Fireside

by Susan Wiggs

  “Meanwhile, AJ is with you.”

  “That’s right.”

  “He must be so worried about his mom,” she said. She also assumed this turn of events was wreaking havoc with Bo’s plans to devote the off-season to preparing for the Yankees. Either the guy was in denial about that, or he was hiding his agitation for the sake of the boy.

  “He’s worried, all right,” Bo assured her. “How can he not be? He’s keeping it all inside, though. At least, that’s what I think he’s doing. Wish I knew him better.”

  The situation of this man and his son didn’t just intrigue Kim; it moved her. She hadn’t expected that. But sometimes people clicked on a deep level right away, and it wasn’t a matter of how long they’d known one another. It was a matter of interest. She wondered if he was sensing that from her.

  “So in the meantime,” she said, “you plan to stay here.”

  “Yes, ma’am. He’s going to have to enroll in school, right here in Avalon. Starting Monday.”

  “Maybe he’ll be glad about that. Some kids like school.”

  Bo sent her a dour look. “It’s midyear, he’s from a different state and he doesn’t know a soul.”

  “All right, perhaps that was a little optimistic.”

  “I reckon I’ll tell him tonight. Maybe after dinner.” He looked around the room, seeming shell-shocked. “Anyway, thanks, Kim.”

  Well. She’d been upgraded from ma’am to Kim. “For what?”

  “For not freaking out when you saw me.”

  “Why would I freak out?”

  “When you answered the door, I thought I was totally screwed.”

  She was not exactly flattered by this. “About that...the way I behaved at the airport that morning. That’s not me.”

  “I figured you were probably having one of those days,” he said.

  “One of those lives,” she replied, then shook her head. AJ Martinez was proof positive that there were worse things in the world than Lloyd Johnson. In the wake of her sudden departure, there had been a flurry of calls from her former colleagues, but the calls had already tapered off. Soon—probably before the end of the day—they would cease altogether. That was the nature of this business. It chewed people up and spat them out, all used up and worse for the wear. She used to have the stomach for it, but not anymore.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Bo Crutcher observed. “So what were you doing at the airport, all dolled up like that?” he asked.

  “I had to leave L.A. in a hurry. There wasn’t time to change.”

  “You on the lam from something?” He was checking her out closely.

  She offered a brief, humorless laugh. From my own life, she thought. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  That smile again. She could almost swear he was flirting with her. “But you don’t answer many,” he said. “Everything okay?”

  She thought about AJ again, and the uncertainty he faced. And Bo himself, picking up a suddenly motherless son he’d never met. “I’m all right,” she said.

  “Maybe one of these days, you could tell me about yourself. We’ll have to get to know each other.”

  No, we won’t, she thought, dangerously attracted to the smile that seemed to hover on his lips, even when he spoke of troubling matters.

  * * *

  Daisy Bellamy was late again. Even though Charlie was a year and a half old, she still hadn’t mastered the art of coordinating everything she needed and getting out the door on time, even for a simple trip up to Camp Kioga for a family gathering. No matter how far in advance she started getting ready, something always delayed her. This evening, she had everything all planned out—Charlie’s outfit, his bag of gear, her camera bag—but just as she was heading out the door, Charlie found an old Oreo cookie somewhere. By the time she caught him, he was wearing a dark-chocolate grin and a massive smear of damp cookie all over the front of his sweater.

  “Oh, Charlie,” she said. “That’s the sweater your grandma O’Donnell made for you, and she’s going to be there tonight.” His paternal grandparents had made a special trip up from Long Island just to see him. Daisy grabbed a sponge and tried to clean the sweater, but her efforts only made it worse. Charlie babbled good-naturedly at her and grabbed the front of her shirt with a grubby hand, managing to soil her, as well.

  “That’s right,” she said through gritted teeth. “All dirty.” She took off the sweater over his head, managing to smear more wet cookie on his face and hair. Barely holding on to her patience, she wiped him off as best she could, washed her hands and found clean shirts for both of them. So much for dressing up for the party. Or for being on time.

