She half turned and frowned. “Do you really mean watch a movie, or do you mean something else?”
“I’m not going to lie,” he said. “The something else is on my mind. But I really do mean watch a movie.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Really?”
“Really. You can even pick it out.”
Slowly, like she was walking a tightrope, she made her way over to the couch. She perched in the other corner of it while he scrolled through the guide channel. She chose a goofy kids’ movie featuring talking dogs, something he would never have chosen himself.
By the time the movie was fifteen minutes in, they were both laughing hard. Apparently, goofy was just what they’d both needed. About halfway through, she said that she was cold, and he patted the seat beside him.
She scooted over. They put their feet on the coffee table with an afghan over them.
And watching a silly movie, feeling her warm against his side, was one of the sweetest experiences of Corbin’s life.
Chapter Thirteen
On Tuesday at precisely eleven thirty in the morning, Samantha pulled up in front of the Markowski home. Really, it was more of a mansion. She turned off her car and sat for a minute, looking around the quiet neighborhood. Each of the widely spaced houses was distinct, some brick, some Tudor style, some, like the Markowskis’ place, fronted with classical stone pillars and large urns already spilling beautiful spring flowers. The Markowskis were definitely wealthy.
Maybe there was a servants’ entrance in the back. If so, she should probably park there, because her car was a blight on the landscaping. Until this moment, she’d been happy that she had finally been able to get it running. Now, she was uncomfortably aware of how old it was, how loud the engine, how rusty the exterior.
Oh, well. This wasn’t a social visit. Mrs. Markowski had asked her to come and update her on the progress of the float. It would be a short meeting. Samantha had pictures of what they’d done so far on her phone and had written down a schedule for how she was going to complete the project. Going through that shouldn’t take more than half an hour, and then she could escape this uncomfortably fancy neighborhood and get back to take over Mikey’s care for the afternoon.
After Friday’s terrifying hour when he was lost, she felt so very fortunate that Mikey was safe and healthy. It wasn’t something you could take for granted.
And the new accord between her and Corbin couldn’t be taken for granted, either. After the cookout, curled up next to him on the couch, Samantha had felt warm and safe and cared for. No, it wasn’t going to amount to anything romantically, but she treasured the sense of connection. Maybe they could be and remain good friends, at least.
She got out of the car and hurried up the brick walkway. She almost expected a butler to answer, but it was Mrs. Markowski who opened the door. High-pitched barking came from somewhere in the back of the house.
“Come in,” the older woman said. She wore dark slacks, an elegant long vest and an ornate necklace, and she seemed to be raising an eyebrow at something. Was it Samantha’s car, or the way she was dressed? She’d put on khakis and a polo shirt in honor of the occasion. Her hair was tied back, her makeup light. Nothing fancy, but she’d thought she looked professional.
When Mrs. Markowski led the way to the dining room and she saw the source of the barking, she suppressed a smile. She was definitely way underdressed.
There, yapping furiously from behind a baby gate, was a small white poodle sporting a pink topknot and a sparkly pink confection of a jacket.
Samantha wasn’t one of those people who thought it was wrong to dress up a dog; truth to tell, she’d always thought dogs dressed for Halloween were adorable. She knelt in front of the gate. “Hi there! What’s your name?” She looked up at Mrs. Markowski. “I didn’t know you had a dog.” As she spoke, she let her hand rest on the baby gate...until sharp pain made her jerk her hand away. “Ow!” She looked down to see drops of blood. The little dog stood on its back legs, front paws on the gate, baring its teeth at her.
“No, no, Pinky,” Mrs. Markowski scolded. “I’m sorry, dear,” she added as she stepped over the gate and picked up the dog. “You’re going to have to go to your room,” she scolded the dog in an indulgent voice. “Gemma?”
“I’m in the pantry.”
“Could you please take Pinky upstairs?”
A woman wearing a polo shirt and tan khakis emerged from a door in the back of the kitchen. “You know that little monster’s not going to let me carry her upstairs,” she said to Mrs. Markowski, and then looked at Samantha. “Did she bite you? Disinfectant soap’s under the sink, honey.” And she walked back through the door she’d come out.
So apparently, Pinky’s biting someone wasn’t major news in this household. As Mrs. Markowski carried the barking, growling dog upstairs, Samantha walked into the large kitchen and washed the bite.
She was drying her hand with a paper towel when Mrs. Markowski came back down. “Are you hurt? I’m sorry about Pinky. She’s just two years old, and still learning her manners.”
“It’s okay, it’s not a deep bite,” Samantha said. When was Pinky going to learn her manners if she hadn’t learned them by age two?
“I just adopted her six months ago,” Mrs. Markowski explained. “She was found as a stray, all matted and skinny and sick. I happened to be volunteering at the shelter when she came in, and...well, here we are. I guess I needed something to take care of.”
That made more sense of it and Samantha smiled. “Dogs are great companions.”
Mrs. Markowski nodded and then brushed her hands together. “Gemma is going to serve us lunch in a little while,” she said. “Shall we get business out of the way first?”
