She fished in her jacket pocket and pulled out a few dog biscuits, holding them in her palm. “Frank figured I should bring these.”
Cole managed to take one without actually touching her. Ruby danced on her hind legs until he tossed her the treat.
He didn’t want to think about Stephie or that last album which symbolized both the best and the worst of his life. Anyway, he was sure Frank would have told Jami the bare essentials.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t know what she was apologizing for, and he didn’t care. He simply accepted so she wasn’t forced to say anything else.
“Have you ever grabbed a thrift-store bag?”
As he turned to look at her, the breeze flirted with a few stray locks of her hair, blowing them across her lips. She pulled them away before they stuck to her lipstick.
“I can’t say that I have,” he said, his gaze on her mouth.
“It’s fun. Makes you feel like a little kid again. You know, when you used to love surprises, and even the smallest thing was exciting. Like, what is your dad holding behind his back, and you squeal when you see it’s a York Peppermint Patty.”
“I can’t say my dad ever brought me a York Peppermint Patty.”
She seemed to evaluate that for a moment, her head slightly turned, her focus on his knee or somewhere deep inside herself.
“He used to bring me Matchbox cars,” Cole said, because he figured he had to offer a token. He’d forgotten about those little cars. Whenever his dad went on a business trip, he came home with one of the small toys. He couldn’t remember what he’d done with them all when he moved out. His dad had died of a heart attack when Cole was in college, and his mom had bought a small condo, then cleaned out the entire house in one weekend. She’d passed on a year before Stephie was born. Stephie had never known her grandparents.
He drew in a breath and stopping thinking long enough for his heart to start beating again. Thinking too much was bad.
Ruby begged for another treat, and Jami laughed as the poodle twirled like a circus dog.
“I’ve been wondering,” she said, “if I should tell you how I ended up in Masterson.” Ruby danced for the last biscuit.
How the hell finding his CDs in a grab bag at a second-hand store had brought her all the way out here was beyond him. If she was a stalker, what the hell did it matter? It wasn’t as though he had a life she could destroy. He’d done that himself a long time ago. “It’s not my business.”
“But—”
“Just fix Frank’s books for him.”
“And don’t play anymore Colton Amory CDs?”
“Stick to Saturday Night Fever, or even ‘The House of the Rising Sun,’ and we’ll be fine.” He didn’t want her explanations or apologies. It would force him to make his own. “Deal?”
“Deal.” She held out her hand. “Friends?”
He eyed her outstretched palm. “Don’t ask for too much, and you won’t get disappointed.”
Maybe that had been his whole problem when he was younger. He’d asked for everything, thought he deserved it, success, love, family, happiness. A man wasn’t meant to have it all, and the minute he started expecting it, that was when God slammed him down.
She looked at him as if he’d stuck his finger in a light socket and shorted himself out. “Do you really think life works that way?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He stood, pulled his sunglasses from his shirt pocket, and plopped them on the bridge of his nose. Then he whistled Ruby to his side and gathered the mini-dog into his arms. “I honestly do.”
* * * * *
Jami stayed a few seconds longer on the bench, then rose to follow.
“Where’s your car?” Cole said as he pushed through the double gates.
“I walked.”
Cole eyed her from behind his shades.
“People do actually walk sometimes,” she said. “It’s only a few blocks.” She’d wanted the time to figure out what she’d say to him. Of course, the ten minutes hadn’t been enough and when she saw him on the park bench, she still hadn’t decided. Hence the fact that her apology sucked, and she hadn’t told him about getting fired or dumped, which was pertinent information as to why she’d come after him in the first place. And why she’d been so persistent. Instead, she’d told him about the grab bag and ended up sounding like an idiot.
He was still surveying her. She knew it even if she couldn’t penetrate the dark lenses.
“I suppose you want a ride back to Easy Cheesy.”
“Yes, please.” She half expected him to say he hadn’t been offering a ride.
