Small Change (14 page)

“Distrust?” Now, that was strange. Or not. Although Chad hadn't told her his age, he looked like he had a couple of years on her, which gave him plenty of time to develop a history and a wary attitude.

“If you don't protect what you have you'll lose it,” he said. “It's as simple as that.”

She studied him. “Isn't that a little cynical?”

“No, it's smart. Did you trust your husband?”

Heat raced across her cheeks and she took a healthy slug of wine before answering. “Yes.”

He shrugged as if to say, “See?”

“Not everyone is like my ex,” Rachel said.

“When it comes to money most people are like your ex. I believe in being careful because you never know.”

“I take it you learned that from personal experience?”

“I have an ex, like you,” he admitted.

Hence the healthy sense of distrust. Had the ex taken him to the proverbial cleaners? Was that why they were on the lake in a paddleboat instead of in an expensive restaurant? Not that Rachel cared. A man who appreciated the simple things in life was more her style now.

“I suppose the only way to protect yourself from heartbreak is to become a hermit,” she mused.

“I don't think I'm ready to do that,” he said. “Women are like fine wine. A man could live without them, but who wants to?” He smiled at her, making her heart do a flip, and they touched wineglasses.

“I don't want be used,” she blurted. She looked into her half-empty glass.
Way to be mysterious, Rachel. No more truth serum for you.

“Me, either,” he said. “So it looks like we're on the same page.”

What did he mean by that? Was he looking for a serious relationship or simply friendship? And if all he wanted was friendship, did he want to be friends with benefits? Maybe she should have said, “Define
use.
” But he was offering her grapes now and asking her how long she'd lived in Heart Lake, and the moment had passed. And, anyway, they were simply enjoying a paddleboat on the lake and drinking some wine. Nobody was making a commitment here.

Except her heart, which was already running way ahead of her brain, looking for the rose petal road to happily-ever-after.

T
he longer Rachel and Chad sat in the paddleboat, bobbing on the lake, the more perfect he became. That little gremlin must have been off on vacation somewhere, or else the universe had decided it was her turn to get something good.

They talked about movies. Of course, being male, he loved anything with action and great special effects, but he also enjoyed films that were thoughtful and funny—just like she did. They talked about books. Chad enjoyed reading, and not just Tom Clancy. He was a big fan of the classics, especially Alexandre Dumas's
The Count of Monte Cristo
.

They moved on to other topics, the conversation flowing easily as they pedaled leisurely along. This was what had been missing with Aaron for a long, long time. In fact, had she ever felt this connected to Aaron? Oh, she'd been dazzled by his Prince Charming behavior when they first met. And they'd certainly found enough to keep them happy as they planned their wedding, honeymooned, and then reproduced. But somewhere along the way conversations had become routine and sex had happened by appointment and
wound up feeling obligatory. No wonder Misty had looked so attractive to Aaron.

“That was a big sigh,” Chad observed.

Oh, no. Had she actually sighed? “I was thinking about my marriage and how easily we drifted into … nothing. I've been blaming him all this time but, well, it does take two, doesn't it?”

“Not always,” said Chad with a frown. “Don't beat your-self up.”

She hadn't been. The one she'd preferred to beat on all this time had been Aaron. Well, it was a brand-new day, and there was no sense wasting it mulling over the past.

She smiled at Chad. “This has been perfect.”

He smiled back. “Yes it has.” As they made their way back to the dock, he added, “We need to have drinks again. Or maybe dinner.”

“I know the perfect place,” said Rachel.

“Yeah?”

“My house. Next time you're over working on your place I'll feed you.”

“A home-cooked meal, that sounds good.”

And so, just like that, she had another date with a gorgeous man. She could hardly wait to tell Jess and Tiff.

A perfect man, a perfect date, a perfect day.

It would have remained so, too, if she hadn't decided to hop off the paddleboat and help moor the thing. At the time, the decision had made perfect sense. Her side was now closest to the dock. But just when she was congratulating herself on her grace, one of her Cinderella-sized flip-flops did a slip-slop and she lost her footing and went down. Not on the dock, which would have been humiliating enough, but into the water, with an undignified screech that turned to “urghlugggg” once she went below the surface.

She came up spluttering and barely able to see through a wall of wet hair. She made a clumsy grab for the two pairs of hands reaching for her and was caught and hauled back up to dry land.

