Deirdre Martin

by Deirdre Martin

  “A good friend,” Katie amended lamely.

  “Are you having sex with him?”

  Katie’s mouth slowly fell open. It took a minute for her to recover herself and try to figure out how to handle the question. She had to keep reminding herself that Tuck had been exposed to situations other children had not. Beneath his innocent demeanor was a very jaded little boy. “That’s none of your business,” Katie said gently.

  “Sorry,” Tuck muttered.

  “No, it’s okay to ask questions. It’s just that some things are private, and that’s one of them. Which is why it would mean a lot to me if you didn’t say anything to anyone about me and your coach.”

  “But it’s cool,” Tuck countered with a whine.

  “Yes, but it’s private,” Katie reiterated. “The only reason you know is because Nana went a little wacko there.” Tuck laughed. “Right?”

  Tuck nodded.

  “So let’s keep this under our hats for now. Not a word to your friends, or anyone on the team, or anyone. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Tuck said reluctantly. “But.”

  “But what?”

  “Like, maybe you’ll fall in love and get married and then you and Coach could adopt me!”

  “Tuck.” Katie’s voice was pained. “You have a mother, remember? And she loves you very much.”

  Tuck pretended not to hear as he went to his computer.

  “Tuck?” Katie wanted to wrap her arms around him tightly and assure him everything was going to be all right. But she knew her nephew would push her away when he was in this mood. He’d play deaf, just like he was doing now.

  Katie sighed. “I’m going to go get some work done in my room. If you want to talk any more, just come on in, okay?”

  Tuck gave no indication of hearing.

  Katie walked out into the hall. It wasn’t until she was sitting in front of her own computer that it dawned on her that in some ways, she was no better than Mina. For just as her sister had done so many times, she, too, had just asked Tuck to lie.

  “That shit-eating grin on your face can mean only one thing: Either you won the lottery or you bagged your dream girl. Which is it?”

  Frank DiNizio’s question made Paul chuckle as he slid onto a bar stool at the Penalty Box, sipping his Sam Adams. The place was hopping, which was what he wanted on a Saturday night. He’d called Katie and asked her if she’d like to go to a movie, but she’d begged off, saying she was falling behind on working on her book. Paul wondered if it was the movie, which had already been playing there for several years—or if she just didn’t want to risk being seen with him.

  “C’mon, bro, spill,” Frank urged, pushing a cosmopolitan toward a blowsy, half- drunk woman before giving his full attention to Paul. “What happened?” Frank had been following Paul’s pursuit of Katie with curiosity.

  Paul’s look was sly. “What do you think happened?” “Whoa!” Frank held up a bear-size palm for Paul to high-five. “Way to go, my man! Way to go!” “Yeah, well, we’ll see.”

  Frank thrust his giant head forward in disbelief. “Whaz-zup?”

  Paul frowned. “She’s being weird about it.” He took another sip of beer, scanning the bar. He was always keeping an eye out for trouble, or making sure the staff weren’t goofing off.

  Frank nodded knowingly. “Wants the ring already, huh?” “Just the opposite. Doesn’t want anyone to know.” Frank’s brows collided. “What’s up with that?” “I’m not sure,” Paul confessed. “She’s worried about conflict since I coach her nephew. If the kid does really well, which I think he will, I could be accused of favoritism. But beyond that, it doesn’t make sense. At least not to me.”

  “Maybe she’s got a steady back in Vermont and she doesn’t want word to get out.”

  “Thanks, Frank.” That possibility had never crossed Paul’s mind. He entertained the thought for a moment, then cast it aside. Katie didn’t strike him as the cheating type.

  Frank looked philosophical. “Maybe she’s not thrilled about dating, you know—”

  “A jock? An ex-jock? A failed jock? A bar owner? A youth hockey coach?”

  “Mother o‘ God, relax, will ya?” Frank shook his head. “I was going to say ’a townie.”“

  Townie. Paul hated that word. But that’s what he was, wasn’t he? He thought back to high school, how he and all his cool jock friends had contempt for all the local “losers” who stuck around town. They would never stay in a place so small, boring, provincial. They would go out and conquer the universe. And now look at you, Paul said to himself disgustedly. Ten years later and you’re right back where you started. Full circle. Failure.

