All or Nothing

by Deborah Cooke

  “Nine-thirty.”

  “Definitely by nine-forty-five.”

  James heaved a sigh of forbearance. “Well, I’ll just have to change your mind.” He winked when she laughed, then strode toward the T.

  “Doesn’t that sound promising,” Maralys said, her eyes dancing with anticipation. “Funny how you don’t find your brother persuasive. I find him irresistible.”

  “That’s probably a good thing,” Zach said. “I can guess how he persuades you and I’m really not interested.”

  “At all, or just with your brother?”

  “You figure it out.” He gestured to his departing brother. “Since when has he had a sense of humor?”

  Maralys laughed and slipped her hand through Zach’s elbow. She ignored his question. “Come on in. I’ve missed you, Zach. You always liven things up. Let’s get some ice on that before you’re legally blind.”

  “There’s a good plan.”

  “Where do you think Roxanne’s gone?”

  “Where’s Zoë? Where there’s a toddler, there’s spilled food…”

  Maralys laughed. “And that’s where you find a smart dog like Roxanne. Don’t you feed that beast?”

  “Right. Take a look at her and tell me that she’s just wasting away.”

  “Hardly. She’s bigger every time I see her.”

  “You haven’t seen her since I dropped off that contract. She was only a puppy then.”

  “Note that I wasn’t the one to say how infrequently you come by.”

  Zach chose to ignore that. “It’s the fur. I’m sure that if I had her trimmed, there’d be a third as much dog left.”

  “Ah, but then everything you owned wouldn’t be garnished with four-inch dog hairs.”

  “That would be a loss,” Zach agreed solemnly.

  * * *

  They got to the kitchen and discovered that they had called it right. Zoë was sitting on the kitchen floor, feeding cheddar Goldfish crackers to Roxie, one at a time.

  With great concentration, Zoë pinched each cracker between her index finger and thumb. It was apparently of critical importance to present the cracker face-first to the dog and to hold the fish tail. Her hands were a bit gummy, probably from dog spit, which might have added to the challenge. Roxie sat obediently and calmly in front of the little girl. Even though the dog was the half the age of the toddler, she had to outweigh Zoë four pounds to one.

  “Scene of the crime,” Maralys said.

  “But Zoë is in total control.” Zach refused to be insulted that his dog did what a toddler told her to do and not always what he told her to do.

  “Of course, she is. She got that from me.” Maralys cast him a devilish grin, then stepped toward the freezer.

  Zach sat down, as he was told, and held the pack of ice over his eye, as he was told, and tried not to speculate as to why the kitchen table looked like it had been cleaned off in a hurry. He also tried to not feel that he had woken up on an alien planet, one that looked a lot like the one he knew but was populated by clones of people he knew who acted unpredictably.

  James had been concerned about him. It boggled Zach’s mind.

  It was kind of a nice feeling. That boggled him even more.

  He was distracted by Zoë, who came to stand right in front of him. “Zach fish,” she said, offering him a sticky cracker for his very own.

  Roxie stood immediately behind the little girl, avidly watching the cracker in transition. The dog salivated.

  Zach accepted the present, to his niece’s delight, then surreptitiously passed it to the dog after Zoë turned away. “I haven’t been gone that long,” he told Maralys. “Zoë remembers me.”

  “She’s naturally brilliant,” Maralys said. “Not that I have a biased opinion or anything.”

  “She’s more cute than should be legal.”

  “And has charm to spare.” Maralys sighed benignly as she watched her daughter. “She’s going to give me a serious crop of gray hair in ten or twelve years.”

  “Only if I teach her everything I know,” Zach threatened and Maralys laughed.

  “What’s it going to cost me to get you to keep that information to yourself?”

  “I’m an artist. I can’t be bought.”

  “A hazard of dealing with a family who have more money than God.” Maralys shook her head. “So, what? You want a date for Thanksgiving? Or do you want me to be nice to whoever you bring? That will cost you big, avoiding the Coxwell initiation process.”

