Blame it on Cupid (31 page)

“But I may still have to, Jack. I'm worried the woman's going to show up at our back door, or that there'll be another call. I still feel the best way to handle this is for Charlie to tell me on her own, but if she still hasn't said something after another few days…”

“Hey. If you have to tell her, then you have to tell her,” Jack said readily, but then he suddenly hesitated. The easy flow of conversation suffered a hiccup. He looked down, instead of at her, and as if suddenly realizing they were within cuddling closeness of each other, shifted to a sitting position. “Coop mentioned that he'd heard you talking to Charlene about your mother.”

“I didn't realize he'd overheard, but yes,” Merry admitted.

Jack plunked down his wineglass. “It's easy for me to see why my boys think so much of you. Why Cooper trusts you.”

“Thanks. That's a really nice thing to say.”

“So…that's what he was talking to you about the other night? The secret? About his mother?” Jack pressed.

Merry felt a short, sharp stab of hurt. It wasn't sensible, to let herself be so vulnerable she could get hurt this easily, but the sting was so quick, so unexpected, that she just couldn't seem to brace against it ahead of time. She forced a light smile. “So that's why you came over, huh? To find out what Cooper told me?”

“No, of course not, I wanted to see you, but…”

Okay, she told herself. It wasn't like she didn't get it. He was a dad. When you were a parent, you worried about your kids. You did whatever you had to do to keep them safe. She hadn't understood that before, but she did since Charlie. So there was no excuse for feeling so darn hurt; Jack wouldn't be Jack if he didn't give a big damn about his sons. It was just…right at that split second…she felt used.

She'd get over it. She just needed a chance to catch her breath, suck it up.

“Hey,” Jack said. “I just want to know what was troubling Cooper. What he told you. I told
you
what was going on with Charlene.”

“That was different, Jack.”

“How?” he asked disbelievingly.

She groped. “It's different because Charlene's so young. Her mother's a completely unknown quantity. Her safety could be at stake. Where with Cooper…his secret isn't about his safety. It's a serious thing. But he's older than Charlene, and he asked me to keep his confidence.”

“So? Charlene asked me to keep her secret—but I told you. I trusted you with it.”

The whole magical night suddenly changed. The whiskery breeze suddenly bit. The dampness suddenly sank in at a shiver level. She said softly, “Is it possible for you to trust me with Cooper's secret just a little longer?”

“I want to know. It's about my son. I
need
to know.”

“Yeah. You do. But could you trust me until Friday night? In fact…”

“In fact, what?”

Merry thought, it had been a pattern her whole life. She couldn't just dip her toe in mud; she had to jump right in up to the neck. “In fact,” she surged on, not looking at him now, “I was thinking of going into D.C. Friday afternoon with Charlie. I was going to take her out of school. There's some kind of exhibit at the Smithsonian. Engines or something. The kind of thing her dad would have taken her to. Anyway…I could pick your boys up from school that afternoon, if you wanted, save you that commute. And maybe we could talk after that. Like after dinner.”

He just looked at her, the moonlight making his expression appear silver-cold. “I don't understand why you can't tell me now, if you can tell me a few days from now.” When she didn't immediately answer, he said, “You know, trust goes two ways.”

“Yes, it does,” she agreed, and then hesitated, thinking she was already neck-deep in mud, so why not risk going the whole depth under? Gently, carefully, she whispered, “Do you want me to trust you, Jack?”

It was possible her voice was so soft he hadn't heard her. But then he gathered up the wine bottle and glasses he'd brought.

Maybe he would have answered. Probably he would have answered. But because he had to think so long about it, her heart had already broken, about three times, maybe four.

Until that instant, she hadn't known how completely she'd fallen in love with him. Until that instant, she hadn't known that it was a game, her trying to believe it didn't matter if it went any further. Until that instant, she'd recognized all the huge differences between them; she'd just believed those differences wouldn't matter if the right feelings between them were solid and real.

She said suddenly, swiftly, “Good night, Jack.” And disappeared inside the house, closing and latching the deck door before he could say anything else.

 

S
OME BREAKFASTS WENT OKAY
, and some were a fight all the way. This morning, nobody could manage to close the refrigerator without slamming it. Nobody could carry toast across the room without dripping jam. Kicker dropped half a quart of OJ. Cooper lost his shoes—which should have been challenging to lose, considering they were a size thirteen. Both boys heaved books and papers onto the kitchen table, threatening the stability of the house foundation.

Jack chugged coffee.

Kicker seemed to wake up talking and never let up. “So, anyway. I know Mom's supposed to be back on Monday, but this'll happen again. You know it will. And you have to be sick of this long commuting thing, Dad. So I think a real easy way to solve this is to get us a car.”

Jack chugged more coffee, trailing after both of them with a towel—sponges were never enough. “What an odd solution, considering neither of you have a driver's license yet. Thank you, God.”

“But we will. We will. And one of the great things about us being twins is that we could probably get by with just one car. Two kids, yet we only need one car. Isn't that great? Cooper, speak up, you idiot.”

“We need a car, Dad,” Cooper immediately concurred.

“Then no one would have to do all this commuting. Which is so unfair on you.”

“Thanks for caring,” Jack said wryly, in between more gulps, and more swiping the towel after their messes. Somewhere, he had a spring jacket. And he knew there were some bills to go in the mail. “Sometimes it amazes me how unselfish you are, Kicker.”

“Hey, me, too.” Kicker never turned down a compliment, even in jest, but then he immediately returned to his agenda. “The problem, though, is that this has been two weekends in a row. Now going on three. My sex life is suffering.”

