Echoing Dadley’s words, Marla said, “You paid a hundred-forty dollars for that?”
“Yes. It’s a Vera Wang. We got it for half price.” Hands to her cheeks, Char’s feet thumped up and down running-in-place. “I’m so excited. I’ve never owned a Vera Wang.”
Marla crossed her arms. “I can understand why, sis. I can’t imagine paying that kind of money for a blouse.”
Silvia lifted a Nordstrom bag from the floor and ruffled through a mountain of tissue. “Ta da! We got one for you too.” The paper fluttered to the floor, and Mom held aloft the same style blouse in a deep shimmery aquamarine. “This will look beyond fabulous on you, Marla.”
“Don’t take off your sweatshirt in front of me, please. I’ll have to close my eyes again.” Dadley winked.
“Bradley, leave the room this minute!” Silvia smacked his shoulder and shoved him in the direction of the hall.
He grumbled. “I paid for it. Shouldn’t I be allowed to get my money’s worth?”
“You got more than your money’s worth the day these girls were born. Now leave the room. I’ll call you back in when she puts on the full outfit.”
Marla touched the blouse, the silk cool and slick on her hand. “There’s more?”
“Lordy, I can’t wait. Get those ugly jeans and sweatshirt off. Mom bought the skirt they had on display with it. Both were in size twelve. It was like they knew we were coming.”
They knew you were coming all right. I’m willing to bet the head of the women’s department knows both of you by your first names. “Char. Mom. I can’t wear this kind of expensive stuff. I never go anywhere. Anyway, I can’t afford it.”
“Don’t worry, dear. Your father paid for it. We’ll call it an early birthday present.” She held up a beautiful ivory colored jacquard skirt, flat pleats all around with a back zipper. Marla nearly swooned. She’d never owned anything so beautiful.
“Our birthday isn’t for five months! And it probably won’t fit. I’ll pass.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Charlene grabbed the bottom of her sweatshirt and pulled up. “Lift your arms.”
“You’re ganging up on me!” They paid no attention. While Charlene tugged the sweatshirt over her head, Silvia unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down to her ankles.
“Kick off your shoes, dear, and step out of these.”
I might as well accept defeat. Soon, Marla stood in the middle of her parent’s living room barefooted, in her underwear. Her plain white, practical underwear.
“Lordy, we’ve got to get you some better lingerie.”
“Char, I like my lingerie just fine.”
“Maybe you do, but those things do not qualify as lingerie. You’ve got the body of an Italian movie actress. You should show it off with panache.”
“Panache. I’ve been running short on that lately.”
Silvia put a hand on her chin. “I’d forgotten what lovely curves you have. Charlene’s right. You’re not showing yourself to your best advantage.”
“Who am I going to show myself to for the love of Pete!”
Charlene pursed her pretty mouth and pointed her finger at Marla’s nose. “I plan to take care of that. I booked another single’s dinner for next week.”
“Charlene!”
Dad’s voice echoed from the hall, “Can I see what my money bought?”
“No!” the three of them shouted.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“What’s with the boss lady today?” Cluny asked when he entered the door of the construction trailer. “She actually smiled at me just now.”
Ignoring the question, Dwayne looked up from the scribbled note. “Did you take this phone call?”
“Huh? What phone call?”
Dwayne held up a piece of paper. “This note was beside the phone when I got here. It’s dated today.”
“What’s it say?”
“I’m in town. I want to see the kid.”
Cluny had his jacket off and was reaching for the coat peg when he stopped. For a second he stood like a department store mannequin. “Are you shittin’ me? It’s from Francine?”
He shrugged and furrowed his brow. “Doesn’t say.” Head swimming, he slumped in the squeaky desk chair. It couldn’t be Francine, could it? He hadn’t heard a peep from her since Amber was an infant. He’d hired private investigators to search for her and lawyers to handle the mountain of paperwork to get his divorce from her. She’d vanished as if she’d never existed. “I don’t know who took the message.”
