Natural Born Charmer (32 page)

The echoes of her drunken sobs whispered in his ears.
“Don’t be mad at me, baby. It’ll get better. I promise. Tell me you love me, baby. If you tell me you love me, I promise I won’t drink anymore.”

The woman who’d tried to suffocate him with her twisted, erratic love could never have created this oasis that had become his home.

Today had been too much. He needed time to come to terms with all these muddled feelings, except he’d had years, and what good had it done him? Through the French doors, he saw April entering the screen porch from outside. He and Jack had built that porch, but she’d conceived of it: the high ceiling, the arched windows, the slate floor that was cool on even the hottest day.

She braced the heels of her hands in the small of her back to cool down from her run. Her body glistened with sweat. She wore black shorts, a bright blue racerback top, and she’d pulled her hair into a twisted ponytail far more stylish than Blue’s haphazard arrangement.

He needed to get into the shower. He needed to be by himself. He needed to talk to Blue, who understood everything. Instead, he pushed the handle on the French doors and quietly stepped out onto the porch.

The temperature had already hit the mid-eighties, but the tiles were cool against his bare feet. April had her back to him. He’d moved the chairs last night when he’d hosed down the porch, and she was pushing them under the table again. He walked over to the CD player that sat on a black wrought-iron baker’s rack. He didn’t bother to check which of April’s albums was in the changer. If it belonged to his mother, it would be right. He hit the button.

April whirled around as music blared from the small speakers. Her lips parted in surprise. She took in his muddy appearance and started to say something, but he spoke first. “Do you want to dance?”

She stared at him. Agonizing seconds ticked by. He couldn’t think
of anything else to say, so he began to move to the beat. His feet, his hips, his shoulders. She stood frozen. He held out his hand, but his mother—this woman who lived to dance when ordinary mortals could only walk—his mother had forgotten how to move.

“You can do it,” he whispered.

She drew an unsteady breath, the sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Then she arched her spine, lifted her arms, and gave herself up to the music.

They danced until sweat dripped from their bodies. From rock to hip-hop, they showed off their moves, each trying to outdo the other. Strands of hair stuck to April’s neck, and muddy streaks trickled down his bare legs onto the tiles. As they danced, he remembered this wasn’t the first time. They’d danced when he was a kid. She’d pull him away from video games or TV, sometimes even from his breakfast if she’d gotten in late. He’d forgotten there were good times, too.

Right in the middle of a song, the music abruptly snapped off. A crow squawked in the silence. They turned to see a cranky Riley standing by the silent CD player, her hands on her hips. “It’s too loud!”

“Hey, turn that back on,” April said.

“What are you guys doing? It’s lunchtime, not dance time.”

“Any time is dance time,” Dean said. “What do you think, April? Should we let baby sister dance with us?”

April stuck her nose in the air. “I doubt she could keep up.”

“I can keep up,” Riley said. “But I want to eat lunch. And you guys smell.”

Dean gave April a shrug. “She can’t keep up.”

Riley’s forehead wrinkled in outrage. “Who says?”

Dean and April stared at her. Riley glowered back. Then she snapped the music back on, and they all danced together.

Blue swiped a highlighting blush across her
cheekbones. The soft pink complemented her glossy new lipstick and darker mascara. She’d also used a little kohl liner along her lash line and some smoky eye shadow. She looked great.

Big deal. This was about pride, not beauty. She had something to prove to Dean before she drove away from Garrison.

As she left the bathroom, she spotted the empty pregnancy test kit she’d stuffed in the wastebasket yesterday morning after Dean had left. She wasn’t pregnant. Excellent. Very, very excellent. She couldn’t be responsible for a child, not with her vagabond’s lifestyle. She’d probably never have a baby, and that was fine. At least she’d never make a child go through what she’d experienced. Still, she felt a new emptiness inside her. One more thing she’d have to get over.

