Mr. Right Goes Wrong

by Pamela Morsi

  Eli rose to his feet near one of the front windows and the sight outside froze him in place. It was almost like a scene from the past, but the characters were older now. Older and, he had hoped, wiser. But the sick feeling in his stomach belied that.

  Driscoll stood totally relaxed in the afternoon sun, leaning against the light post. He still had that youthful confidence of a man whose physical abilities had never failed him. Calm and in control, he was looking down at Mazy as if she were his. As if he still owned her, heart and mind, the way he had in high school.

  His expression was serious, almost somber, as he spoke. And just like in their teen years, he was doing most of the talking. Mazy was looking up at him, her dark hair blowing across her cheek. She was listening intently to him, as if his words, his ideas, his opinions, mattered to her. She was smiling up at Tad Driscoll. Then, inexplicably, it was more than that. They were laughing...together.

  Eli tried to turn away from the sight, but he couldn’t stop looking as each second ticked by and they continued to stand together like friends.

  After all that Driscoll had done, she was still going back for more.

  35

  By the end of the workday, the chestnut was tied down and covered on a long-bed trailer and headed down the highway to its new home. The walls downstairs had been painted in a pale terra cotta that somehow seemed very chic and urban.

  The team was exhausted, but when the day finally ended, nobody could let it go.

  “It’s Saturday night. Why don’t we all go grab a beer somewhere,” Jimmy Ray suggested.

  Pastor Blick demurred, suggesting he had work to do on his sermon, although everyone understood that a preacher going out for a beer would be considered grounds for termination by many in his flock.

  Fortunately, most everyone else was eager and available. It was decided to meet at the Horse Cove roadhouse.

  Eli dropped Mazy and Tru off at home. Mazy wanted to shower and dress. Tru whined a bit about not being allowed to go, since he had worked as an equal all day. But his complaints were mostly perfunctory. He might be tall and he might have worked hard, but he was still only fourteen. Even if he could overcome his mother’s scruples, his arguments would likely have little effect on the roadhouse’s proprietor.

  Mazy rushed through a shower and tried to put on makeup in a steamed-up mirror. She was actually excited. It had been a great day. She had had fun and had felt accepted. And it was great to see Eli and Tru working together. Her heart caught in her throat at the image. Mazy didn’t know if it was a natural affinity or having a great role model, but Eli had that blend of high expectations and genuine respect that helped children believe in themselves. The only other quality that was required was love. And Tru was, in her undoubtedly biased opinion, highly lovable.

  He’d even seemed to win Tad over.

  That had been, perhaps, the most surprising thing of the day. Tad had shown up to work. It had taken her a while to reason that out. Was he there because of the bank debt? Mazy knew for a fact that Charlie was not one of his “bros.” While holding back on most of the other local businessmen, he’d thrown Charlie and his loan right in her lap, assuming that it would get sold off and foreclosed.

  So if he wasn’t there for friendship, then it must be that he felt a certain civic responsibility. That thought gave her pause. The Tad Driscoll that she remembered was no altruistic volunteer. Everything he did had some kind of payoff.

  But if she had been able to change, maybe he had to. He certainly was talking a different game from their encounter that first day in the bank. He was talking about Tru as his son.

  “He seems like a thoughtful, talented kid,” Tad told her. “He’s polite and well-spoken. That doesn’t happen by accident.”

  “Well, maybe not completely by accident,” she admitted. “But he’s always been a reasonable, biddable kid. I’ve tried to be straight with him about stuff. I’ve had to trust him. And I think that’s paid off by making him more trustworthy.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” he said. “Genna has always tried to shelter the girls from our family problems. As if somehow the girls themselves were not actually a part of the family. I often think that, since they don’t know the whole story on things, they fall back on ideas of black-and-white. One person is the good guy and the other is the bad. I’m sure you know, as the noncustodial parent, which side of that I typically end up on.”

  Mazy was sympathetic, but she actually thought he might be wrong. Kids, she believed, often romanticized the parent that was not there while vilifying the one who had to enforce rules on a daily basis. She didn’t say that, however, because he was back on praise for Tru and she loved the sound of that.

  “I was impressed with those shelves that he built. I’ve never put together anything like that in my life. Of course, I’ve never really had to, but it would be a nice skill to possess, anyway.”

  Mazy smiled. “Eli has been teaching him. He really enjoys the work. And I think it’s good for him to hang out with the Lathams. They’re decent men with salt-of-the-earth values.”

  “Well, sure they are,” Tad agreed. “And I’m sure they like having Tru around. He’s a very congenial kid. I’m sure it’s great for the Termite to have a chance to lord over somebody. He’s never had a ‘gofer’ to give orders to.”

  She felt a momentary urge to defend Eli from such a negative characterization, but then she reminded herself that they weren’t talking about Eli, they were talking about Tru. And her prickliness on the subject of Eli Latham had more to do with her than with either Tad or her son.

  “Tru is really enjoying himself,” she commented instead. “I think he might even have an aptitude for it. You should hear him wax poetic over dados and rabbets.”

  “Sounds like some kind of critters from the hills,” he pointed out.

  They both laughed.

