by Cheri Allan
“Everyone who’s anybody, yes, I’ve heard.” Bailey inspected the fake rose tattoo she’d drawn on her forearm with a Sharpie. “You do know why you were invited.”
“I don’t care.”
“—because your tutoring kept Chip Otterman from failing Algebra and getting kicked off the varsity basketball team. Jenny would have been devastated if she couldn’t do her goofy ‘Chip, Chip, Hooray!’ cheer for him anymore. God, what a bunch of dorks.”
Beth pulled the blue headband out and sucked in a nervous breath.
“Wish me luck?”
TWENTY MINUTES LATER—because her brother, John, was taking his own sweet time—Beth was finally on her way. She sank down in the seat of John’s beat-up Chevette and gripped her little purse in her lap, having decided against stuffing her lip gloss, compact, folding comb/brush combo and Juicy Fruit gum in the pockets of her jacket in case they gave her unsightly bulges. “Just drop me off at the corner. I’ll walk,” she said a little breathlessly.
“Beth, it’s raining.” John stopped at a 4-way intersection and turned to look at her. They were only a couple blocks from Jenny Whitmeyer’s house. How wet would she get?
Water sheeted across the windshield.
“It’s okay,” Beth said, trying to adjust the padding in her bra without her brother noticing. “I don’t want you to waste gas.”
He gave her another look and turned the corner before Beth could make a grab for the door handle.
Before long they were pulling up to the Whitmeyers’ big colonial. A handful of cars were parked in the driveway and street, groups of teens loitering under the eaves of the garage and on the front porch. Beth’s heart skipped a beat as she surreptitiously cupped her hand over her mouth to check her breath. She could smell nothing but mint, though, having brushed her teeth like an OCD dentist twenty times before leaving the house.
John’s door creaked. Beth rounded on him in horror. “You’re not getting out, are you?”
“I left a case of soda in the trunk.”
“Can’t you get it later?” she hissed. There were people huddling under umbrellas not far from the car. Important people.
“I thought I’d share,” he said, pulling his hoodie over his head and ducking out of the car.
Beth creaked her door ajar and popped open her umbrella. Lovely. John had parked her smack dab over a river. If she leveraged herself, though, she could maybe make it to the curb without stepping in it up to her ankles. Her velvet flats would be toast if she got them wet.
She scootched to the edge of her seat, rain zotting dark dots on her shoe as she reached awkwardly to the curb with her foot. She pushed against the door and lurched onto the wet grass in front of Jenny’s house. There. She pushed the door hard and it slammed with a clunk behind her. Beth looked around to see if anyone had noticed her ungraceful arrival.
John was at the back of his car, his head ducked under the open lid of the trunk with a couple of the senior guys standing around. Wow. They must really like soda.
Beth licked her lips and sucked in her stomach, her bra feeling unusually tight for all the nylons she’d stuffed in there. She’d chosen nylons, because they were flesh-toned. Just in case.
In case of what, she had no idea.
She forced a nervous smile as she saw Valerie Stinson start over. Valerie and a couple other popular girls were huddled under a large golf umbrella and they giggled and twittered as they moved as one toward some of the guys standing around John. Beth wished he would leave already; although, having him there made her feel less alone.
“There’s chips and dip in the house,” Valerie called to her. The other girls giggled. Beth pretended to laugh with them even though she had no idea what was funny.
“Thanks,” she said.
They giggled some more.
Valerie brushed her blonde hair behind her ear, effectively showing off the white tan line where her watch should have been. Beth had never actually seen Val wearing a watch, but the little white circle and band line were like a permanent tattoo on the girl’s wrist. “Not a problem,” she said.
But, Valerie wasn’t looking at Beth anymore. She was turning to make a circuit by the boys on the way back into the house. “Hi, John,” she said as she passed by. The girls twittered.
Beth watched as her brother ducked his head, a strange look on his face. “Hey, Val.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
____________________
LIZ SWALLOWED.
Oh. My. God. She just ate a swiss cake roll. Correction. Two swiss cake rolls.
