Random Acts

by Alison Stone

  “Indispensable, huh?” He suspected she didn’t take many days off. The way Gram talked, it sounded like she rarely left the office.

  She pressed a few buttons on one of those fancy touch-screen cell phones. “I’d like to think so.” A mirthless smile touched her pink lips. “But haven’t you heard? Lawyers are a dime a dozen.” A thin line creased her forehead. “If I walked out the door today, there would be twenty lawyers lined up for my job in the morning.” She shook her head. “There’s no such thing as job security anymore.”

  He opened his mouth to say something but her finger shot up in a hold-on-a-minute gesture. She lifted the phone to her ear.

  Danielle was still fiddling with her cell phone when they arrived at Gram’s house. From what he’d gathered, she had a lot of projects at work in need of attention, and nothing short of an emergency would have drawn her back to Mayport.

  He had a hard time believing it had been less than twelve hours since he had dialed Danielle’s number and heard her sleepy voice across the line. Her sweet voice, much like an old song, had immediately taken him back. Nostalgia and longing had flooded a part of his heart he thought had died with his wife. What if? What if things had been different back then? What if this was their second chance? He mentally shook his head. You’re tired. You’re on edge from last night. He refused to give credence to anything he was feeling right now. Besides, he had someone more important in his life now.

  As he eased the cruiser up the rutted driveway, the car rocked back and forth. For the first time since they had left the hospital, his passenger’s head snapped up. An annoyed expression marred the delicate features of her narrow face. She planted her free hand on the dashboard for balance. “The driveway’s a mess.”

  “The snowplow guy did a number on it last winter.”

  “This place is getting too much for Gram to maintain.” Danielle ran her finger along her chin. He followed her gaze to the white farmhouse at the top of the drive and tried to see it through her eyes—crumbling roof tiles, dingy siding and unkempt landscaping.

  “Maybe I should encourage her to put the house on the market. Downsize. Get some money for the house while she can.”

  “Don’t tell my mother,” Patrick said dryly.

  “Bunny’s still selling real estate?” Tilting her head, Danielle cut him a sideways look “She’d have the For Sale sign planted in the yard by sundown. And knowing your mother—” an unexpected flicker of amusement danced in her eyes, “—she’s probably already drafted a copy of the real-estate listing.” She tapped her lips with the edge of her cell phone and stared off in the distance. “Let’s see. Park-like setting. Real charmer. Needs TLC. Must see inside. Oh—” she lifted a finger, “—and great neighbors.”

  He touched a finger to his nose and pointed at her. “You nailed it. You couldn’t ask for better neighbors than yours truly.” He patted her hand and was rewarded with a genuine smile. “I think you missed your calling,” he said in a light teasing tone before getting out of the car.

  Danielle climbed out her side and slammed the door. “I really appreciate the ride.” She turned and twisted her ankle in a deep rut. He grabbed her forearm to steady her.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine.” Red crept up her neck. He remembered how easily she blushed. “These silly shoes.” She glanced down at the high heels poking out from underneath her jeans. “You’d think I would have grabbed tennis shoes on my way out the door this morning.”

  Patrick shrugged. A nonanswer. But tennis shoes did seem more practical than high-heeled boots. Somehow he guessed Danielle was more about fashion than practicality. She certainly presented herself as put together. Totally professional. Attractive. Yet, the rough-and-tumble Danielle, the freshman girl who had moved in next door when he was a senior in high school, had been the one to catch his eye. Not that he didn’t enjoy the updated version.

  He closed his eyes briefly. There he went again, pining for the old days. He yanked open the back door of his cruiser and grabbed her bag. “I’ll take this in for you.” He hiked the bag’s strap up onto his shoulder.

  “Please, you’ve done enough. I’m sure you have to get back to work.”

  “I am working.”

  Danielle’s shoulders seemed to drop a fraction. “I know…I mean, I’m sure you have other work to do.”

  “Listen, I know it’s hard for you to be back here.”

  Her eyes widened, then immediately narrowed. “My job keeps me busy in Atlanta.” Her words framed a challenge.

