Right Brother

by Patricia McLinn

  “Believe it or not, it didn’t. A lot of people don’t understand that. He liked being the star. I like the inner workings. The part of the game most people don’t see, the part TV cameras don’t follow.”

  Zeke nodded. “I can understand that.”

  Trent met the other man’s gaze, and Jennifer saw a moment of connection between them. “I bet you can,” he said.

  “You’re right that a lot of people don’t understand,” Zeke said. “They think it’s the result we’re after, instead of the process.”

  “If your process didn’t bring results that I have to market to people, I wouldn’t care,” Quince said.

  “See what I put up with? Insurrection in the ranks putting hurdles in my way.” Zeke turned to Trent. “Bet you’ve had obstacles, too.”

  “Mostly what I battled was people wanting to cut me from teams right off because I didn’t have one standard selling point. If I stuck around long enough, they’d see what I could do. So my first goal was just to stick. Not to cause trouble, not be a problem, not make any demands.”

  Jennifer watched Trent as the conversation veered away from football.

  He had such determination, such strength. Traits he must have developed from coping with his family from a young age, but then had become the tools he used to move past that upbringing.

  “Oh, look,” Mrs. Zeekowsky said. “The fireworks began.”

  Trent tipped his head back along with everyone else to watch the next trail streaking into the sky, then bursting into a shimmering, multicolored ball.

  It’s got to be strange with training camp coming up.

  He resettled in the lawn chair between Zeke and Jennifer.

  Why had Quince’s words hit like a blow to the gut? Sure, he’d known intellectually—that’s what retiring meant. But until now, a couple weeks before he would normally pack for training camp, it hadn’t seemed real. He’d mostly been following his off-season routine, even working out with the team at the spring minicamps. But from now on, his life diverged from what he’d known since…

  Another explosion blossomed into sparkled confetti.

  …Good Lord, since grade school.

  Football season had been the structure and rhythm of his years, as certain a part of his calendar as national holidays. And now it was gone.

  He dropped his head.

  This time he saw the explosion only by reflection in the pond.

  Movement among the crowd at the far side of the pond caught his eye. Across a sea of heads looking skyward, he saw a figure amid a group of youngsters that he recognized as Ashley. She tossed her hair and looked up in rapt attention. Not at fireworks. She was looking at a boy. In the flashes of light, he couldn’t identify him. Then the group moved, and a clump of broad lilac bushes blocked his view.

  Trent looked toward Jennifer. She seemed absorbed by the fireworks.

  Another burst, and he saw the fireworks by reflection again. This time in her eyes.

  He had never seen fireworks so glorious.

  He couldn’t look away. Her profile disappeared into darkness between explosions, then reappeared, glowing and sparkling. Not only from reflection, but with its own light.

  She sucked in a breath in delight, leaving a gap between her skin and the strap of her sundress, an opening right where her shoulder and her breast met. A gap where his hand could slide under the fabric, fitting perfectly, to feel the soft flesh.

  Jennifer turned to him, smiling. “Wasn’t that amazing?”

  Amazing? Oh, yeah, amazing. Though, he doubted she meant what he meant.

  “Trent? Is something wrong?”

  Only then did he realize the explosions had stopped. At least the explosions in the sky. How long had he been staring at her?

  “Nothing wrong. Just wowed by those fireworks.”

  Her gaze met his. He extended his hand toward her face. But just short of touching her cheek, he saw the worry surge across her eyes.

  Damn.

  He redirected his hand, brushing across the skin where the side of her throat turned toward her shoulder. “Mosquito,” he muttered.

  One of the bloodsuckers might have been there, but he wouldn’t have noticed. It was pure excuse. And, as long as he’d invented it, he might as well make the most of it.

  Grasping the collar of her feathery sweater, which had slid down her arm, he tugged it back into place, letting his fingers brush her skin again as he did.

  “Can’t have those mosquitoes eating up a pretty woman,” he said.

