She seems stumped for words, and before she has a chance to find them I tap her nose, throw her a wink, and aim for my Bronco.
I lied.
I’m totally making a move.
MARYA
It’s been weeks—months even—since I’ve seen Liam this animated.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“We can go, right?”
The eager anticipation on his face is impossible to resist. “Yeah, Bub. I have to check my schedule with Aunt Kerry, so don’t say anything to your brothers just yet, but even if I won’t be able to take the time off, you can go.” It’ll be outside my budget, but I can see if I can pick up a few extra cleaning shifts to make up for it.
“Cool,” he mumbles, trying hard to sound nonchalant, but failing miserably when I just catch his grin break through as he turns to look out the window.
I have to admit, I’m kind of excited at the prospect as well. We don’t often get to do fun stuff as a family, and this is something the boys and I will all enjoy. Besides, I like Beth and Clint, so I don’t have to worry just having Dylan to talk to.
Oh yeah, I didn’t buy his little speech for a minute. I haven’t been out of the dating game long enough to forget what it looks and sounds like when a man is determined to get in your pants. I haven’t the faintest idea why Dylan seems to have his mind set on me. I shouldn’t even be on his radar.
Maybe he’s looking for a sure thing and hopes targeting an older woman—one who is far removed from the general beauty standards and has been around the bend a time or two with the dents and bruises that come with that—will mean a quick and easy capitulation. In which case, he’s barking up the wrong tree. I’m determined to stick to my guns.
I pull up to Mom’s place, a small two-bedroom bungalow near the hospital in a tidy neighborhood housing mostly senior citizens. She’s lived here for four years and loves it.
After Jeremy left us, I had no way to maintain the large house he’d insisted on renting. There just never seemed to be enough money to save for a down payment, with my ex drifting in and out of jobs he’d claim would be the answer to our problems. He’d been a firm believer that if you lived and acted accomplished; success would come to you. He took his clothes and the much too expensive and brand-new, leased Infinity JX with him, leaving me with the ancient Jeep, a part-time job, and a monthly rent I couldn’t afford.
We ended up at my mother’s house, the old place on Lawrence Avenue I was raised in. She had the space, with three small bedrooms, a master, two baths, and a finished basement. Harrison was just a toddler, so he and I shared a room. Living with Mom gave me a chance to get a job without needing to worry about childcare that first year. It helped me get back on my feet.
A year later, Mom indicated she was ready to downsize, wanted the boys and I to stay in the house, and bought the small bungalow. Now I pay off the mortgage left on the house and my name was added to the deed.
“Well?” Mom addresses Liam when we walk in.
“Won,” he says with a little smug smile.
“Of course you did.” The smile gets a little bigger. “Next week I’m coming to see you play. Those lazy brothers of yours will have to deal.” Mom ruffles his hair and gives him a little shove in the direction of the kitchen. “Cinnamon rolls on the counter, and leave two for your mom and me,” she calls after him. “There should be four on that plate, Liam!” She turns to me with a smirk. “I’ve had to threaten those other two with corporal punishment if they got close to that plate.”
“I bet.” I grin at her, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Got any coffee?”
She huffs. “Is the Pope Catholic? How many cups have you had though?”
“Mom...”
“High blood pressure is nothing to mess with, missy,” she scolds me. “You told me yourself the doctor said no more than two a day.”
“I know, Mom. It’s only on the weekend I need that occasional jolt to get through the day.” She’s been on my case ever since I had my last physical, and the doctor gave me a stern talking to about keeping my weight in check and watching my blood pressure. I get it, my Aunt Ida, who lives in Silverton, had a heart attack a few years ago. It scared the shit out of Mom.
I’m pretty sure my hypertension is stress-related, but I keep that to myself.
“Half a cup,” she concedes, leading the way into the kitchen.
