Private Affairs

by Tori Carrington

  “No. But I’m coming close.”

  Caleb finished his soup and wiped his mouth with his paper napkin. “Well, when you get there, give me a call. I have a few ideas in mind I think may interest you.”

  “Why not propose them now?”

  Caleb grinned. “No. I need you to be good and pissed before I swing these by you.” He got up from the table, peeling off enough bills to cover lunch for everyone in the diner. “Come on, let’s go. Bryna’s waiting for me back at the house.” He chuckled quietly. “It’s the only time we can be alone when I’m here.”

  Palmer held up his hand. “Spare me the details.”

  “I will. But only because I know you have a few details of your own you haven’t shared with me yet.”

  Palmer led the way outside, stopping on the sidewalk. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, no. That’s not for me to say. You have to make a shot for the basket before I go for the rebound, old friend.”

  They did the man-hug thing again and then Caleb headed for his sports car parked up the block.

  Palmer stood there for long moments, pondering his friend’s words. Then he shook his head and walked toward his own car.

  PENELOPE CLOSED UP THE SHOP early that afternoon and headed home, the heat and slow day combining to make it impossible for her to be alone with her thoughts any longer. She hoped a good, strong dose of humorous reality from her grandmother and aunt would be just the thing she needed to get her riotous emotions under control.

  She let herself into the house only to find it empty.

  Great. They must be working.

  She sighed and hung her purse, patting Thor on the head when he happily greeted her with a wet nose to the inside of her knee, then she walked to the kitchen and poured herself a tall glass of homemade lemonade with lots of ice. She supposed she could switch on the air conditioning, but she couldn’t bring herself to.

  Instead, she let the dog out back and then followed him, sitting down on the top of the porch steps.

  How many times had she sat in this exact same spot, pondering the world at large and Palmer in specific? She sipped the lemonade and pulled her hair back from her damp neck with her free hand.

  This wasn’t working. This…whatever it was.

  The thought had been going through her head all day after she’d gone to see Barnaby that morning. And it refused to budge.

  Of course, to do anything about it, she first had to define what “this” was.

  So Palmer DeVoe was back in town. And the minute he’d come back, she’d suddenly turned into a starry-eyed teen with nothing more to worry about than planning clandestine meetings with her boyfriend in the cornfield.

  Thor did his business and came to sit on the sidewalk at her feet, panting.

  She put her glass down and got the hose, filling his outdoor bowl with fresh water. He sloshed it everywhere, splashing her feet in the process as she reseated herself on the steps.

  It had been a long time since she was a teenager. She’d be better off remembering that.

  So why was it that every time she saw Palmer, all she wanted to do was strip off her panties and climb on top of him?

  “No sex life,” she said aloud.

  She pulled her hair back again and fashioned it into a twist to get it off her neck and then pulled at the front of her dress to encourage a breeze. Whether the thin sheen of sweat that coated her skin was due to the weather or her thoughts of Palmer—or a combination of both—she didn’t know. But she did know that she didn’t want to cool off.

  Not yet.

  But there would come a time when she’d have to end it. When she’d have to finally tell him what she was keeping secret. The information that made it crystal clear that she had stopped being a teenager a long, long time ago. Leaving her absolutely amazed that she could still feel the way she was, considering.

  In the meantime, she intended to lap up every last drop that she could.

  15

  PALMER OPENED THE rusty-hinged doors to the maintenance shed in the backyard of his father’s house. The grass was so high he had to work the left door so it could move.

  After telling the work crew they might as well go home since they weren’t doing anything anyway, he’d gone to the B and B, changed into shorts and a T-shirt and athletic shoes, then headed to his father’s house to find the doors shut tight.

  How could the old man stand it in there without air-conditioning? Not even a window was cracked, probably to prevent him any access to the place at all.

  He did, however, still remember the combination to the lock on the shed. And now stood staring at a mower that was almost as old as he was.

  He eyed the ancient machine, then put on the work gloves he’d bought before pulling the thing out.

  “You’re not going to get that heap to work,” someone called out.

  He looked over to see one of the neighbors contemplating him from her back deck, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Palmer? God, is that you?”

  The arms came down and the woman crossed the yard and stopped at the chain-link fence separating her yard from his dad’s.

  “It’s Cindy Hess. Remember? You and I used to play doctor in that very shed when we were five.”

  Palmer looked into the cramped shed, searching for the memory. While he couldn’t find that one in particular, he did recall the pretty redhead who epitomized the term “girl next door.”

  She was just as pretty, but she was no longer a redhead but a blonde.

  “There was a time when I thought you and I might…well, you know, end up together.” She looked toward the house where there were sounds of children arguing over something. “Then you met Penelope Weaver and any chance I may have had flew north not just for the summer, but forever.”

  Palmer took in the neat lawn, the kiddy pool and the beagle chained to the deck. “Looks like you didn’t do too badly.”

  She followed his gaze and shrugged. “I guess. I married Joe Johnson. We have three kids and bought this place from my parents six years ago.” She squinted at him. “God, I heard you were back in town. And Joe said he thought he saw you over here the other day, but he couldn’t be sure.”