“Well, there, missy, that was quite a feat,” said the same old man who had launched them.

Feat. Feet! Hers were now bare. “My flip-flops!” Or, rather, Jess's.

There they went, slowly drifting away.

She'd barely spoken before Chad slipped into the water and swam for them with Olympic star grace. Meanwhile, she stood on the dock, shivering and feeling like the world's biggest dingbat.

She knew she was blushing from her neck to her forehead. She tried to ignore it as he pulled himself back up on the dock with as much grace as he'd showed when he went in. The man looked good dry, but he looked incredible wet, with his hair and skin glistening. Rachel's mind did a quick leap from lake to shower and her blush got hotter when he took her ankle and lifted her foot. The hand to body contact made it next to impossible to climb out of that mental shower.

She watched as he slipped a flip-flop back on her foot, praying all the time,
Please don't notice that my foot's too big
.

Either her prayer worked or Chad was very gallant. He kept his mouth shut as he worked.

“Thanks,” she murmured after he'd finished. “I'm sorry you got wet.”

“It felt good,” he said, and retrieved the wine bottle and the canvas bag from the boat.

“You'd better get home and get out of those wet clothes,” said the old man, and slipped a wink in Chad's direction.

Chad was a gentleman and didn't wink back. He gave the man the leftover wine, then walked Rachel to her minivan and
opened the door for her. “Sorry you fell in. I hope that didn't ruin the day.”

“Impossible,” she said, her gaze drifting to his lips.

He leaned an elbow on the minivan and smiled at her. “Good.” Then, before she could say anything, he kissed her. She felt it from her lips to her toes and everywhere in between. It produced so much heat she was surprised to find that her clothes were still wet when they'd finished.

“Thank you,” she murmured, not even sure which she was thanking him for, the boat ride on the lake or the kiss or for looking so hot in wet clothes.

“I'll see you soon,” he said and stepped back, allowing her to fumble her way into the driver's seat. Once she was in he shut the door. “Try not to catch pneumonia. I don't want to wait forever for that dinner.”

And she didn't want to wait long for another kiss. She nodded, then started the car and backed out of the parking space, trying to wipe the goofy smile off her face and look mysterious, even though, after falling in the lake, it was too late for that.

Mom was right. Whenever one door shut another opened. She'd have to step further inside before she knew if this was someplace she really wanted to be, but from what she could see it sure looked like it. After the heartbreak of her divorce, of seeing her husband leave her for another woman, she'd never envisioned herself with a man again, hadn't thought it was possible she'd ever be able to trust someone. Maybe, just maybe it was possible.

As soon as she got home and changed she called Jess. But she only got voice mail, which was odd since both Jess and Michael's cars were in the driveway. “Where are you? I'm dying to tell you
about my romantic adventures,” she said. Oh, heck. Why wait for Jess to call back? She'd just run over there.

Jess's windows were open and Rachel heard the racket before she even got off her front porch. Jess was pounding on the piano, something classical and furious, and it accompanied angry male voices. This was, obviously, not a good time to talk. Disappointment at not being able to share was instantly swallowed by concern for her friend as she ducked back inside her house. Life on Cupid's Loop these days was like living on some giant seesaw. When one of them was going up the other was going down. If only they could all go up together.

Jess finally couldn't take it anymore. The two men in her life had had their moments over the years. She never knew if that was a father-son thing or simply a man thing. Most of the time she tried to stay out of the middle of their man clashes and let them work out their own relationship issues, which they always did. But this latest argument wasn't anywhere near getting worked out and the yelling was escalating to such a fever pitch that she was sure one of the neighbors would wind up calling the police.

She left the piano for the kitchen, where both the Sharp men had been going at it. Michael's expression was a study in parental anger and frustration as he scolded his son. “You're just being lazy!” he accused, one hand beating the air. “Get off your butt, grow up, and be a man, for God's sake.”

Mikey was a statue of stone and fire, glaring at his father. “ Thanks for understanding, Dad.” His voice broke and he whirled and marched out of the kitchen.

“Mikey, wait,” Jess pleaded.

He shook his head and brushed past her.

She glared at her other half. “Go after him.”

Michael shook his head. “Not this time, Jess. He needed to hear that. If he wants to throw a tantrum, let him.”

