I think a church wedding would be a bit hypocritical under the circumstances. Can we drive up to Big Pine Key and have the judge take care of the paperwork there?”

  “Well, actually, I’d like to make it a little more public than that. If we want to convince the family court that it’s a real marriage, we shouldn’t be too secretive about the wedding. What I was thinking—if it’s all right with you—is maybe closing the Shipwreck to outsiders on—let’s say, Monday afternoon—and inviting some fo
lks over, and hosting a small party. My treat, of course. All you’ve got to do is show up and say ‘I do.’”

  If she hugged herself any tighter, she’d suffocate. Her smile glistened with pain. But he wasn’t going to have the chance to comfort her; her eyes were as dry as cold ash. Would she have preferred for him to sugarcoat the deal? Made it sound like something genuine, something that came from his heart? He was offering to pay for the bash. She didn’t have a right to expect more.

  She gazed past him once more, at Lizard—who, from the sound of her whooping, was doing some sort of Seminole fertility dance around the herb garden. For her, Joe wanted to say. This isn’t for me. It’s for her.

  And for Pamela, too. For the sake of keeping her head attached to her body, with no significant holes shot through her vital organs. This marriage was for her good as well as his, and if she didn’t like it, she could get the hell off his property and—

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to chip in toward the party?”

  His anger vanished before it had a chance to build up much steam. If that was as close as she could come to a yes, it was close enough. “Forget it. My treat.”

  “Okay.” Her voice was drier than her eyes. Even her skin was dry. She should have been sweating in the humid heat, but she was brisk and starchy, all business, every messy emotion neatly tucked away.

  He told himself that was good. He told himself it was better that she refused to let her feelings out the way she had yesterday. He told himself that this marriage was going to serve the function he needed it to serve. A cool customer like Pamela Hayes was going to blow his in-laws’ arguments to smithereens. Everything was going to work out perfectly.