Making It Right

by Kathy Altman

  “I couldn’t do that. That would cut into Ruthie’s hours.”

  “It might be worth it to ask.” Kerry hesitated. “But you and me. Are we good?”

  Liz considered. “Shove that bowl of popcorn my way and we’re golden.”

  The door opened and Dylan slouched in. Despite the fifty-something degrees outside, he wore his customary long-sleeved tee over basketball shorts. Tonight the shorts were lime green.

  “Hey, Dylan,” Liz said. “Good to see you again.” She slid off the stool and lifted her drink and the popcorn bowl. “Mind if I take these back to the kitchen? I want to tell Ruthie that Dylan’s here. He was such a huge help last night, we promised him a treat tonight, didn’t we, Dyl?”

  He blushed.

  “The biggest banana split this side of Lake Erie. Ruthie went out and got the sprinkles special this morning.” Liz’s expression turned long-suffering. “Better get my visit in before Burke shows up and Ruthie doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

  Kerry resisted the urge to indulge in an I-hear-you-sister eye roll. After what he’d said about her at the hardware store, Burke Yancey was not her favorite person. He was a well-behaved bar regular, though, and she had a business to run.

  Well. Until Snoozy got back.

  Liz headed for the kitchen. Kerry reached across the bar and gave Dylan a friendly shove on the shoulder.

  “Look at you. Impressing the ladies left and right. By the way, I missed you yesterday.”

  “Me, too,” he mumbled. “And Gil.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I was sick and he was kind enough to take care of me. Did you get your homework done?”

  He nodded, but it was a lackluster motion.

  She peered closer. He was looking a little green. “How about you? Feeling okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You sure? Want some ginger ale?”

  Another nod, but when she placed the glass in front of him, he did nothing more than toy with the straw.

  A regular came in, waved and headed for the pool table. Kerry set about pouring his usual Jack Daniel’s, neat. “Is someone bothering you at school?”

  “No,” he mumbled, then “Yeah. But I’m used to it.”

  “Boys your age?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  He wagged his head, though his expression remained more despondent than mutinous.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk,” she said lightly. “I have paperwork I need to tend to, anyway.” She moved away long enough to greet her regular, surrender his drink and take his credit card. When she returned, she was relieved to see Dylan had taken a swig of his ginger ale. “But hey, if you’re determined to be the strong, silent type tonight, once you’re finished taking care of Mitzi you could move a few boxes for me, back in the storeroom.”

  His chin moved and Kerry’s throat went thick. What had the poor kid so upset that he was nearly in tears? She ran the credit card, wondering how Dylan would react if she rounded the bar and gave him a hug. As she returned the card to its owner, Dylan pushed to his feet. “It’s just that I have this big history test Monday and if I don’t pass it I’ll probably have to go to summer school.”

  “I can see why you’d want to avoid that.”

  “But I don’t have anywhere to study.”

  Kerry frowned. “Is something happening at your house?”

  “Gil didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  He pulled his lips in, then shrugged. “It’s too quiet there.”

  That was code for something, but what, she didn’t know. She hadn’t asked Gil about Dylan’s confidences because she hadn’t wanted to pry. Maybe she should have.

  “It’s not quiet here.” She looked around and made a face. “Not usually, anyway. You can’t do it here?”

  “Ruthie’s always dragging me to the back to do dishes.”

  “Good point. How about a friend’s house?”

  “My friends aren’t into studying,” he said scornfully. “They’re into gaming and TV and stuff.”

  Kerry rested her elbows on the bar. She was running out of ideas. “Could you hang at the library?”

  “You’re not allowed any drinks and stuff.”

  “You definitely need drinks and stuff when you’re trying to study.”

  He shoved at his ginger ale. “I don’t know why we have to learn about the stupid Jazz Age, anyway. Who cares if I have to go to summer school? At least then I won’t be stuck at home with—” He broke off.

