“No,” I said. “It’s better if you don’t know how your mom’s mind works.”
“Too late for that.”
“Smart-ass.”
Sugar slunk into the kitchen, hopefully following the scent of pepperoni. My dog is a comfort-food eater, too. No surprise. She crawled under the table and tried to disappear.
“She’s had a rough day,” I said.
“She’s not the only one.”
“So you’re talking to me again?”
“Only until you get the pizza out of the oven.”
“Deal.”
I grabbed a dish towel off the counter, doubled it up and lowered the oven door just wide enough to pull out the pizza pan. Hot cheese bubbled, pepperoni beckoned, and the scent of basil and tomato sauce filled the kitchen. All of a sudden life was looking good again.
I slept like a rock.
Demons. Weird old ladies. Super strength. Nothing keeps me awake at night. Turn off the worries and sleep it off: That’s my motto. I do oblivion second only to guilt. I staggered into the bathroom, washed my face, took a passing swipe at it with just enough makeup to help me look alive, then dressed in my usual—blue jeans and T-shirt. I stepped into my tennis shoes and flopped down the hall, laces flying, to the kitchen, headed toward coffee. Even if Thea was pissed, she knew enough to hit the button on the coffeemaker. Nobody wanted to be around me until I’d had a little caffeine.
Thea was at the table, having a sensible breakfast of toast and orange juice—but she’d set out my brown-sugar-and- cinnamon Pop Tarts. What a great kid.
Sugar sat right beside Thea, always hopeful that my too-neat kid would drop food and not pick it up.
I poured a cup of coffee, inhaled deeply and then took my first swallow. Sighing, I shifted a glance at my darling daughter and asked, “You ready for school?”
“Yes.”
I sighed again. This time not so much in satisfaction. That one-word, clipped answer told me Thea was still not speaking to me.
“So, how long am I going to be punished?”
“Not sure yet,” she said, then looked at me and handed off the rest of her toast to Sugar. “It’s kinda weird, you know? I have a father.”
“Technically you always had one.”
“Yes, but he’s actually here now.”
“We’ll get used to it.”
“You think?
Truth? Or comforting lie? God, I’m a rotten human being. I went for the lie. “Of course we will, baby girl. Logan probably won’t be around much, you know. He’ll want to give you space and—”
The phone rang and I grabbed it.
“Cassie, it’s me.”
“Logan.” Jeez.
Thea looked like someone had just sprung a surprise quiz on her—worried, with just a touch of happy. I believe I’ve mentioned that she’s a smart kid. She loves pop quizzes. Nothing quite like screwing the curve for her fellow students.
“I thought maybe I could give Thea a ride to school this morning.”
“You want to give Thea a ride to school?” I only repeated it so that Thea could let me know if she was interested or not. She shook her head. Then nodded. Then shook her head again. This way lies insanity. So I made the call for her.
Logan wasn’t going away. He was her father. Plus a decent enough guy. There was just no way for us to stall him indefinitely, so might as well get it over with.
“Sure.”
Thea jumped up, Sugar barked and hit the table, and the juice glass tipped over, spilling in an orange rivulet onto the dog’s head. Perfect.
“When can you get here?” I asked.
“I’m out front.”
“Of my house?”
“Well, yeah. Seemed like the place to go to find Thea.”
“Fine.” I hadn’t had nearly enough coffee to deal with all of this yet. “She’ll be right out.”
I hung up, and Thea went into panic mode. She smoothed her hair, straightened her blue tailored shirt and wiped nervous hands on the thighs of her jeans. “Oh God. He’s here? Already? Outside? He’s gonna take me to school?”
“Yes, yes, yes and, oh yeah, yes.” I grabbed her arm and started tugging her toward the front door. I stepped on a shoelace and would have hit the floor with my face, but Thea grabbed hold of me and stopped the forward tilt. Naturally my überorganized child had already put her backpack together and set it beside the door, so she was ready to go.
