Missing You

by Shereen Vedam

  That caught her attention. She approached the bars lightning quick.

  Her cellmates prudently retreated to the back wall. He almost shifted away, too. He forced himself to stand his ground and return her direct gaze. She was tall. Came up to just below his eye-level. Her fingers wrapped around the steel bars, anger flaring behind her deep blue eyes.

  “How dare you tell me how to treat my mother?” Her whisper was like a rattler’s warning hiss.

  “If you care about her,” he said, ignoring the threat, “then be on your best behavior. How long do you plan to hang around Harrington Bay? The longer you stay, the harder it will be for your mother to let you go again. She might get her hopes up that you intend to move back permanently.”

  “You seem rather familiar with my mother’s feelings.”

  “As would you be if you spent more time at home.” Her eyelids fluttered. Another strike. Her reactions surprised and bothered him. They suggested that she truly cared for her family. Why keep away so long, then?

  “I didn’t ask for your opinion,” she said. Her hold on the bars was no longer white-knuckled. She was leaving.

  Morgan gently wrapped his fingers around hers, intending to ask her to stay and talk to him. Heat shot up his arms at their touch. Startled, he let go and shook his fingers at his side. “I care about your family.”

  “You think I don’t?” Her pupils had dilated but her blue gaze never wavered.

  “When did you last visit?”

  She blinked rapidly, and that blush reappeared. He watched fascinated as it spread up her throat and cheeks.

  “Morgan,” Janet called from down the corridor.

  Both he and Phoebe swung toward her. Did he look as guilty as he felt? About what? They’d just been talking.

  “Everything all right?” Janet strolled toward him.

  He cleared his throat. “Just sorting out a few details. I think Ms. Clay and I understand each other. Don’t we?”

  Phoebe frowned, as if she’d become lost in this conversation.

  Janet unlocked the cell and slid the door open, inviting the prisoner out with an open arm gesture.

  Phoebe stayed put, her gaze glued to Morgan. “You’re bailing me out as well?”

  “Your mother would never forgive me if I allowed you to stay longer,” he said.

  “My mother wouldn’t care either way, Mr. Harrington,” she said. “Perhaps you don’t know her as well as you think.”

  With a puzzled frown he motioned her ahead. Of course, her mother would want her released. Was it possible that Phoebe didn’t realize how loved she was?

  A glance back showed Janet standing by the cell.

  “Coming?” he asked.

  Chapter 3

  From the backseat of an Uber, Phoebe and her Aunt Helen stared at their family home. Her aunt had called from the station to say they were on their way back. Aunt Helen had wanted to concoct a story that she had driven to Portland to pick up Phoebe at the airport for a surprise visit home. That’s why she’d been out all night.

  Phoebe talked her out of it. If they said that, then they’d need a lie about the upcoming court appearance and the subsequent trial. Another lie to cover the sentencing and so on.

  “Better to tell the truth and face the...” she began.

  “You’ve said that four times.” Aunt Helen interrupted, holding up four fingers. “We’re still sitting in the Uber.”

  “I don’t see you hopping out.”

  “I’m seventy-seven years old, dear. I don’t hop. I could pretend it was an Alzheimer’s attack and I forgot who I was, and that you came to my rescue.”

  Phoebe shot her great-aunt a half-desperate glance. Could that work? Hope settled inside her chest like a long-lost friend. Stealing into Tucker’s place had verged on lunacy.

  “We could use it in court, too,” Aunt Helen said, running with the idea.

  The driver listening to their conversation grinned at Phoebe through the rear-view.

  His mocking glance swung her back toward reality. Time to halt this fantastical reasoning, which was exactly the type of wrong thinking that had got them into trouble in the first place. “No, Aunt. They’d get a doctor to verify you’re fine and then we’d be in a real hornet’s nest.”

  “One of your brothers could testify on my behalf.”

  “Which one?” she asked, desperately seeking sanity. “The podiatrist, gynecologist, or Dr. David Clay, Junior, the dermatologist?”

  “One of their friends is probably a real doctor.”

