Reason Is You (9781101576151) (11 page)

“She was your
friend
?” Riley asked.

“No.” I studied the menu again. “Can we pick something now? I didn’t know this was going to be a long-term event.”

Right on cue, the new hostess appeared and looked from Riley to me. “So, are you ready?”

“What do you want, boog?”

She rolled her bottom lip between her fingers. “I guess he kinda sold me on the banana pudding.”

“You already wanted it.”

“Yeah, but I was considering my options.”

“Well, I’m going with that, too.”

“Aw, you’ll have something to talk about at work so maybe he won’t be so mean,” she said, with an elbow to my ribs.

I gave her a double take. “No, no, no, my girl. It’s nothing like that.”

She held up a hand. “Whatever, I’m just saying he’s better than that Alex dude that keeps popping up.”

And then I broke out in a sweat. We got our order and left, and once we were on the road and immersed in banana pudding aroma, I threw it out there.

“About that Alex dude—”

“I know, y’all have a thing.”

My mouth went dry. “What? No, there’s no thing.”

“Please, it’s so obvious.”

“How?” How was I having this conversation?

“Mom, you choke whenever you see him. You don’t breathe. Clearly, you have something heavy with the guy, and he gets all—zoned or something.”

Zoned or something. Oh man. “I totally breathe. It—it’s just more complicated than that.”

“Whatever. I don’t care. I don’t want to know about your love life; I’m just saying it’s no secret you have the hots for each other.”

I rubbed my face. “Oh God.”

“Don’t be such a prude, Mom. I mean, he’s cute, too. Just a little—weird.”

“Yeah, well.”

“New wardrobe would probably help. Satan just seems more normal.”

Cute. “Mr. Miller.”

“You have to call him that?”

“
You
have to call him that. He’s my boss.”

She opened the door. “Whatever.”

I
F
I concentrated, I could follow one ceiling fan blade around and around. I kept losing it, though, and had to start over. I threw the covers off and spread out. It was a muggy, sticky night, ticking with energy. I could almost feel the hairs on my arm move. Not unusual, but I was tired of staring at that damn fan with its whisper that always sounded like voices to me. At the bookshelves holding books that hadn’t moved in twenty years. At the design on the far wall made from the faint nightlight. At the ninety-two plastic slats of the window blinds, the three bottom ones bent.

The clock glared at me with its stupid blue numbers. To think I’d almost bought one of those clocks that shoot the display up on the ceiling. I would have been homicidal.

I needed sleep. I needed peace. I needed sex. Probably sex would get me the other two, so I thought about that. Because if it was just the release, the shower massage and some dirty thoughts would join me in that little party and take care of that. But I had the feeling
that was too much of a quick fix. I needed the real thing. The full treatment. I needed a warm, hard body.

“Okay,” I said to the fan as I swung my legs all the way out of the covers. “I’m officially frustrated now.”

Which brought my thoughts to Jason, completely unbidden. I pushed them away and thought about his scowl and grunts and his dented freshly birthed car instead. But then, there were those aviators and those green eyes—

“Oh my God, really?” I slapped a hand over my face.

Was I really that hard up that one fifteen-minute session of civility with Castro had me humping my pillow?

I looked at the extra pillow.

And then I got up.

It’s no secret you two have the hots for each other
. Oh, Alex. The “hots” was an understatement. That man could make me sweat from fifty yards away. But there was history there, too. Years of in-depth conversations and friendship. And who the hell was I kidding? His smile could reduce me to goo. I would bet that he could have had any woman he wanted before he got married. Married. Funny that I never thought of him as married. He didn’t wear a wedding ring. I never gave much thought to Alex’s personal life when I was younger. About him being someone’s husband and father.

That made my heart lurch. He had a daughter, too. I wondered if it was hard for him to see me with one, now. They all died together, that’s all I knew. For as much as Alex knew about me, he was very private about himself.

“How sad is it that my hottest fantasy is with a dead man?” I looked around. “And that I’m talking to myself?”