  He’d meant it to sound light. To put her at ease.

  It didn’t.

  First, she went stiff. Then she stood with abrupt, jerky movements.

  “They are getting bad,” she said, her voice strained, her back to him.

  Darcie was suddenly beside him, glaring, letting him know he hadn’t fooled her. “That was quite a display.”

  “The very best display in Drago ever,” Mrs. Zeekowsky said proudly from in front of them. “The fireworks were magnificent.”

  “They sure were,” Darcie agreed, drilling him for another second with her eyes before relenting by looking at her fiancé. “Brenda deserves a bonus, Zeke. She did a fantastic job.”

  Zeke looked from Darcie to Trent, then back. She gave a slight shake of her head, and the man relaxed. Under other circumstances, Trent might have been amused at the silent communication.

  “Don’t give Brenda any ideas,” Zeke said. “She already thinks she runs the business.”

  “Nah.” Quince grinned. “She just knows she runs the business half of your life.”

  Everyone laughed, while Zeke protested good-humoredly.

  As they folded their chairs, Jennifer looked around. “Has anyone spotted Ashley?”

  The question had been general, but Trent was next to her, so he responded. “It’s so dark I can barely see you,” he lied.

  To his surprise, her posture relaxed and she chuckled, sounding like the incident of the mosquito was forgotten. “That’s right. Nobody can see anybody at the fireworks.”

  Pretty damned perfect.

  She and Eric had been late for the movie the first time he’d picked her up at her house, because he and her father had talked football for so long. At last, her father walked them to the door, clapped Eric on the shoulder and declared, “You two look pretty damned perfect together.”

  “Roy! Such language,” her mother had said in the background, but Jennifer heard approval in her voice.

  Trent and Josh had rehashed just about every play in every game against each other, when Trent leaned back in his chair and grinned at Josh.

  “This is a heck of a lot more fun than the previous time I was in this office,” he said. “Being lectured by Mr. Grandhier about the dangers of premarital sex. As if we’d gotten anywhere close to that.”

  It had been hard enough to find privacy to make out, much less do more. He’d never expected to be back in the same situation as an adult.

  A vision flashed in Trent’s head of experiencing with Jennifer what had gotten him called to the principal’s office that long-ago spring day. Holding Jennifer, his mouth on hers, her hands—

  Trent blinked away the vision. Vision? More like a hallucination.

  Technically, he and Jennifer had been alone the night of the fireworks, since most cars had cleared out while they waited a good half hour for Ashley. But the mood had not been conducive to discussing, much less acting on.

  And what would he say? You don’t seem to be worrying every second that I might be Dracula come to suck out your lifeblood anymore, and we work together well, wanna see how we’d be in bed?

  So, they’d talked about the dealership. Of course. She never ran out of things to say about that. Even that had had him edgy, since Jennifer’s half of the discussion was in that husky voice of hers.

  When Ashley finally arrived, there were looks exchanged between mother and daughter that made him glad they’d decided to save it until he dropped them off. The weird thing
was the girl had been downright pleasant to him. Even weirder, it wasn’t until then that he’d realized he kind of liked the kid, even when she was being a brat.

  Josh laughed. “Got caught at Makeout Lookout, huh?”

  “God, it’s still called that?” he asked.

  “Yup. It’s not just kids, either. They say it’s where nearly half the babies in Drago are conceived, and more than half the divorces.” Josh gave him a considering look. “I hear your brother was there frequently. And I don’t mean in high school.”

  In other words, Eric had cheated on Jennifer, along with everything else. Trent would never have that vision of taking Jennifer to Makeout Lookout again. But the physical aftermath of having the vision in the first place hadn’t receded yet.

  “What’s the matter?” Josh asked.

  He must have made an unconscious movement. “A little sore.”

  “I saw you out running this morning. Feeling your age, huh?”

  “You could say that.” But it wasn’t his leg muscles that felt sore.

  “That brings up something I was hoping to discuss with you. I have an idea.”

