The Complete Novels of the Lear Sister Trilogy

by Julia London

  He nodded thoughtfully, took a swig of his beer, then pushed the screen door open a crack. “I think you really don’t see how they are.”

  “You may have a point.”

  Jake pushed the screen door a little wider. “And maybe I’m a little biased—I haven’t liked Clownpants from the get-go.”

  Robin couldn’t help herself; she smiled. “Those were the worst pants I have ever seen.”

  Jake smiled a little. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  Robin grabbed the screen door and pulled it wider still. “Prepare yourself, Handy Andy, because when I make an apology, there is no mercy.”

  And it was fabulous make-up sex, if Robin did say so herself. She made sure he understood just how sorry she was. Early the next morning, before the sun had completely risen, she felt his hardness pressed against her hip, and rolled over, into his arms. They made soft, lazy love as the sun rose to cast a shaft of light across the floor of Jake’s bedroom, and then lay sated and drowsy in one another’s arms, drifting in and out of sleep.

  Jake was the first to rise, quietly disentangling himself from Robin’s arms and kissing the top of her head. She opened her eyes long enough to see him stretch his arms high above his head and display his magnificent backside to her. He continued on to the shower and she rolled over, the sound of running water on the fringes of her consciousness.

  He awakened her with a kiss to the cheek; he smelled of soap, had a towel wrapped around his lean waist. “I gotta get going,” he murmured.

  “Me, too,” she said, sleepily, and yawned. “I have to go to Burdette today.”

  Jake stopped, turned to look at her. “To Burdette? Why? You were just there.”

  “We’re going back to talk to Girt about a couple of things.”

  “We?” Jake groaned, and glared at the ceiling for a moment. “Why is he going? I thought you pretty much had this under control.”

  “Yes, but he’s got more insight into this than I do and says there are some questions we need answers to before we can go further.”

  “So why doesn’t he just tell you what they are and let you deal with it?”

  This was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. Robin hugged the pillow tightly to her. “I guess because I’m still learning.”

  With a snort, Jake shook his head and proceeded into the bathroom. “Like hell. He’s going to Burdette to make a play for you.”

  Oh Jesus, not again. “No, he’s not!” she yelled after him. “God, Jake, I know he was an ass last night, but there is nothing between me and Evan! He knows it, I know it—it’s been over, like, forever!”

  Jake grumbled something in response that she couldn’t quite make out. Robin got up, pulled on her cutoffs and T-shirt, and ran her hands through her hair. She was slipping on her sandals when Jake reappeared, his face lathered up for a shave.

  “I gotta go,” she said.

  “I’m serious, Robin. I know how guys think, and this guy wants you back. He’s not flying to Burdette with you because you need any help. He’s flying to Burdette to win you back.”

  “Oh my God,” she muttered. Jake’s jealousy was a little much to take before coffee, and Robin snatched up her purse. “I don’t know how to convince you,” she said, rooting around in her purse for her keys, “You won’t listen! You’re so determined to be jealous of Evan—”

  “Jealous?”

  He said it like it was the most preposterous thing he had ever heard. Robin looked up, incredulous. “Yes, jealous! You don’t like him, you think everything he says or does is some dig at you, and you keep reading a whole lot more into him than what is there. Jake, Evan and I work together. And we made a deal a long time ago that it was nothing more than that. Your insecurity keeps bubbling up and it’s not necessary.”

  Jake gaped at her in obvious disbelief.

  Robin rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

  “Wait!” Jake said and came striding out of the bathroom. “Let’s just back it up and assume I don’t have this . . . this insecurity, and pretend for a moment that what I am saying is plausible. What if he wanted you back? How would he go about it? He’d take you to fancy restaurants, buy you gifts, send you flowers, and make sure he got every opportunity there was to be with you. And if he knew you were going out with me, someone he puts on a par with a slimy bottom feeder, he’d do everything to make you see he was the better deal. And he is the better deal, Robin, we both know that. He’s got the means to support you—”

  “Oh, for the love of God, this is not about money!”

