Both Betty and Isadora grabbed before all the bags vanished.
The check-out line moved quickly. Those church ladies were fast. Isadora opened her grab bag on the sidewalk because she couldn’t wait a moment longer. “Oh look it’s a...” They all stared. “It’s a”—she glanced up—“what?”
Jami couldn’t see beyond the fact that it was two pieces of quilting material machine-zigzagged together. With only four points, it wasn’t even the shape of a star.
Betty snorted. “It looks like a diaper with those flaps.”
“It’s not thick enough for a diaper. Besides, the bag says woman, not old woman.” A note of disgust laced Isadora’s voice, and Jami knew she was about to lose all the good work they’d done getting Andrea to grab a bag.
“It’s a...” But really, Jami didn’t know what it was.
“It’s a homemade pie carrier,” Andrea supplied.
They all stared at her as if she were crazy, or a genius.
“You put the pie in the middle, then you tie the flaps together and use them to carry it.” She demonstrated, then handed the pie carrier back to Isadora.
“How did you know?” Isadora’s voice was low and musically reverent.
“It was an intelligent deduction,” Betty answered for Andrea. “She’s obviously wise beyond her years. Tell me”—she cupped her chin in her hand to regard the girl—“do you play Scrabble?”
Andrea started to shake her head, then nodded instead. Perhaps the poor thing was merely dumfounded.
Betty took it for a yes. “Good. We need new blood in our Scrabble group.”
Isadora gasped. “But you won’t be able to use those words.”
“I shall restrain myself until the dear girl reaches maturity.”
“Well, thanks—” Andrea started.
Betty held up her hand, her lips pursed. “Don’t give us your answer yet. It’s like joining a sorority, once you’re in, you’re in for life. You must be absolutely certain. You can give us your answer by our next meeting.” A week from Tuesday, Jami knew. “Now, Isadora,” Betty proclaimed, “we must be off. I want to see if that espresso machine is a piece of crap.” She tugged on Isadora’s arm.
“Don’t forget to ask that nice Cole to look at the attic,” Isadora called out to Jami as she was dragged away.
“I won’t.” Jami wished she could forget. He’d turned surly and was barely speaking to her again. The man needed serious meds. Whatever. Isadora wasn’t going to let her out of it.
Betty beeped the remote on a badly parked gold Yaris, which barely fit the espresso machine and the rest of their bootie in the trunk.
Beside Jami, Andrea gaped. She was obviously shell-shocked. Then they were bustled out of the way by a lady carrying three stuffed canvas bags.
“It’s okay,” Jami said. “We’ll find a good excuse for you to get out of Scrabble.” She wasn’t sure she trusted Betty not to come up with words worse than clitoris.
“You mean they were just being nice, and they don’t really want me?” Andrea clutched her two grab bags and the King Tut puzzle close to her chest as she gazed after the departing Yaris.
Holy Moses. Talk about saying the wrong thing. “Of course they weren’t just being nice. They were totally impressed with you figuring out the pie carrier. Betty thinks you’re a genius. That’s why she asked.”
“That wasn’t very impressive.” Andrea shook her dark hair off her shoulder. “My mom has one. Darryl made it at the school he goes to on weekday mornings.”
Jami suddenly grasped a lot of things all at once. Andrea didn’t seem to have any friends because she didn’t think anyone could like her. She didn’t even value her own intelligence; she made excuses for why she wasn’t smart. She’d so lost confidence in herself that she’d thrown out her sketchbook full of marvelous pictures. It didn’t matter why or who or how; it only mattered that Jami help her see she was so much more than she’d ever imagined.
Andrea stared after Isadora and Betty, now long gone. “Why did you ask me to come with you, Jami?”
Her answer was very important. “Because I like you. And it bothered me that you tossed out your sketches.” She paused long enough for Andrea to digest that, then added, “Why did you agree to come with me?”
“I felt sorry for you.”
