Change of Heart (27 page)

In the last few years since her father . . . died—Abby refused to believe what she’d been told of her dad’s death—she’d often told her mother what she thought of Orin. But her mother always said that he had been through a lot that Abby knew nothing about. She’d told Abby about some of it: a dying wife, a bankrupted business, living on food stamps. Poor, poor Orin.

But Abby hadn’t believed any of it. She and her friend Scully had done some research and found that Orin was still connected to Longacre Furniture. Abby told her mother what they’d found out.

Grace had asked Orin about that, and he’d said that yes, his name was still officially on the board but he received no money. In other words, he’d sweet-talked and cried and pleaded so much that Grace had believed him.

After that her mother refused to listen to anything Abby had to say about what had happened. Grace said that her husband had given his
life
to keep the shame of it all quiet and she was going to honor that. Abby was forbidden to ever again speak of anything that had to do with her father or Orin or even about Longacre Furniture.

Even after all the warnings, Abby had made some halfhearted attempts to find out more, but her mom’s unhappiness was more than she could bear. Abby quit looking and she even forbade Scully to search or to speak of what had happened.

It had worked well because Abby saw her mother begin to get happier. She liked her job and for a while their lives had been pleasant. But then Orin called and Grace went running to him—and she came back poorer than when she’d left. The money for Abby’s new dress was gone.

She knew her mother hadn’t meant for Abby to find out. But on Sunday Abby wanted to go to the mall in Williamsburg to look for a dress, but her mom said she couldn’t. She said she needed to talk to her boss, Mr. Frazier, on Monday. Abby knew what that meant: Orin had taken the money and her mom was going to ask for a loan. Abby hadn’t said anything, just walked out of the room in silence.

It wasn’t easy to hold that much anger. Her mother had reassured her that they’d buy a beautiful dress, but to Abby, it was the principle of the thing.

Tonight it was her anger that woke her. Her teeth were clenched, her hands made into fists, and she was in pain.

She got up and went into the kitchen to get something to eat. She didn’t want her mother to know she was up, so she didn’t open the fridge with its bright light and a noise that her mother always seemed to hear. As she was on her way back to her bedroom, she walked past the window and a movement caught her eye. At first she didn’t pay any attention to it. Rex was a great watchdog that barked at the slightest movement. But then Abby backed up. To her disbelief she saw the shadow of what looked like a woman sailing over the top of their fence. She was so graceful, it looked like she was performing on some dance show.

As Abby stared out the dark window, she saw a man close behind the woman. The two of them went to the shed in the back—what Scully called the Forbidden Building because Abby’s mom never allowed anyone to enter it—and slipped inside.

Abby grabbed her phone to call the sheriff. But she didn’t. Maybe it was her anger at her mother, or maybe it was her extreme curiosity. Of course, years ago, she and Scully had found the lock combination and had investigated. Inside the shed were just boxes full of old receipts. Why would these two rather elegantly dressed people want to break into an old shed?

She pulled up a stool to the side of the window and ate while she watched the show. At one point she cranked a window open and it creaked. She barely had time to close it before the shed door opened and the man came out and looked around. He even came close to the window and looked in.

Yet again, Abby stayed behind the curtain, her finger hovering over the keypad of her phone. But she still didn’t touch it. The man—who she saw quite clearly—turned and went back into the shed.

The second he was inside, Abby again opened the window a bit. Another woman arrived, then the two women went back over the fence. Minutes later, she saw the man begin to toss boxes over the fence. She thought maybe she heard voices, but in the gathering wind, she wasn’t sure.

She saw the shadow of a man—heavier than the first one—close up the shed and put a lock on it. She was willing to bet it wasn’t the lock that her mother knew the combination to. The outdoor light flashed for a moment, then went off.

Finally, there was silence. Abby sat still for a while, but her instincts told her that all the people were gone.

Long ago she’d found the little red book where her mother kept all her passcodes. Tiptoeing, Abby went to her mother’s desk in the spare bedroom and looked. In the next minute she was running across the yard in her bare feet. She tried the combination six times but it didn’t work.

Yawning, she started back to the house and nearly tripped over Rex. At first she was sickened as she thought they’d killed him, but he was just sleeping. How interesting, she thought, and went back inside and got into bed. She couldn’t wait to tell Scully everything.

10

F
rank dropped Pilar and Chelsea off at Eli’s house, saying that someone would return Chelsea’s car the next day. The men didn’t explain to the women where they were going. They just drove away, leaving the women standing on the sidewalk.

“My car is over there,” Pilar said. “I’ve got a long drive ahead so I better go.”

“Take the other guest room,” Chelsea said as she went to the front door.

“Thanks,” Pilar said.

Ten minutes later, Chelsea was in the shower. She was exhilarated from the evening, but also exhausted. She felt like she wanted to sleep for a week, but at the same time she thought she might never sleep again.

She shampooed her hair, then held her head back under the showerhead. As the hot water cascaded down over her long hair, she closed her eyes. She wondered what Eli and his dad were doing now. Sitting in a coffee shop somewhere and discussing everything? Talking together about things that Eli seemed to think Chelsea wasn’t smart enough, involved enough, whatever, to help him figure out? Were they—?

