by Shirley Jump
Mack’s face was as unreadable as marble. “Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. All kissing has done is mess everything up between us.”
“Then we’re back to the issue of payment,” she said, trying to clear her head, get back to mundane issues. Anything but—
Kissing him again.
Mack slid the window back into the open space, then hammered in several nails to hold it in place, clearly taking the request to return to business as usual to heart. “We’ll call it even—if you can figure out a way to get my father out of the damn house. He’s become a Wheel of Fortune addict. If there was TV rehab, I’d be sending him.”
“But your mother walked out over a year ago.”
“For my father it’s been five minutes.” Mack’s right hand stilled, a nail propped between two fingers. He cast a glance out the window. “Sometimes I feel the same way. I wish she’d just…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. What I want doesn’t matter. She’s not coming back.”
Pain had weighed down Mack’s shoulders, more than any load of lumber ever could. His eyes glistened, then he swiped at them with the back of his arms. Alex’s heart squeezed. She knew how it felt to go without a parent. To feel that sense of betrayal, of loss. That hole in your heart that no one could fill. For her, it was too late, because her mother was gone. But for Mack, his mother was still out there, somewhere.
And then, an idea occurred to Alex. An idea so insane she wasn’t sure it could work. But if she could pull it off, maybe, just maybe, she could repay Mack, bring their friendship back onto steady ground and help his father all at once.
Or her plan could completely backfire in her face.
If Alex could bring Emma Douglas home, could she bring home a happy ending, too?
Chapter Seventeen
Emma Douglas lived in a tiny walk-up apartment in Providence. The same address as the one written in the corner of the letters sitting on Mack’s desk. The apartment was uncluttered, nearly devoid of the personality Alex used to see back at the house in Boston, other than the easel set up in one corner by the window with the stack of bright, happy landscapes on the floor beside it. She answered the door with her hair in a ponytail, a paint-covered apron over her khaki capris and T-shirt, a crimson-coated brush in one hand. “Alex! What a surprise! I haven’t seen you in ages!” She welcomed Alex in, opening the door wide, and her free arm wider, drawing Alex into a hug. “It’s so nice to see you.”
Alex had always liked Emma Douglas. She and Roy may have fought like crazy, but when it came to hospitality, Emma had always had a cookie ready for the little girl next door. “It’s nice to see you, too.”
A few minutes later, Emma and Alex were seated at the small, two-person kitchen table in the sunny kitchen, sipping Earl Gray tea and eating biscotti. “I’m sorry I don’t have more to offer you,” Emma said. “I live pretty simple now. It’s just me.”
“No more…” Alex didn’t know the man’s name, and let the sentence trail away.
“No. That ended a while ago.” Emma toyed with her teaspoon, staring into the silver well, as if studying her distorted reflection. “I realized I needed some time alone. To figure out who I was. What I wanted.”
Alex spun her teacup in the saucer. “I can understand that.”
“It’s been good for me. But I miss Mack.” Her gaze went to the window. “He won’t talk to me. He won’t forgive me.”
Alex bit her lip. Why had she thought this was a good idea? Coming here, serving as intermediary for a family with open wounds? She shifted in her seat, not wanting to pour salt into Emma’s sore, wishing she could find a polite way to leave.
Then she thought of Mack. Of the hunch in his shoulders. The pain in his eyes. If there was any way to alleviate that, she’d sit here for another twenty hours.
“I think Mack sees how hurt his father is, and that’s what has made him so angry.”
“I thought…” Emma drew in a breath. “I thought Roy would be glad I was gone.”
“Roy won’t leave the house. He’s anything but happy.” Alex shook her head. “I’m sorry. I should probably mind my own business. I’m just telling you what Mack has told me.”
Emma rose and crossed to the sink. There weren’t any dishes to wash. Nothing to do there but prop her hands on either side and stare out the window at the brick wall of the opposite building. “They’re hurting. And it’s all my fault.”
