Stef Ann Holm (3 page)

The little boy, maybe eleven or twelve—Jacquie couldn’t be sure—looked intently at Drew. She’d never had kids and was no expert at figuring out how old they were, nor did she really care. The whole thought of kids… That subject was a bit touchy for her, anyway.

“Hey, mister, is that a Los Angeles Dodgers World Series cap?” he asked.

Drew tossed the magazine on the counter and turned. “Now, how’d you know that?”

“I seen the team emblem.” He pointed. “Right there.”

Taking off the hat, which was faded at the band by sweat, Drew held it out. “You want to see it?”

“Yeah!” The kid examined the hat every which way from Sunday, then hesitated, his hands shaking.

“You want to try it on?”

“Yes, sir!”

“G’ahead.”

The kid put the hat on, turned to his mother and beamed. “Mom, it’s a World Series hat.”

“I see that.”

Jacquie’s attention refocused on the woman. She was very attractive, tall and with generous C-cup breasts. A natural beauty, something that had always eluded Jacquie, who relied on cosmetics to bring out the best of her features. This woman looked as if she only wore a tinted moisturizer, blackest-black mascara and champagne-colored lip gloss. Dangling silver earrings swept through her long hair when she turned her head.

The front of her coat was open. Her clothes weren’t the latest style, but she carried them well for her body type, which was a cross between curvaceous and slender. A soft-stretch brown shirt with a V-neck and lower-rise jeans made her seem younger than she might have been. Jacquie could usually peg a woman’s age. She wasn’t sure now. Early forties?

“How’d you get this hat?” the boy was asking Drew, whose gaze had somehow gotten tangled up with the mother’s.

A quickening fanned through Jacquie. She never got used to when this happened; it cut every time. Drew wasn’t exactly a flirt; he didn’t have to extend the effort. Women came to him. He liked the attention, but he wasn’t a man-whore. He didn’t sleep around, or at least not that she knew about, but his gaze had strayed on more than one occasion. Seeing him look at this woman, Jacquie didn’t like the feelings erupting in her heart.

They went beyond jealousy. It was a primal fear. A deep and achy feeling that panicked her.

This was more than casual interest from Drew. And it was probably the first time Jacquie had seen him look at another woman like this.

His eyes grew hooded, sort of like that alpha-male dominant thing. The body language on him changed. He folded his arms, his chest grew broader, his smile seemed whiter and more disarming. The usual ease with which he carried himself appeared forced to her, as if he’d noticed something in this woman that he wanted to… Jacquie didn’t know. Impress? Which was asinine, because Drew Tolman wanted to impress everyone.

“I got it when I played in the World Series.”

“Oh wow—really?” The kid whooshed the words together, his mouth dropping open.

“Yep.”

“What’s your name?” The older one spoke up.

“Andrew Tolman.”

The taller of the two boys was now interested. “You used to play for the Dodgers.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Awesome.” The little boy looked up. “Mom, he’s a real baseball player.”

“Retired now,” Drew said, just as Opal came toward them with the brown bag of biscuits, grease spots dotting the outside.

“Here are you go, Drew. I won’t charge you for them since they’re going to Ada, and she’s going to kill me, anyhow. No point in taking money for my death.”

Drew laughed, the sound rich and deep. “Thanks, Opal.” Then to the boys, he said, “Do you both play baseball?”

“Yes, sir,” the youngest said.

“Yeah, I played it in high school,” the older one added.

“You on any leagues?”

“I was back home,” the littler one declared.

“What’s your name?” Drew asked.

“Matt. And that’s my big brother, Jason.” The younger boy took the woman’s hand, brought her forward.

Jacquie watched carefully, making a fast mental note. She was a fairly good reader of people, since she worked closely with them on real estate transactions. She could pretty much ferret out most any situation. In this case, divorce. No question. The younger one wanted to be Mom’s Helper, the man of the family. Jacquie couldn’t quite peg the older boy. He had the look of a rebel in his eyes.

“And this is my mom,” Matt stated.

Drew extended his hand. “Hi, Mom.”

The woman blushed; Jacquie clenched her teeth.

“I’m Lucy. Lucy Carpenter.” She took Drew’s hand, gave it a polite shake, then retreated a step to stand with her sons. “We just moved here.”

Just moved here.
The information caused Jacquie’s heart to miss a beat. This was no tourist. She was in town for the duration.

