Carolina Home (12 page)

“I thought he and Lindsey…”

Shut up, Allison.
She was a teacher, for crying out loud. She had no business gossiping about her students’ love lives.

“Lindsey wishes,” Thalia said. “But they’re not exclusive or anything. Josh dates summer girls. That way when he wants a change, he doesn’t have to go through the drama of breaking up with them.”

Allison’s throat went dry.
Our Matt doesn’t date locals
, Gail had said, sympathy in her voice.
In all these years, I’ve never known him to date a woman longer than a couple of weeks. A couple of months, if she’s here for the summer.

Apparently this was a case of like father, like son.

“Don’t you think you and Lindsey deserve better?” Allison asked.

“In the long run? Sure.” Thalia grinned, sharp and quick. “But I’m not looking for commitment. I just want a date before I die. Preferably before I go to college.”

“Do I sense a double standard here? Are you crushing on him just because he’s…” Allison hesitated, casting for an appropriate word to describe a student, to apply to Matt’s son.

“Incredibly hot?” Thalia asked. “Heck yeah. I mean, that’s part of it. But he’s also a nice guy. Sometimes that’s enough.”

W
HEN
A
LLISON ARRIVED
home at the end of the day, she found her repaired bicycle propped against the front steps
of the cottage. She loved living in a community where bike theft wasn’t an issue. She was touched by the neighborliness of the gesture, encouraged by this sign of acceptance. As soon as she unloaded her car—she’d stopped by the garden center on her way home—she called Bill at the bike rental place to thank him.

“Really nice of you,” she said. “I wanted to pick up the bike after school, but there was no way I could fit it in my car. I didn’t expect you to make a special delivery to my house.”

“Wasn’t me,” Bill said. “That was Matt. He didn’t want you to have to walk out here.”

“Oh.” Allison regrouped. “Well, that was very thoughtful of him. I’ll drop by tomorrow with the check.”

“All taken care of.”

“You have to let me pay,” Allison protested.

“Matt already did. Guess you can settle up with him when you see him.” Bill chuckled, making it clear what kind of payment he thought Matt could expect.

Heat washed Allison’s face.
Wonderful.
That would certainly give the faculty break room something to talk about on Monday.

“I’ll do that,” she promised and thanked Bill again before disconnecting.

Slowly, she lowered her cell phone.

Maybe she shouldn’t read too much into what was basically a friendly gesture, she thought as she changed into jeans. Maybe this was simply Matt’s way of saying thank you because she’d intervened on behalf of his niece this afternoon.

You stopped to help me. I stopped to help you. I’d say we’re even
, she’d said to him mere hours ago.

The look in his eyes made her pulse pound.
I didn’t know we were keeping score.

Allison took a deep breath as she went back out to her car. She was not playing games with Matt Fletcher. She was pretty sure she’d lose.

Yes, he was nice. And thoughtful. And, to use Thalia’s criteria, incredibly hot.

But Allison wasn’t sixteen anymore. Once upon a time, she’d believed sex was an okay trade-off to feel close, to feel warm, to feel accepted. No longer.

She wasn’t her mother, either. She didn’t see every relationship as “marriage track” or weigh the worth of a man in carats. She truly believed that in love, as in life, the journey mattered as much as the destination.

That didn’t mean she had to hop every bus that came along.

She dragged her garden supplies up onto the deck, two large, square planters and a load of potting soil.

She admired Matt. But no matter how nice he was, how interested he seemed to be, he was as reluctant to volunteer things as his son. He hadn’t confided in her about anything that really mattered. No insights about Joshua that could help her in the classroom. Not a word about Matt’s brother or his niece. Nothing Allison couldn’t and hadn’t heard from a casual acquaintance.

She required more these days than zings and tingles, than sexual buzz. She wanted a guy who was the opposite of her father, someone who would share himself with her, who was emotionally available.

She climbed the steps again with a flat of mixed pansies and some two-inch pots of herbs, plants the woman at The Secret Garden had promised would winter well.

Allison wasn’t foolish enough to expect intimacy after only one date. Not even a date, she reminded herself. She knew from teaching how hard it was to be a single parent. Maybe Matt gave so much to his family he didn’t have anything left to invest in a relationship.