He led the way to his truck, which he’d actually washed. What an incredibly sad philosophy of life he had. Not that she could blame him after losing his daughter. Yet if you didn’t ask for anything out of life, then you invariably didn’t strive for anything, and well, that’s just what you got. Nothing.
Once beside him in the truck, she belted herself in. “Are we going to take Ruby back to Frank’s first?”
“No. I’m taking her to Easy Cheesy. Frank will need his huggies and kissies.”
She laughed out loud. “I can’t believe you just said that. And with a straight face, too.”
“Frank’s expression, not mine. He’s pretty pathetic where Ruby’s concerned.” Still with a straight face, he concentrated on backing out of the parking spot, while the topic of conversation bounced from Cole’s lap to hers.
Jami held Ruby as she put her paws on the door and chuffed against the passenger side window. “Ruby doesn’t seem his style of dog. I was thinking a pit bull might be more appropriate.”
“He couldn’t have held a pit bull in the palm of his hand, not even when it was a puppy.” The truck lurched a little as he changed gears. “Somebody dropped a litter in our dumpster out back of Easy Cheesy. Ruby was the only one left alive.”
“That’s awful.”
“Frank said she looked more like a rat than a dog.”
“But he kept her anyway. He really is a very nice man despite the tattoos.”
“Even if he’s sweating bullets, don’t let him take his shirt off. The tattoo on his belly is terrifying.”
Cole was a strange guy. He’d rejected her offer of friendship, yet he spoke as if they were on friendly terms. He didn’t seem to hold what she’d done this morning against her.
Easy Cheesy’s striped awnings came into view. The minute they were inside, Frank abandoned the grill he’d been working in Cole’s stead and grabbed his darling.
“Daddy’s missed you, poopsie.” Holding her up to his nose, Frank let Ruby lick the sheen of burger grease off his face.
“I won’t tell you what she was eating out in the park,” Cole said matter-of-factly.
As he put on his apron, Kelly and Gary surveyed Cole as if he’d just flown in from outer space. It was the same look Kelly wore when she’d rushed in to say she’d seen Cole out at the dog park. In the middle of the day. Just before the lunch rush. Jami had the feeling there’d never been a day without Cole at Easy Cheesy. Didn’t he get sick? Well, at least he didn’t work from opening until closing time. His work hours were not another thing she needed to worry about.
The Saturday Night Fever soundtrack played on the sound system, the parking lot was full, and the burgers were starting to give off a charcoal aroma.
“Get the hell back to work,” Frank snarled, “We’ve got customers.” Then he shoved Ruby into Jami’s hands with a quick—“keep her in the office with you”—and started pushing buttons on the shake machine.
Crisis over. Cole was back.
Jami was caught between the desire to help him create another gorgeous album like Dreaming of You and minding her own business. Maybe it came from being the youngest of four drama queens with a drama queen mother, but Jami had no idea how to actually mind her own business. The concept was totally alien.
Chapter Ten
“Lick a beater?” Isadora offered that evening as Jami entered throug
h the back kitchen door.
Standing before a countertop littered with cookie sheets and an empty bag of chocolate chips, Isadora held out the metal drenched in scandalously yummy cookie dough. Jami hadn’t licked a beater in eons.
“Yes, please.” She grabbed the beater before Isadora changed her mind. “I thought you ate only sugar-free cookies.”
“Scrabble night. Every other Tuesday. The girls’ll be here at seven. I can’t make sugar-free cookies for Scrabble night.”
“How fun. I haven’t seen a Scrabble board since I was a kid.”
Isadora gasped, scooped a generous daub of dough off the other beater, and answered once it was demolished. “You poor child. Scrabble keeps a mind from growing old.”
She didn’t think her mind was that old yet, but rather than insult Isadora’s age, she merely said, “No one to play with, I guess”—then licked a smidge of dough—“but oh my God, this is divine.”
“My mother’s-mother’s-mother’s chocolate chip cookie recipe. It’s that dash of almond extract that does it. And I insist you attend Scrabble tonight.” Isadora tossed her now spanking-clean beater into the sink with a clang.
