“No computer? These days—”
“I know, I know.”
In the kitchen, he asked, “You actually cook on this old thing?” of the stove and, sensing her defensiveness, quickly added, “I like the curtains.”
She tried to make quick work of the bedrooms, a perfunctory look at Aiden’s, small and cluttered, and matter-of-factly, “This is mine,” standing in the doorway.
“Where did you get the bed?” he asked.
“My parents gave it to me—it belonged to my grandparents.”
“It looks like a real antique. I love old mission-style furniture.”
“Me too.” Something else they had in common.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he said after he’d seen everything. “Do you have a lease or is it month to month?”
Exasperated, she stood her ground. “I know why you’re asking. Stop rushing things. I’ll be here a long while yet, no matter what happens between us. We need to take this one step at a time.” As if they hadn’t already skipped a few.
“Fair enough,” he said. He kissed her quickly. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
As soon as he was gone, she got into the pickup and drove to Alix’s. Aiden didn’t run out this time. Alix’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and she didn’t recognize the one parked in front of the house. She was earlier than she had predicted and hoped they weren’t out somewhere. She looked at her watch. Alix would be at the grill—Sunday was not a day when she was likely to leave her staff on their own—but she had promised not to park Aiden there the whole time.
She knocked and immediately heard running feet. Sasha opened the door. “What did you bring me?” she asked.
“That’s a fine greeting!” Teresa said.
Sasha giggled. “Hi,” she said. “What did you bring me?”
“I brought you some saltwater taffy.”
“Yay!” She ran into the living room, and Teresa followed more slowly. At the dining room table, Aiden sat dispiritedly in a chair with playing cards in his hand. He looked up and immediately dropped the cards and threw himself at her, wrapping his arms tight around her waist. She ruffled his hair and looked up again at the table.
On the far side, seated calmly with her cards spread in a pretty, precise fan, was Lacey Norman.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” was all Teresa could say.
Lacey laughed and stood up. “Hello, Terry,” she said.
“Don’t call me Terry.” She wanted to say, Why are you here, you skuzzy whore? She settled for, “Don’t you have a job?”
Lacey laughed again. “Don’t worry. Alix asked me to drop them off, but your babysitter is on the way.”
Teresa dug out her new phone. Frank had set it up so she was able to tap Chelsea’s name on her frequent calls list. There was a brief wait while she hoped Chelsea was steering her bicycle off the road. “I’m home,” she said. “Sorry for the false alarm. I’ll pay you extra next time.”
“Okay,” Chelsea said cheerfully. “No problem.”
Teresa hung up. “Why are you still here?” she asked Lacey.
“Why are you such a bitch?” Lacey asked coolly. She tossed her cards on the table, picked up her purse, and left. “’Bye, kids,” she called at the door.
“Lacey said bitch,” Sasha said. She signed it to Aiden, but he wasn’t looking.
“Mama,” he said plaintively, looking up tearfully at her. “No more trip.”
“No,” she agreed. “No more trips without you. I missed you so much!” He clung so fiercely she couldn’t help feeling terribly guilty. Sasha tugged at his arm and signed, “Candy.”
“Yes, I brought you some saltwater taffy.” She fingerspelled t-a-f-f-y to be sure he understood—she didn’t know a sign for it.
He let go of her and signed, “Go home?”
“Yes, we’ll go home now. Do you want to come with us and spend the night, Sasha? I can take you back to the grill if you want.”
“I’ll go with you,” she said eagerly. She gathered up the playing cards and ran into her bedroom.
“Sasha kicks,” Aiden said. He signed, “In bed.”
“We’ll go home and sleep in our own beds,” she said. “Sasha can have the couch. Thank you for saying good night to me last night. It made me feel better. Did you have a good time?” He nodded, but reluctantly. “What did you do?”
“We play games,” he signed. “Go to park. Swings.” He brightened. “Chuck E. Cheese,” he said aloud.
Sasha returned with her backpack. “Did you get your toothbrush?” Teresa asked. “Clean underwear?” Sasha nodded. She was a good little traveler.