Cluny stuck out his hand. “Give it to me.” He held the bright pink “While You Were Out” note and squinted. “This is Slim’s pathetic scrawl.”
“Get him in here.”
“He just left for the warehouse to get some pipe fittings. I told him to check with me when he got back.” Cluny stared at the note and paced. “Crap. What if it is Francine? What are you going to do?”
Dwayne rubbed his temples. His neck and head pounded like they were in an enemy bombardment. “I don’t know. I don’t want her to see Amber.”
“You got sole custody of Amber in the divorce. She has no parental rights.” Cluny handed him the Styrofoam cup he’d just bought off the Gaggin’ Wagon. “Here, you need some coffee.”
“Thanks, bud.” Dwayne blew on the cup and took a tentative sip. His stomach clenched when the hot coffee hit, but he took another swallow. “This’ll help.”
“I’m goin’ back out to get myself another cup before Luis leaves to poison the next construction crew down the road.” He put his jacket on and opened the door. “Be right back.”
“Get a couple of those greasy doughnuts,” Dwayne called before the door closed.
Worrisome thoughts bounced through his mind. What if it was Francine? Cluny nailed it—she had no legal right to see Amber, but did he have the moral right to deny his daughter the chance to meet her mother? Scalp tingling, he set the cup on the desk and raked his fingers through his hair. Scrubbing hands over his unshaven chin, he studied the note again. Slim hadn’t written down a callback number.
Francine, she wanted something. Francine always wanted something. A relentless user, he remembered how she manipulated everyone around her into doing her bidding, including him.
He swiveled the chair around and pulled out a drawer in the file cabinet behind his desk. This is where he kept all the legal stuff. He didn’t leave any of it at home where Amber might come across it.
The door opened and he stayed hunched over the drawer looking for the file. A gust of cold wind hit him in the back. “Did he have any doughnuts left?”
“What?”
He slammed the drawer shut and swung around, wincing when he twisted his left knee.
Marla dropped a pile of mail on his desk. He saw right away that she looked at his hand where he rubbed his leg.
“Nothing, I thought you were Cluny.” He looked through the stack. “Where’d all this come from?” If she got any more beautiful he’d have to join a seminary and take a vow of celibacy. Her glorious hair tumbled around her shoulders in windblown waves. Please, God, I want a handful of that.
“I stopped in to see Miss Emmaline. She asked me to bring this to you. It’s probably junk. It’s addressed to Big D Construction here, not your company address.”
Dressed for business, there was still no way she could hide her fabulous rack and lush hips. He clenched his hands into fists to stop the itching in his palms. Quit it, you idiot. Get your mind around what you’re going to do if Francine is back in the picture!
He cleared his throat. “You going someplace special?”
She followed his gaze and glanced down at her blouse. Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink. “Um, yes, I’m meeting Pete and Rosie at the escrow office. The seller accepted the offer and we’re signing the papers on the house. I, uh, just wanted you to know I won’t be around today.”
“I’ll try to survive without you breathing down my neck.”
“Like you said at that fiasco called Si
ngles Dinner Only, ‘you’re a jackass.’”
He grinned. “I need to work on that.”
“No kidding.”
She turned toward the door and gave him a good view of her curvy behind in clingy black slacks. He needed a bite of that.
“Shit!” Cluny bobbled the coffee and doughnuts when Marla flung the door open and nearly knocked him off the steps.
She stomped down the stairs. “Watch where you’re going, McPherson. You nearly knocked me over.”
“I nearly—?” He backed up, huffed, watched her leave, and stepped inside. “You must’ve said the right thing, Gunny. Her smile is gone.”
“Yeah, I seem to have a knack for it.” Dwayne reached for the paper-wrapped doughnuts. “What’s taking Slim so long?”
“That’s his truck pulling in now.”
“Give him a shout. I need him to translate this note.”
* * *
If there was a single individual in the entire universe who irritated her more than Dwayne Dempsey, she didn’t know who it could be. Well, maybe Charlene sometimes, and definitely her mother, but Dwayne? He was the champion irritator of all time.