The alternative to playing Scrabble with a collection of elderly ladies was sitting in her room by herself moping about Leo or Cole and watching reruns of Sex and the City. Not. “If it’s okay with your friends, I’d love to.”
Isadora starting plopping dough on the cookie sheets. Every once in a while, half an uncooked cookie’s worth ended up in Isadora’s mouth, followed by a low murmured “Mmm.”
“It’s my house,” Isadora said. “I get to invite who I want. When you’re my age, you’ll be happy to play Scrabble, since you most likely won’t be getting any nookie unless it’s in your dreams.”
Jami stifled a laugh. She’d never met anyone like Isadora. Certainly none of her mother’s friends. “Can I help?”
“You can make the spinach dip.” She proceeded to point with her elbows and toes as to where Jami would find the ingredients and implements.
Close to two hours later, they were done and stuffed from taste-testing. The mushroom caps Isadora had just taken out of the oven smelled heavenly. In the living room, Jami had situated the card table, unfolded the chairs, set up the porcelain coffee cups, and laid out the cloth napkins.
Betty Johnson was the first to arrive. Statuesque, her shoulders were straight and her figure fashion-model slender. She patted Jami’s cheek. “You must be the new tenant. Have you seen Mr. Rogers’ ghost yet?”
“No.”
Betty pursed her lips. “Too bad. I wanted to know if he’d seen Henry up there or if the cheating bastard ended up in hell.”
“Henry’s her husband, died two years ago,” Isadora whispered as Betty hung her sweater in the coat closet.
“I’m not deaf,” Betty called out.
“I know you’re not, but I like to pretend you can’t hear all my catty comments.”
Betty stuck her tongue out at her friend. “We went to high school together, so she thinks she can say anything to me.”
Maisy Smith and Sonya Howell arrived together. “Oh, we’re so glad to meet you. We’ve heard so much about you.” Jami wondered how since she’d only lived in Isadora’s house three days. But whatever.
Maisy did the talking. At one time, she might have been over five feet, but her back was slightly humped and osteoporosis had diminished her height. Jami had once heard that after the age of thirty-five, a person lost one-sixteenth of an inch per year. Maisy had lost somewhere around forty-sixteenths.
“Sonya’s my twin, you know.”
They were as opposite as say...a dog and cat. Or else Sonya had gotten the forty-sixteenths of an inch that Maisy had lost. Where Maisy’s hair was yellow white, Sonya’s was steel gray. Sonya green eyes sparkled and Maisy’s glittered bright blue.
“The mushroom caps are getting cold,” Isadora announced. “Would you bring us the coffee, dear?”
Jami gave the four women time alone, ostensibly for Isadora to explain they were going to have to figure out how to make the letter tiles stretch for five Scrabble players.
Back in the living room, they were already seated around the card table, a low-volume CD of Tom Jones for ambience. Jami poured the coffee and passed around the nibbles, as Isadora called them.
Betty pulled a brandy bottle from her voluminous purse and spiked everyone’s coffee. “Would you like some, dear?”
“No, thank you.” The cookie dough was enough. Brandy in her coffee would make her loopy. She didn’t even want to think about what it would do to Isadora’s octogenarian guests.
As her friends ate daintily from their plates, Isadora set out the board, all the game pieces, and a worn paperback book. “We use The Official Scrabble Players Dictionary.”
Betty, seated next to her, whispered to Jami. “She got it for a quarter in a thrift store, and it’s a 1978 edition so don’t expect to use any modern slang because it won’t be in there.”
“I’m on notice,” Jami whispered back, then took the bag of letters as Maisy handed it to her. “Goodness, that’s heavy.”
“Isadora found another Scrabble game at the thrift store,” Betty had to mention, “and we appropriated its tiles.”
Jami was tickled that someone else appreciated the wonders of thrift-store shopping.
“With four of us playing,” Maisy explained, “we run out of tiles too soon.”
“A total pain in the butt,” Isadora added, “because we have to start over too often.”
