He glanced up at her. “That didn’t hurt, Georgie.”
“Yes, it did!”
He didn’t argue, but he didn’t let go either. He lowered his gaze and poked at her skin with the tweezers.
“Ouch.”
Once again he lifted his gaze and looked at her over their joined hands. “Baby.”
“Jerk.”
He laughed and shook his head. “If you weren’t such a girly girl, this wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Girly girl? What’s a girly girl?”
“Look in the mirror.”
That didn’t tell her much. She tried to pull her hand back again.
“Just relax,” he said as he continued to work at the sliver. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your chair. What do you think I’m going to do, stab you with a pair of tweezers?”
“No.”
“Than relax, it’s almost out.”
Relax? He was so close he took up all the space. There was only John with his callused palm cupping her hand and his dark head bent over the tips of her fingers. He was so close she could feel the warmth of his thighs through his jeans and the thin cotton of her kiwi-colored dress. John had such a strong presence that relaxing with him so close was impossible. She raised her gaze from the side part in his hair and looked across the living room. Ernie and his big blue fish stared back at her. Her memories of John’s grandfather were of a nice older gentleman. She wondered about him now, and she wondered what he thought of Lexie. She decided to ask.
He didn’t look up, just shrugged and said, “I haven’t told my grandfather or my mother yet.”
Georgeanne was surprised. Seven years ago she’d thought John and Ernie were close. “Why?”
“Because both of them have been bothering me to get married again and start a family. When they find out about Lexie, they’ll shoot to Seattle faster than a smoker from the sweet spot. I want time to get to know Lexie first, before I’m blitzed by my family. Besides, we agreed to wait to tell her, remember? And with my mother and Ernie hanging around, staring, it might make Lexie uncomfortable.”
Married again? Georgeanne hadn’t heard anything he’d said after he’d uttered those two words. “You were married?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
He let go of her hand and placed the tweezers on the table. “Before I met you.”
Georgeanne looked at her finger, and the sliver was gone. She wondered which meeting he was referring to. “The first time?”
“Both times.” He grasped the top rung of the chair, leaned back, and frowned a little.
Georgeanne was confused. “Both times?”
“Yep. But I don’t think the second marriage really counts.”
She couldn’t help it. She felt her brows raise and her jaw drop. “You were married twice?” She held up two fingers. “Two times?”
His brows lowered and he drew his mouth into a straight line. “Two isn’t that many.”
To Georgeanne, who’d never been married, two sounded like a lot.
“Like I said, the second time didn’t count anyway. I was only married as long as it took to get a divorce.”
“Wow, I didn’t know you were ever married at all.”
She began to wonder about these two women who’d married John, the father of her child. The man who’d broken her heart. And because she couldn’t stand not knowing, she asked, “Where are these women now?”
“My first wife, Linda, died.”
“I’m sorry,” Georgeanne uttered lamely. “How did she die?”
He stared at her for several prolonged moments. “She just did,” he said, subject closed. “And I don’t know where DeeDee Delight is. I was real drunk when I married her. When I divorced her, too, for that matter.”
DeeDee Delight? She stared at him, at a compete loss. DeeDee Delight? Cryin‘ all night in a bucket? She had to ask. She simply couldn’t help it. “Was DeeDee a… a… an entertainer?”
“She was a stripper,” he said blandly.
Even though Georgeanne had guessed as much, it was a shock to hear John actually confess to marrying a stripper. It was so shocking. “Really! What did she look like?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Oh,” she said, her curiosity unsatisfied. “I’ve never been married, but I think I’d remember. You must have been real drunk.”
“I said I was.” He made an exasperated sound. “But you don’t have to worry about Lexie around me. I don’t drink anymore.”
“Are you an alcoholic?” she asked, the question slipping out before she thought better of it. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer such a personal question.”
“It’s okay. I probably am,” he answered more candid than she would have suspected. “I never checked into Betty Ford, but I was drinking pretty heavily and turning my brain to shit. I was pretty much out of control.”
