Dreams of Her Own (20 page)

Chapter 26

“Well, if it isn’t Mousey Millie.” The three thugs sidled up next to her. “How’s it hanging?” They all snickered.

The ringleader looked around. “What, no hot date with motorcycle dude? How much did you pay him to go out with you, anyway?”

Millie put her head down and kept walking up the sidewalk to her building, reciting Descartes’ Rule of Sign.
Tell them to go fuck themselves.
Ian’s words rang in her head. No, that she wouldn’t do. But she would stand up for herself this time.

Drawing in a deep breath, she stopped short, surprising the three as they outpaced her, then put on the brakes. They turned in unison, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Why is it, I never see any of
you
with dates?” She tilted her head, eyes moving from one shame-faced teen to another, ready to give them a comeuppance they’d not soon forget. She sucked in a breath as her gaze landed on the face of the youngest. He had a black eye and a busted lip. “Who did that?” She glared the other two. “Did you do that?”

They held their hands up palms out and shook their heads.

She stepped closer, hand raised, and the teen instinctively stepped back. She hesitated a moment, then moved in again, taking hold of his chin then lifting it so she could examine his eye. “Who did this?”

When he wouldn’t answer, the ringleader did. “His dad.” Millie spun to gawp at him in disbelief, then returned to her inspection of the boy’s face. “What’s your name?”

“Kenny,” he muttered.

“Well, Kenny. Have you put any ice on that eye?”

He shook his head.

“Then let’s go.” She nodded toward her apartment building.

“You going to call child protection?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“No. I’m going to put some ice on that eye, and clean up that cut on your lip.” At his continued reticence, she prodded, “Unless you’re afraid.”

Drawing himself up, he lifted his chin and looked at his partners in crime. “No. I’m not afraid of anything.”

“All right, then.” She held her hand out indicating he should precede her.

Casting another glance at his friends, he shrugged and walked ahead of her.

The other two thugs started to follow, but she stopped them. “You can wait here.” She wanted to help Kenny, but she wasn’t stupid. Inviting three punks up to her apartment was only inviting trouble. “He’ll be back.”

She followed Kenny’s plodding footsteps up the three flights of stairs. “I’m in 3G, to the left.”

Once in her apartment, she indicated the loveseat at the foot of the bed. “Sit. And don’t touch anything.”

Kenny surveyed the apartment as he took a seat. “This is pretty nice,” he murmured.

Millie went into the bathroom then pulled out a bottle of peroxide and grabbed some Kleenex. A Band-Aid wouldn’t stay on his lip, so she’d just have to settle for cleaning the cut. She then stepped over to the freezer and grabbed a bag of peas. Carrying her makeshift first-aid supplies, she set them on the loveseat next to Kenny.

He eyed her, his expression wary.

“This is going to sting, but you need to clean that cut.” She poured some peroxide on the tissue than patted the wound, recalling when she’d tended Ian’s injury.

Kenny sucked in a breath. “Fuck, lady! That hurts.”

“Watch your mouth. And I told you it would hurt.” She tilted his chin up, examined his eye again. He had some blood behind his conjunctive, but not much. “Here.” She handed him the bag of frozen peas. “Hold this on your eye.” She wondered if this is what Ian had been through. Whether his stepfather had blackened his eye, busted his lip. Closing her eyes against the pain of that image, she fought back her tears.

When Kenny took the bag, he asked, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“You mean after you were so rude to me?” she pressed as she dabbed more peroxide on the cut.

He had the wherewithal to look shame-faced. “I guess.”

“Maybe because no matter how mean you are to me, you don’t deserve this,” she whispered, thinking again of Ian and his stepfather. This was met with silence. Then to Millie’s utter shock, a tear trickled from Kenny’s good eye. It broke her heart, but she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook.

She could understand why a kid who was abused by his father would turn to bullying others. And she wondered why Ian hadn’t become a bully. Ruby. That’s why.

“Does your father do this often?” Millie asked, as she found herself stroking his hair.

Kenny shrugged.

Okay, so he wasn’t ready to talk about it. “Where is your mother?”

He sniffled. “She left. Last year.”

It just gets worse
. And she thought her childhood was tough. “You listen to me, Kenny. If he ever does this to you again, you call me. I’ll give you my phone number. You understand?”

He nodded, still holding the peas to his eye.

She gathered the used tissues and the peroxide to put them away.

“Millie?”

“Yes, Kenny?”

He lowered the bag, and stared down at his beat up tennis shoes. “I’m really sorry for making fun of you. I won’t do it again.”

She nodded, more to herself, since Kenny still stared at the ground. “Apology accepted.”

A few days later, Millie knocked on Darcy’s office door. Darcy glanced around. “Hi. What’s up?”

Millie’s feet felt rooted to the spot and she gazed down at the box in her hands. Could she do this? “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure.”

“You once told me if there was anything I needed, I just had to ask.”

“Yep.” Darcy folded her hands over her ever-expanding belly.

Drawing in a deep, calming breath, Millie handed Darcy the box.

“What’s this?” Darcy asked, her expression confused.

“It’s a manuscript. My manuscript.”

“Get out! I didn’t know you wanted to write. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Millie shrugged. “Fear. Guilt.”

“Guilt? Why guilt?” Darcy drew back in surprise.

“Because writing my own story felt disloyal. A conflict of interest.”

“Pfft.” She waved her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. And you want me to read it?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Darcy hugged it to herself. “Mind? How cool is this? What’s it about? No, wait don’t tell me. Just tell me, is it a romance?”

Millie nodded.

“Contemporary or historical?”

“Historical.”

“I can’t wait to read it.” Darcy’s eyes glowed. “Good for you for finishing a book,” she effused, filling Millie’s heart with hope that if she couldn’t find love, maybe she could find contentment. Within herself.