“Oh.” That was a jab to the kidneys. “We better get going so you’re not late to work.” Besides, as another overloaded bazaar patron sidled past, Jami realized they were hogging the sidewalk and blocking the path to the front door.
“I didn’t mean that as a bad thing,” Andrea said after they’d both climbed into the SUV. “I just meant that it seems like you’re always pushing to be part of something and feel needed. And that’s okay.”
Jami stopped fiddling with the key in the ignition, turned slightly, and gazed at her newfound friend. For the count of five seconds. Five seconds was actually a long time. That was exactly what she was doing, pushing to be a part of something and trying to feel needed. Trying not to feel like a loser who didn’t have a thing to say for herself and wasn’t as together as her sisters. “I think Betty and Isadora were right. You are a genius. How did you get to be so smart at sixteen?”
Andrea gave a typical teenage shrug, but her pretty smile trembled once more on her lips. Not quite there, but lurking. “Guess I was born that way,” she quipped.
It was more than that. Somehow, adults seemed to forget that teenagers were intelligent people with very darn profound thoughts; if the adult took the time to look past the incomprehensible teenage behavior. Andrea’s perceptiveness could also stem from living with a mentally challenged brother. That childhood scenario might force you to grow up faster or give you greater insights than the normal teenager would form.
However it came about, Andrea was an amazing girl, and Jami wanted to help her reach her full potential. Maybe she needed to take a page out of Betty’s book and show Andrea how to make up some of her own rules.
Except that Jami hadn’t figured out how to do that for herself, let alone for someone young enough to be her daughter.
* * * * *
Andrea worked a full shift on Saturdays, covering lunch to dinner, and Jami had her to work right on time. They had, however, stopped for donuts and mochas and opened their grab bags. She’d tried to tell Andrea all about Betty’s making-your-own-rules philosophy —live the life you want and follow your dreams—but, based on Andrea’s glassy eyes, Jami wasn’t getting through. Except about the grab bag. Now that had worked wonders.
“Look what I got in my grab bag, Cole.” The girl did a darn good Ruby-bounce imitation right over to the grill when they arrived at Easy Cheesy. Hmm, maybe she’d had one too many donuts and was on a sugar high.
Cole was completely unimpressed. Party pooper. He didn’t look at Andrea, let alone the treasure in her hand. He simply scowled, flipped a burger, and muttered, “Cool.”
All right, to a man, grapefruit body lotion was unimpressive. Jami had gotten the same thing. But still...
The day was chilly outside, heavy sweatshirt weather, but inside the burger joint, the grill had heated Cole until perspiration popped out on his forehead.
“And I got a grab bag and a puzzle for Darryl,” Andrea tried again, just in case the first rebuff was an accident.
This time Cole actually glanced at her. “Who’s Darryl?”
Andrea backed off a step. “My brother.”
Even at the donut shop, Andrea hadn’t opened Darryl’s bag. She’d seemed a little giddy talking about how much he’d enjoy it.
“Oh. Cool.” Cole’s lack of enthusiasm was its own message: I could care less about your brother and your grab bag. Cole went back to his burgers.
Frank was bellowing at Pete about something, the lunch line was starting to grow, and Andrea stuffed the puzzle and her backpack under the counter. With one last look at Cole, she punched her timecard and donned her hairnet.
“Why did she even bother showing you?” Jami said low enough
for only him to hear.
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
Well. That was a snarky answer. “Colton Amory, sometimes you can be a real asshole.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t miss a single burger as he flipped them.
“She was reaching out to you.”
He jaw tensed. A muscle rippled in his cheek. Taking a swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbed.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” she hissed at him.
He reached inside his pocket, pulled out his sunglasses, and put them on. “Yeah. And so I am.”
She couldn’t do a thing beyond stare at him. He’d been mean before, the first time she’d met him, her first few days at Easy Cheesy. But this the worse. This was Andrea he’d blown off.
“What is wrong with you?”
He didn’t say a word.
“Honestly, I want to know. I’m very interested.”