  Tad nodded as if he understood Tru’s enthusiasm. “Being clever with his hands,” Tad continued. “Physically that’s all about coordination. He gets that from me, I guess. He’d really make a fine athlete, if we could get him interested in that. I know if he would play he’d see how much fun it is. If I had been there for him when he was growing up, I’d have had him out on the court from the time he was a toddler.”

  Mazy nodded, but in a strange disconnected way. She’d always wanted that. She’d always imagined, dreamed, that it would be that way between Tru and Tad. But somehow, hearing it on his lips now, was strangely unwelcome. That was not how it had been, and today she couldn’t seem to dredge up any regret about that.

  She dressed in what she was now referring to as her “date night” clothes. Eli, of course, had seen the outfit and she didn’t have time to shorten the skirt again. But she decided that date nights having actually been rare might have an upside, after all.

  The evening had turned warm enough that she didn’t bother with a coat. She’d be snug and warm in the truck and the roadhouse was guaranteed to be hot and close.

  Eli was waiting for her outside. She wished he’d come to the door, but apparently his expectation was that she should go to him. So she did.

  Mazy was very aware of how he watched her as she came toward him. He didn’t blink. He didn’t look away. As she got closer, she saw stark hunger in his eyes. For a moment she thought he might suggest that they stay in. That wouldn’t be the worse offer she’d had.

  “Do I look okay?” she asked him as she pirouetted to give him the full view. She had seen his expression and recognized it for what it was.

  Her words, however, seemed to snap Eli out of his trance. Instantly his expression changed. “Well, babe,” he said, giving her a long up and down, “I’ve told you before that your butt looks best in black. Have you ever thought about fake boobs? I think if you saved up some money and bought yourself a pair of really big ones, it might balance you
out or something.”

  Mazy felt as if some evil villain had pricked her happy balloon.

  “No,” she answered firmly. “I have never considered cosmetic surgery. I don’t think it’s necessary for my happiness and it’s expensive. I have a child to support. Any extra money I earn will be used to better provide for him. Shall we go?”

  “Sure,” he said calmly. It was as if he was so obtuse he didn’t even know he’d insulted her.

  He opened the driver’s-side door. At first she thought that he expected her to slide across, no easy task in a skirt. But then he climbed in himself. As Mazy walked around to the passenger’s side, she did a quick reevaluation. Eli might have great potential as a father, but as a boyfriend he definitely came up short on the social graces. Still, she reminded herself, sweet-talking guys with all the moves down pat were typically taking a woman down the expressway to Bad News Town. Maybe it was better that he wasn’t the type to play those kinds of games.

  He turned over the ignition as she climbed into the car, but he did hesitate for a moment.

  “I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings,” he said. “I mean, your boobs are fine. Still perky, even after having a kid,” he added.

  Was that an apology? Mazy wasn’t sure.

  The roadhouse was located off the shoulder of one of the hairpin curves on the highway down Brandt Mountain. Parking at the site was at a premium and cars lined the edge of the road next to the mountain. Eli’s option was to either park on the ledge side or a good distance away. He chose the latter.

  Walking back up the steep slope in high heels was challenging. Eli never offered an arm. He kept his hands stuffed in his pockets. He was walking so quickly, she could hardly keep up. Finally, she grabbed his jacket, halting him. She threaded her arm through the crook of his elbow.

  He glanced down at her. In the moonlight he still looked like her Eli. The best friend she’d ever had. The man who could hold her with such tenderness, make love to her so earnestly and stand beside her so stalwartly.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  Was he going to offer his jacket?

  “No, I’m fine,” she said. “Being close to you keeps me warm.”

  “Really? I’m pretty sure I can see your nipples through that shirt.”

  Mazy’s jaw dropped in disbelief. Not exactly words of love.

  36

  The image of Tad and Mazy standing together on the sidewalk replayed over and over in Eli’s brain. It made him slightly sick, like a sudden drop where the bottom of your stomach disappears. Driscoll didn’t chat people up for nothing. He was busy every moment of his life pursuing whatever it was that he currently wanted. Eli was afraid that at this current moment, it might be Mazy. It might be Tru. It might be exactly the same things that Eli was pursuing for himself.

  Eli didn’t blame Mazy. She was a victim of her own trusting heart. But he did blame Driscoll. Hadn’t he done enough? Shouldn’t he have moved on to some other vulnerable young woman by now?

  And Eli blamed himself.

  He had started strong on dirt-bag highway. But lately it had gotten too easy. If his jerkiness no longer bothered him, then Mazy was probably getting used to it herself. He needed to raise the temperature some more. Remind her that he, Eli Latham, was as rotten and worthless a dude as any out there. They had to get to the edge of the cliff before there would be any chance of taking the leap.

  He hadn’t bothered to check the bad-boyfriend blogs lately and could only spare a minute while he was getting cleaned up, but he did happen on one that fit the bill perfectly. It was a combo jealousy/insensitivity play. If this didn’t get her to sit up and pay attention, he didn’t know what would.