She opened her eyes to see Eli, naked, standing in the shower with her.

All the questions in her mind disappeared. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. It was a kiss that in seconds went deeper.

Eli picked her up, his hands on her round, curvy bottom. Her legs went around his torso, pulling him to her, and he set her down on his hard maleness.

It filled her. Her head went back as his lips were on her neck. He moved her so her back was against the tile wall. The water beat down on them as his strokes increased in depth. Chelsea clutched at his back, pulling him closer.

When she came, he kept on stroking, slowly and gently until she returned to life. “My turn,” he whispered, and she held on for his last strokes.

He held her against the wall, his lips against hers. “You still have shampoo in your hair.”

“And you’re sweaty,” she said.

Smiling, he set her down, backed her under the shower water, and began to massage her scalp as the shampoo came out. As he touched her, his chest was against hers.

“You could open a chain of salons with this technique,” she said.

“I’m only interested in here and now and one client.” He looked her in the eyes.

“Good answer.” She picked up the bar of soap. “I think you have body parts that need washing. Mind if I do it?”

“Please,” he said, then closed his eyes as Chelsea moved her hands downward.

The smell of pancakes woke Chelsea. When her stomach gave a growl, Eli reached out for her. She kissed the back of his neck.

Last night, there’d been twice in the shower, interspersed with lots of soapy fondling and exploring of each other’s bodies. Then they’d moved into the bedroom. When they’d knocked a chair over and Chelsea said, “Shhh. Pilar is next door,” they went downstairs to his bedroom.

Hours later, when they collapsed on the bed, the sun was up, peeping under the shades. They flopped back on the bed, their hunger for each other sated for the moment, and fell asleep, their bodies intertwined.

“I’m going to get something to eat. Keep sleeping,” Chelsea said.

He didn’t reply and he didn’t move.

As soon as she was out of the bed, she realized that she had no clothes downstairs. Eli and she had both been nude when they came down the stairs, and she had a few bruises from the stair treads. She couldn’t help thinking that she was glad Pilar hadn’t left her room during that short, energetic trip on the stairs.

In the walk-in closet she put on a pair of Eli’s boxer shorts and one of his white dress shirts. It wasn’t much, but it was a great deal more than she wore on most photo shoots. She thought about trying to untangle her hair but didn’t.

She padded barefoot across the living room and as soon as she entered the kitchen, she saw Lanny Frazier. He was leaning against the counter, coffee mug in hand, and looking her up and down. He was a large, handsome man, his eyes half-closed, inviting.

Chelsea gave the look back at him. “I guess I should have brushed my hair.”

“Not on my account, Tequila Lady,” he said, his voice slow and seductive as he let her know he remembered her from the bar.

Pilar, a plate in each hand, stepped between them, her eyes on Lanny’s. “She’s all used up. Last night she and Eli sounded like a herd of cattle.”

“Yeah?” Lanny said.

Chelsea wasn’t fooled by his glances. She knew when a man was interested in her and this one wasn’t. Not really. She took a piece of bacon off one of the plates Pilar was holding. “Yes, I’m taken, but I’ll put you on my list.” She paused. “At about a hundred and twenty.”

There was a little guffaw of laughter from her left and she saw a big kid—no, a huge, enormous boy—sitting at the breakfast table, his head down, a sketchpad in his hands. He looked like a bigger, younger version of Lanny.

Chelsea went to sit by him at the table. “Drawing anything interesting?”

He turned the pad around to show a sketch of Chelsea, her long legs exposed, yet looking demurely innocent. Lanny was looking at her in a lecherous way.

She laughed. “Perfect. Have you met Eli?”

“At the gym,” the boy said.

“Oh? Did you bench-press Jeff?”

He looked at her, his eyes full of laughter.

Lanny sat down across from Chelsea. “This is my baby brother, Shamus. He leaves for college in just a few weeks. We’re going to miss his constant chattering. Can’t get the kid to shut up.”

“I think his drawing says everything about you.”

Pilar put the plates in front of the two males and gave Chelsea a look to stop flirting. She was wearing a pair of shorts and a little T-shirt, and looked quite as good as Chelsea did. “You want some pancakes?”

“Sure,” Chelsea said. “Just one. No, make that three. Eli wants me to get fat.”

“You could use a few pounds,” Lanny said. “So where is he hiding?”

“He’s sleeping,” Chelsea said.

“Ha!” Pilar said. “He never sleeps. I gave him a list of people he has to call and he’d better do it! They want him back at work. And he often calls his mom.” As she handed Chelsea a plate of pancakes, she stared at her.

“Don’t look at me,” Chelsea said. “I’m not keeping him here. I’m just visiting. Eli can go back to saving the world anytime he wants to.”

Pilar gave a curt nod, but she said nothing as she went back to the kitchen.

In the ensuing silence, Chelsea began to feel a bit awkward. She knew Pilar and Eli were friends and that meant they looked out for each other. But that didn’t include dumping guilt on Chelsea because she wasn’t giving up her life to chain herself to a kitchen. She wasn’t going to spend her days waiting for hubby to come home. He got all the fun; she got the drudgery.

