“Yadda, yadda, I get the same crap from my folks, you know.”
“Sorry,” he said, glancing to the left when he saw Kristin join Ida Jane on the park bench. Something Ida said must have made Kris cry because she suddenly put her arms around the older woman’s shoulders and stayed there, her back quivering.
Does she need me? The thought made him frown. He would be so busy with the campaign, he might not be around much to help Kris with Ida Jane.
“She’s nice,” Beth said. “I can see why you love her.”
Donnie felt himself blush. He hadn’t realized his feelings were quite so obvious. “She’s an amazing person. She’ll make a good sheriff’s wife.”
Beth froze. “What do you mean?”
He hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but there was no sense putting off the inevitable. “Sam’s going to announce my candidacy in about five minutes.”
“Are you out of your mind? Magnus will kill you.”
Donnie took her arm and moved her to a less congested area. “I’m going to give it my best shot, Beth,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “You know what it’s like in the department. I know I might not make it, but I have to try.”
She thought a minute then said, “What happens if you lose? Magnus will never let you work here. Would you move away?”
“Maybe. Or I’ll get a job in the Valley and commute. Like every other Californian.”
Beth frowned. “My dad used to commute two hours one way to work. He said it was hell. It got so bad he and my mom almost broke up. That’s why we moved here. So we could be more of a family. I hardly even knew him when he worked in Santa Clara. He was this moody, unhappy guy who yelled at us on weekends then disappeared.”
Donnie felt an odd twist in his belly. He looked at the table where his son was eating a piece of cake. Was that his second piece? Or his third?
Sandy had suggested that Lucas’s eating habits were a direct result of Donnie’s questionable parenting skills. “You’re never there, and even when you are, you aren’t,” she’d accused. “He needs to spend time with someone who wants to be with him, Donnie. Not someone who’s doing the right thing because it’s expected of him.”
Donnie cleared his throat. “Well, I haven’t lost yet.”
Beth grinned. “That’s true. Besides, aren’t you the guy who told me you’re only a loser if you don’t try?”
Donnie gave her a light tap on the shoulder. “Come on, I want to introduce you to Kristin.”
Beth shook her head. “Maybe later. She looks busy.”
Donnie turned to find his wife in the crowd. He spotted her amidst a group of older women—friends of Ida Jane’s. Beulah Jensen was showing Kristin’s ring for the group to see. Donnie was glad he’d gone against Kris’s wishes and bought a gold band with four small diamonds.
“Our instant family,” he’d told her when he slipped it on her finger.
She’d appeared ready to cry, but then Judge Miller gave him permission to kiss the bride, and Donnie had distracted her from her sadness.
He looked down at his hand. Kris hadn’t pressed for a double-ring ceremony. “Save the money for your campaign,” she’d said.
Was that it? Or did she not expect the marriage to last?
“You know,” Beth said with a sigh, “I really wanted to hate her.”
Me, too. At one time. Instead, he said, “Why?”
“Because she’s gorgeous. But then I realized she doesn’t see herself that way. She’s not a show-off. You know, like some of the popular girls, who are only nice to geeks if they think other people are watching.”
Donnie touched her shoulder. “You’re not a geek.”
She made a skeptical sound. “Sure I am. I wear black, I get good grades and my only friends are cops. Are you so old you’ve forgotten what that means in high school?”
No, he knew. “High school is a brief, but sometimes painful, ritual we subject our children to so they won’t blame everything that goes wrong in their lives on their parents.”
She laughed and said, “I’ll tell that to my folks.”
She started to leave but Donnie stopped her. “Wait. Would you do me a favor?”
“Maybe.”
“Drag those two—” he nodded toward Zach and Lucas “—together and get them talking. Maybe if you mention music.”
She looked less than enthused but agreed to try. “Thanks, kiddo. You’re a pal.”
Donnie didn’t get a chance to see if she was successful because his new brothers-in-law waylaid him.