  “It’s more than that, isn’t it?” He tilted his head, trying to catch her averted gaze. “You didn’t have the easiest childhood here.”

  “A very astute observation, Officer Kingsley. Are you a psychologist now or just a fan of Dr. Phil?”

  Patrick stifled a small chuckle. “Dr. Phil, huh? Listen, I didn’t mean to…” His words trailed off.

  “I really do appreciate your being here for Gram… even though it is your job.” She put undue weight on the last two words. “But I’m okay.” She reached for the bag. “Really, I can carry my own bag. I’m not some helpless damsel in distress.” She batted her long eyelashes for emphasis.

  He twisted his lips, studying her. “Suit yourself.” He pulled the strap off his shoulder and held out the bag. When he released the strap, her hand dropped with the weight of it.

  She put the strap over her shoulder and suddenly seemed impatient. “I’ll see you later.”

  “If it’s all the same to you,” Patrick said, “I’ll collect my daughter.” Her eyes widened in surprise. He tipped his head toward the house. “Come on, I’ll get the door for you.”

  The gravel crunched under Danielle’s feet. “I didn’t think Gram would be up for babysitting.” A hint of irritation threaded her tone. Apparently sensing it, she lifted a hand, a look of contrition settling on her pretty features. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just tired.”

  “I understand.” He turned the handle and pushed on the door with his shoulder. One of these days he was going to fix the side door for Gram. It had swelled in its frame, making it difficult to open and close. “But I wouldn’t exactly call it babysitting,” Patrick said, holding the door open for her. “It’s more like keeping each other company.”

  Danielle followed Patrick into the house. He disappeared into the family room while she drew up short in the kitchen. The familiar smell, a musty mix of Lemon Pledge and stale air, always made her breath hitch in her lungs. Gram sealed up the house tight at the first threat of frost. “No sense heating the outside,” she’d say.

  The smell never failed to evoke the powerful memory of her first visit. Exhaling slowly, Danielle tried to calm her nerves. The familiar tingling had already started in her fingertips. Distracting herself, she soaked in the details of the room. The orange, stained linoleum and matching counters were a testament to the flower-powered seventies, dated even when she’d first laid eyes on them. All this was in stark contrast to the builder upgrades she had chosen prior to moving into her high-end townhouse in Atlanta.

  Danielle tossed her overnight bag onto the chair. Hard to believe she was once a frightened fourteen-year-old girl whose mother had unceremoniously dumped off her and her sister to run away with the boyfriend du jour. At the time, Danielle had carried a white kitchen-garbage bag with all their belongings, the thin plastic stretching under her grip. Her baby sister had clutched a Superstar Barbie dressed in a fashionable pink gown with matching boa. Thinking about the doll made Danielle’s heart ache. At ten, when most girls were tiring of dolls, Jenny had clung tightly to her only prized possession.

  “Are you going to come in?” Patrick’s question snapped her out of her reverie. Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter and took a big bite. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and a hint of a smile lit his green eyes. When he returned to the living room, she closed her eyes, savoring the secret thrill zinging through her body. Man, he’ s handsom
e.

  “Should I challenge you?” Gram’s frail voice drifted in from the family room. She sounded exhausted.

  “No, I promise it’s a real word,” a little girl said. Patrick’s daughter. Heat washed over her. Her mind raced. She hadn’t even asked his daughter’s name. Great.

  Danielle moved toward the archway separating the kitchen and living room. She hung back unnoticed, watching the father-daughter exchange. Her heart swelled with an emotion that caught her off guard. Patrick rested his hand affectionately on his daughter’s shoulder. In her mind, Danielle had envisioned his child to be younger, preschool aged maybe. But the girl playing Scrabble with Gram was not yet a teen, but close. She hadn’t been around enough kids to know her exact age. But one thing she did know. His daughter was beautiful. Long, wavy blonde hair like her late mother’s.

  A sharp, sudden pain stabbed her heart. A personal pain. An overwhelming desire to draw this child into an embrace—to tell her she understood what it was like to grow up without a mother—swept over her.

