His Ordinary Life

by Linda Winfree

  “Who sneaked out?” His pounding heart eased, but dread continued to tingle along his nerves, making his fingers numb and heavy.

  Even Tick’s long-suffering sigh didn’t bother him. “Blake. He and Barbara argued earlier, and when she got up, the back door was open and his room empty.”

  “You’re sure he left on his own?”

  “I checked outside. No footprints but his. He’s feeling his oats.”

  “How long’s he been gone?”

  “A couple of hours at least.”

  Hours. So Barbara had called Tick first. He squashed the injured pride. It didn’t matter who she called first. Blake mattered. “Any idea where he is?”

  “Barb thinks with some friends, riding around. She told him he couldn’t go since it was a school night. I’ve got an alert out on him, but I look for him to walk through the door any minute.”

  Sneaking out of the house? Del shook his head. The boy could be obstinate—he was a Calvert, after all—but open defiance? That didn’t sound like Blake.

  How do you know what he’s like now? You’re not there. You bailed. The guilt jabbed at him with hot, sharp little pokers.

  “Del?”

  He rubbed a hand over his nape, wondering how many times Tick had called his name. “I’m here. Let me talk to Barbara.”

  A pause. “She’s in the shower.”

  The shower? His imagination kicked into overdrive. Why would Barbara be showering at three while waiting for their errant son to return home? Maybe she hadn’t had to call Tick. Maybe he’d already been there. Del shook off the wayward musings. He had no reason to believe there was anything between his estranged wife and his brother. Nothing except the fact that Barbara thought the sun shone out of Tick. Nothing but his brother’s penchant for blondes, coupled with what their sister Tori swore was a broken heart. Nothing but the whispered gossip he’d heard the last time he’d taken his mama to church, that Barbara was looking to replace him…with Tick.

  The tense muscles in his neck refused to give under his fingers. “Tell Barbara I’m on my way. I should be there in a couple hours.”

  “You sure you want to drive down here? Barbara and I can handle—”

  “I want to be there.” He pushed the words out between clenched teeth and tried to force the tension from his body.

  Sounding muffled and distant, Barbara’s voice murmured, “Let me talk to him.” He fought down a wave of anticipation while they shuffled the phone. “Del?”

  At the trace of tears in her voice, he closed his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” An icy edge joined the tears. “There’s no need for you to drive—”

  “Can you tell me where my son is?”

  A tight pause pulsed over the line. “No.”

  “Then I’m coming down. We’ll deal with him together, present a united front.”

  “A united front?” Bitterness hovered in her slight laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  A flush of shame burned his ears. He deserved the recriminations, hers and his. He’d broken their union. “Look, I’m heading out now. I’ll see you in a couple hours. You have my cell number if you need me, right?”

  The weird silence descended on the long-distance connection again, but he didn’t require words. She’d never let herself need him again. The phone crackled in his ear and she sighed. “I have it.”

  “Good. See you in a while.”

  *

  The Porsche ate the miles, sucking up long stretches of near-deserted interstate. Both hands on the wheel, Del tried to convince himself sneaking out was a normal rite of teenage passage. The odds were Blake would walk through the door, no harm done except to his parents’ trust. His son would be okay.

  His mind wouldn’t listen. Memories rose of the summer nights when he’d sneaked away from his parents’ home, unable to stay away from Barbara Blake, afraid of the separation college would bring, afraid of losing someone else he loved. Warm nights and her scent on him, and later, having to tell his father he wasn’t going to college. And neither was Barbara, because he’d made her pregnant.

  His fault.

  Too many things could happen. A slide show of horrible possibilities flickered in his brain—car accidents, kids taking stupid risks and ending up dead. He pushed the gas pedal harder and the sports car sped through the night.

  *

  The horizon had lightened to a thin, gray line when Del pulled into Barbara’s driveway a little more than two hours after he left Atlanta. He unfolded cramped legs from the low-slung car, and stretching, he studied his children’s home. The Arts and Craft cottage dominated the small lot. Since he’d taken the apartment in Atlanta, he hadn’t been past the front porch when picking up or dropping off the children.

