Passionate Kisses

by Various

  Liz raised her eyebrows. “Prom dresses? Are you sure?”

  Maggie smacked her arm. “Course I’m sure. Let’s hit the road.”

  Liz pulled out and headed toward the mall.

  “I’m thinking something with sequins,” Maggie said, powering down her window. “Maybe purple.”

  Liz could just picture it. Maggie was petite enough to wear a junior size, but purple sequins for a church wedding? Jorge would probably find it charming—most everything Maggie did was adorable in his love-goggled eyes. But what about Father Munson?

  “I did white the first time around,” Maggie said, running her fingers through her pixie haircut in the breeze. “Second time calls for purple. I’m no virgin bride.” She laughed.

  Liz laughed uneasily.

  “How’s the baby?” Maggie asked.

  Liz stiffened, then realized Maggie was talking about her nephew. “Bryce is good. My mom says he’s nursing well and Daisy’s getting the hang of things.”

  “Good. Did she get a sleeper?”

  “I don’t know. She does sound tired, but my mom said all new mothers are tired.”

  “Those first few months can be rough. Course I only had Jack with nothing to compare it to. But things smoothed out between us around three months.”

  “I think they’re doing okay,” Liz said, accelerating as they left town. The wind whipped around them now. Liz had come prepared with a snug baseball cap over her ponytail. Maggie didn’t care; she loved her hair in the breeze.

  When they reached the juniors’ section, the clothing racks were full of fall sweaters, skirts, and pants for the upcoming back-to-school season. Liz stopped a saleswoman. “Do you have any prom dresses left?”

  The saleswoman raised her brows at the strange request, months after prom season, but pointed them in the right direction. “Just what’s on the clearance racks in the back.”

  Maggie hurried eagerly to the back of the store.

  At least she’ll get a good price. Everything’s seventy percent off.

  Maggie began pulling bright colored dresses from the rack, the shinier the better, and throwing them into Liz’s arms. Twenty minutes later, they staggered into the dressing room, where Liz helped her hang all the dresses on the wall hooks.

  Liz sat on the bench across from the three-way mirror at the end of the dressing area and waited.

  Maggie emerged from her dressing room a short time later with a neon yellow sequined sleeveless dress that reached the floor. She had to lift the hem to make it to the three-way mirror. She turned right and left, admiring herself. “I think I’ll need to take it in a little,” she said, pulling up the bodice that she didn’t quite fill out.

  “Maybe not that one,” Liz said. No teen girl in her right mind would wear that hideous yellow thing to prom.

  “You’re right, not fancy enough.” Maggie swished back to the dressing room.

  The next one was a pink baby doll dress that ended mid-thigh in an explosion of tulle. She looked like a grandma ballerina. There was a reason they didn’t exist.

  Maggie twirled in front of the mirror. “More sequins,” she pronounced before flouncing back to the dressing room.

  Liz breathed a sigh of relief to be spared from having to reject that one. Her cell rang. “Be right back!” She slipped out of the dressing room to answer it.

  It was Ryan. “Hey, Liz. Can you do dinner tonight?”

  She hesitated. Was she ready for a date with him? For things to move beyond the casual? Could she take that chance?

  “Are you there?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m here. Sure.”

  “Great, I’ll pick you up at seven. It’s a nice place, so dress up a bit.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

  She smiled back, though she knew he couldn’t see her. “Okay. I’ll see you then. Bye.”

  “Liz!” Maggie called. “Can you help me with this zipper?”

  She hurried in to help Maggie zip up an emerald green mermaid gown. She could barely move in the thing. Liz watched her shuffle to the mirror to confirm she did indeed look like a mermaid from all angles.

  “Too fishy!” Maggie proclaimed.

  Liz guided her back into the dressing room and helped her lose the tail.

  Half an hour—and more hideous dresses than Liz cared to remember—later, Maggie announced, “This is the one!”

  Liz held her breath as Maggie opened the dressing room door, beaming. “My wedding dress. What do you think?”

