More Than Words Volume 4

by Linda Lael Miller

  Laurie flushed, a sure sign that there was at least one more surprise in store. “Not exactly. I thought maybe you could ask her yourself, so she won’t think it’s like some pity thing that I set up.” She ran back, dropped the clothes and threw her arms around him. “You’ll do it, won’t you? Please.”

  “You just absconded with all my tuxedos,” he reminded her.

  “I’ll give you one back,” she offered. “Or you can buy a new one. That’ll give you leverage to persuade the store owner to give us some free.”

  Trent mentally cursed the fact that he’d been blessed with a daughter, rather than a son. A son would never try to manipulate him into something like this. A son wouldn’t have him twisted around his finger.

  “Can I at least meet Ms. Fletcher first?” he asked, a plaintive note in his voice.

  “You’ll have plenty of time to get to know her,” Laurie promised. “She’s totally awesome, Dad. You’re going to love her. Now, promise me you’ll do this. No excuses, okay?”

  Since Trent had never been able to deny his daughter anything, he nodded reluctantly. “I promise.”

  But as his daughter’s enthusiastic words sank in, Trent finally grasped that this was about a whole lot more than one night and one dance. His daughter—God help him—was matchmaking.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  Mike Brentwood slouched down in the chair across from Jodie, his expression filled with annoyance. Slim and wiry, he was blessed with a quickness that had made him an outstanding receiver on the football team. In addition, he had dimples, wavy brown hair with golden highlights that most girls would envy, and blue eyes that were like chips of ice when filled with the kind of disdain he was obviously feeling now.

  “This was Laurie’s idea, wasn’t it?” he grumbled. “She wants to go to prom and she knows I can’t rent a tux, so now she’s made this whole big thing out of it. Come on, Ms. Fletcher, give me a break. I don’t want to wear some hand-me-down tuxedo that won’t even fit right. I’ll feel like a jerk.”

  “Maybe you should think about Laurie’s feelings,” she suggested. “She’s going to a lot of trouble, not just for you, but for your classmates. She really wants this night to be special for everyone.”

  “It’s a dance,” Mike said disparagingly. “It’s not going to bring about world peace. I don’t see why it’s such a big deal. She didn’t raise this much fuss about the Homecoming dance last fall or prom last year.”

  “I imagine she was trying to spare your feelings,” Jodie told him. “Besides, neither of those was the very last dance you’ll ever attend in high school.”

  Mike frowned at her. “Okay, maybe, but I don’t see why Laurie didn’t just ask me herself, instead of having you get on my case. We talked about this. In fact, she told me just a couple of weeks ago she didn’t even care about going to prom this year.”

  “And I’m sure she meant it at the time, but then she started getting involved with the committee and she realized how many kids were feeling left out.” She gave him a wry look. “Now she’s really excited about making sure everyone gets to go this year. I imagine she didn’t want to tell you herself that she’d changed her mind.”

  “Yeah, well, she should have. I would have told her this whole clothing drive of hers is a dumb idea.”

  Jodie winced at his depiction of the project. If that’s how these kids were looking at it, it was going to be a tough sell.

  “I was actually hoping you’d help me to convince some of the other guys that it’s an okay thing to do,” she said, trying a new tactic. “I need someone the other students respect to pave the way on this. You’re a big football star. You’re going to college next year on a scholarship. You’re the perfect role model for a lot of these young men.”

  He rolled his eyes at the unabashed flattery. “How many different ways do I have to say I’m not interested?”

  “Come on, Mike,” she coaxed. “Help me out here.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “How about because I’m the one who convinced you that you could be accepted by a good college. I’m the one who helped you fill out all those scholarship applications. Let’s face it, your future is brighter because of me.”

  He groaned. “If I’d known I was going to hear about that for the rest of my life, I might not have accepted your help. You didn’t say it came with strings.”

