by Lisa Plumley
Josie parked her car in her parents’ drive, behind the pimpmobile and her father’s old Toyota. She sat there for a minute, listening to the pings and sighs of her engine cooling. She drew a deep breath.
The Day family’s double-wide trailer didn’t look very different. It was still baby blue, still decorated with an awning and poured concrete porch steps, still showed off swag curtains at the living room windows. Josie remembered looking at those windows on her walk home from the school bus stop, thinking that they looked like fancy eyelashes on her house’s face. Then, she’d believed theirs was the nicest trailer in the park.
She wasn’t that naïve anymore.
It was probably just as well.
Straightening her sunglasses, Josie drew in another breath. She opened her creaky driver’s side door and climbed out, sparing a glance for her piled-up things—they’d be fine here for now—and for the yard to her left. Marigolds grew in concentric circles at the base of the mailbox. They were probably her mother’s handiwork. Nancy Day liked keeping up appearances.
She knocked on the door. It was Sunday, she recalled when there was no immediate answer. Maybe her parents were still at church. Or maybe they’d peeked out the swag-curtained windows and spotted her, and had decided to give her a taste of her own medicine. Gripped with misery and a strong sense of regret for having dodged them when she’d come to town, Josie knocked again.
The door opened, releasing the aroma of smoked bacon and eggs. Her father stood on the threshold, dressed in his Sunday best Haggar trousers and a short-sleeved checked shirt, his hair combed back. His expression looked unreadable.
“Josie,” he said.
Oh, God. Not this. Not him. Not now. She knew she wasn’t strong enough to withstand another battle with her dad. She should have gone to Jenna’s, Josie thought in a panic. But with two kids, Jenna and David didn’t have room for company.
Blinking behind her sunglasses, Josie distracted herself by adjusting her knit cap. It still wasn’t very warm.
“Hi, Dad,” she said awkwardly. “Is, um, Mom home? Because I need…well, I need….”
To her mortification, she couldn’t force the words out. Her throat closed up around a fresh onslaught of tears. She felt her chin wobble, her face begin to crumple. No, no, no.
A harsh breath. “I need a place to stay for a while,” she blurted.
Silence fell. The world looked too hazy with unshed tears for Josie to gauge the expression on her father’s face. All she knew was that he didn’t say anything for what felt like eons. He was right, she told herself. Her parents didn’t have to help her. She was a grown woman. It was stupid to come crawling home like this.
“Your mother’s here,” he said. “But I can handle this.”
Oh, God. Oh, God. He sounded so…stern. So tough.
Had she ruined things between them forever by confronting him? Steadying herself for defeat, Josie fisted her hands.
“You stay as long as you want,” she heard her father say.
He opened his arms and hauled her to him. Josie stumbled in her three-inch layer of wool socks, but she landed against his big, broad chest, and her dad caught her securely. He patted her on the back, his manner hearty and humbled and filled with compassion. His aftershave penetrated the haze of her disbelief—and everything else within wilting distance.
“It’ll be all right, Josie,” he said, his voice gruff. He held her apart from him, examined her face, tweaked her cheek the way he had when she was twelve. “Nancy, bring this girl a blanket. She’s cold just like you. I’m going to get all that rigmarole out of that car of hers. When was the last time you had the shocks looked at on that heap, anyway, Josie Marie? It could probably use a tune-up, the way it’s dragging on the ground like that.”
“That’s just because it’s loaded up with all my stuff, Dad. That’s everything I own in the world.”
“Since when do you own two tons of ‘stuff’? Must be all those shoes, just like your mother….”
Still muttering to himself, he tromped down the steps. Left behind, Josie looked through the doorway into the house.
Her mother stood there watching her, the Sunday paper strewn at her feet. Her coupon organizer lay on the coffee table. Her special coupons-only scissors rested beside it on top of a colorful circular, everything ordinary and bland and wonderful. She spread her arms. Josie saw that she was holding the crocheted afghan that had decorated the family sofa since the eighties.
“Whatever it is,” her mother said, gesturing for her to come closer, “we’re here for you, honey.”
And that was when Josie knew…you really could come home again.
