As he turned to leave, he looked around the room one more time. “I can do without the house, but this room is worth whatever bullshit comes my way.”
24
“Try the angel hair,” Summer told the bewildered Asian couple who was having a devil of a time ordering off the menu. “It’s more delicate than thicker strands of pasta.” She smiled at the woman, and added, “And it pairs nicely with chopped tomatoes and basil.”
With guidance, the tourist couple completed the order and graciously thanked her for explaining American-Italian food.
“You have more patience than I do,” the head waitress muttered when they were together at the wait station for their section of the dining room.
Lucy Beck was head waitress because she knew how to keep the customers happy, had a knack for soothing ruffled egos in the kitchen, and was willing to tackle any shift. Summer applauded the woman’s work ethic. Lucy’s only shortcoming was that foreign accents rattled her. Not having an ear for language wasn’t her fault, and her lack of understanding was not biased in any way. She was as easily flummoxed by a Southern twang as she was by halting English in an Asian accent.
“It’s not patience,” Summer explained as they tidied up the bussing cart. “You just have to listen carefully. I dial down everything else except the person speaking. Even if you don’t understand every word, there are enough clues to get started.”
They stayed busy until Lucy rushed off to pick up an order. Summer did busy work until all her customers had their orders, and she could stop to catch her breath.
Keeping a close eye on the time, she made a mental plan for all the things she needed to do at work and on the way home. Two large bags of laundry sat in the back seat of her car.
There wasn’t enough time to stop at the laundromat and make it to Sherman Oaks by six, so she’d have to do the laundry at home. It’d take longer doing it one load at a time, but there was nothing she could do. The wash had to wait, but she had enough of a time cushion to make a quick stop at Trader Joe’s and Walgreens.
Reaching into the deep pocket of her waitress apron, she extracted tonight’s tip money and ducked into a corner to count the bills. They didn’t cash out the credit card tips till the end of the night, so what was in her hand only represented a portion of tonight’s haul.
Wow. More than fifty in paper and easily as much from the credit tips. A hundred-dollar night! Yippee. Temp waitressing at Papa Leo’s took care of her and Ari’s weekly expenses.
Arianne. She visualized her beautiful baby girl, and her heart melted. At just three months old, her daughter was already stopping people in their tracks. Adorably round and chubby, Ari had a sweet disposition, pale skin, blond wisps for hair, heart-shaped lips, and startling clear blue eyes.
Eyes just like her daddy’s.
Double aching jolts left her gasping. Thinking about the baby made her boobs fill until they hurt. At the same time, in a place south of her belly button, a fiery ache of need reminded her how she ended up in her current situation.
She met a man. A man she knew for four days. Four special, perfect days.
And. Then. He. Left.
No farewell, no warning, and no explanation. One minute, she was underneath his powerful body as he drove her to ecstasy with mighty thrusts and shouts of what she thought was love, and the next, his bags were gone and so was he. Lost in a love at first sight fantasy, she didn’t see the freight train until it plowed into her at full speed.
The phone in her pocket buzzed. It was the warning she programmed to go off as her shift was ending. Fifteen minutes.
Handing off her corner of the dining room to another waitress, she made a hasty but friendly exit. Hurrying to her car, she wasted no time and got on the road right away. The sooner she got through her errands, the sooner she’d pick up Ari from the sitter.
Twenty dollars and change at Trader Joe’s later plus another twenty-three for diapers and baby stuff at Walgreen’s was all it took to blow through today’s tips. Most of the remaining dollars would go to Mrs. Pak, the sweet French-Vietnamese grandmother who lived at the end of the block. She was best buds with Lynda and a stay-at-home sweetheart who loved babies and doted on Arianne. Summer was incredibly lucky to have a reliable babysitter.
No surprise but the traffic was a nightmare. Each mile took an eternity. She made it to Sherman Oaks in time to pick up the baby before Mrs. Pak’s husband returned from a local school where he volunteered as a crossing guard.
“Knock, knock,” she called out, entering the house through the kitchen door. “Mrs. Pak? I brought you a container of gnocchi.”