  “It didn’t. I was doing my job.” She gave him a chagrined look. “I was just hoping you’d be so grateful, you’d want to help. Forget that and think about Laurie. I know it would make her really happy if you agreed to this, not just for her sake, but for yours. She wants you to have this night to remember, too.” She watched his face intently. She could tell from his wavering expression that she finally had him. For all of his bluster, Mike didn’t really want Laurie to miss out on prom. Jodie sat silently and waited while he weighed the alternatives—a hit to his pride or a miserable, disappointed girlfriend.

  “You really don’t play fair,” he mumbled at last.

  She grinned. “But I’m effective, don’t you agree?”

  “You really think we can convince some of these hard-asses to accept a freebie tux so they can go to a dance?”

  Her smile spread. “I convinced you, didn’t I? If we work together, who’ll be able to resist us?”

  TRENT WAS RUNNING a half-hour late when he slipped into the classroom where the latest prom committee meeting was being held. Though there had been others, this was the first he’d been able to attend. Laurie beamed at him as he sat down quickly in the closest seat. One of the other girls was giving a report. Since she had perfectly highlighted blond hair, he had to assume this was Sue McNally, who was in charge of getting volunteer stylists for the big night. Apparently she and her mother—Candace McNally, if he remembered correctly from a few encounters at charity functions—had lined up five hairdressers, two makeup experts, but only one manicurist.

  “Don’t worry, though,” she told the committee confidently. “My mom says once she talks to Henri, all of his manicurists will pitch in. He’ll make sure of it.”

  “Very good, Sue—that’s excellent work in just a month,” someone behind him said, most likely the awesome Ms. Fletcher.

  Oddly, her voice sounded familiar, tugging at a distant memory. A scent, so faint he wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it, teased his memory as well. Trent wanted to shift around for a look, but another student stepped to the front of the room to give a report on corsages.

  The whole discussion took him back to his own senior year, when the most important things in life seemed to be prom and graduation festivities. He could recall standing in a florist shop, his palms sweaty, little more than twenty hard-earned bucks in his pocket, trying to decide if three tiny pink rosebuds clustered together with a bit of lace would impress Jean Kerrigan or convince her that he was the biggest loser in the class. The florist—grandmotherly Norma Gates—had apparently sensed his uncertainty and assured him he wouldn’t be embarrassed. She’d been right. Jean had been thrilled, right up until he’d jabbed her with a pin while trying to help her put on the corsage without accidentally grazing her breast. Oh, the pitfalls of being an awkward adolescent. He didn’t envy his daughter or any of the rest of them the next few months.

  He listened to half a dozen enthusiastic reports from those on the committee, impressed with the amount of work they’d accomplished since last month. When asked, he chimed in with his own report on the tuxedos he’d managed to secure. Bottom line, there were already enough dresses and tuxedos for the teens who needed them.

  “Do you think we should stop now and be content with our success for this first year?” Ms. Fletcher asked. “You all have done an amazing job, as it is.”

  Across from him, Laurie shook her head. “I think there are a few more kids we can talk into going if we take another shot at it. I just know they’ll regret it later if they say no. Turning us down was, like, some gut instinct. They didn’t even think about it.”<
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  “I’m not sure I have another argument left in me,” Ms. Fletcher responded, sounding weary. “Mike tried, too, with the boys, but some of them were adamant. Neither of us felt we could push any harder.”

  “They’re just being stubborn,” Laurie insisted.

  “A trait I’m sure you recognize, Laurie,” Ms. Fletcher said wryly. “Okay, I’ll try one more time.”

  Trent heard her stand up behind him and watched curiously as she stepped briskly to the front of the room. She was wearing a pair of navy-blue linen slacks, a sweater in a paler shade of blue. Dark brown hair with just enough curl to make it unmanageable sprang into ring-lets at the nape of her neck. Her low-heeled shoes made a staccato sound as she walked, but it was the subtle, very feminine sway of her hips that held his attention.

  When she reached the front of the room and turned to look at him directly for the first time, it took every bit of his well-developed control not to let his mouth gape. Jodie? Jodie Jameson? Memories flooded through his mind in such a rush that he didn’t realize at first that she was speaking to him.

