by Mary Campisi
Jenny glanced across the desk to find Elliot Drake watching her with undisguised interest. She returned the stare, equally curious. Why did he have to be so young? Why couldn’t he have a paunch and stooped shoulders instead of a lean, wiry body? Why did he have to have coal-black hair, dusted with gray at the temples? Why did he have to have hair at all? And those eyes...they should be small and beady beneath his horn-rimmed glasses, not large and brown. She closed her own eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. It didn’t help. She could still see that damn smile.
“Ms. Romano? Jenny? Are you all right?”
She blinked her eyes open. Something in the way he’d said her name made her stomach jump. He had sounded so casual, so…familiar. She crossed her right leg over her left, shifted in the chair, folded her hands in her lap, locked her fingers together. He was watching her a little too closely, analyzing, no doubt. What did he see? Now she knew what an insect felt like when it was pinned to a board and shoved under a magnifying glass. “Yes, I’m fine.”
The doctor pulled out a notebook and pen. “You’re here to discuss your nieces?”
“Yes.” She pushed past her discomfort with the man to get to the doctor. “Ten days ago, my sister and her husband were involved in a car accident. My brother-in-law was killed and my sister was left in a coma. The doctors don’t know what to expect at this point. Grace may recover, or,” she drew in a deep breath, “she may not.” She could not say the word die.
“I see. And you’ve been taking care of the children?”
“Uh, yes, sort of.” Should she admit that before the accident the most care she’d given them was limited to an occasional peanut butter and jelly sandwich or spreading sun block on their arms and legs? He glanced at her over the top of his glasses. Her ineptitude must have spread across her face like a summer rash. “Actually, one of my sister’s friends—Laura Montgomery, I think you know her—has been helping me. More than helping me,” she confessed, her words picking up speed and spilling out in a rush. “She’s been a lifesaver…I don’t know what I would’ve done without her…You see,” she said, fishing around in her purse for a piece of bubble gum, “I don’t have any children of my own, don’t really know much about them.” She unwrapped two pieces of gum, popped one in her mouth. “I only see the girls twice a year…I live in California and I travel a lot, international kind of stuff, I’m a photographer…I’m going to Italy next month…”
“Anyway,” she chewed hard, went on, “this is all very new to me, all of it…Even the cars; they’re all minivans or SUVs, everywhere you look …Thank God, the airport had a convertible…I’m trying, though, really, but I’m usually the one getting help, not giving it, younger sister and all that…Grace has always been there for me. She was like a mother before she ever became a mother, if that makes any sense.” She waved a hand in the air and chomped harder on her gum. “And me, well, I’m still trying to figure out the whole food issue, like why is an occasional piece of cake for breakfast such a crime? It’s got all the ingredients of a nutritious meal: eggs, flour, milk. I think it’s fine.”
“I agree,” he said with a half-smile.
“You do?”
His smile deepened. “Yes, I do. Deviating from the tried and true once in a while isn’t going to cause permanent damage.”
“Oh.” Jenny eyed him, wary of his words. Nobody ever agreed with her on that subject. Grace had a conniption fit every time Jenny mentioned the word doughnut as a breakfast substitute. And her mother, well, she still believed in the five-course breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, juice, and oatmeal. So why was this man, who was supposed to be able to get inside people’s heads and figure them out, agreeing with her? Was it some kind of set-up maybe to make her see the ridiculousness of her statement?
She looked at him a little closer. He seemed sincere enough. Jenny pried the wad of gum from the roof of her mouth and chomped down hard trying to get another burst. “Why are you agreeing with me? Nobody ever agrees with me.”
He shrugged. “It makes sense. If kids are allowed to eat complete junk food once in a while, then they settle back into good nutrition without much fuss, because they know that on the third Friday of every month, they can pig out.”
“That’s right.” Of course, she wouldn’t admit that her nutrition ideas had nothing to do with the psychology of delayed gratification or whatever theory he was trying to prove. She was simply attempting to break up the boredom of cereal seven days a week.
