by Leanna Ellis
I cross my arms over my chest. “She didn’t want any applesauce.”
Marla pulls her arm back from Cliff, letting her hand flutter like a falling feather to her chest. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“Have you talked to the doctor?” Cliff plays the part of an armchair quarterback, which makes my spine snap into a straight line.
“We saw him this morning. He removed a drainage tube and said she’s healing nicely.”
“And you went with her?”
“She can’t drive.”
He doesn’t glance in my direction. “What can I bring you, Mom? Something to read?”
“Her eyes hurt, Cliff.”
“A movie? Something to eat or drink?”
“No, no, dear. I’m fine. I just need to rest, to be—”
“—pampered,” he finishes for her. “Don’t worry, Mom. We’ll take care of you.”
We? Who does he mean by “we”?
Or does he simply mean me?
“Come on.” Cliff grabs my arm and moves me toward the door. “I’ll be right back, Mom. Just want to talk to Kaye privately about your care.”
Marla lifts her head off the pillow. She glances from Cliff to me, her gaze (one eye anyway) narrowing. Then she sits bolt upright in bed and stretches out a hand toward her son. “I think I need to sit up some . . . maybe walk around a bit.”
Cliff hesitates, releases my arm, then goes back to help his mother. “Sure, Mom. Anything you want.”
The ding of the doorbell sounds loud and clear.
“I’ll get it!” Izzie hollers before I can.
“Who’s that?” Cliff asks.
“Kaye’s boyfriend probably,” Marla states.
“Boyfriend?” Cliff focuses on me then. But is it disbelief or irritation? “You have a boyfriend?” Definitely the former.
Two reactions emerge at once inside me and fight for control. One wants to defend myself and bask in my ability to interest another male, crowing, “Yes, dadgumit, I have a boyfriend. Did you think this body could stay on the market forever?” And the other more pathetic response compels me to rush forward and make sure Cliff knows I wouldn’t dream of seeing anyone but him.
Instead, to turn the tables, I confuse the situation with, “Could be one of Marla’s.”
Her head swivels in my direction. The moment freezes between us as if the devil’s dwelling place gets a subzero blast.
“Mom!” Izzie yells down the hallway. “It’s for you.”
I manage a half smile. “If you’ll excuse me . . .”
Cliff touches my arm. “You’re seeing someone?”
“It’s probably a client.”
“Probably?”
Knowing I didn’t answer his question, I walk down the hall, feeling his gaze on my backside. For the moment I’m glad I spent money on a new outfit and the Spanx beneath. His misconception could be useful. It’s definitely garnered more interest from him than anything else I’ve done, including my new hairstyle.
Chapter Nine
This is a bad time, isn’t it?” Jack stands on the porch like Sir Lancelot, tall, broad-shouldered, looking ready to save this damsel in distress. Of course, his knightly stance is my imagination. Still, his timing actually couldn’t be more perfect.
“No, not at all.” I hold open the door. Cousin It’s maniacal barks reverberate in my head.
“Gabe told me you’d invited us for dinner and to meet him here. But I don’t want to be an imposition.” His gaze travels over me, taking in my hair and outfit, as if he’s noticing the changes. A stirring inside makes me suspect he appreciates the alterations, but that could be my imagination too. “It looks like you might be on your way out.”
I touch a lock of my hair, feeling the silky smoothness on the newly trimmed ends. “Not at all. Come on in.”
He takes a step toward me and stops. His clean scent drifts over me, drawing me toward him. He seems even taller, his shoulders wider. His yellow button-down acts as a second skin, flowing over the contours of his well-muscled chest and flat abs. Something Cliff hasn’t had since college days. Cliff. The name surfaces in my suddenly waterlogged brain, swimming in an abundance of unexpected senses. Jack will be perfect for the part I need him to play. If only he will cooperate.
“You look nice, by the way.”
