So she nodded.
“Thank you, Charlotte.” Joe swept his lips across her shoulder, released her, and backed away.
“I’ll be leaving soon,” he said. “I had no idea you lived here. I never intended to interfere with your life or cause you any pain.”
She twirled around again. “You’re what?”
“I have to leave. I’m sorry.”
“You’re leaving because I live here? You don’t want to live near me?”
“It’s not that. It’s my work.”
“You can’t live here and write? Why not?”
“It’s not that, exactly—”
So he was rejecting her again. Her chest ached and her head buzzed with anger.
“Why the hell did you cut down my honeysuckle?”
“I didn’t know it was yours until your friend Ned set me straight. It’ll bounce back. Most things do.”
Charlotte took a few steps back, circling around the riding mower, putting several hundred pounds of bright yellow steel between them. She shook her head and laughed. “Okay, Joe. So you just show up next door after thirteen years, tell me you never forgot me, hack down my honeysuckle, and leave?”
He moved toward her, leaning both hands on the mower. “It’s more complicated than that, Charlotte. I’d give anything to stay here and get to know you, but I can’t. It’s impossible.”
“Right. Great.” She hopped into the deep leather seat of the Cub Cadet and was about to turn the key in the ignition when his hand grasped hers.
“I’m glad you remember me, Charlotte. It means a lot to me.”
The laughter exploded from her just as the tears began. If the man only knew… Charlotte stared at her grass-stained sneakers and shook her head, thinking of how the memory of Joe had flooded her poetry, her fantasies, her marriage, her life.
“What’s so funny?”
If he was leaving, she might as well speak the truth. Charlotte raised her head, looked him in the eye, and said, “Since that day with you, nothing else has ever been good enough.”
She turned the key in the ignition and let the roar of the motor drown out his response.
Joe spent the afternoon pacing the rooms of his too-big house. By evening, he knew he had to get out of there or lose his mind.
All had been revealed in that short conversation with Charlotte—words exchanged while he had to watch a single rivulet of sweat roll down Charlotte’s smooth, soft, bare belly and into her shorts. And what Joe now knew made him nervous as hell.
Charlotte remembered him all right. What happened between them so long ago meant as much to her as it did to him. Meeting up again in Minton had left Charlotte just as unhinged as he was, as confused and conflicted. He’d seen it in her eyes that afternoon—desire, need, and grief, the same jumble of emotions roiling around in his own heart.
What a recipe for disaster.
Joe closed the automatic garage door and backed down the sloped drive. It was a gorgeous evening for a ride with the top down, but he didn’t want to call that much attention to himself on his first leisurely cruise around town. He needed to bide his time for twelve more days. Maybe he’d check out the local cinema. Or see if there was a driving range nearby—he hadn’t picked up his clubs in years. Or maybe he’d just see where the road took him.
He passed through the small downtown along Main Street, amazed that many of these sturdy nineteenth-century brick storefronts managed to stay in business as florists and hardware stores and restaurants. He passed by Garson’s Glass and made a mental note to check on the new window tomorrow. He shuddered a bit at the sign for Basketful O’ Gifts, noting that it was conveniently located next door to Sell-More Real Estate, and chuckled to himself about Charlotte’s jealousy over blueberry muffin mix and scented room spray.
God, he would miss her. He would miss Charlotte the rest of his life.
Joe headed west of town past a few developments nearly identical to Hayden Heights, then past the high school campus, a couple of strip malls, and a handful of gas stations before it returned to countryside.
It was certainly pretty enough around here. The land that made up the north bank of the Ohio River rolled and swayed, the freshly paved road curling like a black velvet ribbon through the gentle hills. Not a bad place to live, as far as he could tell, if you had to live somewhere like this. Probably not a serious drug problem, but he knew well enough that the ugliness of the international drug trade didn’t spare pretty little towns like Minton, Ohio—or their elementary schools, businesses, or families.
