Clean Slate (10 page)

Waking Daisy would have been the decent thing to do, but
Ben didn’t give a shit at the moment about decency. He lay on his side, face
propped onto his fist, watching the rise and fall of her back, bemused about
her lips forming words that had no sound.

What must she have been dreaming?

Tap-tap-tuh-tap
.
The faint, rhythmic knock was Jerry’s calling card.

Ben said nothing, but after a moment—long enough for
a person to cover himself, ostensibly—the door arced inward.

Jerry held up a wrist in the door opening, silently
indicating his watch.

Ben shook his head. He wasn’t getting up. Wasn’t rousing
sleeping beauty.

Jerry spread his right thumb and index finger wide and
held them up to his ear. “I’ll call you,” he was saying.

Ben gave him a thumbs-up response, and he shut the door.

So, what now?

He smoothed hair away from Daisy’s face and let his hand
rest on her naked shoulder.

Such a timid little thing, just like a rabbit or a deer.
Afraid to let a man get too close. He could see her hesitation every time her
eyes widened and cheeks flushed, but what could he do? Make promises?

No. He was a man of action, not empty words. She likely
wouldn’t believe the words ticking through his mind, anyway—words like
home, family, and love, if she’d let him.

Her loving him would make the prospect of him turning his
life upside down—staging a trans-Atlantic move—seem so much more
rewarding. Sure, being closer to his brother was enticing, but this
woman—this quiet, mystery of a woman, made him want to plant roots. If
she didn’t want him, no way could he take that job, because eventually she’d
move on to someone else, and he didn’t want to see it.

She stirred, eyelids fluttering and lips closing. When she
opened her eyes, she stared, seemingly unseeing, at him for a moment, then
pushed up onto her forearms in a hurry.

“What time is it?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Nine. Ten. Later. Don’t know.”

She rolled over and rotated her body so her legs dangled
off the bed. “I’ve got to go to work! Fuck. I don’t have time to shower.”

He rolled his eyes, wrapped his arms around her waist, and
dragged her back to the center of the bed.

She didn’t fight it, nor did she complain when he rolled
onto her and nudged her hair from her eyes.

“
Liefje
, I’d
like you to be my date for the wedding, if you don’t already have one.”

Tentatively, she drew her fingertips along his jaw line,
stopping at the base of his ear. “That sounds lovely, and I bet you’re gorgeous
in a suit.” Her voice was tender. Reverent.
Apologetic
.

He wrapped his hand around her fingers and kissed them.
“But? You were invited, so I know that isn’t it.”

“No. I hadn’t planned on going. My ex-husband works at the
reception venue. I avoid him.”

Was that all? “He won’t bother you if you’re on my arm.”

That actually made her chuckle.

“What?”

She lifted her brows and sighed. “I think the opposite
would be true. My mother has been encouraging him to try to reconcile.”

He loosened his grip on her fingers, but she grabbed his
hand tighter. Her eyes narrowed, accusingly.

“I divorced him for a reason, Ben, and I want that divorce
to stick.”

He wanted to believe her, but if it wasn’t her ex in the
picture, why was she so cagey?

“Let me up, please. I’ve got a bunch of soap to finish for
a scheduled shipment.”

“Okay.” He rolled off her and watched her walk nude to the
window toward her. She was nuts if she thought there was anything wrong with
that body. There wasn’t much spare about her. She was soft in all the places he
liked, so touching her—exploring her curves and nooks—was a treat.

Stepping into her shorts, she called, “Ben?”

“Hmm?”

“Last night you said if I answered your question, I could
ask you one.” She concentrated on her button and zipper, then raised her
apprehensive gaze to him.

He’d have to teach her there was nothing to fear from him.
What did she expect him to do? Yell, or…

Ah. Perhaps she’s
quiet because she’s been repeatedly told not to talk
.

He pushed himself more upright and nodded. “You can ask me
anything, Daisy. Anytime.”

The twitch of her lips signaled she didn’t believe him,
but he didn’t press. She needed proof. Action, not more words, no matter how
sweet.

