Crazy Little Thing (12 page)

“Hey.”

“Hey,” I said back, discreetly tucking the trashy novel and cheap booze behind my chair.

The kids were a few feet away, digging a hole to Australia. (Contrary to urban legend about digging a hole to China, if you dig a hole from Michigan, you’ll end up in Australia. Just another bit of useless trivia clogging my brain, along with the fact that toilets flush in the opposite direction on either side of the equator.)

“How are you?” he asked.

“Good. How are you?”

“Good. Where’s Dody?”

“Belly dancing.”

He chuckled and shook his head, probably trying to dispel the mental image.

Paige ran over. “Hi, Des! See my mermaid? Her name is Rosemerelda Abernathy Sparkleberry Turner. Do you like her?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you like my new bathing suit too? It has yellow flowers on it. See?” She curtsied, tilting her head and putting a hand on her hip.

“I do. It’s very pretty.”

“I know.” She turned and ran back to her trans-Earth Australian tunnel.

Jordan looked up and waved.

Des waved back.

We sat silent for a minute, watching the kids play.

“You’re quiet today.” Des leaned sideways, bumping his elbow against the arm of my chair.

“Am I? Sorry. Bad mood. Fight with my ex-husband.” Damn it. Why had I said that? Hearing about someone else’s ex-spouse was like watching slides from a sucky vacation that you didn’t even go on. And yet I found myself still talking. “Richard doesn’t want me to stay here. He’s afraid Fontaine will give Jordan an incurable case of gay fever.”

I looked over at my son, who was every inch the stereotypical boy. He’d abandoned the hole digging to punch and kick at the air, engaged in mortal combat with some imaginary foe.

“That’s pretty stupid. What are you going to do?” Des asked, leaning back and tilting his face to the sun, eyes closed.

I took the opportunity to let my own eyes travel over him, but at my silence, he looked at me once more.

“I don’t know,” I said. “It depends how much trouble Richard wants to cause. It just makes me so mad because Fontaine is great with the kids. He’s played with them more in a month than Richard did in five years.”

Des nodded slowly. “That’s too bad.”

I nodded too and pulled my wine cooler out from behind the chair. “Have you ever been married?” Dody’s take-no-prisoners bluntness was rubbing off.

He nodded and kicked at the sand with his foot. “Yeah. It didn’t go very well.”

“Sorry.” I passed him my drink, which he accepted.

“It seems like a long time ago now.”

“So what happened?”

He took another sip from the bottle. His words followed slowly. “Different priorities, I guess. We were pretty young. Pretty selfish.” He shook his head again and handed back the drink. His hand grazed mine. For the briefest second our eyes locked. My heart went hot and shimmery, like the last burst of brilliance from a sparkler before it goes out.

Des almost smiled, but then his face changed, as if he had just that second remembered he’d left a pot boiling on the stove or had forgotten to put on his pants. He turned his gaze back to the water. “You know. Shit happens. Marriages end.”

Part of me wanted to press. Part of me knew I wouldn’t like what I heard. And anyway, he obviously didn’t want to talk about it.

“No hospital today?” I asked instead.

He sighed, and it felt like the sun had faded somehow. “Nope, not today. But I still have tons of stuff I have to do. I suppose I should get to it.”

He stood up slowly, almost as if he was waiting to say something more. But he just said, “See you later.”

He turned and jogged down the beach.

Note to self: Don’t ask Des about his marriage because it makes him sad. And then it makes him leave.

I readjusted the new leather work bag on my shoulder and smiled my best professional-organizer smile. Kyle was right. His old lover Patrick, and Patrick’s new lover, Owen, had a lot of stuff!

Their new house was a historical behemoth, the oldest in Bell Harbor. That meant beautifully carved woodwork, an expansive veranda wrapping around the entire place, and old-fashioned pull-chain toilets. It also meant dozens of tiny rooms, the most illogically designed kitchen I’d ever seen, and no closets. Literally no closets! My worst nightmare! This job was going to be a bigger challenge than I expected, and since it was my first organizing assignment, I had to get it perfect.

My clients were crazy-happy in love and so excited to be moving in together. They didn’t care about the details of setting up their new home; they just wanted the boxes unpacked with some semblance of order.

But if I failed, and the clutter overtook this house, they’d start fighting over golf clubs tipping over in the hallway or important mail getting lost amid stacks of random paperwork. My failure to create order from this chaos could doom their relationship. They might not realize it was my fault, but I would. So I had to get this right.

“This is the master suite,” Patrick said, opening yet another door. “Aren’t the windows divine? We’re thinking sheer, sexy fabrics all over.”

“And there’s a maid’s room right next door,” Owen added. “We’re thinking of turning that into a walk-in closet.”

A closet? Thank God.

“Because half the fun will be coming out of it,” Patrick snickered.

Owen sighed. “That one never gets old for you, does it, baby?”

We spent the rest of the day talking about their hopes for various spaces. I took dozens of notes and pictures and promised to get back to them within a week.

At Patrick’s request, I also agreed to bring my label maker with me next time to mark their bathroom towel hooks
His
and
His
.

Strolling through the hospital lobby a few days later, after Dody’s doctor’s appointment, I heard a familiar accent. As usual, a tingle trickled down my spine and straight to my girlie bits.

“Hey, Sadie!” Des called.