In the pickup, Aiden was more relaxed, and he and Sasha filled her in on the details of their weekend. Teresa wanted to hear every word, but underneath she seethed with anger. How could Alix leave her child with Lacey, of all people, even briefly? She didn’t expect Alix to fire the girl—she was a decent waitress, and the customers liked her—but this was too much. She also thought Aiden was holding something back. Something was making him unhappy. Maybe he was angry with her for leaving him.
She was glad to sleep in her own bed. Be it ever so humble… She thought about Frank with a certain wariness at first, and then she let herself remember the pleasure…
Chapter 10
Monday morning’s Independent had the name of the Yaholo woman who had been buried on the bank of Big Devil Creek. She was reported missing by her concerned family, certain she was the victim of foul play, but her friends told the police she might have left town voluntarily with the new man in her life. She was an adult, and there was no evidence to go on, so not much had been done to find her. With Wade Linedecker eliminated by the timing, there were no immediate suspects in her murder.
“I am sorry,” Alix said, over coffee in Teresa’s kitchen after the children had been delivered to school. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, and I thought what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. You know, Lacey’s not a bad person. It’s not like she would corrupt our kids. She just gave them a ride and played a game of Crazy Eights with them.”
“She raises her voice when she talks to Aiden,” Teresa said. “I hate that.” She knew she was being petty. It wasn’t as if Lacey was a predatory seductress. It took two to tango.
“She means well,” Alix said vaguely. “While I’m apologizing, I should tell you something else you won’t like—if Aiden didn’t tell you?”
She shook her head. He was holding something back, after all.
“Brett came by. I know you don’t want him to see him, but maybe it was a good thing—”
“You let him talk to Aiden?” Her anger rose again. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours, of course. He told me not to tell you, but I thought you should know. He was only there for a few minutes, and I wouldn’t let him talk to him alone, and I think all he wanted was to say he was sorry and missed him. Maybe it’s better if Aiden doesn’t feel like he abandoned him completely.”
She shook her head. “It made him sad, and if it raised his hopes—”
“Well, you know, Terror, a lot of couples can get past infidelity issues.”
“You are on his side.”
“No, I’m on yours. Always. I’m just saying. You know, kids can blame themselves for a breakup, so I think it’s better if he knows Brett wishes they could still be friends.”
“Which puts all the blame on me.”
“No, it doesn’t, and he didn’t say anything against you. I know we don’t always see eye to eye on child-raising, but I won’t do anything against your wishes.” She sipped her coffee and looked at Teresa. “Anything more, I mean.” She shrugged. “It’s not like I asked him to come. I just didn’t see the harm.”
“I think he’s the one who should apologize to both of us. He put you on the spot, and it was really sneaky to try to do it behind my back.”
Alix patted her hand. “Thanks, Terror. I knew you would understand. Now tell me about your weekend!”
“It was good.”
“Good as in okay or good as in everything you always wanted out of life?”
“Somewhere in between.”
“Uh-huh. So…you shaved your legs, didn’t you?”
“We went to the beach. I wore my shorts.”
“Oh, you did it, didn’t you? Yeah, I can tell. Oh, Terror! Well, good for you—you could use a little liberation.”
“I’m as liberated as the next girl.”
“Yeah, right. So…was he good?”
“You know I’m not going to answer that,” Teresa said. She looked into her steaming coffee cup. “Yes.” She felt herself blush.
“Yes?” Alix asked eagerly.
“Yes. End of discussion.”
“Details, details!”
“No details, but…Best. Foreplay. Ever.”
“Really?” Alix asked enviously. “He looked like he’d be in a hurry.”
“He is kind of trying to rush the relationship. He asked me to marry him.”
“He did not! Was he joking?”
“It was hard to tell. Probably. But he—well, maybe it’s just me. It’s like he’s ready to take charge of my entire life. Maybe I’ve been too independent for too long. I was the same way with Brett—maybe that’s why he wanted out. Maybe I pushed him away.” It was tempting to blame herself or Lacey and forgive Brett, but the hurt ran too deep, and now she had moved on.
