Single in Suburbia (23 page)

“Come.” Amanda motioned to Brooke, who seemed bent on avoiding the sight of her face in any of the kitchen’s shiny surfaces. “Bring zee supplies upstairs. I weel show you where we begin.”

The phone rang and Susie went to take the call. Amanda and Brooke headed up to the top floor and began to strip the beds.

“You get the sheets and towels from the other bedrooms and bring them to the laundry room.” She showed Brooke the upstairs room that housed the washer and dryer. “And be careful you don’t accidentally touch or move any of the money or jewelry she leaves out.”

“She’s still pulling those tricks?”

“Yes. Let me know what’s out today. The grand prize seems to go up every week. I’m holding out for the Caribbean cruise.”

They separated and with only small bits of direction, Brooke demonstrated her expertise. She moved quickly and efficiently and they were down to the living areas on the ground floor in less than half the time Solange could have made it on her own.

In the kitchen, they worked side by side, wiping down surfaces, straightening what was already obsessively straight. “Wow,” Brooke whispered, turning away from the already shiny granite countertops. “If it weren’t Susie, I’d feel guilty for taking her money.”

“I know what you mean.” They whispered so that their unaccented English wouldn’t be overheard, although Amanda could hear Susie still on the phone in the study. “What sort of trap did she lay upstairs?”

“Two hundred bucks and a pair of trainer diamond studs that were so small, I’m assuming they must be Lucy’s.”

Amanda giggled.

“She’s going to have to do better than that if she wants to seriously tempt this cleaning crew,” Brooke said.

Leaving her to finish the kitchen and family room, Amanda moved into the study. Parking the vacuum cleaner in the open doorway so that Susie would realize Solange wanted to vacuum, she finally had to wave a dust rag at Susie to garner enough attention to gain admittance to the room.

Susie motioned her in with a glance, her attention clearly fixed on the phone. “I think Lucy wants to have a pool party on the last day of school. If Samantha James can come, I’m going to include parents. That Hunter James is absolutely delicious.”

There was a pause.

“The Sheridans?” There was a laugh, an unkind bark of derision that straightened Amanda’s spine. “No. Whatever for?”

Jaw clenched, Amanda unwrapped the vacuum’s power cord and plugged it into an outlet. With a flick of her finger she turned it on and began to vacuum with gusto, her back to Susie, wishing she could aim the attachment at the other woman and suck her right into the garbage where she belonged.

“Solange!” Susie shouted.

Ignoring her, Amanda threw herself into the vacuuming, “accidentally” bashing into the legs of as many pieces of furniture as she dared.

A moment later the other woman was at her side tapping on her shoulder and shrieking in her ear. “Turn that thing off! I’m on the phone!” She waved the cordless phone in Solange’s face.

Amanda moved her hand over the vacuum cleaner handle, careful not to smile at the expression on Susie’s face. After a few moments of exaggerated fumbling, Amanda pushed the button and the vacuum cleaner went off, throwing the room into complete silence.

“Ah,” Amanda said, smiling triumphantly at Susie, “now I have found eet. Thank God I locate zee switch.”

chapter
20

A
manda went to bed on Friday evening and stayed there until Sunday morning.

“Mom?” Meghan’s shrill voice intruded into her dreams. A hand clamped her shoulder and shook her hard. “You see?” Meghan said. “I think we should call nine-one-one.”

“Maybe we should call Dad again,” Wyatt suggested.

There were footsteps nearby. A phone was lifted from a cradle. She could actually hear the dial tone in the quiet.

“No.” Amanda roused herself while trying to pry open eyes that felt glued shut. “I’m OK.” She got one eye open then the other. Meghan and Wyatt stood next to the bed, panic written on their faces. “I was just really tired.”

“Well you scared us to death.” Meghan’s fear was already morphing into anger. “We thought you were in a coma or something!”

“I’m sorry I scared you.” Amanda sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I just worked harder this week than I’m used to, and I guess my body needed to catch up.”

“Well we were stuck here for more than twenty-four hours,” Meghan complained.