She headed for Nita’s room. The hem of the sundress she’d bought for the party brushed her knees. It was sunshine yellow with a ruffled hem and a corset top that made the most of her bustline. Her new purple sandals had satin ankle ribbons tied in delicate bows. The bright purple accents from the sandals and the amethyst-colored ear
rings Dean had given her provided a funky urban edge to the dress’s ultrafemininity.

Nita was doing a last-minute primp in front of her mirror. With her big blond wig, diamond chandelier earrings, and billowy pastel caftan, she looked like a parade float sponsored by a senior citizens’ bordello, but somehow she managed to carry it off. “Let’s go, Sunshine,” Blue said from the doorway. “And remember to act surprised.”

“All I have to do is look at you,” Nita said as she took Blue in from head to toe.

“It was time, that’s all.”

“Past time.” As Blue came nearer, Nita reached out and fluffed a wisp of Blue’s hair. “If you’d listened to me, you’d have let Gary cut it like this long ago.”

“If I’d listened to you, I’d be a blonde.”

Nita sniffed. “Just a thought.”

Gary had been itching to get his hands on Blue’s hair since the night they’d met at the Barn Grill. Once he had her in his chair, he’d drastically shortened the length to just past her earlobes, snipped a set of peek-a-boo bangs that highlighted her eyes, and cut a hullabaloo of short layers this way and that around her face. The cut was way too cute for Blue’s comfort, but necessary all the same.

“You should have fixed yourself up for that football player from the start,” Nita said. “Then he might have taken the two of you seriously.”

“He takes me seriously.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. He might have fallen in love with you, too. The same way you have with him.”

“I’m crazy about him, but I’m not in love. There’s a big difference. I don’t fall in love.” Nita didn’t understand. This was about Blue leaving with her head high. She had to make sure Dean never looked back at her with even the faintest tinge of pity.

Blue hustled the old woman outside. Nita checked her lipstick in
the visor as Blue backed out of the garage. “You should be ashamed of yourself for letting that football player drive you out of town. You belong right here in Garrison, not running all over the place.”

“I can’t make a living in Garrison.”

“I already told you what I’d pay you to stay. A lot more than you can make painting your stupid little pictures.”

“I like painting my stupid little pictures. What I don’t like is living in servitude.”

“I’m the one living in servitude,” Nita countered, “the way you boss me around. You’re so stubborn you don’t see that you’re turning your back on a golden opportunity. I won’t live forever, and you know I don’t have anybody else to leave my money to.”

“You’re one of the undead. You’ll outlive us all.”

“Make all the jokes you want, but I’m worth millions, and every one of them could be yours someday.”

“I don’t want your millions. If you had a shred of decency, you’d leave everything to the town. What I want is to get away from Garrison.” She braked at the stop sign before she turned out on Church Street. She was right on time. “Remember,” she said. “Be gracious.”

“I worked at Arthur Murray. I know how to be gracious.”

“On second thought, just move your lips and let me do the talking. It’s safer that way.”

Nita’s snort sounded almost like a laugh, and Blue realized how much she’d miss the old bat. With Nita, Blue could be her own cranky self.

Just like she was with Dean.

The balloon-festooned banner arching across Church Street read
HAPPY
73
RD BIRTHDAY MRS. G
. Dean knew for a fact that Nita was seventy-six, and he had no doubt Blue was behind the deception.

About a hundred people had dutifully gathered in the park. More balloons waved in the breeze, along with red, white, and blue bunting
left over from last week’s Fourth of July celebration. A ragtag group of teenagers in black T-shirts and matching eyeliner finished playing a punk rock version of “Happy Birthday.” Riley had told Dean they were Syl’s nephew’s garage band, the only musicians who would agree to play today.

Toward the front of the park, near a small rose garden, Nita had already begun cutting into a birthday cake the size of a putting green. Dean had missed the celebratory speeches, but judging from everyone’s expression, they hadn’t been memorable. More bunting draped long tables holding pitchers of punch and iced tea. He spotted April and Riley standing near the cake table, talking to a woman in a yellow dress. Some of the locals called out to him and he waved, but all the while he was looking for Blue.

