Falling For Nick

by Joleen James

  Clea turned away, busying herself with making a vanilla latte for a man at the end of the bar.

  "I was Maude's best friend," DeAnn reminded her. "I think deep down she regretted how things ended between you and Nick. She'd want you to be together. Maude loved John."

  Clea glanced up, spilling hot milk onto her hand. "Ouch." She pressed a wet towel to the burn. "How do you know Maude loved John? She never gave him the time of day."

  "Maybe that's what she wanted you to think." DeAnn sipped her coffee.

  "What do you mean, DeAnn?" Clea asked, her attention totally focused on the beautician.

  "Nothing. I just think she had a soft spot for him. He was her grandson." DeAnn smiled. "I remember when you and Nick were teenagers. Passion like that doesn't fade. Make sure you know what you're doing, Clea. Don't throw away your happiness because you think you're doing the right thing. Follow your heart this time around."

  Clea frowned. "Thanks for the advice, but I'm a big girl. I know what I'm doing."

  DeAnn smiled smugly, the smile of a woman who'd taken a turn or two at love. "What a gorgeous picture of John." She pointed to the photograph Clea had hung behind the coffee bar that morning.

  The Coffee House walls held dozens of Clea's photos, everything from landscapes to her more creative hand-altered designs. To her delight, Clea had made several sales over the past few years.

  "Yes. I like this one." Clea turned to look at the picture of John on the beach. He squatted at the edge of the canal. Around him, as far as the eye could see, were discarded oyster shells. Beside him stood the white plastic five-gallon bucket that had been his constant companion on the beach since he'd become big enough to tote it around. The bucket had housed everything from small crabs, to shells, to driftwood.

  The day she'd seen him on the beach the light had been fantastic, the day cloudy but bright, the water a steel gray against a cold January sky. She'd been afraid she'd be unable to catch the different shades, the textures of the shells and sand and water. But to her surprise she'd been pleased with the finished work. She'd captured John perfectly, from his dark hair to the untied tennis shoes on his feet. She didn't usually display photos of her son, but in this particular shot, with his head bowed, his face was hidden from view. Even after she'd framed the picture, she'd debated showing it, not sure she really wanted to sell this one.

  The shop bell rang, and John came through the door, followed by Robert. Since Clea worked until three-thirty, Robert had offered to meet the bus, hoping to avoid a repeat of the fight yesterday afternoon.

  "Hi, guys," Clea said. The smile John usually had ready for her was absent.

  "Hello," Robert greeted, shrugging his shoulders as if to tell her he had no idea of John's mental state.

  John came to the bar and climbed up on a stool. His tousled hair made him look younger than his nine years. They hadn't really talked since last night. He'd been so angry and closed off. She'd given him some private time to digest the news of Nick's return.

  "How was school?" She watched his face, looking for a sign of how he felt.

  He shrugged. "Fine."

  "Do you want some cocoa?" she offered, hoping to soften him up. She couldn't stand to see John upset. His closed look upped her anxiety.

  "Okay."

  Another one word answer. Disappointed, Clea turned away to fix the cocoa. "Robert what can I get you?"

  "Cocoa sounds good to me."

  "Coming right up." Every bad feeling she had about Robert since Nick's return to town melted away as she made the cocoa. He'd promised to be there for John, and he was. She could always count on Robert to live up to his word. He was John's life preserver, something solid John could hang onto during this difficult period.

  "John and I are going to go and play some basketball before dinner. Toby's going to meet us at the court. Is that all right with you?" Robert stirred an extra spoonful of sugar into his cocoa before taking a sip.

  "Of course. I'm off in a few minutes anyway. I've got a nice salmon upstairs. Will you join us for dinner?" She glanced at John. "Toby, too. If he wants to come."

  John shrugged again.

  Robert gave her a smile of understanding. He knew how much John's indifference bothered her.

  "I'd love to come to dinner. Thank you." Robert tugged John's arm. "Come on, buddy. Let's take our cocoa with us. Toby's probably waiting."

  Together they left the shop. Quickly, Clea tidied up her workspace. If she hurried, she could get a walk in before Robert and the boys returned. Getting some fresh air might help to clear her head.