  He didn’t need to go inside to know what he was missing—a home with the stamp of Barbara’s nurturing personality. As he walked to the porch, bright with hanging baskets, potted plants and white wicker furniture, the front door opened. His lower belly tightened with a familiar anticipation that went beyond sexual desire.

  Tick stepped into the patch of light spilling from the open door. Good Lord. Del stared. His brother looked awful. His investigator’s uniform of khakis and a dark green golf shirt hung on a lean frame missing pounds it couldn’t spare. He needed a haircut, black hair falling on his forehead, red-rimmed eyes sunken in his gaunt face.

  “Sweet Jesus, brother, what happened to you?”

  Tick rolled his eyes heavenward. “I’ve been busy. We’re rebuilding this department from the ground up, remember?”

  Yeah, but this decline seemed to have more to do with intense misery than overwork. Maybe Tori was right. Maybe he was on the rebound for real.

  Del wondered if he carried around that haunted look as well. Shaking off the thought, he tilted his chin toward the house. “Is he here?”

  Tick’s mouth tightened. “No. I pulled in some favors. I’ve got a pair of our off-duty guys actively looking for him.”

  A cold fear tiptoed down Del’s back. Chandler County wasn’t that big. Where was he?

  “What the hell are you driving?” Tick rested an arm on the porch post.

  Del glanced at the Porsche. It really wasn’t him, but he hadn’t had much of a choice except to drive it, since his fifteen-year-old Cherokee had finally kicked the bucket. “Bought it at a bank auction. It needed some engine work and a paint job, figured I’d flip it for a profit. Just picked it up from the body shop yesterday.”

  “Wondered if your new single status had gone to your head.” Tick jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Barbara’s fixing breakfast. I guess she needs something to do. Come on in.”

  His older brother inviting him into his own damn house didn’t sit well. At all. Angry resentment crowded out his earlier concern. Glaring at the back of Tick’s head, he followed.

  Inside, the scents swamped him—a heady blend of roses, a lighter citrus aroma, and the delight of fresh coffee and French toast hanging in the air. Home. The sensation wrapped around him, driving out the painful loneliness for a moment. He filled his lungs, wanting to experience as much of this luxury as possible. Funny how the things he missed the most were the ones he’d never paid attention to when he had them every day.

  “Hello, Del.”

  Barbara stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. He looked at her, the lungs which had been so eager earlier now refusing to work. Wearing loose khaki capris and a coral linen top, her short champagne blonde hair framing her face, she appeared calm and capable. However, the light makeup she wore didn’t quite disguise the evidence of recent tears.

  He was staring. Shaking his head, he found his voice. “Hey.”

  Dazzling. The mother of his children, the woman he’d shared all but three months of his adult years with, the woman he couldn’t get out of his dreams, and all he could manage was a typical Southern monosyllable. He’d done better than that as a tongue-tied teenage boy who’d failed a semester of senior Engl
ish.

  Somehow, he doubted his brother, Mr. Valedictorian, Mr. FBI Award, ever had the same problem. Del hooked his thumbs in his pockets and looked at Barbara again. The corner of his mouth hitched up in a crooked grin. “Something smells good.”

  No answering smile curved Barbara’s full lips. “Are you hungry?”

  Small talk when they didn’t know where in the hell their son was, what he was doing. Del shook his head. “Not really.”

  “The girls will be up in a little while. I thought I’d have their breakfast ready.” Her voice cracked, and a tiny tremor shook her bottom lip. “How about some coffee?”

  “Now that sounds great.”

  She looked past him and smiled, a short-lived, tense expression. “Tick?”

  “Please. Tell you what. You sit, I’ll pour.” Soft concern lingered in Tick’s voice, and he rubbed her shoulder as he passed into the kitchen. The acid of jealousy blistered Del’s throat. “Mugs still over the stove?”

  “Yes.” Moving into the room, Barbara picked up a fringed pillow from the floor. She fluffed it and dropped it on the corner of the camel-colored couch before she straightened the throw lying across the back of the leather armchair.