  “Yes, it’s me. I thought I’d come over and do some yard work.”

  “You staying at Foss’s B and B?”

  “Is there anyplace else?”

  She laughed. “No.” She gestured toward the mower. “Like I said, you’re not going to cut anything with that except your line to reality. Your father hasn’t used it in years. He used to pay my older boy, Bill, to care for the lawn, but then Bill graduated to a paper route and stopped cutting grass.”

  Palmer unscrewed the gas cap to find the well bone-dry.

  “You can you use ours if you like,” Cindy offered.

  “You sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure.” Her green eyes sparkled in the sunlight. “What good are neighbors if not for borrowing mowers and playing doctor in the shed?”

  Within minutes, he’d collected the borrowed mower from Cindy’s garage, met two of her three kids, and was back at his dad’s place. The grass was so high, the mower stalled several times while he was doing the front yard. He moved to the back…and walked straight into a full spray of water.

  “Shit!”

  He released his hold on the mower and it sputtered off. He held his arm up, allowing him to see that the water was coming from a hose…a hose his father had aimed at him from the back steps.

  “Get out my yard, boy!” the old man shouted.

  Palmer stared at him for long moments, then followed the hose as it snaked around the house on one side. He shut off the faucet then stalked back around to face his father again.

  Thomas DeVoe shook the hose a couple of times, disgusted. Then he made for the side of the house, presumably to turn the water back on.

  As he came back, Palmer picked up a middle section of the hose and twisted it. “And if you find a way around that, I’ll turn off
the water source entirely.” The old man glared at him. “You forget, I used to live here.”

  “But not anymore.”

  To Palmer’s surprise, his father advanced on him.

  He took a step back, releasing his hold on the hose…allowing his father to turn it on him full blast.

  He sputtered at the force then rushed the old man. They struggled for the hose with first one then the other getting the full onslaught. Palmer noticed that Cindy had come out of the house along with another woman and openly watched them, and on the sidewalk in front of the house, another couple had stopped.

  His father got the upper hand again and hit him full in the face.

  “Jesus!”

  He finally wrestled the hose from his hands and backed up, trying to figure out a way to shut the damn thing off. His father advanced. He backed up and sprayed his milky-white shins.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Give me back that goddamn hose.”

  “Not a chance in hell.” He gestured toward the back door. “Now go on and get back inside. And fix us something for dinner.”

  “I already ate.”

  Palmer stared at him even as he found the mechanism that locked the sprayer in place. The water ceased. “Well, I haven’t. So make something for me. I’m going to be plenty hungry once I finish.”

  “Don’t you touch that yard.”

  Palmer rolled the hose up and hung it over the faucet at the side of the house. “Sorry to disappoint you, Pops, but I already did. It’s more than half done.”

  He stood some ten feet away from the old man.

  “Unless you feel up to doing it?”

  Thomas didn’t say anything. Merely stared at him. And then he stalked back inside the house. The slamming of the door made everyone watching jump. Including Palmer.

  After long moments, he finally turned back toward the mower. “Sorry about that,” he called out to the neighbors.

  They waved and disappeared one by one.

  He turned the mower back on…

  PENELOPE GOT UP TO CLEAR the kitchen table of dinner dishes. Since she’d arrived home first, she’d decided to make chicken with mac and cheese, surprising her grandmother and great-aunt when they’d come home from cleaning an office in nearby Chauncy.

  “That was a nice surprise,” her aunt said, sitting back in her chair.

  Agatha sipped at her iced tea. “Very nice. You should come home early more often, Penelope.”

  Throughout dinner, conversation had naturally centered on the weather and the impact it was having on the garden and area farmers, not to mention their electric bill. Penelope had switched the air on before cooking so she wouldn’t melt along with the cheese.

  But now that they had finished, she felt her roommates’ gazes on her, perhaps looking a little too closely.

  “So…” her grandmother began. “Did you have a nice rest last night?”

  Penelope’s movements slowed as she spooned fresh fruit salad into bowls and placed them on the table. “Why, yes. Yes, I did. Thanks for asking.”

  Her aunt accepted a clean spoon. “No more headaches?”

  Against her better judgment, Penelope sat down. “No.”

  Her grandmother nodded as she ate a bite of pineapple. “So you wouldn’t happen to know a thing about what happened at Makeout Cove last night, would you?”

  Irene faked a surprised look. “She was resting in her room with a headache. How could she possibly know?”

  “Oh…maybe because she was there?”

  Penelope gave an eye roll. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, just get on with it. What do you want to know?”

  Her aunt actually scooted her chair a little closer to the table. “Were you really with that Palmer DeVoe?”

  “Did poor Barnaby really come across you?” This from her grandmother.

  “Yes. And yes.”

  The two older women waited.

  “Look, I’m not going to say anything more on the matter, okay?” She moved her fruit around, but didn’t eat any. “I’m having a hard enough time accepting everything myself.”