A flush warms me from the inside out. It’s nice for someone to notice and yet quite frankly it’s the wrong someone. Why didn’t Cliff pay closer attention? On the tide of my awareness of Jack is an undertow of disappointment. But maybe Jack’s interest will work for me . . . and Cliff, of course. “Thanks.”
From behind his back, he produces a single white rose.
“What’s this?”
“A white flag of surrender. An apology. Take your pick.”
I laugh, hesitating to take the proffered bud. “I don’t understand.”
“I heard what the maniacal dog did to your roses.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve been wanting to replace them anyway.”
His questioning brow lifts.
“They were pink. I like red.”
“Of course.” He gives a slight, courtly bow and hands me the rose. Did Cinderella feel like this when she met Prince Charming? Except I’m no princess and my Prince Charming isn’t exactly charming these days. “Still, Cousin It is very sorry.”
“It’s okay. Really.” I hook my arm through his, kick the door shut behind us, and draw him toward the den. “Izzie said there was some kind of an emergency.”
“Not that I know of. I burned the burgers on the grill. Probably constitutes an emergency to a starving teenage boy.”
“Most definitely an emergency,” I repeat like a blithering idiot as we move into the den. If confession is good for the soul, then hanging around Jack may cause the need for more confessions. His thickly corded muscles along his forearm and bicep are definite distractions.
“What kind of emergency?” Cliff’s brusque tone intrudes, overriding Cousin It’s staccatoed barks from Izzie’s bedroom. His gaze settles on the white rose.
“Cliff”—I give him one of those old married looks we use to share but to which I think he lost the translation—“this is Jack Franklin. He’s a client.” I glance at Jack. “And this is my ex-husband, Cliff Redmond.”
No hesitation flickers in Jack’s hazel eyes as he reaches forward to shake hands. But I recognize the tiny creases at the corner of Cliff’s.
I focus on my ex while still holding onto Jack’s arm. “Will you be joining us for dinner, too?”
“Huh?” Cliff seems distracted himself, maybe by the incessant barking coming from Izzie’s bedroom. My own ears have started to ring. “Yeah.” He crosses his arms over his chest, which I have to admit, is not nearly as chiseled as Jack’s. It’s like comparing Gerard Butler’s physique to Donald Trump. Totally unfair. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
“Well, then, I better set an extra plate.” I release Jack’s arm.
Cousin It chooses that moment to bound around the corner, hair waving, ears flopping. She barrels through the den straight at us. It takes only half a second for her to cross the rug and she immediately leaps for Jack.
“Sit.” He delivers the command in the tone of a powerful knight.
It stops mid-flight and sits, her body trembling like a small child unable to be still when the bathroom urge demands instant satisfaction.
“Good girl. Come.” He pats his chest and she leaps up and taps her paws against him.
When she turns her snout toward Cliff, alarm tinges his features and he starts to turn away. “No!”
His command sounds more like a squeak.
Cousin It either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t obey. She pounces on him, knocking Cliff back a step or two. “Get her off!”
“It.” Jack’s command seems a second or two delayed. “Down.”
When she obeys, Jack rewards her with a head rub. Her tail swishes across the floor, her grin wide, tongue p
ink and dangling—the face of pure contentment.
I glance toward the back door. “She might need to go out.”
“Good idea.” Jack leads and she readily follows. I stifle a laugh as my gaze shifts toward Cliff who is straightening his shirt and tie after It’s assault.
“Thanks,” I say as Jack rejoins us. “Gabe is still coming, isn’t he?”
Cliff’s eyes narrow. “Who’s Gabe?”
“Think I just heard his truck.” Jack heads toward the front door. “I’ll let him in.”
I move into the kitchen, followed on the heels by my ex, and find Marla sitting at the kitchen table. She’s still dressed in her pale blue negligee. I find a bud vase, fill it with water and place Jack’s rose as the centerpiece on the kitchen table.
“So who is this guy?” Cliff wastes no time in questioning me.
“A client.”
“So she says.”
For the first time I appreciate one of Marla’s snide comments.
Cliff glances from her to me then presses, “Is that all?”