“You called me
lie
—”
She furrowed her forehead. “Uh,
lief…
”

“
Liefje
,” he
offered.

She repeated it. “
Liefje
.
What does that mean?”

He grinned. “It’s a Dutch pet name. Uh…” He made a
waffling motion with his hand. “A term of endearment that loosely translates to
English as
darling
.”

“Darling?” Her cheeks glowed red.

“Mm-hmm.” He nodded. “Darling.
Liefje
. And before you ask—no, I don’t call everyone
liefje.
”

“Oh,” she said quietly. She pulled her shirt over her
head, and while loosening her hair from the neck, mouthed it again. “
Liefje
.”

When she left, Ben made up the bed in the guest room,
showered, dressed, and walked across the side yard to the garage apartment. He
climbed the stairs to the second floor and let himself in without knocking. “
Moeder
?”

No response.

He figured she was probably still sleeping, given her late
night, and turned on his heel to depart.

“Wait, wait!” she called from the bedroom in Dutch. “I’m
coming.”

He waited at the kitchenette table for her and sifted
through the pile of paperbacks she’d toted all the way from Belgium.

She stepped into the great room wearing tan slacks and a
peach sweater set, looking fresh as a daisy.

“Did you sleep?” he asked, hooking one eyebrow up at her.

“Nope. Been up all night catching up on books and watching
television.”

“Television?”

She nodded. “Very interesting, the shows here.”

He’d have to take her word for it. He hadn’t spent much
time in front of screens, including his computer’s, since arriving the US. His
email inbox was probably in catastrophic straits. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Wired.”

“Why?”

She shrugged and flitted about the room, straightening up
this thing and that. “Don’t know. Maybe it’s being somewhere new. Or maybe it’s
the drugs wearing off and my brain won’t shut up. It’s all, yakyakyak.” She
pantomimed two chattering mouths with her hands.

He put up his hands to bid her to be still—to wait.
“You’re not taking the antidepressants anymore? Does your doctor know?”

“He’s been weaning me off. Went to zero last week.”

Shit
. He
couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t medicated. She’d usually be right
around borderline, but sometimes sadder and harder to pull out of her funks
than usual. He hadn’t seen her this manic ever. Weird.

“So, how are you feeling?”

She sat at the table and rested her hands atop the
placemat. “Terrified.”

“About what?”

“That I won’t stay in control.”

“What’s so bad about falling apart if you need to?”

She didn’t have an answer for that.

“Do you want to go to Edenton? Do some sightseeing? Have
lunch? Maybe you’ll nap in the car on the way there.”

“One could hope.”

They took Trinity’s sedan, and once secured beneath
seatbelts and headed toward town,
Moeder
surprised him.

“I hope you’re not leading that woman on.”

“What?” He quickly righted the car from the grassy
shoulder he’d driven onto and centered it in the lane. “Are you joking?”

“Daisy. I won’t stand for it.”

“Stand for what? What did I do?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. You’re going home next week.
What’s going to happen after that?”

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, not
answering.

“What are her expectations? Have you made her promises?”
Her voice held an edge he’d never before heard from the retiring woman.

When he shifted his gaze from the roadway to look at her,
the jaw hinge he could see was tightly coiled and her lips were pressed into a
flat line.

He blew out a breath and focused on the road. “I haven’t
made her any promises. I asked her to be my date to Jerry’s wedding and she
refused me.”

That seemed to bring her relief. She slumped a bit in his
peripheral vision.

“
Moeder
, I’m not
going to break her and run away. I’m not that kind of man. I’m not like—”

He didn’t need to say it.

She turned her face toward her window and stared at the
passing pine trees.

They didn’t speak again until he parked the car on Broad
Street and looped his arm around her shoulders.

“Sweet little place, isn’t it?” He gestured to the
centuries-old storefronts. “It’s a Colonial town. One of the first areas the
English settled in.”

“It is sweet. Quiet. I like the quiet.”

He pulled her toward a bakery/cafe he’d become quite
attached to during his time in Chowan County. The owner made a different quiche
every day and also offered a variety of soups and sandwiches. Ben had been
there probably fifteen times in less than three months and hadn’t gotten bored with
it yet.

