His Ordinary Life (4 page)

“Blake!” Lyssa’s shriek pierced the air. “Give me the phone!”

Annoyance curled through Del. Didn’t they ever let up? All the kids had done since they’d arrived home was bicker. Somehow, in the pressing silence of the tiny apartment in Atlanta, he’d forgotten that.

Del capped the steak seasoning and replaced it in the spice rack. He grabbed a dishtowel and wiped his hands on the way to the living room. “Okay, guys,” he called, “cut it out.”

Lyssa pounded on her brother’s door. “Daddy, he’s on restriction. He shouldn’t even
have
the phone.”

“And you shouldn’t be yelling in the house.” Del tossed the towel across his shoulder and walked down the hall. He rapped on Blake’s door. “Blake, open up, would you?”

The door jerked open, and Blake thrust the cordless phone at Lyssa. “Here. Happy?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Now I am.”

“Brat.”

“Jerk.”

“Baby.”

“Rat face.”

“Enough.” Del plucked the phone out of her hand. “Have you finished your homework?”

“Daddy.” One hand on her hip, Lyssa pouted at him. He suppressed a chuckle; she looked like his baby sister Tori when she was put out with Tick’s over-protectiveness. “I
have
to call Lauren.”

“You
have
to do your homework.”

With an aggravated huff, Lyssa flounced into her room. The door closed with a harsh click. Blake made a motion to close his, but Del stopped the door with his hand. “Why don’t you come outside with me?”

Blake regarded him with suspicious eyes beneath lowered brows. “What for?”

“To spend some time together.”

“You mean, so you can question me some more.”

Struggling to hold on to his patience, Del blew out a long breath. “Blake. Get a ball and come on outside with me.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and strode back to the kitchen. Juggling the platter of steaks and the grill tongs, he went outside. His small act of faith reaped its reward a moment later when Blake appeared on the deck, tossing a stained baseball in the air and catching it. Hiding a smile, Del checked the coals and laid the steaks on the grate. A hiss and the enticing smell of searing meat rose into the warm air.

He glanced toward the pool area, where Anna sat on a lounge, reading. He lifted a hand and Blake tossed him the ball. “Bet the pool is nice.”

Blake shrugged and bounded down the deck steps to the small patch of grass comprising the back yard. “Mama and the girls like it.”

“Yeah?” Del threw the ball, feeling the satisfying stretch in his biceps. He’d offered two or three times before to have a pool put in, and Barbara had always refused, saying it was one more thing she’d have to take care of. He couldn’t explain why her having this one installed right after he’d gone pricked so hard.

“Yeah. Mama does laps. She says it’s good exercise.”

“I’ll bet.” The ball smacked into Del’s hand, the bare skin of his palm stinging. Exercise hadn’t been his goal when he’d suggested they invest in a pool. Barbara’s college schedule had kept her from accompanying him to a sales conference, but the tropical pool at the resort hotel had inspired fantasies he still couldn’t shake. He smothered the images of droplets of water caressing the full curve of Barbara’s cleavage, their bodies moving together in a warm cradle of water.

Blake jumped to catch Del’s wild throw. He palmed the ball a couple of times, his stance falsely casual. “What were you and Uncle Tick talking about?”

So he hadn’t been as buried in geometry and Green Day as he’d appeared. “I was trying to get him to quit smoking. Hey, I gotta turn those steaks.”

Blake trailed him up the deck steps, rolling the ball off his elbow and attempting to catch it. “He say anything about me?”

“He asked about you.” Del paused, making a show of arranging the steaks. “He’s worried about you.”

A disbelieving snort cut across the deck. “Sure he is.”

Del lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t believe that?”

“He’s too wrapped up in that department to worry about any of us. Besides, I heard Aunt Tori telling Grandma that she thought there was some woman who’d hurt him or something. He hasn’t been the same since he came home from Mississippi so maybe she’s right.” Blake bounced the ball off the floor with a hard thunk. “I ain’t never letting anyone get to me like that.”

Yeah, you will, kid. Just wait. All it’s gonna take is one look from the right woman.
“Your Uncle Tick cares about you.”

“I’m not stupid.” Resentment darkened Blake’s tone. “I know that. But I also know we’re not
his
responsibilities.”

Well, that certainly put him in his place. Refusing to rise to the challenge, Del closed the grill lid. “Come on. You can help me nuke a couple of potatoes and throw together a salad, and we’ll talk about something else.”

His reluctance obvious, Blake followed him into the house. “I’m not telling you about last night.”

“Did I ask?”

“Not yet, but that’s what this is all about.”

“This?” Del paused in his search for a salad bowl and cutting board.

“You being here at all. Wanting to hang out with me.”

“I always want to hang out with you.” Del kept his voice even and chose his words carefully. “Yes, I drove down because of last night, and I’m not happy about what you did. But you know I always have time for you and I’m trying to understand what’s going on, son.”

“Nothing’s going on,” Blake mumbled. “You don’t have to stay.”

“Your mama and I will decide that.” From the refrigerator, Del pulled a head of lettuce and a variety of vegetables. He piled his finds on the counter next to the cutting board. “You want to get the potatoes going?”

Blake rolled his eyes, but did as asked. Del watched him, remembering the scene from the school hallway earlier that afternoon. “So how’s school going?”

“We’ve only got two weeks left.”

“Classes okay?”

“I guess.”

“Like your teachers?”

The microwave door slammed. Blake shrugged. “They’re okay.”

“Friends?”

The line of Blake’s body tightened. “Yeah.”

“Who are you hanging out with?” He did not want to hear the name Jamie Reese. Why did he just
know
that kid was going to end up being involved in whatever was going on with Blake?

“You said you weren’t going to ask about last night.”

