by Duarte, Judy
Mortified and guilt-ridden, Lynette had tried her best to clean it up, although the fragrance seemed to permeate the walls, drapes, and bedding, reminding her that she’d never be able to make things right.
When Aunt Pauline got home, she’d been on her hands and knees, sopping up what she could with a fluffy white bath towel. The woman had swept into the room and shrieked, “How could you? After all I’ve done for you and your mother.”
Lynette had wanted to seep into the carpet, along with the perfume, but all she could do was apologize. “I’m so sorry, Aunt Pauline.”
But the woman, who’d been glaring at her as though she wanted to slap her to the moon and back, had hurtled a far more painful blow. “Don’t expect me to accept your apology, you stupid child. You never should have touched my belongings in the first place.”
At that, Lynette, who’d been on her way to the bathroom for a good reason before being sidetracked, had done something horrid, something she’d never forget.
She’d wet herself.
“Betsy!” Aunt Pauline had shrieked. “Come in here right this instant and get your little brat before I throw you both back out on the street!”
At least she hadn’t kicked them out at that moment, but the very next morning, Lynette and her mom had returned to the shelter.
From then on, Lynette had kept to herself a lot of the time, which meant she didn’t step on anyone’s toes very often.
Of course, she could handle making mistakes. After all, no one was perfect. But the subsequent apologies were another story.
It was only after she’d begun to date Peter Tidball that she’d started to socialize, at least on a small scale. With Peter at her side, she felt as though she could handle just about anything.
And then she’d met Helen, who’d invited her to play poker with the Lils.
Now here she was, back at square one.
She might be seated in the lap of luxury, so to speak, yet she still hated the idea of humbling herself and fearing that her words, no matter how sincere, wouldn’t be enough.
If Susan had merely grumbled about her displeasure this afternoon, Lynette would have just pretended that nothing had happened—a successful ploy she’d used with Peter when she’d inadvertently said or done the wrong thing. And then she would have invited her to lunch in an effort to put things to right.
But Susan hadn’t been a little upset, she’d been furious.
“How could you?” she’d shrieked, her face distorted with emotion.
You stupid child could have just as easily rolled off the tip of her tongue, although she’d shown enough class to stomp off in a huff instead.
Still, there’d been no question about it. Susan was undoubtedly enraged. And while she wasn’t at all like Aunt Pauline, she probably wasn’t likely to accept an apology and let bygones be bygones.
In fact, reminding Susan of the thoughtless comments Lynette had made might only make matters worse. What if she didn’t want to be friends anymore? Or more devastating than that, what if the other Lils took sides and sympathized with the woman who’d been hurt?
For that reason, Lynette would give it another day or so, allowing Susan to blow off a little steam.
On Saturday night, before Lynette came to babysit, Carly stopped by the market to pick up a few things for the boys’ dinner.
She had several boxes of macaroni and cheese in the pantry, since that particular dish had become a low-cost staple at her house over the past six months, but she couldn’t very well expect Lynette to make a meal out of it. So she’d decided to splurge again this evening by picking up a pound of chicken to bake, as well as lettuce and tomatoes for a simple green salad.
Now, as Carly pushed the cart through the aisles, she couldn’t help wishing she hadn’t agreed to go out with Grant tonight. The last thing the boys needed was for her to bring a man into their lives, especially when she and Josh were experiencing a strain in their relationship.
Things did seem to be a little better between the two of them since Max’s talk with the boy, although that could also be the result of her making a conscious effort not to ask too much of him.
It was a fine line to draw, though. How much was too much?
After picking up a package of drumsticks and thighs, which had been the advertised special this week, she made her way to the produce aisle and grabbed a head of iceberg lettuce and a single tomato. She was tempted to buy a cucumber, too, since it was easy to see Lynette had been used to the good life, but Carly didn’t have much spare cash.
She could, of course, use her credit card, something she didn’t mind doing since Max’s check would be coming. But she hadn’t finished critiquing his manuscript yet, so she hated to spend money she hadn’t even earned.
If all went according to plan, she’d see the money soon. She’d read several more chapters last night, and four more this morning. Unless something unexpected came up, she would finish before Max came over for coffee on Sunday.
To be honest, she didn’t particularly care for the action/adventure genre, but she had to admit that the writing was clean and strong.
That didn’t mean she hadn’t found a few problems with the characters or the story, but she’d talk to Max about it tomorrow. Hopefully, he’d take her criticism well.
After making one last glance at her cart, she headed for the checkout lines, only to stop short when she nearly ran into another cart.
“Excuse me,” she said, glancing up to see none other than Max Tolliver himself.
He seemed just as surprised to see her as she was to see him, until a slow smile stretched across his face.
“Out of cold medicine again?” he asked.
“No, this time, I’m here for food.”
They just stood there a moment, caught up in something that didn’t matter. Not when she had to get home so she could get ready for her date—what had possessed her to say yes?
Shaking off thoughts of dinner with Grant, she asked, “How about you? Another bout of writer’s block?”