  “This is not what my life was supposed to be,” she said, hurrying out to the car before anything else happened.

  “No,” he agreed, using his favorite word.

  “At least we agree on something. I swear, Charlie, sometimes...” She didn’t let herself finish. Even though he was too little to understand, she didn’t want him to hear her complain. She buckled him into his car seat and headed north along the lake road, toward Camp Kioga. At times like this, the reality of her life felt like too much. She had her photography work. And Charlie. And school. And Charlie. Always Charlie. He was everything to her, and her love for him was almost frightening in its intensity, but the responsibilities were relentless and never-ending. Charlie got up at the crack of dawn, without fail, and once her day got started, there was no downtime. Never, not once, had she deluded herself that being a single mother was going to be easy. Sometimes she wished she could curl up in a ball and escape, just for a while. With an active toddler, that wasn’t an option.

  She shook off her sour mood by focusing on the stark beauty of the twilight. Trees bowed with the weight of fresh snow over the road, creating a tunnel effect. As she rounded a curve, her headlamps illuminated the vast, snow-covered surface of the lake. The dashboard clock indicated that she was only twenty minutes late. Not too bad.

  Her cousin Olivia, and Olivia’s husband, Connor, had transformed Camp Kioga, a rustic retreat that had been in her family for generations, into a year-round resort. Olivia and Connor were hosting a farewell celebration for Connor’s brother, Julian Gastineaux. Julian was headed to South Carolina for special ROTC training. He told people he’d signed up for Reserve Officer Training in order to finance his education. Daisy knew there was another reason. Julian also loved the rush of doing dangerous things—parachute training, marksmanship, field maneuvers. He was actually entertained by the notion of staying up all night in the wilderness, training for sniper combat.

  Everything about Julian Gastineaux fascinated Daisy, and had for a long time. She’d been half in love with him since the first summer they’d met a few years back. But only half. The other half had done crazy things, like sleeping with another boy, getting pregnant, having a baby out of wedlock. Sometimes she thought Julian wanted to love her back, but she wouldn’t let him. He was on the verge of living his own dream, and she wasn’t a part of that. There wasn’t much point in dreaming. Julian was on a path that included college and a military career, a path that led far away from her.

  The road leading in was newly plowed and well lit. She parked, shouldered all her gear and got Charlie out of his seat. He insisted on waddling in his tiny boots to the main lodge, so it took a good five minutes to get inside. With a toddler, everything took ten times longer than normal. She considered herself a patient person, but sometimes she couldn’t help murmuring, “Come on, already...” under her breath.

  She arrived to find the party already in full swing, the air alive with music and conversation. Tables were laden with a buffet. The roaring hearth crackled with burning logs, gilding everything with an amber glow. Daisy set down her things and left their coats on a rack by the door. She saw her cousin Jenny and Jenny’s husband, Rourke, but they didn’t see her. They were holding hands and talking. Jenny’s
very pregnant form was outlined in the firelight. Daisy felt a twinge of envy. The two of them were having a baby the right way—together. Partners, who would support each other through the scary, exciting birth, the night feedings and unending laundry. They’d share the moments Daisy had experienced alone—their child’s first smile, his first tooth, his first wobbly steps. And she didn’t begrudge them these things. But sometimes she wanted that so much that it felt like a physical ache.

  Hearty laughter erupted over at the bar, and glasses clinked. Suddenly bashful because of the noisy crowd, Charlie whimpered and clung to her leg. She scooped him up and settled him on her hip, the movement by now as natural as breathing. “It’s all right, kiddo,” she said. “These are our friends and family, and everyone in this room is ga-ga over you.”

  “Ga-ga,” he echoed.

  Scanning the group at the bar, she easily spotted Julian. She hung back for a minute, studying him. Her reaction to him was always the same—the pounding heart, the fluttering stomach. The shaved head was a shock. All those glorious, riotous dreadlocks, shorn. Yet somehow, the eight-ball look only accentuated his amazing cheekbones and sensual mouth, the dark eyes and warm café-au-lait skin.