Shaking off a feeling of dread, Jacquie went on autopilot, took her card out of her purse and thrust her arm out. “I’m Jacquie Santini of Realty Professionals. If you need any assistance with anything, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

Lucy accepted the card. “That’s a nice photo.”

“Thank you.” Jacquie felt guarded. She knew she wasn’t all that photogenic, but the cards were top-notch. She’d spent a bundle on them.

Matt gave Drew his hat back. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing.” Drew settled the baseball cap on his head once more. “You guys need to try out for Little League. We’re drafting players for teams next Wednesday.”

He might have been talking to the boys, but his eyes were on Lucy.

Suddenly, Jacquie wasn’t in the mood for sex anymore. She felt cheap for even trying to manipulate it. The biting heat of tears threatened, and in her mind, she swore every sailor curse she knew.

“Baby, I need to go meet my client now. The painting will have to wait.”

Then, on an impulse, Jacquie threw her arms around Drew, kissed him soundly on the mouth, forcing herself not to linger and taste, to get her body revved up for nothing. The kiss wasn’t for Drew’s sake, or even her own. It was to show Lucy Carpenter this man was off-limits.

Jacquie stepped away from Drew and felt Lucy’s gaze on her. She smiled an internal smile of smug satisfaction. Especially when she lowered her eyes to the fly of Drew’s pants and saw that her little “goodbye” kiss had awakened him with a little “hello” that only she would notice.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” Lucy said, then took her two boys and guided them to a booth.

Walking outside, Jacquie found her Jaguar in the lot and took one last look at Drew, who was headed for his Hummer.

If she didn’t love him so much, she would have cared that he walked away without saying much more to her other than he’d see her around, call her later.

Fingering a cigarette out of the soft pack, she lit up.

But she did love him, and damn if it didn’t hurt like a bitch.

I met Drew Tolman for the first time when I was twelve years old. Momma and I were sitting on the porch sipping Dixie Colas when a big, shiny car pulled up to our curb. She wasn’t expecting him and she just about dropped the glass in her hand.

I remember him staring at me, then looking at Momma, then back at me and looking at me as if he wanted to turn me inside out, to have a better look.

I remember him saying he wanted Momma to take a test. She told him to go to hell.

I figured out something right then. If Drew Tolman was going to hell, I’d likely be going right after him. He was my kin, and I knew it.

I looked just like him, and the face in the mirror that stared at me every day finally made sense. We had the same muddy brown hair, the same hazel eyes, same mouth, and same skin color.

Before he came to see Momma that day, I knew his name was listed on my birth certificate.

I wanted to be his daughter, but he wasn’t ready to be my daddy. I heard him tell Momma that he had to figure out what he was going to do, that he wasn’t convinced on words alone.

Meeting him, I was convinced. I knew what he couldn’t accept.

I didn’t see him again until I was fourteen. By then, it was too late.

I didn’t want to be his daughter anymore.

There are things about a person’s biological composition that my teacher, Miss Oldenburg, says are genetics. You simply can’t change what the good Lord gave us. Miss Oldenburg is of the theological theory, not Mr. Darwin’s, when it comes to man’s creation. I’m of the same mind.

Ever since I was a little girl, I liked playing softball. I don’t know why I took to throwing a ball like that. I asked my momma and she said I was born to it. I never knew what she meant by that because my “daddy” was a long-haul truck driver and Momma didn’t have an athletic bone in her body.

If only I hadn’t found my birth certificate, Momma wouldn’t have had to tell me the truth and I’d still be thinking Bobby Wilder was my daddy.

Before I knew he was my dad, I’d heard of Drew Tolman. When I was seven, Momma took me to Vero Beach to watch the Dodger’s play a spring training game. After the last inning, she left me in the stands with my aunt Lynette and said to wait for her. Momma came back and I could tell she’d been crying. Her and Aunt Lynette spoke in quiet tones and I couldn’t understand them. Momma never took me to Vero Beach again.

Now I know a little bit of what happened on that day. She told Drew she’d brought me with her and she wanted him to see me. He wouldn’t do it.

What pain Momma must have felt….

If Bobby Wilder hadn’t left Momma and me, things might have been different.

Bobby was nice to me and Momma for a time and I liked him. Then he took off one day and we never heard from him again.

After Bobby left, I decided to make Momma a “feel better” card. She kept a big album of cutouts for scrapbooking. Pretty pictures from magazines. I looked in a book I thought had more clip outs, but it wasn’t for scrapbooking. It had some records in it. Important documents.