  He sighed, downing another mouthful of beer. “Well, whatever her reason for wanting to keep quiet, I’m not going to keep my mouth shut forever.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Any other woman would be proud to be on my arm.”

  “Damn straight,” Frank repeated. His eyes flicked to the doorway. “Speaking of which, here comes one now.”

  Liz. Paul knew it without even turning around. She’d been stalking him for days, leaving messages on his answering machine, trying to corner him in the parking lot after hockey practice. He should have known she’d eventually turn up at the bar. Maybe he should stop spending so much time here. Just because he owned the place didn’t mean he had to be here all the time. He could hire a general manager. But he liked being here. The patrons liked him being here, too. They loved hearing his hockey stories.

  “There you are.” Liz kissed his cheek, wiggling her bottom seductively as she tried to get comfortable on the bar stool beside his. “You’ve been a very hard man to get hold of.” She leaned toward him. “But that’s okay,” she whispered. “Who wants to hold a man who isn’t hard?”

  Paul could barely look at her. “What do you want, Liz?”

  “To talk to you.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes.” She turned her attention to Frank for a moment. “Hi, Frankie.”

  “Liz,” Frank muttered.

  “Can I have a Grey Goose martini?”

  “With or without a twist of cyanide?”

  Liz turned to Paul. “Your bartender is being rude to me.”

  “Just get her the drink, Frank,” Paul said wearily.

  “Whatever you say, boss,” Frank said with a salute, waddling off to prepare Liz’s drink.

  Paul shifted his attention back to Liz. “You wanted to talk?”

  “You owe me a dinner,” Liz purred.

  Paul frowned. “What?”

  “You promised to take me out to dinner, lamby, remember? That morning you left my house in such a hurry?”

  “Sorry. I’ve got no memory of that.”

  Liz’s nails dug into his arm. “I do.”

  “Desperation is very unattractive,” Paul informed her as he removed her fingers from his forearm. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?”

  “I’m not desperate,” Liz huffed. “I’m merely here to collect what was promised me.”

  “Jesus H,” Paul muttered. Was there a bigger pain in the ass on earth than Liz Flaherty? “You want dinner?” Paul was beginning to feel like an animal caught in a steel trap. The only way he’d escape would be to gnaw off one of his own limbs. “Fine.” He pointed at one of the booths where a family of four was just leaving. “Go sit there and I’ll join you in five minutes.”

  Liz glanced disdainfully at the booth. “Eating in the Penalty Box is not what I had in mind.”

  “Take it or leave it.” Paul noticed that Frank had edged close to them, doing his damnedest to look preoccupied with the glasses he was drying. Big head, big ears, Paul thought. He’s probably listening to every word that’s going down. Not that it matters.

  “Paul.” Liz’s voice was laced with condescension. “Clearly, you’re not thinking straight. Do I have to spell it out for you?” She put her mouth to his ear, her voice breathy with need and seduction. “If you take me out for a nice, romantic dinner for t
wo, I promise I will give you the best sex you’ve ever had in your life.”

  Paul pulled away with a chuckle. “Actually, Liz, I had the best sex of my life last night.” Frank stifled a snort as he went to take someone’s order at the other end of the bar. Paul wanted to snort, too. Was it cruel admitting how happy it made him to watch Liz’s face fall?

  “What?” she hissed. “Who?”

  “None of your business.” He was dying to tell her. It would be worth it just to see her reaction. But Katie would kill him.

  Liz’s eyes shone bright with malice. “It’s not the former Miss Piggy, is it?”

  “Who?”

  “You know who. Katie Fisher.” She practically spat Katie’s name. “I saw you talking to her that day after tryouts.”

  “Katie’s nephew, Tuck, is on the team.”

  “Mina’s little bastard? Yes, I’m aware of that. Unfortunately, Gary and Tuck are becoming fast friends.” She took a demure sip of her martini. “So, are you fucking her?”

  “No. And even if I was, it’s none of your business.”

  “Well, there’s no law saying you can’t sleep with two women at the same time, lamby.”

