Think Before You Speak (25 page)

The Adam’s apple bobbed with the reminder of
his wife. Damn my diseased mouth. “It isn’t that. My mother stopped
by on her way home from…a meeting after you called.”

Meeting my ass. Try an appointment with
poison control. “You mean she came down from her heavenly heights
to grace the lowly masses with her presence?” I joked, trying to
skirt the subject of his deceased wife and unborn son.

“Hey, she’s still my mom,” he argued with a
smile stretched across his mug.

“Yeah, and I know how parents can be.”

“She wasn’t too happy when she saw I’d traded
out the BMW for a
lesser quality
vehicle. Imagine I’ll be
hearing from Dad shortly.”

“Wait, weren’t they the ones who introduced
you to the Ford Company when you turned eighteen?”

The smile dissolved into a chuckle. “Things
have changed a bit in the years I was gone. Apparently Ford is
considered a lower class of vehicle to today’s
discerning
buyer.”

“I could’ve told you that,” I quipped. “I’m a
Chevy girl myself.”

Bobby shook his head. “When I told them I’d
put the cash difference into my new ministry, Mom kinda went
off.”

“What’s it her business what you do with the
proceeds? It was
your
car.”

“That
they’d
bought for when Amy and I
moved here to take over the children’s ministry at their
church.”

The use of
their
instead of
our
church was either a rather glaring error in word choice or an
indication of Bobby’s change of heart where his parents’
theological leanings resided. After our conversations before and
after his wife’s death, I was reaching toward the latter. I hoped I
was around when that particular fallout occurred. Dennis and Mary
Jo’s reactions to Bobby’s stand against their closely held belief
in the Santa Claus Savior would be a sight that would carry me into
eternity and beyond.

“Whose name was on the title?” I asked.

“Mine,” Bobby clarified. “We hadn’t gotten
around to adding Amy’s name before…you know.”

Wow. I knew the elder Vernets hadn’t liked
Amy, but leaving his wife’s name off of the vehicle title? How
blatant could you get?

Wisely, I left those thoughts alone. “Then it
was
your
car and therefore
your
money to do with as
you saw fit. Case dismissed.”

“Nice use of the legalese, Judge Vicki.” A
tilt of the head as if studying the situation, then Bobby took a
turn toward the serious. “Have you ever thought about quitting the
bar scene and becoming an attorney?”

I didn’t even have to think about that one.
“Uh, that would be no. I’m not into the monetary mooching and
brown-nosing that usually comes with that job description.”

“There’s more to it than making money and
aiming for partner at a big law firm by the time you’re
thirty.”

I snorted. “With my luck, I’d be disbarred
before I even
passed
the bar.”

Bobby shrugged. “Something to think about
then.”

“Hardly,” I muttered.

He sat back in the chair and crossed his legs
like a psychologist preparing for a therapy session. “So career
aspirations aside, you said you wanted to talk about something. Was
it the whole gang thing, because I’ve gotta be honest with you, I
haven’t had much luck so far with those currently in the prison
system.”

“That’s okay, Sigmund Fraud. I’ve got what I
needed on that front.”

“Eloquent as always,” Bobby said with another
chuckle. “So what did you want to talk about?”

Let’s see. There was Mom, Janine, Zeke,
Reggie and the blackmail, Grady – oh, and now Seth and his
nocturnal excursions, not to mention Radioman’s rejection Sunday
night. Where should I begin?

My mouth opened – and nothing came out. I
opened it again, then summarily closed it a second time. I probably
looked like a fish trying to suck oxygen from dry land.

What was wrong with me? I was the expositor
extraordinaire. The mouth-off menace. The girl with a severe case
of foot-in-mouth disease. With everything going on in my life, I
didn’t even know where to begin.

“Okay,” I started. “There’s Janine.”

Bobby straightened. “What about Janine?”