  “Better to tell the truth...,” Phoebe began.

  “If you say that once more,” Aunt Helen interrupted when the front door opened and Dr. David Clay, Senior, strode outside.

  Phoebe’s heart skipped in joy. It had been three long years since she’d been gifted with one of her father’s smiles or hugs.

  He ignored the women in the back seat and bent to speak to the Uber driver through the open passenger window. “Care to come in for a snack? The missus has prepared a feast and it’s all going to waste.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” The driver got out with enthusiasm. The two men then entered the house without a backward glance.

  “That’s probably Dad’s way of saying he’s annoyed.”

  “Think he lied about the food?” Aunt Helen asked.

  “Mom’s a good cook,” Phoebe said in a thoughtful tone. “Does she still bake up a storm when she’s fuming?”

  “Yes, she does!” Aunt Helen said. “Also, that horrible breakfast we had in jail should be outlawed.”

  The food had been abysmal. Phoebe wondered if Detective Janet ordered it specifically with the Clays in mind.

  With a mutual do-or-die nod, she and her aunt scrambled out of the car and sprinted to the door.

  Once Phoebe and her Aunt Helen entered their home, the elderly lady stooped and tottered as she moved. Phoebe observed her with fascinated envy. Age had its advantages.

  Voices blared from the living room suggesting her entire family had gathered for her homecoming. Her three brothers, their wives and children, Grandfather Walter and even cousin Lenny were present. He’d brought his little sister, Molly. The last time she saw Molly, she’d been three. She was a grown-up seven now. Pleasure spread at seeing her family again, especially Lenny. He had not only been her cousin, but her second-best-friend, too. She carried deep guilt about leaving him behind in HB without a word.

  With so many in the room, chances were slim she’d bump into her mother. A large family had its advantages, too.

  The moment they noticed her, everyone hushed.

  Grandfather Walter reacted first. Using his walker, he rolled and clumped his way to the front of the room, unmindful of whose toes he abused. He paused directly before Phoebe. “About time you returned,” he said. “Or were you hoping I’d be in my grave and you could avoid talking to me?”

  His words mirrored her own deep fears and Phoebe grinned at his joke to disguise her pain. The old man seemed weaker. If Aunt Helen hadn’t texted her —. She gave him a heartfelt hug and his wiry arms held her tight. Then her brothers surrounded her, joking and laughing as if she had never left home. Lenny slouched on the sofa with Molly, using her as a shield.

  Aunt Helen made a beeline to the coffee table and snacks. She planted herself on the sofa between the Uber driver and Lenny and began to seriously erode the mountain of food.

  The barrage of questions began, but Phoebe put everyone off until she had seated Grandfather Walter. Then she sat on the carpeted floor, leaning against his legs. His frail hand came to rest on her hair. With an arm wrapped around his right knee, she stared at her boots willing away happy tears while Aunt Helen relayed the details of their escapade.

  “Too bad you got caught before you checked out the basement,” Lenny said, as if he couldn’t help himself. They’d always got into so much trouble as kids. She’d missed him.

  Her brothers booed him and called both women “flakes” for even thinking Tucker Harrington wo
uld have stolen their cat.

  Her father, resting an elbow on the fireplace mantle, listened in silence. He didn’t ask any questions and Phoebe wondered at his somber reaction to her homecoming. Her mother was absent. Probably in the kitchen baking another batch of cookies. She took one and bit into it. It was warm and melted in her mouth. She’d missed these cookies most of all.

  “How’d Morgan take the break-in?” her second eldest brother, Michael, asked. “He’s protective of Tucker.”

  “Made us stay in jail all night,” Aunt Helen said around a mouthful of croissant.

  “Good,” said Derek, Phoebe’s eldest brother. “Hope you two learned something from your experience.”

  “Learned never to trust lawyers,” Aunt Helen said. “Phoebe likes him.”

  “I doubt I’ll see him again before I leave,” Phoebe said, hoping to discourage her matchmaking aunt. Besides, Morgan was taken.

  The room grew silent and she instantly realized her mistake. She’d mentioned leaving.