Elliot Drake jotted down a few notes on his legal pad and rubbed his jaw. “Why do you think the girls need help?”
Jenny popped the second piece of gum in her mouth, chewed until she got the strawberry gush. “It’s really my older niece who’s having the most difficulty. Danielle’s eight and since the day I told her that her father died, she’s barely spoken a word to me. She avoids me most of the time, just sits in her room by herself. And the other day, my younger niece, Natalie, who’s five, started crying and said that Danielle’s been telling her if she doesn’t behave, their mother will get sicker and maybe even die.” Jenny leaned forward, gripped the edge of his desk, “They’re scared and I think they really believe that their behavior controls whether their mother lives…or not.”
Blood rushed to her brain, pounded against her skull. The damn gum wasn’t working. Two wads wasn’t enough. She reached inside her purse, pulled out another piece.
“What are you doing?”
His eyes were on the hand with the gum. “Huh? Oh. This?” She let out a half-laugh. “I’m having a piece of gum. Would you like some?”
He lifted a dark brow and shook his head. “No. Thanks.”
“It’s strawberry. Great stuff.” She pulled out another piece.
“You’ve already got two in your mouth and one in your hand. How many do you plan on chewing at one time?”
Was that curiosity in his voice? “Three should do it.” She stuffed the wad in her cheek. “I’ve been known to chew five at one time.”
His lips twitched. “I’m surprised you have a jaw left.”
She shrugged and let the strawberry rush fill her mouth. “Better than nicotine, I guess. I quit smoking five months ago.” Jenny planted the gum on the roof of her mouth. “Now I chew. Gum, I mean. I chew gum, it helps calm me down.” You sound like an idiot.
“Ah. And do you find it an effective technique?”
She blew a huge bubble, smacked it back in her mouth. “Actually…no. I keep thinking I need more gum, enhance the chewing action, but maybe that’s not it at all.” She rubbed her chin. “My friend in California gave me this glass bottle with lavender and chamomile oils. He said if you sniff it, it’s a great relaxer. Some people even use it as a perfume, just a dab here and there.”
Elliot Drake settled back in his chair and tapped his pen against his notepad. “And has that worked for you, Jenny? A dab here and there?”
She shook her head. “Not really.”
“Maybe you just need a few more dabs.”
Was he making fun of her? Hard to say when he looked at her with those serious eyes and unsmiling lips. Full lips. Very nice. She shook her head, looked away.
They talked for several minutes after that, about the girls, their reactions to their parents’ accident, Grace, Grant, and finally Jenny.
“I have to go to Italy next month,” she blurted out.
“Oh?”
“Yes, it’s a really big assignment. I’ll be shooting the pope.”
“Shooting the pope?”
“I meant, I’ll be photographing the pope.”
“And you’ve already made arrangements?”
“Yes. I mean, no, not exactly. I’ve made arrangements with work to fly out of Ohio, but I haven’t figured out about the girls yet.” She fiddled with a lock of hair. “When I came, I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t even know Grace was in a coma and I certainly didn’t know that Grant was…was dead. I figured I’d stop by, play with the girls, maybe help
Grace, run a few errands. I never dreamed it would be this bad and that I’d actually be responsible for the girls.”
“And now that you are, how does that make you feel?”
Jenny stared at him. How did it make her feel? Typical psychology lingo. “Well…I don’t know how it makes me feel. I want to help, really I do, and I am, but all these decisions, I’m just used to having to worry about myself and even with that I don’t do a very good job. That’s why Grace is so great. She keeps me focused; she makes me see things from a logical point of view without getting all worked up and doing something radical. And when I do, she’s always there to bail me out.”
“But not now.”
“No. Now, I’m the one who has to be there for her. And I want to, but I just don’t know if I’ll be able to.” She rubbed her temples, chewed her triple wad of bubble gum. “I just don’t know.”
“Why don’t we take one thing at a time for right now, okay? Maybe we can talk it through and you’ll find your answers. But for now, I’d like to see the girls as soon as possible.”