He’d asked himself a thousand times over the years why he chose the life he had. He could have done so many things with his criminal justice degree and his Special Forces background, but he’d picked the DEA. He knew the seed had been planted with Nick’s overdose and the realization that his brother was just a tiny piece of a global enterprise of slavery and death. He came to see that the production, distribution, and consumption of drugs was at the heart of much of the world’s violent crime, and if you were a cop who wanted to get to the root of what was wrong, the DEA was the place to be.
Joe stopped at a red light at the intersection of two county roads and sat patiently, letting his mind wander. Of course the Administration wasn’t perfect. No huge government bureaucracy was, especially one at the whim of shifting politics. But he’d known a lot of good people who worked ungodly hours in awful situations, all in the name of saving people. And he’d always been proud to be one of them.
Joe watched the parade of minivan moms drive by and smiled. He could have chosen to live life like Ned Preston, come to think about it. A big fish in a small pond. The law in these parts. He could have been Minton police chief Joe Bellacera—a man who knew more about stolen bikes than bloodshed.
Joe chuckled, about ready to pull out from the light, when he saw the Minton Little League complex down the road to his left. He blinked. The place was huge! Cars spilled out of the lot and lined up along the roadside bumper-to-bumper. The night lights flicked on, sending a white glow over what looked to be a half-dozen fields. He heard the sound of cheering on the breeze.
Before he even realized what he intended, Joe pulled into an empty spot on the grassy shoulder of the road and walked across two lanes to get to the ballpark. His feet crunched on the gravel parking lot as he read the large blue sign at the entrance: MINTON LITTLE LEAGUE, WHERE DEDICATION, TEAMWORK, AND SPORTSMANSHIP MEET.
He scanned row after row of pickups, SUVs, minivans, and the occasional luxury sedan. Curiously, the first two rows outside the park entrance remained empty. He heard a chorus of “heads-up!” as a foul ball landed smack in the middle of one of the spots.
Good thing the Mustang was across the road.
A little kid with yellow hair ran out to retrieve the foul ball, smiling at him as he hustled back toward the stands.
God knew it was probably not a good idea to wander in here, but he was drawn by the sounds, the lights, the smell of baseball. He’d played in a Little Italy neighborhood league as a kid, in a grungy, weed-riddled lot that made this place look like Camden Yards. The people around here obviously took their baseball seriously.
“Evening,” said a fat guy in overalls and a Minton Feed & Seed cap.
“Good evening,” Joe replied.
He walked past the first field—the big boys obviously—and he could hear the sharp crack when a thrown ball hit the pocket of a glove. Next was a T-ball field, and he watched the batter just barely graze the stationary baseball, causing it to dribble onto the ground. The parents screamed as if the kid had hit a triple.
He released a startled laugh as he looked to his right, directly into the sharp blue eyes of a redheaded third baseman.
The girl put her hands on her hips, then broke out in a big smile. “Mr. Mills!” She waved her glove into the air. “I’m up next! Stay and watch me hit!”
Hank’s coach yelled for her to pay attention to the game, and Joe watched her smack the sweet spot in her glove with confidence
as she winked at him. It was the last thing he planned on doing, but he found himself wandering along the side of the field to the stands, where he found a spot on the aisle about halfway up.
A few faces frowned, most smiled politely, but Joe knew good and well this group of upstanding citizens was trying to decide if he was just another mystery weekend dad or a child molester.
He nodded politely and kept his eye on the action.
Hank scooped up a grounder at third and shot it to second for the last out of the inning. She ran back to the dugout like a woman with a mission. It dawned on Joe that Charlotte could be close by—and he winced at his own stupidity. He wasn’t thinking things through. It was like his brain was on vacation.
The last thing he wanted to do was see her again today, because, more than anything, he wanted to see her again.
Joe did everything but stand up and scan the benches, but a casual look around told him Charlotte wasn’t there. He was about to sigh with relief when a pair of sober gray eyes met his from under a maroon ball cap and Matt Tasker stood up and made his way through the crowd to him.
He sat down right next to Joe. “You got a kid that plays?”