  She glanced over at DeAnn. The beautician smiled at her, no doubt eager to pick up the conversation where they'd left off. Well, she wasn't going to give DeAnn that chance.

  "Mitzi?" Clea called.

  "Yes?"

  "I'm leaving."

  "Gosh, is it that time already?" Mitzi came out of the office. "You okay?" She glanced at DeAnn.

  "I'm fine. I need some air." Clea shrugged her coat on. "If Robert and John are looking for me, tell them I'll be right back."

  "Will do." She walked Clea to the door. "Have a nice walk."

  "Thanks." She smiled at her friend.

  Clea left the shop and ran upstairs to get her camera. She intended to follow the line of the canal on her walk. She'd seen some blue herons earlier that morning, and hoped to see them again somewhere along the shore.

  Back on the street, the brisk air stung her cheeks. She walked, her pace fast, putting one mile, then another between her, the town, and her problems. Thoughts of Nick danced through her head, mixing with images of John. Unsettled, she continued to walk, finding no solutions to her problems. Confusion swirled around her, propelling her forward, causing her to lose track of time and distance. She spotted the herons close to Oyster Point. Taking her Hasselblad from the case, she focused the camera, taking several shots.

  The wind whipped up, and the sky darkened overhead. Not wanting to get caught in the rain with her camera, she turned around, but didn't get more than a quarter of a mile before the rain started. Cold, frozen rain, the kind of rain that could turn to snow. Clea held her camera bag under her coat, trying to keep it dry.

  Behind her she heard the sound of an approaching truck. She quickened her step. The truck slowed as it neared her. Clea checked to see if she knew the driver. Instantly she recognized the tow truck from Mullin's Garage, but the driver wasn't old man Mullin; it was Nick.

  He pulled alongside her. She kept walking. She didn't want to get in the truck with him. She didn't want to be alone with him. Her feelings for him were too sensitive. She glanced over at the truck. Nick leaned across the seat to roll down the window.

  "Need a lift?" he asked.

  "No, thanks." Freezing rain ran down her face to soak the collar of her coat.

  "Don't be stubborn, Clea," he said. "Get in. It's at least a mile back to town and you're already soaked. If you stay out in this weather you'll get sick. Is that what you want?"

  Clea glanced up at the sky. The rain wouldn't be letting up soon. She didn't want to expose her camera to the rain if she didn't have to. "All right." Against her better judgment, she climbed up into the truck. The heat inside the cab warmed her chilled skin. An old Aerosmith song played on the radio, reminding her of the year she'd spent with Nick. An instant longing for him shot through her, and she wondered if the song had the same effect on him.

  "What are you doing way out here?" Nick asked, as he put the truck into gear and they started forward.

  "I shot some photos of two blue herons." She pulled her camera bag out from under her coat.

  Nick glanced at the camera. "Ah. I see." He drove in silence. Clea stared straight ahead. She didn't want to look at him. His presence filled the truck, making her stomach do crazy flip-flops. She scooted closer to the door.

  "How's John?" he asked, breaking the silence that stretched between them like a frayed rope.

  "He found out about you at school before I had a chance to tell
him. I've tried to explain. He's upset."

  "I'm sorry," he said. "How can I help?"

  She turned to look at him. "Would you have come home sooner if you had known John was waiting for you?" The past twenty-four hours caught up with her. All the pain she felt for John rose to the surface. She needed an outlet for her feelings of frustration.

  "You said he didn't know about my release. Did he know?"

  "I don’t think so," Clea said. "Just answer the question."

  "I'd like to say yes, but I don't know. Meeting him terrifies me." Nick sighed. "I'm afraid of my own son, of what he thinks of me, of how he'll react to me."

  Surprise shot through her. She'd never considered that Nick might be afraid of John. She'd never considered Nick's feelings at all. "John got into a fight."

  Nick pulled the truck over to the side of the road and shut the engine off. "Was he hurt?"

  "He got punched in the nose, but he threw the first punch."

  "Jesus." Nick frowned. "I'm sorry, Princess."