  “I heard you need someone to do the books,” Anne Hooper said, standing on the far side of Jennifer’s desk.

  Jennifer knew her a little, as she knew most people in Drago. She knew Anne ran the farm that belonged to her late husband’s great uncle. And that they were having even more difficulty than most in the area bringing ends into the same general vicinity, much less making them meet.

  “I, uh, well, yes. We do.” Trent was right that they couldn’t impose on Linc forever. Trent knew investing but not the accounting they needed and her basic-level skills were about to break under the strain. “But we haven’t even advertised for the job.”

  Anne ignored that. “I can do them from home. At night.”

  “After you’ve worked all day on the farm?” Jennifer had more than her imagination to tell her how tiring that would be. She could see it in the slump of the woman’s shoulders, in the weariness that wasn’t so much around her eyes as actually in them. “Won’t you sit down?”

  Anne did with a quick thanks and a small, tight smile. “Yes, I’ll do them after I’ve worked on the farm. Same time I do our books.”

  The woman might have been more obvious if she’d been wearing a neon sign proclaiming Sympathy Need Not Apply but just barely.

  “The dealership’s going to have different issues.” Jennifer was sure of that, although she had no idea about farm finances. Not that she’d become an expert at dealership finances. She needed to learn faster. About finances and marketing and management and sales and…everything. “Taxes. Uh, inventory. That sort of thing.”

  “The basics are the basics. And this can’t be worse than figuring out farm taxes. Besides, now I know how to find out. That’s the toughest part.”

  Jennifer looked at Anne Hooper, and for all their physical differences, felt as if she were looking into a mirror. A mirror that showed a woman doing her damnedest and afraid it wouldn’t be good enough.

  “You’re right. You’re hired.”

  She could hire someone without consulting Trent. He’d given Barry a permanent job without consulting her, and then extended the offer to Jonas, too, saying it was only fair.

  Anne Hooper blinked once, as if shocked, then stood and extended her hand. “Thank you. You won’t regret it.”

  Jennifer met the handshake. “I’m sure I won’t. Now, shall we get started? You can use my desk and computer to get acquainted with what we have.” She stood and took a wire basket overflowing with papers from the desk. “I’ll work on filing, so you can ask any questions as they come up.”

  Anne was at the desk and Jennifer was sorting papers behind the open cabinet door when she heard footsteps stop at the doorway from the hall. Then Anne’s voice from behind her said, “May I help you?”

  “I was told this was Jennifer Truesdale’s office.”

  Jennifer backed up and swung the cabinet door closed. Her ears hadn’t deceived her. But she still couldn’t believe it.

  Chapter Eight

  Jennifer watched him skip a rock across the surface of Drago River with the easy movement of an athlete.

  She wondered how many people would guess just from that motion that he’d been a high school quarterback.

  They’d driven in his car to the river bend just outside of town. From the patch of asphalt off the side of the road known as Makeout Lookout, they’d followed a narrow path through trees and brush to where the river had worn a quarter-moon of sandy earth clear. This was what passed for a beach in Drago. She’s always preferred the swimming hole on the other side of town.

  “Thanks for coming out here with me, Jenny.” The name sounded unfamiliar. He was the only person who still called her Jenny. And she hadn’t heard it from him in years.

  “You said it was urgent.”

  He nodded, then skipped another stone across the nearly still water. The droning of insects rose and fell before he spoke.

  “She says she’ll leave me,” her brother finally said.

  “Amy said that? Really?”

  As astonished as she was, she didn’t dismiss his words. Her sister-in-law didn’t say things she didn’t mean. And she frequently said things other people might not have wanted to hear.

  Like on Jennifer’s wedding day, when she’d found Jennifer alone during the reception at the country club and had offered her best wishes.

  Amy and Mark had been dating less than a year at that point. He was nuts about her, said he wanted to marry her, but Amy was holding back.

  “Thank you, Amy. I hope you and Mark might…” She gave her words a questioning lift at the end.