  With who? An abusive parent? But wouldn’t Gil have said something, if Dylan had told him about it?

  She stood straight and slapped the bar. “Tell you what. How about hanging out at my place? I mean, if you can find a way there and back.”

  Dylan stared. “For real?”

  “You need a ride somewhere?” Liz was back. She leaned on the bar beside Dylan and bumped shoulders with him. “I can take you.”

  “Dylan needs a place to study. I told him he was welcome to my apartment.”

  “Oh?” Liz wrinkled her brow. “Alone?”

  “Gil’s right across the street,” Dylan said excitedly. “And I’ll lock the door, and I’ve got my phone. I could get my brother to come pick me up when he’s done his shift at the diner.”

  Liz straightened. “Sounds like you have it all worked out. I’ll ask Ruthie to make that banana split to go.”

  Kerry pulled her purse out from under the bar and rummaged for her keys. “Just lock up and leave the key under the mat when you go.” She separated the apartment key from the rest of the keys on the ring and held it out to Dylan. When he reached for it, she pulled it back. “No wild parties, no X-rated movies, no deciding it’d be neat to see the view from the roof. You stay inside the apartment and your books stay open. Deal?”

  His lips twitched as he nodded soberly. “Deal.”

  “One last thing. You need to get your parents’ okay first.”

  He exhaled. “Just my dad’s.”

  “Your mom’s not around?”

  “She’s sick.”

  Kerry’s heart sank. That explained the quiet he’d described.

  While Kerry waited on another customer, Dylan called his father, who seemed too distracted for much of a conversation. Dylan hung up with a Christmas-came-early expression that revealed he hadn’t expected his father to give permission.

  He finished taking care of Mitzi’s needs just as Liz banged out of the kitchen, carrying a takeout bag. “Ready?”

  Burke Yancey strolled out behind her, eating a bowl of what looked like macaroni and cheese. Kerry blinked. She hadn’t even realized he was here tonight.

  While Liz and Dylan were walking out, Gil walked in, and Kerry’s stomach knotted.

  He spoke to them briefly, then turned toward the bar. He looked tired, but fresh. His hair was slicked over to the side, and he wore the same khakis and button-down he’d worn to her doctor’s appointment.

  He must be going out.

  She wished she had the right to ask him where.

  His expression remained casual as he joined her at the bar. “Dylan seemed pretty excited about having your place to himself.”

  “His mother is sick, apparently.”

  “She has cancer.”

  Oh, no. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I guess his dad likes him to stay around the house in case he’s needed, but lately he’s just as happy to have him gone, because...” Gil’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I don’t think his mom has a lot of time left.”

  Kerry’s eyes burned. “No wonder he’s having a tough time at school.”

  “Anyway.” Gil braced his elbows on the bar and leaned in. “How’re you h
olding up? You barely had a chance to drink your coffee this morning, the store was so busy. You feeling all right?”

  His concern touched her, and she fought a blush as she recalled the cozy, naughty sensation of waking in his bed.

  Concern, disdain...what did he truly feel for her? Whatever the answer, she couldn’t help the warm prickle in her belly that sparked into life whenever she thought of him. Couldn’t stop from imagining him naked in her bed, his back against the headboard, hands behind his head, displaying biceps as defined as the abs she’d found been so gratifying to explore. The night they’d met he’d claimed to be out of shape, but that same night he’d proved himself to be more than fit, again and again.

  Her thighs clenched tight as she imagined him telling her in a low-pitched voice that he’d never been this desperate for anyone. Slowly he’d take off his glasses and lean to the side to set them on the nightstand, muscles bunching, eyes never leaving her face...

  “Kerry?”

  There was no stopping the surge of heat this time. Not even her ears dodged the burn. She ducked her head and stared wistfully at the ice bin. “I’m fine, thanks,” she managed.