  "Don't call me that." She whipped her head around. "I'm not your princess. I'm the mother of a nine-year-old boy who aches inside. Do you know how he feels? Some kids at school called you a jailbird."

  Nick's hands curled around the steering wheel, his anger obvious. That anger crept across the seat of the truck, pressing Clea more tightly against the door.

  "Do you want me to leave town?" He glanced over at her, his eyes filled with pain, and that pain did something to Clea.

  She wanted to say yes, but she held her tongue.

  "Do you?" he asked again.

  "I don't know." The prick of hot tears stung her eyes, but she wasn't sure if the tears were for John or for her. "It's not about you and me anymore," she said sadly. "It's about John. I think it would be worse if you left."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "I don't know."

  "Clea." He brushed a tear from her cheek, his touch tender. "If I could change things I would."

  Clea sniffed, searching her coat pocket for a tissue. She wanted to believe his words, but didn't know if she could trust him, especially when it came to John.

  Rain pounded the top of the truck, filling the silence between them.

  She blew her nose.

  Nick started the truck. The windshield wipers danced across the window. Snow mixed with the rain now. Up at Lake Bliss snow would be falling.

  Nick pulled away from the side of the road. They made the drive to The Coffee House in silence. When they arrived, Nick pulled over to the curb.

  "Thanks for the ride." Clea reached for the door handle.

  Nick touched her arm. "I'm here if you need me. Just say the word. I'll do whatever you want."

  "Really?" she asked, surprised.

  "I'd do anything for you and John." Leaning over, he kissed her cheek.

  His words sent unwanted excitement across her already cold skin, jolting her into action. Clea opened the door and jumped from the truck, needing to get away from him and the turbulent feelings he aroused in her. She watched as he drove away in the sleet.

  When she couldn't see the truck any longer, she turned toward the shop and looked up. The curtain moved, as if it had just been dropped into place. Had Robert been watching? Had he seen Nick kiss her? She hoped not. An argument with Robert was the last thing she needed.

  Bracing herself for the confrontation to come, she started up the stairs to her apartment.

  * * *

  Nick wanted to get drunk.

  He walked through the door of the Point Bliss Tavern and headed for the bar. Every nerve in his body throbbed. He wanted that feeling to go away.

  "Give me a whiskey, straight up," he said to the bartender. He'd hoped that Billy would be home, but he'd gotten his answering machine when he'd called. He'd left a message asking his brother to meet him at the tavern. Tonight, he needed a friendly face.

  The bar smelled exactly the same, like stale cigarette smoke and cheap beer. Neon signs covered the west wall, selling every kind of beer imaginable.

  He'd been in the bar dozens of times, but always as a kid. He'd come in the back door, hiding behind the bar, needing something from Maude, usually food, but sometimes he'd needed help with Billy, like the time Billy had broken his arm and wouldn't stop crying. That time, he'd walked right through the front door and gone straight to Maude. She hadn't been able to ignore him. Her boss had given her the rest of the night off to take Billy to the hospital. Nick grimaced at the memory. Maude had bitched the entire time they'd waited at the hospital about the night's pay and tips she was losing. His stomach turned at the memory.

  The bartender poured the whiskey, then slid the glass across the lacquered surface of the bar toward him. Nick downed the amber liquid, welcoming the burn as the liquor made its way down his throat to warm his belly. "Hit me again."

  The bartender obliged. Nick knocked the drink back. "Once more."

  "Okay." The bartender poured a third drink, setting it in front of Nick. "Aren't you Maude's kid?"

  "Yeah." He never should have come here. The place reeked of Maude and bad memories.

  "I'm sorry about your mother," the bartender offered.

  Before he could reply someone behind him said, "Nick?"

  Nick turned. A short, balding man who looked to be in his late sixties took the stool next to him, a can of Budweiser in his hand. He looked familiar, but Nick couldn't place him. "Do I know you?"

  "I'm Bernie. I was a friend of your mother's."

  "Ah. One of Mom's male friends." Nick took a swig of his whiskey. He'd seen Bernie at the funeral. The old man had been crying.

  "It was more than that." Bernie fondled his can of Bud as if it were his best girl. "I loved her."