He reached around her to grab a stack of wrappers. “You’re messing with my production flow here.”
Well.
“Jami, what are you doing here?” Frank had stopped bellowing and finally noticed her.
“I’m just arguing with Cole. We’re having a gay old time.” She smiled, teeth bared.
Frank held up his hands. “I’ll just bag some fries then. Don’t mind me.”
“We won’t,” Cole answered.
“Asshole,” she whispered.
“That’s not a ladylike word,” Frank murmured over her shoulder. “And I’m assuming you mean Cole and not me.”
She almost managed to elbow him, but he skittered away to the end of the island out of earshot, and set the fries to drain.
“Look, Cole, I get that you regret kissing me, but you don’t have to take it out on Andrea.”
He slapped the spatula down on a burger and squeezed out the excess fat, letting it sizzle away. “Can we not do this here?”
She couldn’t tell for sure behind the dark glasses—who wears sunglasses inside anyway, except a movie star who doesn’t want to make eye contact—but she thought he was looking at Frank.
“Fine. Let’s not do this here. Isadora asked if you’d come over tomorrow morning before you go to work and check out the attic. She thinks maybe what she heard on Thursday were noises from the attic, and she wants to make sure there are no rats.”
He opened his mouth.
“And don’t tell me to call an exterminator.”
“Maybe you should call an exorcist.”
She gasped. He understood about the exorcist! “But we haven’t been playing with a Ouija board.”
He gave her a look even behind the glasses, and she could have sworn he almost smiled.
Why did it amaze her when people thought the same way she did? Because, as Andrea so eloquently put it, she was a bit of a geek, which meant that Cole was a geek, too. That he actually got her drew her to him as much as his music did.
Even if he was an asshole.
“Will you come tomorrow morning and help us?”
Cole nodded.
“Thank you. And now you can apologize to Andrea, too.” Then Jami beamed at Frank as she passed him, tapped Andrea’s shoulder, whispered to her, and flitted out the door.
Chapter Eighteen
The woman messed with his mind. One minute Cole was absolutely certain he could keep her at arm’s length, then she made him feel like a shit for being nasty to Andrea.
He had been an ass.
For God only knew what reason—because he sure didn’t—the kid had reached out to him, and he’d shut her down.
So what was he supposed to say now? Hey kid, I changed my mind, and I love your lotion. No way. He wasn’t that much of an idiot. Frank would have locked him up in a nutty farm. Besides, Andrea would know he was just blowing smoke.
Dammit. He’d dug his own hole. It took him half an hour to figure out how to get out of it. Well hell, not figure it out, he already knew. He just had to find the courage, which was pretty hard for a forty-two-year-old man who’d lost every ounce of courage seven years ago.
He took advantage of a short lull in customer activity, and the fact that Frank had slipped out for a break while the other employees were occupied.
Andrea stared at the register keys when he approached. Suck it up, bud. “I’m sorry I acted like an as...a jerk.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” She tucked loose wisps of her hair back under the hairnet.
“No. It’s not okay.” He wouldn’t have wanted Stephie to let someone mistreat her. He wasn’t about to let Andrea accept it either, even if he was the one doing the mistreating. “I behaved badly.”
She scratched at a mark on the counter as if she didn’t know what to do with his apology. Finally she tipped her head so that she could look at his shoulder. That was as far as she got. “I don’t mind. It wasn’t so bad. People say stuff they don’t mean all the time. You’re just”—she gulped—“being too hard on yourself. Everyone has bad moods, and I should have let you alone.” She ducked her head. “I mean, usually I know when you’re grumpy, and I don’t bother you when you get like that.”
He could hear his heart beating loudly in his ears, and his chest was as tight as a rubber band ready to snap. His forefinger beneath her chin, he lifted until she had to look him right in the eyes. “Yeah, people say stuff they don’t mean, then they regret it later.” With Stephie, he’d regret the things he’d said forever. “When I’m grumpy it’s okay to tell me to stop being a pain in the butt. Sometimes I don’t even know I’m doing it.”