  “I hope not,” Jake said. “Because if it is, I’m sunk. All I’m saying is that he knows the kind of luxury you are used to, the way you live. He knows how to play it to his advantage.”

  Jake was confusing her. She needed a cup of coffee, and slung her purse over her shoulder. “You’re forgetting one thing. I don’t need Evan to spend money on me. I obviously have plenty of my own. Honestly, I don’t need anyone.”

  Jake sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s sad, Robin. And not very reassuring.”

  Exasperated, Robin shook her head, strode toward him. “Can we talk about this later? I have to get some coffee.” She pecked him on the mouth. “I’ll see you later.”

  She left before he could say much of anything, hurtling down Montrose and right past Java the Hut without even noticing. Her mind was too full wondering what, exactly, she did need.

  Jake was wondering, too, and by the time he got to work, he was beginning to think he had seriously overestimated what was between him and Robin. She didn’t see what he saw so clearly, would not admit Slickpant’s motives, and when it came right down to it, he was struggling to compete with the lavish attention that man gave Robin. He’d been ready to take her to Paulie’s for a burger—not for lobster on some yacht.

  Worse, the last thing she had said kept clanging in his head like some church bell. I don’t need anyone. There it was, the big chasm between them. He needed her. He’d had told her so, had told her he loved her. But Robin had not once said she loved him. Which only made him realize that what he feared most of all—now that his heart was so tangled up in all this mess—was that she would, eventually, be lured away by the better deal. And when it happened (he figured it was inevitable), it was going to kill him, he could feel it. Just kill him.

  Inside, Robin was nowhere to be seen. Zaney was busy finishing up the archway they had created upstairs, singing an old Monkees tune. The paint crew was finishing up the last touches upstairs, and an electrician and plumber were working in the kitchen while the trim on the new cabinetry was installed. Jake started to strip the paint from the brick in the dining room, the last room to be renovated.

  He had just gotten the veneer off the window casings when his cell phone rang.

  “Jacob?” his Mom wheezed into the phone.

  “Hey, Mom. How are you doing?”

  “Not too good. Your nephew has run off again.”

  Jake stopped what he was doing. “He’s not in school?”

  “Nope. Only reason I know that is because Billie Margoyle—her son Bill played baseball with you, remember him? Well, Billie’s in that front office in the school now, and I asked her to call me if Cole was reported absent. He was reported absent, all right.”

  Jake immediately thought of the levee. God, he was going to strangle that kid. “I’ll go find him,” he said.

  “You don’t need to. The cops have him down at juvenile hall.”

  Jake groaned, closed his eyes, swallowing down the bit of terror that crept up.

  “He and Frankie went down to the levee and got caught smoking a marijuana cigarette,” Mom said, the disgust evident in her voice. “I’d sure like to know where those kids find that crap. Good Lord, what did I ever do to deserve this?”

  “Mom, it’s okay. I’ll go down there and get him out.”

  “Don’t try and tell me it’s okay, Jacob. This is serious. I’m not going to have a pot-smoking juvenile delinquen
t dropout in my house.”

  “Okay, Mom,” he said, his patience wearing thin. “We’ll talk about that later. I’ll handle it for now.”

  “I just hope you can. I hope it’s not too late.”

  So did he.

  Jake found Zaney, told him he’d be back after a while, and looked once more for Robin. Still nowhere to be found. Apparently, she’d already left for Burdette. Before he could say anything.

  The Weasel was winning.

  The juvenile facility was a zoo—parents, lawyers, and kindhearted souls who apparently tried to work with troubled kids milled about, but no one seemed to know what was going on. Jake finally found a woman who, when he got her attention long enough to ask about Cole, pointed toward a courtroom. “Detention hearings are over there.”

  Detention hearing. He didn’t like the sound of that.

