Forest Moon Rising (35 page)

“Noncoiré,” I corrected the youngish man in striped overalls with Cooper’s emblazoned above the breast pocket. He had curly dark hair and just a hint of a Latino accent.

“What?”

Just open the damn door and see
, Scrap commanded.

I sensed the girls gathering at my back, staying close. Fear wafted off them in almost visible waves. Visible to me anyway.

“Delivery of what?” I asked, getting ready to slam the door closed.

“I need a signature before I haul it all up three flights,” the man from Cooper’s grumbled. He held up a clipboard for me to see a stack of carbonless receipts. He returned the clipboard under his arm before I could read it.

But I’d seen his wrists. No demon tattoos on the inside or outside of either of them.

Cautiously, I opened the door. Scrap flashed several shades of lustful green.

“Don’t sign it, Tess,” Donovan said, clomping up the stairs. He hefted a long narrow box under each arm.

“Why not?” I wasn’t about to sign for anything I hadn’t ordered. But if Donovan said no, I needed to say yes just to be perverse.

“Because any gift from Lady Lucia comes with tangled strings attached.” He topped the last riser and rebalanced the boxes. The writing on them suggested they might be lamps.

“The only contract in this transaction is between me and Lucia Continelli’s bank. Her credit card cleared. That’s all I care about,” Doreen Cooper countered as she came up behind Donovan. She carried bed pillows with comforters and sheets balanced on top of them.

“Let me see the clipboard.” I reached out a hand for it.

The man in coveralls relinquished it reluctantly.

“Start bringing up the rest of it,” Doreen ordered him. “I’ll handle the paperwork.”

“What’s this about?” I asked, scanning the delivery order. Two twin beds with mattresses and linens, two nightstands with lamps, two dressers, two student desks with more lamps. One Craftsman-style, round oak table with six matching chairs.

I gasped as I flipped through the pages. No contracts, no subtext.

“Oh, and there’s a note,” Doreen fumbled with her awkward burden trying to fish in her pocket. Donovan reached in and retrieved an envelope of rich creamy paper, the weight and texture of a wedding invitation. A familiar crowned embossed C on a sticker closed the flap.

I reached for the note with shaking hands.

“My apologies,” I read in Lucia’s florid hand. “A small token to ease you through the transition.” Below that, her signature took up half the page.

“Small token?” I gulped. I knew how much that table and chairs cost. The rest of the stuff on the list doubled the price. At least.

When I tried to stuff the folded note back inside the envelope it caught on something. I pulled out a second piece of paper. A check. One thousand dollars in US currency, also signed in Lucia’s elegant calligraphy. On the memo line she’d neatly printed “For clothing.”

“We also have orders to help you move your office into the living room, clearing that room for the new furniture,” Doreen added. “That’s why I brought extra muscle.” She nodded toward Donovan.

There was some subtext there I was too stunned to examine closely. Not that I cared. Donovan was no longer a part of my life. And never would be again.

Still ...

He scowled. “You didn’t have to come,” he complained.

“Yes, I did. Lady Lucia ordered. I obey. May we come in, Tess?”

“Yes, you may.” I stepped back—almost treading on Phonetia’s toes—and opened the door wide.

“What’s going on here, Tess,” Donovan asked the moment he’d cleared the doorway. He totally ignored Phonetia and E.T. who had retreated to the balcony, barefoot and coatless in the chill November damp. Not unusual for them, I’d learned.

“That is between Lady Lucia and me,” I replied. No way was I going to relate our adventures in demonland two days ago.

“You can’t trust her, Tess.”

“Again, that is between Lady Lucia and myself. None of your concern, Donovan.”

“I want it to be my concern,” he choked out in a tight whisper. He finally looked at the girls. After a quick but thorough assessment, he checked over his shoulder to see where Doreen was.

More subtext. I had an idea what was going on. After my last rejection he’d gone running to the nearest willing female. A typical pattern for him. But he wasn’t banking on that relationship if he could crawl back into my good graces.

Doreen was welcome to him.

“Did you know that Lady Lucia has hired staff and rented office space in her hotel in downtown Portland?” Doreen asked.

“I know she has business in town.”

“Doesn’t look like she’s leaving any time soon,” Donovan added. “I need to know why.”

“Not necessarily. Her agenda has nothing to do with you or your grand plans.” I signed the receipts with page ripping determination and handed the clipboard back to Doreen as she prowled the rooms with a decorator’s eye. She ripped off the bottom copy and handed it to me. “At least I don’t have to worry about clashing with your décor. I can start from scratch.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just planning on how to rearrange things. I suppose the television is necessary with teenagers in the house, but I’d rather not have to work around it.”

“Just dump everything. I’ll manage to put everything where I want it.” Anger began to boil up from my gut.

“I have my orders. Lady Lucia said to set it all right before leaving. You aren’t supposed to have to do any extra work.”

“That must be one huge favor she owes you,” Donovan said. He raised one eyebrow practically begging me to tell him all.

“Fine, do what you want. I expect the work to be complete when I return in one hour. Lock up when you leave. Come on, girls. Shoes and jackets. We have some errands to do. Then you can have a walk in the park.”

“Can we pick up litter?” E.T. asked meekly.

“W
OULD YOU LIKE TO SEE the new SciFi movie
Space Pirates of the Outer Antares III?”
Sean asked when he called me the following morning.

“I’ll have to ask Allie if she’ll stay with the girls. It’s her last night in town.”

