Nick All Night

by Cheryl St. John

  “Perfect,” she said.

  “It’s a good solid door.”

  She rinsed her hands and poured lemonade into a red aluminum glass that chilled his fingers.

  He studied the tumbler. “I haven’t seen one of these in years.”

  “Remember those little terry-cloth things Mom used to slip on them to keep them from sweating? I could probably find them in a drawer, if I looked.”

  He grinned. “Yeah.”

  Her discomfort with his presence seemed to have lessened, but she was probably just feeling indebted because of the door. Their years as childhood friends seemed like another lifetime.

  The tart lemonade was sweet and ice-cold, and tasted like summer. Nick drank it all and she poured him a second glass.

  “You always could drink an ocean of lemonade,” she said.

  He met her eyes, and her expression grew shuttered, as though she regretted the words that had alluded to how well they’d once known each other.

  The urge to ask if she was all right crowded into his mind. Her skittish reluctance to hold his gaze was uncharacteristic of the girl he remembered, as was her seeming uncertainty and the nervous way she swept the hair away from her neck. But it had been a long time since he’d said more than a passing hello to her. How would he know what she was like now? He couldn’t help wondering what was she doing here and where her husband was.

  Nick held his questions in check. She didn’t owe him any explanations. And he should respect her privacy.

  He finished off his second glass. “I have a couple of rows left to weed,” he said finally, pushing away from the counter where he’d leaned.

  “Your garden looks nice. You do it all yourself?”

  He nodded. “Dad can’t take the sun anymore. He waters in the morning or the evening if it’s cool enough.”

  “You have a lot of beans there. Don’t tell me you can them, too, besides cooking a mean breakfast.”

  He set the glass he’d used in the sink. “Hardly. I freeze ’em.”

  “Thanks for your help.”

  “No problem.”

  Outside, he bent to pick up his toolbox from the wooden platform, and Ryanne noted the muscles in his long thighs beneath his jeans as he moved. Thank goodness he’d pulled on a T-shirt, though it did little to disguise the broad planes of his chest and back as he worked. The fact that this was Nick Sinclair still had her flabbergasted. Who’d have imagined it? Every time he drew close, his surprising size gave her a hitch in her chest.

  Nick Sinclair was supposed to remain the boy of her memories, but everything about him screamed man. Those muscled arms, that wide chest. Over six foot of solid man, a man who looked as good in his jeans and T-shirt as he had in the uniform.

  He said goodbye, and she waved him off, catching herself admiring his backside as he carried the toolbox to his garage.

  She latched the flimsy hook on the screen door, rinsed the two glasses and the spoon she’d used, and placed the pitcher of lemonade in the refrigerator, standing with the door open for a moment to cool her flushed skin.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said more than a few polite words to Nick at a wedding or funeral. It had been years and years since they’d been close. So he really should feel more like a stranger to her than he did.

  The difference in his appearance should have been enough to scare her off completely. The last thing she needed was any kind of entanglement with a male.

  The older they’d grown, the less she’d had in common with this particular one, anyway. Tinkering with cars and growing vegetables still seemed to be his passion, and he’d never understood the driving need she’d had to prove herself.

  Immediately, she swallowed tears. And what good had it all done? Ryanne closed the refrigerator door and turned to wipe the counter. At least Nick seemed content, and he had a son who adored him. She certainly had nothing to show for all her years away from here. Nothing except a broken spirit and a staggering debt.

  The image of her husband loomed up before her, and she squeezed out the dishcloth with frightening intensity. The familiar sick feeling that always swept over her when she thought of Mason curled around her now, and she pinched her eyes shut, the lemonade in her stomach turning sour.

  Don’t give in to the panic. Don’t give in to it, she told herself fiercely, forcing her posture straight and her eyes open. He isn’t worth it. You’re better off without him.

  No one knew. That was her single, tiny consolation.