Dody and I turned, and Des missed a step, taken aback, no doubt, by her turquoise boa. It was sparkly with sequined feathers and dangled from her shoulders like a
Muppet Show
cast member. Walter had allegedly bought it from a Romanian housekeeper who’d pilfered it from Diana Ross’s dressing room. I had my doubts.

Des, of course, looked dashing in his doctor duds. What is it that makes a generic white lab coat and scrubs look so sexy, I wondered, just before wishing I’d put a little effort into my own appearance that day. I mean, yes, I was on vacation, but would it have killed me to wash my hair? Was that extra ten minutes in bed worth it? At the moment I wasn’t even certain if I had brushed my teeth that morning. Damn it!

I smiled with lips together, trying to taste the remnants of toothpaste in my mouth.

“Why, Dody, don’t you look stunning today?” His smile was broad.

She fluttered her boa along with her lashes. “Thank you. That’s just what Fontaine said.”

Des nodded, eyebrows quirked. “Fontaine would know.”

He winked at me over her head, causing my bra to try and unclasp itself in sweet surrender.

“What brings you ladies here today?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing serious. Just a checkup with my vaginacologist,” Dody answered.

“Dody!” I gasped.

“What? Oh, you’re so squeamish, Sadie. He knows about these things. He’s a doctor, after all. Right, Des? You know all about lady parts, don’t you?” She gave a coy flutter of her boa.

His face was Vulcan bland. “I am familiar with vaginacology, yes.”

I’ll bet.

“We were just going to the cafeteria to have lunch,” Dody said. “Won’t you join us?”

“No, we weren’t,” I blurted out, rattled by his presence.

“Yes, we were. I’m starving.” She turned and stared at me with intense, round eyes.

Des checked his watch. “I’ve only got a few minutes, but I’ll walk with you.”

He pointed in the opposite direction, indicating the enormous cafeteria sign we’d blithely passed. We turned and walked together down a short hallway, arriving at the cafeteria a minute later.

It was nearly deserted. Probably because it was only ten thirty in the morning.

“Maybe we should just have coffee,” Dody said. “I’m not so hungry after all.”

I knew it! That meddling old liar, still trying to force Des into my world.

“I’ve got time for that,” Des said, gesturing to a corner table. “Why don’t you go sit in that booth over there? I’ll get the coffee,” he offered.

“No, let us buy the coffee. We owe you,” I said.

He leaned forward, his hand touching the small of my back. “It’s OK. I get it for free.” He waggled his brows, nodding, as if free coffee was the best perk ever.

Looks like I had no choice. “OK then. Thanks.”

He joined us at the table a few minutes later, setting down three cups and sliding into the seat next to me. He pulled some sugar packets out from his coat pocket and handed them to Dody. She was beaming as though he’d just proposed. To her.

“You like it black, right?” he asked me.

I nodded. “That was a lucky guess.”

He tapped his temple. “Keen powers of observation. You drank it black the other night when I was there for dinner.”

I looked down at my cup abruptly, not wanting him to witness my growing enchantment. Richard wouldn’t be able to answer how I took my coffee if he was covered in honey and tortured with fire ants.

“How long did you say you’d be staying here in our lovely Bell Harbor, Des?” Dody asked, sensing I was mute with adoration.

“A few more months, maybe longer. It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

He smiled. “On a variety of things.”

His answer made me itchy. It was too vague. What was he hiding?

“And what do you do when you’re not working?” Dody obviously realized she’d hit a dead end with the last question, but it wasn’t about to dissuade her. I sensed her annoyance at my complete inability to market myself.

I sipped my perfectly black coffee, trying to ignore the heat of Des’s leg near mine. That was tough to do in a booth so small. It was also hard to not notice the tiny spot near his sideburn that he missed while shaving, or the faintest little scar at the corner of his eyebrow, which I suddenly had an urge to press my lips against.

“I run, bike, travel, I play basketball. I read and watch movies. The typical stuff, I guess.”

“What type of movies?”

“All kinds. I’m pretty easy to entertain.”

“Do you like romantic movies?” she pressed on, batting her lashes at him. Her boa fluttered from her breath.

I sighed. Subtlety was nowhere on Dody’s radar.

Des chuckled. “I do, actually. I grew up with three sisters, remember? So I’ve seen quite a few.”

“Ah, that’s delightful. So what was New York like?”

Des leaned back and his arm brushed along mine. I accidently squeezed my Styrofoam cup, nearly spilling what was left of the coffee.

“New York? I’ve never been there.”

“Really? I thought all illegal aliens came through Elvis Island?”

Des laughed out loud, shaking the seat we shared.

“Dody,” I sighed, “there is so much wrong with what you said I don’t even know where to start.”

“Why, what did I say?”

“Never mind.”

Des’s phone chimed and he pulled it from his pocket, still laughing. “Dr. McKnight.”

He cleared his throat and listened, then occasionally responded. “Yes. No. Ten minutes. Tell her she can wait.” He paused again. “No, I waited for her all morning and she never showed up. I’ll be there in a minute.”

He hung up, setting the phone on the table, and took a sip of coffee.

“Was that your girlfriend?” Dody asked.

He coughed as he tried to swallow. Of all her bizarre questions, this seemed to be the first one to trip him up. His face flushed as he tipped the cup back one last time and drank the last of it. Then he crunched the Styrofoam and gave my aunt an enigmatic smile. “Dody, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“You don’t?” she exclaimed, beaming at us. “Well, that’s just a shame! Isn’t it, Sadie?”

CHAPTER 9