“Oh...yes, of course.” This was a lunch meeting? Now, she felt even more underdressed. In fact, she realized suddenly, she was dressed exactly the same way the housekeeper was. No wonder Mrs. Markowski had looked askance at her.
You’re a child of God, just as good as anyone else, she reminded herself. It was something she’d read in a morning devotional and was trying to burn into her mind by repeating it often. “I have photos to show you of where the float stands now, and I can let you know what else we plan to do to complete it. It should be done in good time.”
They sat down together on a stiff, uncomfortable sofa. Samantha opened her photos app and showed Mrs. Markowski the first picture. “This is the underlying structure,” she said. She swiped to the next photo. “This shows you the background that we’ll have and the structures the boys and dogs will sit on, so that they’re visible to everyone.” She swiped to the next photo. This one she was really proud of. “And this is an internet picture of what the boys and Corbin are going to do to wire up our float, so that it flashes and has a doghouse that opens and closes. The boys are really excited about it.”
Mrs. Markowski studied the pictures without speaking. When the silence went on too long, Samantha got nervous. “What do you think?”
Mrs. Markowski shook her head slowly, clucking her tongue. “I’m afraid it’s going to be a little...tacky.”
That word made Samantha’s face heat, because she remembered one of the few girls she’d invited to her house using that word about her mother’s decor. Was she hopelessly low-class?
She sucked in a deep breath and consciously relaxed her muscles. You’re a child of God. A thought came into her mind then, making her smile: anyone who dressed her poodle up in pink rhinestones had no authority to call their float tacky.
Of course, Samantha didn’t say that out loud. As her mother would have said, she knew what side her bread was buttered on. “What part feels tacky to you?” she asked, pasting an interested smile on her face and going for a friendly, neutral tone of voice.
“The bright colors, the animation,” Mrs. Markowski said. “I was hoping for something a little more tasteful.”
Parade floats weren’t supposed to be tasteful, Samantha wanted to say, but didn’t. “Could you give me an example to go on?” Samantha was kicking herself now. She should have asked for more details, gotten Mrs. Markowski’s input earlier.
The woman had given Samantha free rein, but she should’ve known better. It looked like Mrs. Markowski was the type to test you when you didn’t even know you were being tested.
“As a matter of fact, I can show you an example.” The older woman went to a display shelf and picked up a framed picture. She came back and handed it to Samantha.
Samantha studied it. The high school’s football field was in the background, and the float itself looked a little familiar. “Is that from the senior parade at the high school a few years ago?”
“Yes, it is. It’s the float representing the football team.”
She studied the picture more closely. “I remember that one from watching the parade my freshman year. It was really pretty.” But it had looked so different from the decorated cars and scraggly trailer creations the other students had made. Definitely not done by the football players themselves, and she’d even heard some of the gossipy girls making mean remarks about it.
“I was in charge of the football float,” Mrs. Markowski said. “I and a couple of the other football mothers spent hours on it.” She paused, then looked across the living room at the collection of photos she’d taken this one from.
Samantha looked, too, and realized they were all photos of Mrs. Markowski’s son, Brock.
“Those were good times.” Mrs. Markowski stared at the photo, seeming to be lost in reminiscences.
Samantha nodded, not sure of how to respond. Mrs. Markowski was a bundle of contradictions, emotionally vulnerable one minute, sharp and businesslike the next. Her heart ached for the other woman’s loss. But she wasn’t a close friend, so she had better keep it businesslike. “It seems like you want us to make a float that’s similar to the one you made during your son’s senior year?”
“Well, not exactly, but similar.”
“Um, okay.” Inside, Samantha groaned. They’d have to redo so much of the work, just because Mrs. Markowski wanted to recreate the past—a doomed effort, since her son was never coming back.
Still, she had to try if she wanted to be selected for the job of starting up a kids’ program at Rescue Haven. “Do you mind if I take a picture of that float?” she asked. “Maybe we can incorporate some similar elements.”
“If you think it would be useful.” Mrs. Markowski handed her the photograph, rose and went to the doorway into the kitchen. “Gemma. We’ll take our lunch now.”
At first, the meal felt stiff and awkward. Both of them tried to make conversation, but it was clear they didn’t have much in common. Add that to the fact that Mrs. Markowski held the key to Samantha’s future, and it made for a lot of tension.
Samantha finally found a topic to break the ice by showing Mrs. Markowski pictures of Mikey and describing some of his antics. She left out the fact that he had gotten lost, figuring that wasn’t something she wanted to be judged about.
“Where is the child’s mother?” Mrs. Markowski asked. “I’m surprised she would pass off her own child to her son to raise. Is she ill?”
“No, but her husband is. She needs to take care of him.” Then she blew out a breath, mortified. Why had she blurted that out? Her face grew uncomfortably hot, and she knew she must be blushing. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not even supposed to know Cheryl. Corbin doesn’t know that I do. Please, don’t share this with him.”
After keeping the secret from Corbin for all these weeks, why couldn’t she keep it in front of Mrs. Markowski? And what must the older woman think of her, hiding something significant from her employer?