  Zach blinked. He hadn’t attended a family Thanksgiving dinner for a couple of years, and was skeptical that the day would be celebrated in his family at all. “Mom isn’t cooking Thanksgiving dinner, is she?”

  “Be serious. With those two poodles underfoot and her life in transition? I think not.”

  “I thought she had moved everything back to Gray Gables already.”

  “She did, but it’s not easy for her.”

  Zach could relate to that. Visiting the family residence in Rosemount was something he would avoid as long as possible.

  Forever would be workable, in his opinion.

  “She’s still grieving for your father, Zach.”

  “But Mom and Father were getting divorced.”

  “Even so. That’s the house where they spent most of their married life together. It has emotional power for her.” Maralys sipped a cup of tea and looked wise.

  Zach decided he was better off leaving that topic alone for the moment. “Well, what then? If Matt and Leslie are cooking turkey at Gray Gables, it’s pretty safe to assume that I’m not invited. Especially as I haven’t been and the big day is next week.” And that was good, because he wouldn’t have to decline and/or make up an excuse to not be there.

  “Nope, you got it wrong again.”

  “Philippa’s too busy to cook…”

  “True. A new baby, a landscaping business to run, a toddler older and thus even busier than Zoë, Nick’s imperious grandmother making demands…phew! I’d say your sister is busy right now, even with Nick helping out.”

  “And Nick wouldn’t let me into their house anyway.”

  “You are a popular date, aren’t you?” Maralys pulled out the opposite chair and sat down to consider him. “The truth is that no one Coxwell wants to host the feast, but I suspect everyone has a mild desire to get together.”

  “A mild desire.” Zach fought a smile at her choice of words.

  “Nobody will move mountains, that’s for sure, but no one is running screaming into the woods at the idea either. And I’m thinking we should make more of an effort to do family stuff, to get together and all that.”

  “You’re losing your edge, Maralys.”

  “You sound like James!” she said with a laugh, then sobered. “No, really, I’m serious. It’s easier to not get along when you never see each other. We’ve been having dinner with Matt and Leslie and they’re okay. Their Annette and our Jimmy haven’t killed each other yet, which is a good sign.”

  “You’ve got to take them where you find them.”

  “My thinking exactly. We could all benefit from a bit more time together.” She watched him closely, obviously waiting for his reaction to whatever she intended to say. “And I shouldn’t say so, but it’s a whole lot easier with your father gone. It might even be easier to be the prodigal son, without anyone calling you on it every five minutes.”

  Zach fought to hide his response. Maralys was too damn perceptive, though, and he was pretty sure she’d seen him wince. “The ice is really cold,” he said by way of excuse.

  “Uh huh. So, tell you what, I’m going to have Thanksgiving dinner here.”

  “As of when?”

  “As of right now.”

  “Does James know about this?”

  “Obviously not.”

  “Shouldn’t you talk to him about it?”

  Maralys’ smile was mischievous. “I’ll persuade him to my point of view.” She tapped a finger on the tabletop and Zach thought again about l
unch breaks. “Next Thursday, three o’clock. Bring a bottle of wine. If everyone gets a bit buzzed, it will be even easier.”

  Fat chance of that happening. The last time he’d seen his brother-in-law Nick, the guy had nearly decked him. The last time Zach had seen his brother Matt, the guy had chewed him out and abandoned him to the Louisiana justice system. Even given the unexpectedness of James’ attitude today, he knew that a Thanksgiving dinner with his family would be a special kind of hell.

  Not for the first time in his life, Zach saw the universe turn in his favor. There was, apparently, a cosmic reason for Jen asking him to dinner—and his impulse to accept had been dead on the money. It wasn’t the first time that he’d acted on instinct and it had saved his bacon, but this was definitely a big save.

  “Sorry. I have a date,” he said.

  “Oh yeah?” Maralys was unconvinced. “Funny. I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

  “Well, I am.”

  “What’s her name?”