  Trying to gather his composure, he stared at her blankly. “What?”

  He glanced sideways and saw Laurie regarding him with a confused expression. He forced a smile. “Sorry. I got sidetracked for a second. What did you say, um…” He caught himself just before calling her Jodie and added, “Ms. Fletcher?”

  “I asked if you thought it would be possible to round up a few more tuxes?” she said, barely hiding a smile, well aware that she’d completely thrown him and quite pleased with herself about it.

  “I’ll do my best,” he promised.

  First, though, he needed to get out of this room and far, far away from the woman who’d walked out of his life twenty years ago with virtually no explanation.

  They’d met on a summer job, dated all through college. He’d planned on asking her to marry him right after graduation, but before he could get the carefully rehearsed words out of his mouth, she’d told him she was sorry, but she didn’t think they were going to work out, after all. Worse, before he could recover from that stunning announcement, she had whirled around and walked away.

  For weeks he’d called and stopped by her apartment, ready to plead for an explanation, but she’d refused to take his calls and pretended she wasn’t home. It was as if she’d severed him from her life with one quick, unrepentant slash, leaving behind a wound that simply wouldn’t heal.

  His heart broken and his self-confidence shattered, he’d been a mess when Megan had literally waltzed into his life at a party one night. He’d been working for a developer of cookie-cutter housing projects and was at the party to network with prospective clients, when Megan had twirled by in another man’s arms. Somehow she’d wrangled a switch in partners on the dance floor and that had been that. She was the joy and laughter that had been missing from his life since Jodie’s abrupt departure. Her determination to catch him had been a much-needed balm to his bruised ego.

  Once again, he dared to meet Jodie’s gaze. There was a bit less certainty in her eyes now, as if she understood that this wasn’t quite the happy surprise reunion she’d been envisioning. They were two adults in a roomful of impressionable teenagers, including his daughter, so clearly she knew there wouldn’t be an explosion of temper, either.

  Trent wanted out. Not just out of this room, but out of the whole prom thing. Twenty years ago he’d wanted to confront Jodie and demand answers, but those answers were no longer relevant. She was no longer relevant. Life moved on. He hadn’t thought about Jodie in years, or if he had, he’d squelched the memory before it could start to nag.

  Around him, the meeting began to break up. Suddenly Laurie was beside him, her expression quizzical.

  “Dad, are you okay? You look kind of funny, like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

  Yes, that was it, he thought. A ghost. That’s all Jodie was. He’d gotten over her years ago. He had a full life, a wonderful daughter. He didn’t need to be taking any unexpected strolls down memory lane. He swore to himself it wasn’t bitterness he felt when he looked at Jodie. He felt nothing. Less than nothing. She simply didn’t matter. He wouldn’t allow her to matter ever again, because she couldn’t be trusted.

  “Sweetie, I have to run. I just remembered an important meeting and I’m late already. We’ll talk tonight, okay?”

  He gave Laurie a glancing kiss on the cheek and bolted from the room with its scent of chalk and floor polish and lily of the valley, suddenly desperate for fresh air. Lily of the valley, for heaven’s sake. How could he have shoved Jodie from his mind for all these years, but still remember her favorite perfume? When Megan had brought home the same scent, probably a more expensive version of it, he’d accidentally-on-purpose broken the bottle the first time she’d worn it. Thankfully, she’d never replaced it.

  He filled his lungs with fresh air, then headed for his car. Inside he sat behind the wheel and stared straight ahead, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do now. He supposed he could suck it up and pretend everything was just fine. Or he could come up with an excuse that would get him out of town until prom was over and the “awesome” Ms. Fletcher was no more a factor in Laurie’s life than she had been in his for more than twenty years. Personally, he liked option number two, but he knew his daughter. The odds that he could get away with a vanishing act were slim to none.

  Besides, as Laurie was bound to remind him, he’d promised to take Ms. Fletcher to the prom, and the one thing Trent had vowed never to do was break a promise to his daughter the way he’d broken so many he’d made to his wife.