  Del had a flash of her in the waiting room during Lyssa’s surgery to have tubes placed in her ears. She’d straightened everything possible—chairs, magazines, fake plants. The constant movement had driven him crazy, and finally, he’d pulled her down beside him and rubbed at her shoulders, whispering reassurances all the while.

  He took an instinctive step toward her and stopped. He cleared his throat. “I’m sure he’s okay.”

  Blue eyes narrowed, brows lowered, she looked at him over her shoulder. “You always think everything’s going to be okay.”

  They’ll be okay. You worry too much. His irritated words when she’d fretted over telling the children about his plans to move out. He’d been wrong. They’d been far from okay—Lyssa crying, Anna withdrawing, Blake…Blake and his anger.

  He’d left them anyway, put his own wants above what was best for his family. How did a guy make up for that?

  “We’ll make it okay.” He tucked his thumbs in his pockets. “We’ll figure something out.”

  She shook her head and glared, hands on her hips. She opened her mouth, closed it, lips pursed, then opened it again.

  The back door creaked open. Del turned, his gaze meeting his son’s blazing eyes. Blake stared at him a second, spun and walked out of the house. The door slammed behind him.

  “Go ahead, Del.” Barbara’s voice was cold. “Find a way to make this okay.”

  Del went after his son.

  Chapter Two

  The door clicked closed behind Del. He stood on the back deck, eyes adjusting to the change in brightness. In the grayish predawn, hanging lanterns cast yellow puddles on the floor and the pool lights washed the surrounding grass in a bluish hue.

  Blake slumped on the steps, the line of his shoulders tense. Nerves clenching in his stomach, Del eyed his son. This angry young man couldn’t be the same infant he’d held and been afraid of dropping sixteen years ago. Somehow, he was more afraid of dropping him now.

  You already dropped him.

  Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he crossed to the steps and sat down.

  Blake glanced at him and scowled. His dark gaze flared with resentment. “What are you doing here?”

  “Why do you think I’m here?” He regretted the words once they left his lips and Blake’s face tightened further.

  “So you only show up when I screw up, right?”

  Think before you speak, Delbert. His own father’s voice rang in his head. Lord, how would Daddy have handled this? He swallowed and reached out to touch Blake’s shoulder. Blake shrugged him off.

  “Your mother and I were worried about you.”

  Blake cut his eyes at him and snorted.

  Del tried again. “Want to tell me where you were?”

  “No.”

  Anger curled through Del, crowding out the nervousness. “Answer the question, son.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Blake—”

  “Damn it, like you care!”

  “Watch your mouth.” The anger burned hotter. “I do care.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  This was getting them nowhere. Better to give them both time to cool off. “Go to your room.”

  Blake jumped to his feet and shook his head, lip curled in disgust. “Watch your mouth. Go to your room,” he mocked. “What’s next? I’m grounded?”

  Del rose and stepped closer to his son. He leaned in, forcing Blake to maintain eye contact. “Exactly. Give me your keys.”

  “You can’t—”

  “Yeah, I can.” He held out his hand, wiggling the fingers. “Hand them over.”

  Breathing hard, Blake dug in his pocket and pulled out the key ring. He slapped the keys into Del’s palm with stinging force. Muttering, he turned and stalked into the house. The door slammed.

  With a deep breath, Del tugged his free hand through his hair, rubbed his nape. His heart pounded. “Yeah, Delbert, you handled that real well.”

  He clenched the keys until they bit into his palm. This anger and resentment was new, deeper than the pouting bitterness Blake had carried the last couple of months. Foreboding shivered along his nerves. Something was going on, something beyond the anger over the impending divorce.

  The fury in Blake’s eyes had been too familiar. He knew that sentiment. His unease grew with his recognition of its familiarity. His son’s wild emotions mirrored his own frustrated anger when he’d told his father Barbara was pregnant.

  Anger with an underlying layer of fear, a sense that things were spiraling out of control.