  “He’s invited for dinner tonight,” her mother said from the doorway, holding a plate of steaming cookies.

  Phoebe’s heart skipped in acute pleasure at seeing her, though her mother’s frown wasn’t encouraging. Phoebe squashed the impulse to jump up and hug her. Had she done something else wrong? Wait, could her unexpected return have ruined her mother’s table setting?

  To lighten the mood, she suggested, “Maybe we can ask Morgan to ditch Janet so I could partner him?”

  Like a tennis game, every head turned in her direction.

  The Uber driver took that delicate moment to bid everyone goodbye, collected his fare from her father and walked out.

  “Morgan’s not your type,” Michael said.

  Her other two brothers quickly joined in.

  “He’s too down to earth.”

  “He’s getting serious about Janet. Isn’t he?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Don’t play with him, Phoebe.”

  The advice came non-stop. They hadn’t realized she was just joking.

  “I only meant, it might alleviate any problems with seating, at dinner. I don’t have designs on the guy. You’re right, he isn’t my type, any more than I’m his. Detective Janet’s welcome to him.”

  “You and Morgan make a much better couple,” Aunt Helen said.

  Trust her aunt to stoke the fire.

  “I agree,” her father said to her surprise. “That’s entirely up to you and him, though. Nothing to do with us.”

  “Pleasant to have a lawyer in the family,” Grandfather Walter said, “though I’d prefer a real doctor.”

  Phoebe laughed as her brothers groaned. Grandfather Walter had been a general practitioner in his heyday, and he deplored his son becoming an Ear, Nose and Throat man, and each of his grandsons choosing to go into their own specialties.

  Glad the tension in the room had finally broken, Phoebe looked for her mother and found her missing. Her shoulders drooped as her happiness dissipated.

  DRESSED IN A DARK DINNER suit and holding a bouquet of yellow roses, Morgan strode up to the Clay house. He raised his free hand to knock. Then he lowered it before his knuckles contacted wood. Why hesitate? He was sweating for pity’s sake. He loosened his collar beneath the knot of his tie. He was letting his argument with Janet influence his actions.

  At lunch, she’d begged out of dinner at the Clays.

  “Sure,” he’d said. “I’ll give them your regrets.”

  “You’re not still planning on going, are you?”

  “Of course. Brenda and David are expecting me.”

  “It’ll look odd if you go alone.” Janet said in an irritatingly reasonable tone. “We’re a couple now.”

  Were they? A couple? He couldn’t remember them having the “exclusivity” chat. He hadn’t invited her to move in yet. She’d asked him to move into her place often enough but he’d refused to say his grandfather needed looking after. Semi-true and a great excuse until he was ready.

  They had lunch at a restaurant near the precinct where Janet worked. He’d crunched his greens that she’d picked as starters – he hated raw veg – and glanced at other couples holding hands across their table. Yesterday, he’d been on the verge of suggesting they become official. He’d even bought a ring. By morning, that slender shoot had withered and died and he’d tucked the ring into his sock drawer.

  “Why would you want to go by yourself?” she’d asked, starting to sound annoyed.

  He’d taken a deep calming breath. “I visit the Clays all the time,” he’d said, trying to mimic her earlier reasonable tone. “They’re not just my clients, they’re my friends.”

  “You might give that Clay creature the wrong idea if you go alone. Phoebe has designs on you.”

  Phoebe barely tolerated him. He’d had to goad her to catch her attention in her jail cell. Janet was acting jealous and unreasonable.

  Morgan knocked sharply on the Clays’ front door.

  Instantly, the door opened. Dr. David Clay, Senior, gave him a long hard stare. The doctor then pushed past Morgan and shut the door behind him. He strode up the walkway until he was halfway to the road and then swung around. With a hand shading his eyes against the setting sun, he examined his house from roofline to doormat that read Welcome Home.

  “What’re you looking for?” Morgan asked, curious.

  Dr. Clay shrugged and came back to open his door. “People seem to spend an inordinate amount of time staring at my house instead of coming in. Thought I’d check to see what the attraction was. Apparently, nothing unusual.”