  “Read my lips, Liz: I don’t want to have dinner with you. I don’t want to sleep with you. I’m in a relationship with someone else. Okay?”

  Liz drained her martini glass and rose regally. “You know, I don’t like being rejected, Paul.”

  “Are you beginning to get the message?”

  She kissed his nose. “I’ll give you one more chance. And then things are going to get nasty.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER 09

  Katie looked on in envy as Bitsy and Denise split a brownie at Tabitha’s. Usually after a Fat Fighters meeting they split dessert into thirds. But not tonight: Katie had put on two pounds. Lolly, who was working the scale, tried to make her feel better by invoking one of Fat Fighters’s favorite phrases, “It’s only a number.” Really? Katie longed to shoot back. Then why are we all here? Clearly some numbers are better than others. Instead, she kept quiet, resolving to run every day. It was those damned almond cookies she’d had at Paul’s. Those, and the veggies drenched in butter and cheese. She was sure of it.

  “So, Katie,” Bitsy purred, “how long do you intend to keep us in suspense?”

  Katie smiled uncertainly. “I don’t follow.” “We want details, girl. Is he good in bed or what?” A sick feeling began in the hollow of Katie’s stomach. “Who?”

  “Who!” Denise whooped. “P van D, of course!”

  Katie felt the power of speech draining away. “I—I— how?” Mrs. Greco. Bigmouthed old—

  “Paul told Frank and Frank told me,” Bitsy explained.

  “And then Bitsy told me,” Denise added. “In strictest confidence, of course,” she added solemnly, crossing her heart.

  Katie’s temples began to drum. She would kill Paul. She would aim for him with her car and this time, she’d do it right and flatten him like a pancake.

  “Well?” Bitsy pressed.

  Katie stared down into her coffee. “You can’t say anything to anyone.” She lifted her eyes to theirs. “I mean it.”

  Bitsy shrugged. “Of course.”

  “No, I really mean it,” Katie repeated fiercely. Her friends exchanged alarmed glances.

  “Honey, no offense,” Denise said, casually picking the walnuts out of her brownie, “but why on earth would you want to hide that you’ve bagged the hottest bachelor in Didsbury? If it was me, I’d have a T-shirt made declaring, i’m doing it with van dorn, and wear it everywhere.”

  “Really, Katie.” Bitsy looked perplexed as she sipped her own coffee. “He’s the catch.”

  To you townies, Katie caught herself thinking uncharitably. She hated that that was the first thought that flew into her mind, but she couldn’t help it. In a tiny pond like Didsbury—actually, Didsbury was more like a puddle—Paul was indeed the biggest fish. But there was an ocean out there, one she’d made a conscious effort to escape to, one she planned on returning to. How could she say that to her friends without insulting them?

  Katie sighed heavily. “I don’t want problems with Liz. And I don’t want it causing any problems for Tuck.”

  Denise blinked. “I don’t follow.”

  “Paul coaches Tuck and Chris as well as Liz’s son, Gary,” Bitsy explained. She looked at Katie. “You’re afraid Paul might be accused of favoritism if Tuck does well?”

  Katie nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Okay, I get that,” said Denise, tipping her walnut shards onto Bitsy’s plate. “But to keep it hidden from Liz Flaherty is to deprive the good citizens of Didsbury of a much deserved pleasure.” She chugged down some coffee. “I’d sell my firstborn to see Liz’s face when she finds out about you and Paul.”

  “Can you have a firstborn?” Bitsy asked uncertainly.

  “Let’s not get into this,” Katie begged.

  “Anyway, I hear Liz almost tossed her cookies when she found out Paul was seeing someone,” Bitsy confided.

  The queasy feeling in Katie’s stomach bubbled up again. “What?”

  “Frank told me Liz was at the Penalty Box last night, sticking her tongue in Paul’s ear. He told her he was seeing someone else and to get lost. She was not happy.”

  Katie scowled.

  “Cat fight! Cat fight!” Denise called, clapping her hands.

  “Guys, look.” Katie was upset but determined to play things down. “It’s not really that big a deal, okay? I mean, it’s not serious. It’s casual.”

  “Then why did flames just shoot out of your eyes like Godzilla when you heard about Liz?” Denise queried sweetly.