After they’d each picked a tile and Betty got to go first, they passed the bag around to pull their set of tiles.
“Oh my dear, you need nine, not seven,” Betty admonished, when Jami failed to take as many as the others.
“Sorry, I remembered it being seven.” She could have sworn...
“We never get anywhere if there’s only seven.” Isadora moved her little tiles around on the holder. “We’ve learned to make accommodations that suit us better.”
It sounded like cheating, but Jami wisely kept her mouth shut and pulled two more, both vowels, dammit. She had way too many vowels even with nine tiles and wondered if perhaps their accommodation didn’t work as well as they thought. The only word she could see to put down was Cole. Or Leo. That was a depressing reminder of where her mind was hanging out these days.
“Ah-ha,” Betty said, beaming. “I’ve got it.” She laid her tiles down. C-L-I-T-O-R-I-S.
Oh my God. Jami struggled not to giggle hysterically.
“Read ‘em and weep, ladies.” Betty dusted off her hands.
“You’re cheating, Betty,” Maisy grumbled. “No one can have that on the first try.”
“Luck of the draw. And a triple word score, no less,” Betty announced with a little too much glee as she counted her points.
Yet no one said anything about that word. Okay, Jami got it; the sexual revolution had happened when Isadora and Betty were growing up. She still couldn’t imagine her mother—or her sisters, for that matter—spelling out clitoris in Scrabble. She wanted to laugh, but it wasn’t polite unless someone else laughed first. They seemed very serious about the whole thing.
Sonya’s turn next, and she quickly played receive for a double-word score. Jami still couldn’t see anything beyond Cole or Leo, which weren’t words anyway.
“Dammit, I wanted that R,” Maisy grumbled after she’d counted up Sonya’s points and written them down. Then she proceeded to turn the board in her direction and stare at the two words. “And do you realize you’ve both screwed up the triple-word square in the other direction?”
Betty huffed. “Oh pooh, there’s plenty of room to get over to the triple word.” She hmmed under her breath, her eyes on the board. “You could do clitorises.”
“That’s not the plural of clitoris.” Isadora played with the bridge of her purple reading glasses, which matched her purple lounging suit. “It’s clitori. Like stimulus and stimuli.”
“It is not.” Betty
snorted.
“Betty’s right, Isadora, give it up.” Maisy continued to peruse the board, even as she took sides in the argument.
Sonya didn’t venture any opinion whatsoever. In fact, she hadn’t opened her mouth the entire time she’d been here except to eat and drink. Maisy had done all her talking for her.
“Hand me the dictionary,” Maisy directed. “I’ll check.”
“But you can’t look at the dictionary until after you play.” The statement popped out of Jami’s mouth.
They all gaped at her as if she’d suggested peanut butter and jelly didn’t taste good when mixed together.
“Of course you can look at the dictionary.” Since it was at her elbow, Betty grabbed it and started flipping through.
“But what about when you challenge another player? They’re supposed to lose their points if they’re wrong, and the challenger gets them.” Or a nuance like that. Jami couldn’t remember exactly, but there was a rule.
“Oh, we don’t play that way.” Isadora flapped her hand. “We’d never get anywhere if we couldn’t check first.”
“But isn’t that ch—” Jami stopped herself right there.
“Of course it’s not cheating,” Isadora correctly interpreted.
“But the rules say—”
“Pah.” Betty fanned the dictionary pages, creating a wind that ruffled Jami’s hair. “We make up our own rules.”
“And it’s not cheating,” Maisy declared, “unless one player makes up a rule without telling everyone else.”
“It’s honest cheating,” Isadora said, as if she didn’t see that was an oxymoron.
Jami needed to laugh—badly—but they were so serious, she simply couldn’t.
Playing with her tiles, Maisy harrumphed. “What does the dictionary say about clitorises?”
Jami did let a snicker leak out that time, but no one seemed to notice.
“I’ll only tell you if you give me a U,” Betty said. “I need a U.”
“And I just happen to have one.” Maisy held it up. “Tell me first.”
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