“We didn’t want to leave you,” Wyatt said. “Meg put a mirror under your mouth to make sure you were still breathing and then she called Daddy last night and made him come over and check you.”

She could picture them calling Rob in a panic; thank God he’d been available to calm them down.

“He said you were just asleep.” Wyatt’s brow furrowed at the memory. “I was afraid you were dead.”

“Dork.” Meghan brushed by her brother and turned in the doorway. “Now that it’s safe to leave, I’m going to go out and run.”

It was Wyatt who fussed over her and settled her out on the deck with a peanut butter sandwich and the Sunday paper. He was in the family room now in front of the television. The sound of the Braves game floated out through an open window.

In the quiet of the afternoon, Amanda took stock of her situation and attempted to reconcile her decidedly split personalities. Where Amanda weighed and considered, Solange acted. While Amanda craved approval and did what was expected, Solange was uncowed by the opinions of others and did what was necessary.

The only thing they had in common was their drive to take care of Meghan and Wyatt and their appreciation of—and attraction to—Hunter James.

She and Solange were in accord about him, but while Solange, with her more sensual French temperament might be tempted, Amanda knew better.

She was not going to be the divorcée who fell for the first available man, and she was not going to jump into bed at the crook of an attractive finger. Not that Hunter James had actually crooked anything in her direction.

Susie Simmons and Solange could flash their eyes and swing their hips at him all they wanted; Amanda was not about to join that fan club.

She had to remind herself of this vow when the phone rang and his caller ID flashed across the screen. And again while she debated whether to answer or let it go to voice mail.

A truly smart woman wouldn’t want to know why he was calling. A really brainy woman would ignore the phone and continue to immerse herself in the Sunday paper and the quiet relaxation of her backyard deck.

Which was why, she reflected as she picked up the phone on that quiet Sunday afternoon, she hadn’t actually made it to an Ivy League school.

“Amanda?” Hunter’s normally confident voice was tinged with something she couldn’t quite identify.

She sat up and pressed the phone closer to her ear while she folded the Living section and tucked it back inside the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Basically.” There was a slight pause.

“Are the girls OK?”

“Yes.”

There was a silence in which she studied the shades of green in her backyard and waited for him to speak. She could hear the sounds of a televised baseball game in the background and she realized he was probably watching the same Braves game as Wyatt.

“Hunter?”

No answer.

“What’s wrong?”

He groaned. “Samantha wants to have an end-of-school pool party.”

She waited for the rest of it, but that appeared to be it.

“And?”

“And she seems to be convinced she needs a woman to plan it.”

Chagrin and uncertainty clouded his voice. “I told her it wasn’t a problem. I mean we have a pool and she can invite whoever she wants. I told her I’d be glad to order pizzas and drinks.” He sighed. “That was when she started crying.”

Amanda considered appropriate responses but Hunter didn’t seem to be finished. “She said she wanted to plan the party with someone who would understand. Someone, I believe she said, with ovaries.”

Amanda stifled a giggle.

“She also wants to invite boys, and she seems to think if I’m the only chaperone I’ll be too intimidating.”

Amanda suspected that if they were anything like Wyatt, they’d be more likely to line up for autographs. But perhaps Samantha wouldn’t like that either.

“Since Meghan was at the top of Sam’s guest list, I thought maybe you and she would like to, um, come over and help plan this thing?” There was another pause. “And then possibly help chaperone?”

She caught herself smiling. “When did you want us to bring our ovaries over?”

He laughed. “I didn’t mean to put it quite that baldly.”

“Well, I have to admit I don’t think I’ve ever heard ovaries mentioned in casual conversation before.”

He laughed again. “You can bring the rest of you too. I thought the three of you might like to come over later today and cook out with us. Wyatt and I could do something suitably manly afterward while you all plan the big event.”

Words of refusal sprang to her lips. She hadn’t showered, her hair was a mess, he made her nervous. But both Wyatt and Meghan would be wild to do this. And she knew deep down that Solange wouldn’t bow out. Solange would swing her hips and cart her ovaries on over there and let the chips fall where they may.

She contemplated the unread newspaper and the warming glass of iced tea. As if it was any kind of a contest. The Sunday paper alone on her deck? Or a cookout at the Jameses.