It was a pity party, I admit it. Sleep deprivation brought on by worry brought on by Riley’s new networking—plus the fact that
I kind of wanted to see my boss naked and trying to hide the fact that I’d always wanted to see Alex naked—piled up on me.

I flicked the lamp on and flopped into Alex’s chair. It would have been a good night for him to show up. Keep me company. Then again, no. I’d have probably broken all the rules and jumped him and given us both seizures or something.

Antsy, I got back up and snagged the stack of clean clothes still on the dresser. A corner of color in the closet caught my eye and I moved some boxes aside to see my baby box nestled back there.

I called it my baby box. My dad always called it that—it had my mom’s scrapbook and my first everythings. And my favorite, most precious possession. A picture taken of my mother and me. In that very room, right after I was born. Both of us all messy and exhausted, our heads close together. My dad said the aneurysm burst about an hour later. He wasn’t in the room, he’d left for just a few minutes and came back to find her still holding me. And gone.

I sat cross-legged on the bed, my faded orange-and-red fabric-wrapped box in front of me. I lifted the lid, browned on the edges from time and handling, and peered inside at my treasures. My mom’s love in a box. Dad told me that she always took pictures, even when she was young. That she was a born photographer but didn’t have those options.

I pulled out her scrapbook she made when she was pregnant, the plain cardboard covered in mosaic tile so that it weighed a ton. When I was little, I thought it was jeweled. But back then, I thought everything about her was magical because she was such a mystery to me.

I opened the book, careful not to crack the worn spine. Faded photos with colored paper accents, her little remarks and funny sayings written randomly everywhere. Arrows and hearts and smiley faces. She and my dad and their beagle, Bevo, grinning as they
pointed at her flat belly, with a bubble cloud drawn to the left that said
puppy in the oven
. A list of possible name considerations on another page, with scratch outs and scribbles to the side.
Samantha
was clearly a contender, as it had four stars and a bubble drawn to it that said,
Nate’s
.
Danielle
had three stars and a
mine
next to it. Several pages in was Christmas, my mom holding a decorated stocking next to her tiny baby bulge.

This was how I knew my mother. How I learned about her. Through all her quips and quirky comments that were never intended to be studied and analyzed so that even the handwriting was committed to memory. I used to wish for some new nuance of information, some snippet of photo to jump out at me, something new. I felt that same old feeling as I looked through it all now. Hoping that my wiser adult eyes would glean something not seen before.

I needed something new. I needed my mom to jump out of the book and tell me what to do. How to do it. I wanted my picture to do its magic. Something like—

“Where the hell is my picture?”

I turned the page back to the one of all the shots of my room done up in black-and-white checks and stuffed animals, and then back to the one afterward of my dad holding me at the funeral, in front of all the flowers. It wasn’t there. I touched the yellow spot on the page where it had once been.

I set the book on the bed and dug in the box, rooting through finger paintings and brightly colored lumps of clay that were supposed to resemble something. I thumbed through cards and many other loose photos that never made it into the scrapbook because Dad did good just to get them into the box.

But it wasn’t in there.

I closed my eyes and listened to the whisper of the fan above me and played my old game of pretending it was my mother talking to me.
Where is it, Mom?

Nothing.

I got up and pulled the other boxes out of the closet till the floor was cleared. Nothing. I felt gypped. Like my mother had left. Again.

“This is silly,” I mumbled.

I shoved all the boxes back in and just stood there, too wound up to get back into bed. My gaze fell on a drawing among the mess on the bedspread. Of me and my dad on a dock, him with his blue hat. And my anxiety started to melt.

I picked up the drawing, with its ceiling-flat blue sky and blue choppy water around a brown dock with fish swimming in a see-through bucket. Red-mouthed smiles on both of us as a huge fish with an identical smile hung from my fishing line waiting to nestle in my dad’s net.

I walked down the hall to Riley’s room, careful to sidestep the creaky spot just before her door, and peeked inside. Covers were inside out and wrangled around her like something you’d see come out of a swamp, but she slept like an angel. I wondered if she’d look through her old drawings one day and feel that same sense of love and security.

My luck, it would be the one she made of being bought at a grocery store.

