“Happy birthday, honey,” he said again, a trifle gruffly.
“Thanks.” She almost added “Dad” but couldn’t quite get the endearment past her lips.
“If you need anything, call.”
“I will.”
“I’m there for you, you know.”
“Yes.”
She closed the door behind him and collapsed against it. He would be there for her, but her father’s love came with a price—she could never forget that. She glanced down at the check again. Making a face, she decided to take his advice and put the money in an account for Rawley. That way, she could make herself believe she hadn’t just somehow fallen under her father’s control again.
The sound of the front door creaking open brought her screeching from an afternoon doze to painful awareness. She leapt to her feet in time to see her son sheepishly tiptoeing into the room.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, blinking, her heart racing. “You scared me half to death.”
“Sorry. I was trying to …” He stopped short, unable to come up with any kind of explanation that made sense. “Is Grandpa gone?”
Grandpa … She shivered again, thinking things were fast slipping out of her control. “He left a while ago.”
“I didn’t really want to talk to him much.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hesitated, then mumbled under his breath, “Here,” and thrust a small package wrapped in red paper in front of her nose. The wrap job was pure fifteen-year-old boy—sloppy and haphazard. “Sorry I forgot.”
“It’s okay.”
“You never forget my birthday.”
“Well, that’s different. I’m your mom.”
She was touched beyond reason by her son’s thoughtfulness and yes, his guilt. It didn’t matter. She opened the box to discover a necklace with several pinkish imitation pearls clustered together. “Rawley, it’s beautiful!” she said.
“It’s not much.” His toe scuffed the floor.
“Yes, it is.” She clasped the chain around her neck and the pink pearls nestled in the hollow of her throat. “It’s the nicest gift I’ve ever had,” she said, truly touched and Rawley shot her a suspicious look from under his lashes.
“Oh, sure.”
“No,” she said with all sincerity. “It really is the nicest gift I’ve ever had. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
His embarrassment took over as she saw his face turn a shade of red. Mumbling something unintelligible, he headed for his room and soon the decibel level was reaching glass-shattering levels once again. This time Jenny didn’t object.
She touched the necklace and smiled. Checking the clock, she made a sound of annoyance, grabbed her purse and flew from the house. There were still things to do at the restaurant, and she didn’t want to delay any further.
Alberto was in the kitchen, scowling at one of the junior chefs when Jenny entered. “Bella!” he cried, hugging her enthusiastically. Jenny hugged him back, a little tighter than she normally would. Seeing her father only made her want to connect with Alberto even more … even though she was leaving.
In her office, she quickly ran through the list of bookkeeping problems she’d left for today, then sat back, feeling nostalgic at the squeak of the wooden chair. The mere thought of all she was leaving behind made her misty-eyed. Yet she knew she’d been here too long. But it had been a safe place to learn to think for herself—and understand those choices she’d made when she was young that had led her into her disastrous marriage.
Two hours later, she closed up her office, then stared down at the key in her hand. The new bookkeeper, a man, was scheduled to start in the morning.
“I think you’re going to need this,” she said to Alberto, extending the key with one hand as she slung her purse over her shoulder with the other.
“Oh, no. No.” He dolefully shook his head.
“I’m going to be away for a week, and when I get back, I’ll just be in to troubleshoot a little, in case you need it.”
He clasped his hands over his stomach and stared at the key. He was so forlorn that Jenny had to look away before emotion overcame her as well. Gently, she pressed the key in his palm and kissed him on the cheek. Then she hurried out before one of them burst into tears.
Outside the restaurant she took several deep breaths. Pressing the remote to her car, she heard the locks click open. She took three steps toward the driver’s door, and glanced around swiftly. It was as if she could actually feel someone’s stare. It was creepy. Totally creepy, as Rawley would say.
Inside the Volvo, she pushed the automatic locks, but even the click of all of them locking at once was not comforting. Her heart beat faster. Placing her hands on the steering wheel, she sat perfectly still, waiting for … something.
