All That You Are

by Stef Ann Holm

  It always felt awkward to stand near Cooper and remember the past, and the role he’d played in her life. His presence now was nothing more than a court-ordered arrangement each Sunday. There were the generic hellos on the phone before Cooper handed the receiver to Terran so she could check on him during the week and ask him how his day had gone.

  Cooper smelled like nice aftershave, but she hardly took note. Too much had changed. When she’d dated Cooper, his physique had leaned toward the stocky side. But years of regularly playing on ice hockey teams had firmed his body into a more muscular build.

  He kept his sandy-blond hair short and trimmed at the ears, but with longer-than-average sideburns. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him with stubble. He shaved twice a day, morning and night. He had a more refined appearance to him now, dressing clean-cut and neat—probably due to his day job at GCI Cellular as their store manager.

  Many women would think Cooper was quite good-looking.

  Standing beside her ex-boyfriend brought no more memories of what had been, only what was. Things had changed between them. It had taken a long time, but she could honestly say a neutral feeling was the best way to describe her reaction toward the man who’d fathered her son.

  “What’s all this?” Dana queried, taking out a small box with two jars, and three plastic bags that hid mysterious contents.

  “He collected a couple of things, and I bought him treats he wanted to take to your house.”

  Treats aka candy to make him hyper and not want to go to bed at a reasonable time. Cooper knew she didn’t let Terran eat a ton of sugar, yet he always did this to her: overrode her authority at her house, on her time.

  She’d have to handle it the way she always did—get rid of the offending things little by little and Terran would eventually forget he had the junk.

  Dana strapped Terran’s hockey bag over her shoulder and held on to his stick while managing the small box.

  “That’s all.” Cooper shut the Jeep’s rear door to come around and say goodbye to Terran.

  Terran hooked his backpack through his arms and stood with his chin tucked to his chest, staring at his white-and-black-striped tennis shoes.

  Laying a hand on Terran’s shoulder, Cooper said in an upbeat tone, “Hey, buddy, see you at hockey practice this week.”

  Terran didn’t reply.

  Cooper gazed at Dana and shrugged, almost like giving her the same pouting look as Terran.

  No, Dana mouthed firmly. Then once more when Cooper kept on with the shrug: No! She would not be coerced into getting a dog.

  “Sorry, bud, that’s a negative from the mommy.”

  Dana’s blood boiled. She hated when Cooper called her “the mommy” as if she were the Wicked Witch of the West.

  “Let’s go, Terran,” she said, giving Cooper the evil eye. “Say goodbye to your dad.”

  Only marginally lifting his chin to address his father, Terran’s parting words bore the world’s heaviness on his tiny shoulders. “Bye, Daddy.”

  A person would think the sun would set today without another tomorrow from the sigh in her son’s voice.

  Damn Cooper for even remotely getting their son hopeful about a pet.

  She ushered Terran up the steps and into the house, relieved to get him to herself. Once in the cozy living room, she set his goody box on the coffee table and deposited his hockey gear on the floor.

  Terran stood in the middle of the room, the backpack sliding off his shoulders with a light thump onto the hardwood. He made no effort to pick it up.

  Suni came cheerfully into the room. “There’s grandma’s little boy.” She gave him a big squeeze. “How are you—”

  Dana mimed her finger slicing her neck, the gesture speaking volumes. Cut the dialogue. Her mother took the hint and quit her question.

  “So what do you have in here?” Dana asked with enthusiasm, digging into the box. She needed to take Terran’s mind off the dog, and if that meant letting him have a piece of his candy, she’d do it.

  She opened one of the GCI bags and rooted around inside, but as she touched something suspicious, she smothered a scream. The squishy object flew from her hand and hit the television screen.

  Terran’s soft boy chortle filled the room. “Momma, what are you doing?”

  Hand over her heart, she swallowed. “What was that?”

  Running to the offending thing, Terran grabbed it. The icky object was roundish and totally gross-looking. Her son wadded it in his hand, then doubled over and made a vile regurgitating sound. He plopped the blob on the area rug.