“Was it hard to quit?”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t easy, but for my physical and mental well-being, I’ve had to give up a few things.”
“Like what?”
He grinned. “Alcohol, loose women, and the Macarena.” He moved forward and hung his wrists over the top rung of the chair. “Now that you know the skeletons in my closet, answer something for me.”
“What?”
“Seven years ago, when I bought you a ticket home, I was under the impression you were broke. How did you live, let alone start a business?”
“I was very lucky.” She paused a moment before adding, “I answered a help wanted ad for Heron’s.” Then because he’d been so truthful with her-and because nothing she’d ever done could equal marrying a stripper-she added a little fact about her life that no one knew but Mae. “And I was wearing a diamond that I sold for ten thousand dollars.”
He didn’t bat an eye. “Virgil’s?”
“Virgil gave it to me. It was mine.”
A slow smile, which could have meant anything, worked the corners of his mouth. “He didn’t want it back?”
Georgeanne folded her arms beneath her breasts and tilted her head to one side. “Sure he did, and I’d planned to give the ring back, too, but he’d taken my clothes and donated them to the Salvation Army.”
“That’s right. He had your clothes, didn’t he?”
“Yep. When I left the wedding, I left everything but my makeup. All I had was that stupid pink dress.”
“Yes. I remember that little dress.”
“When I called him to ask about my things, he wouldn’t even talk to me. He had his housekeeper tell me to drop the ring off at his offices and leave it with his secretary. The housekeeper wasn’t very nice about it either, but she did tell me what he’d done with my stuff.” Georgeanne wasn’t especially proud of selling the ring, but Virgil was partly to blame. “I had to buy all my clothes back at four and five dollars a pop, and I didn’t have any money.”
“So you sold the ring.”
“To a jeweler who was happy to get it for half of what it was worth. When I first met Mae, her catering business wasn’t doing real well. I gave her a lot of that ring money to pay off some of her creditors. That money might have given me a little help, but I’ve worked my tail off to get where I am today.”
“I’m not judging you, Georgie.”
She hadn’t realized that she sounded so defensive. “Some people might, if they knew the truth.”
Amusement appeared in the corners of his eyes. “Who am I to judge you? Jesus, I married DeeDee Delight.”
“True,” Georgeanne laughed, feeling a little like Scarlett O’Hara unburdening her dishonorable deeds to Rhett Butler. “Does Virgil know about Lexie yet?”
“No. Not yet.”
“What do you think he’ll do when he finds out?”
“Virgil is a smart businessman, and I’m his franchise player. I don’t think he’ll do anything. It’s been seven years, and it’s water under the bridge, anyway. Now, I’m not saying he’ll be real happy when I tell him about Lexie,
but he and I work together fairly well. Besides, he’s married now and seems happy.”
Of course, she’d known he’d married. Local papers had reported on his marriage to Caroline Foster-Duffy, director of the Seattle Art Museum. Georgeanne hoped John was right and that Virgil was happy. She harbored him no ill will.
“Answer me something else?”
“No. I answered your question, it’s my turn to ask you.”
John shook his head. “I told you about DeeDee and my drinking. That’s two skeletons. So you owe me one more.”
“Fine. What?”
“The day you brought the pictures of Lexie to my houseboat, you mentioned being relieved that she didn’t struggle in school. What did you mean?”
She didn’t really want to talk about her dyslexia with John Kowalsky.
“Is it because you think I’m a dumb jock?” He gripped the top rung of the chair and leaned back.
His question surprised her. He looked calm and cool as if her answer didn’t matter one way or the other. She had a feeling it mattered more than he wanted her to know. “I’m sorry I called you dumb. I know what it’s like to be judged for what you do or how you look.” A lot of people suffered from dyslexia, she reminded herself, but knowing that famous people like Cher, Tom Cruise, and Einstein endured it also didn’t make it any easier to reveal herself to a man like John. “My concern for Lexie had nothing to do with you. When I was a child, I struggled in school. The three Rs gave me bit of trouble.”