  Hanging the dishcloth and towel, she made her way to the dining room, where she’d set up her computer. In the worst heat of the day, this was the only room that stayed bearable, with the help of the ancient window fan drawing the humid air out, and the shade of the three oak trees in the side yard. She didn’t dare run the air-conditioning and add to the electric bill.

  Unpacking a box of software and data disks, she came across the accounting files Mason had kept for the agency. His handwriting on the label jumped out at her. She started to throw the disk toward the wall, needing to vent a mere tenth of a degree of the anger and hurt that dwelled inside her, but she paused and calmed herself. There might be something on it she’d need later.

  Tossing it on the lace-covered dining table, she clenched her fists ineffectually, dropping her head back to gaze at the ceiling.

  For as long as she could remember, she’d observed her mother’s subservience to her husband, a college professor with special “needs” and “position” in the community. Ryanne had determined she would be satisfied with nothing less than being a success on her own. She’d damn near made it, too. She’d earned the degrees, launched the business, worked her tail off….

  And her ex was living high on the hog in some country with no extradition. Spending her money. Probably spending it on a woman. Or two.

  The betrayal hurt like hell. She’d never been so angry with anyone in her life. Never been so humiliated. But the fact that the other women didn’t hurt had been a revelation. Ryanne had realized somewhere during the last couple of years that she’d never really loved Mason.

  She’d been impressed with his abilities, taken with his drive and ambition, which she’d believed matched hers, and thought that they’d make a dynamite team. And they had. In business only. And while it lasted.

  The phone rang. No one except her mother and the neighbors had this number, so Ryanne didn’t have to worry about dodging bill collectors. “Hello?”

  “Hi, honey.”

  “Mom. I didn’t expect you to call.”

  “I was just wondering how you’re doing.”

  “I’m doing fine.”

  “Are you sure everything’s okay, Ryanne? You’ve never done anything like this before. Do you need me there?”

  “Oh, no, Mom. That’s not necessary. I just came for a vacation, is all.”

  “A vacation? In Elmwood? Something’s not right, and I know it. Are you and Mason having problems?”

  Ryanne listened to the genuine concern in her mother’s voice and a crack opened in her steely resolve. She hadn’t been able to tell anyone, hadn’t had anyone with whom to share this dismal episode in her life. She’d felt as though saying the words would be admitting her failure, and she hadn’t been ready to do that. But she was tired of the solitary struggle…and of avoiding the truth. She released a breath and felt the prickle of hot tears. “Yes, Mom. Mason and I have had a lot of problems. We’re not living together anymore.”

  “Oh,” her mother said, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, honey. I’m sure you’ll be able to work things out if you both give it some time and—”

  “I divorced him, Mom. Quite a while ago. I—I just didn’t have the courage to tell you. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, honey.” Her mother was silent for a long moment. “I had a feeling it was something like that,” she said finally. “I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could share it with me.”

  “No. It’s not you, Mom. It’s me. It’s alw
ays been me.”

  “I’ll come right away if you want.”

  “No. I just need some time. I’m starting my life over, and it’s going to take some getting used to. I know you understand that. I mean, after Daddy leaving and all.”

  “I do. That’s why I like it here so much, I guess. Nothing to remind me of him and the way it used to be. Do you hear from your dad?”

  “A card at Christmas. He phoned on my birthday. He and his new wife Brittney took a trip to Japan in the spring. I didn’t even get a postcard.”

  “I’m sorry, dear. I know how his leaving hurt you.”

  “Me? I think you’re the one with the bone to pick, Mom.”

  Her mother chuckled. “You know, I think he did me a favor. I wouldn’t have been able to say that until the last few years, but I’m really enjoying my life here.”

  “Good for you.”

  “You can come visit if you like.”

  Ryanne considered it, then remembered the cost of plane fare, and said evasively, “I’ll think about it.”

  “All right. Call me anytime. Is everything all right at the house? I would have called Nick and had him turn on the air-conditioning for you, but I didn’t know when you’d arrive.”