Almost.
She dug her heels in hard enough I wouldn’t have been surprised to see sparks fly up from the soles of her sneakers.
“What am I supposed to say to him?” she demanded. “What am I supposed to call him?”
“Call him Logan.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then Dad.”
“Ohmigod.”
I pulled her in for a tight hug, set her back and grinned. “Then just shout, ‘Bye, stranger,’ when he drops you off.”
She scowled at me. Hey, at least she was speaking to me again.
“You’re not helping.”
I gave her another quick hug, more because I needed one than for any other reason. “You don’t need help, baby girl. You’re a terrific kid. He’s gonna love you.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybes. Now, go to school. Be brilliant. Impress me.”
She laughed. “I impress you when I balance your checkbook.”
“Very true,” I said, walking her out and down the steps to the lawn. I didn’t stop to tie my shoelaces, so I kept kicking my feet out to make sure I didn’t fall on my face in front of Logan. So I didn’t look clumsy—only like a goose-stepping moron.
Thea was tensing up, and I couldn’t really blame her. Hell, watching Logan climb out of his car was making me a little on the uneasy side, too. For different reasons, obviously.
Thea looked at him and saw her long-lost father. I looked at him and remembered fast hands, long, deep kisses and promises whispered in the moonlight. I’m not so much looking for the promises anymore, but I wouldn’t turn down the fast hands and long kisses.
He was wearing jeans again, with a red and black flannel shirt worn jacket-style over a bloodred T-shirt. Since September in Southern California is way too hot for flannel, he was probably wearing the shirt to cover up his gun.
His hair lifted in a sudden breeze, and his eyes shifted from me to Thea and back again.
While we all stood there like idiots, saying nothing, a red Lexus drove down the street. I glanced at it. Zoe Cohen had her face pressed to the passenger window, staring at us, and her mom’s mouth was hanging open. Hope she remembered to tear her gaze away from Logan long enough to watch the road. Rachel wasn’t a good driver under the best of circumstances. On our narrow street, moms were known to bring their kids in from the yard when Rachel headed out to her job as receptionist in her husband’s dental office.
“You guys better get going,” I said, way too bright and perky for that early in the morning. But I couldn’t stand the strained silence any longer. “Don’t want Thea to be late.”
“Right.” Logan jumped into action, running around the front of his car to open the passenger door for Thea. She got a kick out of that. I could tell by the way she looked at me behind his back and did the big eye roll.
“Thanks,” Logan said as he slid into the driver’s seat.
“Sure,” I said, and I give me full points for not adding, Don’t think this is gonna happen every day, Bucko. That’s my kid and you can’t have her!
He backed out of the driveway, Thea waved, and I was just thinking about getting into my car and following them the three whole blocks to the school—give me a break; I’ve had to share her for exactly one whole day—when my cell phone rang. I dug it out of my jeans pocket, checked the call screen, sighed and flipped it open.
“Jesus, Rachel. Took you almost two minutes to dial. You’re slowing down.”
“Zoe wouldn’t let me call while I was driving. So I had to wait till I dropped her off.”
I hope she slowed the car down before she pushed her kid out the side door.
“Was that Logan Miller I just saw in your yard?”
One of the problems with living in a small town all your life is everybody knows you. Everybody knows everyone you know and everyone you will ever know, and nobody forgets a damn thing. Ever.
Take Rachel, for example. She’s a year older than me, but we’ve been best friends for my whole life practically. She was there the summer I fell for Logan. She was there the first time I did the deed. The first time I threw up she read the damn pregnancy test when I was shaking too hard to look for myself.
Now her daughter Zoe is a year younger than Thea, and they’ve kept the whole best-friend thing going into the next generation.
Comforting.
Usually.
“Yes, it’s Logan. He moved back to town.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I just found out yesterday.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
Right. What was I thinking, having a nervous breakdown by myself?
“So Thea knows?” she asked.
“That her dad didn’t die in a flood?”