Tomorrow she’d be back to scrubbing floors and making other people’s beds. But she could enjoy herself today.

Amanda stood and reached for the iced tea glass. “I’ll be glad to help and we’d love to come. Just tell me when you want us and what I can bring.”

“I’ve got the food and drink covered. And I’m guessing Wyatt’s not going anywhere until the Braves game is over. Come anytime after that. If there’s no answer at the front door, look for us out back. I thought we could have a swim before we eat.”

Amanda broke the news to Meghan, who was back from her run and had obviously already consulted with Samantha. Wyatt whooped with pleasure when she explained their plans and wanted to know whether she thought they might get to watch the Cubs’ game at seven since Mr. James probably actually KNEW all those players.

Amanda felt a tiny prickle of anticipation herself as she showered and dried her hair. She was even looking forward to it until she opened her bottom drawer and remembered that her most current bathing suit was hopelessly out of style and did absolutely nothing to enhance her thirty-nine-and-a-half-year-old body. The stress of the last months had shaved off some extra pounds and her new occupation had added some muscle, but nothing had perked up her breasts or raised her rear end.

Pulling on the black one-piece, she stood in front of her mirror, wishing it was one of those Miraclesuits she’d seen advertised. She could use a miracle now; a heaven-sent sucking of the cellulite from the backs of her thighs or a flattening of her stomach pooch would confirm her faith in the Almighty.

“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered as she pulled a pair of capris and a crop top over the suit. Better bodies than hers had undoubtedly thrown themselves at Hunter James during his years in the major leagues. Hell, better bodies were probably thrown at him daily right here in east Cobb County.

She’d just have to think of him as Samantha’s father and not as a prospective date. That way there’d be no misunderstandings and no disappointment.

They found the Jameses in the pool. Suffering from none of the shyness Amanda felt, Meghan peeled off her shorts and dove gracefully into the large kidney-shaped pool. Wyatt kicked off his flip-flops and drew his T-shirt over his head in one fluid movement.

“Go out for a pass!” Hunter shouted from the shallow end. Stepping toward the deeper water, he threw a Nerf football toward her son, who nabbed it in midair and cannonballed into the water with it. Julie whooped and pumped a fist in the air then pulled herself out of the pool and raced to the spot Wyatt had vacated. “Throw one to me, Dad!”

A moment later she’d completed her diving catch and was splashing after Wyatt. Samantha and Meghan were perched on the shallow-end steps, whispering to each other.

Amanda stood at the side of the pool feeling slightly silly, a pot of baked beans clutched to her chest. Hunter placed his hands on the deck and hauled himself out of the water. Straightening, he slicked his hair back and walked toward her, a smile lighting his face. Water clung to the thick lashes around his green eyes and to the mat of hair on his chest.

“You really didn’t need to bring anything.” He bent to retrieve a towel from a nearby chaise. With one hand he rubbed it over his shoulders and chest then dropped it back on the chair cushion. For a moment, she envied the rectangle of terry cloth.

“It’s just baked beans. I can put them on the stove to warm until we’re ready to eat.”

“Thanks. The kitchen’s this way.”

He led her through the French doors to the kitchen she knew so well. Fido barked and there was a scramble of claws on wood. Before she could react, the Lab nudged his nose toward her thighs.

“No! Sit!” Hunter grasped the dog by the collar and kept him from reaching his target. “Sorry. I thought I’d broken him of that but he still does the same thing to Solange.”

“No kidding?” Flustered, Amanda turned away and set the pot of beans on the front burner of the cooktop. Without asking, she turned on the burner and moved about the kitchen reaching in a nearby drawer for the pot holders she’d washed last week, moving to the utensil drawer for a big slatted spoon for stirring.

She looked up to find him watching her.

“Glad you’re finding everything OK.”

Fido’s tail whapped the floor and his eyes were on her crotch. The dog had a major thing for her; his owner was looking at her as if he was trying to make some puzzle piece fit. Which was all it took to remind her that while Solange knew this house intimately, Amanda Sheridan had never set foot in it.