by Wendy Wax
Candace shrugged, flippant as always, but her tone was dead serious. “I’ve been alone between marriages. But alone with children to take care of and no money to fall back on?” She shook her head. “No woman should have to go through that by herself.”
“You’re something, Candace Sugarman.” Amanda opened the driver’s door and contemplated the leather interior and gleaming wood trim. She breathed in the new car smell. “Really something. And as I told you the other day, neither Solange nor I will ever forget it.”
The first couple of blocks Amanda felt completely ridiculous. A group of teenagers in a Jeep pointed at the vacuum and hooted with laughter. A toddler in a car seat pointed too. “Look, Mommy,” Amanda heard him say through their open car windows. “It’s a Wellwoh Bakyoom.”
It certainly was.
She did her best to ignore the stares, horn toots, and laughter, and it didn’t take her long to notice that Candace was right; while almost everyone she passed stole at least one look at the car, almost nobody seemed to be looking at her.
“Nice car.” Hunter James stood in the doorway and smiled. “Though I kind of pictured you in a Jaguar.”
He was dressed in business casual, a pair of khakis and a chambray blue button-down shirt, but his cheeks looked freshly shaven and he had that clean male just-out-of-the-shower smell.
“Merci.” She patted her dark curls sending Solange’s new silver earrings swinging and sashayed into the house. She had on a new uniform too. It was still white polyester and two-piece, but it was a little more formfitting and the pants were bellbottom. A zipper ran down the front of the top.
She fingered the zipper pull as she followed Hunter into the kitchen. Feisty was the only word she could think of to describe Solange’s mood today. Maybe the yellow vacuummobile was rubbing off on her?
“Would you like some coffee?” Hunter asked as she set down her supplies.
“Oui, merci.” She smiled at him, much bigger and broader than Amanda ever would. “I would like eet very much.”
“Good,” he said. Smiling, he motioned her to the coffeemaker where an empty mug already sat.
While she poured and stirred in creamer and sugar, Hunter cleared his plate and mug from the counter and set them in the sink. “So,” he said conversationally, “how long have you been in the United States?”
“It feels like forever,” she hedged. “Sometimes I feel as if I were…born here.” She flashed him another smile, wishing she could ask him the things she really wanted to know. Had he been happily married? Was he as attracted to her as she was to him? And which one of her did he like better—Amanda or Solange?
Before she could stop herself, she was offering more information.
“I am zo sankful my cheeldren were born in these country.” Oops!
“You have children?” He smiled at her again, that sudden wonderful flash of white teeth in tanned skin. “That’s great. How old are they?”
OK, she definitely didn’t need to be inventing a fictional family or giving out too many details. She really didn’t need to be yammering away at all. Standing here chatting with Hunter James was a disaster waiting to happen. And she shouldn’t like the way he kept studying her while she talked, either, as if it was just a matter of time until he figured her out.
She almost wished Fido would charge in and poke at her crotch, just to shut her up.
She glanced toward the laundry room, but the door was open and the room was empty. Fido barked, a faraway sound that came from the direction of the backyard. She was not going to be saved by the dog—not that wanting a dog to poke his nose in your crotch was a sign of mental stability.
If her charade was discovered, she’d be humiliated and jobless. But did Solange care? No, she did not. Solange liked talking to Hunter James, make that flirting with Hunter James, despite the very real risk of exposure.
Solange appeared to be both lonely and horny. Solange was going to have to get over it.
“I have two boys, twins. They are now ten years old,” she caught herself saying. “Very acteeve. They have too much, what is the word, testosterone.” OK, she was starting to sound like Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle. The accent was easier to maintain when she kept her sentences short. Nonexistent sentences would be even better. This was not a night at the Improv. This was her life.
“And your husband?” Hunter James asked. “What does he do?”
“No husband.” She shook her head adamantly, sending her curls flying. “I don’t have one. He’s gone. Poof! Gone to Hell.” She gestured dramatically. This, at least, was true.