  He was excited to be out with her. Grateful that the workday at Local Grind had given him such a good excuse. He loved to dance. Mazy had taught him when they were in about third grade. He hadn’t had the honor of standing up with her since then. He wanted to hold her in his arms and twirl her around the room. But he had to remember his larger purpose. He couldn’t allow the pleasure of the moment to become a risk to their future together.

  With that thought in mind, he deliberately offered a verbal slap almost the minute they were alone together.

  He was slightly pleased that she’d pushed back on the boob job crack. She was gorgeous and surely she knew that. But the comment deflated her from all smiles to grim determination.

  Eli kept up the less-than-stellar behavior until they got into the roadhouse. They were immediately pulled into the exuberance of the rest of the crew. Everybody was in a great mood, with the kind of exhaustion that was pure second wind and giddiness.

  Eli got them a couple of beers from the bar, but Mazy was already gone by the time he got back to the table.

  Kite Bagby, who had come straight from the coffee shop and was already on his third drink, urged her out to dance.

  Eli took a seat in a booth next to Karly. It gave him a good vantage point of Mazy out on the floor.

  The roadhouse was mostly country, but the DJ occasionally played Top 40 and old favorites. Mazy was actively two-stepping, keeping a wary gaze behind her as Kite seemed very likely to run over any other pair of partners who chanced to be in the way.

  “She’s a good sport,” Che said from across the table. “Karly always tells the old guy that her feet hurt.”

  “If you dance with Kite, your feet are going to hurt,” his wife defended. “That old coot runs roughshod over a woman’s toes. And it’s not as if I don’t know how to follow, I just don’t care to be dragged.”

  The music was so loud that any serious conversation had to be limited to the people immediately next to you. So Eli turned his attention to Karly. He asked her about her boys. He asked her about her job. He tried to listen to her answers and to keep his eyes from straying to the woman on the dance floor.

  “So,” Karly urged, apparently deciding it was her turn for questions. “Is it serious between you two?”

  Eli froze as if sensing danger. “Who’s asking?”

  “Karly Farris,” she answered. “I like Mazy a lot. I always have. She was good to me when nobody else was. I wouldn’t want to see her hurt.”

  Eli nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “I’m serious. I’m serious as a heart attack. But I’m taking my time. I don’t want to rush fences, scare her off.”

  Karly accepted that for a moment. “Well, don’t bide your time overlong. Just saying. Tad Driscoll has been sniffing around and I don’t trust that guy farther than I can throw him.”

  “You’re a smart woman to feel that way.”

  “It was a lesson learned from experience.”

  “Ah...” Eli said. “So you’re not allowing any ‘fool me twice.’”

  Karly shrugged. “In my case it was more like third time’s a charm. I let that creep humiliate me twice before I smartened up. I know how he can be when he wants something. I don’t want Mazy to even have a reason to be tempted.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Eli told her.

  Kite finally brought Mazy back to the table and Eli scooted in enough to give her a seat. She was laughing, in a great mood, as she sipped her beer and shouted out conversation to those around her.

  “It’s been ages since I’ve been out,” she confessed to Alice McDee. “I’d forgotten how much fun it is to simply do something different.”

  Alice agreed. “I can’t remember the last time Charlie and I were on the town. Every day we come home, eat dinner, watch TV and go to bed.”

  Mazy smiled at her. “Well, when you’re with the right person, that kind of life is a paradise on earth.”

  Alice laughed, but Eli could see she agreed. Mazy shot him a look, as if to see if he thought so, as well.

  He wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her he loved her. But that was what the old Eli would do.
She had never fallen for the old Eli, but she was falling for this version of him, he could feel it.

  He leaned closer and whispered snidely, “Well, I know how much you like getting in the sack.”

  His response clearly surprised her, but she managed a wan smile.

  “Do you like to dance?” she asked him.

  He picked up his bottle. “I need to finish my beer.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  She continued to try to talk with Alice and Che and Karly over the din of music while Eli deliberately nursed his beer. He listened and listened, waiting for his chance. Finally Mazy was telling a story about Tru’s first swim team in Wilmington. She was delightedly sharing some funny observations about novice competitors when he abruptly interrupted her with a little slap on the knee.

  “Okay, babe, let’s dance.”

  “What? Oh.”

  He began physically scooting her out of the booth. He spared only one glance toward his friends, all of whom seemed relatively slack-jawed at his behavior. He couldn’t be concerned with that now. He needed to get her out on the dance floor.

  Luck was with him. Not a minute after they set foot on the expanse of sawdust-strewn hardwood, the enthusiastic “Cotton-Eyed Joe” concluded and the DJ followed it with a romantic, slow dance melody. He pulled her close in his arms. His chin nestled against the hair at her temple. If she couldn’t look into his eyes, then he wouldn’t accidentally betray his feelings. He closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her, the scent of her. He moved to the music and she complemented him effortlessly. It was as if they had been dancing together for twenty years. In fact, the last time was that long ago. He remembered how it had been. He had felt stiff-legged and clumsy. Every time he’d made a mistake, she’d giggled. It was those giggles that had finally loosened him up, allowed him to take the risk and led him to this. It felt so perfect, so right. He opened his eyes enough to see her in the flash of shimmering blue-and-green lights.