“Oh, for God's sake,” she said in disgust. She ran to the front door, hoping to catch Mikey, but of course she was too late. She got there in time to see his old Chevy roar off.

She marched back to the kitchen where Michael was pouring himself a glass of iced tea. “He's gone.”

“He'll be back,” said Michael, his voice hard. “You can't beat free room and board.”

“That was a mean thing to say.”

“It's the truth, Jess.”

Jess glared at him. “Well, right now he needs free room and board.”

“Right now he needs to grow up.”

Of course, Mikey needed to grow up, but he also needed their love and understanding and support. In the good times and the bad. “You didn't have to be so hard on him.” She opened the dishwasher and yanked out the top rack. For a moment she debated between putting the dishes away and throwing them at her husband. No sense ruining good dishes. She turned her back on him and went to work.

Michael sighed. “We're not doing him any favors letting him hang out at home and turn into a bum.”

“Everyone needs a favor once in a while,” Jess said, slamming a mug on the cupboard shelf. “Would you want me riding you about getting a job?”

Michael's brows dipped. “You're not comparing me to our son,
I hope. I'm looking, Jess. What's he doing?” He didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he took his drink and went to the family room. Back turned to her, he grabbed the remote and shot on the TV.

Jess shoved the rest of the dishes into the cupboard. One of her favorite mugs had gotten cracked. With a scowl, she tossed it in the garbage then let her anger propel her back into the living room. She sat down at the piano once more and began to bang. What was happening to them? They'd always been a happy family, a close-knit family. Now were a few financial troubles going to make them unravel completely? It sure looked that way. She banged harder and began to cry.

She cried off and on most of the night, and when her son still hadn't come home at two in the morning she cried some more. She tried his cell phone but only got his voice mail. “Mikey, just call and let me know you're okay,” she begged.

But he didn't.

He's asleep,
she told herself,
that's why he's not calling back.

But where was he sleeping, in his car? With a friend, of course, she assured herself. He was fine. Even if he wasn't there was nothing she could do. She had no idea where he was and he wasn't answering his cell.

She finally went to bed around three, where she tossed and turned. At some point she slept, but then she dreamed her son was huddled inside a dirty sleeping bag on a downtown street in Seattle, a few clothes parked next to him in an old grocery cart. She awoke with a sob. It was nearly six, useless to try and sleep now that she was freshly keyed up. Next to her, Michael, the tough love king, lay snoring. She felt a sudden urge to hit him. Instead, she got up, padded down to the kitchen, and made coffee.

Michael came down at six-thirty.

“Mikey never came home,” Jess greeted him with a punitive frown.

“He's fine, Jess. He's probably sacked out at one of his buddies'.”

“You need to call him,” Jess said, handing over a mug of coffee.

Michael shook his head, before taking a sip. “Not this time.”

“Michael. Our son didn't come home.”

“Our son is a big boy now. If he chooses not to come home that's his business.”

Her eyes filled with tears and she turned her back on her husband. All this misery to prove a point—Michael should be ashamed of himself.

“Jess,” he said softly, “I know this is hard. But you're not a man and there are some things you don't understand.”

“Well, then, thank God I'm not a man,” Jess snapped. “This is how people end up not speaking for years.”

“We'll be speaking,” Michael assured her. He kissed her on the cheek, took his mug, and left for work.

It was his last week. After this no one in the family would be working but her. She closed her eyes and had a sudden vision of all three of them lined up on that city street in their sleeping bags.

“Oh, stop,” she told herself. What a silly, unrealistic thought.

But the possibility of her husband and son growing increasingly estranged was not unrealistic. It fell like a stone into her heart. She went upstairs to shower and get dressed, hoping Mikey would call before she left to teach kinder gym. Otherwise, it was going to be a long, hard day, maybe the first of many.

Her son finally eased her anxiety, reporting in that afternoon just as she was settling down to watch Dr. Phil counsel people whose lives were worse than hers.

“Mikey, I've been so worried. Where are you?”

“I'm staying at Danny's,” he said, his voice stiff.

“For how long?”

“Till I get a job. Dan's mom says I can stay here as long as I want.”

Jess's heart cracked and she felt suddenly sick. They'd said that, too, and then Michael had changed the rules.

“Look, Mom, I gotta go,” said Mikey, his voice taut.

Jess sighed. “Okay. I love you.”