Joe observed Hank smacking the top of her batting helmet to adjust the fit, then taking a couple practice swings outside the batter’s box. From the way she wielded that bat, he thought maybe she was named after Hank Aaron. “I don’t have any kids,” he said. “Just driving around and stopped in.”
“I saw Hank speak to you through the fence, but we’re really not allowed to talk to you. My mom says you’re unstable.”
Joe looked at Matt in surprise. Man, kids just gave it to you straight, didn’t they? It was kind of refreshing. “I’m plenty stable,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound like he was defending himself.
They both turned when the play-by-play man announced Hank Tasker was at the plate.
“Check this out,” Matt said, nodding toward the field, not bothering to hide his pride. “My little sister rocks.”
Hank let two low and outside pitches go by. On the third, she relaxed her back shoulder, focused her eyes fiercely on the pitcher, and followed through with a swing so pretty that Joe expected the ball to land on the county highway. It didn’t go quite that far, but it sailed over the fence by a healthy margin, and Hank trotted around the bases with a gap-toothed smile on her face.
“It’s better when she does that with a couple men on,” Matt said while clapping. “Helps her RBI stats.”
“Does she do that a lot?” Joe asked.
“At least a couple homers every game. She’s one of the best hitters in the majors, better than most of the boys, and she only just turned eight last week.”
When the applause died down, Joe felt like he needed to make conversation, because Matt showed no sign of moving from his spot. “How old are you, Matt?”
“I’ll be eleven in November.”
Joe smiled, remembering how at that age he, too, couldn’t wait for the numbers to click by. He glanced at Matt from the corner of his eye, realizing this past year had to have been hell on the kid. Maybe that’s why he was so serious all the time.
“My dad used to coach,” Matt said, keeping his eye on the game. “He died a year and a half ago. He was a sportswriter—you might have known him. He was famous.” Matt swiveled his head and looked Joe right in the eye. “Kurt Tasker.”
Joe nodded in approval. “I know of him and I heard that he died. I am very sorry, Matt.”
The boy shrugged and fiddled with a loose splinter of a fingernail. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“My dad died about five years ago,” Joe offered, unable to stop himself. When had he turned into a chatterbox? “My mom died when I was in college.”
Matt’s eyes flashed briefly, but his gaze didn’t linger on Joe’s. “That’s bad. You got any brothers or sisters?”
“Nope. Had a brother, but he died, too, a few years before my mom.”
Matt slowly raised his head. “Wow. That blows.”
Joe nodded in agreement, not knowing what else to say to the kid. “Would you like a soda or anything?”
Matt frowned. “You mean a pop?”
Joe smiled. “Yeah. A pop.”
It looked like Matt was going to smile, but he stopped himself and shook his head. “I’d love one, Mr. Mills, but my mom’s working the concession stand and she’ll only give me bottled water. She’s kind of a freak about healthy food.”
“I see.”
“But if you go, she won’t know it’s for me, so that would be cool! So I’ll take a large Mountain Dew with no ice and a box of Hot Tamales.”
Joe chuckled to himself. Not only had he just been bamboozled into buying junk food for a preadolescent who wasn’t supposed to eat it, but now he was going to have to see Charlotte.
Maybe he could use this turn of events to his advantage.
“I’ll make a deal with you, Matt. I’ll buy you a pop—no candy—in exchange for a little information.”
Matt scrunched up his mouth in thought and eventually nodded. “Sounds fair. What do you want to know?”
Joe put a hand on Matt’s shoulder and glowered at him, well aware that it might be considered intimidation. “When exactly were you spying on me, kid?”
Chapter Eleven
Charlotte was feeling particularly sorry for herself tonight. Instead of being in the stands cheering for Hank the way she’d done earlier for Matt, she was stuck filling in for two no-show parent volunteers at the concession stand.
To make matters worse, her coworkers that night were the poster children for passive-aggressive couples everywhere—the Bettmyers.
Twenty minutes into the shift, Charlotte wanted to wring someone’s neck. She decided Jimmy Bettmyer’s neck would do nicely.