“So far.” Hiding a grin, I open the fridge, blocking his question with the door.
He pokes his head around into the chilly air, which cools the heated flush on my skin. “What does that mean?”
I load up his arms with a wide assortment of salad dressings.
“Do you usually have clients over for dinner? And do they always bring roses?”
“Singular, not plural. And no, not usually.” Pleasure tugs one side of my mouth into a smug smile.
His frown deepens. “What about this . . . Gabe. Who’s that?”
“Jack’s nephew.”
“He has the hots for your daughter,” Marla offers.
I pull fresh green beans from the hydrating drawer. “They’re just friends.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that if I were you.” The tone in Marla’s voice unsettles me. She should know what it’s like to have a kid involved with someone unsuitable. That person was me. But Gabe isn’t exactly unsuitable. They’re just too young.
“She’s old enough to start dating.” I ignore the helpless feeling that makes my knees wobbly at the thought of my daughter riding hither and yon in the car of some hormone-ravaged kid. When I held my baby girl in my arms, sat through tea parties with her baby dolls, and played Skipper to her Barbie in the Dream House, I never saw this hurdle looming along the horizon. But I’m slamming into it now.
Cliff leans against the cabinet, arms crossed as he assesses me with his heavy-lidded gaze. “What about you?”
“Me?” Amazing, this sudden buoyant sensation that floods me. “Well, yes, I am ready to start dating.” I open the oven door and three-hundred-fifty degree heat rolls outward.
He mutters something under his breath.
The casserole bubbles around the edges and I turn off the oven and shut the door. “What?”
“So are you seeing this Jack?”
“His name is Jack. Not this Jack.”
“That why you’re all dressed up?” He stares down at my freshly coral-polished toenails peeking out of my new sandals.
Jealousy made him finally notice. This is where I should probably tell him that I spent too much money today just for him. The truth shall set you free, right? But I can’t seem to go there. His ego doesn’t need any more fuel. And jealousy seems to be working for us at the moment. Why kill it? “Izzie”—I toss the blame momentarily on our daughter—“invited them. Gabe and Iz are friends. That all right with you?”
There are words I wish I could take back in my life. “Yes” when Cliff pressured me in college and I ended up pregnant being one. And “Get out!” when I learned he was seeing someone else. That one especially because getting him back is proving to be the most difficult task of my life. But sarcasm at this delicate point is not how I should respond.
And yet, that’s exactly what I dish out. Help me, God!
“Do clients show up here in the middle of the night?”
I’m not sure if Marla’s question helps or hurts. Can fanning the flame of jealousy stir up the coals of desire?
Cliff’s eyebrow peaks.
I start to form a rebuttal but silence seems the best answer. I just hope I haven’t pushed Cliff too far. But for now, I’ll let his thoughts smolder. He can think what he wants. Covering my hands with thick quilted mitts, I pull the casserole out of the oven. “Dinner’s ready.”
Are we having fun yet?
We’re sitting around the too-small kitchen table. I added the extension in the middle, so now the table is too big for the kitchen nook and yet still too small for six people. Or should I say two enormous egos. Cousin It lies beneath the table, sniffing the aromas with her big, black nose. Izzie glares at her grandmother over another hair comment. “If you pulled it back off your face—” Marla’s words set off fireworks. All of which I tried to snuff out with perky chitchat. Cliff stares suspiciously at Gabe as if the young man might be guilty of thinking all the things Cliff was guilty of doing in his youth.
Now Marla sticks her slightly disjointed nose into Jack’s business. “How many clients do you have?”
“I’ve never counted.” Jack concentrates on forking his salad.
“Really.” The way she says it implies incompetence. “Are most repeat customers?”
“I’d say so.” He stuffs a fork full of lettuce into his mouth as if to keep from saying anything else. Definitely a wise man.
“And how many trips do you put together in a year?”
He takes his time chewing then swallows. “A few.”
Undeterred Marla presses harder. “And do you take all of those trips with your clients?”