I’m glad to see Liam left two pastries as instructed, although where the rest disappeared to so fast, I don’t know. The kid just had a massive cheeseburger and fries. I spot him sitting on the steps to the small yard, where Theo is trying to lift Harry up to grab a Frisbee that got stuck in the tree.
“Careful!” I call out on instinct. They should give me frequent flyer miles at Mercy Hospital for the number of times I end up with one of the kids in the emergency department. I don’t want to end my weekend with another visit there. It’s a miracle Child Protective Services hasn’t been notified about all the injuries my boys sustain.
“Momma, look at me!” Harry yells, waving enthusiastically and I see him teetering in Theo’s hold.
“Careful!” I yell again, but it’s already too late, the two of them are going down.
“Shit.” I jump down the steps but when I get to the boys, they’re rolling in the grass, giggling their asses off. “You guys, you’re gonna give me heart attack one of these days.”
“Don’t joke about that,” Mom yells out of the kitchen door.
“Not joking!”
Before I have a chance to check to make sure Harry hasn’t broken anything, he’s wrapped his skinny arms around my hips. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, kid. You behave for Grandma?”
“I licked the bowl of icing,” he shares, leaning his head back to beam his gap-toothed smile up at me.
“Lucky.” I grin down at him. “But it doesn’t answer my question, did you behave?”
“Yup.” His eyes dart to the door, which probably means he got into some trouble.
“Mmmhmm.”
Suddenly he lets me go. “Mom? Can we have a dog? That’d be so cool. We could walk him and everything.”
“Right. I already know who’ll be doing the feeding, the cleaning, and the walking, buddy, and it isn’t gonna be you. So the answer is still no.”
He opens his mouth to complain when my phone rings in my pocket. I quickly lift a finger in his face to quiet him, before walking around the side of the house, pulling my cell from my pocket.
No ‘unknown number,’ but still one I don’t recognize.
“Hello?”
“Do not hang up.” Fucking Jeremy. “Last chance, Marya. I want to see the boys. If you insist on being difficult, you’ll hear from my lawyer.”
“If you think threatening me will help your case, you are delusional. I have a threat for you: push this, push me, and I will press charges for domestic violence.”
“I’d like to see you try,” he taunts me. “Who the fuck you think is gonna believe you after all these years?”
“Fuck off, Jeremy.”
With that I hang up, my hands shaking as I block the last incoming number, and stuff the phone in my pocket. I take a few deep breaths before returning to the yard, where Liam has now joined his brothers, tossing a Frisbee around.
“Forget the coffee,” I tell Mom when I step into the kitchen. “I need a stiff drink.”
She throws me a scrutinizing look, turns to the cupboard above the fridge, and pulls down the Baileys. “It’s all I’ve got.”
“It’ll do.”
“Care to tell me?” she asks, handing me the drink.
I swallow half of it back, wincing slightly at the sweet taste, before lifting my eyes to her.
“Jeremy.”
“That was him?” She looks confused. I didn’t tell her he called the first time. I hadn’t wanted her to get upset. “What the hell?”
I take a deep breath. “He first called last week, telling me he wanted to see the boys. I told him
off and hung up on him. That was him again, just now. Looks like he’s not going to go away.”
“Son of a bitch,” Mom mumbles. She grabs another glass, fills it to the brim with Baileys, and tosses the whole thing back.
CHAPTER 5
Dylan
“You going for coffee?”
I stop outside Damian’s office and stick my head around the door.
“Yeah, you want anything?” I ask him.
“Come in for a minute, and close the door.”
I do ask he asks, and sit down across from his desk. “What’s up?”
“That’s three times this week.”
His face is impassive but his eyes are keen, so I don’t even bother pretending not to know what he’s talking about. My hackles are up.
“And?”
“My wife is her friend.”
“Yeah, and?”
Damian leans forward, elbows on his desk. “Right. I see you’re not in the mood to listen, but I’m going to say this anyway. I’m not sure what it is you think you’re doing, and I know you weren’t around when things went down with her, but we’re talking about a woman who has been played and knocked around enough.”