The damn – er, dam – burst and my words came
flowing out in a torrent. “I mean, she’s my best friend, but
sometimes I wonder why she puts up with me. We barely have anything
in common anymore. I drag her around, getting her into all sorts of
scrapes and into trouble with her mother. I’m always pulling her
away from important things like working on her thesis. All summer,
I’ve barely talked to her, much less seen her, except to ask her to
watch Slinky for me while I traipsed down to San Antonio with some
boy bimbo, who’s only interests in life are sex and fashion.”

“Vicki, I…”

“Speaking of fashion,” I continued with nary
a breath, “my relationship with Mom has devolved into nothing more
than a once-a-week fashion show extravaganza. She spends all this
money on me, buying this latest trend and that label, when there
are starving children in India who would give anything for just a
bite of a bacon cheeseburger. I’ve recently moved back into my
apartment, which she also paid Reggie top dollar to remodel, and
already my closet is full of this season and next season’s clothes,
with no room for a winter or spring wardrobe.”

I was babbling at that point, but I’d lost
complete control of my mouth. Bobby just sat back and let me
continue.

“Then Reggie’s asked me to help him with…” I
actually caught myself – for a second. “…something life-altering,
and I can’t even seem to do that right. The only suspect I’ve been
able to come up with is Lorraine Padget, but then I wonder if
that’s only because of our lifelong animosity toward each other and
the fact that she muscled in between me and Zeke.”

“Zeke? I thought…”

“And of course, anything where Zeke is
concerned has me flashing so fast between hot and cold, I feel like
a middle-aged woman in the throes of menopause.”

I proceeded to share about the whole Zeke and
Lorraine fiasco of yesteryear. Throughout my monologue, Bobby
nodded and silently encouraged me to continue until I spilled not
only my guts but my pride as well. After all these years, I was
reminded again of how easy Bobby and I had conversed and
commiserated with one another – until the
incident
had
placed a wedge between us.

But somewhere along the way, the wedge had
dissipated until all that was left was a friendship. A real
friendship. Then I remembered that Bobby was now a minister, and
all those old fears of what that institution had done to me came
flying back. But this was
Bobby
, after all – and the man I’d
grown up with would never betray a secret.

‘Course it didn’t hurt that I knew a few of
his too.

When I finally stopped talking before the
cows came home to roost – or is that crows? – Bobby got a word in.
“Are you still in love with Zeke?”

“No, but…” I stopped and gave the matter a
little more thought before continuing. “No, I’m not in love with
Zeke. I’d hoped that after all these years and the time we spent
together to help you that maybe we could be friends again…you know,
like we have.”

A soft and understanding smile tugged at the
corners of his mouth. “But…”

“But every time we’re around each other,
conversation devolves into a fight, and I inevitably bring up the
great Lorraine debacle.”

“Have you ever asked Zeke his version of what
transpired that night?”

I sighed. “Mom asked the same question. The
short answer is no.”

“And the long answer?”

“Involves name calling, hat tossing, a few
fisticuffs…”

“Zeke hit you?”

“No,” I admitted sheepishly for the second
time that day. “That was me and Lorraine before she ended up taking
a swim.”

Bobby coughed. I gave him the evil eye to let
him know this was not a laugh-out-loud moment. I think he got the
message.

“Do you think hearing his explanation might
help you forgive him once and for all?” Bobby asked.

I shrugged. “It might.”

“I think that’d be a good place to
start.”

But how in the world would I bring up such a
topic next time I saw Zeke? The last couple of times we’d talked
things had ended up worse than before. I didn’t take too kindly to
being called stupid – directly or implied.

But we had to start somewhere. Maybe I could
invite him over for dinner, but then he might get the wrong idea,
and I was exploring a potential relationship with Radioman. That
vein didn’t need additional complications – like how he did or
didn’t fit in with Seth’s present antics. Then I also needed to
insure Nick knew things were over between us to avoid any other
complications from that sector.

Damn. In trying to simplify my life where men
were concerned I’d done nothing but add to the complications. My
head pounded like a drumbeat in a call to arms at the Alamo.

Bobby leaned forward and patted my knee. “Can
I tell you what I see in your relationship with Janine?”

I cringed. “Do I even want to know?”