Grant would be appalled. Hadn’t he only last week asked her to start adding flax seed meal to her entrees so he could up his Omega-3’s without worrying about mercury? He’d never understand the decadent sweets she’d just inhaled!
Cripes. Forget about what Grant would think. She was appalled! Where was her self-control? Her good judgment? Here she was eating junk food and agreeing to maybe go to some reunion thing, and, God help her, hiring Carter for the patio job, because it would be way too complicated to explain to her mom why it was a bad idea now. Och. Not in town 24 hours and already things were railroading downhill on her.
Back at the house, Liz surreptitiously wiped chocolate cake crumbs off her skirt as Carter carried in the bags. She unpacked the food onto the table and began carrying perishables to the fridge. “If you give me the receipt, I’ll get you a check before you leave.”
Carter handed her the watermelon. Who bought watermelon in April? “You’re cooking, aren’t you? Why should you pay for the food?”
“Even so, I was stocking up. If you leave the receipt—”
“Forget it. You can make us dinner another night if it makes you feel better.”
Liz held the refrigerator door between them like a shield. Her breath stuck in her windpipe. “Another night?”
He handed her a dozen eggs and she stared at the carton pensively before sliding it into its protective bin. She squelched her inner June who was already giddily planning the next meal’s menu. “Or not. Sorry. Thinking with my stomach again. No, don’t put the dip away.”
Liz handed over the dip and picked up the chuck roast. What the heck was she doing with a chuck roast? Feeding her teenage fantasies, that’s what. “No. You’re right. Dinner’s a great idea. I’ll invite Bailey, too. It’ll be fun.”
“Absolutely.”
Liz nodded and handed him the bag of chips. “You surprised me, you know. My Aunt Claire said your uncle would be stopping by today.”
“He threw his back out, so you got me.” Carter glanced at her as he popped the lids off two bottles of ale and handed one to her.
“I’m sorry to hear—oh.” She paused. “That’s why you were late today, isn’t it?”
“Yup.” He took a long slug of ale.
Her face flushed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I even mentioned it. I think I’m just stressed over everything that needs to be done around here.” She let her voice trail off. It sounded like a lame excuse even to her own ears.
Carter handed her the bacon.
Liz blew out a little breath. “I’ve offended you.”
“Not offended,” he said, his lips tilting a little at the corner. “More annoyed.”
She frowned. “If I annoyed you, why did you invite me out? I mean, why did you ask me for dinner, er, to get food?”
“You were indecisive. I was hungry.” His eyebrow did that wingy thing again as his lips twitched. “You didn’t think it was a date, did you?”
“No! Of course not! How could it be?” She gave an awkward laugh. “That’s the last thing I’d want—”
“Right, then.”
“Right.”
Liz gripped the bacon, mortification coursing through her veins. Of course it wasn’t a date! Hadn’t she been telling herself that very thing? “Well, at least we’ve cleared that up.” She forced another chuckle, taking her own sip of ale, the taste smooth and foreign on her tongue. She hadn’t had a beer in ages. Grant
was more of a wine guy. “I really am sorry about your uncle. I hope it’s not serious.”
“No more than usual.” Carter shrugged. “It’s what you get from making a living off your back.”
“Maybe, but he’s awfully young to be disabled by—”
“He’s not disabled.”
“I didn’t mean to—“
“I know what you meant.” Carter cut her off again then seemed to realize how abrupt he sounded. “He’s fine, that’s all. It’s not like he needs to retire or anything. He’s fine.”
Liz nodded wordlessly and decided she had better get dinner started. Soon the bacon was sizzling in a pan. She took another sip of ale and wondered if the text Grant had sent was important.
Carter fiddled with the bottle opener. “So, what’s John up to these days?”
“Who knows? I haven’t heard from him in months.”
Carter grimaced. “Sorry. I’d hoped he’d settled down some.”
“You’re not the only one.” She swiped at grease spattering up at her arm and adjusted the burner a little. “I suppose you hoped it was John helping my parents out. So you could catch up with him, I mean.”
“I’m glad it’s you.”