Go out with your boyfriend, babe. I’ll keep an eye on our girls. And I promise to fetch you at the least sign of trouble,
Scrap urged.

“Um, have you seen the first two movies?” I asked.

“I rented them last week.” He paused to listen to a page in the background. “I admit though that I found the long sequences of special effects a bit boring on the small screen,” he said calmly. The page wasn’t for him. The next one might be.

“And I bet you were multitasking while they played so when there was a bit of plot and character interaction you missed them.”

“There’s a plot?”

“Not much of a one, but, yes, there is a plot, and a love triangle,” I explained.

“Could have fooled me.”

“On the big screen the special effects can be a bit overwhelming. They are indeed the stars of the show.”

“So do you want to go see it?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course!”

“Good. I should be free by five. We can grab some burgers and still catch the six-thirty showing.”

“Or the seven, or the seven-thirty. It’s playing on three different screens at different times at the neighborhood multiplex.” We laughed and hung up the phones. I hummed the love theme from the movies as I returned to the girls and the never-ending quest to help them delve into the depths of simple addition.

We skipped the burgers because Sean got delayed in an emergency surgery.

But he bought me popcorn and a giant soda to complete the movie experience and fill my empty tummy with empty calories.

“The first movie was based on a short story. Very loosely based,” I whispered as we took seats dead center in the theater. Midweek we had plenty of seating options.

“Have I read the short story?”

“Wouldn’t make any difference if you had. Other than the basic premise of a smuggler laying low while piloting an interstellar garbage scow, there’s no similarity. In the story the smuggler is old and retired. He’s recycling the Universe by moving one society’s throwaways to places where scraps are valuable. Making the pilot a younger man—played by the sexiest actor in Hollywood—and having him end up rescuing a gorgeous female diplomat on the run from terrorists are all new.”

The lights dimmed and the usual ads and previews blasted across the screen.

“Rumor has it, Holly composed the love theme music, but I haven’t seen her name in any of the official credits,” I dropped my voice to a whisper.

“By changing the plot I’m guessing the producers left plenty of room for sequels, and prequels,” Sean returned to the topic of the movie in hushed tones.

“Hollywood loves sequels ad nauseum. In this case they don’t have to worry too much about scripts and actors, though Malcolm Levi is mighty easy on the eye and really can act. These movies launched his career. I saw him in an historical drama as Attila the Hun. He did a great job.”

“So Hollywood spends most of their money on special effects. That’s what people pay money for at the theater.”

“Shush,” the couple behind us admonished us.

We slunk down a little lower in our seats, embarrassed.

“Should we have brought the girls and Allie?” Sean asked on a whisper as the movie opened with a long shot of a boxy and beat up spaceship hauling an uglier crate four times its size that leaked bits and pieces of garbage.

“I don’t think the girls are up to this yet. They’re having enough trouble understanding reality. This kind of fantasy would challenge them more than I want to have to deal with.”

“This isn’t fantasy, it’s science fiction!” the couple behind us insisted.

Sean looked as if he wanted to debate that issue. I touched his arm to quiet him. He turned his hand over to clasp mine.

We sat there like teenagers on a first date.

Sean’s cell phone vibrated and buzzed before the opening credits had finished. Not an actual ring, just an audible reminder that he had to answer the damn thing.

A dozen people in widely scattered seats turned and frowned at him.

“I’ve got to go,” Sean groaned. “Stay and watch the movie. Here’s cab fare home.” He reached for his wallet.

“Just drop me off at home. I’ve watched enough movies alone.
”
A gaping hole threatened to open in my chest. Loneliness, rejection, depression vied for dominance.

“Okay if I call you when I’m free?” He held my hand as we exited the theater by a back route directly into the parking lot without having to wind through a crowded lobby.

“Sure. I’ll be up. Most likely working, after the girls go to bed.”

Ten minutes later, I stood on the sidewalk outside my condo in the rain, watching his taillights reflect like blurry demon eyes in the puddles. “Is this what my life will be like if I stay with Sean?” I asked the ether.

Probably,
Scrap answered. He alighted on my shoulder and tickled my ear with his boa.

“Will I ever get used to knowing his work is more important than I am?”

No
.

“Something to think about anyway.”

I spent the rest of my evening surrounded by the girls helping Allie pack. I made popcorn for them and let them drink soda. We giggled and made sure Allie took her bride magazines with her.

She made a point of showing me where she’d hidden the revolver in my walk-in closet since she couldn’t take it on the plane and didn’t trust it in her luggage.

Eventually, we settled the girls in bed and I curled up on the sofa with the laptop while Allie channel surfed for something more interesting on the TV than travelogues.

“That was fun,” I confessed while I waited for the computer to boot up.

“More fun than dinner and a movie with your boyfriend?”

I had to think about that a moment.

“Maybe not. But I’ve missed girl giggle fests as much as sharing a movie with a friend.”

“I think you are fully mended now, Tess. I can leave you with a clear conscience. Except I worry about you alone with the girls.”

“We’ll manage for the few weeks until you and Steve come back. And we’ll fly east for the wedding. I’ll make sure you get your full share of godparent time with them.”

We laughed together.

Around midnight, my phone rang. I took it in the bedroom. Alone. “Hi, Sean,” I said with only a brief glance at the caller ID.

“You’re still awake, good. I was afraid I’d wake you.”

“I told you I’d be working. I finished another chapter.”

“Did you miss me?”

Did I? Sort of, but not nearly as much as I thought I would. “Of course,” I lied.