Chapter Twenty-One
The week after Josie’s Chevy had rattled and coughed its way down the drive away from Luke was the worst he could remember. Determined to crush his heartache beneath hard work, he took it outdoors. There’d be no wussy wallowing around for him, goddamn it. Just work, work, work.
With that in mind, he lay belly down on Blue Moon’s front yard. The smell of dirt and torn-up grass filled his nostrils as he wrestled with a defective sprinkler head, trying to pry it loose. Every day that passed, he told himself grimly, was another chance to get the estate ready for auction.
The L.A. property waited for him, promising exactly the setup he’d always wanted. The setup that would impress his dad and finally put an end to their stupid argument. The setup that would prove, once and for all, that Luke Donovan could make his own damned way in life.
If he hurried, he figured he could make things happen in time for Melissa’s wedding. All he had to do was unload this place—getting the cash he needed in the process—then trade it all in for the mechanic’s shop of his dreams.
Too bad he didn’t give a damn about it anymore.
Still, this was all he had, Luke reminded himself. He scraped his fingers around the sprinkler head, digging a shallow trench for leverage. This—Blue Moon—and his self-respect. He’d gone a long way to preserve both. He sure as hell couldn’t be expected to pick up all his marbles and quit now. Especially for a woman who’d leave him at the first sign of trouble.
A woman like Josie.
He had enough fickle people in his life already. TJ, for instance. He’d gone batshit when he’d heard about Josie leaving, and he still wasn’t over it. Whenever he saw Luke coming, he got an ugly look on his face and headed the other direction. That was a fine way for a longtime friend to act.
“Asshole,” Luke muttered, pulling on the frozen sprinkler.
TJ seemed to think Josie was the wronged party here, not Luke. Even though Luke had explained about volunteering to let Josie stay at the estate. Even though he’d explained about the substitute dance studio he’d offered to buy her.
“Yeah. As if Josie’s going to believe that,” TJ had scoffed, shaking his head. “You blew it, dude.”
Even remembering that conversation pissed Luke off. What about loyalty? Solidarity between friends? Right and wrong? Christ. TJ acted as if Luke had personally packed up Josie’s stuff and driven her away himself.
And Tallulah. Tallulah, Tallulah. Where to start? She’d been here every day, fresh from her hotel in Donovan’s Corner, specifically to badger Luke—with her backup singer, Ambrose, on the coulda-woulda-shouldas.
“You’re as stubborn as your idiot father,” his aunt was saying now, her litany unchanged from yesterday. She loomed over him with a lemonade in one hand and a folding fan in the other, looking for all the world like a bitchy, over-the-hill southern belle. “You couldn’t compromise your way out of a wet paper bag.”
Luke went on digging.
“You’ve lost the ability to apologize. Worse, you don’t even see a need to apologize! That’s your problem. That and the fact that you view every last thing in black and white.”
Luke brushed away some dirt. Yanked. No dice.
Tallulah edged nearer, blocking out the sun. “You couldn’t find your own backside with both hands and a map,” she announced. “
I’m ashamed to be in the same family with you.”
Luke pressed his lips together, struggling for patience. “You’re standing on my sprinkler head.”
“I should stand on your head head!”
Great. Tallulah wasn’t budging. Neither was he. Now he’d never get this sprinkler head out.
Ambrose stepped forward, a sun umbrella in hand. “What my darling wife means is, she’s frustrated you didn’t tell her about your problems with your father earlier.”
“Exactly,” Tallulah said.
“And she’s angry you won’t even talk with Miss Day.”
“That’s right.”
“And she wishes you’d pull your head out of your posterior and start acting like the man you’re supposed to be instead of a sulky four-year-old.”
Tallulah and Luke both gawked at Ambrose.
He raised a brow with dignity. “The street of marital influence runs both ways.”
Exasperated, Luke wriggled his hand from where it had gotten wedged between the dirt, the sprinkler head, and Tallulah’s orthopedic shoe. He rolled over in defeat. The grassy ground cradled him, flat and reliable beneath his back. A fly buzzed over him, then flitted away on the pine-tinged breeze.