This time, however, something gave him pause.

A tall man at the register turned at the sound of the door’s
chiming bells and smiled at them both. “Hey.” He waved them over.

Ben stood frozen and tightened his grip around his
mother’s shoulders.

“Come on!” Louis addressed the people in line behind him. “Sorry,
mind if they cut? That’s my son.”

If
Moeder
had
noticed the slight, she had no visceral reaction to it. Besides, what could he
say? “
There’s the woman I utterly screwed
over thirty-something years ago. Isn’t she pretty in that color?
”

“It’s all right, Ben,” she whispered, rubbing his spine
with the flat of her palm. “Go on.”

They marched to the counter, and Ben gave the waiting
patrons in line behind them a nod. “Sorry, we’ll be fast,” he told the woman
who made a gap for them.

“Take your time, hon. I ain’t got nowhere else to be.”

He grinned at her all the same, put in an order for
whatever the salad and quiche special was, and grabbed two drinks out of the
cooler. He let his father pay.

They found a clean table in front of the café’s large
storefront window.

Louis pulled out a chair for
Moeder
, and she sat, clutching her purse on her lap and giving Ben
a wary flit of her gaze. He took the seat to her right. Louis sat across from
her and to Ben’s right.

Louis warmed his hands around his paper coffee cup, and
looked at Ben, then
Moeder
. He spoke
in Dutch. “I, uh, come here most days for a light lunch. I work just down
there.” He turned his body around and pointed toward the street corner where a
mixed-use office building stood. “It’s temporary. I used to commute, then last
year I started working from my home office. Recently I had to rent out some
office space because where I’m living now doesn’t have the square footage for a
desk.”

That was news to Ben. He hadn’t heard anything about Louis
moving out of his ancestral home. Jerry would have told him for sure. “Is there
something wrong with the house?” he asked as the server delivered their food.

Louis waited until she’d left to respond. He twiddled the
corner of his napkin between his fingers, and Ben watched, wondering if that’s
whom Jerry had inherited his napkin fidgeting from. “I guess I’ll just be
honest since folks’ll figure it out at the wedding, anyway.”

Ben looked at his mother and found her eyes riveted on his
father’s moving hands. He gave her foot a nudge beneath the table.

She looked up and smiled at him—an
I’m okay
smile—before turning her
attention to her quiche.

“I moved out of the house,” Louis said, turning his gaze
pointedly to Ben. “Kate and I separated last year. As soon as we come to a
reasonable settlement, we’re getting divorced. At first she moved out to the
beach house, but then she decided that wasn’t grand enough, so she moved back
in, and I moved into a hotel room.”

Ben whistled low. “So, what? She wants the house? To what
end?”

Moeder
scoffed.
“There’s only one end. Revenge. She wants what she thinks will hurt the most to
take.” She twirled her fork between her fingers and narrowed her eyes to tight
lines. “And you’re going to give it to her?”

Louis shrugged and brought his coffee to his lips. “It’s
just a house.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do. So what? Some dead ancestors will roll over in
their graves at the transfer? It’d be worth it to get rid of her. To pacify
her.”

Ben cringed. He knew Kate was a battle-ax. Hell, she was
one of the few women he’d ever met who he’d heartily endorse as a real-life, actual
bitch
, but Louis had been married to
her that long. Why shake things up now?

“What’s really going on?” he asked his father.

Something that looked remarkably similar to defeat marred
his father’s tired face for a brief moment, but Louis smoothed it away. “Kate
escalated her claim around six months ago when I told her it no uncertain terms
that I’d made the wrong decision.”

“About what?”

He scoffed and raked his hand through his thick,
salt-and-pepper hair. “Where to start? What you don’t understand…” He shifted
his gaze to
Moeder
. “
Either
of you, is what was happening in
my world when we met.” For a moment, he paused to attend to his club sandwich.

Moeder
pushed
the pepper shaker across the tabletop.

He grabbed it before it reached the edge. “You remember I
take pepper on my sandwiches?” There was a hint of incredulity in his voice.