I can feel my nostrils flare when I release the breath I’ve been holding, along with my temper. I match Damian leaning forward over his desk, getting in his face and measuring my words. “When have you known me to toy with a woman? Any woman? Ever?”
It takes a moment for the fierce intensity to leave my boss’s face. He sits back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. “Jesus, kid.”
That term rubs me the wrong way. “Hardly a kid,” I bite off. “Old enough to know what I want.”
“She’s a single mom in her early forties with at least ten years on you.”
“Eight, to be exact,” I correct him. “And for the record; I’m a single parent too.”
Another brush of his hand goes through the hair streaked with silver. “Shit.” His eyes come up. “You mess with her, hurt her in anyway, that’s going to make my wife very unhappy, which in turn will make me extremely unhappy.”
“So noted. Now, if that was all?” Pissed, I shove the chair back and get up, swallowing down my anger.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, but when I start walking out of the office he stops me, adding, “Large Americano—black—and grab me one of those brownies if she has any left.”
“Right.”
I can’t quite shake my anger until I push open the door of Kerry’s Korner and see the brief flash of worry on Marya’s face, before she hides it behind a sunny smile.
“Your standard order?”
“I’m hauling back coffee for everyone. Damian wants a large—”
“I’ve got it. I know everyone’s order by now. Jasper and Luna too?”
“Please.”
Knowing it’ll take her a few minutes; I walk over to the couch under the window and pick up the discarded newspaper. I’m flipping through the pages without registering much; I’m too busy sneaking peeks. Something is off with her. I noticed earlier in the week that she seemed a little jumpy, hiding it quickly each time.
“Everything all right?”
She looks away from the espresso machine and glances at me. “Yep. Fine. Why do you ask?”
“You’ve just seemed a little...preoccupied. Like something has you spooked.”
I see it then, a quick flash of uneasiness, before the mask drops back in place.
“I may be a little tired, that’s all. I’ve worked three nights in a row, I’m short on sleep.”
“Don’t you close at five?” I get up and make my way back to the counter, leaning an elbow on the stainless steel.
“Oh, the store? Yes, but I’m talking about my other job.”
I observe her a little more closely and notice dark circles under her eyes and a tightness around her mouth I haven’t seen before. I hadn’t known about the second job, but given what Ma shared with me about her ex being a deadbeat, it doesn’t surprise me she’d need the extra income to provide for herself and three kids.
Still, I don’t think fatigue is what makes her jumpy.
“What’s your other job?”
“I work for Corporate Cleaners. Cleaning offices after hours.” She lifts her chin, almost in challenge.
“How many nights a week?”
“Usually just one, maybe two, but lately I’ve done three.” She shrugs, tapping the grinds out of the filter. “I’m lucky I have Mom to look after the boys.”
I’m about to ask why she upped her shifts, when the penny drops. “Liam’s soccer.”
It doesn’t take much to read from the expression on her face, I got it in one.
“Just for extras.”
I’m not rich by any stretch of the imagination, but I make a decent income. I can afford to live without big financial concerns, don’t have to consider every penny I spend, and Max sure doesn’t lack for anything. I remember money was always scarce growing up, though. Ma was on her feet all day long, six days a week at the diner in Cedar Tree, and whenever it was close to my birthday or Christmas; she’d work double shifts whenever she could get them.
With three boys, I imagine there will always be extras that need funding. Max’s birthday invitation last Saturday comes to mind and I wonder whether part of Marya’s initial hesitation was financial concern. Shit. I should’ve thought of that.
“Have you had a chance to talk to Kerry yet? About Silverton on the twenty-eighth?”
She pulls out a cardboard tray and starts tucking the cups in. “Just this morning. She says she won’t need me.”
“Good. I’m glad you and the boys’ll be able to make it. We’ll hammer out the details next week. You don’t have to worry about anything except wearing clothes that can stand to get dirty; everything else is taken care of. Ma’s bringing a trunkful of junk food and pop, so the boys will be good and wired, and I’m taking care of the tickets, so all you have to do is be ready.”