And my birth certificate where I read “Andrew Tolman” for the Daddy part.

I called Momma up at work and told her she had to come home right away. She did and I asked her why she lied to me about my daddy.

She said she never wanted me to find out this way. She was going to tell me. One day.

I asked Momma if Bobby knew he wasn’t my daddy and she said yes. I’m surprised Bobby went along with it for as long as he did. He wasn’t a bad father, he just had his own set of troubles and he hated living in Florida. He drove trucks for a living and I heard Momma and Aunt Lynette talking that Bobby had a woman in Georgia who he’d been seeing on the side.

Aunt Lynette would say, “Now, Caroline, you always knew nobody could tame Bobby Wilder into the married life and you had him for ten years.”

I don’t know if Momma ever really loved Bobby. I thought she did. And now I can’t ask her. She’s gone.

I miss my mother more than anything.

In February, when Drew came to Florida, I asked him two questions.

1. Why didn’t you want to see me when I was seven?

2. Why did you quit baseball?

He answered both with the same one-word answer:

Stupid.

I’d agree:

Drew Tolman, you are stupid.

E
ighteen years of her life. That’s how long Lucy was married to Gary, and the man left her for another woman.

It had been almost two years, and the burning reality still singed the skin right off her if she let the past fester. And sometimes she did.

Scrubbing the rust stains in the dingy porcelain sink, she thrust her best energy into the job, hoping to get the rejection out of her system. Sometimes it crept up on her, and she hated that feeling of helplessness, that weakness that made her doubt herself. She could tell herself Gary’s leaving had nothing to do with her, but the honest truth was, Lucy still beat herself up over it at the most inopportune times.

Right now she was questioning this move. She’d thought it through with a lot of care before making the jump, so why this doubt was hitting her she couldn’t exactly be sure. But it was there. And it wasn’t going away no matter how hard she jerked a sponge with cleanser over the rust.

Her life was like this sink. Tarnished in some spots, but without chips. She had survived, intact and whole. Or as whole as she’d ever been.

Gary had been the love of her life, her high school sweetheart. They’d met in the tenth grade, dated through graduation, had a parting of ways, lived independently until they got back together and married in 1987. For the most part, her marriage had been wonderful. She’d been so happy, especially after she’d had the boys.

Her husband doted on them and was a good father. But then, as the years passed, and one or two of his business ventures began to fail, he lacked the confidence she’d once found so attractive in him. He began to stay out a little later, go into work a little earlier. Five years ago, he’d had his first affair, and it about killed her.

The boys never knew what happened, but the tension in the house was so thick it was like an insecticide bomb that began to choke the life out of her marriage. She and Gary went to counseling, got more involved in their church, and things seemed to smooth over.

But Lucy never fully forgave him for the affair. Even though he said it only happened the one time. He’d been at a nearby bar and just gotten uninhibited after a night of drinking. Since he’d never really been a drinking man, she believed his story.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

Gary and the new woman Diane, lived a party lifestyle, always going out to clubs and bars, and then packing up and moving across the border—something Lucy was still suspicious about. Diane had plenty of money, so Gary didn’t have to worry about business capital and ventures anymore. Nor was his income what it had once been, so Lucy’s child support was practically nothing.

The state of Idaho based child support on an 80–20 custody arrangement, even though she had the boys one hundred percent of the time. It wasn’t fair. Gary’s $346.00 a month for two children didn’t stretch far. By the time they were done paying off some credit card debt with the equity in their house, the asset balance didn’t leave her much extra.

She’d taken every cent from the sale of the house and socked it away in the bank to tide herself over until she started getting some clients.

Falling into the personal chef field had been a fluke. One of her neighbors knew she liked to cook, and had asked Lucy if she could fix a meal for a party in her home. Lucy jumped on the opportunity, and it was a huge success. Word of mouth spread, and within six months Lucy had been cooking for nine families. The money wasn’t rolling in, but it had kept her and the boys in the black, and she’d made ends meet.

She could have made a reasonable living in Boise if Jason hadn’t taken a wrong turn. Maybe she was jumping the gun, but her son had changed when Gary left, and she was worried about him. The marijuana in his locker and the other incidents were ones she looked at very seriously. She’d had to make a choice. Leave him in a city where he had memories of a father who’d disappeared, or take him out and start them fresh.

The latter seemed her best option.

She liked Red Duck and she hoped things would turn around. Before she made the decision to move, she’d consulted with the only personal chef in town to get his take on potential business.