But she needed more. She deserved better. And since “better” hadn’t presented itself, she was better off alone.

When her phone rang, she was prepared to tell him so.

She brushed the dirt from her hands and hit
TALK
. “Hello?”

“It’s after seven.”

Oh, God.
Allison shifted the phone to her ear. “Hi, Mom.”

That would teach her to not check caller ID.

“You should have called hours ago,” Marilyn continued, ignoring her daughter’s greeting. She was adept at hearing only what she wanted to hear.

A pulse throbbed in Allison’s temples. Sweat beaded on her upper lip and between her breasts. “Sorry. It’s Friday. I thought you’d be at…” She racked her brain, staring at the bright, blank faces of the pansies. What was Friday? Book club? Symphony? “Going to dinner with the Pearsons.”

“We’re meeting them at Bec Fin in an hour. That’s why I called.”

Allison tried and failed to find a connection. “You want directions?” she hazarded, only half joking.

“Guess who’s joining us,” Marilyn said.

“I have no idea.”

“You remember Walter and Claudia’s son, John?”

Allison sighed and swiped at the sweat, leaving a tickle of dirt on her face. “Is he the investment banker or the lawyer?”

“Johnny is an anesthesiologist. At Temple. And,” Marilyn added triumphantly, brandishing the reason for her call like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, “he’s left his wife.”

“That’s too bad.”

“What?”

“Are there children?”

“A little girl, I think. The point is, Allison, this would be a perfect time for you to come home for a visit.”

The throbbing became a twitch. Every time her mother called, it was the same. Some acquaintance at the club had a daughter who had just gotten married, a son who’d
recently been divorced. Marilyn wouldn’t be happy until Allison’s wedding announcement—two columns with accompanying photo above the fold—appeared in the Sunday
Inquirer
.

“Mom, you know I can’t do that.” Allison climbed to her feet, her back aching, her shoulders tight. “I’m teaching five classes. I have papers to grade and a unit test to prepare.”

“It’s the weekend.”

“You want me to drive to Philadelphia for the weekend?”

“You keep telling me how close you are.”

“Nine hours.”

“You could be here by lunchtime tomorrow.”

“If I started at three in the morning.”

“Your room’s all ready. You can take a nap before you meet Johnny for cocktails. The Pearsons are free for brunch on Sunday. Or we can go shopping. Make a real weekend of it. You deserve a little treat. And I need some time with my daughter.”

Allison rubbed her forehead, massaging away her guilt and frustration. Marilyn, the social butterfly, loved the idea of a daughter—dressing her up, taking her out, showing her off—much more than she enjoyed the socially conscious bookworm she’d produced. But saying so would only prompt tears and accusations.

“Mom, I have to be back on Monday.”

“I’m sure you could arrange one day off to be with your family.”

“Sure I could.” Probably she could. “If somebody died.”

Her mother’s breath hissed, followed by a deep, offended silence.

“Sorry, Mom,” Allison said.

“I suppose you think that’s funny.”

“No, I—”

“How could you…After Miles…”

“I’m
sorry
.” Her brother wasn’t dead. He was just gone,
leaving Allison as the sole target of their father’s hopes and their mother’s disappointment.

The pansies listed, limp in the heat.

“There’s no need to take that tone with me,” Marilyn said. “I’m only thinking of you. Your happiness. Your future.”

“Mom, I am happy. I wish you could be happy for me.”

But as usual, Marilyn could not hear her. “How can I be happy with my little girl so far away?”

The pulsing was a full-fledged headache now, pounding in Allison’s temples.

“A minute ago you said I was close enough to drive up for the weekend,” she pointed out unwisely.

“And you begrudge me even that much. We haven’t had any girl time in ages. But apparently I’m not a priority for you.”

Guilt hammered at Allison. She knew her parents’ marriage lacked any real emotional intimacy. Marilyn would not dream of unloading on her husband, could no longer dump on their son. She would never tarnish the Christmas card perfection of her image by venting to her friends. But with Allison, all her pent up grievances escaped like an evil genie from a bottle.

“Mom, I love you. But I have to work.”

“Oh, please. Your father has to work. He has a career,” Marilyn said. “You’re just going through a phase. Like that time you stopped eating meat. Or when you went to Wyoming.”

“South Dakota.”