  “I don’t know, Gram. Do you think Ava’s trying to fake you out?” Father and daughter leaned over the Scrabble board. Gram tipped her head back and glanced down, trying to see through her bifocals.

  Ava playfully swatted Patrick’s hand and shifted in her seat, jutting out her lower lip. “Dad…” She rolled her eyes, then suddenly froze. Her back stiffened.

  Patrick followed his daughter’s gaze, his green eyes landing on Danielle. Her cheeks grew warm. Again. Why did this man, even after all these years, have such a strong effect on her?

  Danielle pushed off the arched doorway and forced a smile past the uneasiness swirling in her belly. “Hello.” She crossed to Gram and pressed a kiss to her soft cheek. The sweet scent of butterscotch tickled her nose. “How are you?”

  Gram caught Danielle’s hands and squeezed. Her blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “You came.”

  “Of course,” Danielle said, her tone edged with indignation as she pulled her hands free. She lifted her eyes, mortified to find Patrick studying her. Averting her gaze, she struggled to shake off the guilt Gram’s words had inflicted.

  She tried again, this time softening her tone. “I went to the hospital first. Jenny’s hanging in there. Would you like to go see her this afternoon?”

  “That would be nice, dear.” Gram twisted her hands in her lap. “I couldn’t bear to see her earlier. But now you’re here.” The older woman bowed her head. “Thank God.”

  Danielle placed her hand over Gram’s. “It’ll be okay.” The image of Jenny’s battered face flitted across her brain. The words tasted like a lie on her lips.

  Danielle turned around, but before she had a chance to introduce herself, Patrick placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Ava, this is Miss Danielle.” He lifted his other palm toward Danielle.

  Ava’s eyes sparkled with surprise. “Gram talks about you. You’re the lawyer.”

  “I am.” Unsure of the protocol with the preteen set, Danielle extended her hand. Ava took it hesitantly then quickly dropped her hand to her side.

  “I’ve been praying for Miss Jenny,” Ava said in a hushed tone.

  Danielle wasn’t sure what to say, but settled on a simple, “Thank you.”

  “How come I haven’t met you before?” The innocence of Ava’s question cut Danielle to the core.

  “I live pretty far away.” Danielle’s simple answer did nothing—in her mind—to excuse the inexcusable. But how could a child understand the reasons she had avoided Mayport? Reasons even she struggled to understand.

  “But you flew here today?” Ava’s green eyes, the color and shape marking her as her father’s daughter, twinkled. “I flew all the way over the ocean when we came back from the military base.” She tilted her head and pressed her lips together as if giving it great thought. “But Atlanta is in Georgia, right? It’s not that far.”

  Danielle wilted under the intensity of the girl’s interrogation. “You’re right. It’s not. I guess work has kept me busy.” Danielle crossed to the loveseat on the opposite wall and sat. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the delicate detail of the crocheted doily on the arm of the furniture.

  “My dad works a lot too,” Ava said with the resigned authority of a child older than her years. “But—” her voice brightened, “—he gets to tuck me in every night, no matter what.” The girl flashed a big smile at her dad.

  Standing behind his daughter, Patrick gave her shoulders a playful squeeze. “Sometimes she’s asleep when I get home, but I still get to kiss her goodnight.” His deep love for his daughter rolled off him in waves.

  “I’m never asleep when you come in. I wait up for you.” Ava tipped her head back to look at him.

  Patrick smiled and gently tugged a long strand of her hair. “I can hear you snoring.”

  “I never snore.” Ava laughed. She shifted her focus to Danielle, her bright eyes sobering. “When I was little, Dad spent a long time in Iraq. Mom and I wouldn’t see him for like forever.”

  “That had to be really hard.” Danielle searched for the appropriate words. This charming little girl had suffered a lot of hurt in her short life, yet her eyes exhibited a spark, an energy that spoke volumes. Despite everything, she had a solid home. A father who loved her. And in the end—on the surface anyway—it seemed Ava wasn’t the worse for wear.

  “You’re pretty good at Scrabble?” Danielle asked, changing the subject.