Alex didn’t say anything.
“I thought leaving would make it easier. The fighting would stop. They’d…find their happiness.”
“They didn’t.” Alex wrapped her hands around the cup and considered whether to say anything else. If her mother was still alive and there was a possibility Josie Kenner could return to close the wounds of the past, would Alex want her to come back? Yes, she would. If only for the closure, the answers. “I think you should go back.”
Emma whirled around. “Go back? To Boston?”
“I don’t know what happened between you and your husband, but Mack is my best friend, and I’m worried about him. I want to see him happy again.” Alex drew in a breath. “I know what it’s like not to have a mother. Mine is dead, Emma, so I can’t go back and fix anything that went wrong. You’re not. You can have a second chance.”
“But Mack won’t talk to me. I’ve tried.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“Try harder.” Alex smiled. “You know how stubborn he is.”
Emma echoed Alex’s smile. “He gets that from his dad. I’ll tell you, living with the two of them was like living with two bulls in one pasture.”
Alex chuckled. “I can imagine.” Then she sobered and met Emma’s eyes, so like Mack’s. “So, will you do it? Come back to Boston?”
“What if Mack doesn’t want to see me?”
“You’re his mother, Emma. He’ll always love you.” As the words left Alex, she wondered if that was true for everyone. She barely remembered her mother. Barely knew her.
How could she love someone like that? Miss someone she didn’t know? But she did, didn’t she?
Was that what that ache in her chest was? The need to know that persisted, yet triggered the same feelings of resentment and anger that had made her first delight in finding that picture from a long-ago Christmas—and then throw it away. Either way, she had no one waiting in an apartment in Providence to close those gaps in her past. The best she could do was close them for Mack.
“You’re right,” Emma said, finally. “It’s time I went home. In fact, it’s past time.”
Chapter Eighteen
“You cook like shit.”
“Whatever happened to honoring thy father?” Roy settled into the seat opposite his son, popped the top on a beer and drank deeply from the can.
Mack pushed away his plate. “You think this tastes good?”
Roy scowled down at the hamburger-and-noodles mix he’d concocted in a pan earlier. “Well, no. But I’m not your mother. I made do with what I had in the house.”
“Next time you invite me to dinner, I’m going grocery shopping first.”
Roy laughed. “Yeah, and you’d buy frozen pizzas. Face it. You’re no better at being domestic than I am.”
“You’re right.” Mack rose and put his half-eaten plate of food on the counter. Yet another reason he wasn’t cut out for marriage. The con list got longer by the minute.
Hell, did he even have a pro list? There was coming home to Alex. To her smile. To knowing she was sleeping in a bed just down the hall. Now there was a pro.
Except…she was dating another man, and Mack also had to come home to Alex talking on the phone with Steve. Getting flowers from Steve—the guy seemed to have an unlimited tab at Teleflora, for God’s sake—and making plans for everything from lunches to concerts.
Alex wasn’t even Mack’s, so pretending he was coming home to her was really just that—pretending. Chock yet one more up on the con list.
Besides, he hadn’t been a good husband the first
time. Hell, he and Samantha hadn’t even lasted a month. He’d started out with the best of intentions and ended up driving her away. Which was exactly why he shouldn’t come within ten feet of a serious relationship with Alex. In the end, Mack knew he’d do the same thing to her.
Some guys were meant to be married. And some were meant for crappy hamburger-and-noodle casseroles. Or at least dinner out. “What do you say we head over to the Drop Inn and grab a bite?” Mack asked.
“Nah.” Roy dug into his own dinner, holding back a frown of disgust. “We have food here.”
“Come on, Dad. The Drop Inn is your favorite place to eat.”
“Was.”
Mack let out a gust. “How long are you going to do this?”
“I’m not doing anything. I’m just, uh, watching my finances.”
“Then I’ll pay.”
Roy took another bite. “I don’t want to waste all this food.”