She looked at Lanny sitting across from her. “Doesn’t Grace Ridgeway work for your family’s company?”

“She does. But if you’re hoping to become BFFs with her, it won’t happen.”

“Why not?” Chelsea asked as she bit into the pancakes.

“She stays to herself. My mom keeps trying to fix her up on dates but Grace won’t go. But then, after what happened with her husband, it’s understandable.”

“Suicide, wasn’t it?”

“That’s what Colin was told. He’s—”

“The sheriff. I met him. Gorgeous man.”

“Better not let his wife, Gemma, hear you say that. She’s . . .” Lanny made a few punches like a boxer. “Shamus and she work out together.”

Chelsea looked at the boy, at the sheer size of him. “Olympic shot-putter, is she?”

Shamus, bent over his drawing pad, smiled.

Pilar, full plate in hand, sat down between Chelsea and Lanny. “Gemma is built so well I’m thinking of joining Mike’s Gym and putting on the gloves.”

Lanny looked at her. “But if you’re living in DC . . .” He trailed off as the realization of what she might be saying hit him. He looked down at his pancakes, smiling.

Chelsea turned to Shamus. “Do you know Abby?”

He nodded, then handed her his big sketchpad.

The drawing was of two young people, a boy and a girl. She was very pretty, with long dark hair, while he was cute in a nerdy sort of way. His ears stuck out rather prominently.

At first Chelsea thought it was a picture of her and Eli as they’d been as kids, but there were too many differences for it to be them. She looked at Shamus. “Is this Grace’s daughter, Abby?”

He nodded.

“Who’s the boy?”

“Scully,” Shamus said.

“And he is . . . ?”

Lanny spoke up. “The only person my little brother actually talks to is Gemma, my sister-in-law, so I’ll have to translate. Scully is Grace’s kid’s best friend. I’ve seen them together at the shop several times.” He took the pad, looked at the drawing, then handed it to Pilar. “Nobody gets why she hangs out with him. That girl is a beauty.”

“She’s fifteen!” Pilar said.

“Yeah, I know,” Lanny said. “But give her three more years and she’ll be ready to walk down a runway.” He looked at Chelsea.

“Easier said than done. How tall is she?”

“About five-eight, I guess.”

“Too short,” Chelsea said. “What about the kid with her?”

“He’s inches shorter than she is, if that’s what you mean,” Lanny said. “Poor kid doesn’t have a chance.”

Chelsea picked up the pad.

“They remind you of Eli and you?” Pilar asked.

“They do.” Chelsea looked at Shamus. “You wouldn’t happen to know who she’s going to the prom with, would you?”

“Baze,” Shamus said and took his pad back. He quickly drew something, then turned the pad around. A very good-looking young man in a football jersey was smiling.

“Ah, right, I got it. Scully with the ears is the best friend, but she dates the football player.” She was looking at Shamus and waiting for his nod, but the boy just frowned. “I take it that you don’t approve.”

“Scully is my friend,” Shamus said.

As Chelsea looked at the picture, she remembered how she’d felt at that age. All those hormones, all that curiosity. Like young Abby, Chelsea had been very pretty—and the boys let her know it. They teased and flirted with her, laughed, and appeared out of nowhere. She’d close her locker door and there would be two beautiful young men there, smiling at her.

In her family, she’d been one of several daughters and not even considered the prettiest one. Her older sisters were achievers, whereas Chelsea let things happen rather than pushed for them. For most of her childhood she’d been content to follow Eli around as he came up with ways to help people.

But then puberty hit and there were all those boys saying wonderful things to her about how pretty she was, what a nice voice she had, how smart she was. One boy said her hair was like “silk on a starlit night.”

All of it had taken her by surprise, had shocked her, as she’d never seen herself as a beauty. One time she’d asked Eli if he thought she was pretty.

“As compared to what?” he’d asked. The best she could get out of him was when he told her that beauty in a human didn’t matter. It was what was inside that counted.

Now, as an adult, she knew he was right, but when she was fifteen and being offered rides in red convertibles and being asked out by boys who were big, strong, and beautiful, a person’s inner beliefs weren’t what she cared about. When the senior captain of the football team asked her out, she didn’t hesitate in saying yes.

It was hard to believe now but when she’d told Eli about her coming date, she’d expected him to be happy for her. To her, she’d achieved something rather wonderful. But his coldness, his refusal to talk about it, had made her angry at him.

Had she really expected him to congratulate her? she wondered as she looked at Shamus’s drawing. Maybe she’d hoped that Eli would . . . what? Challenge the football player to a duel? With what? Keyboards?

“Are you okay?” Lanny asked.

Chelsea handed the pad back to Shamus. “I’m fine. I was just remembering some things, that’s all.” She turned to Shamus. “How’s Scully taking the fact that his friend is going to the prom with another guy?”

“Scully is staying home that night.”

“Right,” Chelsea said. “That’s what Eli did when I went out with someone else. What about you? You have a date for the prom?”