“Yeah, sure, okay.”
“Promise?”
She nodded.
“Repeat after me, ‘Cole, I promise to tell you when you’re acting like a jerk.’”
She laughed softly, and his heart felt better. “Cole, I promise to tell you when you’re being a total jerk.”
He scowled. “I wasn’t being a total jerk.”
“Yes, you were.”
She had twinkling brown eyes. He’d never gotten close enough to notice. Or maybe she’d never twinkled for him before.
Back at the grill, smoke got in his eye, and he had to wipe away the moisture.
* * * * *
All right, Jami had to admit she’d been a little aggressive. Yet she stewed over his snarky attitude all day Saturday and all through the night. By the time Cole arrived a little after eight on Sunday morning, she was ready to throw Isadora’s skillet at him.
She didn’t, but she still couldn’t forget what Andrea said. As she was leaving Easy Cheesy, Jami had leaned in close and told the girl not to worry about Cole since he was just being a poop. Andrea’s answer haunted her. Oh, it’s okay, I’m used to being ignored.
Nobody should get used to being ignored. Jami felt so strongly about it because she’d come from a family of drama queens where she had to misbehave to get noticed. Of course, she hadn’t misbehaved in any way that actually got noticed. She’d never been her own person around her family, merely an extension of their drama.
Was that why she’d allowed Dick Head and Leo to treat her, because she’d actually bought into her own insignificance in the scheme of things?
Isadora, wearing a shockingly bright purple pantsuit, opened the front door with a flourish and a gasp, as if she hadn’t one single idea who could be out there, though Jami had told her.
“Mr. Amory, we’re so glad you’re here.” Their savior, since neither Isadora nor Jami wanted to go up in the attic, together or alone.
He was all clean and woodsy-scented with a blue chambray shirt and black jeans that fit him in all the right places.
“Now I’m going to finish making breakfast”—Isadora hadn’t even started—“while Jami shows you the attic.”
But I’m not going up there. Not alone with Cole, at any rate. She hadn’t figured on having to accompany him. It was preferable facing the creepy devil thing by herself versus rooting around up there with Cole by her side. She didn’t trust herself alone with him, even as she reminded herself he’d been mean
to Andrea.
Isadora, however, shooed them up the stairs with a flap of her hands. You’d never have known that forty-five minutes ago, she’d been close to tears after another of those calls from her son. Jami’d had a close-to-irresistible urge to grab the phone from Isadora’s hand and give the son a piece of her mind. Except that she really didn’t have a piece to spare at this point.
She climbed with Cole on her tail, his eyes boring a hole through her back. He hadn’t said a word, playing the strong silent type for Isadora.
“The attic entry is in the spare bedroom closet.” She turned at the top of the stairs. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
He stopped with a tight grip on the banister as if he needed to be extra steady, or he didn’t know where else to put his hands. “I know I don’t.”
“Then why are you?”
Very low and soft, he said, “Because I’m not an asshole.”
Ah. So they were going to clear the air. “I don’t think you are, just that you acted like one.” When arguing with a loved one, they said—whoever they were—talk about the behavior that upset you, not the person. And never make global statements such as, you always do this or you never say that.
She didn’t move, yet he rose two steps so that he was eye level. “Thank you for setting me straight.”
His quiet voice drew an intimate atmosphere around them that she suddenly felt the need to run from. “Good, that’s settled then,” she said softly.
He imprisoned her arm when she would have turned and headed into the spare bedroom. “I apologized to Andrea,” he confessed.
“You did?” That didn’t sound good, as if she didn’t believe he was capable. “I mean I’m glad you did.” His touch warmed her skin and quickened her breath.
“I told her I was wrong.”
Warmth swept through her. A lot of men couldn’t admit they’d been wrong. “Thank you. I’m sure she appreciated it.” She didn’t want to belabor it and quickly added, “Okay, so let’s see the attic.”
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