Solange fingered one of the new hoop earrings. She needed to get out of this kitchen and away from Hunter James before Solange said another word. Or did something they’d both regret.
“Monsieur,” she said carefully, “if you will excuse me, I weel begin.”
“Of course.”
She worked quickly and efficiently, eager to be out of there before she said something too revealing. Or allowed Solange to jump Hunter James’s bones.
Being in disguise was oddly freeing, but if Amanda was attracted to Hunter James, she should act on it and not leave the task to the oversexed Solange. Not that she or Solange were in a place in their lives where a relationship with a man was a good idea.
After all, Amanda had her children to protect, a home to hold on to, and a secret life to hide.
And Solange had those adorable twin boys to raise.
Candace was in her home office the next evening when her doorbell rang. Not expecting anyone, she padded to the door in her stocking feet. Dan stood on the welcome mat with a smile on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hand, a pretty much irresistible combination.
“I have a floral delivery for one Candace Sugarman,” he said as she opened the door.
“Oh?” She feigned surprise. “And who would they be from?”
“A not-so-secret admirer who’d like to take you out to dinner.”
“Hmm.” She pretended to think about it. “Does this delivery include singing or stripping?”
“It’s not in my contract,” he replied, stepping into the foyer. “But it could probably be arranged for a small additional fee.”
He closed the door behind him and offered the flowers along with a kiss. “My apologies for any grumpiness since you bailed out on me the other day. It’s not really my business. I just hate to see you jump every time your mother crooks a finger.”
“I know it seems that way because she’s such a…forceful personality. But she’s getting older and needier too. You know?” Candace pressed a kiss to his lips then brought the flowers up to her nose. “Mmmm, nice. Come with me while I put them in water.”
He followed her into the kitchen and slid onto a stool at the counter.
“Would you like to open a bottle of this Cabernet?” She set the bottle and opener in front of him and took two wineglasses from the cupboard. Then she pulled out a cut-glass vase and filled it with water, arranging the peace offering while he poured them each a glass of wine.
“Even when I’m angry at the way my mother asks for help, I’m always aware that I’m all she has.”
She took the glass Dan offered. “She was never exactly the shy retiring type; she’s always liked to pull the strings. But it’s gotten worse since my father died. She wants me taken care of, and in her mind the only way that can happen is for me to be married.”
“To someone she considers suitable.” Dan said it quietly, a simple statement of fact.
“Yes. She refuses to give up despite the fact that all three of the men I married, and she thought were so perfect, weren’t. We Bloom women are nothing if not persistent.”
He raised his glass to her. “I have to tell you that persistence is more attractive in some of you than others. I mean what sort of woman names her child Candace and then refuses to allow her to be called Candy?”
Candace laughed. “Good question. One day when I get up my nerve, I’ll ask her.”
&nb
sp; Dan smiled and Candace smiled back, the air cleared between them. Giving a final tweak to the flowers, Candace lifted her glass of wine. “To riding out hurricanes and having someone to shelter with in the storm.”
“To shelter,” Dan echoed.
They touched wineglasses and sipped in silence for a moment. The phone rang. Later Candace promised herself she’d never again answer without checking the caller ID first.
“I’m so glad I caught you.” As usual her mother wasted no time on a greeting, but plunged right into the reason for her call. “Ida didn’t show up for mah-jongg tonight and we need you to fill in.”
“I can’t, Mother, I’m—”
“I told the girls you wouldn’t let us down. My Candace is not like those other daughters who are too busy to help out their mothers, I told them.”
“But I hate mah-jongg.” Turning, she caught the wary look on Dan’s face. “And I’m busy. I’m just getting ready to go out for a bite with…a friend.”
“What’s going on?” Dan asked, clearly aware that she hadn’t mentioned her friend by name.
Candace covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “One of my mother’s friends didn’t show up for their regular mahj game. They need a fourth or they can’t play.”