“Feed it to the neighbor’s dog. Fido there might find this palatable because God knows I don’t.”
His father shot him a glare.
“Sorry, Dad. Just being honest. Come on, let’s get a real meal.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re a hermit. And I’m done letting you be one.” Just as Roy dipped his fork to scoop up more hamburger, Mack grabbed his father’s plate, hurried out of the kitchen, opened the back door and dumped the entire tasteless mess onto the ground by the trash cans.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Forcing you to leave. Either starve or go to the Drop Inn with me.” Mack planted himself in front of his father’s chair. Faced Roy’s defiant gaze with one of his own. Behind them, the dusty kitchen clock ticked its onward journey, the same one it had made for the past thirty years.
“You’re a pain in the ass.”
Mack shrugged. “You raised me.”
Roy grunted, then got to his feet. “We all make mistakes.”
Mack laughed. “Get your coat.”
Roy followed Mack out of the house, grumbling about how the trip was a waste of money, waste of time, waste of good food. Nevertheless, he climbed into Mack’s truck. When they parked at the Drop Inn, Roy paused before opening his door. “The last time I was here…”
“Yeah.” Mack didn’t need to finish the sentence, either. They both knew that every time Roy had eaten at the Drop Inn, it had been with Emma. At home, their marriage had been as rocky as the shores of Normandy, but this restaurant had been Switzerland. Mack hoped maybe it would be a good place to start, a way for his father to find some good memories again.
Maybe he’d been wrong.
“Are we going to eat or just sit here and look at the place?” Roy asked. Before Mack could answer, his father got out of the truck, slammed the passenger’s side door shut and headed toward the restaurant.
As soon as the two of them walked through the door of the Drop Inn, Holly, the owner, hurried over. The thin redheaded woman extended her arms to Roy. “Lordy-be, it’s Roy! There must be pigs flying because I never thought I’d see you ’round here again.” She drew him into a tight, quick hug, her bun bopping with the movement.
“A man’s gotta eat.”
She laughed. “That he does. And I have a table right over here for you. Your regular seat.” With a little sashaying walk, something Mack suspected was part and parcel of Holly’s nature, she led them toward a booth by a window that faced the sidewalk.
Roy tugged a plastic-covered menu out of the napkin holder and studied the single sheet. “Nothing’s changed.”
Holly laughed. “You expected the place to go gourmet?”
“I would have liked some new choices.” He stuffed the menu back into its slot.
“Who are you kidding? You always loved the food here and you never ordered anything but the meatloaf. Enjoy your meal.” Holly toodled a wave, then hip-swung her way back to the front.
Roy grunted.
A waitress came over to the table, withdrawing a pad from the black apron at her waist. “What can I get you?” She snapped a piece of gum over and over again while she waited for the answer, shifting her weight with the rest of her nervous energy.
“Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, no gravy, green beans,” Roy said. “And make sure Kenny throws in some extra biscuits.”
“Kenny don’t work here no more. He up and retired,” the waitress said. “Phil’s in the back now.”
Roy scowled. “I don’t know Phil.”
The waitress shrugged. “He’s all right. Food’s still good.”
“Dad, it’ll be fine. I doubt you’ll even notice the difference.”
“I noticed the difference in the food when your mother left my kitchen. I think I’ll know the difference in the food here, too.”
Mack rolled his eyes. “Make that two of the same,” he told the waitress. “And bring him some biscuits right away. He gets grumpy when his blood sugar’s low.”
“I’m not grumpy,” Roy said.
“When you break out into spontaneous song, I’ll believe that,” Mack replied.
The waitress took their drink orders, then headed off to the kitchen. Even from their spot in the diner, Roy and Mack could hear her shouting the order to the cook.
“I suppose we’ll have to talk to each other now that we’re here.” Roy drummed his fingers on the table.
“Nope. I’m used to eating alone. I don’t need to talk.”