“This time it’s by choice. I’m taking a break until I talk to you.” He shrugged, then tossed her a you-know-how-it-is grin. “So how’s the reading going?”
“I’m almost finished.”
“Good.”
She glanced down at his cart, planning to take inventory again, but it was empty. He’d obviously just entered the market.
He had a tight grip on the handle, though, as if he wasn’t sure whether to move one way or the other.
To be honest, she wasn’t too sure where to go, either.
“I guess we can talk more about it on Sunday,” he said.
She nodded, yet continued to block the aisle with her cart.
“Don’t you have a date tonight?” he asked.
“Yes, I do.” And that meant she really needed to go.
So why wasn’t she moving on?
“Then I’d better let you go,” he said. “Have fun.”
“Thanks.” She offered him an upbeat smile, even though she’d been having second thoughts about going out with Grant. But she couldn’t back out this late in the game.
“I’ll see you on Sunday,” he said, moving his cart so she could get around it.
As she made her way to the checkout lanes, she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder, taking a peek to see if Max was anywhere nearby.
He wasn’t, of course, and she really hadn’t expected him to be. So what was with the whisper of disappointment?
For some reason, she found herself even more attracted to the man, even though he really wasn’t her type.
She and her boys were the proverbial package deal, and she had no reason to believe that Max Tolliver had a paternal bone in his body. Up until their discussions about his book, Josh and Mikey had been driving him crazy. So any interest in Max Tolliver was completely misplaced.
Of course, getting involved with Grant Barrows wouldn’t be any different. Carly didn’t have anything to offer either of the men. Her financi
al situation was so precarious right now that she’d be embarrassed to share all of that with anyone, let alone someone she was dating.
After paying for her purchase, she carried the bag to her car, climbed in, and started the engine. But instead of rushing home to get ready, she found herself making a leisurely drive instead.
Why had she agreed to have dinner with a man she hardly knew? She certainly didn’t need that kind of pressure at a time like this.
Minutes later, when she arrived at the house, she parked the car and reached for her groceries. Even when she pushed LOCK on the remote, she found herself heading for the mailbox instead of the house.
There probably wasn’t anything in there that couldn’t wait until later tonight or tomorrow morning, but it would only take a minute or so to get it. So she reached inside and removed a handful of mail—mostly advertisements aimed at those who still had Christmas shopping to do.
On her way to the front door, she thumbed through the rest of it—mostly junk that would end up in the recycle bin—and spotted a card. When she recognized Sharon Garvey’s familiar script, her heart warmed. She couldn’t wait to get inside and see what her friend had to say.
The last envelope, which was from the bank that had financed her car, looked . . . important. Way too important.
Unable to help herself, she opened it on the spot, pulled out the official letter, and scanned the words.
What?
No way. She couldn’t be more than two months behind on her payments. There had to be a mistake. She’d paid them something on the first.
Or had she?
She’d been robbing from Peter to pay Paul for so long, she could have slipped up.
No, no. That wasn’t possible. She’d sent them a check two weeks ago. Their letter and her payment must have crossed in the mail, and with the holidays, the post office was probably backed up.
Momentarily relieved, she entered the house and carried the grocery bag into the kitchen. All she needed was to risk having her car repossessed. Without wheels, she couldn’t get to work. And without a job . . . ?
Well, she wouldn’t think about that right now. If she did, she might end up stewing about all of her troubles until they threatened to drag her under for the count.
Instead, she had a date on which to focus. And for the first time since agreeing to go out with Grant Barrows, she wondered if it might turn out to be a welcome diversion after all.
Chapter 15
Lynette rang Carly’s doorbell at a quarter to six on Saturday night, wishing the butterflies in her stomach would ease up and give her a break.
Who would have thought that being a matchmaker would be so stressful? Or was it the babysitting gig that had her tummy a mess?
Before she could give it any more thought, the door swung open and Carly invited her in.
“You look great,” Lynette said, noting the classic black dress Carly had on, as well as the fresh application of lipstick, mascara, and eye shadow.
Carly tugged at her hemline. “It’s not too short, is it? I haven’t worn this in years. . . .”
“It’s perfect.” And so was her hair, which had a glossy sheen and curled at the shoulders.
Carly sighed, then looked down at her bare feet, the nails polished a Christmas shade of red. “I’m almost ready. I just have to slip on a pair of heels.”
“Even your toes look nice,” Lynette said. “New pedicure?”
“Everyone at the salon trades services. And when Monique, the manicurist, heard I was going out tonight, she insisted I come in early so she could do my nails and toes. But to tell you the truth, I’m not even sure why I agreed to go to dinner with Grant tonight. I’m really nervous.”
“Don’t be. He’s a great guy, and you two are going to have a good time.”
“Maybe so, but I haven’t had a date in . . . Well, before I married Derek. So fifteen years, I guess.”