Yesterday had been one of the worst and best days of his life. First his ugly encounter with Blue; then his painful, liberating conversation with Jack; and, finally, the dance marathon with April. He and April hadn’t talked much afterward, and there’d been no “fucking hug,” as Jack had put it, but they both understood things had changed. He didn’t know exactly what their new relationship would be, only that it was time for him to grow up and get acquainted with the woman his mother had become.

Once again, he scanned the park, but he still didn’t see Blue, and he wanted to. Somehow he had to make things right. Nita carried her plate to a chair reserved just for her while Syl and Penny Winters took over divvying up the cake for the crowd. Nita began shooting darts at the lead singer of the garage band, who was doing a demented Paul McCartney:
“You say it’s your birthday.”
Both Riley and the woman in the yellow dress had their backs to him. April gestured toward the band, and Riley broke away with her to get closer.

Syl spotted him as she dropped a square of cake on a paper plate. “Come on over, Dean. The frosting roses’ll go fast. Blue, drag him over here. I’ve got a piece with his name on it.”

He looked around, but he didn’t see Blue anywhere. Then the
small woman in the yellow dress turned, and he got his first sack of the season. “Blue?”

For a moment, she looked as vulnerable as the child he’d accused her of being. Then her chin came up. “I know. I’m cute as hell. Do me a favor and let’s not talk about it.”

She was more than cute. April had turned Miss Muffet into a fashion plate. The dress fit her perfectly. It was exactly the right length and had the ideal drape for Blue’s petite frame. The bodice clung to her curves, and the trendy purple wedge sandals emphasized her trim ankles. He’d imagined her like this. That crazy rumpus of a haircut made the most of her delicate bone structure. Her makeup was flattering and ultrafeminine. He’d known it wouldn’t take much to make her look incredible. And she did. Beautiful, stylish, sexy. Pretty much indistinguishable from all the other beautiful, stylish, sexy women he knew. He hated her like this. He wanted his Blue back. When he finally got around to speaking, the wrong thing came out. “Why?”

“I got tired of everybody saying you’re the pretty one.”

He couldn’t even fake a smile. He wanted to stuff her back into her rat-hole clothes, fling those fragile little sandals into the trash. Blue was Blue, one of a kind. She didn’t need all this. But she’d think he’d gone crazy if he blurted that out, so he ran his thumb along her narrow shoulder strap. “April sure knows her stuff.”

“Funny. That’s what she said about you when she saw me. She thought you put me together.”

“You did this yourself?”

“I’m an artist, Boo. This is another canvas for me, and not a very interesting one. Now go suck up to Nita. So far, she’s avoided stabbing anyone, but the afternoon is young.”

“First, you and I need to talk. About yesterday.”

She stiffened. “I can’t leave her alone. You know how she is.”

“One hour, and then I’m coming to get you.”

But Blue was already moving away.

April waved at him over Riley’s head. The familiar trunk of his old resentments creaked open, but when he peered inside, he only saw dust. If he wanted to, he could walk over to his mother just to shoot the bull. Which was exactly what he did.

April had chosen to wear jeans to the celebration, along with a straw cowboy hat and a figure-hugging top that looked like vintage Pucci. She nodded toward the band. “With a lot of practice, the bass player might be mediocre.”

Riley piped up next to her. “Did you see Blue? At first I didn’t know it was her. She looks like a real grown-up and everything.”

“An illusion,” Dean replied tightly.

“Not from where I’m standing.” April peered at him from under the rim of her cowboy hat. “And I doubt those men who’ve been trying to get her attention would agree. She seems oblivious, but nothing much gets past our Blue.”

“My Blue,” he heard himself say.

April found that interesting. “Your Blue? The same woman who’s getting ready to leave town in two days?”