“You are?” Liz fumbled the fork she was using to flip the bacon and wiped hot grease dots from the back of her hand. “Why would you...?”
Carter leaned against the counter, studying her. He took a sip of ale. “You always seemed to have big plans. I guess I was curious how you’d turned out.”
Liz’s heart caught in her throat as she absently flipped a slice of bacon. “And how did I turn out?”
It shouldn’t matter, whatever he had to say shouldn’t matter one whit.
But it did.
Suddenly, Carter’s face turned serious, focused in a way that made Liz’s pulse race erratically and her nerves sizzle like the bacon in the pan. He licked his lips. Her tongue darted out in answer. He met her gaze. Oh my. That look could only mean one thing!
“Don’t panic,” he said, breaking into her thoughts, “but your bacon’s on fire.”
“My—what?!” Liz jumped from the stove as flames slicked across the skillet and shot into the air. “Ohmigod!”
“It’s okay. Not a problem.” Carter stepped in front of her, turned off the burner then grabbed a lid from the pot rack and dropped it over the flames. “It’ll burn itself out.”
Liz stared, frozen, as smoke poured from under the ill-fitting lid and rose to the ceiling. Carter flipped open cupboard doors until he found a box of baking soda. He lifted the lid and poured the baking soda over the skillet.
“There.” He yanked open the back slider. “It’s out. You can stop panicking now.”
“I wasn’t— the cat!” she shrieked as Eddie darted through the open slider. “He’s not supposed to go out!”
Liz raced out the slider, as a blur of orange tabby zipped behind a rhododendron. “Eddie, honey? Come on. Don’t be scared.” She flipped on the rear spotlight, hoping to shed some light into the shadows by the house, and pointed to the bush. Carter caught her eye and rounded the other side. “Eddie. Come out. Please?”
“Your parents have a cat?” Carter asked as he inched toward the far side of the bush.
“He’s mine. He doesn’t like to be boarded, so I brought him with me from Chicago. He’s not used to being outside,” she whispered so as not to alarm Eddie. “I think the commotion scared him.”
“Is that why he’s growling?” Carter whispered from somewhere in the shrubbery.
“That’s not growling. It’s a fear moan. I think. He’s generally quite friendly to people who like cats.” Liz wrung her hands then noticed the action and dropped them to her sides in self-disgust. “Can you reach him?”
Carter was on his belly now, half hidden beneath the branches. “I think so— Christ! This is your cat? He looks like Tony Soprano. Are you sure he’s friendly?”
“He’s a pussycat. Unless he’s scared, then he can be a little… unpredictable.”
“Uh-huh. Here goes nothin’.” Eddie gave a short yowl of protest, and then Carter was backing out from under the bush. He stood up, clutching Eddie tightly in his arms. Neither looked particularly happy.
“Did he scratch you?”
“Are you kidding? I’m a professional.”
“A professional cat-nabber?”
“Just get the door. Your cat’s giving me the evil eye. I don’t think he likes me.”
“He always looks like that,” she said a little breathlessly as she followed Carter into the house. “If he hasn’t bitten you yet, you’re way ahead of the cur...” But the rest of her words died on her tongue as she turned toward the kitchen.
Smoke clouded the room. Black soot coated the ceiling. She coughed, adrenaline pumping sickly through her veins. “Oh God. And here I’m supposed to be making the house fit for sale?”
Carter shooed Eddie into the dining room, closed the door and turned on the stove exhaust. Liz opened the window above the sink. Carter waved a dinner plate toward it. “Come on. I think your folks will be amazed with what you’ve done so far.” She watched as his dead-pan expression tilted into an easy, infectious grin. “I’m thinking we set off a few small explosives and our work here is done.”
“It’s that bad, isn’t it?”
“It’s not great. I won’t lie. But I’ve seen worse. Why don’t you put together those sandwiches and point me toward a fan so we can keep this smoke from drifting through the rest of the house?”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m hungry, Liz. Make some sandwiches, and I’ll start cleaning.” He gave her a look. “If you don’t, I might be forced to eat the rest of the swiss cake rolls.” His lips twitched charmingly. “You know you like them.”