While Carly seemed to ponder the passage of time, Lynette scanned the living room. When she saw that the coast was clear, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “As long as we’re making confessions, I’ve got to admit that I’m nervous, too.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“Because I’ve never babysat before, so I have no idea what I’m doing here.”
“No kidding?” Carly furrowed her brow.
Uh-oh. Lynette wondered if Carly was merely surprised by the admission or taken aback by it. Had she expected someone with experience would be looking after her sons?
“Are you okay with that?” Lynette asked.
“The boys can pretty much take care of themselves. All you need to do is referee if they have a squabble or be a voice of reason if they want to do something that isn’t safe or could upset the neighbors.” Her laugh, which was more of a jittery giggle, suggested she hadn’t been blowing smoke when she’d admitted to being nervous.
Lynette couldn’t blame her for that. If she’d been the one waiting for Grant to arrive, she’d probably be a jumble of nerves, too.
That thought was a little unsettling, though. She’d actually grown comfortable around the man and liked to think that they’d struck up a friendship, but if he could evoke a case of the jitters . . . ?
Shaking off the possibility that she might actually be attracted to him, she said, “I’ll do my best to keep them out of trouble.”
“If you find something on television that they’re interested in, the evening should pass quickly.”
Lynette would keep that in mind. The sooner this night was over and she could go home, the better.
She wondered if Carly was thinking the same thing.
Probably.
“By the way,” Carly said, “dinner’s almost ready. I assumed you’d be hungry, too, so there’s plenty. I’ve got chicken baking in the oven and a green salad in the fridge. There’s a package of macaroni and cheese on the counter. You can whip that up, too—if you’d like to. There’s also ice cream in the freezer for dessert.”
“Sounds good.” Lynette made another scan of her surroundings, this time taking in the décor of Carly’s living room, with its pale green walls, hardwood floor, and overstuffed furniture.
The addition of a few antiques, as well as the plaques and prints that had been added here and there, were nice touches. All in all, Carly had a cozy place—nothing fancy, yet warm and inviting.
A couple of stockings hung from the mantel, and a few other Christmas decorations adorned the tabletops. But she wasn’t quite ready for Christmas.
“Where are you going to put your tree?” Lynette asked.
“We’re not going to have one this year. I’d rather use the money to buy the boys each a present.”
Lynette had known that Carly was going through a rough time financially, and while she and her mother had rarely celebrated a traditional Christmas as a child, she knew that wasn’t the norm for most kids, and she couldn’t help feeling sorry for Carly and her sons.
The doorbell rang, and Carly froze in her steps, her eyes growing wide and panicky. “Oh, no. That must be Grant. Will you please get it? I need to get my shoes on.”
If Lynette hadn’t been suffering from another burst of tummy flutters herself, she might have gotten a chuckle out of the other woman’s reaction. As it was, she answered the door.
It was Grant, all right. Gorgeous as he was, with his shorter hair and those big blue eyes, she hardly recognized him without his trademark Tommy Bahama style.
Tonight he was dressed GQ casual in dark slacks, a sports jacket, and . . . oh, wow . . . a killer cologne that made her want to relish a second whiff and then a third.
Okay, so she’d seen him decked out in his suit that day he’d gone on the job interview, but she hadn’t realized he might actually have a variety of clothing in his closet.
What other secrets had she yet to uncover about him?
For a long, stretched-out moment, their gazes met and locked. Neither of them spoke or moved until Lynette shook off the momentary blip in her
radar and gained control of her senses.
“Carly’s almost ready,” she said, stepping aside to let Grant into the house. “She’ll be out in just a minute. Come on in.”
Before Lynette could suggest that Grant take a seat, Carly came out looking even better in black spiky heels than she had in her bare feet.
“Wow,” he said. “You look nice.”
“Thanks, so do you.”
Lynette had never liked awkward moments like this, but she had to admit she was thinking the same thing. The two really did make a sharp-looking couple, and for some reason, just knowing that caused Lynette to realize she was standing on the outside looking in, much as she’d done all through those geeky high school years.
“Are you ready to go?” Grant asked Carly.
“As soon as I introduce Lynette to the boys. It’ll just take a minute.”
Carly slipped off down the hall, leaving Lynette to feel like the proverbial third wheel when there were only two people in the room.
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do with the boys for the next couple of hours,” she admitted, those butterflies in her stomach all fired up again. “I’m not used to being around kids.”
“Don’t you like children?”
“It’s not that. It’s just that . . . Well, I’m not sure I’ll be able to relate to them.”
“Did you forget what it was like to be a kid yourself?”
No, and that’s what seemed to plague her adult years, if she’d let it. Instead she said, “I wasn’t all that social growing up.”
“What about babysitters? Did you ever have a good one you can try and emulate?”
No, she’d been left to fend for herself more often than not. “Not that I can remember.”
Grant reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, warming her from the inside out. “Just ask them if they’d like to play a game or watch television. You’ll do fine.”
She sure hoped so. She managed an appreciative smile. “You make it sound easy.”