He just wanted to close his eyes and forget everything.
“Don’t you two know any knock-knock jokes?” he asked.
Silence. He didn’t need to open his eyes to feel their confusion. It beamed down on him as strongly as the sunshine.
“Josie used to tell knock-knock jokes,” he admitted.
The minute the words left his mouth, Luke wanted to stuff a dirt clod in his stupid yapper. Tallulah and Ambrose didn’t need to know how he pined for one of Josie’s lame jokes. How he yearned to hear her laughter. How he trudged through the mansion with his heart in his shoes, wishing she’d come dancing through one of the rooms with her boom box in hand.
“She liked to clean,” he heard himself say. Shit. What was his problem? At least he hadn’t confessed everything. Everything like, The smell of Formula 409 still makes me think of her.
Oh, crap. Morosely, Luke flung his arm over his eyes to block out the sun—and Tallulah and Ambrose’s undoubtedly befuddled gazes. If he were smart, he’d stick his arm over his mouth and shut the hell up. If he were smart…. If he were smart he’d never have let Josie go.
Tallulah cleared her throat, obviously getting ready to say something. Probably something inspirational or sappy or otherwise Hallmark-card-worthy. Luke didn’t think he could stand the sympathy right now. Wincing, he waited for the Schmaltzapalooza.
“Maybe you can squirt some Formula 409 around your new mechanic’s shop,” his aunt suggested. “To keep you warm at night.”
“Pigheaded pride won’t tell you knock-knock jokes,” Ambrose added.
Luke opened his eyes. His family—at least all its members who were currently on speaking terms with him—loomed over him. They looked irritatingly certain and impossibly self-righteous.
“Hit me when I’m down, why don’t you?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a monster headache coming on. “You two are brutal.”
“We’re right, and you know it.”
“Nope.” Wearily, Luke got to his feet. “What I know is there’s still a lot to be done around here if I’m going to get a decent offer on this place. See you around. I’ve got work to do.”
“Stubborn fool,” Tallulah muttered as he walked away.
“Jerk,” Ambrose added.
Luke didn’t care. He’d had enough weakening for one day. He’d lived without Josie once, and he could do it again. No matter how much it hurt.
“Josie, you’ve got company,” Nancy Day called.
Reluctantly, Josie lifted her gaze from the TV screen. In the murkiness of the swag-curtained living room, she could barely identify the man who walked in…until he spoke.
“Whoa. It’s a freaking cave in here. Hey, are those Funyuns? Pass the bag. Got any Pepsi?” He flopped on the sofa, amiably nudging aside her swaths of blankets. He rested his elbow on her dog-eared stack of In Touch magazines. “What are we watching? Anything good?”
Cheerfully, he helped himself to the Velveeta-smothered nachos on the coffee table. He munched one, glancing from the flickering TV screen to Josie. Expectantly.
Of everyone who’d been pestering her to “just snap out of it” for the past week, TJ was the one Josie found hardest to disappoint.
“E! Entertainment Television,” she said without enthusiasm. She’d been mainlining it pretty hard lately, trying to think about something else besides missing Luke. “This is behind the scenes with 101 Hottest Heartthrobs. Either that, or it’s Fashion Police: Beyoncé. I can’t remember for sure.”
TJ nodded, surveying the snacks she’d laid out. After several days’ practice, she was getting pretty good at selecting the best junk foods for drowning her sorrows with. Bugles. Strawberry Nestlé Nesquik. Pop Rocks. Between the Wonder Bread, the boxed mac ‘n cheese, and the sugary goodness of Pixy Stix, Josie figured she hadn’t eaten anything without the essential “artificial colors” food group since walking out of Blue Moon.
But in spite of that, and in spite of E!‘s nonstop celebrity coverage, she still couldn’t quit thinking about Luke.
“It’s going to be tough to do those ballet moves of yours with a gut full of microwavable burritos,” TJ observed, squinting at her paper plate. “You’ll blow your students out of class with ‘New Hungry-Moose Size!’ farts.”
Josie guffawed. She couldn’t help it. “That’s ‘New Hungry-Man Size,’” she clarified, pointing to the wrapper.