And why was everybody picking on her lately? First Dadley telling her to quit managing the family, Sil and Charlene insisting on improving her wardrobe, and the topper—Dempsey by a mile.
If he didn’t quit staring at her boobs, she’d sock him in the nose one of these days. And his snarky remarks about trying to manage without her? It was her building he was renovating, not his. The man drove her nuts.
Sure, he was tall, dark, single and sexy, and he had a sweet child, but he worked for her, darn it! Swaggering around the construction lot like he was God’s gift, giving orders to everybody, including her.
Well, OK, he could give orders to them, but not to her. He worked for her!
She gripped the steering wheel and ignored the prickles invading every muscle in her body, especially the ones she sat on, and told herself to calm down. Maybe Dadley had a point. Maybe she did try to control everything and everyone. It wasn’t like she thought the world would stop if she got off. It would stop for her, but keep right on turning without her.
What a horrible thought. True, though.
She clenched her jaw and nodded. “OK, Marla, here’s the plan. You’ll put on those obscenely expensive Vera Wang’s, buy a pair of super sexy shoes, glam yourself up with Charlene’s expert help, and go to the singles dinner. Then show Edwin, the zombie, the door.” For emphasis she gave herself a schoolmistress scowl in the rearview mirror.
Charlene’s voice answered through the phone speaker. “It’s about time.” Marla nearly lost control of the car.
“Char, you scared me half to death! Why are you calling?”
“You called me!”
“No, I…oh, for the love of…I accidentally pushed the phone button on the steering wheel.” What idiot of an engineer thought of putting it there in the first place? It was a wonder she hadn’t run right off the road.
“Serendipity. I was about to call you to make sure you were on for the singles dinner.”
“Look, I’ve got an appointment. I’ll discuss the dinner with you tonight.”
“OK, I’ll see you and the boys later.”
Two hours later she handed Rosalie Wyland the keys to the house that Dempsey built. The woman’s excitement gave Marla a warm feeling of satisfaction. As she turned to leave, a van pulled into the driveway.
“Oh, wait, Marla. Here’s Dylan. Stay and say hello.”
Marla smiled and waved as Dwayne’s big brother stepped out of the shiny black van with Spring Grove Furniture and Design painted in fancy gold script on the side.
Rosie ran down the walk and jumped into Dylan’s open arms. “You already changed the name? I love it. Marla, look, Dylan already changed the name on the van.”
Marla smiled. “Hi, Dylan, great to see you.” Since when had he matured into such a good-looking man? He strongly resembled Dwayne, only taller and more slender. Those Dempsey boys got some of their looks from John, but their mother, Kathleen, must have been tall with blue-green eyes like Kate Middleton. Marla couldn’t remember Kathleen that clearly. She’d left Spring Grove when they were all pretty young, and Dwayne had gone with her.
“It’s been a while since the two of you have seen each other, I’ll bet.”
“It’s been too long,” Dylan said, and leaned in to kiss Marla’s cheek. “How have you been, babe? I haven’t seen you in a long time. I forgot how gorgeous you are.”
Marla felt her blush rising. She’d had a crush on Dylan Dempsey when they were in school. “I’m still waiting for you to ask me to the senior prom, Dyl. You broke my heart. I cry myself to sleep every night thinking about it.”
Dylan threw his head back with a hearty laugh, put an arm around her and Rosalie, and walked them to the front door. “Let’s go inside and see what we have to work with here. I haven’t seen this place since Big D finished building it.”
Marla trailed behind them as Rosalie walked through the house snapping dozens of pictures with her cell phone. A warm glow encompassed Marla. One of the most rewarding aspects of a real estate sale was a happy buyer.
Marla’s iPhone vibrated in her pocket. She returned to the entry hall and answered, “Hello, Char.”
“Are you still coming for dinner tonight? The boys and I have finalized all the plans for Dadley’s no-longer-a-surprise birthday party. We want your seal of approval.”
