The New Man

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “The Puyallup Fair?” Devlin looked dazzled. “You mean, I’d get in free and stuff?”

  “Yeah, but you wouldn’t have much time to do rides or anything,” Emma told him. “Well, maybe if you work during the day and then stay for the evening, or something like that.”

  His shoulders slumped. “I don’t have my driver’s license yet. I couldn’t get there on my own.” Clearly he was hoping she assumed he was at least sixteen.

  “Raoul is flying home to see his family next week,” she said. “He’s my boyfriend,” she added, as an aside. “He goes to Seattle U. Anyway, he won’t be around that week.” Her frown was severe. “I swear he planned it so we couldn’t draft him.”

  Helen laughed. “I’d run away to Paris if I had an excuse, too.”

  A honeymoon would be an excuse. The thought popped into Alec’s head the same instant Helen’s gaze met his. Her chocolate-brown eyes were astonished then embarrassed, and he knew she’d thought the same thing.

  Alec gave a devilish grin, then too late was aware his son was watching.

  To hell with it! he thought. Devlin would have to adjust to the idea sooner or later. Let him chew on it.

  “How about if we all work the Puyallup?” he suggested. “Lily, you ready to sell soap?”

  “Sure!” she exclaimed, wide-eyed.

  “You mean, I have to go with you?” Devlin asked Alec, in that flattering way teenagers have.

  Knowing his own kid hated his company didn’t sting as much as it once had, but it didn’t feel good, either.

  After a pause, Alec said without emotion, “Not necessarily. You can hitch a ride with Helen or Emma another day. Or several days, if they can use you that often.”

  He saw the way Helen captured the boy’s attention. “If you’re really willing to work, and you won’t want to take off constantly.”

  Devlin flushed for a different reason this time, but his eyes flicked to Emma, and he visibly swallowed whatever angry retort had risen to his tongue. “I can work,” he said shortly.

  “Good.” She smiled. “Then you’re signed on. Thank you, Devlin. We can really use you.”

  He was back to ducking his head, blushing and stammering, Alec saw with amusement. Clearly, women had a gift for handling Devlin that his father lacked. Heck, maybe he could learn, if he watched Emma and Helen long enough. Then, seeing the way Emma batted her eyelashes, Alec thought, Or maybe not.

  Later, when he and Helen were briefly out of earshot of the kids, Alec said, “Emma is lethal.”

  “She is, isn’t she?” Laughing, Helen shook her head. “I told her I had a feeling Devlin resented me, and asked if she’d mind coming along as a bodyguard. She got this look on her face and said, ‘Watch me.’”

  “She’s good. The kid didn’t have a chance.”

  Her forehead crinkled in worry. “He won’t…oh, really fall for her, will he? Emma is always nice to everyone, and she’ll be friendly to him, but…”

  Alec shook his head. “Dev’s not stupid. She’s four years older, has a boyfriend, and is being sweet to him because of you. He may develop a crush—cancel that. He has a crush, but he won’t expect anything to come of it. He’d be terrified if he really thought she was interested in him.”

  Her face cleared. “Oh, good. He was polite tonight, wasn’t he? Do you think he likes me?”

  “He hasn’t said a word about you since his initial anger at the idea of me having a girlfriend.” Alec mimicked his son’s tone. “How can he not like you?”

  She grimaced. “Easily. You’re prejudiced.”

  “You, honey, are a nice woman with a deft touch where kids are concerned. What’s not to like?”

  Half a dozen emotions skittered across her face. “I’m hardly a saint,” she said finally in a constrained voice.

  He let his voice drop to a huskier note. “Thank God.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Men!”

  Grinning, Alec said, “Now’s when you add ‘Thank God for that, too.’”

  They were laughing when they joined the kids, saying goodbye at the door. Alec was feeling pretty good when Helen and the girls left.

  Devlin stood in the entry staring at the closed door with his mouth gaping and his eyes soulful. “Is Emma really Helen’s niece?” he asked in a faraway voice.

  “No, Helen rents a room from Emma’s mother, Kathleen. She’s the one who makes the soap. Anyway, they all seem to be close. Ginny calls Kathleen ‘Aunt,’ too.”