“And I didn’t, did I?” He put aside the tomato he was chopping and laid the knife down. “Listen, Blake, whatever’s wrong, I can’t help you if you won’t
talk
to me.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

And this conversation was getting them nowhere. Del picked up the knife once more and applied his frustration to a bell pepper.

“Can I go now?”

“Yeah.”

Alone in the kitchen, Del rubbed a hand over his eyes. Amazing how blind one could be. He’d been convinced he was still a good, albeit absent, father. A royal screw-up was what he was. There’d been nothing
real
about the time he’d spent with them over the past couple of months—no talking, no sharing beyond superficial likes and dislikes. He was losing his own children.

It wasn’t too late, though. He still had time, but it was fast running out. He could fix this.

He tossed the peppers and tomato on top of a bed of shredded lettuce. If it wasn’t too late with his kids, did the possibility exist that he still had a chance with Barbara? In the act of peeling a red onion, his hands stilled. The urgency behind that thought scared him. He wanted it too much.

He’d always wanted Barbara too much, more than she’d wanted him apparently.

He sliced into the onion with savage force. How the hell did he get around the fact that she resented him for getting her pregnant in the first place? That acrimony had to have been festering inside her for years, all the time they’d been together. Obviously, nothing he’d done to make up for the choices he’d cost her seemed to matter, and all her hidden hostility had boiled over during that last argument, when he’d finally sought something for himself.

No, he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in a Georgia July with Barbara.

But his kids were a different matter. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. Hell if he’d lose them, too.

He’d parked in her spot. Corralling her irritation at the small annoyance, Barbara pulled the 4-Runner to the side of the driveway and shut off the engine. The lack of sleep was catching up to her. Tension lingered at the base of her neck and radiated up through her head, making her edgy and irritable. Knowing Del waited inside didn’t help, either.

She tried convincing herself that it was merely the presence of another person after an awful night, the annoyance of having to cook for one more.
Sure. It has nothing to do with the fact that it’s
Del
waiting in there.

Smothering the sarcastic little voice, she pushed the door open, grabbed her tote and slammed the door behind her. The sharp bite of charcoal smoke lingered in the air, mixing with the sweetness of her roses. The neighbors loved to grill; she doubted they ever used their state-of-the-art kitchen. Somehow, the idea of cooking seemed as heavy as her bag, laden with research papers to be graded. It pulled on her shoulder and she adjusted it, fumbling with her keys as she approached the front door. It swung open before she reached it.

Del reached for her bag. “Let me get that.”

She shrugged off his hand. “I’ve got it.”

The tempting aroma of grilled meat hovered in the air. She glanced at him, refusing to dwell on how his faded jeans hugged his lean hips. “You cooked?”

He nodded, a small ironic smile playing about his mouth. “You didn’t think I expected you to do it, did you?”

Actually, she’d never entertained the idea that he would have supper ready and waiting when she arrived home. Half the time during their married years, he hadn’t been home for supper, had eaten leftovers long after the children were in bed.

She dropped her things by the couch and brushed her hair from her face. “I didn’t think about it at all.”

Quiet reverberated through the house, all the noise of teenage interaction missing. Even the television stood silent. “Where are the kids?”

“Their rooms, avoiding me.” His laugh emerged forced and uncomfortable.

“What do you mean?” Frowning, she walked to the kitchen. Five place settings graced the table along with a large salad. Foil-jacketed potatoes waited on the counter next to a platter of steaks grilled to exquisite perfection. A ridiculous lump of tears gathered in her throat. It was just grilled steak. Why did she feel like crying?

He followed and leaned in the doorway. “I think Blake would cut off his pitching arm to keep from having to talk to me. Lyssa is ticked because I made her do her homework instead of talking on the phone, and Anna…”

His voice trailed away in a rough clearing of his throat. Barbara eyed the tight line of his jaw. “Lyssa shouldn’t be upset. She knows the rule is homework first. It’s just because you’re in a different role. She’s used to the weekend you, the guy with the fun activities and the relaxed rules—”

“Yeah.” His collar stood open, revealing a vee of tanned skin and a dusting of dark hair. Her fingertips itched for the feel of that smooth, warm skin and she clenched her hands into tight fists. He gestured at the platter of steaks. “We should eat before it gets cold.”

She wondered at the way his face closed, but nodded. “I’ll call the kids.”

All through dinner, the strange silence weighted the table. Odd looks passed between Lyssa and Anna, and Blake sulked, pushing his food around his plate but not really eating. A hard knot formed in Barbara’s stomach. Too many memories of other family meals, filled with laughter and conversation, flitted through her mind, a reminder of what they’d had once upon a time.

After dinner, while the children cleared the table, she and Del walked outside. Barbara’s melancholy lingered and she avoided looking at Del. She settled into a sling chair, a green market umbrella blocking the late evening sun.

“Tick brought up something I hadn’t thought of.” Hands shoved in his pockets, Del leaned against the railing. “We need a way to make sure he doesn’t sneak out again.”

“We can’t exactly nail his window shut.” Although she’d seriously considered it once or twice during the long day.

“I know. But I think I have an idea.”

“Okay. I’m listening.” She was glad one of them had an idea. She was all out.

Freeing his hands, he rubbed his palms down the outside of his thighs, a nervous gesture she recognized. “I should stay until he gets the message that we mean business.”

That was his idea? Hadn’t they already agreed he wasn’t going back to Atlanta yet? “That’s great, but we need more of a plan than that. So are you staying with Tick or your mama?”

“I don’t believe you understood what I meant, Barb.” His hands made another foray down his legs.

She averted her eyes from those long fingers and tried to focus on his words. “What did you mean, then?”

“I meant I should stay here. I think I should move back in.”