“Say no,” he said. “You already have plans.”
“But I…”
“You can do it, Candace. I know you can.”
Resolute, she closed her eyes and spoke carefully into the phone. “I really can’t, Mother. Dan’s here. We’re getting ready to go out for dinner.”
This, of course, was the wrong thing to say.
“We’ve got plenty of food here. And I’m sure Dan”—it was, Candace knew, a major concession for her mother even to utter his name—“will understand and applaud you helping your mother. I’m sure he would have done the same for his. If she’d ever been able to get out given all those children.” The last was muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Candace to hear.
“Mother, I—”
“You see, Myra, I told you Candace would come through,” her mother said off mouthpiece. Then to Candace, “How long will it take you to get here?”
“Mother, that’s not fair. I told you I’m—”
“You know Esther barely gets out since Mortie died. She really wants to play tonight.”
There was a silence while Candace struggled with what she knew she should do versus what she was conditioned to do. Dan watched her carefully, not pushing, waiting for her to make her choice.
Hannah felt no such restraint. “How long will it take you to get here, Candace? Esther wants to know.”
“Twenty minutes,” Candace finally blurted out. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes. But I’m only doing it for Esther. And this is absolutely the last time I—”
The dial tone stopped her in mid-sentence. Her mother had already hung up. Candace was left to face Dan’s disappointed gaze.
“I have to go. They can’t play without me. All three of them are just sitting there. Waiting,” she said as she hung up.
“For you.”
She looked away.
“You were the only possible choice. None of those other women had anyone they could call. Not another friend, a daughter? No one?” His gaze didn’t waver from hers.
“Well, they all have children but no one else was…”
“It’s a power struggle pure and simple. And you, my love, so strong and resourceful in all the other areas of your life, are a complete pushover when it comes to your mother.”
Candace winced but remained silent. It was hard to argue with the truth.
“I could understand dropping everything for shortness of breath or a dizzy spell. Hell, we’d be racing there together for a significant chest pain.” He looked her in the eye. “But for a game?” He shook his head. Candace all but hung hers.
Dan stood and moved toward her. “So go. We’ll eat out another time.” He kissed her; an unsatisfactory peck on the cheek. “But you’re going to have to do something about this.” He walked with her to the door. “I understand that she’s your mother. But you’re going to have to make her understand that you’re entitled to a life too.”
Yes, she would definitely do that. Right after she developed a Hannah-resistant backbone.
chapter 18
I t was Saturday and the three of them were in the concession stand together when Susie Simmons’s name came up.
“What’s her gig?” Brooke asked as she finished making change for yet another besotted dad. “I mean she’s a divorced single mom too. What makes her act so superior?”
“I don’t know. It’s weird. I guess it’s the money.” Amanda rubbed her thumb and middle finger together. “Or as Solange might say, l’argent. She walked away from her marriage with everything but Charles’s golf clubs, and rumor is she could have had those if she’d wanted them.”
“Well, you can’t fault a woman for hiring a good attorney,” Brooke said, looking pointedly at Candace.
“No,” Candace conceded. “But I don’t like her attitude. Getting a great divorce settlement doesn’t entitle you to dis those who didn’t. And I don’t like the way she keeps trying to set Solange up. Something’s not right there. What did she leave out yesterday?”
“A hundred and fifty dollars and some diamond stud earrings,” Amanda said. “And I’m glad she’s not at the game today. Ditto for Tiffany and Robbie.”
“Well, I don’t like the way I hear she eyes Hunter James like he belongs to her,” Brooke said. “I think Amanda should have him.”
Amanda pulled out a long sheet of aluminum foil and began to wrap burgers. Her movements were deft and automatic. One ear was cocked for crowd noise from Wyatt’s field; he was the starting pitcher today and his losing streak had left him edgy and nervous.
“He’s not a prize to be awarded to the most deserving woman,” she said. “I expect he has some say in who he goes out with and what interests him.”