  “Oh.”

  Knowing he shouldn’t, Alec couldn’t stop himself from asking, “So, is Helen growing on you?” He waited hopefully, lovesick, too.

  As if he’d unbottled an evil genie, Devlin’s face changed, became insolent. “She’s hot, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Stiffening, Alec said sharply, “It’s not.”

  “Well, she is.” Real anger darkened Devlin’s eyes. “Actually, she’s nice. Nicer than you deserve. I’ll bet you haven’t told her the truth, have you?”

  As if feeling the waters begin to roil, Lily attached herself to her dad’s side like a limpet.

  “The truth?”

  His son’s mouth stretched into an ugly sneer. “You haven’t. Like I had to ask. Duh,” he seemed to mock himself.

  “What in hell are you talking about?” Alec snapped.

  “Never mind.” Contempt oozed from the teenager. “I’m going upstairs.”

  “Devlin!” Alex’s voice rose to a roar as his son took the stairs two at a time. “Stop!”

  The boy didn’t. He disappeared into the hallway above, and a moment later his bedroom door slammed. Alec stared incredulously after him. How could he go from being a decent kid all evening to this kind of open defiance in the blink of an eye?

  “What’s he talking about, Daddy?” Lily’s voice quavered. “What does he mean, the truth?”

  “I have no idea,” Alec said honestly, frustration squeezing his temples and tightening his neck muscles. “I suspect there is no truth. He’s just being a snot.”

  “Oh.” But she looked worried, and Alec could tell she didn’t altogether believe him.

  He didn’t believe himself. There was something Devlin knew, or thought he knew, that might explain his long-simmering rage.

  Question was, how did Alec get him to spill “the truth?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ALEC DECIDED to wait until tomorrow to confront Devlin. He felt too angry and bewildered now to have a calm conversation. Instead, he left Lily to her own devices and retreated to his office, where he picked up the photo of Linda and tried to consult her.

  Of course, she didn’t answer any more than she ever had.

  When she died, he felt it. Blink. Light out. In the snap of a finger, she was utterly and completely gone. Since that moment, he had never had the slightest sense of her presence. Whatever his faith or lack thereof, he knew she wasn’t hovering, anxiously watching over her family.

  Maybe Linda had had complete confidence that he could cope on his own. Alec leaned back in the leather chair and closed his eyes, imagining her floating peacefully toward the light, her last thought, Alec will do fine.

  He gave a gravelly laugh. Oh, yeah. He was just peachy keen.

  “Linda,” he murmured, “why didn’t you talk to Dev before you left? Did you think he’d be strong enough to cope?”

  Silence. He picked up the silver-framed photo again, studied it with a sadness that had softened lately. He’d found acceptance, and the ability to love again.

  Lily, he sensed, was ready, too.

  So why not his son?

  Alec had to work the next day, leaving the kids on their own again. He was looking forward to school starting next week, and wished he had signed up Lily for some formal activity this summer. She hadn’t seemed especially interested in any of the sports or classes he suggested, so he’d let it go—she didn’t need day care—and he hadn’t wanted to insist. But now he thought the summer had been too aimless. He suspected she spent ninety perce
nt of her day either watching TV or hunched in front of the computer sending and receiving instant messages. She hadn’t even developed a tan this year, like she usually did.

  He hadn’t slept well the night before, so when he came home he was relieved to find Lily working on one of the few recipes in her limited repertoire of dinners.

  “Corn chowder,” she announced.

  “It smells great,” he said honestly. The bacon and onion were frying, and she was scraping corn from the cobs. His stomach rumbled. “Let me change, and then I’ll help.”

  “It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  “Where did you get the corn?” he asked, when the two of them sat down to dinner. He’d called for Devlin, who hadn’t yet appeared.

  Lily had set the pot on a hot pad in the middle of the table, so they could all ladle out seconds. She’d even heated garlic bread.

  “Jennifer’s mother stopped by. They have a vegetable garden in their backyard. She said too much was getting ripe at once, and would we like some.”

  “I hope you expressed undying gratitude.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “If you mean, did I remember to say thank you, of course I did!”

  He grinned at her. “That’s more or less what I was getting at.”