“Fire.”
“Whatever.” Why was it everyone but me remembered my lies? “Yes, she cleverly figured it out when he showed up at the house and said, ‘Wow, you look a lot like me.’”
“Damn. What now?” she asked, then shouted, “Hey, pick a lane, will you?”
I stepped out of the stupid tennis shoes, picked ’em up and headed back into the house. I didn’t even want to think about Rachel driving while distracted. Concentrating, she was a menace.
“What’re you gonna do?” she demanded.
“Right now? Get some coffee.”
“After.”
“More coffee.”
“Damn it, Cass, this is serious.”
She’s telling me? I dumped cold coffee into the sink, then refilled my cup and watched Sugar finish licking up the OJ. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Something,” Rachel shrieked, and I heard a horn blasting. “Leave the car at home and call a cab, why don’t you?” she shouted, then came back to me. “We have to be proactive about this.”
God, I hated when she pulled out the self-help words. “Nothing to be proactive about,” I said. “Logan’s here. Thea knows. What’s left to do?”
“God, it’s a good thing you have me,” Rachel said. “I want to hear all about this. But first things first. Is he still hot? He looked really hot.”
Rachel’s married to Simon Cohen, dentist. Nice guy. Smart guy. Hot guy? Not so much.
“Yes, he’s still hot.” The fires warming the gates to Hell sprang to mind.
“Jesus,” Rachel said, “do you remember how he looked that summer…?”
All too well. I gulped coffee, fought down a tingle that reminded me of feelings I hadn’t felt in way too long and scowled at myself. I’m not going there, I told myself. He’s Thea’s father. That’s it. No more. No less. Hell. Even I didn’t believe that one.
“I wonder if he still does that tongue thing you told me about—”
My body lit up, and I instantly wanted a detailed map to those flaming Hell gates. Talking to Rachel was so not helping. I started making staticky noises, hissing and snarling into the phone. “Hey, Rach, you’re breaking up. Sor—Can’t—hear—”
“You idiot,” Rachel said, “you’re in your house; you’re not breaking up. But I can take a hint.”
“Happy to hear it. Bye.”
“This isn’t over.”
No shit. Rachel never gave up on anything. She’d be interrogating me more thoroughly when she had the time.
But for now, there was silence.
Man, it was good.
At least, my life was my own until Jasmine popped back into it. God, how was I supposed to handle this demon thing? “Sugar, this sucks. All of it.”
The dog didn’t give a damn. She was still looking for more OJ to lick up off the floor. Life was simple when you were a hundred-pound dog with a tapeworm.
When the doorbell rang, I groaned and headed out of the kitchen. I opened the front door, took one look at the man on my porch and wondered why I couldn’t catch a break. Even a tiny one.
“Logan, what do you want? You already took Thea to school, and I don’t need a ride anywhere.”
“Funny.” He was frowning, probably not a good sign. Did I care? Not so much.
He pushed past me into the house, walked all the way into the living room, then turned around to face me, arms folded across his chest, blue eyes narrowed and chin jutted out like he was expecting somebody to punch it. “Thea’s a great kid, Cassie.”
“And this makes you mad?” I asked and flopped down into the closest chair. Give me a break. It was barely morning, and already I was having to deal with problems.
“It makes me furious that I don’t even know her,” he said and threw both hands high. “She’s practically grown. We made a person and I never knew about it. Shouldn’t I have known? Shouldn’t I have sensed it or something?”
Who was he mad at? Himself? Or me?
“You should have told me.”
Question answered.
“We already covered that yesterday,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, and I told you we weren’t nearly done. Damn it, Cassie, I missed her whole life.” He shook his head in disgust. “This morning, she talked to me like I was a stranger.”
“You are.”
“And who’s fault is that?”
I pushed up and out of the chair and faced him on my own two feet. “Mine, okay? It’s all my fault. I was sixteen, and I chose to keep my kid and not tell you. And then later, I didn’t tell you because you were married and, for all I knew, happy.”