“That’s right,” Candace said. “And we just have to make sure that what interests him is you.”
“I don’t like that look in her eye,” Amanda said to Brooke. “Do you see that look in her eye?” She turned to the other woman. “You’re already running a business on my behalf, Candace, you’re not responsible for my love life too.”
As if she had one.
“I can’t be in charge of your love life when I’m handling mine so poorly,” Candace replied. “I think my mother’s jealous of Dan. And every time they go head to head Dan thinks I choose my mother.” She sighed. “And unfortunately he’s right.”
“So how are you going to get them to play nice?” Amanda asked.
“I wish I knew. Dan’s already a lot nicer about it than Hannah, but I kind of feel like a bone being pulled on by two dogs.”
A collective gasp from Wyatt’s field ended the conversation. Amanda and Candace rushed forward to flank Brooke. Side by side they leaned through the opening and peered out.
Squinting, Amanda could just make out her son drooping on the mound, the bases loaded with runners behind him. A coach was helping a batter up from the ground.
“I think he hit the batter,” Brooke said. “Look, the guy on third is walking in.”
They watched the runner on third jog home and stomp on the plate.
Amanda groaned. “It just gets worse and worse.”
The three of them were still squinting out toward the field when Tyler Mackenzie approached. He ignored Brooke, whose smile of greeting disappeared at the snub, and addressed Amanda. “Wyatt’s a mess out there, Mrs. Sheridan. He says his arm hurts. The coach sent me for ice.”
Amanda studied Tyler, noting the way he looked at everything except his stepmother. “Brooke,” she asked, “can you get the shoulder wrap for Ty? It’s the blue contraption in the chest freezer.”
“Sure.” Brooke moved to the freezer and came back with the bright blue sling. “I pulled a Gatorade for him too.” She handed the things to her stepson. “Would you like a
drink, Ty? It’s my treat.”
“Nah.” He shot her a look of total contempt. “My mom sent me a water bottle. And I’m not the one who’s doing target practice on the other team.”
He turned to go, his chiding refusal ringing in the air. Brooke clamped her mouth shut.
“You can’t let him talk to you like that,” Amanda said after he’d gone. “If you let him treat you that way, he will.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve tried everything I can think of and he’s not buying.”
“Maybe you need to ask Hap to step in and straighten him out,” Candace said.
“He doesn’t do it in front of Hap. And I don’t want to be some whiny tattletale. It’s hard enough getting Hap’s attention lately without wasting it complaining about Tyler. That boy’s not going to see me as anything beside the Wicked Witch of the East no matter what I do.”
“Then get on your broomstick and buzz him with it.” Candace’s tone was grim. “I don’t know much about twelve-year-old boys, but I do know males in general. And you don’t want to take their shit, because the more you take, the more they dish out.”
“Well put,” Amanda said. In the distance Wyatt walked off the mound and toward the dugout, Dan Donovan’s arm around his shoulders. The only bright spot was Rob and Tiffany’s absence. Rob would undoubtedly have been mad at Dan for pulling Wy no matter what kind of havoc he’d wreaked on the other team; Tiffany would have been chatting with Susie Simmons, probably comparing their cleaning women. Or their manicurists and exercise classes.
“You should talk to Hap and let him know what’s going on,” Amanda said, “and ask him for a show of support. The thing about boys that age is they can be so rough. Not only on others but on themselves.”
Wyatt proved her point on the way home.
“Wow, that was a tough one,” Amanda said as they left the dugout. Wyatt didn’t respond. In fact, he didn’t speak at all between the dugout and the parking lot. There, he threw his bat bag into the back of the minivan and slunk into the passenger seat, slamming the car door behind him.
He remained silent all the way home from the ballpark. Amanda could feel the waves of frustration bouncing off him, could practically hear the gnashing of his teeth. For a boy who lived and breathed baseball, the Mudhens’ losing streak was a personal affront; that his pitching was contributing to that streak made it even more agonizing.