Raul Nunez was firmly established and had a heavily booked clientele list. He had his hands full, but he’d fitted her into his schedule and had met her for coffee. He’d been very flamboyant, very over-the-top and extremely candid about how much he made and who he cooked for. She’d found his personality rather saccharine. Artificially sweet to the point that her teeth ached as she listened to him go on and on about himself. But clearly, he had a knack for business, and had more than he could keep up with.

Funny how he hadn’t viewed her as a threat. She’d thought about it, and after the fact came to the conclusion he didn’t think she’d give him a run for his money.

She was here to prove him wrong.

In the Timberline area, cooking in people’s homes was like a fast-food drive-through to high schoolers at lunchtime. Many of the wealthy didn’t want to fight reservation lines in the town’s high-end restaurants when the tourist season was in full swing.

While she didn’t have any clients lined up yet, she’d left flyers all around town and on the grocery store bulletin board. So far, she’d received two calls. One from a woman who wanted to know if she could make Raul’s famous chicken adobo Friday night because Raul was already booked. And another asking her if she knew where Raul was, he wasn’t picking up his cell.

Certainly not the most promising leads, but while she’d had them captive, she’d mentioned she was available Friday night and made a delicious tuna Cozumel and beefsteaks with mustard-herb rub.

No takers. Not yet, anyway. She’d get them. She knew it only took one client to put the word out.

“Mom, where’s my skateboard?” Matt asked, standing in the living room surrounded by boxes.

She smiled at him. Her boy. He went with the flow, adapted easily, and he had such a good heart in him. Shaggy brown hair fell over his brows and he had a smattering of freckles on his face. He wore a pair of Levi’s and skater shoes, his T-shirt front dirty with the purple juice of a Popsicle he’d eaten after dinner.

“I’m not sure, honey. Try the porch.”

“That porch freaks me out. Is it going to fall down?”

“I hope not.”

The inside of the house was just as bad as the outside, and now that she was in the midst of it, Lucy could easily become overwhelmed. She hadn’t wanted to move in much of their furniture until she got things cleaned up.

Calling her rental a house wasn’t exactly accurate. It was more like a shack on the outskirts of a subdivision, but she tried to make it sound like an adventure to the boys. Matthew was young enough that he bought into it; Jason thought she was being lame.

The front room had a thick log pole in the middle to support the second-story loft, which was one large area—enough space for two twin beds and dressers. A balcony was attached to the loft so the boys could step outside and view the stars. The downstairs was comprised of a living room, kitchen, master bedroom and the only bathroom. The walls were in bad shape and needed paint. The pan on the hot water heater showed signs of rust, and when she turned the kitchen faucet on, the pipes reverberated through the wall of missing tile on the backsplash.

They had a wood-burning stove situated on cinder blocks, and it looked to be in decent shape. Bud had left firewood inside, as well as a woodpile toppling over at the side of the house. It would come in handy this winter. The floor planks were rough-hewn and, in spots, uneven. She’d have to figure out how to make the sofa not wobble once she brought it in.

In the bedroom, her girlie vanity appeared out of place beneath the elk head hanging on the wall. She didn’t have a ladder or else she would have taken it down.

But overall, the house wasn’t as dire as Jason had made it out to be when they were eating lunch today at Opal’s.

Lucy just hoped and prayed Jason would adjust and fit in. She wanted more than anything for her oldest son to rebuild his life after Gary. She’d had Jason in family counseling with her and Matt, but it hadn’t helped. People only got from counseling what they put in, and Jason had just sat on the chair and didn’t say a whole lot. He was filled with rage. She knew it, she sensed it. She didn’t think he’d do anything stupid, but she knew it stemmed from a deep-rooted hurt.

And the irony was—she, more than anyone else, understood. Because that’s how she’d felt about Gary’s leaving—but Jason couldn’t see through his own pain to reach out to her.

Patience, Lucy kept telling herself.

Patience and love.

She was here for her boys. She tried to remain upbeat and optimistic, even when she heard the crash outside.

Wiping her wet hands down the front of her shirt, Lucy ran out the front door.

Matt stood on the edge of the porch, his hands over his head to ward off something falling.

“What happened?” She made her way quickly to him.

He silently pointed.

The support post lay in the front yard, and the porch above him sloped dangerously low. Yanking him out of the way, she brought him toward the entry.