“I see two women who remain devoted to a
friendship that has spanned a lifetime and the changes that come
with it. You’ve helped Janine learn to live a little, to let her
hair down and release the pressures of a family situation where
perfection is demanded. In turn, she offers you a constant, a
stable rock to go to when your life gets a little…how shall we
say?”

“Chaotic?” I added.

“Challenging,” he offered with wink.

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“Now about your mom,” Bobby said. “It’s clear
from your admission that your relationship with her now has a
chance to mature.”

“Mature?” I reiterated. “What’s that supposed
to mean? That we’ve had an immature relationship?”

“No, no. Wrong choice of words on my part.
How about grow? Blossom into a more satisfying friendship.”

“But she’s my mom.”

“And you’re her daughter,” Bobby clarified.
“At some point, every parent-child relationship hits a crossroads
where the child severs the umbilical cord to make her own way in
the world, and the parent-child dynamic changes.”

An image of the old birthing videos we’d seen
in school returned to haunt me. “Umbilical cords? Did you have to
use such an icky analogy?”

Bobby laughed. “The message is essentially
the same. And yes, it can get icky for awhile.”

“But I moved away from my parents years ago,”
I countered. “I didn’t just sever that umbilical cord, I fried it
on the parental altar until it burnt to a crisp.”

That got me a wrinkled nose in response. Hey,
turnabout’s fair play.

“But it sounds like your mom never really let
go and started using financial gifts as a means to stay
connected.”

“Financial blackmail is more my dad’s
department.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Bobby said. “But it
sounds like you and your mom have gotten stuck in a familiar rut.
Didn’t she pay for a complete remodel of your place?”

“Sure, but…”

“Top of the line appliances?”

I nodded.

“And she buys you something new
every
week?”

“More than just something,” I admitted.

“Even if you don’t need anything?” Bobby
prodded.

Acid churned a hole in my stomach. “I see
what you’re saying.”

“She’s been concerned for your safety lately,
but it sounds to me like she’s trying to compensate for something
in there somewhere.”

“And I’m taking advantage of her guilt.” I
sighed.

Bobby’s warm hand gripped mine. No zing at
his touch. No trembling in my nether regions – and that made me
about as happy as a placekicker after a three-point conversion. The
change in my relationship with Bobby offered hope that my
relationships with others could change for the better as well.

“Maybe it’s time to find something new to do
together,” Bobby said. “Something that doesn’t involve
shopping.”

“Like what?” I asked in baffled
frustration.

“Your parents have many philanthropic causes
they support, right? Didn’t your mom once work as a nurse?”

“Briefly,” I admitted.

“Maybe you could spend your Tuesdays doing
volunteer work at one of the hospitals.”

My turn to wrinkle my nose, anticipating
those antiseptic smells, sponge baths, and bedpans. Between that
and umbilical cords, someone get me a barf bag – stat.

Bobby must’ve sensed my reaction. “Or
something else,” he said quickly. “There are lots of volunteer
opportunities available out there.”

And just like severed umbilical cords, they
all sounded icky.

“Talk to your mom,” Bobby continued. “I’m
sure you’ll figure out something. There’s more to life than just
money, Vic.”

Yeah. Try telling that to the sperm donor –
and my mom’s black AmEx.

With thoughts of umbilical cords, bedpans,
and Mom running through my head, I’d almost forgotten about Reggie
until he texted Wednesday afternoon while I was getting ready for
work. The bedroom furniture had arrived a day early, and he had the
manpower available to deliver it late Thursday afternoon if I
wanted. Set-up would take an hour or two and then he’d stay to
discuss
circumstances
.

No matter how much Reggie dreamed of becoming
the next James Bond, he’d never make a good spy if he couldn’t be a
little more discrete in his correspondence. Circumstances? Even if
no one else knew about the blackmail, that particular word in place
of a more normal one would pique the average human’s interest.

I replied with a thumbs up and wrote that I’d
be at the bar tonight if he wanted to swing by. Then I tossed
Rochelle a text to see if she wanted an extra night of bartending
duty tomorrow evening in case Reggie and I went long.