  Threatened.

  Well, one thing was for sure. He wasn’t going back to Atlanta anytime soon. Not until he knew what was going on in his kid’s head.

  The slamming of Blake’s bedroom door boomed through the house. Barbara pressed a hand to her temple. He had to get a new way to communicate his frustration. The doorframes and her nerves wouldn’t stand too many more slammed doors.

  One eyebrow raised, Tick glanced at her over his coffee cup. Lyssa and Anna, sitting at the table with barely touched plates of French toast, exchanged a look then stared at her with eager, curious eyes.

  Waiting for action.

  Waiting for her to do what needed to be done.

  Lord help her, she didn’t have a clue. Nothing else had worked so far. And obviously, Del hadn’t gotten anywhere either.

  Lyssa picked up her milk glass. “Guess Daddy struck out.”

  The casual cynicism in Lyssa’s voice pricked Barbara’s heart. Any illusions her eldest daughter had had about her daddy being able to do anything were obviously dead.

  Her head propped on her elbow, Anna stabbed at her toast. “I wish he’d quit being a jerk. I want the old Blake back.”

  You’re not the only one. No way she could say that aloud, not with her daughters looking to her to handle the situation, to be fair, calm and capable. She wanted to bawl, her face buried against Del’s shoulder, the steady warmth of his arms around her.

  The image brought her up with a start. Del’s shoulder? His arms around her? Trust him, let herself depend on him? Never again.

  Tick set down his mug on the countertop, the tiles a little crooked because Barbara had laid them herself over spring break, when she’d been desperate for any task to get Del off her mind. “Want me to talk to him?”

  “No, thanks.” Barbara shook her head and forced a small smile. “I think he needs a few minutes to settle down, then I’ll try.”

  The back door opened and Del stepped into the room, the lines around his eyes deeper and his mouth a thin, tight line.

  “Daddy!” Cynicism gone, Lyssa launched herself from her chair and into Del’s embrace.

  He ruffled her hair and tightened his arms about her. “Hey, little bit.”

  She looked up at him, her
face shining. “I’m glad you’re here, even if it’s because Blake’s in trouble.”

  “He’s not…” He let the words trail away and tweaked her nose. “He’s having a hard time, isn’t he?”

  Lyssa pulled away with a huff. “More like he’s giving everyone else a hard time.”

  A surprised smile flashed across Del’s face and Barbara’s breath caught. For a moment, he looked years younger, like the boy she’d fallen in love with. The melancholy twinge of loss tugged at her heart, tears pushing up in her throat.

  She turned away and busied herself with loading the dishwasher. Her hands trembled. Behind her, another chair scraped on the ceramic tile and Del’s low chuckle rumbled in the room. “I was wondering if I was going to get a hug, Anna Nana.”

  Barbara didn’t need to turn around. The image lived in her mind, Anna hanging back until Lyssa had gotten her hugs, then clinging to her father as if she was afraid he’d disappear if she let go. The ritual repeated every time Del brought the children home. Usually, the scenario flooded Barbara with anger and resentment, but this morning, there was only the soft throb of grief for something wonderful lost forever, a family, whole and complete.

  A horn sounded outside and Tick pushed away from the counter. “That’ll be Troy Lee. I need to be back on duty at seven.”

  What he needed was a good night’s sleep and a couple of decent meals. Barbara kept the thought to herself and smiled at him. “Thanks for everything.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked in a crooked grin. “Anytime. Del, I’ll see you later?”

  “Yeah.” At Del’s terse tone, Barbara glanced at him. The tension lines bracketed his mouth again and she sighed mentally. Some things never changed and sibling rivalries never really died. “I’ll give you a call.”

  The girls followed Tick to the door, clamoring for goodbye hugs and promises of wakeboarding on the weekend.

  Barbara, alone with Del and aware of his presence, wondered if the kitchen had always been this small. She turned to gather the dishes from the breakfast table and her gaze collided with his. The deep brown depths burned, a mixture of resentment and pain, underscoring again the strong resemblance between father and son.