“I’ll be right there, Summer. We’re at the changing table. There’s an envelope of coupons on the counter for you, dear. Help yourself.”
Ooh, coupons. Yay. She placed the takeout container stuffed with fresh gnocchi, sauce, and meatballs on the counter and reached for the envelope.
“All right, all right, all right,” she hooted when three high-value coupons for tampons, Pampers, and cereal made her break out the happy dance. There was nothing like getting a deal on things she couldn’t do without.
“Look who’s here, sugar pea. It’s Mama.” Mrs. Pak’s happy smile as she shifted Ari into Summer’s arms gave Summer’s heart a grateful shimmy.
Covering Ari’s sweet face with smooches, she said hello to her baby daughter and felt joy wrap around them. “How’s my little sweetheart? Did you and Mrs. Pak have fun?”
“We sat out back and watched the butterflies. The monarch migration has been noticeable this year.”
“How lovely,” Summer murmured. “I read a story about how butterflies are close friends with angels. Probably silly, I know, but I like to think such things are possible.”
“Of course they’re possible,” Mrs. Pak scoffed. “Life would be coarse and uninspiring without the fanciful to bring joy and lightness.”
“I love how you put things.”
“Don’t be fooled,” the older woman joked. “I can swear up a storm in several languages and enjoy a good F-word explosion if the situation calls for it.”
Ari looked up at Summer’s face and blinked. Time slowed, and for a moment, it felt like she was gazing into the eyes of her baby’s father. She looked so much like Arnie that it was impossible to forget the man who abandoned them. All she ever had to do was look in Ari’s eyes, and there he was.
“I love the headband,” she told Mrs. Pak in a soft voice. “The cloth blossoms look so cute with her blond fuzz.”
“Little girls should dress like little girls. My ‘maman’ sewed many of my dresses. My sister’s too. There will be plenty of time for hiking boots and yoga pants when she’s grown. For now, celebrate her feminine side.”
Summer sniggered. “My brother would say you’re sexist. He’s into the whole gender-neutral movement.”
“Your brother is entitled to his truth. As are you.”
“I’ve always been a girly girl,” she admitted. “I think it might be a California thing. Grew up wearing biker shorts under my skirts and dresses once I figured out playing soccer and riding a bike kinda sucked unless you wore pants.”
“Smart girl. Never sacrifice style for practicality.”
They chatted while Mrs. Pak gathered Ari’s daily equipment. With the diaper bag stuffed full and her baby nestled safely in the carrier, Summer handed off a wad of bills, and said, “Thank you.”
“You know you don’t have to pay me,” Mrs. Pak griped. “You need this money more than I do.”
“I need to pay my way,” she firmly stated. “It’s important to me.”
Mrs. Pak tenderly touched Ari’s face and squeezed Summer’s arm. “You’ve got this.”
It took longer to strap the carrier into her car and get situated than it did to drive six houses away.
Pulling into her designated spot at the back of Bud and Lynda’s driveway, she scrambled from the car and opened the back door to extricate the carrier. A noise startled her. Banging her head when sh
e stood and turned at the same time, Summer scowled and rubbed her skull.
There was no movement anywhere on the street, which was odd. Because she definitely heard a distinctive sound—like the shutter of a 35mm camera.
Weighed down by bags and baby gear, she huffed and puffed from the car to the fenced entryway leading to the rear of the house. Squeezing through the gate took effort, but she managed not to drop the baby or a single bag.
In the small vestibule leading to the Gerry’s side door and her front door, Summer and set the baby carrier down so she could fish the apartment key from her pocket.
“Look, sweetie. Remember when we decorated our door? Mr. Snowman looks so happy to see you!”
Using black construction paper and masking tape, she cut different sizes of snowman circles—enough for eyes, a smiling mouth, and buttons. She had enough of the craft paper to also fashion a top hat. Without a piece of orange construction paper for the pointy nose, she put her creativity to use and cut the nose from a piece of copy paper she colored with an orange highlighter. A shiny red plaid wired ribbon provided a nicely accented scarf.