  It was easier to go with a version of the truth than to completely fabricate something. There was less chance of messing up later. Zach had learned as much years before. He’d just embellish his virtually non-existent relationship with Jen a bit to satisfy Maralys. They’d never meet: Maralys would never know. “Jen.”

  Maralys arched a brow. “No surname?”

  “No need to supply you with references, is there?”

  She leaned back to watch him. “I don’t believe you. You’re making this up. Not that that’s ever happened before.”

  Zach found himself getting defensive. It was usually the best offense anyway. “Her name is Jen Maitland. I met her at the bar where she waits tables. She’s tall and dark-haired and funny in a wry kind of way and very sexy.”

  “And Roxanne approves? Hey, Roxie, tell me about this girl.”

  The dog wagged her tail, more interested in scoring another cracker than supplying references. Zach was glad she couldn’t talk.

  “She hasn’t met Roxie yet.” At Maralys’ skeptical look, Zach improvised. “She has allergies, so we’re working up to that intro.”

  Maralys rubbed Roxanne’s ears. “I’ll bet. You’re not going to ditch the dog for her, are you?”

  “We’ll solve it. If it’s meant to be, we’ll all get along fine.”

  “Maybe with a cleaning service and crates of antihistamines.”

  “Maybe.”

  Maralys seemed to think for a moment, then turned a bright glance on Zach. “Still doing photography?”

  Zach was surprised by the change of topic. “Well, sort of. Why?”

  Maralys came in for the kill. “Because if you’re going to skip out on my family reunion Thanksgiving party—planned, let’s add, specifically for your benefit—I want pictures. I want photographic evidence of you having Thanksgiving dinner, next Thursday with this dark-haired, tall, sexy Jen and her family.”

  “Or?” Zach had to ask.

  Maralys smiled. “Or you’ll live to regret it. I’m trying to be nice to you, Zach. It’s not my best trick, so if you’re evading this bit of goodwill, I’ll make you regret it forever.” She shrugged and flicked her red hair. “Not that I’m vengeful. Not me. Just ask James.”

  And she smiled a smile that made Zach wonder where, exactly, he’d stashed his favorite camera.

  * * *

  The phone was ringing when Jen unlocked the back door that night. It was after nine and she was bagged. The phone kept ringing, a good sign that her mom wasn’t around.

  She dumped her bag, lunged across the kitchen counter and snagged the receiver on the fifth ring. “Hello?”

  “So?” Cin asked. “How’d it go? Snag a date yet?”

  “Hang on a second.” Jen went back to shut the door, took off her shoes and hung up her coat. She put the kettle on and found some dried green stuff in the mug she usually used. Propped beside it was a note in her mom’s handwriting: ‘Drink this. Trust me.’

  Alice in Wonderland stuff. Would it make her taller or shorter?

  Jen shook her head and picked up the phone again. “Sorry. I was just getting in.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I’m not laughing.”

  “No, but you never are. Your voice sounds lighter, that’s all.”

  “There’s a note from Mom with some dried stuff in my mug.”

  “Ah, better living through chemicals, the Gaia way. Well, it can’t hurt.”

  “How do you know?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jen leaned against the counter, fed up with this insistence upon the positive. “Well, if it can help, then by the same logic, it could hurt. I mean, expecting it to heal means acknowledging that it has some power.”

  “You’re too skeptical. That’s your problem.”

  “If so, it’s the least of them.” Jen stretched her left arm and wiggled her fingers. While she was on the phone, she did some of the exercises to keep circulation in that arm. She was careful at work to lift on the right, but lymphedema was always an unwelcome possibility.

  “Soooooooooo?” Cin prompted when Jen didn’t say anything. “How’s the dating game going?”

  “Mixed results.”

  “Sounds juicy. What happened?”

  “Are you at work?”

  “Yup, night shift on the order desk. I had the afternoon off and am back in the salt mines, so to speak, until ten.”

  “Those would be naturally dehydrated sea salts, I assume, not anything from a mine.”

  “Technically, yes. Baltic or Indian Ocean?”

  Jen leaned against the counter. “Don’t you have an obligation to do something for your employer while you’re being paid to do something for them?”