“That’s easy enough. I haven’t even told the kids yet.” She grins. “Liam knows of course, but I’ve sworn him to secrecy until I knew for sure. The boys’ll be excited.”
“So will Max,” I share. And then I share some more. “I’m pretty excited myself.”
Her eyes briefly meet mine before she shoves the tray over the counter.
“That’s fifteen sixteen, please.”
I pull out my wallet when I suddenly remember. “Shit, Damian said something about brownies.”
“Never fails,” Marya mumbles under her breath as she moves to the glass-domed tray on the other end of the counter.
“What was that?”
“Damian,” she says, lifting the dome. “He knows I bring in fresh brownies on Thursdays.”
“You baked those?”
“First thing in the morning,” she confirms, holding up tongs.
“In that case give me five.”
“Five?” She looks pointedly at the tray with four coffees.
“Two for me,” I clarify with a grin, and see a hint of pink hit her cheeks. I watch as she packs them in a small box, and adds them to my order.
“Twenty-three ninety-one, please.”
“I can’t believe you bake. I wonder if...” I purposely let my words trail off as I pull the money from my wallet and hand it to her.
“Wonder what?”
“Never mind.” I wave her off, grabbing the tray and the box. “You’re busy enough as it is.” I start to turn to the door when her hand snakes out and grabs hold of my wrist.
“What is it?” she insists.
“Oh, okay. I usually get Max one of those premade cakes from the City Market, but what if I bought you the ingredients?” I am so going to hell for this. “Would you consider baking him a proper birthday cake? It would absolutely make his day.”
Her face lights up. “I’d love to. I do my boys’ cakes every year. But you don’t have to get the ingredients, I’ll take care of—”
“No way,” I cut her off, se
tting down my purchases and pulling my wallet out again, slapping two twenties on the counter. “I pay for the ingredients and no argument.”
I snatch up the tray and the box and make a beeline for the door.
“Wait!” she calls after me. “I don’t even know what he likes.”
“I’ll text you later,” I return before slipping out the door.
I’m grinning ear to ear when I get behind the wheel.
I’m not only going to hell, my mother is going to ream me a new one when I tell her she’s not making Max’s cake this year.
MARYA
The kids should be home soon.
I’m being ridiculous. I’ve sat here at the kitchen counter for the past half hour with the phone in my hand, Dylan’s contact information open.
He said he’d text me, but my phone’s been quiet since yesterday. Then I thought maybe he’d drop by the bookstore this morning, but he didn’t.
I’m sitting here wondering if I’ve lost the last of my marbles. How did I get from keeping my distance to being impatient for a glimpse or a word?
The door flies open and my boys come barging in, dropping their backpacks where they land.
“Hey, Mom!”
“Guys, pick up those bags right now and take them up to your room,” I direct the kids. “Then get your butts down here and bring your dirty laundry.”
There are a lot of days I wish for carpeted stairs, today being one of them. It sounds like a herd of stampeding buffalo through my house.
After Mom moved out, I pulled up the old, dusty pink carpet to expose the nice hardwood floors throughout the house and I’ve occasionally questioned the wisdom of that. I always intended to sand and refinish them, but never got around to it. So instead of gleaming, they look scraped and dented. Probably for the better anyway. I’ll wait until the kids have passed their loud and destructive phase before sinking time and effort into it.
Despite the age of the house, and aside from the small closed off entryway, the main floor has an open feel: one big living and dining space, and only a long counter separating the kitchen. I like it, makes it easier to keep an eye on the kids while I cook, the flip side of that being there’s little privacy. I will occasionally escape into the small laundry room off the kitchen if I don’t want to kids to overhear or interrupt, and I briefly contemplate slipping in there to try and call Dylan.
10-Code (Rock Point, #4) Page 4