  “Flames did not shoot out of my eyes. This relationship—if you can even call it that—is casual. I repeat: casual. Because of Tuck,” Katie reiterated. That would be her defense: Protecting Tuck.

  “Does Tuck know?” Bitsy asked.

  Katie hesitated.

  “Katie, if Tuck knows, you’re dead in the water,” Bitsy declared. “Little kids cannot keep secrets. Especially juicy little secrets like that.”

  You don’t know Tuck, Katie thought. Tuck kept it a secret that his mother often left him alone for days on end with nothing but a loaf of white bread and peanut butter and jelly to eat. Tuck kept quiet about all those mornings he woke to find Mina passed out on the floor in a pool of her own vomit. Tuck could be very discreet if he had to be.

  “We’ll see,” said Katie.

  “So, how is all that hockey stuff going?” asked Denise, eyeing both Katie and Bitsy with interest.

  Bitsy’s eyes met Katie’s. “You’ve been at practice. You tell me.”

  “What has Christopher been saying?” Katie asked.

  “That it’s fun but hard. He says, and I quote, ”Sometimes coach is mean.“”

  “It’s true,” Katie admitted reluctantly. “Paul seems to forget they’re little boys. He pushes a lot. It’s transference. He’s unable to compete himself, so in order to ensure his own masculine ego stays intact—” She broke off. “What?”

  “You’re talking like a textbook,” Denise pointed out gently.

  “Sorry.”

  “Maybe things will get better once they actually start playing,” Bitsy suggested.

  “Maybe,” Katie agreed. “The first game is, when, next Thursday?”

  “Yes, against the Richmond Condors.”

  “I love these names,” Denise cooed. “Panthers, condors—they’re so aggressive.”

  “Of course they are,” said Katie. “Their purpose is to conjure masculinity, force and prowess with one word.”

  “You’re doing it again, Professor,” Denise teased. “Get-tin‘ all highfalutin’ on us.”

  Katie blushed. “ ‘Professor’ is Paul’s nickname for me,” she murmured.

  “What’s your nickname for him?” Bitsy wanted to know.

  “I don’t really have one.”

  “Of course. Because it’s just casual,” Denise dead-pan
ned.

  Bitsy’s face lit up. “Wouldn’t it be great if you and Paul fell madly in love and got married and you stayed here?”

  “That would be heaven,” Denise concurred. “You’re fun to hang with, Katie.”

  So are you, Katie thought as she looked down at her hands. But staying in Didsbury was the last thing on earth she wanted.

  The only other time Katie had visited the Penalty Box, it was the middle of the day in the middle of the week. Entering now on a weeknight, she wasn’t sure what to expect. I should have phoned ahead to find out if Paul was going to be here. Then she realized: Of course he is. He lives for the attention. He certainly wasn’t spending his free time settling into his house.

  She found the bar packed, mostly with men. Their eyes were glued to a large-screen TV adjacent to the bar. Hockey was on. Katie looked at the score posted on the bottom left-hand corner of the screen: ATL, 2, NYB, 1. NYB… New York Blades. Paul had his old team on the box. Talk about masochism.

  Slipping off her coat, Katie scanned the room. No sign of Paul, though that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t here. He could be in the men’s room. She decided to get herself a drink.

  She studied Bitsy’s husband as she approached the bar.

  Seeing him again, Katie remembered him from high school after all. The only difference was the beginnings of a belly.

  “Evening,” Frank said pleasantly as Katie sidled up to the bar. “Help you?”

  “Um, a Perrier, please.”

  “That it?”

  “Is Paul around?”

  Frank’s expression turned guarded. “Depends who’s asking.”

  Katie playfully cocked her head. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

  “No, ma’am, I don’t.” He studied her. Katie loved it when the light finally broke in his eyes. “Katie?”

  Katie laughed.

  “Holy shit!” Frank exclaimed, pounding his hand on the bar. “You look amazing!”

  “Thank you,” Katie said, appreciative of the compliment.

  “Paul told me you were a knockout now, but I never expected this.”

  Pride turned to mild displeasure as Katie thought: Yes, Paul tells you lots of things, doesn’t he? Well, that’s about to change.