  “Doncha know what fake barf is?” Terran asked. “There’s chunks of corn and ham’bugger in it. Dad got it for me.”

  “Gosh, Terran. That’s sick.”

  Terran merely smiled, the gap where his missing tooth was an endearing hole in his mouth.

  Dana shook her head, smiling back at him. “You’re a funny guy, you know that?”

  “No—you’re a funny guy!” he said back at her, giggling.

  For now, the battle of wills about getting a dog seemed to have run its course. Thank goodness.

  Rummaging through the rest of the things, Dana examined the jars and discovered three flies bonking around the glass in one, and a hairy spider in the other. “You can’t keep these in your room.”

  “Are you going to keep them in yours?”

  “No, Grandma is.”

  Suni stuck her nose up. “I am not.”

  “Hey, Mommy, you ever see a wallop sock?” Terran reached into the last bag and came out with his father’s crew sock stuffed with something. Fine white particles rained onto the coffee table.

  “What’s in there?”

  “Dad and me made it,” Terran proudly proclaimed, waving the ribbed white sock and depositing a talclike dust cloud in the air. “We smashed a whole bunch of chalks and now I can give people wallops. You want to see?”

  “Uh, no—not in the house.”

  “What you do is swing it round and round and you wallop!” He swung at the air, pretending he was hitting something.

  Dana jolted backward as Suni reached in for the sock. “You let Grandma hold on to this for you, baby. We’ll wallop the weeds in the garden.”

  “Okay.” He stuffed his hand into his small jeans pocket, came out with an unwrapped Tootsie Roll and was about to pop it into his mouth.

  Suni came to the rescue, removing it from his hand. “Terran, come with Grandma and let’s have some peanut butter and celery.”

  “Then can I have my candy?” he asked. “Daddy said I could have it for later.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Dana gathered Terran’s belongings as her mother took her son into the kitchen for snacks. She’d let him keep the rubber barf and wallop sock, but the flies and the spider would have to go.

  As she climbed the stairs with boy things in her arms, she had a vague wondering about what it would have been like to have had a little girl…and would she ever have the opportunity.

  At twenty-nine, the chances were slim. While many women were having babies in their thirties and forties, she didn’t have the husband needed to make this happen.

  It would take a miracle to meet the right man, someone who would accept her for who she was, and that she came as a package deal with her son. She had no delusions about finding a wonderful guy who could work around her routines and be there for her in every way.

  Besides, beyond Terran and her mother, her heart had no more room for love. Those empty spaces within her kept the spirit of her brother close, and her father’s dreams alive. She was too busy, too focused, to put her life out of order.

  With a resigned sigh, she continued to her son’s room. No pink blankets, baby dollies and little girl’s dresses. This was it for her. The last stop on the motherhood train.

  She’d remain single all the rest of her days.

  “DE VILLAGE PEOPLE BROKE UP, mon. Disco is dead.”

  “Is that right?” Mark replied, the handle of his cla
whammer hitting his thigh as he walked toward the bar. He wore his new tool belt, a T-shirt and stone-washed jeans—not a shirt with the sleeves torn out, ropes of gold chains and a prop hard hat. “Here’s another news flash, Marley. The Jamaicans have never medaled in Olympic bobsledding.”

  Cardelle laughed, a Jamaican melody. “All right, mon. You got me. And de name is Cardelle, not Marley. Dat be de guy who sang with de Wailers.”

  “I knew your name.”

  “I’m t’inking you did, mon.” Cardelle extended his chocolate-brown hand from his bar-stool perch. “Even d’ough you not be on de cruise ship—I give you twenty percent discount on all bling.”

  Grasping the man’s pale palm, Mark gave his arm a friendly pump. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

  “If not for you, mon. For de gal of your heart.”

  Mark didn’t have a girl of his heart, but he did have a woman who got to another part of his anatomy.

  “Weh is dat chi-chi mon friend of yours?” Cardelle asked, eyes narrowing warily as he sipped on a drink garnished with a pineapple wedge.

  “Gone home to Seattle.”