“We need another cheeseburger, if it fits into your busy bachelor’s schedule,” LoriSue said to Jimmy.
“Comin’ right up, Your Bustiness,” he replied.
Charlotte decided now was a good time to restock the grill with frozen hamburger patties and excused herself. Once in the back of the concession stand, she leaned up against the large chest freezer and sighed.
It hit her right then—a punch of grief for Kurt. It could still sneak up on her like that, at the oddest moments, with no warning, and before she knew it her stomach was in knots and her eyes stung with tears. She missed him so. He should have been there tonight with her. He would have been the one making everyone laugh. In his presence, the Bettmyers wouldn’t bother her. She would take one look at her husband and know just lucky she was.
They’d always been able to talk—about everything but sex, anyway. And spending time with the Bettmyers made it clear just how good her own marriage had been. There was never any of this spiteful snapping at each other. When they argued, they talked it out calmly until it was as right as they could make it. And it might have been a bit boring, but it was good.
She’d give anything to have him back.
Charlotte shook her head and forced herself to stop the tears before they really started, reaching into the chest freezer and grabbing a plastic bag of frozen meat. She was heading toward the front of the snack bar, wiping her eyes, when Joe appeared at the window. She had to blink several times to be sure he wasn’t a figment of her apparently relentless imagination.
“Well, hello!” LoriSue nearly screeched with excitement. “It’s so nice to see you again, Joe!”
Charlotte absently handed the bag to Jimmy, who dropped the spatula and stared intently at the man who’d so obviously snagged his wife’s attention.
“Hello,” Joe said to LoriSue. “One Mountain Dew, please. No ice.” Joe then cleared his throat nervously and allowed his eyes to land on Charlotte. She felt an immediate jolt deep in her belly.
“Good evening, Charlotte,” Joe said.
“Thanks for bringing me the burgers, babe.” Jimmy moved close to Charlotte’s side. “Now why don’t you take your sweet self back there and get me some more wieners?”
<
br /> Oh, no. Charlotte sensed a very strange drama unfolding here, and she knew she was about to have one of the leading roles, whether she wanted it or not.
“Here you are, Joe.” LoriSue cantilevered her body into the window so that she could offer Joe her breasts along with the soft drink. “No charge. Enjoy.”
Jimmy snaked an arm around Charlotte’s waist and brought her along as he approached the window.
“I’m Jim Bettmyer.” He stuck his free hand past his wife and offered it to Joe. “You must be Charlotte’s new neighbor.”
Joe reached around LoriSue’s boobs and shook the offered hand. “Yes. Joe Mills. Nice to meet you.”
Charlotte twirled away from Jimmy’s embrace, deciding that now was, in fact, a good time to get the wieners. Why in the world was Joe here? Had he come to see LoriSue? But he said there was nothing between them. Then had Joe come to see her?
Charlotte hopped up on the chest freezer and sat cross-legged a good five minutes, biting her bottom lip, waiting until she was certain Joe was gone. She couldn’t face him after what they’d said that afternoon. She’d told him he took her virginity and changed her life, and he’d claimed to have searched for her. But he was leaving anyway, and she knew it had nothing to do with his writing. Joe Mills was leaving because she wasn’t the girl he remembered. He wasn’t interested in the woman she’d become.
Charlotte climbed down from her perch and returned to the front, only to see Joe still standing at the window.
“There you are, babe.” Jimmy held out his hand. “I thought I was going to have to send out a rescue team for you.”
She couldn’t quite pinpoint what she saw in Joe’s face but thought she detected a little bit of irritation and a whole lot of amusement. She noticed that LoriSue was patting his upper arm as she laughed and chatted with him.
“I’m just so glad you enjoyed the muffin mixes,” she was saying.
Jimmy looped his arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. Joe stared at her. Then Jimmy whispered something in Charlotte’s ear, but she couldn’t hear because of the roaring of her blood. She untied her apron.
Susan Donovan Page 13