“They’re full of sugar and preservatives.”
“That’s what makes them so good.”
She shook her head, the scent of burnt bacon overwhelming. Classical music filled the air.
“Liz?” Carter said.
“Yeah?” she said, trying to ignore the obvious.
“You’re pocket’s ringing.”
“I know.” She pulled her cell phone out of her skirt pocket. Grant again. “I’m sorry, but I’d better take this. There’s probably a fan in the front hall closet.” As Carter left in search of the fan, she turned toward the back yard. “Hello?”
“Liz? Finally! I thought you were going to make yourself available.”
“Sorry. Some things came up.”
“Yeah, well things came up here, too, and I could use your help. Now’s not the time to go AWOL on me. Did you get my text? My e-mail?”
“Not yet. I was out. What’s going on?”
Something wrong? Carter mouthed, box fan in hand.
Liz shook her head. Work, she mouthed back.
“…Janice is having a fit about the disaster recovery meeting Friday. I thought you worked that out with her,” Grant said.
“I did. I—”
“And, I need you to send me the schedule again. I can’t find the copy you left me, and Ethan’s getting annoyed we don’t have it posted on the board already.”
“No problem. I—”
“No problem? You’re not having to deal with all the fires that keep creeping up! The Scrips2U people are complaining that some of their CSRs can’t access the ordering system, and to top it off, the software vendor isn’t returning my calls.”
“Okay. I’ll call Andy. I’m sure it’s—”
“It’s a pain in the ass is what it is! Where have you been? I sent you a text about this over two hours ago!”
Had it been that long?
Liz gritted her teeth as Carter set the box fan in the window and plugged it in. “I doubt it’s a software problem. If it’s only some of the CSRs, they’re probably forgetting to enter their new ID codes. The system will lock them out after three attempts as a security measure. Just have a shift manager enter his/her override numbers for now, and I’ll have Andy so
rt it out in the morning.”
“The job is done, Liz. We shouldn’t have to hold their hands like this.”
“It’s our job to hold their hands. If these transitions were easy, they wouldn’t need us.”
Grant heaved an audible sigh. “The wrap-up is complete. We did what we were contracted to do. Sometimes you need to cut the cord and move on. Andy needs to take care of this now. Not you.”
“You know Andy is getting married next week. He’s preoccupied.”
“It’s a civil ceremony, Liz. At the town hall. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is to them,” she said, coughing a little. The lingering smoke was beginning to irritate her throat. “Listen. I’m sorry, but I’m in the middle of something. I’ll follow up with Andy, and I’ll e-mail the schedule as soon as we hang up. Anything else?”
“No. That’s it. For the moment.”
“Great,” she said.
“Great.”
Liz pocketed her phone and hurried to open the back slider as Carter waited to take the still-smoking skillet outside. She avoided his eyes as he walked past, her gaze drawn to a large, sooty handprint on the hip of his jeans, the dark outline of fingertips just brushing his back pocket.
She swallowed in alarm.
Grant wasn’t the only one with fires to put out.
CHAPTER NINE
____________________
Twelve years earlier…
BETH STOOD ALONE at the far end of Jenny’s living room and carefully sipped her cup of punch. Her stomach growled. The Whitmeyer’s owned The Old Mill Bar & Grill across town and were notoriously cool. They were probably watching horror movies in the master suite upstairs, while their famous hot wings and potato skins sat in chafing dishes for the masses.
Beth eyed the cookies, salsa and tortilla chips on a nearby table, but there was no way she’d risk dribbling salsa down her shirt or getting cookie crumbs in her teeth. Besides, she couldn’t eat in front of boys. No way.
They came in periodically, the boys that is, raiding the chips bowl, jostling and joking and dropping crumbs on the floor in testosterone–fueled orgies before they elbowed each other and laughed their enticing, low laughs and wandered away again. Beth sucked in her stomach and pretended to be engrossed in her manicure like she’d seen the other girls do. She let out a nervous exhale. She’d thought the pale mauve looked quietly elegant and understated but now it just looked like she’d borrowed nail polish from somebody’s grandmother.