“Don’t start blaming yourself. Brett was a very bad boy. Anyway, like I told you before, you have to tell Frank if he’s going too fast for you. You know rushing things is one of the signs of an abuser.”
“He certainly isn’t abusive, physically or verbally. He treats me like a queen. It would be nice to think he actually fell in love with me at first sight—why is that so hard for me to believe?”
“Low self-esteem?”
“As in I don’t deserve such a hot guy, et cetera, et cetera? Maybe.”
“Frank is a catch. Good-looking, sexy, has a good job—”
“A dangerous job.”
“For which he is paid handsomely. He could afford to keep you in a style to which I would love to see you become accustomed. He’s perfect.”
Teresa looked into her coffee cup again. “Pretty nearly,” she said, but she had waited too long.
“What?” Alix was entirely too eager.
She was sure the bondage suggestion was in the category of private things that should remain between her and Frank, but she was so used to talking to Alix about whatever troubled her. “He wanted to tie me up,” she confessed.
Alix stared at her. “Oh. My. God. Did you let him?”
“No, of course not.”
“Oh, yeah, what was he thinking? Nice church-going, small-town girl like you?”
“I’m not a prude. Between consenting adults—you know, whatever floats your boat. But I don’t want to do it.”
“Yeah, okay.” Alix considered. “Might be fun,” she said. “I mean I might go for it with a hot guy like that.”
“I thought you were through with men.”
“Yeah,” she said regretfully. “They do come with a few drawbacks. Fun to dream, though. If you decide you don’t want him…”
Teresa laughed. As usual, Alix had made her feel better. “Let me show you what we bought. Or what Frank bought. All I got was postcards and a stupid coffee mug for him.” She brought out the packages and gave Alix the fudge and saltwater taffy. “I let the kids have one piece last night,” she said. “I know Sasha prefers the licorice, but we can do half of each if you want. The fudge is for my very best friend, of course.”
“My favorite! Thank you!”
“He bought these shirts for Aiden—this one changes color in the sun—and a silly stuffed fish, which he loved. That kid is so easy! I got these two shirts at a place where you have them made to order while you wait. I would have bought you one, but I know you never wear them.” She held up the T-shirts.
“Nice. And Frank paid for all this?”
“Yes, and he picked one out—oh, it’s in the laundry. Let me get it.” She went out and returned with the light blue V-neck.
“Pretty color,” Alix said. “What are those nasty things?”
“They’re sea anemones, and I think they’re beautiful. Alix, he noticed I liked them best—I didn’t say anything.”
“Cops are trained to be observant.”
“It’s a little tight, but—”
“It’s cute. No, what it is is sexy. He probably wanted it tight. You know what this means—he doesn’t mind you looking sexy. He won’t be super jealous when other guys look at you. I like that in a man.”
“Oh, and this.” She held up the blue bracelet. “It’s not diamonds, but I like it, and he was so sweet about it.”
“You are so lucky.” Alix sighed. Teresa did feel lucky now—was it Frank, or was it her friend’s approval?
“Yeah—and oh, I haven’t shown you the—I’m not sure if it’s the best or the worst part.” She retrieved her purse and showed her the smartphone. “He got a phone for Aiden, too. I didn’t give it to him yet, but Frank said it would be good because he could text me instead of depending on somebody else to relay on the phone.”
“Good idea,” Alix approved. “Wow, Teresa, this is some phone. You know you can do e-mail and internet on it too.”
“Not if I don’t pay for a service provider.”
“Yes, you can. Look—it has 4G. He must have paid for the plan, too.”
“I can’t let him do this—can I?”
“I would.”
“He kept saying I wasn’t obligated and he knew I couldn’t be bought, he likes to spend money to make people happy, and so on.”