Sam clapped a big solid arm around Donnie’s shoulders and marched him to a table. “Sit, my friend. Man talk.”
Jonathan appeared a moment later with three sweating amber bottles—two beers and a cream soda.
“A toast,” he said, dropping down on the bench across from Donnie and Sam. Each clinked his bottle with the others. “To our new brotherhood. Friends, husbands and fathers. May we always be there for each other.”
Donnie was surprisingly touched by the sentiment. “Thank you, gentlemen. It’s an honor to be in such esteemed company.”
The carbonated beverage was refreshing, until Donnie noticed Sam and Jonathan exchange a look. He mentally braced himself. “Is this where you tell me to go easy on her on our honeymoon?”
Jonathan frowned. “Hell no. You’re on your own in the bedroom. This is where we get serious about your future—in politics. You haven’t forgotten about that, have you?”
“I handed in my notice, Jon. I haven’t forgotten.”
Sam hunched forward and linked his hands. “It’s going to be an uphill battle, Donnie. I won’t kid you, but Magnus has to go, and you’re the only one who can get Gold Creek back on track.”
Jonathan lifted his bottle. “Hey, there’s our first sound bite.” The two men toasted.
“I couldn’t do this without your support—both of you. But I’ve watched the political game in this county for years, and I know it can get ugly,” Donnie said.
Sam nodded. “I agree, but at least you have Kristin in your corner.”
Jonathan nodded. “Yeah. Free massages, too.”
Donnie looked across the yard where his wife was talking to her sisters. Kris glanced his way, and her spontaneous smile produced a response in his heart he couldn’t begin to describe.
A moment later, Sam stood up and stepped to the seat of the picnic table. His piercing whistle made conversation stop. Everyone turned to listen.
“You’re in luck, folks. It’s two-for-one day. Not only do you get a wedding—” He paused for effect. “You get to meet the future sheriff of Gold Creek, Donnie Grimaldo.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
IN THE TWO WEEKS since his mother’s wedding, Zach had settled in better than he’d expected. It helped that he’d found his spot. For as long as he could remember, his mother had promoted this idea. “And where in this amazingly tiny apartment will we find a spot that is all Zach’s?” she would say moments after opening the door to their newest home.
His privacy zone, they had called it when he got older. The places had varied from an empty cupboard with the door removed to a tepee made from a bedsheet.
This time, Zach had chosen a protected area adjacent to Sarge’s doghouse. The evergreen shrubs shielded him from the breeze, and the location gave him a clear view of the patio. What made it perfect was that no one could sneak up on him. Zach was damn tired of surprises.
“Here, boy,” Zach said, dropping to his butt on Sarge’s old mat. He kicked out his legs and settled back against the small but sturdy structure. Sarge, who seemed to love his new home, joined him with a slobbery sigh.
Today was Wednesday. For the first time since he’d moved to California, the weather felt like it might be changing. Zach was sick of summer.
He was waiting for Lucas’s friends to arrive. Since the teachers were having something called an in-service day, classes had been released early. His mother had picked up both boys so they could prepare f
or their first practice.
Zach’s gut was in knots and his palms felt sweaty. He told himself it was no big deal, but what if he sucked as bad as he thought he did?
Donnie was the one who’d pushed Lucas to set up this meeting. Zach had protested that he wasn’t good enough, but his mother had pleaded with him to at least talk to Lucas’s friends.
Talk. Talk he could handle. It was the playing that had him so nervous he could barely sit still. Although Zach had taken guitar lessons off and on for a couple of years—depending on when his mom could afford it—he knew he had a lot to learn.
And while the guitar Donnie had given him was a step-up from the one he had been using, the instrument was different enough that Zach was having trouble getting used to it. Donnie’s promise of lessons had taken a back seat to his campaign, but he had squeezed in half an hour with Zach on Monday night.
Instead of rushing off to his next meeting, he’d taken time to sit down and show Zach some chords, which Zach had diligently practiced every spare minute since.
Donnie had called him a “natural.”