Jason filled the screen door, hands on the frame. He had that annoyed look on his face—the one that sometimes reminded her of Gary. She wanted to smack it away, but of course, she refrained.

With Matt safely tucked next to the cabin, Lucy went into the yard. “Jason, come out here and help me prop the post back up so the porch doesn’t fall down.”

They managed to get the post shoved back into position and as secure as she could wedge it for now. She’d have to tell Bud about it, or maybe get out her tools and try and fix it herself, since he already knew about it, and the deal was she was getting this place “as is.”

“What’d you do, you idiot?” Jason barked at his brother.

“Nuttin’! I just leaned on it looking for my skateboard.”

“It’s in our crap for a room.”

“Jason, that’s no way to talk,” Lucy exclaimed, reprimanding him.

Jason’s hair fell past his T-shirt collar. He glanced at her before stuffing his hands into his pockets, but didn’t apologize.

“Excuse me?” she said, waiting.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Then, as if the hostility of the world were on his shoulders, he blurted in a snappish tone, “But Matt was being a butthead to lean on the porch. This stink-hole place sucks the big one. I hate it here.”

Inhaling, Lucy counted to three. She knew if she spoke the first thoughts that came to mind, she’d regret it.

A moment later, and calmer now, she said, “Jason, I’m sorry you don’t like that we moved, but it was for the best, and I’m sure once we get settled in and you meet some friends, you’ll enjoy the change of pace.”

“No, I won’t. We don’t even have an Internet connection.”

That was true. The house was wired with an old, three-prong telephone system. Corded phones were anchored in the kitchen, master bedroom and even the bathroom. They weren’t connected. Thank goodness for cell phones. Maybe she’d have to get one for Jason. She’d been meaning to do so in Boise, but then he’d crashed his pickup. The insurance settlement should be in the mail soon, but it wasn’t much, since the truck had been a beater. At least she’d be able to replace the truck with something else, and he could drive Matt to school in the fall when she was working. But she was reluctant to get him a cell phone because that only meant he could tell her he was one place when he was at another. She’d have to have a land-line rule. He’d have to call from the place he was at when he checked in with her.

“Well, maybe I can see about having the house updated so we can hook up the computer.” She knew that was unlikely, but she wasn’t in the mood to get into it with her son.

It had been a long day. She was exhausted. The last thing she needed was to end her night with a confrontation.

But Jason knew just how to push her buttons sometimes, and he didn’t let up.

“No, you won’t. You’re just saying that so I’ll get off your back.” He picked up a rock in the yard—if you could call the span of gravel and rickety carport a yard—and threw it into the bushes. “You never follow through except when it’s to your advantage.”

Gritting her teeth, Lucy stood there. When he was little, she would have given him a spanking. Tears burned the backs of her eyelids. When he was little, he would never have talked to her this way. Her sweet baby boy had changed when he hit puberty, and he’d gotten worse, so much worse, after Gary left.

Damn Gary. Damn him to hell and back for doing this to them, to their sons. The man was an insensitive jerk, a loser with a bimbo for a girlfriend. He never saw his kids, never took them for pizza, or a sleepover, or any of the things a father should do.

Lucy knew if she stayed here, she’d lose it. She’d snap at her son and things would only get worse. Rather than say another word, she marched into the house, grabbed her purse and keys and went back outside.

Jason’s attitude put her in a mood that made her fight to stay sane. He was just so
angry
at the world and he wore her thin at times.

Matthew followed after her. “Where ya going, Mom?”

“To the grocery. I’m all out of cleanser.”

“I wanna come, too.”

She opened the car door, realizing she’d forgotten her coat and it was cold outside. Not taking the time to go back in and get it, she slid onto the seat. “No, you have to stay here.”

“I don’t want to. He’s being a brat,” Matt said, talking through the open window.

“Jason, you go upstairs and unpack those boxes in your room. I want it done by the time I get back. And don’t you go picking on your little brother or else you’ll be sorry.”

Without a word, Jason stormed into the house. Matt stayed in the yard as she put the car in Reverse. His chin lowered a notch to his chest.

The tears she’d been forcing back threatened to fall as she watched her youngest son in the rearview mirror. He sat on the steps of the porch and dropped his chin in his hands. She should have taken him with her, but she needed some alone time.

Guilt assailed her. She had to be there 24/7 for her boys, but there were times when she just couldn’t do it all. She was only one person, and if she didn’t have a moment to herself, she wasn’t any good to any of them.