  “Good. I did not like ’im.”

  The song on the jukebox changed to something up-tempo, the brassy sound of horns carrying the mellow jazz notes through the Blue Note.

  Cardelle drummed his slender fingers on the edge of the glossy bar, keeping time. “Don’ you jus’ love de magic from Oscar?”

  Mark listened closer, thinking the artist had an excellent style. The music had to be from an Oscar Jackson recording. Hearing the song must have been surreal for Dana, but kudos that she kept her father alive in the bar.

  Bear’s wide girth occupied the stool next to Cardelle’s. Mark nodded a silent hello to the mammoth guy, momentarily thinking back to their card game at Elk Cove.

  “Has anyone ever really looked at a fly?” Bear asked, staring into a mason jar real close. “They’s awfully hairy little bits with bug eyes. None too smart, neither.”

  Not necessarily wanting to know why Bear had brought in a jar filled with flies, Mark replied, “No, Bear, I haven’t. The only time I’ve paid much attention to a fly is when I whacked it with a flyswatter.”

  “Dem is filthy t’ings. De be right up deh with maskittas.” With that, Cardelle snagged his bug repellent can and glanced toward Leo, who was giving a few shakes to a mixed drink in the shaker. Seeing that he wasn’t being watched, Cardelle shot a few chemical psphts on the back of his neck.

  “Card,” Bear cautioned, shaking the jar with his eyes glued to the bouncing insects responding inside as he emulated the cocktail shaker in Leo’s hand. “Leo catch you doin’ that and you’re goin’ to be sittin’ over at the Arctic from now on.”

  “I risk it.”

  Bear grunted. “Your call, Card.” Then, “Hey, Moretti. How come you’re packing a hammer?”

  “I’m going to be doing some renovation work around here.”

  “Is that so?” Leo came down the bar and poured a beer from the tap. “Men’s room john’s been dicey lately. The second urinal has a problem with the flush valve.”

  “I’ll make a note of it,” Mark responded tightly. Plumbing was Mark’s least favorite thing, and starting a job in the men’s restroom was low on his priority list. “Is Dana around?”

  “In her office,” Leo replied, heading down the bar to serve the beer.

  Mark quit his exchange with the men and headed for the rear of the building on a hunt for Dana.

  Monday night didn’t pack the bar like a sardine tin, but plenty of people occupied tables enjoying an evening snack and alcohol to wash it down. Mark had come by earlier in the day, but the place had been locked tight until opening a short time ago.

  He found Dana sitting behind her desk, an all but worthless swing-arm lamp illuminating her scattered paperwork. Sensing someone standing in the doorway, she looked his way.

  Rather than the grateful smile, and arms thrown around his neck in the hug he’d dreamed about getting from her, he was met with a frown and not a single move to jump on him.

  “Now is that any way to say howdy to the guy who patched your holes?”

  Sitting straight, she licked her lips, grazing the lower with her teeth. The innocent-enough gesture heated everything inside him. “I said thanks last night when you left.”

  And so she had.

  He’d finished the repairs about an hour after she’d discovered him on her roof, and he’d only come into the bar for a quick few to report he was done. She’d been suspicious of his motives, her body language guarded. Accepting his generosity had been hard to do. In the end, she’d given him a relieved thank-you, but a slight hitch in her voice held on to her words as if unsure what to make of him—but she remained more than grateful.

  He’d gone home for the night, taken a hot shower and slid into bed, sleeping the best he had since arriving in Ketchikan.

  “What are you doing here?” Her black hair had been drawn into a clip, messy pieces falling next to her face. She’d put on very little makeup, yet her complexion was flawless. He loved her skin’s toasted-sugar color. Desire flooded him as he thought she’d taste just as good as she looked.

  “I came to get a copy of your fire marshal’s report. I’m going to start working on the violations and bringing them up to code for you.”

  A long moment passed where her gaze remained locked on his. Then finally, without fanfare, she questioned flatly, “Why?”

  “Because I want to.”

  “I think you want more than my violations.”

  Irritation colored his reply. “Has it ever occurred to you that I might just want to help you out—no strings attached?”