“You’ve got a gift, Zach,” he’d said.
He knew Donnie’s praise was bull, but it still felt good to hear.
Sarge lifted his head, turning toward a noise that Zach had missed. Rising to his knees, Zach spotted Lucas slip out the back door of the garage and disappear in the direction of the creek.
“Stupid kid,” Zach muttered, stroking the dog’s head. “Talk about screwed up.”
Sarge blew out a sigh that made his jowls flap.
It baffled Zach that someone as savvy as Donnie could totally miss the fact that his son was doing drugs. Zach had had his suspicions confirmed that afternoon by the creek. But he hadn’t realized how bad things were until he and Lucas rode their bikes home from school together on Monday.
Both Donnie and Zach’s mom were away from the house. Zach had gone to his room to do his homework. A few minutes later, Lucas had appeared in the doorway. “Where’s the cop?”
“Your dad?”
Lucas had sloughed off his backpack on the stack of boxes that Zach was still going through. The top caved in slightly, and Zach had given him a dirty look, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.
“Nah, I meant your mom. I know where my dad is. Putting up Grimaldo For Sheriff signs.”
Before Zach could answer, Lucas had unzipped a side compartment in his backpack and removed something small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. “Want some of this?”
Zach had been six the first time he’d been offered drugs. A fifth-grade boy had tried to get first-grade students to buy little blue pills that he said would make them smarter. “No. And you’d better get that out of the house. My mom’s last appointment was at four. She’ll be here any minute and she’s not as busy as your dad is. If she thinks you’re messing around with pot, she’ll be all over your ass about it.”
“Yeah, right,” Lucas had said, obviously unimpressed by the threat. He’d grabbed the backpack and left, exiting the house through the patio door.
Suddenly, a light appeared in the low-roofed building sitting about thirty feet behind the garage. The music shed.
Zach looked at his watch. He’s home early.
Through the two windows, Zach could see Donnie moving around. The shed wasn’t huge—about the size of his and Lucas’s bedrooms put together. The little building would make an excellent studio.
Acoustically, it beat the garage all to heck.
Once Donnie was done, there would be sound-proofing in the walls, special electrical plugs and a heating panel so they could practice during the winter. Donnie claimed it was his gift to the music world, but Zach had a hunch it was more about making sure his new wife’s car wouldn’t have to sit outside in the cold.
Zach approved. He was still mad at his mother on many levels, but he was willing to concede that Donnie was a good guy. So far, he’d been pretty cool.
That didn’t mean Zach was happy with him. It pissed him off that Donnie was on the run all the time, leaving Zach’s mom with this big house and two kids—especially a stoner like Lucas. Zach knew that was their bargain, but as far as he was concerned, his mother was getting gypped.
Not that she was complaining, but she looked like hell. The bags under her eyes told him she wasn’t sleeping at night. Which didn’t make sense. She should be exhausted. In addition to moving, she’d cleaned Jenny’s old place and given a bunch of massages.
He’d overheard her telling Andi that being married to Donnie was like an all-clear signal to people that it was okay to come to her for massages.
He hated that about this stupid town. People knew too much about your life; they all had opinions and you couldn’t make a move without somebody reporting it to your mother or your aunt or your grandmother.
Yesterday Gloria had called and asked him to stop by the newspaper office after school. She’d been busy with an interview so Zach had read copies of the San Francisco Chronicle and hung out with Jonathan until she was done. Which wasn’t so bad, really.
Then she’d taken him to dinner. She told him Tyler was back in Seattle for a few days, but that Zach could call her anytime and she would gladly pick him up. For the first time she’d seemed kinda lonely.
The only awkward moment was on the way home when she put down guitar playing. “The time you spend playing music could better be used to prepare for college. You could go to Harvard, or any Ivy League school,” she’d told him. “Your father can afford it, you know.”
Zach wasn’t sure what his plans would be in five years. At the moment, he wanted to play music, write songs, survive high school and, maybe, get a girlfriend.