Several people walked out of Riccardo’s back door. One man stopped to light a cigarette. Jenny’s eyes glued to his silhouette, but as he walked down the back steps she realized he was a stranger. A car drove by on her right and turned into a parking spot. A young couple with a preschooler climbed out and headed into the restaurant, holding the child between them and swinging her up the steps.
Nothing. No lurking stranger.
Jenny started the engine and backed out of the lot. Her eyes kept darting to the rearview mirror on the drive back to her apartment; and because she was paranoid, she drove an extra mile and circled around through the neighborhoods before finally parking in her usual spot at the apartment. She ran up the steps and quickly let herself inside.
“Mom?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin. “Rawley!” she said in relief, half-laughing as she collapsed against the door.
“What’s wrong?” He was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking worried and oddly ill-at-ease.
“I just keep thinking someone’s following me. It’s ridiculous.”
Rawley nodded, but the frown didn’t leave his face. “I’m making popcorn,” he said by way of invitation.
“Great.” She moved to the couch, thoroughly annoyed with herself. Just the mention of Troy’s name had sent her nerves screaming into overdrive. There was no reason to panic Even if he approached her, she could handle it. He was a man, not a demon. A really sick, worthless twisted man with no heart, she reminded herself with an ironic smile. But then, no one’s perfect.
“What are you smiling about?” Rawley asked as he flopped down beside her and handed her the bowl of popcorn.
“Oh, I don’t know. Being silly and afraid for no reason. Having a birthday and a wonderful son.”
Rawley gave her a sidelong look that said he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.
Jenny leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Clearing his throat, he said, “I have a question for you, but maybe this isn’t really the right time.”
“Okay …” New warning bells sounded in her head.
“Do I have to go to Puerto Vallarta? There’s a soccer camp during spring break that I can go to with Brandon, and the Fergusons said I can stay with them. I really don’t want to go on the trip. We’re leaving Houston in a couple weeks and this is my last chance to see Brandon. Do you mind? I mean, really a lot? Could you go to Puerto Vallarta with your friends and leave me here? At the Fergusons, I mean?”
It came out in such a rush that Jenny couldn’t break in. Dropping her handful of popcorn back in the bowl, she fought back the rush of feelings that threatened to spill into words. Of course she minded. Of course it was a terrible idea! How could he give up this trip? Everyone was expecting him.
And Troy was out there, somewhere …
“Is this what you really want to do?”
He nodded anxiously, evidently afraid that she would say no. She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to.
“And it’s all right with Janice and Rick?”
“No problem. You can call ’em. I think they’re expecting you to.”
Sighing, Jenny reached for another handful of buttery popcorn. Damn the calor
ies. She could eat a tubful of the stuff. “Looks like I’m going solo.”
He hugged her so hard and fast that she was still reeling when he jumped over the back of the couch and whooped with joy. Then he ran for the phone. “Brandon!” he yelled. “I can stay!”
And Jenny blinked rapidly and reached for another handful of popcorn.
CHAPTER THREE
The steep, curving stone lane to the villa provided a thrill ride straight out of Disneyland. The Jeep that Magda Montgomery drove was little more than a canvas top on a wagon body. Jenny clung to the sides and desperately tried to keep herself from slamming her right foot through the floorboards in a futile attempt to brake. Dizzyingly, the road twisted and switchbacked, only a foot or so away from a sheer drop to the orangetiled roofs of other villas and the sparkling waters of the Pacific ocean, far below.
“Isn’t this great?” Magda yelled above the engine and thunkety-thunk of the tires over the rough stone road:
“Gr-rr-eat,” Jenny chattered.
She held on to her hat with one hand, the low door with the other. She wasn’t normally afraid of heights, but she was no daredevil either, and she couldn’t wait to arrive at the villa. She tried not to think of all the reasons she shouldn’t have come. Numero uno: Rawley’s decision to stay with the Fergusons. Jenny had considered canceling the trip altogether.