Except for a slight crease between his brows, he remained expressionless. He said nothing.
“But you should have seen me in ballet and charm school,” she continued, forcing levity into her voice and attempting to coax a smile from him. “While I may have been the worst ballerina to have ever leaped across a stage, I do believe I excelled at charm. In fact, I graduated at the head of my class.”
He shook his head and the crease disappeared from his forehead. “I don’t doubt it for a second.”
Georgeanne laughed and let down her guard a bit. “While other children memorized their multiplication tables, I studied table settings. I know the correct positions for everything, from shrimp forks to finger bowls. I read silver patterns while some girls read Nancy Drew. I had no problem distinguishing between luncheon silver and dinner silver, but words like how and who, and was and saw, gave me fits.”
His eyes narrowed a little. “You’re dyslexic?”
Georgeanne sat up straighten “Yes.” She knew she shouldn’t feel ashamed. Still, she added, “but I’ve learned to cope. People assume that someone who suffers from dyslexia can’t read. That’s not true. We just learn a little differently. I read and write like most people, but math will never be my forte. Being dyslexic doesn’t really bother me now.”
He stared at her for a moment, then said, “But it did as a child.”
“Sure.”
“Were you tested?”
“Yes. In the fourth grade I was tested by some sort of doctor. I don’t really remember.” She scooted back her chair and stood, feeling resentment build inside of her. Resentment toward John for forcing her problem into the open as if it were his business. And she felt the old bitterness toward the doctor who’d turned her young life upside down. “He told my grandmother I had a brain dysfunction, which isn’t altogether a misstatement, but it is a rather harsh term and a blanket diagnosis. In the seventies, everything from dyslexia to mental retardation was considered a brain dysfunction.” She shrugged her shoulders as if none of it really mattered and forced a little laugh. “The doctor said I’d never be real bright. So I grew up feeling a little retarded and a bit lost.”
Slowly John stood and moved his chair out of the way. His eyes got real narrow. “No one ever told that doctor to go fuck himself?”
“Well, I-I-” Georgeanne stuttered, taken back by his anger. “I can’t imagine my grandmother ever using the F word. She was Baptist.”
“Didn’t she take you to another doctor? Have you tested somewhere else? Find a tutor? Any damn thing?”
“No.” She enrolled me in charm school, she thought.
“Why not?”
“She didn’t think there was anything else that could be done. It was the mid-seventies and there wasn’t as much information as there is today. But even today, in the nineties, children are still misdiagnosed sometimes.”
“Well, it shouldn’t happen.” His gaze roamed her face, then returned to her eyes.
He still looked angry, but she couldn’t think of one reason why he should care. This was a side of John she’d never seen. A side filled with what felt like compassion. This man standing in front of her, the man who looked like John, confused her. “I should go to bed now,” she uttered.
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. “Sweet dreams,” he said, and took a step back.
But Georgeanne didn’t have sweet dreams. She didn’t dream at all for a very long time. She lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Lexie’s even breathing beside her. She lay awake, thinking of John’s angry reaction, and her confusion grew.
She thought of his wives, but mostly she thought of Linda. After so many years, he still couldn’t bring himself to talk about her death. Georgeanne wondered what sort of woman inspired such love in a man like John. And she wondered if there was a woman somewhere who could fill Linda’s place in John’s heart.
The more she thought about it, the more she came to realize that she hoped not. Her feelings weren’t very nice, but they were real. She didn’t want John to find happiness with some skinny woman. She wanted him to regret the day he’d dumped her at Sea-Tac. She wanted him to walk around kicking his own behind for the rest of his life. Not that she’d ever get together with him again, because, of course, she wouldn’t even consider it. She just wanted him to suffer. Then maybe when he’d suffered a long time, she’d forgive him for being an insensitive jerk and breaking her heart.