  Lily glanced past him. “Wow, look who’s here.”

  “Don’t be a smart mouth,” her brother said.

  Undaunted, she stuck her tongue out. “Hurry up, it smells really good. I’m starving.”

  Dev sat, scraping the chair forward, and reached for garlic bread without another word. Whatever his mood, he rarely argued about appearing for dinner. His appetite would have frightened Alec, if he didn’t remember his own mother grumbling when he was a kid about how hard it was to keep groceries in the house.

  Tonight Dev ate half a loaf of garlic bread and inhaled three large bowls of his sister’s corn chowder. He didn’t once look at his father or speak to him. When he tipped the pot to peer in and saw that the chowder was finished, he asked, “We got any dessert?”

  Lily made a face at him. “If you want apple pie, bake it yourself. You could at least say, ‘Thank you, dinner was fabulous.’”

  Devlin had one of his rare moments of civility. “It was good, Lil. Thanks.”

  Seizing his moment, Alec said, “Devlin, I’d like to talk to you. Lily, do you mind?”

  Her gaze widened and flicked between them, but she stood quickly. “Do I have to clean the kitchen, too?”

  “No, I’ll do it.” Alec waited until she had left the dining room before he looked at Devlin, who waited with his head bowed and his shaggy hair hanging over his eyes.

  Feeling incredibly tired, Alec said, “Devlin, we’ve got to do better. I can make changes if you can. But you’ve got to talk to me. I don’t know why you’re so angry at me. Tell me. I can’t fix what I don’t understand.”

  His son shook his hair back and stared at Alec with eyes that seemed almost eerily blank. “There’s nothing wrong.”

  “You just dislike my presence and object to everything I say because…?” Alec spread his hands.

  “I’m not a little kid.” The boy’s mouth, which so rarely smiled anymore, curled with disdain. “I don’t need you to hold me up on my bike or throw the ball with me.”

  Alec had loved doing both. Summer evenings spent in the backyard tossing the ball with his son had been some of the best of his life. They’d shot baskets out front, in the hoop above the garage, or walked to the school to play one-on-one as Devlin grew older and grew in six inch spurts to match his father’s height.

  Now, softly but intensely, Alec said, “I’ve outlived my usefulness? Is that what you’re telling me? Now all you need is my money and an occasional ride somewhere, so you don’t want to waste words talking to me?”

  Dev looked away and mumbled, “It’s not like that.”

  “What is it like?”

  The teenager said nothing.

  “What,” Alec asked with quiet emphasis, “is the ‘truth’ that I should tell Helen?”

  “Nothing.” Head hanging again, Dev muttered, “I was just, like, pushing your buttons. You know.”

  Alec could get nothing further out of the kid, no matter how many different ways he asked. Finally he said, “I give up. You can go.”

  Dev pushed back his chair, hesitated for a moment, then started out of the room.

  “I love you,” Alec said. Last-ditch. Words not said often enough.

  Behind him, his son’s footsteps faltered, then continued. A moment later, Dev was bounding up the stairs.

  Wearily Alec stood up and began clearing the table.

  ALEC CALLED nearly every evening. Helen counted on it, loved those few minutes of talking about their days, sharing frustrations, small moments good or bad, kids’ accomplishments. The occasional evening when he didn’t phone, like the one after the dinner at his house, found Helen restless, waiting, and finally mad at herself for needing him.

  Here she was, proud of herself for her increasing self-reliance and success as a businesswoman, and she couldn’t get through an evening without hearing from a man. Was she so desperate for advice, or the comfort of laying her worries on someone else?

  But she knew that really she just needed to hear Alec’s voice. She was as content listening to his grumbles or funny stories as she was sharing her own.

  That evening she wandered into the kitchen after nine-thirty, knowing Alec wouldn’t call any later than this. Kathleen was banging cupboard doors and slamming cans on the counter.

  Helen winced as Kathleen grabbed a pile of dinner plates and whacked them down. “What are you doing?”

  Hair disheveled, eyes wild, Kathleen barely spared her a glance. “I hate the way these cupboards are organized! Why are the dishes so far from the dish-washer? Why do I have to stand on tiptoe to find a can of tomato soup?”