  It was a bright, tangerine orange, floor-length gown with a deep V-neck, silver sequin trim along the empire waist, and a high slit on the left thigh. Something maybe Angelina Jolie could get away with on the red carpet, but no one else. The color was just…so…orange. And it was so…revealing.

  Maggie admired herself from all sides in the three-way mirror and turned to Liz expectantly.

  If Maggie’s happy, that’s all that matters.

  “It’s perfect,” Liz said.

  “And it’s seventy percent off! What a steal! I can’t believe it was still on the rack!”

  Of course it was. No teen girl wants to look like a slutty tangerine at her prom.

  Liz smiled. “Amazing!”

  ~ ~ ~

  Nerves hummed through Liz as she tried and discarded outfit after outfit for her first official date with Ryan. She knew she was being ridiculous. They’d spent lots of time together already. It was just that most of it had been moaning and naked. What would they say to each other?

  She finally settled on tailored pink pants that had a little give in the waist to accommodate her bloating. Blech. She added a bright red and pink floral top and wedged heels. She took her time with her makeup, carefully applying foundation, eyeliner, mascara, and blush. A pink lipstick that matched her pants.

  The doorbell rang right on time. He stood there in a button-down shirt with a blazer and crisp khakis. The most she’d seen him dressed up.

  “You look nice,” she said.

  He stepped inside and kissed her cheek. “You too. Ready to go?”

  “Ready.”

  He drove out of town, and Liz wondered where they were heading. “Can you at least tell me the town?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  A long silence passed. He fiddled with the radio, looking for a station. She discreetly wiped the sweat off her hands.

  “What’s new?” Liz finally asked.

  “Nothing.” He glanced over. “Anything new with you?”

  “Just…you know.” She folded her hands tightly in her lap.

  “What a relief, right?”

  “Sure.” She looked out the window as they passed elegant homes. The reminder of her almost pregnancy brought the grief back.

  She remained silent on the rest of the drive, her thoughts dwelling on what possible future she could have with Ryan. He drove, oblivious to her darkening mood.

  Finally, they pulled into Alberto’s. Ryan ignored the valet and pulled to the back to self-park. Alberto’s was in a ritzy town a half-hour drive from Clover Park and was well known as one of the top restaurants in the county.

  “I’ve heard the food is really good here,” Liz said.

  “That’s what Shane told me.” He parked and opened her car door for her.

  The restaurant had been converted from a gorgeous old two-story colonial done in a golden yellow with white trim. The white rails of a second-story wraparound porch caught her attention. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined what appeared to be an added-on conservatory. She stepped inside a wood-paneled lobby, where he gave his name for the reservation.

  A moment later, they were shown to their table in a large dining room with vaulted ceilings and crown molding. Windows around the room let in the last rays of setting sun. Large watercolors of Italian countryside hung on the walls. Round tables covered in white tablecloths filled the room.

  She sat down and put the cloth napkin on her
lap. “This is so nice,” she whispered.

  “Yeah.” He pulled at his collar.

  The waiter arrived to hand them menus and tell them about the specials. She’d never been to such a nice restaurant. No date had ever taken her someplace this fancy, and her family celebrated every occasion at Garner’s.

  Ryan studied the menu, a scowl on his face.

  “Something wrong?” Liz asked.

  He loosened his shoulders. “I’m just more of a pizza and wings kind of guy, but I wanted something nice for you.”

  Liz didn’t want to stay if he didn’t feel comfortable. “Let’s go. I can eat pizza.”

  “No. I’m sorry. This isn’t going the way I’d hoped. I want you to have a good time. I’ll try to relax.” He stretched his arms above his head and took a deep breath. “I’m good now.” His eyes were warm on hers. “How’re you doing?”

  “I’m good.” Her cheeks heated up. She wished she didn’t always have such an intense reaction to him. “You?”

  “Good.”