“Sure. When are you available?” If anyone could get Danielle to talk, it would be this man. Hadn’t Jenny just spent the last forty minutes talking, blabbering actually, to him? He’d probably dissect their conversation the minute she left his office, and then he’d see how unfit she was to care for her nieces. Well, she didn’t need a too-good-looking psychologist to tell her that; she’d come to that conclusion years ago. But for now, she was all they had and she was not going to let them down.
7
“So, what did you think of Jenny Romano?”
Elliot glanced up from his notes, nodded at Eleanor Flatt. “We had a very interesting meeting.”
“Good.” Eleanor half-waddled into his office, plopped herself down on the same chair Jenny Romano had vacated fifteen minutes ago. “But I asked you what you thought of her, not the meeting.”
He looked up again, said, “She was a very nice lady.”
“Hah!” She slapped her knee. “A very nice lady? Do you think I’m blind? That was no Roberta Dunlop in here.”
“I didn’t say she was Roberta.”
“And I’m glad she isn’t. What you’d find interesting in a biochemist who totes around a briefcase full of books wherever she goes, I’m sure I don’t know. The woman never laughed, never even smiled, what with her tape recorder, her cell phone, her computer, good gracious, she was more boring than watching a stopped clock.”
Eleanor was right there. Roberta Dunlop had been boring, extremely boring.
“But this new one, this Jenny Romano, she’s not the least bit boring, I can tell.”
“You’re right there.” He pictured her stuffing wads of bubble gum in her mouth. “But, Eleanor, she’s not a new one; she’s the aunt of two new clients.”
She shook her head, made a tsk-tsk, sound. “Oh, those two little girls, Hank’s neighbors. I heard all about them from Laura. Poor things.” She leaned over, lowered her voice. “I also heard Jenny Romano isn’t married.”
“You heard?”
“All right…I inquired.”
“Eleanor, don’t.”
“What?” She threw him an innocent look. “What did I do?”
“You know.” He narrowed his gaze on her. “I warned you the last time.”
“Madeline Archer was a very nice woman. You didn’t give her a chance.”
He blew out a disgusted breath. “She was looking for a sperm donor.”
“Well, once she got to know you, she would have wanted more than just your,” her cheeks turned a bright rose, “your you know.”
“I appreciate your efforts, Eleanor, but I prefer to choose my own women, if you don’t mind.”
“Fine. That’s fine.” She sat there, hands folded over her ample middle, watching him.
He tried to ignore her and went back to his notes, but every ten seconds she sighed or cleared her throat or tapped her foot. Thirty seconds into her antics, he threw down his pen. “What, Eleanor?”
“Just answer me this and then I won’t bring it up again.” She cleared her throat in earnest this time. “Didn’t you find Jenny Romano at least a little attractive?”
He supposed there was no harm in admitting the truth. “Yes.”
“And didn’t you find her quite different from the usual women you associate with, like Roberta Dunlop, for example?”
“Sure.” He leaned back in his chair. “Roberta wasn’t addicted to bubble gum.”
Eleanor stared at him. “What?”
“Nothing. Yes, I found Jenny Romano different.” Not necessarily in a good way, either, though he wouldn’t admit that to Eleanor. There was so much energy pulsing in the woman, she made his brain tired thinking about it.
“She’s quite attractive, isn’t she?”
Elliot picked up his notepad, flipped a page. “In a bohemian sort of way.”
“What does that mean, bohemian?”
The woman did not give up. He might as well give her some answers so she’d stop. “Well, for one thing, did you notice that gold-coined belt that jingled every time she moved…and the big hoop earrings…in her ears and the one on her left cartilage…and the bangles on her wrists, five of them…and the way she moved, actually kind of swayed, all soft and fluid…wild? And those eyes, don’t tell me you didn’t notice those eyes, hazel and wide, tilted at the corners, almond shaped…and her lips, they were pink and full…and all that hair…”
Eleanor Flatt stood up, cleared her throat, and smoothed the front of her navy-blue skirt. “My, my, Elliot,” she said with a sly smile, “for someone who’s not interested in the woman, you certainly did notice quite a lot about her, didn’t you?”