  Morgan’s ears heated with acute embarrassment. How long had he been standing out here? He resisted the urge to check the time. Despite what he’d said to Janet about the Clays being his friends, David Clay, who was a couple of decades his elder, could easily make him feel like a child of ten, usually in a good way. Not so much this evening.

  Since he moved in next door, David had become the father Morgan lost as a child. A mentor who encouraged him to dream big. A friend who never judged him. He loved chatting with this man. He silently followed David into the sitting room, his enthusiasm for dinner resurging. Then another surprise set him back on his heels.

  The quiet meal between him and the Clays had morphed into a huge family gathering. Clays packed the room in all sizes and ages. The sight gave him a sense of well-being. He loved this family. He entered the crowded room and felt as if the welcome mat outside spoke the truth and he was home.

  Despite the many familiar faces, Phoebe Clay snagged his attention first. She wore a flimsy blue dress that didn’t suit her. She looked feminine, instead of a commando. Also, where were her glasses? She sat on the floor beside her grandfather, her long bare legs tucked under, and eyed his flowers. Her eyebrows rose lazily with sexy curiosity.

  He hid the bouquet behind his back. Could Janet be right? Did Phoebe have designs on him? The idea spread a warm wave throughout his body.

  “Hi, Morgan,” Brenda Clay said from behind him. She stood in the doorway wearing a navy-blue dress with a spotless pale blue apron with white lettering that said, I’d tell you the recipe, but then I’d have to kill you. She indicated the flowers with a pleased smile. “Those for me?”

  “Could be for me,” Helen Clay said sitting on the couch facing him. “You’re not the only eye-catcher in the room.”

  Morgan focused on the elderly Clay who was clad in a charming flower-print dress. “Sorry, Helen,” he said, “but these are for the hostess.” He presented the flowers to Brenda with a flourish and bow.

  “Nicely done.” Derek Clay, David’s first born, cheered him on with a thumbs-up signal.

  “You can learn a thing or two from Morgan about manners,” his wife said from beside him.

  “Derek doesn’t have to be polite anymore,” David Junior said to his sister-in-law. “He’s married. Morgan’s still a bachelor and has to practice.” He received a punch on his arm from his wife for his efforts.

  “You’re in time
for dinner,” Brenda said to Morgan before her sons and their wives could start in on each other. “Sorry Janet couldn’t make it.”

  “He can partner Phoebe then,” Grandfather Walter said and reached for his walker.

  The Clay men groaned and Walter winked at his great-granddaughter.

  Morgan wondered what the joke was.

  At the table, Morgan sat beside Phoebe. The square neckline of her dress revealed only a hint of her generous breasts. He restricted his glance to her lovely face, though that, too, proved distracting. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved when she didn’t flirt.

  Dinner went better than Janet predicted. Phoebe remained silent through most of it but her brothers and their spouses and children more than made up for her lack of conversation. To draw her out, he asked polite questions about her work and life away from Harrington Bay. Each time, it resulted in profound silence as everyone leaned in as if to hear her answer. When she said something non-committal, a collective sigh was released and the conversation turned.

  Dinner ended with Morgan seething. Couldn’t she be bothered to be polite to her family? How difficult was it to share a sentence of two about her life?

  Everyone returned to the living room to enjoy coffee and dessert. Phoebe excused herself. Her family observed her leave and their spirits seemed to droop when her skirt whisked behind the French doors sliding closed. Morgan set his coffee cup on the end table and excused himself, too. A scrap of fluttering blue led him to the rose garden.

  It was a clear night. The full moon lit the spring garden better than a series of lanterns. Still, he almost missed her. She fiddled with a dandelion at the bottom of a rose bush. Not plucking it out, but studying it, as if it held a secret.

  “Bad idea to follow me,” she said.

  He stopped, startled. He’d walked through a lawn heavy with evening mist and hadn’t expected her to sense his approach. “What are you doing out here?”

  She stood and faced him, eye-to-eye. Her dark blue gaze was black in the moonlight. “What is it you want from me, Mr. Harrington?”