“You don’t need my seal of approval, but yes, I’ll be there. Six?”
“Make it six-thirty. The boys can’t be here before seven. You know how bad the traffic on the 210 freeway is with everybody heading home on a Monday night. You and I can put the final touches on dinner before they show up.”
“OK, sis. See you then.” She clicked off the phone and returned it to her pocket. Dylan was staring at her, chin in hand. “What?”
“I was wondering if you could make it over for dinner tonight. Grace would love to see you. It’s been too long.”
“Thanks, Dyl. I can’t make it. Charlene is up to her earlobes in the final tweaking for Dad’s birthday party. The twins and I are having dinner tonight at her place.”
“That’s right, Brad’s party is next Saturday evening. Grace and I will be there with our kids. It’s been a long time since all the Danaher’s and Dempsey’s got together for a high old time. We’re hoping Donovan can get away from Camp Pendleton for the weekend to join us.”
“Donovan! He’s the Dempsey I haven’t seen in forever. How’s he doing?”
Dylan’s face filled with pride when he spoke of his little brother. “Master Sergeant, Donovan Dempsey, made it back in one piece from his third tour in Iraq, thanks be to God. He’s up for reenlistment, but he hasn’t made a decision on it yet. I haven’t seen him myself for almost a year.”
Marla pictured the gangly brunette with devilish eyes who always tagged behind Dylan. “Did he ever marry that girl in San Diego?”
“No. She wouldn’t play second fiddle to the Marines. Poor old Donovan got a Dear John letter half-way through his second deployment.”
“You better warn him in advance that Charlene’s on the prowl.”
“Still?”
“Always. A single Marine? He’ll be added to the endangered species list once he sets foot in Spring Grove.”
* * *
Dwayne held up the phone message. “So who left this, Slim?”
“It was a woman, Gunny. Sorry. I asked her, but she wouldn’t leave her name, she said you’d know who it was.”
“Six-thirty a.m. That right?” Maybe it wasn’t Francine. She never got up before ten in the morning.
“Yeah, the phone was ringing when I opened up this morning. Anything else? Cluny’s waiting for me to help with that load of copper pipe.”
“Did you ask her to leave a number?”
“Said she was on the move and would call back.”
“OK, bud. Thanks. Get to that pipe befo
re Cluny blows a gasket.” He clapped Slim on the shoulder, sat heavily in his chair, and stared at the wrinkled scrap of bright pink paper. His ears had been ringing ever since that last battle in Iraq, but the high-pitched squeal now reached deafening volume.
Francine wanted to see “the kid.” No. He’d decided that was not going to happen on his watch. Thanks to his misguided parenting, Amber had a little girl’s fairytale notion about the selfish tramp. He’d done it to protect her, had allowed her to nurture whimsy, hoping the day would never come when he’d have to tell her the truth. His gut cramped.
He’d run out of time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Marla smiled when she saw the results of Saturday night preparations for Dad’s birthday party. Everything had come together like clockwork.
Charlene, Harry, and Barry, with little direction from her, presented a mouthwatering Mexican buffet feast on the back patio. Pork sizzled on the barbecue, filling the mild spring evening air, and the neighborhood, with delicious aromas.
Since all their old neighbors were among the invited guests, they were not tortured by enticing smells. The feast was for the neighbors as well as other family, friends, and business acquaintances of Brad and Silvia.
Marla answered the front doorbell for the tenth time. OK, it was time to do something about that. She slapped together a makeshift sign directing arriving guests through the side gate leading to the backyard. Then she joined Harry at the beverage table.
“Remember all the great birthday parties we had here when we were kids?” Harry asked.
“How about the backyard camp-outs? Char and I loved to terrorize you boys and your friends with ghost stories in your tent on dark nights. I’m still wondering why the cops never got called when the neighbors heard the blood-curdling screams.” Marla chuckled at the memories. “Holy goats,” she pointed to the latest arrivals. “Do you believe that?”
Heart of a Marine (The Wounded Warrior Series Book 1) Page 7