* * *
“So, Jenny, what did you think of Elliot?” Laura asked two seconds after Jenny walked in the door to pick up Danielle and Natalie.
How to answer that? “Well…he seemed very interested in the girls.” And why didn’t anybody tell me he was so damn good-looking?
“Isn’t he a wonderful person?” Obviously, Laura was trying to start a conversation on the subject of Elliot Drake. Or maybe, the better word was dissection, a dissection of Jenny’s meeting with the man. Or maybe not, maybe Laura was simply concerned, and maybe Jenny was just being paranoid because for some indefinable reason, she did not want to talk about Elliot Drake.
“He seemed very nice.” But I don’t like the way he parked himself inside my head and knew what I was thinking before I thought it.
“I’m glad you liked him. I think it’s a good thing for the girls to talk to someone right now. He did wonders for Hank’s niece.” Laura folded her arms across her chest, shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder how Elliot can be so positive, so giving, after what he went through.”
“What happened? The question slipped out before she could yank it back.
Laura lowered her voice, took a step closer. “His wife left him,” she said. “Four years ago. Nobody knows why and he never talks about it.”
“Wow, that’s tough.” Elliot Drake didn’t look like the kind of man a woman would leave…
“Worse.” Laura shook her head again and her pale blond braid swayed back and forth. “She left their little girl, too. Sydney. She’s eight.”
“How horrible.” No wonder Eleanor Flatt reacted the way she did when Jenny mentioned the word wife.
“You’ve got to give him credit, though,” Laura went on. “He takes care of Sydney all by himself, with the help of Eleanor. Never complains. Just does what he needs to do and really seems to enjoy it.”
“And what about the daughter?”
Laura’s half-smile faded. “I guess she’s doing as well as can be expected, given the situation.” She shrugged. “But she loves her daddy. I don’t think she’ll like it much if he ever finds himself another wife.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want one.” Not everyone needed to be part of a couple to feel complete. Jenny was a firsthand example of “happy and single.”
“Hard to tell, but you’ve seen him, talked to him; who wouldn’t want him?”
* * *
When the doorbell rang that evening, Jenny was scrunched down on the couch, remote in hand, flicking between an old-house makeover and a rainforest documentary. She rolled off the couch and headed for the door. Had Laura come to deliver another homemade meal? She’d been sending dishes over since Jenny confessed to leaving all of the margarine out of the box of macaroni and cheese the other day because she wanted to make it healthier and ended up with an orange paste that stuck in the girls’ throats and made them gag. What would it be tonight? She’d love more of the chicken and broccoli casserole Laura sent over three days ago.
Jenny opened the door expecting to find Laura with a tray of food, but the woman standing on the landing certainly wasn’t Laura. This woman was tall and slender, except for her breasts, which were stuffed into a bright blue jersey dress that boasted three inches of cleavage. Her hair was black and curly, running down her back. Her eyes were the color of crystal with a smoky haze.
“Can I help you?” Jenny asked, easing a hand through her own hair. Her fingers got stuck in a gnarl of tangles partway through.
The woman tilted her head to the right and eyed Jenny with a predatory keenness, then pursed her lips, flicked a lock of hair over her shoulder, and said, “I’m looking for Grant.”
Jenny blinked, coughed. “Grant?”
“I need to see him,” she said, annoyance filtering her words.
Obviously, the woman didn’t know Grant was dead, and Jenny wasn’t about to tell her until she found out why this woman was looking for her dead brother-in-law. “I’m sorry,” Jenny said, shaking her head and offering a fake half-smile. “I’m afraid he’s not available.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I’m through with that line. If I hadn’t been out of town the past ten days, I would have stormed into his office and made that cold bitch secretary of his tell me the truth. Unavailable. What the hell does that mean, huh? He’s not unavailable to me, I’ll tell you that.”