Darcy reached out and took Millie’s hand. “You okay?” Her eyes filled with concern.

Millie nodded.

“Sometimes it helps to talk about it. You know, a little male-bashing can go a long way to soothing a broken heart.”

Millie didn’t want to bash Ian. He’d not only given her the experience she needed to write about sex, he’d also provided her with the emotional well to tap so she could write about broken hearts. No experience was ever wasted.

“Well, that, and a pint or two of Ben & Jerry’s,” Darcy continued.

Millie’s heart warmed. So what if she loved Ian, and he didn’t love her. She had a true friend in Darcy.

The doorbell rang, and Millie rose. “That’ll be the plumber.” Before she left the room, she turned back to see Darcy, the open box on her desk, lifting the title page out. “
The Rake’s Redemption
. Ooh. Nice one. By Millicent Stephens.”

Feeling infinitesimally lighter than she’d felt since Ian had dumped her, Millie hurried down the stairs to let the plumber in.

As Ian approached Caleb’s office, he took in the other de
sks scattered around the open space, people working on computers, talking on phones, or with one another. He hadn’t been to Caleb’s office in about three years, and clearly, lots had changed. More employees. Bigger space. Caleb had come a long way from the two-room office he and Jillie used to occupy in a shithole area of East Harlem.

Impressed, he followed the hallway past what was Jillie’s office, a sign on the door announcing ‘Office Manager.’ Ian wondered if she’d continue to work for the business once the baby was born.

Across the hall behind a closed door marked ‘Caleb Montgomery, CEO (Chief Electrical Officer),’ Ian could hear snippets of this end of a conversation. Waiting until Caleb finished up, Ian loitered outside his office.

“Ian?”

He turned to see a tall, slender tomboyish woman, with cropped blond hair and warm green eyes, a slight roundness to what had once been a flat belly. “Jillie. Hi.” He stepped in for a hug, thinking impending motherhood looked good on her.

“Haven’t seen you since Ruby’s service. You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” he lied. He missed Ruby. He’d picked up the phone yesterday to give her a call and remembered, the pain unfurling in his chest like a leviathan. He missed Millie too. More than he could have thought possible. Another situation he needed to rectify. And soon.

His hands had been full to overflowing with Ruby’s estate, going through her things, clearing out her apartment. The woman had stashed cash throughout the apartment. In drawers, books, even shoe boxes. He couldn’t give away or discard anything without checking it first.

And then there had been the box full of love letters and cards from Curtis. At first he’d felt like he was prying, but then he got a glimpse into how much they loved one another. For a gruff old construction foreman, Curtis had had a romantic side.

Funny, Ian had thought he had no model when it came to healthy relationships. He’d been wrong and it had been right in front of him for almost twenty years. Ruby and Curtis.

“You here to see Caleb?”

“Yeah.” Time to apologize.

She knocked on the door then opened it. “Hey, babe, got someone here to see you.” Then she turned to Ian. “Come have dinner soon.”

“Thanks, Jillie.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Caleb’s been mopey ever since your argument, so I hope you two kiss and make up.”

“That’s the plan.”

She nodded and headed into her office.

Ian stuck his head in the door. “Got a minute?”

Caleb looked up from his computer, his expression wary. “Sure.”

After taking a seat in a chair across from the desk, Ian surveyed the room. Photos ranged along a bookshelf, most with Jillie, others with Caleb and his in-laws, who became Caleb’s surrogate parents when his were killed in a car accident a few years ago.

Ian’s gaze stopped on a photo of him and Caleb, hardhats on their heads, arms around one another’s shoulders, at some generic construction site before he or Caleb had started their own businesses. They were just two young punks, one full of hope, the other full of determination.

And now he sat across from the one full of hope, determined to mend the fences between them.

“I’m sor—”

“I’m sor—”

They both spoke at the same time. Confused, Ian scrubbed his forehead. “Why are you sorry? All you did was tell the truth.”

“Maybe. But you didn’t need or deserve my anger. Jesus. Ruby was so sick. You had your hands full, and I didn’t do anything to help.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“No. You didn’t.”

Caleb leaned back in his seat, his eyes holding Ian’s. Waiting.

“You’re right. I should have asked. Especially with the RFI. I know you were counting on that job, and I let you down.”

“I don’t give a good goddamn about the job. You didn’t trust me.”

“Not true. I just didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

Caleb studied him. “You’re not stupid, Ian. In fact, you’re one of the smartest men I know. But you do dumbass things sometimes. Don’t do dumbass things anymore.”

Ian felt the corner of his mouth tug upward and he eyed Caleb’s clothes. “I won’t do dumbass things anymore if you’ll stop with this metrosexual thing.”

“Since when is slacks and a shirt metrosexual?”

“Since always.”

Caleb paused for a beat, then asked, “How’d you do it? How’d you get all those jobs?”

“Ruby,” Ian said matter-of-factly.

Caleb nodded. “Ruby.”

“I, uh, I got the England job.”

Caleb’s eyes widened, then a big grin split his face. “Dude!” He stood and raised his hands for a give me ten.

Ian rose, slapped his hands. Their fingers curled into one another’s holding the clasp.

“That’s awesome! Congratulations!” Caleb’s brow furrowed. “How long is that job, again?”

“Could be two years.” Ian knew where this was going. Two years without his best friend.

Caleb sank back into his seat, a shadow erasing the light in his eyes. Then, just like the sun on a partly cloudy day, the light returned. “Well, Jillie and I have always wanted to go to England.” A moment later, another cloud crossed his features, as his brow furrowed. “How? Surely Ruby didn’t write your RFP submission.”