“You’ll be moose size if you keep shoveling it in like this.” Looking concerned, TJ put down the Funyuns. He gazed into her eyes. Solemnly, he announced, “It’s time to turn off E! TV.”
“No!” Josie grabbed for the remote.
Too late. Her parents’ nineteen-inch Zenith zapped off.
Moaning, she sank on her mound of blankets. She wasn’t quite as cold these days, but she liked having their coziness around her. It made her feel better. Doing without E! TV definitely did not.
“You suck, TJ. Give me back that remote.”
“Not until I tell you some stuff I should have told you a long time ago.”
She cast him a suspicious look. “Is it about Luke? Because if it is, I don’t want to hear it.”
“It’s not about Luke. It’s about…Link. Yeah. This guy named Link, who met this girl. Janie.”
Proudly, TJ grinned. Josie rolled her eyes.
“Eeeeeh,” she grunted, making her best “time’s up” game-show-buzzer sound. “No, thanks. I’ve wasted enough time thinking about Luke Donovan and his megabucks.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. He doesn’t have—”
With a stubborn display of her palm, Josie stopped him. She felt way too miserable to argue today. A part of her had never quit hoping Luke would find her and apologize. The rest of her still felt too hurt by his lies to care.
All she had now was E!. E! and Cap’n Crunch. Wearily, Josie grabbed the opened box from the coffee table. She plucked out a handful of Crunch Berries. She passed the box to TJ as a sort of peace offering, feeling relieved when he grudgingly accepted it. After all, he wasn’t the one who’d stomped all over her heart.
The sound of crunching filled the living room. Josie ate her Crunch piece by piece, saving the sweet pink “berries” for last. TJ ate his by the palm full, cheerfully unbothered by the crumbs he dribbled on his Donovan’s Corner Suds ‘N Duds T-shirt.
She nodded toward it. “Did you get that from Amber?”
“Yeah. She’s the Laundromat attendant.”
“That’s nice. Good for her. Glad you two are happy.”
More crunching. Increasingly, Josie wondered if TJ had somehow figured out she wasn’t quite over Luke yet. She was still vulnerable to thinking of him, dreaming of him…wanting him. Their breakup, coming hard on the heels of their incredible night together as it had, had really de
vastated her. She couldn’t risk actually talking about him. Not yet.
“So,” TJ said offhandedly. “About Link. He’s got this real hard-ass of a dad, see? And this dad, he’s always cracking down hard on him. He thinks he’s a screw-up.”
“La, la, la. Not listening!” Josie sang out.
“When Link was just a little kid, his mom died.”
Oh, geez. “Come on, TJ—”
“And his dad, he just went to work after that. That was all he did. Work, work, work. Building his freight trucking empire. He went to work and shipped Link to boarding school.” TJ shrugged. “Boarding school after boarding school. Link kept getting kicked out for taking things apart. And drag racing. And amping up the power on the parents’ night billboard.”
Josie had to know something. Determinedly, she kept her tone light. “Was there really a pony? And a nanny?”
“I think so.” TJ frowned. “I met Link after all that. By then, he was busy trying to be a big boss at, um, Blowhard & Sons. Like his dad wanted. But it didn’t work out too well.”
I can’t talk about dads, Josie remembered Luke saying. I haven’t had the greatest experience in that department.
Sympathy filled her. Maybe some of the things he’d told her had been true, she thought reluctantly. Maybe some of the important things had been real—and so had his feelings for her. Maybe, maybe….
No. Luke had hurt her and he hadn’t cared. She wouldn’t care, either. She wouldn’t. Wouldn’t. Wouldn’t.
“What happened?” she heard herself ask, hugging a throw pillow to her chest. “What happened at Blowhard & Sons?”
Arrgh. She could have drowned herself in Kool-Aid just for saying the words. What was the matter with her? Why give TJ more ammunition for his annoying Luke defense theories?
But TJ wasn’t the one who made Josie lean forward to catch every word he said next. And TJ wasn’t the one who made her sit up straight in surprise, who made her catch her breath in commiseration, who made her tear up at the finale to “Link’s” life story.