“He just gets better and better. High five, girl, you scored!” She held up her hand, and Teresa complied halfheartedly. She wasn’t sure what she had scored. “You know what we should do? We should Google him. If you’re worried he’s scamming you or something.”
“I don’t want to snoop behind his back.”
“Yes, you do. I hate to use the internet on these tiny screens, but it sure is handy to always have it with you.”
“Instead of calling you.”
“Nah, I like being your personal reference librarian, but this will have its uses. Okay—McAllister? M C or Mac? Way too many hits. Doctor—no—CEO of Stillwater Mining Company—blah, blah, blah. Is he Francis or Franklin or just Frank?”
“Francis Prescott.”
“Classy. Prescott is a Bush family name; maybe he’s related. No, no hits.”
“Try his name and Powell City and SWAT.”
Alix thumbed buttons. “Here we go. Two articles in the Powell City Register—SWAT Officer Frank McAllister, 33—quoted as saying, blah, blah—this was last year—ooh, he shot somebody.”
The knowledge gave Teresa a chill feeling, but she said calmly, “It’s what they do—when they have to. Let me see.”
Alix was right; reading the article on the tiny screen was not ideal. He had been placed on administrative leave—which was routine with officer-involved shootings—after an armed robber was critically injured during an exchange of gunfire. She took a deep breath. At least the robber wasn’t killed. She wondered if he had ever killed anybody. She handed the phone back. “Could we find his wife’s obituary?” she asked, feeling a little guilty.
“Probably. Do you know her name?”
“No.”
“Too many hits…Okay—how about this—‘husband Frank McAllister’ and ‘Powell City’ and ‘obituary’—yup, six hits.”
“It would have been a while ago—he’s sort of over it.”
“How about this one? Edris Quentin McAllister of Genoa—Edris, really? Yuck! Survived by her husband Frank McAllister. It’s very brief. Died at home. Somebody told me that was obituary speak for suicide.”
“He said it was an accident. Most accidents happen at home.”
“Yeah, maybe she accidentally slit her wrists. The other ones—‘preceded in
death by her husband’—this one was eighty-nine. Edris was thirty-six three years ago, so older than him? Like five years?”
It made sense to Teresa—a woman introducing her younger husband to a new sexual practice. And he had lived in Genoa, which explained his familiarity with the coast. It was strange that he hadn’t said so—and why hadn’t she asked? “Look up Edris Quentin. Maybe there’s more.”
Alix complied. “No—they’re all Edris comma Quentin. Edris McAllister?” She thumbed keys. “Really? That many? Can’t tell if any are her—no good info anyway. Wait—here it is. Coroner’s inquest—Edris McAllister of Genoa, death by accident or misadventure. So I guess she didn’t slit her wrists.”
“What else does it say?” Teresa asked with some trepidation. She wasn’t sure she wanted any details Frank didn’t choose to share with her.
“Nada. Just the one line in a court proceedings list.”
She took the phone back and sipped her coffee. “I’m sorry we looked,” she said.
“Knowledge is power, kiddo.”
Teresa shook her head. She didn’t want to know Frank’s wife was older than he was, with an odd name like Edris, and dead at thirty-six. She didn’t want to know Edris had given him a taste for bondage. She didn’t want to know she had used his generous gift to check on him.
****
He called her at work in the evening, his voice warm and familiar. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he said. “Are you busy?”
“Yes, but I can talk for a few minutes. What were you thinking about me?” She thought she could guess, but she was wrong.
“I wanted to see you smile. Your whole face lights up when you smile. And you have this slightly crooked tooth—”
“So you were thinking about my imperfections?”
“It’s very cute. You have no idea how beautiful you are.”
“Really, Frank, when you lay it on so thick, I start to wonder what you’re trying to sell me. The Brooklyn Bridge?”
“See? You don’t have a clue. I can’t wait until Saturday to see you. When can we get together?”
“The weekend was very hard on Aiden. I can’t leave him alone again so soon.”
“Okay, so it has to be when he’s in school. Lunch? You get a lunch hour, don’t you?”
The Rebound Effect Page 8