  “DAD, YOU WERE ACTING really weird today, like something had freaked you out,” Laurie said as she dished up spaghetti for their dinner that night.

  Ever since Megan’s death, Laurie had taken over responsibility for dinner. When she was fourteen, that hadn’t amounted to much more than setting the table and warming the meals left by a housekeeper, but for the past year or so, she’d been cooking. She wasn’t half bad at it, either.

  “Sorry,” Trent said. “I just remembered that meeting at the last minute and I got distracted after that.” Determined to shift the subject, he asked, “Have you spoken to your grandfather yet?”

  Laurie’s eyes lit up. “I talked to him a few days ago and then I went by there after school today. I’d forgotten how cool that ballroom is. It’s amazing, Dad. The floor has all this inlaid wood. It must have cost a fortune. And the windows go from the floor all the way up to the ceiling, so there’s all this light shining in, or there would be if someone washed them. The ceiling must be fifteen feet high, maybe more. I wish I’d seen it just once when it was filled with people dancing and that amazing chandelier was all lit up.”

  She frowned. “Of course, it’s kind of a mess now. Granddad’s been using it for storage. He says he hasn’t gone in there since Grandma died. In fact, he says the last time anyone was in there was when Mom dropped off some of our stuff that she wanted out of the attic here. He said if the kids will help clean the place up and if I’ll sort through all the old junk and either give it away to charity or decide if I might want it someday, we can use the ballroom for our shopping day. I’ve already called Mike and he says he can get some of the guys to haul stuff away. A couple of his friends have pickups. And if a bunch of us go after school one day, we can polish the floor and mop up all the dust. Granddad said he’d have a service do the windows and the chandelier, ’cause he doesn’t want us climbing on ladders.”

  “I hadn’t realized it was in such bad shape,” Trent commented. “Given how little time you all have with planning the prom, studying for finals and so on, maybe it would be better to find someplace that won’t require so much work.”

  “No, please, there’s lots of time,” Laurie said. “Between Mike and me, we’ll find enough kids who’ll be willing to help and it won’t take that long. It’s just a bunch of dusty boxes and some old, broken-down furniture.”

  Trent winced. “I suspe
ct some of that broken-down furniture, as you call it, could qualify as priceless antiques. Don’t go giving any of it away without checking with your grandfather.”

  “But he said—”

  “Trust me,” Trent insisted. After growing up in a house filled with furniture from secondhand shops, he had a healthy appreciation for antiques, not just for the value, but for the history. “If he doesn’t want those things and you’re absolutely certain you’ll never want them, then get an appraiser from one of the antique shops to come by and see if they want to take the pieces on consignment.”

  She gave him an odd look. “Granddad doesn’t need the money.”

  And, truth be told, Warren didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body, either, Trent thought, but he hated the idea of carelessly tossing family heirlooms aside. Someday Laurie might come to appreciate them. He should probably go through the boxes Megan had stored there, too, in case there was anything important.

  “Why don’t you and I do a quick survey before everyone else gets in there to clean?” he suggested. “That way something valuable won’t get tossed by mistake.”

  She shrugged. “Okay, whatever.” Her gaze narrowed as she studied him thoughtfully. “So, Dad, what did you think of Ms. Fletcher?”

  “She seems okay,” he said neutrally.

  “That’s it? That’s the best you can do?”

  “Sweetie, we barely spoke.”

  “Because you took off out of there as if the room was on fire.” She regarded him suspiciously. “Did you really have a meeting?”

  “Do you think I’d make that up?”

  She gave him a knowing grin. “That’s what you do whenever you want to get out of something without offending anybody. Besides, I saw you sitting in the parking lot for a whole half hour after you took off.”

  “You think you’re smart, don’t you?” he mumbled.

  “I am smart, and I have the grades to prove it,” she responded. “So, what was really going on, Dad? Did you take an instant dislike to Ms. Fletcher or something?”