  The waiter arrived to take their order. After he left, silence fell between them. Liz picked at a piece of warm Italian bread. This was exactly what she’d worried about. That they’d have nothing to say to each other, nothing in common.

  He gave her a tight smile.

  She looked around the dining room at all the other couples chatting away.

  “Any interesting cases lately?” she asked.

  “Just the usual cheating idiots.”

  She nodded, and an uncomfortable silence fell over the table again. Maybe she should have ordered some wine.

  She sat stiffly.

  He sat stiffly.

  Finally, their food arrived, and she cut her chicken piccata into neat squares before spearing one. He had a platter of swordfish with rice pilaf and asparagus.

  “How’s Daisy and the baby?” he asked.

  Yes, we can talk about family. “Bryce. They’re good. I’m flying out to visit them in two weeks.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “Four days. I can’t miss any school in the beginning of the year. Plus there’s Maggie and Jorge’s wedding.”

  He grimaced over the mention of his grandmother’s wedding.

  “Did you ever meet up with your father?” she asked.

  “No.” He stabbed his asparagus and sliced it in pieces.

  “Think about it.”

  “Mmmm…” was his noncommittal answer.

  Silence descended again. Liz grew increasingly agitated. What are we doing? Where is this going?

  Liz set down her fork. “Ryan, things have been so weird since I thought I was…and then I wasn’t. It doesn’t feel…casual anymore, at least for me. I mean, what do you think? Where’s this relationship going?”

  “I hate that question,” he muttered.

  “Oh, why, do you get it a lot?” she asked snippily.

  “Yes! Women always want to know where the relationship is going. I don’t know, okay?”

  Stung, she snapped back, “No, it’s not okay.”

  He leaned back from the table. “What do you want from me?”

  More than you can give, she thought. And she knew, just knew that it wasn’t fair of her to ask.

  “Nothing. Forget I said anything.” She set her napkin on the table. “I think I’d like to go home now.”

  His eyes went wide. “Liz, don’t—”

  “Just take me home, okay?”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “Okay.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ryan leaned back in the vinyl booth of The Fresh Café, waiting for a Saturday lunch with the man he’d never wanted to see again. He’d agreed to meet Jack in his newly adopted town of Fieldridge because Ryan hadn’t wanted to run into any of the busybodies he knew in Clover Park. His coffee remained untouched in front of him, his gut tight, while he watched the door. A range of emotions flashed through him—anger, resignation, fatigue. He was so damn tired. He’d had a stakeout late last night, and not being with Liz was wearing thin. He had no idea where things went wrong with her. Sure, they’d had a pregnancy scare, but that was over. Last weekend, he’d taken her to an expensive restaurant. Most women would’ve loved that. Instead, she’d gotten pissy and demanding and left early.

  He had no idea what his next move should be.

  The door opened, and his eyes locked with the matching hazel eyes of Jack O’Hare as he walked toward him. The old man looked pretty much the same. His hair had some gray in it after all these years, and there were a few more lines on his face. Ryan studied the man he’d taken after so much in looks. It was like looking into a fucking mirror to the future.

  “Ryan, thanks for meeting me.” Jack smiled and sat down across from him.

  He didn’t return the smile.

  “I was really glad that you called,” Jack said.

  Ryan inclined his head, barely, in acknowledgement.

  Silence.

  Jack looked down at the table, then raised his eyes again. “I’ve been sober three years. I got help. I’m very active in my church. I even met Gina there.”

  “Real happy for you,” he replied sarcastically.

  The waitress appeared to take their lunch order.

  “Just coffee for me,” Ryan said, indicating his cup. He wouldn’t be staying long.

  Jack glanced at the menu. “I’ll have a BLT, thank you.” He handed the waitress back the menu.

  Silence fell between them again. Ryan had no intention of making it easy on him.

  “So this is how it’s going to be?” Jack finally asked. “Just going to sit there mad at me? I am sorry.” He lowered his voice. “You don’t know how much I regret those years. Your mother—”

  “Don’t talk about her,” Ryan ground out.