  “Maybe.” Amy looked around, then added. “Depends on if he can grow up. I love him, but I’m not sure I could be married to him. Your family hasn’t done him any favors by making him the center of the universe.”

  Jennifer had been stunned into silence. Not because Amy was wrong, but because she was right. And because no one ever admitted it. And, maybe, she thought now, because everything Amy had said about Mark also applied to Eric. Unfortunately she hadn’t recognized that until several years after she’d said, “I do.”

  “But you got the worse end of the deal,” Amy continued. “I know, I know. Your parents are good people at heart. But, really, Jennifer, it’s like they’re stuck in the Victorian age with the son the be-all and end-all and you… Well, usually a daughter who’s a daddy’s girl is also the family princess.”

  But not you. The words were implicit in Amy’s tone and expression.

  “Seems like you have to scramble for every bit of attention. Even today,” she’d added.

  Jennifer’s gaze had gone to where most of the guests gathered around three men—her father, her brother and her new husband. Her father was thrilled that she’d married Eric. Thrilled.

  Beside her, Amy had sighed. “I suppose it says something about Mark’s character that he’s not worse than he is, so maybe there’s hope.”

  But after nearly twelve years of marriage and three kids, it now seemed Amy had given up hope.

  Still standing by the river, Mark nodded miserably, confirming that Amy had said she’d leave him.

  “But why?” Jennifer asked.

  “She said to ask you. That’s why I’m here. Had to find out where you were from Mom,” he added on a note of complaint.

  Their parents had moved to a northwest suburb of Chicago six years ago, to be “near the grandchildren,” her father had said. Said it right to her face, oblivious that he was overlooking the grandchild he had in Drago. Ah, but Ashley was a mere girl, while Mark and Amy had three growing—and athletic—boys. Her mother had posed no objection to her husband’s decision. She’d been happy to have a new house and garden to decorate and design. “And,” she’d said with pleasure, “the shopping is so wonderful.”

  Mark stopped skipping stones and looked back at where Jennifer sat on a picnic table. “Why aren’t y
ou living in the house anymore?”

  Clueless. Absolutely clueless as ever about other people’s lives.

  “You do know that Eric and I are divorced, don’t you?”

  Her sarcasm didn’t penetrate. “Yeah, though I don’t see why you left the house. And you working at Stenner Autos—that makes no sense.”

  “It’s complicated, but—”

  “Oh, God. Divorce, Jenny! I don’t want Amy to divorce me. I don’t want to lose her and the boys. To be all alone. Jenny, you gotta tell me what did Amy mean? What are you supposed to tell me?”

  “I don’t know. I—”

  “Think! Think, Jenny. You gotta help me.”

  A cord that had wrapped tight around Jennifer as long as she could remember, a cord that perhaps she unknowingly had wound even tighter herself, snapped, and with it, the guard on her tongue and her thoughts.

  “I don’t know what she meant, Mark. And it’s not my job to save your marriage. I have more than enough of my own problems to solve. You want to know why Ashley and I aren’t living in the house? And, oh, yes, thank you for asking after the welfare of your niece. The niece you haven’t seen in nearly three years because you’re always too busy. The niece her grandparents barely remember to send a card to because they’re taking your kids to Bears games and baseball camps and basketball exhibitions.”

  She sucked in a breath. She could stop now. Reclaim her calm. Apologize and put things back the way they’d always been. She kept going.

  “I’ll tell you the reason we’re not in the house,” she heard herself saying. “Because we’re broke. Because Eric left us with way too many debts and way too few assets. Because he’s run out on child support. Because I sold the house to pay off what he owed. You want to know why I’m working at the dealership? Because I have this wild-eyed dream of being able to feed and clothe my daughter. And someday sending her to college. That’s why.”

  “God, I had no idea, Jenny. Why haven’t Mom and Dad said anything?”

  She snorted. “How the hell would they know? And why would they start caring now? Why would anyone start caring now?”