D
AD
and Bo were already coffee’d and gone by the time I dragged my dead ass downstairs the next morning. I tried to leave myself a mental note to ask him about the picture later. I probably needed to write it on a wall or something. In permanent magic marker. My brain wasn’t on its best game.

The shop door did its jingle when I entered and I gave it a little finger wave. And then stopped when I saw Jason at the counter.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, glancing up, then back down at a notepad. “How was dessert?”

“Um. Fine.” I lifted the counter and joined him. “Since when are you here this early? Where’s Marg?”

“On vacation.”

“What?”

“For two weeks.”

Two weeks of full days with Jason Miller. That must have shown on my face, because he looked almost giddy.

“That a problem?”

I recovered quickly. “No, of course not.”

He chuckled. “Of course not.”

I looked at him curiously. Weird turn of personality.

“Okay. So—I’ll get on the tide reports then.” I turned to the coffeepot and stopped. “You didn’t make coffee?”

“Don’t drink coffee.”

I rubbed my eyes. “God.”

He laughed softly again from behind me and I shook my head as I pulled out a filter and the Folgers and numbly went through the motions.

“I take it you missed your morning fix?”

“This is my morning fix—most days. I can sleep later if I don’t stop to worry about coffee.”

“And today was a sleep-in kind of day?”

“Huh?”

He gestured to my white T-shirt and gray sweats, topped off with a ponytail and no makeup. I made an irritated sound and went back to the coffeepot.

“Haven’t slept much lately. Wardrobe wasn’t a priority.”

“Did you get confirmation from Hank on his booking this morning?”

My hand stopped mid-scoop. Hank had a booking? I called somebody. Didn’t I call somebody? It was a couple of days ago.

“Um—no. I’ll check in a second.” I stared at the scoop still in my hand, unable to remember how many I’d done. “Oh, what the hell,” I mumbled, throwing in another two. Wouldn’t bother anyone but me anyway.

I turned to pull the tour schedules out of the drawer but Jason was in the way. Standing there in his tight blue jeans and black pullover T-shirt. Jesus, I was hard up. He looked up from his pad and I pointed.

“Need to get in there.”

His eyebrows shot up, and I realized where I pointed.

“The—the drawer. The schedules are in the drawer.”

He looked down. Then back at me and stepped aside. “Sorry.”

I yanked the drawer open so he had to move a little farther and stared at the day’s schedule in dismay. Had I called Hank? Crap. I snatched up the phone and dialed his number.

“Yello.”

“Hey, Hank, it’s Dani.”

“Sugar, it’s a bit early, don’t you think?” he drawled.

I watched the slow drip of the coffee and closed my eyes. It was too much.

“I know, I’m sorry, but I need to check that you’re lined out for a half day’er this morning.”

“This morning?” There was a shuffle as the phone slipped. “Sweetheart, I got nothing today but whatever’s on ESPN.”

Crap.

“Well, you have a booking—looks like from a couple of weeks ago.” I peered closer at the information. “Looks like two kids and an adult at eight o’clock.”

“Sweetheart, my boat battery’s on charge and I got no time to charter anything on this short notice. Call Jiminy.”

I hung up and cursed the day, my life, and the zit I felt growing on my nose.

“Problem?”

I scrolled to Jiminy’s number with one hand as I maneuvered the coffeepot with the other.

“Not if Jiminy comes through for me.”

“He’s out of town.”

I set the phone and the creamer container down together with a thud.

“Bob?”

He picked up the sheet. “With two little girls on board?”

I blinked. “Is he gonna eat them?”

“He’s a little crude, Dani. He pees off the side of the boat no matter who’s around. Doesn’t matter. He’s out on a bait run anyway.”

Jason set the sheet aside and pulled out a bait catalog, as I stared him down. He finally bent to my psychic ability and turned.

“What?”

I downed three big gulps of coffee for bravery. “Who else can we get?”

He smirked. “I was told we have you.”

Another swig and then I chuckled. Tried to appear nonchalant. “That’s really kinda just a—theory.”

He flipped a page. “Well, theory or not, you’re all we’ve got. Should’ve called Hank ahead of time.”