Even after she’d capitulated she’d still tried to change his mind. “We’ve got airline tickets and reservations at the villa. They’ve held a room for us.”
He looked at her with those huge blue eyes. “But I never really wanted to go. I was just doing it to make you happy.”
In the end she’d knuckled under; she should have known her last-minute objections were useless. And it was understandable that Rawley would want to spend his last few days in Houston with the people he considered a second family. She should be grateful, she supposed, that he wasn’t pitching a fit about the move. For reasons she didn’t fully understand, Rawley wasn’t complaining about the relocation to Santa Fe. She was grateful for that.
“There!” Magda exclaimed. She yanked on the brake before the Jeep came to a complete stop, nearly sending Jenny through the windshield.
Jenny released the grip on her hat and the door and glanced at the stucco building. Wrought iron decorated the arched windows and flower boxes filled with bougainvillea spilled bright blossoms down the walls. A plank door with iron bars opened upon their arrival and Magda’s husband, Phil, wearing a blue beret jauntily over one eye, greeted them with a tray of margaritas.
“Welcome to Puerto Vallarta,” Phil sang, kissing Jenny on both cheeks.
“Euro-Phil,” Magda sniffed, loving every display of her husband’s character. Phil was a born actor who just happened to make a living in real estate in Santa Fe. Jenny had met them at the restaurant. The Montgomery’s always ate at Riccardo’s when they cruised through Houston. They, like Alberto, had unofficially adopted Jenny and made her their friend, and it was Magda who had talked Jenny into making the move to Santa Fe. Magda was a skilled artisan who made unique jewelry; and she shared space in a shop in Santa Fe along Canyon Road, a street famed for its galleries and shops. She’d found a great location for Geneva’s, and she’d been instrumental in urging Jenny to take the chance.
The Montgomerys had been wonderful to her from the start.
Euro-Phil helped them both from the Jeep, then served the frosty glasses. Lifting her margarita, Jenny toasted Euro-Phil; it was time to put everything out of her mind and enjoy the moment.
“How’s that boss of yours doing?” Phil asked as he hefted her bag from the back of the Jeep.
“I think it finally hit Alberto that I was leaving when I told him he’d have to keep an eye on our produce company. He started to wail and beg, and for once I don’t think it was an act.”
“He’ll be destroyed without you,” Magda predicted.
“Oh, no. He’ll survive.” Jenny smiled. “He just wants it his way. Like every other male I know.”
“Ouch!” Phil declared.
“Except you, Euro-Phil.”
“Très bien.”
“De nada.”
They laughed as they crossed the threshold of the huge stucco building and Magda led the way up a spiral staircase to a suite on the upper floor which looked over the bay far below. Stepping onto the balcony, Jenny closed her eyes and breathed deeply. How wonderful to put her cares aside! Maybe it was better if Rawley wasn’t here. She could see herself floating in the pool, drinking margaritas and doing nothing at all.
After Magda left and Phil dropped her bag on a chair, Jenny changed into a two-piece swimsuit and bright blue sarong which she tied across her hips. She sipped her drink and watched the sun lower until it touched the horizon. Then she hurried downstairs, appearing on the lowest floor as a servant placed a tray of appetizers on a counter of painted blue and yellow Mexican tiles. A long, cloth-covered table stood set with silver and glass; something savory bubbling out of sight made her mouth water.
Phil and Magda were lying on lounge chairs, soaking up the sun. “Isn’t this heaven?” Magda called.
“It sure is.”
“The others will be back from their sightseeing tour later. Dinner’s at eight”
The others were friends of Magda and Phil whom Jenny had never met. She’d been given the invitation when one couple backed out, and she’d debated on whether to accept because she’d been trying to scrimp and save. But Magda and Phil had offered her a major discount based on their friends’ need to get out of their share of the villa rental. It had been too good a deal to pass up. Consequently, all she knew about the others was that they consisted of two couples, two single women, and one single male.