If the whole project cost more than two dollars, she’d be amazed. Her next creative endeavor was going to be Valentine’s decorations. She looked forward to the years ahead when she and Ari could make things together.
Inside the apartment, she quickly put away the groceries and scooped Ari out of her seat. This was the best part of the day whenever she had to work or was apart from her baby for any length of time.
Kicking off her waitress sneakers, she sat on the sofa and cradled her daughter. Ari smiled, and all was right in the world.
The sound of a kerfuffle in the backyard drew her attention to the large window overlooking the pool and patio. She spied Bud scurrying back and forth, waving his arms and swearing loudly.
“Doesn’t sound good,” she softly murmured to Ari.
Placing the baby in a cradle swing, she strapped her in safely and set the rocking motion to slow. Ari was immediately mesmerized by the mobile of pastel-colored animals.
Summer opened the back door and stepped out. Bud was using his phone to video something, and he was also cussing like a longshoreman.
“I see you, ya little fucker! Whatcha lookin’ at, huh? Who’re ya spying on? There’s an ordinance against this shit. You just wait. Blow your fucking techno ass right outta the sky.”
Whoa. Bud was lit.
She glanced up and searched the sky. “What’s going on?”
Bud lowered his phone and grumbled out an explanation. “Some fucker is sending a drone up. Every damn day. Sometimes more than once. Check this out.”
She peered at his phone wide-eyed. Holy crap. He was right. It was hard to see at first until the video zoomed in, and then, yep, there it was. Plain as day.
“I thought maybe it was a construction drone or one of the fancy camera drones used by realtors. The new houses a couple of streets over seemed likely culprits, but when I chatted up the foreman, he told me they already took aerial photos, so it wasn’t them.”
“Kids? Maybe it was a Christmas present.”
“Maybe,” Bud grumped. “But whoever or whatever—there are ordinances, and ya can’t be flying shit like it’s a surveillance camera.”
Surveillance? She squinted at the sky. Well, damn. She didn’t like the sound of that. She and Ari spent a lot of time in the walled-off outdoor sanctuary. The space was like a second larger outdoor living room.
The baby let out a lonely squawk. Summer started for the door and turned at the last second to see Bud’s thumbs moving with furious speed as he composed what looked like a serious text.
“What’s happening, sweetie? Did you miss Mommy?” Lifting Ari from the swing and onto her shoulder, she cuddled her close.
A single knock was the only warning before the apartment door flew open, and Lynda marched in.
“Sorry to barge in,” she exclaimed in a harried voice. “It’s an ice cream emergency.”
Lynda yanked open Summer’s freezer and grabbed the container of contraband Häagen Dasz. Before she could stop her, a spoon loaded with the guilty pleasure was in her friend’s mouth. As if on cue, the backyard door opened, and Bud strolled in.
“I put the umbrella up for you, hon. It’ll give you and the baby some privacy.” Bud realized Lynda was across the room and smiled at her for a second. “What are you doing here? I thought you were getting our tax paperwork together for the accountant.”
Lit-er-ally caught with a spoon in her mouth and a container of forbidden ice cream in her hand, Lynda attempted to appear innocent and hide what she was up to.
Bud, however, wasn’t having it. “What’s in your mouth?”
Summer and Ari looked from him to Lynda as she swallowed and came back with a guilty smile. “Nothing.”
“Uh-huh. And I suppose the Ben & Jerry’s in your hand is also nothing?”
Distracted by a golden opportunity to prove her hubby wrong, Lynda unthinkingly held the container up and waspishly muttered, “Say it with me. Häa—gen Dasz,” she enunciated with nitpicky emphasis.
For a couple married as long as these two, the rookie mistake on Lynda’s part came as a surprise. The gotcha satisfaction glowing on Bud’s face was all Summer needed to figure out he set his wife up to unknowingly confess.
Ari’s head swiveled. She looked at Summer with a baby smirk. Did she know that Uncle Bud was smart, but Mommy was way more clever?
Probably.