  "How touching." He didn't want to hear any more.

  "It broke her heart that you didn't come before she died. She knew you were out of prison. She hung on, hoping every day that you would show up. But when you didn't come, she just let go."

  Bernie's words twisted his insides. He couldn't imagine Maude pining for him. If she had, she would have visited him in prison. "I don't need this." Nick threw a twenty on the bar.

  "Don't go." Bernie's gnarled hand closed over Nick's arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't tell you those things to make you feel guilty. Maude was the first one to admit she was a lousy mother. Sometimes a broken heart will do that to a woman."

  Nick stared at Bernie's fingers, and the older man let go of his arm. "You don't know shit about my mother."

  "I know quite a bit." Bernie smiled sadly. "There are things I want to tell you about Maude."

  "Yeah, well I don't want to hear them." Nick slid off the stool.

  "She loved you," Bernie said. "She loved you and your brother. She just loved your father more."

  At the mention of his father, Nick sat back down. He knew almost nothing about his father, other than he'd left Maude for another woman when Billy was a baby. His mother never talked about Hank Lombard other than to say he used her, then abandoned all of them.

  "What do you know about my father?" Nick asked, his tone low.

  "Nothing," Bernie stammered. "I don't know anything, except that Maude loved him."

  Bernie's eyes were a bit too bright, his skin too pale. Did he know something more about their father, or was he merely a pathetic old drunk?

  "Hey, Nick." Billy joined them, grinning. "I got your message." He took his jacket off, and shaking the moisture from it, tossed the coat on a vacant barstool. "Have you two met?"

  Nick turned away, trying to get his anger under control. He never talked about his father with anyone, not even Billy. Yet this old man acted like he might know something more about Hank Lombard, but what? If Billy hadn't interrupted, would Bernie have spilled his guts?

  "I was just telling Nick how much Maude loved the two of you." Bernie took a sip of beer.

  "You don't say?" Billy exchanged a curious glance with Nick. "You okay?"

  "Yeah." Billy could read him so well. He sensed som
ething wasn't right.

  "Come on." Billy clapped Nick on the shoulder. "Grab your drink and let's get a booth. You can catch me up on your life." To the bartender, Billy said, "Bring me a cola." Then, "Excuse us, Bernie."

  "Yeah, sure," Bernie muttered.

  Nick picked up his whiskey and followed his brother to a booth at the back of the bar, eager for a little privacy to test the information Bernie had provided.

  "How well do you know Bernie?" Nick asked as he slid across the cracked black vinyl seat. Someone put a couple of quarters in the jukebox and the Patsy Cline song Crazy filled the air.

  "Pretty well. He and Mom were…"

  "Friends?" He didn't need details.

  Billy grinned. "Something like that."

  The bartender brought Billy's drink, setting it on the table.

  Nick waited for the man to leave before continuing. "Bernie told me Mom used to talk about our father, about how much she loved him. Do you know anything about that?"

  Billy shook his head. "No. Bernie's probably just drunk."

  "He's never mentioned anything to you about Hank before?"

  "I swear, Nick. You know Mom never talked about our father. Why the sudden interest?"

  "I got the impression Bernie knew something." He shrugged. "I guess I'll just have to go and ask him." He watched his brother, looking for a sign that he didn't want Nick to pursue the matter.

  Billy gave him a lopsided grin. "You're too sensitive, man. Forget him. Drink up. Let's celebrate your return to town and your new job. Cheers." He clinked his cola to Nick's glass. "Here's to you getting everything you deserve."

  Everything he deserved.

  Nick thought of Clea. She was the reason he'd come to the bar. He'd wanted to forget her. He'd wanted to forget the tears he'd wiped from her cheeks that afternoon. Instead, he'd walked into something more, something he wanted to pursue. He looked for Bernie, but the man had vanished.

  Funny, he had no taste for whiskey now.

  * * *

  Clea could feel a chill in the air and it wasn't due to the cold temperature outside. All through dinner Robert had barely spoken to her, giving all his attention to John and Toby, who was spending the night with John. She knew Robert had seen her with Nick, but she couldn't smooth things over until they were alone.