Arranging herself on a lounge chair, Jenny slathered on sun block, sank back into the cushions and immediately fell asleep. Exhaustion was like a drug and before she could remember where she was, excited voices pulled her groggily back to the present. The others had arrived.
Tom and Alicia Simmons were from Santa Fe, and the Brickmans, Sam and Carrie, hailed from Dallas. Lisa and Jackie, the two single women, were Carrie Brickman’s college friends; and all of them knew either Magda or Phil from work, or mutual friends, or some roundabout way that, once mentioned, passed through Jenny’s mind and was instantly forgotten. The one single male was Matt Somebody-or-other, but he’d apparently been prowling Puerto Vallarta’s cafes and bars, getting a jump on the night life, and therefore wasn’t currently with the group. Clearly, they were all eager to hit the club scene directly after dinner, something Jenny did not want to do.
“It’s mostly young people,” Magda admitted as they dug into enchiladas, quesadillas, refried beans, tortillas, and rice. “But it’s a ton of fun.”
“I am so tired. I don’t think I can make it tonight,” Jenny said, which evoked a chorus of disagreement from everyone.
“You can rest tomorrow!” Magda declared, grabbing Jenny’s arm as if expecting her to bolt from the table and disappear. “Tonight’s for dancing!”
“You must come with us,” either Lisa or Jackie maintained. “It’ll be fun.”
Carrie Brickman added her two cents. “It’s like a hedonistic tradition. Lay around all day and soak up the rays and sleep. Party till dawn.”
Jenny laughed. “I turn into a frog at midnight.”
“That’s okay. We don’t mind frogs,” Tom Simmons said with a smile. He’d shaved his head, according to Magda, as a statement against going bald. But he’d kept a huge, red mustache which sprouted a good two inches on each side of his face.
After that, Jenny gave up. With zero enthusiasm, a faint headache, and tiny burn splotches here and there where she’d missed with the sunblock, Jenny found herself squeezed in a cab during the first run to town, then squeezed into one of the clubs along Puerto Vallarta’s waterfront, her blue denim sundress sticking to her skin. She was barely able to turn around without rubbing against another body. And she felt at least a decade too old for th
e bumping, grinding, screaming crowd.
Wow … Talk about a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn from the responsibilities of real life! It was a party and a half. One of the initiation rites appeared to be straight shots of tequila followed by biting into a lime and licking salt off one’s own hand. She had a sudden vision of the quiet wine dinners at Riccardo’s and realized she was just a little too old for this kind of nonsense. It was a young person’s paradise, and had Rawley been about six years older, he would have been in heaven.
“It’s a good thing Rawley’s not here!” Jenny yelled in Magda’s ear.
“Huh? Why?”
“Because he’s only fifteen and he’d be tempted to find out about margaritas and Mexican beer in a hurry!”
“They probably wouldn’t serve him.”
Who was she kidding? This wasn’t the good old U.S. of A. and Jenny didn’t think age regulations of that sort were seriously enforced here. Whatever the case, she was feeling better that Rawley had chosen to stay with the Fergusons, even if she still suffered twinges of fear over what Troy might have in mind.
By eleven o’clock Jenny was done with a capital D. However, Magda and Phil and the others didn’t seem to be slowing down. Since they’d come by cab, Jenny considered hailing one alone, but in the end she just walked along the sidewalk at the edge of the beach, enjoying the hot breeze and scattered crowds of people. Puerto Vallarta bars closed late, some when the sun was rising. Jenny thought about her bed at the villa, then considered how it would feel to arrive there completely alone. She wanted—something. Company. People around, even if she wasn’t part of the conversation.
She just didn’t want to feel so alone.
There was a hotel not far away with an arched blue tile entry set into thick plaster walls that looked cool and inviting. She stepped through into a walled patio, where, overhead, stars shone against a darkening royal blue sky. All eyes turned her way, but she ignored them. Finding a place at the bar, she slid onto a stool and lifted her gaze to the open sky above. It was just too beautiful and serene to worry.
In Too Deep Page 5