Sighing with Broadway-worthy emphasis, she opened a cabinet in the little kitchen island to pull out several boxes of Little Debbie Christmas Tree Cakes—Bud’s bounty from a shopping spree of post-holiday sale items at Target.
She waved a box and then tossed it to Bud. He caught it with one hand despite the beginning of a barking laugh. “Busted!” He chuckled.
Summer gave them both a look. “And for the record? When your daughter visits? She stashes her dispensary purchases here. I thought to keep you guys from knowing until one time Brigit told me it was to stop the sampling.”
Lynda snorted out a big laugh. “Those damn edibles get me every time. Bye-bye menopause mania and hello nicer human being.”
My goodness, but she really and truly had come to adore these two wonderful people. Brigit, too. They were a solid gold family.
Shifting the baby into the crook of her arm, Summer used her free hand to gesture in a circle. “This apartment? It’s Switzerland, okay? Neutral territory and exactly why you stash your naughty items here.”
“Well, not all the naughty items,” Lynda muttered with an eyebrow-wagging snicker.
Those saucy words were Summer’s cue to laugh and throw them the hell out. “That’s it! Scram! Vamoose! Both of you. I’m not here for your couple’s kink.” She pointed at the door while Ari cooed.
Bud gestured over his shoulder to the backyard door. “I’ll leave the way I came in.”
Lynda was already inching for the exit after putting her ice cream back in the freezer. She gave her husband a toodle-oo finger wave and winked at Summer.
In a conspiratorial whisper, she said, “Romantix down on Van Nuys Boulevard. Whatever floats your boat, and if they don’t have it in stock, they’ll order it.”
Alone in her apartment, baby in her arms, Summer blushed the color of a strawberry when a kaleidoscope of sexy scenarios paraded through her mind and sparked a wildfire in her dormant lady parts.
Dragging the family to Connecticut in the dead of winter and then forcing everyone into close confines for multiple days was a recipe for disaster. The explosion, when it happened, was every bit as impressive as Arnie knew it would be. What was unfortunate, though, was how quickly the family’s collective ire was directed at him. In a way, it was funny. Why? Because he was the one least interested in the chosen one designation.
“Watch your back, son.”
He met his father’s concerned gaze and straightaway set to put his old man’s mind at ease.
“M
y back is never exposed,” he muttered with sneering solemnity. “Many have tried. All have failed.”
“To date,” his father replied emphatically. “But you’re still susceptible. Nobody is impervious.”
“Why the concern? What’s happening in your mind?”
There was no time to answer, and none was needed when holy hell broke loose somewhere on the first floor. Angry voices and slamming doors got them both on their feet and moving swiftly in the direction of the disturbance.
They passed Darnell Senior. He was at the big desk in his home office. Both French doors were open, and his expression read as concerned. “I think she’s finally lost it,” he called out as they marched past.
His dad walked faster, and muttered, “Shit.” The man’s anxiety slammed into Arnie like an offensive footballer.
“You can’t speak to me like that.”
Giselle’s shrill, venomous screech made them stumble to a swift halt. His dad put out an arm to stop Arnie from moving forward. He then turned his head, looked at him, and put a finger to his lips. “Shh.”
Positioned in a corner of the butler’s pantry, they didn’t have a view of the escalating confrontation, but they could hear most of it.
Another voice belonging to Giselle’s lawyer-on-a-leash answered in a tone best described as glacial.
“I told you what would happen if you tried to play me.”
“This has nothing to do with you, Bruce. Back off.”
“Nothing?” The lawyer snorted derisively. “Get real. It won’t matter to a jury that you went rogue behind my back. I’m implicated, and you know it.”
“I’ll kill you if you get in my way.”
Arnie’s dad gasped. His face was ashen as he mouthed, “What the fuck?”
Surprisingly, the lawyer sounded unimpressed by Giselle’s threat.
“Your villainy ends here. I told you from the start where the line was. Blaming others because you went too far is pathetic.”
Giselle’s comeback was a blatant attempt to bring her lawyer back on board. “There’s a lot of money at stake. If my plan works, I’ll be the one holding all the cards.”
Finding Summer (Nightwind Book 3) Page 46