Mrs. Markowski was studying her. “I see that things are a little more complicated than they appear to be,” she said.
“They are.” Samantha’s voice came out as not much more than a whisper. The other woman was likely to either fire her or reveal the truth to Corbin.
“Why are you keeping your relationship with Corbin’s mother a secret?” Mrs. Markowski asked.
What was the harm in being honest now? “They haven’t been close,” she said. “His mother was afraid that Corbin would put Mikey into foster care, since he doesn’t know anything about raising kids. I was supposed to kind of happen along and offer to help, to keep that from happening.”
“So it was for the child’s sake.”
Samantha nodded. “If Cheryl had sent me in an open way, Corbin wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with me. Maybe he’d have found a way to raise Mikey, found another caregiver right away, but Cheryl didn’t want to take that risk.”
They finished their lunch in silence. The chicken salad was delicious, but Samantha couldn’t eat more than a few bites.
They rose from the table, and when Samantha started to carry her dishes to the kitchen, Mrs. Markowski put a hand on her arm. “Just leave them. Gemma will get them.” She led the way to the front door and then turned to face Samantha. “I’ve kept secrets about a child before,” she said. “It’s not a good idea. You should fix that.”
Samantha swallowed and nodded. “I should.”
“And I expect better on that float.”
“Understood.” Samantha waved her phone, which held the picture of the float Mrs. Markowski had made for Brock’s senior parade. “Less gaudy. More tasteful.”
Mrs. Markowski gave a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll be interested to see what you do.”
Her stomach tight, Samantha hurried down to her beat-up car.
Would she be able to make a float that lived up to Mrs. Markowski’s standards between now and Friday?
And would the older woman reveal her secret to Corbin?
* * *
On Friday, the last day before the Memorial Day parade, Corbin stood in the barn staring at the unfinished float.
It was time for the kids to go home, but Samantha had talked Gabby into calling all the parents to see if they’d let their sons work later into the night. The parents had agreed, but the boys were grousing. It didn’t help that the pizza she’d ordered was late, and everyone was starving.
Corbin wanted to be supportive of Samantha, but he couldn’t believe she had made them recast the whole float. They could have been finished, relaxing with Mikey at home. Instead, here they were staying late, and in sole charge of the restless teenagers. Gabby was nearby at her house, but caring for her grandma, who was under the weather. Reese had taken Mikey and Izzy to an indoor play area in the hopes of tiring them out.
So it was just Samantha and Corbin and a bunch of hungry, cranky boys.
They had already removed the old foil and fringes from the float, even though, to Corbin’s eye, it had all looked perfectly fine. They had built up a series of platforms on the float, of graduated heights; each would hold a boy and a dog. That, Corbin thought, was a great idea.
The dogs were to be dressed up in patriotic costumes as much as they could tolerate, and there, Samantha had gone all out. She’d stayed up late making little hats and shirts and jackets to fit each dog.
Now, they were to replace the foil with the kind of textured sheeting made to look like flower petals. The main colors now were just white and blue, with the dogs’ red trimmings providing “pops of color,” as Samantha had said.
Corbin wondered where Samantha had gotten the money to buy new supplies. He had a feeling that it had come out of her own pocket, and probably at the expense of things she needed for herself, like another, bigger repair to her car.
One reason the boys were upset was that the plan of animating the float had been nixed. Corbin wasn’t altogether sorry about that, since their preliminary efforts had revealed it to be more complicated and unreliable than he’d expected.
“Memorial Day weekend and here we are working,” one o
f the high school boys said.
“This stinks,” agreed another boy.
Corbin wasn’t thrilled about it himself. He didn’t like sending Mikey away in the evening when they had been apart all day, even if Mikey were safe and having fun. He felt like it was important for them to bond some each day.
But one look at Samantha, face sweaty, forking her fingers through her messy hair, and he pretty much felt like he would do anything she said. It was hard, very hard, not to pursue a relationship with her. Corbin had done a lot of thinking and praying about it, but he kept coming up against the alcoholism issue. He was still too concerned to move forward, too full of memories of his past.
His past... Had his own thoughts conjured up the smell of liquor? He turned toward it as a couple of the older boys walked past, coming back in from outside. They melted in with the other boys, and soon there was a lot of whispering and giggling.
And sure enough, that whiskey smell lingered in the air. It brought back so much for Corbin that for a moment, he just sat there, catapulted back to childhood, feeling out of control.
Samantha must have noticed the same smell he did, and unlike Corbin, she didn’t hesitate. She waded into the group, plucked the two boys who had been outside by the sleeves of their shirts, and ordered them over to the small office made from one of the stalls in the barn.
He could hear her voice, low and steady, though not the words. And he could catch the emotion, loud and clear, on both sides: Samantha sounded angry and determined; the two boys protesting and upset.
Corbin shook himself out of his funk, made sure the other boys were working at connecting the cloth to the float, and then went over to the stall to see what support he could be to Samantha.
“I can see that you’re not actually drunk,” she was saying, “and that’s the only thing keeping me from calling your parents and the police right this minute. But your parents will be notified.”
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