  “Not really.” She spread her fingers over an adding machine’s keys, punching in a few numbers and talking while she got her total. “I liked you better when you were gone fishing.”

  He couldn’t help laughing to himself. “I didn’t know you liked me at all.”

  Dana’s chin lifted, her brows darting into a frown. “Dammit, Moretti. You twist everything I say into a tangled ball of BS.” She tore the receipt from the calculator, stapling it to a bill. “For the record, I don’t like—like—you. I’ve tolerated you. I’m not hiring you. And I know what you’re up to so you might as well quit the handyman act.”

  Relaxing into the door frame, Mark folded his arms over his chest, not going anywhere. “Have you ever trusted anyone?”

  “Plenty.”

  “Then trust me.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Why not? Be honest.”

  She propped her booted feet on the desk’s corner. With her almond-shaped eyes angled directly on him, she owned the word exotic. Her Asian facial features were stunning, her mouth a beautiful rose that should be kissed. The shape of her nose, carved very delicately, flared slightly at the nostrils.

  “I’ve met you before,” she stated, her voice silky and low. “Not personally, but I know your kind. You come to Alaska, you recreate all day, then want to flirt all night. You want to take me out and get into my panties. I’ve never agreed to that. Although I’ve been tempted—just for the pleasure of sex, that is.” She lowered her legs, her feet once more planted onto the floor. “Is that honest enough for you?”

  “Any more honest, and we’d be bolting this door and you’d be showing me your undies.”

  “Get over yourself, Moretti.”

  Mark took a step toward the desk, standing over her with his hair falling at his brow. “Sweetart, you’ve been around the wrong kind of men. If I want lingerie, it’s easy to find it. In fact, it finds me. I’ve never had to work at getting a woman. They seem to like me just fine.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, pulled out his business card from the fold and held it out for her.

  It would have been easier to drop the card onto her desk, but he wanted her to take it, to accept him. “I’m bonded and insured.”

  Her hands remained crossed on her lap. Confusion seemed to weld togeth
er in her as she mulled over his offer.

  When she spoke, her voice had faded to a hushed stillness. “Why help me?”

  “I have the money to spend. It’s time I did something in my life that I want to do, not because I’m obligated or asked.”

  She bit her lower lip again, that catch of her white teeth, the thoughts in her head apparently swirling in varying directions. The extended card in his hand remained. Then she slowly raised her arm to take it. Afterward, she shifted through the papers, found a folder and handed it to him.

  With a nod, he accepted the folder, relief flooding him like a river. Up to this point, he hadn’t realized how much he wanted this. “I just fixed that ladder on the building front and replaced the mossy rungs. A guy could’ve really hurt himself slipping off it.”

  “Nobody ever has.”

  “And now nobody ever will.” Optimism and promise fueled his purpose, and he was anxious to get started fixing up the bar. “Let’s go to lunch tomorrow and talk about what needs to be done.”

  “Sorry—I have to take my son to get a booster shot.”

  Exhaling, Mark asked, “Can you get away for dinner?”

  “No—I spend Tuesday nights with my family.”

  “The next day? Dana, I will need your input on this. How about breakfast?”

  She looked away, her gaze distant. There was no question she struggled with this, with him. But in the end, she uttered the reply he wanted to hear. “Okay.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “DANA, DO YOU EVER THINK it’s weird you wiped my butt and now I’m serving you breakfast?” Tiffany asked, setting down a menu.

  When Dana was in the sixth grade, she’d babysat Tiffany, who’d been in diapers.

  At nineteen, Tiffany had turned into a very pretty girl. Tall and lanky, but precious in demeanor. Three years in braces had paid off in spades. She had a winning smile and rosy-apple cheeks.

  “No, Tiffany. I don’t think about your butt when I’m ordering. And I don’t want to.” Vaguely looking at the menu, she added, “I’ll need another menu. Someone’s meeting me.”

  “I’ll bring one right back. Two coffees?”

  Dana didn’t know if Mark drank coffee or not. “Uh, sure.”