  As though he sensed her scrutiny, Julian spotted her. A smile of pure happiness lit his face, and he wended his way across the room to her. For a few seconds, Daisy allowed herself a fantasy. He would cross the room, scoop her into his arms, swing her around and declare that he loved her.

  Instead, he gave her a brief hug. “Hey, Daze,” he said, then lightly ruffled Charlie’s downy red hair. “Hey, short stuff. How you doing?”

  Charlie tucked his face into the curve of Daisy’s neck.

  “Must be the haircut,” Julian said. “Come on. I’ll get you something to drink. You want a beer?”

  “Sure.” They had both just turned twenty-one. Having a beer in a room that included her father, various aunts and uncles, and her grandparents, felt a little strange, but she accepted a chilled bottle of Utica Club. She clinked her bottle with his. “Cheers,” she said. “You must be excited about your trip.”

  “Completely. But, Daisy...” He grew serious, the merriment leaving his eyes. “I’m going to miss—”

  “Da!” Charlie started bucking in Daisy’s arms, causing her beer to erupt, sprinkling both her and the baby. “Da!” he said again, scrambling to get down.

  Daisy knew even before she turned who had arrived. Charlie had this reaction to only one person. “Hi, Logan,” she said, greeting the father of her child.

  Charlie practically launched himself at Logan. They both shared bright red hair and a sunny outlook on life. Logan was Julian’s opposite in nearly every way. Perhaps that was why she’d slept with him, long ago, back when she was angry and stupid. Logan grabbed the boy and swung him up in the air. “Hey, big guy,” he said, flashing a grin. Then he greeted Daisy and Julian. There was an awkward moment when he focused on the beer bottle in her hand. He was in recovery, but staying clean and sober was an everyday struggle for him.

  “Why don’t you take him to see your folks?” she said, holding the bottle low against her leg. Silly. He’d told her many times that he didn’t expect her to avoid drinking around him. Staying sober was his job. Still, she couldn’t help feeling bad.

  “Okay, they’ve been asking where he is. Let’s go, big guy.”

  She watched him walk away with their son, confused by her own emotions. Despite their rocky, unplanned beginnings, Logan had turned out to be a loving father. Sometimes, when the three of them were together, she could so easily picture them staying together. She glanced again at Jenny and Rourke, awaiting their baby together, ready to be a family.

  “Remind me again,” Julian teased, “what are the O’Donnells doing at my farewell party?”

  She gently slugged his arm. “It’s a family thing, and you know it. Thanks to Charlie, they’re family.”

  “It’s cool. I never had much in the way of family.”

  “You do now,” she pointed out, gesturing around the room. He and his brother, Connor, had reconnected a few years ago, opening a world to him. He’d told her so, and he’d talked a little about his childhood, being raised by a single mom. He’d admitted it was lonely.

  She set down her beer, no longer thirsty.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Sure. I’m jealous of you, though, heading for another adventure. And Sonnet, studying abroad.” She thought about her best friend, spending the semester in Frankfurt. “When she and I were little, we always said we’d travel the world together. I’m jealous because it’s not an option for me.” She smiled up at him. “Then I look at my little boy, and I get over it, so don’t feel too sorry for me.”

  “I don’t feel sorry for you.”

  What do you feel? She wished she had the courage to ask. She thought about the things unsaid between them. She thought about the one time he’d kissed her. It had happened a year ago, but it was the kind of kiss you thought about forever. She wished he’d do it again. But there never seemed to be a good time for them.

  “Go mingle,” she said, shooing him away. “All these people are here for you.”

  “What about you?” he asked. “Are you here for me?”

  She teetered on the verge of giving him an honest answer. “I’ll meet you at the station when you leave next Monday,” she said.

  He offered a half smile, and a look that said so much more than words. “Seems like I’m always telling you goodbye.”

  Chapter Ten

  In the fussy candy-colored mansion, Bo felt like a bull in a china shop. He was surrounded by fragile knicknacks, precariously displayed in rooms that had names that made him think of that old board game—the parlor, the library, the rotunda. The butler did it in the pantry with the meat mallet. The maid did it with the feather duster in the linen closet. The baseball player did it with Kimberly van Dorn in the bedroom....