  “So that’s why you wanted the extra muffins this morning,” her grandmother ventured.

  “I took a box by the station so I could talk to Barnaby.”

  Her aunt shook her head. “The boy is too good for the likes of you.”

  Penelope’s jaw fell open. “What?”

  “I disagree,” her grandmother said. “But I understand that point she’s trying to make. To lead one guy on while doing another…” She shook her head.

  “Let me guess. Skank.”

  Agatha smiled. “You said it, not me.”

  “Look, I never slept with Barnaby.”

  “But you never told him you wouldn’t, which meant he had hope that you might.”

  “How many times have you slept with Palmer since he’s been back?” Irene interrupted.

  Penelope held her hand up. “This is where this conversation ends.”

  “No, girl,” her grandmother said sternly. “This is exactly where it begins.”

  She had been prepared to abandon her spot at the table, but now sat tight.

  “How did he take the news?” Agatha asked.

  Penelope dropped her gaze to the table, wishing she could crawl inside the bowl of fruit and hide behind a grape. Something, anything to spare her from this.

  “You didn’t tell him,” her great-aunt said. She looked at her grandmother. “She didn’t tell him.”

  “I know she didn’t tell him. Because if she had told him, she wouldn’t have fixed us dinner tonight. Or tomorrow night. Or any other night in the near future. She’d be closed up in her room for real, crying her eyes out.”

  “Just like she did fifteen years ago. You remember? We barely saw her for a month.”

  “Do I remember? How can I forget? I practically had to hand-feed a nineteen-year-old who refused to eat.”

  On top of everything that had occurred in the past week, she didn’t really need to be reminded of this.

  Then again, she didn’t need reminding, period. Because it was there. Just below the surface. Behind her every thought, every action.

  Her grandmother leveled a no-nonsense gaze at her. “When are you going to tell the man that he has a son?”

  16

  PALMER FINISHED MOWING, trimming and seeing to some of the more pressing landscaping problems and after returning borrowed materials, and hauling bags of clippings to the curb, he washed up at the very hose that had soaked him earlier, with his father’s help. Einstein’s theory of relativity held special importance as he enjoyed the feel of the cold water on his face now. Earlier…

  Well, earlier, the spray had been an affront.

  He shut off the water and shook his hands dry and wiped his face. He’d do a better job inside, but this would do for now.

  He walked around to the back of the house. The door was closed.

  Palmer frowned. He wasn’t surprised. Apparently his father had shut himself back up inside.

  Just out of curiosity, he tried the screen door. Open. He hesitated on the inner door. What would he do this time if it were locked?

  He stretched his neck, looking over his shoulder at the neatly cut lawn, then turning back toward the door with its square window covered on the inside with yellow curtains. He curved his hand around the knob and took a deep breath…and easily turned it.

  His heart beat an uneven rhythm. Had the old man overlooked locking it? He’d taken the time to close both doors. Why not lock them? Habit?

  He stepped inside the kitchen to complete silence…to find a plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut and waiting on the kitchen table.

  Palmer stood in the middle of the room and rubbed his chin, fighting a smile.

  Finally. Progress…

  WHILE PALMER MIGHT BE forced to accept incremental steps forward in his estranged relationship with his father, on the job site he was used to things progressing a little more expeditiously.<
br />
  Inside the site trailer the following morning, he paced behind the nondescript metal desk that matched the metal filing cabinets and metal chairs with green pads. The bare windows were doing nothing to halt the heat, the air conditioning unit working overtime to keep the small space cool.

  He moved the telephone receiver from his right ear to his left. “What do you mean the order’s been cancelled? I made no such request.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but someone contacted us with all the relevant information.”

  Palmer rubbed his closed eyelids. “What’s the name on the authorization?”

  He wasn’t surprised to find it belonged to Manolis Philippidis’s secretary.

  “Would you like us to reinstate the order, sir?”

  He paused for a second, considering his options. “No. Not right now. Thank you. I’ll call back after I’ve gotten a few answers.”

  He dropped the receiver back into the cradle as the trailer door swung open.

  “DeVoe, we’ve got a problem out here.”

  He considered the new foreman. Of course they had a problem. The entire site was one big problem after another.

  Grabbing his cell phone from the desktop, he followed the man outside. His steps slowed when he spotted the collection of workmen hanging around a forklift.

  “What’s going on, guys?” he asked.

  The one he chose to focus on, who appeared to be the group leader, took a long sip of coffee from a thermos cup before responding. “Equipment failure, boss. We’re not going to be able to do anything until it’s repaired.”

  Palmer looked around. “There’s plenty to do without the equipment.”

  “We can’t do anything until we get all the materials on site.”

  Christ. At every turn, he was running head-on into roadblocks.

  “Fine. No sense in hanging around here, then. Go home.” He glanced at the foreman. “Get someone over here to fix this.”

  “It’s going to take a couple of days.”

  “What?”

  “The guy’s gotta come down from Seattle.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s a shop on the other side of town.”