“I still would have wanted to know about her.”
“I know!” Disgusted myself now, I added, “I should’ve told you. Happy?”
“No.”
“Well,” I sighed, temper gone, drained away by a vast need for caffeine, “if it helps, she’s not speaking to me.”
“Thanks,” he said as he followed me into the kitchen. “It does help.”
“Look,” I told him, pulling an extra coffee cup out of the cupboard and filling it for him, “I’m willing to work this out because I’m a fabulous human being, but I’m only going to listen to you being mad for so long.”
“About sixteen years?” he asked, a reluctant smile curving one corner of his mouth.
“Ha-ha,” I said and handed him his coffee. “One more time, Logan. I was a kid. And pregnant, okay?”
He leaned back against the counter, holding the cup between his palms. “If I’d known, it would have been different,” he said. “Cassie, you wrote to me all that year, and you never even mentioned it.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, taking a huge gulp of coffee, “like you never mentioned that you were dating Skippy.”
“Misty.”
“Whatever.” I set my cup down and walked to the service porch with Logan only a step or two behind me. While I stuffed the new washer with a load of towels—Thea used two for every shower, one for her hair and one for her body, and took two showers a day (you do the math)—Logan leaned against the dryer, watching me.
To be honest, he gave good stare.
He made me so jumpy I dumped in enough soap to wash five loads and hoped that wouldn’t come back to bite me in the ass. Then I slammed the lid and looked up at him. Well over six feet, it took a while to lift my gaze all the way to his eyes, but it was worth the trip.
“What do you want from me, Logan?”
He blew out a breath, crossed his feet at the ankles and said, “Another shot.”
“At what?”
“You.”
Whoa baby!
“I mean,” he said, reaching out to skim his fingers along my bare forearm (and I felt the goose bumps jumping up to shout hello), “you’re not seeing anyone.”
“A
nd you know this how?” I asked, trying to keep from shivering as the tingle, tingle, tingle rocketed through me, straight down to a hoo-hah screaming for some action.
“Because you would have thrown him at me by now.”
“Hmm. Good point.”
He straightened up and leaned into me, pushing my hair back behind my ear. “I’m back, Cassie, and this time I’m not leaving.”
Breathe, breathe, damn it. Okay, now I was calm.
“I can’t get involved with you, Logan.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because…” Come on, Cass, where’s that nimble brain when you really need it? Where are all the great lies that tumble from your mouth every time you’re in a tight spot? Finally, I just blurted, “Because we had a kid together.”
He laughed, and both black eyebrows went up. “That’s your reason?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, warming up to it as the seconds ticked past. “Thea would be horrified. You don’t want to blow anything with her, do you?”
Logan frowned thoughtfully for a long moment. “Okay, maybe it is a little soon.”
“Good. Better.” Nodding, I felt like I’d gotten myself out of that one smoothly enough. Of course, then I realized I’d just talked my way out of a possible orgasm, and that was depressing as hell.
“So we won’t tell her,” Logan said.
“Huh?”
Logan dipped his head to mine and came so close to kissing me I automatically leaned in, licking my lips in eagerness. Then he dropped both hands to my shoulders and smiled. “You know,” he said, “maybe you’re right. Don’t want to rush into anything.”
When I caught the gleam of amusement in his eyes, I practically snarled at him. “You rotten bastard.” My lips were going to be disappointed. Hell, they’d get used to it. My hoo-hah had. “You did that on purpose.”
“What?” He feigned innocence, but I wasn’t fooled. I had seen that look on his face before, right before he said, “Trust me. You won’t get pregnant the first time we do it.”
I may learn slow, but eventually I wise up.
Grabbing a fistful of his flannel shirt, I dragged him through the house to the front door. Sugar barked and leaped around us, trying to play. Logan was still laughing when I pushed him through the screen door to the porch.
More Than Fiends Page 7