“Whatever. Just because you think you’ve found some new way to save the world doesn’t entitle you to neglect your real responsibilities. When I volunteered at the Junior League, I never neglected you.”

Allison swallowed the ache and anger of a hundred remembered brush-offs,
don’t mess my hair, don’t bore my
friends, can’t we talk about this later?
It was useless to remonstrate. It always had been.

“I’m not neglecting anything, Mom.”

“You’re neglecting yourself. When was the last time you had a manicure? Or a date?”

Allison glanced at the black crescents of dirt beneath her nails before shoving her left hand in a pocket. “I have a date,” she heard herself say.

She bit her tongue. Too late.

“Really?” Marilyn’s voice wavered between pleasure and suspicion. Allison closed her eyes. Her mother wanted her only daughter to attract and keep a man. The Right Man, which in the world according to Marilyn meant a potential son-in-law with the genes and job description to give her bragging rights at the club. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

Because he’s a fisherman with a teenage son.

Because he rides a motorcycle.

Because you’d hate him.

She opened her eyes. “I have to go now. He’ll be here any minute. Have a nice dinner.”

“Wait! What does he do? He’s not another teacher, is he? Is his family…”

“Bye, Mom. Love you!” She punched the
END CALL
button, breathless with rebellion.

Her phone rang again almost immediately.

Her heart pounded.
Don’t answer, don’t
…

She glanced at the display. Not her mother. No name at all, just an unfamiliar North Carolina number.

“Hello?” she answered cautiously.

“Allison, it’s Matt.”

It was karma. She was going to hell for lying to her mother.

“I’d like to take you out to dinner tomorrow night,” he said in his low drawl.

“Tomorrow?”

“If you’re free. How about seven?”

“How about tonight?”

A pause while her brain scrambled to catch up with her mouth.
Oh, God.
Maybe she’d shocked him. She’d certainly shocked herself.

“It doesn’t have to be dinner,” she added hurriedly. “I mean, if you’ve already eaten…”

“I can do dinner.”

“Someplace quiet.” Somewhere they wouldn’t be seen. Not the Fish House. Not anywhere on the island. If she was going to revert to her reckless ways, she could do without an audience. “Jacksonville, maybe. Or the moon.”

“I wouldn’t call a military town on a Friday night quiet,” Matt said, his voice deep and amused. “Are you all right?”

She was out of her mind.

“I’m fine.” She was twenty-five years old, too old to let her mother make her crazy. “Look, maybe this is a bad idea. Joshua mentioned you have an early morning tomorrow. I shouldn’t have suggested…You caught me at a bad time, that’s all. Let’s just…”

“I’ll pick you up in an hour,” Matt interrupted. “We’ll go someplace quiet and talk.”

W
HEN
M
ATT CAME
out of his bedroom, Josh was on the couch, one eye on the Food Network and both thumbs on his phone, texting.

The teen glanced up, taking in Matt’s freshly shaved face and clean jeans, and smirked. “Hot date?”

Matt set the small cooler on the counter that divided living room and kitchen. “Maybe.”

Josh grinned. “You know we have an early start tomorrow, right?”

Matt opened the fridge. Not much there. Beer, ketchup,
mayonnaise, eggs, a half-empty gallon of milk, and a carton of orange juice. “There’s more to life than work, son.”

There hadn’t been lately.

Maybe that was the reason an evening with pretty Allison Carter held so much appeal. She made him feel things, reminded him he was a man with a man’s needs.

“So you don’t care if I go out tonight,” Josh said, testing.

A man’s needs and a sixteen-year-old son, Matt thought wryly.

“Not as long as you stay out of trouble and get home at a reasonable hour.”

“Cool.”

A quick survey of the refrigerator drawers yielded a packet of lunch meat, two withered apples, and a bunch of grapes. Matt left the lunch meat, tested the grapes by popping one in his mouth. Not bad.

Josh wandered in, hands in his pockets, drawn by curiosity or the open refrigerator. “So who is she?”

Matt tossed the apples into the garbage and rinsed the grapes under the faucet. “Do I ask you about your love life?”

“No.” Josh grabbed the orange juice and drank. Lowering the carton, he grinned before assuming a mock serious expression. “I don’t need to warn you about the dangers of premarital sex, do I, Dad?”