Maybe.
Chapter Thirteen
Georgeanne had a choice between riding a sand bike, driving bumper cars, or inline skating along the Promenade in Seaside. None of the choices thrilled her-in fact, they all sounded like her idea of hell- but since she had to choose or go along with Lexie’s choice of bumper cars, she picked Rollerblading. She hadn’t chosen it because of her ability. The last time she’d tried it, she’d fallen so hard she’d had to blink back the tears stinging her eyes. She’d sat there while little kids zipped past, lights flashing, and her tailbone throbbing so bad it had taken all her strength not to grab her behind with both hands.
Her experience with Rollerblades was so vivid, she’d almost chosen bumper cars and taken her chances with whiplash, but then she’d seen the Promenade. The Prom was a nice expanse of sidewalk stretching along the beach and was bordered on the ocean side with a stone wall about two to three feet high. The benches built into the stone caught her eye immediately, and she’d made her choice.
Now as the ocean breeze picked up the ends of her ponytail, Georgeanne sighed happily. She stretched one arm along the top of the stone bench and crossed one knee over the other; the Rollerblade on her left foot swayed to and fro like the tide of the ocean several hundred feet in the distance. She thought she probably looked a little strange sitting there in her sleeveless white silk blouse that laced up the front, her white and purple gauzy skirt, and her rented Ultra Wheels. But she figured it was better to look weird than get up and fall on her behind.
She was more than content just to sit right where she was and watch John teach Lexie to Rollerblade. At home, Lexie buzzed the neighborhood on her Barbie roller skates, but learning to balance on a row of rubber wheels took practice, and Georgeanne was relieved that there was someone more athletic than herself to help Lexie. She was also a little surprised to discover that instead of feeling deserted, she felt as if she’d been released from hazardous duty.
At first, Lexie’s ankles had wobbled a little, but John positioned her in front of him, took her a
rms in his hands, and placed both of his Rollerblades on the outsides of hers. Then he pushed off and the two of them began to move. Georgeanne couldn’t hear what he said to Lexie, but she watched her daughter nod and move her feet at the same time as John.
With the added height of the wheels, John looked huge. The back of Lexie’s head barely reached the waistband of his jean shorts where he’d tucked in his “Bad Dog” T-shirt. Lexie, with her neon pink bicycle shorts and pink kitty shirt, looked very small and very dainty skating between her father’s large feet.
Georgeanne watched them skate away, then she turned her gaze to the tourists who walked the Promenade. A young couple strode past, pushing a two-seated stroller, and Georgeanne wondered, as she often did, what it would be like to have a husband, to have a typical family, and even though she did well on her own, to have a man to share half the worry.
She thought of Charles and felt guilty. She’d told him of her and Lexie’s plans to vacation at Cannon Beach, but she’d left out one important detail. She’d left out John. Charles had even called the night before she’d left to wish her a safe trip. She could have told him then, but she hadn’t. She’d have to tell him sometime. He wouldn’t like it, and she couldn’t blame him.
A flock of seagulls squawked above her, drawing her attention from her problems with Charles to several children tossing bread crusts over the Promenade wall toward the beach. Georgeanne watched the birds and the people for a while before she spotted John and Lexie. John skated backward toward her, and she let her gaze slowly slip up his muscular calves, over the backs of his knees and hard thighs, to the wallet making a bulge in his back pocket. Then he crossed one foot behind the other and was suddenly skating forward, beside Lexie. Georgeanne looked at her daughter and laughed. Lexie’s brows were lowered and her face pinched as she concentrated on what John was telling her. The two of them slowly wheeled past and John glanced at Georgeanne. His brows lowered when he saw her, and Georgeanne was struck by how much he and Lexie resembled each other. She’d always thought Lexie looked more like John than herself, but with both of them scowling, the similarities were striking.
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