  “It’s not that hot here,” she lied. “But I want you to let me know if there are extra costs from me staying at the house. You get the statements there, right?”

  “Yes, but I’m sure it won’t be much.”

  “Nick fixed the back door for me this afternoon. It stuck and I couldn’t get it open.”

  “He’s such a sweetheart, that young man,” Evelyn said. “Isn’t it a shame he doesn’t have a wife who deserves him?”

  “Where is his wife?” Ryanne asked, now that she had the opportunity. Once she’d left, she hadn’t really paid any attention to the people back in Elmwood.

  “Don’t you remember? Holly left him when little Jamie was barely two. She was never happy. Maybe she never got over Justin. I never really thought she was Nick’s type. Mel told me the two of them had a lot of problems and she finally just signed over custody and took off.”

  “How sad for Jamie.”

  “Yes, he’s a great little boy.”

  “Holly was Justin’s girlfriend, right?”

  “Yes. But after Justin’s death—not long actually, maybe not even quite a year—she and Nick got married. There was a lot of speculation over that relationship, as you can guess.”

  “There’s always been a lot of speculation over everything in this town. And Mom?”

  “What?”

  “I haven’t told anyone about me and Mason. So if you talk to anyone, please don’t say anything.”

  “I won’t, dear. I rarely talk with folks in Elmwood unless I’m there for a stay.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And call me if you need me,” her mother added. “Call Nick if you need something quickly.”

  “I’ll be just fine.”

  “You’re always just fine, but sometimes we need other people. You’ve always thought you had to be so independent that you couldn’t even ask for help.”

  “Okay. If I need help, I’ll ask.”

  “Good. I love you. Bye, honey.”

  “Bye, Mom. I love you.” Ryanne hung up the phone, relieved to have told someone, yet saddened by the reality.

  Children’s laughter reached her.

  She walked to the window where the enormous old fan rattled, sucking out air, but barely making a difference. Through the window above the fan, she observed a ball game in progress. Nick, clad in jeans but shirtless, wearing a ball cap backward, was playing ball with half a dozen boys wearing caps in the same fashion. Wasn’t the whole point of a brim to keep the sun out of one’s eyes? She smiled to herself.

  Watching Nick encouraging the kids and chasing the ball, throwing it and smacking the palm of his leather glove, she had to agree with her mother. It was a shame Nick didn’t have a wife who deserved him. Well, it was a shame Jamie didn’t have a mother—Ryanne couldn’t really say what kind of a wife Nick deserved. It was none of her business, anyway.

  And the last thing she should be thinking about.

  Ryanne had worked well into the night, updating and polishing her résumé until she had a package she believed was impressive. Now, where to send it? She spent Sunday morning washing curtains and bedding and checking out career opportunities on the Web. When the church bell rang from a few streets away, dozens of nostalgic memories interrupted her thinking.

  She carried a cup of coffee to the front door and studied the deserted street and neighborhood. Everyone had gone to one of the services at the two well-preserved church buildings the town founders had built a hundred years ago.

  She glanced at the Sinclair home and the flourishing green garden. A spattering noise during the night had drawn her out here in her nightshirt to discover Nick watering his garden in the darkness. Later, she’d seen his light on. Well, if that was still his bedroom, it had been his light. It had to be, if Mel slept downstairs. Surely Jamie wasn’t up until the wee hours of the morning.

  She finished her research, printing out a few pages she wanted to review, and carried them out to the open porch.

  Mistake.

  Neighbors were making their way home from church, walking along the tree-shaded street. She recognized Russel Carter and his wife, Janet, who lived a few houses away. Russel owned and ran the Second Chance Used Furniture Store. The couple spotted her and waved vigorously.

  Ryanne returned the greeting, and they turned up her walk. “Ryanne Whitaker,” Russel said with a wide smile. “It’s sure been a long time since we’ve seen you around here.”

  “Yeah, I guess it has. How are you?”

  “We’re just fine, thanks, and you?”