“No, ma’am. Not anymore.”
“So you handle more than you have time to actually guide?”
“Yes, ma’am.” His politeness highlights how irritated I usually get over her twenty questions. I wish I had his calm reserve.
Cliff leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, a smirk of approval on his face. Obviously he’s enjoying himself while his mother continues her questioning. Is this good cop/bad cop?
“And do you only handle individual trips?”
“We handle company retreats as well.”
“Ah, well.” She dabs her mouth. “That’s probably where the big bucks are.” Carefully, she places her napkin back in her lap. “Has the economic downturn affected your business?”
“Not particularly.”
“Interesting.”
“Pass the casserole, Jack.” Gabe has gobbled down his first helping. I’m not sure if it’s because he likes it or is nervous at the tension in the air. From his quick glance at Marla, I ascertain he’s trying to divert her attention. But that was a mistake. Her one good eye and other puffy one skewers the innocent teen.
“You don’t call your uncle ‘uncle’?” Marla appears to have adopted Lady Catherine de Burgh’s dominance at my dining table.
Gabe downs half his glass of milk. “He’s not my real uncle.”
Marla’s one good eye, the fatty one, widens at that choice tidbit. “Oh?”
A leading question if I ever heard one.
Izzie glares at her grandmother. “Gabe, you don’t have to answer any of her questions.”
Since she’s straight across the table from me, I stretch my leg out to tap Iz’s shin. But Jack coughs, making a strangled sound. Izzie shoots me a disgruntled look. Did I miss and reach him instead? Great. Now he probably thinks I’m playing footsies with him under the table. The peas I microwaved slip off my fork and loll around my plate and I focus on stabbing each one.
Marla leans forward. “So you’re living with a man who you’re not even related to? This is unusual.”
Only Marla can make an innocent situation sound abnormal or wrong. At least I hope it’s innocent, because I realize I like Jack—in a friendship sort of way.
“Marla,” I interrupt, “would you pass the rolls?”
She lifts the basket, holding it while she continues st
aring at Gabe. Cousin It jumps to her feet at the sight of food dangling within reach. She noses Marla’s hand. Marla fixes the beast with that one-eyed glare. “Don’t think about it.”
Cousin It retreats beneath the table. Marla is definitely alpha dog here.
Gabe takes another roll. “Jack was my dad’s best friend.”
“Was?” Marla pushes.
I clear my throat. “Would anyone else like more casserole?” Everyone stares at me for a minute but from a quick glance I see everyone’s plate is full. “Don’t be shy. Eat up because we have a lot.”
Without glancing up, Gabe slaps a slab of butter on the roll. “My dad died last year.”
Everyone at the table freezes. The only sound is the tiny intake of air, as if a glass was spilled. Then Marla’s jaw falls slack.
“Oh, Gabe.” I reach forward as if to touch his hand but he’s too far away. “I’m so sorry.”
He meets my gaze then looks back at his plate. A red hue creeps up his neckline and floods his face.
“What did he die from?” Apparently Marla has recovered from her surprise.
“Marla.” I pass her the salad dressing, trying to give her a drop-it look, but she never even gives me a second glance.
“I don’t need any of that.” She waves away any hint.
“Would you like more casserole then?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Salad? Rolls?”
“No.” She nips the end of the word between her clenched teeth.
Suddenly Izzie pushes back from the table. “Come on, Gabe.”
“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Cliff demands, finally engaging in the conversation.
“Swimming.”
Her father looks at me to see if that’s permissible.
I smile. “That’s a good idea. Gabe, you can use my bathroom to change if you’d like.” To Cliff I say, “They’re both on the swim team.”
“They’re teens.” He gives a slight snort. And I know exactly what he means because we utilized his parents’ pool.
After they walk out of the room, Cousin It tagging along behind, Marla leans forward breaking what used to be a cardinal rule and placing her elbow on the table. “Someone should supervise them. After all, we know what happened when you two were left alone.”