  Jake squeezed into the overcrowded courtroom, then watched as a string of children—babies, really—were brought before a judge. Some had stolen cars, others had been caught with drugs. But what astounded him was how many were brought in for more serious crimes, such as sexual assault and armed robbery. They were children, Cole’s age, with no more sense or sophistication than a goat. For two hours, Jake sat watching the parade, growing increasingly frustrated and appalled. When he thought he couldn’t stand it another moment, they brought Cole in.

  The kid looked like hell, completely disheveled, his face white. He stood between two men in ill-fitting, cheap suits, nodding mutely as the judge asked him if he understood why he was there. Then the judge asked if there was anyone in the courtroom on behalf of Cole Manning.

  Jake stood. “I am.”

  He peered over the top of his reading glasses. “Please come forward.”

  When Jake reached the table where Cole was sitting, the child would not even look at him. He looked beaten down. Frightened.

  “Are you his father?”

  “I’m his uncle, Jacob Manning. Cole’s father is dead.”

  “Does he live with you?”

  “He lives with my mother, his grandmother.”

  “Ah,” the judge muttered, nodding, and looked down at the papers in front of him. “And where is the boy’s mother?”

  “Uh . . . no one knows, Your Honor,” Jake said, despising how soap-operaish it sounded. “She took off a couple of years ago and we haven’t heard from her since.”

  “How nice,” the judge drawled and looked at the papers again, then at Jake. “Mr. Manning, this is Cole’s first trip to juvenile court. He has been charged with minor in possession of marijuana. That’s a serious offense. Nonetheless, I am inclined to hand him over to your care if I can be assured that you will pay close attention to this child’s needs. He is in desperate need of adult supervision and guidance. Do you think you and your mother can provide that?”

  Jake did not like being lectured like a delinquent father, and had to bite down hard to keep from arguing that Cole had plenty of adult supervision, that his problems had more to do with his search to find himself in this world than lack of supervision. “Yes, sir,” he said tightly.

  The judge had a lecture for Cole, too, telling him he would attend group counseling sessions once a week as well as drug counseling sessions until a date was set in juvenile court to dispose of the case against him. “I’m warning you, son, if you don’t do exactly as I tell you, you are most certainly not going to like what we have in store for you. Mr. Perez, will you please set this young man up in the counseling classes I have ordered?” he asked, then looked at Jake. “Thank you for coming down, Mr. Manning,” he said, dismissing him.

  Jake waited another two hours for Cole to be processed out, angry that he had lost almost a day’s worth of work, angrier that Cole had gotten himself into this mess. It was so damned frustrating—he wanted to take him and shake him until he heard some sense rattling around in there. He wished there was some magical projector that could make Cole look at his future if he kept on this path. Lord, the child was only fourteen.

  He stood around, growing angrier. But when Cole came shuffling out of detention hall, he approached Jake warily, his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes downcast. He looked alone and frightened as he came to stand in front of Jake. And by some divine miracle, all the feelings of anger suddenly flowed out of Jake—he suddenly felt nothing but compassion for Cole, empathy for the harrowing day he had been through, sympathy for the rotten hand fate had dealt him. He looked Cole up and down. “You all right?”

  “Yeah,” the boy answered quietly, still unable to look up.

  Jake put his arm around his shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get a burger, you want to? I’ve had a hankering for a burger for a couple of days now.”

  Astonished, Cole peeked up, warily assessing Jake. But he nodded cautiously, and more importantly, didn’t try to escape Jake’s loose embrace as they walked out of juvenile hall.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Evan was resourceful, Robin would give him that. Just as she guessed, he refused to ride in Bob’s truck and instead got on his cell phone. A used-car dealership delivered a 1985 pink Cadillac for their use for the day at a price they obviously could not refuse.

  As they drove down the two-lane road toward the Wirt warehouses, Robin could see David outside under a cottonwood, strapped to his wheelchair, sitting next to a woman who was quietly reading a book.

  “That’s David,” Robin informed Evan. “He’s Girt’s son.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Cerebral palsy. He apparently needs round-the-clock care, which is why Girt wants to sell the business.”