“She’s not going anywhere.”

April looked worried. “Then you have your work cut out for you.”

A man approached with a ball cap pulled low on his head and big silver aviators shading his eyes. Riley gave a little jump. “Dad! I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I told you I would.”

“I know, but…”

“But I’ve let you down so many times that you didn’t believe me.” He’d left his earrings and bracelets behind and dressed inconspicuously in an olive drab T-shirt and denim shorts, but nothing could disguise that famous profile, and a woman with a baby in her arms looked at him curiously.

April developed a sudden interest in the band. Dean’s head wasn’t screwed on straight enough right now to figure out what was going on between them.

“Do I see Blue coming toward us?” Jack asked.

“Doesn’t she look awesome?” Riley said earnestly. “She’s the best artist. Did you know Dean still won’t look at her paintings in the dining room? Tell him, Dad. Tell him how beautiful they are.”

“They’re…different.”

Blue popped up before Dean could ask what he meant. “Wow,” Jack said. “You’re a woman.”

Blue flushed the way she always did when Jack addressed her directly. “It’s temporary. Too much bother.” Jack grinned, and Blue turned to Riley. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Nita wants you.” Through a hole in the crowd, Dean saw Nita furiously beckoning from her chair. Blue frowned. “She’s going to have a heart attack if she doesn’t calm down. I vote we don’t rush with the CPR.”

“Blue always says stuff like that,” Riley confided to the rest of them, “but she loves Mrs. Garrison.”

“Have you been drinking again, young lady? I thought we talked about that.” Blue grabbed Riley’s arm and walked off with her.

“Looks like you’re getting company,” Jack said. “I’d better make myself scarce.”

As he left, Judge Haskins and Tim Taylor, the high school principal, came up to Dean. “Hey, Boo.” The judge couldn’t quite pull his eyes away from April. “Nice to see you here performing your civic responsibility.”

“However unpleasant it might be,” Tim said. “I had to give up my Saturday morning foursome.” Both men gazed at April. When no one said anything, Tim held out his hand. “Tim Taylor.”

Dean should have seen this coming. Since April stayed out of places like the Barn Grill, she hadn’t met either of them. She held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Susan—”

“This is my mother,” Dean said. “April Robillard.”

April’s fingers twitched. She shook hands with both men, but beneath the brim of her cowboy hat, her eyes began filling with tears.

“Sorry.” She waved her fingers in front of her face. “Seasonal allergies.”

Dean’s hand settled on her shoulder. He hadn’t planned to do this—hadn’t thought this far ahead—but he felt like he’d just won the biggest game of the season. “My mother’s been doing undercover work for me, using the name Susan O’Hara.”

That required a few explanations, all of which Dean made up on the spot while April blinked her eyes and faked an allergy cough. When the men finally left, April rounded on him. “Don’t say a single sappy thing to me or I’ll completely lose it.”

“Fine,” he shot back. “Let’s get some cake.”

Getting cake, he decided, beat the heck out of having to fake his own allergy cough.

April finally managed to separate herself from the crowd. She found a sheltered spot behind a row of shrubbery in the far corner of the park, sat in the grass against the fence, and let herself have a good cry. She had her son back. They’d need to test the waters for a while, but they were both stubborn, and she had faith they’d work it out.

In the distance, the garage band’s lead singer began a painful, white boy’s rap. Jack came around the corner of the shrubbery into her shady sanctuary. “Stop that kid before he harms innocent children.” He pretended not to notice her red eyes as he sat next to her.

“Promise me you won’t ever rap,” she said.

“Only in the shower. Although…”

“Promise me!”

“All right.” He picked up her hand, and she didn’t try to draw it away. “I saw you with Dean.”

Her eyes started tearing all over again. “He introduced me as his mother. It was…pretty wonderful.”

Jack smiled. “Did he now? I’m glad.”

“I hope someday maybe the two of you…”