  “Great, great. You still selling furniture?”

  “Buying and selling,” he said with a nod.

  Ryanne glanced at Janet.

  “I work part-time for Sheigh Addison. She’s the vet,” Janet told her.

  “Is she new in town? I don’t remember the name.”

  “She’s been here about five years, I guess,” Janet said, looking to her husband for confirmation.

  He nodded.

  “Well,” Ryanne said. “Elmwood must be growing.”

  “Oh, it is, it is,” Russel agreed. “We have a pet store, too. Paige Duncan runs it. Does dog grooming, too. We take our Luvey there.”

  “Do you have a dog?” Janet asked.

  Ryanne shook her head. Janet’s expression fell. She’d obviously lost esteem in the woman’s eyes.

  “Well, if you get a dog, Sheigh is the best vet you’ll find.”

  “Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

  They exchanged goodbyes and the Carters headed toward home, but before Ryanne could pick up her papers and duck into the house, another voice called out to her. Eventually, everyone who lived on her street and had walked to church called a greeting or stopped to talk.

  The Sinclairs were among the last stragglers, and Ryanne figured it was because of how many people they must have stopped to talk to before they got here.

  “Morning, Ryanne,” Mel called.

  Jamie ran up her steps and showed her the picture he’d colored, from a lesson book—showing Daniel in the lion’s den.

  “I like the way you use color,” she told him, kneeling beside him and pointing to his work. “This is bright and eye-catching.”

  “Spoken as someone in advertising?” Nick asked, coming up behind his son with a smile.

  She shrugged. “Maybe.” She returned her attention to Jamie’s drawing. “Is this going up on the bulletin board with all your other pictures?”

  The child nodded. “Did you see ’em?”

  “I did. You’re quite an artist.”

  He nodded again.

  “Why don’t you come have lunch with us?” Mel offered from the bottom of the steps.

  “Oh, thanks, but I have work to do,” she replied.

 
“I spent a lot of years working on Sundays and I can tell you, life slips by that way,” he said with a seriousness she recognized.

  She glanced from him to Nick, not knowing what to say.

  “But you’ll be done by tonight, right?” Mel asked.

  Ryanne was afraid to say one way or the other. Finally, she gave a half nod.

  “Good, then we’ll come by and pick you up for ice cream in the park. Nick has to take a freezer, so we’ll be leaving a little early. See you around six-thirty.”

  Ryanne stared at Mel’s back as he made his way toward home. She turned and met Nick’s amused expression. “What’s so funny?”

  “You. Him.” He chuckled.

  “I don’t have a burning desire to be eaten alive by mosquitoes, thank you.”

  “They’re not even out yet. And when they are, the park gets sprayed.”

  “Whatever.”

  “We’ll see you later.” He took Jamie’s hand and they walked away from her.

  Jamie tugged on Nick’s hand and Nick leaned over to listen to something he had to say. He nodded and Jamie ran back and clambered up the stairs to Ryanne. He extended the picture he’d colored. “This is for you.”

  Ryanne accepted it with a twinge in the area of her heart. She looked into the boy’s dark blue eyes, eyes so like his father’s, yet so filled with a hope and enthusiasm she no longer saw in Nick’s. “Are you sure you want me to have it?”

  Jamie nodded. “You don’t have any pictures in your kitchen, do you?”

  “No.”

  “You can put it on your fridgerator. And when you see it, you can remember to not be afraid. That’s what the lesson was about.”

  Ryanne accepted the gift and thanked him. “I’ll remember that.”

  She watched them go home and enter their house, then she gathered her papers and went inside. She finally found a butterfly magnet made out of pipe cleaners and sequins, and stuck her picture up.

  Mel’s words had recalled her earlier thoughts. This had been one of the few Sunday mornings for as long as she could remember that she hadn’t worked. Well, she’d been working, but a Sunday that she hadn’t gone into the office. It gave her a lost feeling, a feeling of not belonging and not having anything important to do.