  “Ah,” said Evan, as if that was significant somehow. “That’s good to know. It might come in handy.”

  Puzzled, Robin glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Just that it’s information we can use in the negotiations.”

  “Wait . . . you wouldn’t use her son’s condition against her,” she said incredulously.

  Evan laughed. “Of course not! Come on, let’s go. If you want to get back tonight, we need to wrap this up.” He was out of the car before she could say anything.

  Robin followed, pausing to say hello to David, who half grinned up at her. Girt was waiting for them inside, her hair occupying two zip codes that muggy morning, and her black jeans, as usual, painted on her thin body. Robin instantly grinned. “Girt! How’s it going?”

  “Oh, I can’t complain,” Girt said, flashing her yellow teeth. “Nothing hurts or won’t work, so I guess it’s a good day, ain’t it?” she asked and punched Robin playfully in the arm. She turned to Evan, stuck out a hand with fingernails gnawed to the quick. “Eldagirt Wirt. But you can call me Girt.”

  “Girt,” Evan said. “Is there somewhere we might talk?”

  “You bet.” She pointed to one of the overstuffed offices on the perimeter of the warehouse. As they started in that direction, she tapped Robin’s arm. “Guess what? Remember that nursing service I was telling you about? I talked to ‘em last week, and they think they have a woman in Burdette who can care for David. Whoever she was staying with died. Now, I have to provide her room and board and all that, but it’s definitely a maybe.”

  “That’s great!” Robin said genuinely. It was huge for Girt to have found someone, she knew—Burdette was too small and too poor to keep qualified medical help in town, and Girt had confided that she might have to move to Baton Rouge to get David the care he needed—a possibility that had Bob in obvious distress.

  Inside the office, Evan made a show of dusting off the one guest chair they had before offering it to Robin. She declined his offer to sit and stood against the wall as Girt settled in behind her desk and lit up a cigarette before she began to answer the questions Evan to her.

  Evan’s style was easy; he spoke to Girt as if he was speaking to an old friend, peppering her with very subtle questions about profit and loss, account histories, and expansion into the fresh fish packing materials. Girt got out some of the same account books she had
shown Robin, and Evan pored over them.

  After an hour and a half of covering ground Robin had already reported to him, Evan put aside the books, locked his hands behind his head, and propped one Italian loafer on the edge of Girt’s desk. “So. . . American Motorfreight is interested in buying you out, too?”

  “That’s right.”

  “No-good outfit,” he said cheerfully. “Heard some stuff about them through the years. They go into operations like this and pretty much gut it. Replace everyone with cheap labor from Mexico. An outfit like that, the only thing they are interested in is the bottom line.”

  “Oh yeah?” Girt asked, her eyes widening slightly.

  Oh yeah? Robin thought. That was news—she had never heard anything like that about American Motorfreight, and in fact, had heard they were a pretty good company, employee owned and operated.

  “Yeah,” Evan said, frowning as if he disapproved of that. “But you know, you could probably work out some deal with them where they wouldn’t let these people go for at least a year, something like that. Of course, they’ll try and get them to quit. You know how that goes.”

  Wide-eyed, Girt nodded.

  “Well. I think we’ve got what we need. Do you have any questions, Robin?” he asked.

  “No. Girt and I have discussed most of this in person and on e-mail.”

  “Great! Well then, why don’t we think about getting back to Houston?” He came to his feet, extended his hand to Girt. “Appreciate the time. We’ll be in touch.”

  “Oh! Well, okay . . . thank you,” she said, and hurried to open the door for them.

  Evan put his hand on the small of Robin’s back and ushered her through. They walked with Girt to the front door of the building; Girt peered outside to where David and the woman were sitting beneath the cottonwood.

  “Who’s that?” Robin asked.

  “My cousin, down from Shreveport for the week. She said she’d sit with him for a time so I could get some work done.”

  “So you’re wanting to provide for your son, is that it?” Evan asked.