“Good. I’m not in the mood for it, now that you’ve upset my whole evening routine.”
“What routine? Pulling out a Hungry Man and eating in front of the TV?”
Roy looked away, letting his gaze stray to the window. He kept up his fingertip dancing while he people-watched. His digit tapping stopped. He sucked in a breath.
Mack glanced at his father, sure he was having a heart attack. Then he followed his father’s line of sight, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. “That isn’t—”
“No,” Roy said. “Leastways, I don’t think so.” He turned to look at his son, his light blue eyes filled with hope. “Do you?”
Mack glanced again out the window, leaning closer to the glass, so close his nose bumped against the hard surface. Several blocks away, a familiar-looking figure in an ankle-length black dress stood outside a shop, talking on a cell phone. Long brown hair, held back in a single barrette. Just like his mother had worn her hair. The height, the hair color, the manner of dress, all exactly like Emma’s, but from this distance, Mack couldn’t be sure, even though a part of him leapt to believe, just as his father had.
Emma, however, was living in Rhode Island. Mack knew because she’d sent him a letter every week for the past year. A card on his birthday, a present at Christmas. All with the same Providence return address.
Yet, standing across the street from the Drop Inn was a woman who looked an awful lot like the one who was supposed to be living in an apartment in another state.
“I don’t know, Dad,” Mack said, squinting. “I can’t see that far. It could be her.”
“Nah, it’s not.” Roy turned away, and started fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers. Then just as quickly, he stopped and looked out the window again. He sighed, the disappointment whistling out of his chest. “Doesn’t matter. She’s gone. Again.”
Chapter Nineteen
Steve only got nicer.
He called twice a day, sent flowers constantly and had stopped by the City Times office twice to take Alex to lunch. By the time Saturday rolled around, she found herself actually looking forward to their concert date. She still didn’t feel that zing of attraction with Steve, but that was just fine.
Everything about him was even and steady. As foreseeable as mosquitoes in the summer. That was exactly what she needed. No more of these crazy boyfriends with wives on the side for her.
“What the hell are you wearing?” Mack asked when she came downstairs on Saturday night. He sat in one of the armchairs in the living room, his face a stern mask, looking more like an overprot
ective father than a friend.
Alex glanced down at her denim skirt and flats. “Does it look awful?”
“No.”
“Then what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“It looks too good, that’s what’s wrong with it.”
Was that jealousy she saw in his eyes? She thought they’d settled this the other day. Mack had no claim over her. Especially not after he’d made it clear—with that nearly transparent teddy Deidre had been wearing—that Mack was not a one-woman, settling-down kind of man.
Yes, they’d kissed. Come close to making love. And, yes, it had been incredible, mind-blowing. But smart?
No.
Alex swung away from the stairs and headed over to the end table to grab her purse. “I thought the whole point of a date is to make the guy drool.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Since when? Or does that only apply to the men who date me?” Alex peered into his eyes. “Because I’ve seen you drool over many a babe. You and Boomer could single-handedly fill Boston Harbor.”
“Yeah, well, that’s different.”
Alex crossed her arms over her chest. “Why? Because I’m your friend? You can’t have it both ways, Mack. We talked about this. We’re not dating, and thus, you have no right to tell me what to wear.”
He studied her, his blue eyes dark, intent. “Yeah. I know.”
During high school, Mack had always been a guard dog about her dates, but this time, he was like an underfed junkyard dog. Before, that had amused her. This time, it annoyed the hell out of her. “In case you’ve forgotten, Mack, I am very much a woman. A woman with needs. Specifically the need of a man. A man who wants more than just a quick tumble in and out of bed.”
That had stung. She saw him recoil, then he rose and narrowed the gap between them to mere inches, tipping the equation from friendly banter to something more. Something heated. Something that traveled out of the realm of the guy next door and into the very, very available guy right here. “I’ve noticed.”
“Mack—”