Where the hell were those bills? And the damned mug he'd just been drinking from? Who the hell had put it right by the coffeemaker? Still, Jack took the time to remind him, “You're fifteen. You have no sex life.”

“The sex life I
want,
” Kicker qualified. “Come on. It's pretty hard to cast anchor and throw out a fishing line if you're living too far away to reel one in, you know.”

“Huh?”

Kicker dropped the metaphors. “My Friday nights aren't doing so hot.”

“Well, I'd take pity on your suffering, but you're gone more weekend nights than you're in. Far as I can tell, you've still got a ton of friends from the neighborhood here. You went out last Friday and Saturday, both times with girls.”

“Well, yeah,” Kicker admitted. “But I'm trying to keep girls in both cities, Dad. A guy with my charm and sex appeal needs to spread it around, you know?”

Cooper, who managed to be standing wherever Jack was trying to move, made a gesture, mimicking someone digging deep with a shovel. Jack had to crack a smile, even as he impatiently herded both kids to the door. “Well, I don't have an immediate solution for your social life, guys. Normally your mother isn't away this long. If this happens again, we can talk about some other options, but right this second, I don't have any answers. And she's supposed to be back in a couple of days anyway. Speaking of which…”

He locked the door, hiked to the truck, abruptly realized he'd forgotten the truck key and whatever he'd been about to say about his ex-wife and custody schedules as well. His lack-of-sleep headache didn't explain the sudden sinking feeling in his gut, as if he'd lost something real. Not like a key. Something that
mattered.

His gaze took in every window next door. There was no light or sound emanating from her house.

“Hey, Dad, you go to sleep or something?”

Abruptly he realized that his hand was halfway extended to the truck handle, keys still forgotten in the house, and the minutes ticking by. Hell. A new symptom since Merry had come into his life. A complete suspension of awareness.

Of course, maybe it was just a seizure.

He trotted in and back out with the vehicle key, climbed in. “Anyway,” he said, hoping this might be a natural segue from the last conversation, “Friday after school, Merry is going to pick you guys up, all right?”

Cooper, who'd typically installed himself by the window seat and already closed his eyes for a nap, suddenly seemed to wake up. “Say what?”

“That's okay with you two, isn't it? Friday, she's going to take Charlene to some special exhibit at the Smithsonian, so it's not like she'll be right
at
your school—but still close enough to make an easy pickup. She might not be able to get there until fairly late in the afternoon, but I didn't figure you two'd mind hanging with some friends for a short stretch, right?”

“Right. No sweat. That'll be cool.”

Kicker was about to wax on, when Cooper suddenly piped up, “When did this all come about?”

“Last night. I was just talking to her, and she mentioned going to D.C. with Charlene. Said she could save me a commute that afternoon, if you guys didn't mind.”

“No. Don't mind. But something doesn't seem right here. What'd you do?” Cooper asked.

“What?” Jack made it through the last light before the freeway, but he couldn't make sense out of Coop's comment.

“I thought you two were getting along great. But then you woke up this morning, been grumping around since you walked in the kitchen, then forgot your keys, forgot to get in the truck, no smiles at anybody, no yelling at Kicker when he spilled the juice, either. I mean, obviously something is way off. And now we find out you talked to Merry last night. What'd you do wrong?”

“What do you
mean,
what'd I do wrong? Why would you assume I did anything wrong? She offered to pick you boys up—”

“Yeah, like that's why you were grumping around the house this morning. I just don't know why you'd be mean to her….”

Jack's jaw wanted to drop five shocked feet, but darn it, they were merging into rush hour. Maybe the meek inherited the earth later in the day, but not before 9:00 a.m. The wheel huggers were all gritting their teeth, either drinking coffee or yelling into a phone, their right foot hammered on the accelerator.

Even in a life-threatening situation, though, the injustice of Cooper's accusation bit him to the quick. It was so unfair. So wrong.

And how the hell did Coop know he was suffering pangs of guilt? For Pete's sake, he hadn't done a single thing wrong. Hadn't jumped her. Hadn't dropped her.
He
was the one who should have been good and pissed at her, because she'd refused to tell him Cooper's damned secret.

And he was pissed about that. What was wrong with her that she didn't trust him?

Everybody trusted him. Friends, family. The whole neighborhood. His ex-wife. Hell, the United States government had given him practically every security clearance they'd ever invented.

Everybody knew he was trustworthy.

“I have
nothing
to feel guilty about. And I wasn't mean to her. I have no idea why you'd even think such a crazy thing—”

“From the bassett-hound look on your face, Dad,” Cooper said, which interested Kicker enough to swivel around to get a good look at his face. Not a good idea, to block his view of traffic and create an imminent threat to all their lives.

“You do have a hound look around the eyes, Dad,” Kicker affirmed.

“You're both full of malarkey.” It bit and kept biting. Not the kids. Merry. How completely, totally unreasonable she'd been. She'd asked if he trusted her.

No, he hadn't answered that right away, because what did his trusting her have to do with anything? She was the one who hadn't trusted him to tell Cooper's secret. She'd twisted everything. That's why he hadn't immediately answered her. Because she'd gotten him completely confused.

And then the damn woman had walked in the house with her eyes welled up as if she were about to cry, leaving him standing there, as if he'd suddenly stumbled into an alternate universe. Where did the welling eyes come from? Insanity? Fluffiness gone amok? He hadn't said anything to hurt her. He hadn't done anything to hurt her.