  It was Ava’s turn to lift a shoulder, then let it fall. She bowed her head and studied her shoes.

  “She’s being modest.” Patrick nudged his daughter’s shoulder. “She won the fifth-grade spelling bee.”

  Ava looked like she wanted to protest, but Gram lifted a shaky hand. “Learn how to take a compliment, child. God gave you a talent. With the proper schooling, you can do anything.” Her eyes moved to Danielle. “Look at my granddaughter here, a big-time lawyer.”

  “The partners in the law firm might dispute that claim.”

  “Hey, sweetie,” Patrick said to his daughter, “it’s time to run home. Let your new friend get settled.” He pressed a business card into Danielle’s hand, the brief contact sending a delightful warm sensation up her arm. “Call me if you need anything.” He paused and lifted an eyebrow. “Anything.”

  She ran her thumb across the embossed lettering of his name. “We’ll be fine.” Tucking the card into the back pocket of her jeans, she escorted Patrick and Ava out through the kitchen door.

  When she returned to the living room, she found her grandmother with the Bible open in her lap. “Excuse me, Gram.”

  Her grandmother looked up expectantly.

  “I’ll make us some lunch before we go see Jenny.”

  “I’d like that.” Gram placed her finger on the page to mark her spot.

  Danielle spun on her heel, hoping to escape before Gram asked her to sit and read the Bible with her, something she had often done as a teen. If God was keeping track, she didn’t want Him to call her out on her hypocrisy. Certainly not twice in one day.

  “Dear…”

  Danielle tossed a glance over her shoulder, fearing she was too late.

  “Patrick’s a good man,” the older woman said.

  “Yes, he is nice,” she muttered and took another step toward the kitchen.

  “He’s a widower now. Tragic what happened to his wife.” Gram pinned her with a gaze.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Sometimes God works in mysterious ways.” Gram smoothed a hand across the Bible page, seemingly searching for the right words. “He’s single. Maybe now…” She let the words trail off.

  Danielle shook her head. “Gram, I’m here for Jenny. And for you. Nothing more.” She took another step toward the kitchen. “Patrick is just doing his job.”

  “Dear, you wear your heart on your sleeve. Don’t go passing up a perfectly good opportunity. Patrick has been a widower for two years now.”

  Danielle rolled her eyes, a smile pulling at her
lips. Gram always told it like it was. “I’m not interested in Patrick,” she said, not sounding very convincing.

  Gram pursed her lips. “You need more in your life. All you do is work. Even the child saw that.”

  Danielle’s eyes flared wide and she laughed. “You filled her head with that notion.”

  “But it’s true.”

  Danielle waved her hand in dismissal. “Let me get your lunch.”

  Danielle strode into the kitchen and opened the fridge. The shelves were full. Jenny must have shopped recently. A pain squeezed her heart. How quickly life turned on a dime. One day you’re grocery shopping and the next you’re in a coma. Unease skittered down her spine. The recent events had driven her to distraction, making it impossible to do something as simple as pull together lunch.

  Up until now, Danielle’s adult life had been exactly the way she’d wanted it. She had a great job, a lot of responsibility, people who counted on her. With any luck, she’d make partner in twelve to eighteen months. Her plans didn’t include starting a relationship. Her sole reason for returning to Mayport was for her family. For Jenny. Nothing more. Gram was old-fashioned. A woman didn’t have to have a man to be complete.

  “Danielle?” Gram called from the other room. “Are you standing with the fridge door open?”

  Danielle grabbed the carton of eggs to make warm egg-salad sandwiches and closed the fridge door. Some things never changed.

  Chapter Three

  After lunch, Danielle escaped to the wide front porch, one of her favorite places. She loved the porch swing. But when it emitted a high-pitched creak, she quickly shifted her weight to the balls of her feet until she was satisfied the chains weren’t going to rip from their anchors. Finally, she settled back and let the crisp autumn breeze caress her cheeks. The dried leaves scurried across the wooden porch, sending goose bumps across her flesh. She zipped the jacket she had borrowed from Jenny’s closet, the fleece collar snug against her neck. Maybe the southern heat had thinned her blood.