  “Um…” Wary, Helen edged closer. “Because we put things in places that seemed logical at the time?”

  “Well, they’re not!” A glass shattered in Kathleen’s hand and she swore as blood blossomed on the pad of her thumb. “Damn, damn, damn!”

  Helen grabbed Kathleen’s hand and held it over the sink. She turned the cold water on and they both watched as blood ran down the drain.

  “You stay here,” she ordered. “I’ll get ointment and a bandage.”

  Helen returned a minute later, tended to the cut, then steered her to the table. “Sit. I’ll clean up the broken glass.”

  “No.” Kathleen jumped back up. “I made the mess, I’ll…”

  Helen whirled. “Sit!”

  Mouth tightening, Kathleen obeyed.

  Helen carefully picked up the larger pieces of glass and dumped them in the trash can beneath the sink, then swept up the shards on the floor. Only then did she turn around and say, “Okay. What’s wrong?”

  Kathleen was a beautiful, controlled woman. When Helen first knew her, only Emma could bring her mother to despair and tears.

  Tonight Kathleen’s face crumpled. “Logan and I had a fight. He’s…he left. Didn’t you hear the garage door open?”

  Helen sat down and took her friend’s uninjured hand. “No. What did you fight about?”

  “Nothing!” Furiously Kathleen scrubbed at her tears. “I don’t know! I was talking about Ian, and he—Logan—said something snide, and I accused him of being jealous, and… Oh, hell. We just replayed all our original problems.” She lifted a bewildered face, drenched with tears. “It happened so fast. I don’t understand.”

  “Everybody quarrels once in a while.” Helen grabbed a paper napkin from the holder in the middle of the table and gave it to Kathleen.

  Kathleen blew her nose. “But…but we haven’t!” She sounded like a confused child.

  “Didn’t you fight with Ian sometimes?” Helen knew Kathleen’s marriage had had an ugly end.

  She shook her head. “No…well, yes, but it was different. We were just sharp. He’d say something edgy, I’d snap back, then fume for t
he rest of the day. Logan looked so angry.”

  “Or hurt?” Helen suggested gently.

  “I don’t know,” Kathleen whispered. She reached for another napkin and wiped at her tears. “I love him so much.”

  Helen hugged her. “I know.”

  “Did you fight with Ben?”

  Helen hesitated. “Squabbled, mainly. I think— I’ve come to realize—that he always wanted to please me. I remember a few times being mad and wanting him to stand up for what he thought, but he didn’t have a combative bone in his body. It was actually kind of frustrating.”

  It was that gentle part of Ben’s nature, the desire to please, perhaps even the need to have a stronger personality make the decisions, that in the last months had kept him from saying, “No.”

  No, I won’t go through chemotherapy again. No more radiation. I choose to accept that the end nears and die with dignity.

  Kathleen sniffled. “Logan seems so…so confident, I forget that he has some insecurities. You know me. I probably said something horribly insensitive.”

  “You’re not that bad!” Helen protested, then thought, Oops.

  Tear-filled eyes lifted. “See? I am!”

  Helen skirted the issue. “You really don’t remember what upset him?”

  Fresh tears overflowed and Kathleen shook her head vehemently. “What do I say? If he lets me say anything!”

  Holding both her hands, Helen said simply, “I’m sorry. That’s all he’ll want to hear.”

  Kathleen went rigid. “Is that the garage door? Is he home?” She leaped to her feet and stared, wild-eyed, toward the hall.

  Both of them heard the slow, heavy tread of steps coming up. Helen retreated toward the pantry when a door opened and a moment later Logan appeared, eyes red rimmed.

  “Kathleen?” He groaned. “You’re crying. I’m a jackass. I don’t know what got into me.”

  “I’m so sorry!” his wife wailed, and threw herself into his arms.

  They held each other for a long moment, Logan’s cheek against Kathleen’s blond head.

  Helen made the mistake of trying to ease the last few steps backward to take her out of sight into the pantry. Logan lifted his head and saw her. He gave a grimace that might have been intended to be a smile and said in a low voice to Kathleen, “Let’s go upstairs.”