  “She was the love of my life. I just…lost myself when she—”

  Ryan pounded a fist on the table. Jack jumped. “I said don’t talk about her.”

  A few customers looked over, and Jack held up a hand, indicating he was okay.

  “I’m only here because it makes things better for Gran,” Ryan said through clenched teeth.

  They sat in silence. Jack folded his hands and seemed to be praying. Ryan wondered how long he had to sit here to make things right for Gran.

  The food arrived, and Jack tucked into his sandwich. Ryan sipped his coffee and eyed the old man. He looked in good health. Guess he didn’t destroy his liver. He was fit and tanned. He took care of himself now. Or Gina did. Not like the wreck he was when Ryan last saw him.

  He remembered Jack reeking of booze. It had seeped through his sweat, his stained clothes. His father turned to the bottle in his grief over his wife’s death.

  Ryan had been the one to find her. Seventeen years old and he found her after school, dead from an overdose of sleeping pills. She’d left a note:

  I’m going to a place where there’s no pain.

  I love you all—

  Lisa

  Ryan had tried to revive her, shouting her name, trying to shake her awake. He called 911, called his father, but it’d been too late.

  Too damn late.

  He’d always known something was wrong with his mother. She’d spent long days just sitting in a ratty old robe, staring at nothing. She’d been so sensitive too; anything could set her off in a crying spell. Shane was sensitive. Ryan kept a close eye on him over the years, looking for signs of depression, determined Shane would get the treatment their mother never had, if necessary. But Shane was fine. Sensitive, not depressed.

  Jack should have made sure she saw a doctor. Ryan thought that then, and he thought that now.

  Jack also should’ve been the one to find her.

  Ryan found out later—in one of Jack’s drunken rambles—that she’d called him at work and begged him to come home early, saying she needed to see him. He’d said he’d come home right away. But he hadn’t. Believing him, she’d left the note and went to sleep forever.

  Ryan knew his moth
er would not have wanted him or his brothers to see her like that.

  Things got worse.

  Jack lost his job, unable to stop drinking. He left them for days on end, leaving Ryan to keep Trav, fifteen, and Shane, thirteen, in line. He learned quick how to scramble some eggs and make the most out of spaghetti for their ever-hungry pits. He spent his own measly savings from mowing lawns for food. And when that ran out, he had to steal cash from Jack’s wallet. He only got the chance to do that once.

  He’d stolen fifty bucks before school while Jack slept the deep sleep of the drunk. When he got home from school, he was met at the door by an awake and angry Jack. His eyes were bloodshot, and he gripped an open bottle of whiskey.

  “You little thief!” Jack yelled, his words slurring. “I know it was you. I want my money!” He grabbed for Ryan’s backpack, but Ryan spun away.

  He’d already spent the money on food, and it was in his backpack. No way was he handing it over.

  “Get back here!” Jack charged him unsteadily.

  Ryan wasn’t as strong as his father, but he had youth and speed on the drunk man. He managed to dodge his father’s punch and put some space between them.

  “We need food,” Ryan said. “Look at you! You’re drunk. Get it together. Trav and Shane need you.”

  “Trav and Shane…” Jack muttered as he came closer.

  “Yes, Dad—”

  Jack threw a right hook that sent Ryan reeling. He put his hand to his cheek where it was already swelling. Jack was coming for him again, ready to pound him.

  Shane came home then. Trav was God-knew-where, getting into trouble again.

  His brother ran between them. “Dad! Ryan! Stop it!” Jack’s fist connected with his younger son’s chest, knocking him down.

  Shane started crying.

  “Shane! I’m sorry,” Jack said.

  “Get out!” Ryan yelled at his father. “We don’t need you around here!”

  Jack stood over Shane unsteadily. “Are you okay?”

  Shane held a hand to his chest and nodded.

  “Get out, or I’ll call the cops!” Ryan yelled.

  Jack left, eyes downcast, shoulders drooping, whiskey still in hand.