There was one who interested him. She was older than him and a little weird, but he liked her. And her younger sister was pretty cute, too.
Curious about how much progress Donnie had made since the last time he checked, Zach got up and started toward the building. Before he reached the edge of the yard, a horn sounded in the driveway. A second later, Lucas stumbled from the bushes at the far side of the yard.
He froze when he spotted Zach, but hurried off a second afterward. “Are you coming, Goody Two-shoes?” Lucas sneered. “They’re here.”
Zach petted Sarge again. “Stupid stoner,” he muttered. “This’ll probably suck big time.”
By the time he reached the garage, there were lots of people—mostly strangers. Donnie was talking to the parents who’d driven their son—the keyboardist, Zach guessed—to practice.
The drummer, a tall, rangy-looking guy with orange hair and a mouthful of metal, introduced himself. “Hey, I’m Kyle. We have P.E. together.”
That was all they had time for because Kyle’s older brother, a high-school student, and his two pals were in a hurry. They unloaded the drums in the far corner of the garage then got back in the truck and took off.
Mike, the keyboard player, was tall and skinny, with some serious acne that his dreadlocks helped cover. He provided not only the keyboard but a second amplifier and two microphones, as well.
It seemed to take forever to set up. Zach stood on the perimeter feeling nervous and out of it. The others chatted about mutual friends and teachers that he didn’t know.
He was about ready to split when Kyle said, “Hey, Sullivan, can you play?”
“I guess.”
Lucas closed the garage door and plugged his Fender into the amp.
He nodded to Mike, who counted, “One, two, three…”
Zach jumped in without a clue to what they were supposed to be playing. It didn’t seem to matter. Nobody else seemed to have a clear musical direction, either.
After about half an hour, the exterior door opened and Donnie walked in. He was dressed in paint coveralls and his hair was speckled with something white. “How’s it going?”
Before anyone could answer, Zach’s mother appeared. “Hi, boys. I hate to bother you when history is in the making,” she said, causing them to smile with her exaggerated w
ink, “but I’m worried what all those high-octane sound waves are doing to your ears. So, please, indulge me. I’m a mom.”
She gave each boy a set of musician’s earplugs—the kind that screened out bad decibels.
“And, you can’t be creative geniuses without proper nutrition.” She produced a plate of brownies.
By the time the other boys left, Zach actually felt as if they might be able to form a band. If Lucas gets his act together.
“WHAT IS WRONG with my brain?” Kristin muttered, picking up each individual spice jar on the shelf to examine the label. Tomorrow was her three-week wedding anniversary, but she still didn’t know where anything was in Donnie’s house. “Basil. Cumin. Allspice,” she called out the names. “What is allspice? Maybe, since it’s all- spice, I could use it instead of oregano.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” a deep voice said.
Kris swung around in surprise. “Donnie, you’re early.”
He dropped his keys on the counter and headed her way. “My slave driver brother-in-law gave me the rest of the weekend off to work on my speech for Monday. What a guy!”
Kris set the allspice back on the shelf and moved out of his way. She was barefoot, dressed in black leggings and a Crater Lake sweatshirt that hung on her like a shapeless grocery sack. She knew her ponytail was ratty and mostly out of its scrunchy. She’d planned to start dinner then take a nice relaxing bath, but she was running late. A client—the fourth of the day—had shown up unexpectedly an hour earlier, begging for a massage.
Donnie didn’t seem to notice her messy appearance. He plucked a green-topped glass jar out of the mess and said, “Here. It got squeezed behind the cinnamon.”
When he handed the container to her, their fingers touched and Kris felt the impact deep within. “My fault,” she admitted. “I came home between massages and baked an apple pie. I must have put the cinnamon back in the wrong place.”
“It’s your kitchen now, Kris. Put things wherever you want.”
He looked as if he might say more, but just then the exterior door opened and Zach walked in. As usual, his eyes revealed none of his inner thoughts.
The Comeback Girl Page 18