  Yet despite the ornate furnishings, waking up at Fairfield House was unexpectedly pleasant. In his little alcove bed, AJ slept like the dead, and Bo was careful not to awaken him. Sleep was the only escape the poor kid had from worrying about his mother.

  On the nightstand beside the bed was a small photograph in a plastic sleeve. It was the only photo AJ had of his mother. The shot depicted the two of them with their arms around each other, grinning straight at the camera. In the background was some kind of fair or carnival. In the smiling, dark-haired woman, Bo tried to see the girl he’d once loved, but too much time had passed. She looked like a stranger to him. Yet in the photo, the bond between her and AJ was tangible. The kid clearly adored his mother, and having her ripped away from him was probably the emotional equivalent of an amputation. Bo just hoped they could resolve this soon and end the boy’s hurt.

  Bo went down to the kitchen for coffee, where he encountered Kimberly van Dorn. The moment he spotted her, he’d felt an instant surge of attraction, a reflex as automatic as breathing, because she was that beautiful. Never mind that she had been sending out not-interested signals since the moment he’d shown up on her doorstep.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Good morning.” In plain jeans and a sweater, her hair still damp from the shower, she looked kind of vulnerable, maybe fragile in a way. “Help yourself to breakfast.”

  “Thanks.” He grabbed an orange from a fruit bowl and stood over the sink, peeling it.

  “Is AJ all right?”

  “As all right as he can be, given the situation. Thanks for asking.”

  She nodded and took her coffee into the dining room. Bo felt a little easier after the exchange. She seemed cautiously willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything about how pretty she was, but damn. That would be like walking past a Playboy centerfold and not stopping to admire it. For the time being, Playboy was going to be as close as he could get to an actu
al relationship with a woman, because having a kid didn’t leave him any time for dating.

  On the AJ front, things were not going so hot. He’d come downstairs and refused breakfast. A few minutes later, he sat slumped in the passenger seat of the Z4, staring out the window and staying conspicuously silent as they drove into town, on their way to register him for school.

  “I never saw the snow except in pictures,” Bo said, “until I moved up here in ’04 to play baseball. Why anybody would want to move here if he didn’t have to is beyond me.”

  En route, they passed the offices of Peyton Byrne, Esq., a local lawyer, the establishment marked with a discreet hand-lettered sign. Bo never looked at that sign without feeling an unpleasant twinge of memory. Last year, Byrne had repped some crazy-ass woman in bringing a paternity suit against him, and he’d had to hire Sophie Bellamy just to get the test results—negative—admitted before the court. After AJ, Bo had been scrupulous about birth control.

  Bo decided not to share that particular Maury-Povich moment with his son. He did want to get more friendly with the boy, though. Win him over a little. Ordinarily, this was not a chore for Bo. Growing up as he had, he had learned at an early age to turn on the charm in order to get what he wanted. Sometimes, personal charm was the only thing in his arsenal.

  “There’s a winter carnival every year,” he continued, gesturing at Blanchard Park as they passed it. “They’ll build an ice sculpture as big as a house. They cut huge chunks of ice from the lake.”

  “Uh-huh,” AJ said, his breath misting the car window as he kept his gaze trained away from Bo.

  “You ever read a book called The Last of the Mohicans?” Bo asked. AJ liked books. Maybe they could find something in common.

  “Nope,” AJ said.

  “It’s by James Fenimore Cooper. I had to read it for English class when I was in high school. And I’m sorry to tell you, it was the most god-awful, boring thing I’ve ever read. It’s about the Indians who lived here when the French and English guys first came over. They had a word for the big water between the forested mountains—Glimmerglass. I didn’t much care for the book, but I still remember that word. When I look at the lake, I can kind of see how the guy came up with a word like that. I swear, in the summer that’s just how it looks. The rest of the story, I can do without. I usually like fighting in books, but in this one, even the fighting was boring. The whole thing is about a white guy named Natty Bumppo, living with the Indians. Who the hell could take him seriously with a name like that? Natty Bumppo, for chrissakes.”