  “Break time. I get to play for fifteen minutes. I’m not letting you off this phone until I know, because one thing I do know is when you’re holding out on me. Like now. Cough up the story, sis. I can smell that it’s a good one.”

  “It’s not. I asked a guy to Thanksgiving dinner. He said yes, didn’t get the address where, then left because someone named Roxanne was waiting on him.”

  “Ouch. So who’s Roxanne?”

  “Duh! His girlfriend, obviously.”

  “And he’s so committed to her that he was chatting you up.”

  “You don’t know that…”

  “I know you and you have zero balls.”

  “Thank God for that. Life would be even more complicated then.”

  Cin laughed. “Jen, I’m not joking. You would only have asked him out if he’d given you some encouragement. There must have been some chemistry, which implies that he’s not very committed to this Roxanne.”

  “Or he’s a rat.”

  “Or that,” Cin accepted this possibility more easily than Jen could. “But then, isn’t that the point? Was he perfect for the dastardly deed or what?”

  “I thought so. Ate a burger. Wears a leather jacket. Went to law school. Comes from money and has expectations.”

  “That’s good enough for me.”

  “Yes, but I think he must have been putting me on. Why else wouldn’t he have gotten the address? Or even my number? He just bailed.”

  “Maybe he plans to come back before the big day.”

  Jen chewed her lip and considered that. It was possible. He had wanted to get to know each other better. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “You and your bad feelings. Did you get his name?”

  “Zach Coxwell.” Jen regretted the confession as soon as it was made, because she heard Cin typing. “Hey! Do not Google him.”

  It was too late, of course.

  “Honestly, Jen, you’ve got to get with the times,” Cin chided. “Of course, I’m Googling him. Do you want to be stalking a serial killer?”

  “I wasn’t planning to stalk anyone.”

  “Your mistake.”

  It was too late, both to stop her sister and to argue with her assumptions. Jen made her tea and waited for the bad news. Whatever the
dried leaves were, they smelled awful once the water was poured over them. The scent was both minty and astringent, with a bit of mold on the side. The resulting “tea” was a yellowish green, not the most tempting beverage Jen had ever confronted. She closed her eyes and took a cautious sip.

  “Bingo!” Cin shouted into the phone.

  Jen jumped and spilled her tea down the front of her white shirt. Oh well, it was destined for the laundry anyway and it was just a work shirt.

  She’d have been a lot less philosophical about staining one of her vintage gems. This was a plain white cotton man’s shirt from the thrift store and she already knew that the fabric was tough.

  “Yowser, but you have snagged a good one, Jen. Good eye!”

  “What are you talking about?” Jen asked, not at all sure that she wanted to know. After all, she couldn’t really define ‘good one’ in Cin’s perspective with any certainty.

  And that wasn’t a good omen.

  Chapter Four

  Cin’s cheerfulness only increased Jen’s sense of impending doom. “There’s only one Zach Coxwell in Boston, son of that judge who blew his brains out last year, younger brother of those two lawyer brothers who fought opposite sides of the Laforini case. Remember that?”

  Jen did remember that, vaguely.

  She remembered more clearly that Zach had left the bar in a hurry when she had made a judge joke. She guessed that she had hit a nerve and felt bad all over again.

  She also was pleased that she’d read his response correctly. How much of a selfish jerk could a guy be who mourned his father’s death?

  Less than she’d expected, that was for sure.

  But then, according to the Plan, that wasn’t a good thing. Jen frowned and rubbed her forehead. This wasn’t going to be as easy as Cin had made it sound.

  Meanwhile, Cin was still chattering in her ear. “It was on the front page of the paper. His big bro is a hotshot lawyer in the District Attorney’s office. Whoa Nelly, but these people have money and to spare. And he’s in the phone book, with a condo in that flash building that overlooks the river. You know that one, the one we look at all the time?”

  “Not that building? Condos in there cost a fortune.”

  “That building,” Cin said with satisfaction. “Want his number?”