  “Good.” He sounded doubtful. “I was hoping you and I would get a chance to talk tonight, but I have to go see Joe about Audrey’s gift for Snoozy. Joe’s the one who built Mitzi’s pen in the first place, so I volunteered him to help install the tub. After that I have to drive to Buffalo to pick up a special order for a customer. If I get back before you close, could we talk then?”

  She bobbed her head. “Sure.”

  He seemed to want to say more, but the door opened and a noisy group of young professionals tumbled in.

  At least things were looking up, business-wise.

  Gil left, and Kerry watched those khakis moving away until a thirsty customer blocked her view.

  * * *

  KERRY TOOK HER time closing the bar, but Gil never returned. She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

  The route back to the apartment remained deserted, and as she parked in the lot beside the dress shop, her chest ached with a misery she had no reason to feel.

  “Sorry, baby,” she whispered into the shadowed quiet of the car. “This isn’t about you. I’m just feeling a little blue.” Whether from Dylan’s situation, or wishing things could be different between her and Gil, she couldn’t say.

  She cut the headlights and sat, listening to the metronome-like ticking of the engine as it cooled. The sound wasn’t as soothing as she’d hoped.

  She lifted her gaze to the hardware store’s second story. No lights. She squinted toward the alley, but couldn’t detect any telltale glints of metal or glass. Gil wasn’t home yet from picking up that special order. That explained why he hadn’t shown back up at the bar for their talk. Still she couldn’t help wondering if he was okay.

  She could call. They were having a baby together—surely the protocol for that sort of thing would allow her a wellness check. She’d almost puked on him, for God’s sake.

  But she didn’t want to intrude. Which meant that once she got inside her apartment, she’d sit in the kitchen in the dark until his truck rumbled into the alley.

  She started up the metal staircase to her apartment, the clang of her footsteps echoing in the empty lot. A gentle night breeze brought her the scent of sunbaked rocks and seaweed and she leaned against the railing, closed her eyes and breathed in.

  When something scraped the pavement behind her she popped open her eyes and took the stairs as fast as she could. No sense in looking over her shoulder—ten to one she wouldn’t like what she’d see.

  She was halfway to the top when Gil’s truck pulled into the side lot, where she’d parked her car. He’d barely braked to a stop before he was out and peering up at her, face twisted with worry.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  She sagged against the railing, lungs working overtime. Like her imagination. “Just got a little spooked,” she gasped.

  He nodded, looking a bit winded himself. “Don’t run up those stairs again, okay? It’s not safe.”

  “I won’t.”

  Slowly he climbed to meet her, each measured step sending her pulse rate one notch higher. His gaze was shadowed, his mouth a determined line. He stopped one step below hers. She shivered, and his eyes softened.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t make it back to the bar tonight. On the way back from Buffalo, I had some engine trouble. I should have called.”

  “I almost called you, but it smacked of stalking.”

  “You should feel free to call.” He scrubbed his hair. “Anytime. We need to talk about that. And I want to apologize again, but at the moment all that I can think about is the last time we were on these stairs together, and how we ended up naked.”

  Her breath snagged in her throat. “Gil...” She didn’t want to just fall into bed with him again. As much as she fantasized about it, she needed to know he wanted more from her than casual sex.

  “You don’t have to say it. I screwed things up.” He motioned with his chin at the landing above them. “What’s the word from Dylan?”

  She frowned. “You know what, I never heard back from him. I asked him to text me when he got here and again when he left, but he never did. We got so busy at the bar, I forgot to follow up.”

  “Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe Liz sweet-talked him into babysitting and at this very moment he’s asleep on her living room floor, coated in pureed peaches and cuddling a Winnie-the-Pooh blanket.”

  Kerry laughed, then went quiet as the breeze ruffled his hair. Her heartbeat slowed to a thick, syrupy throb, and behind Gil’s glasses, his eyes flared.

  Abruptly she turned and led the way up to the landing. She had to get her door between them. Now. She had to lock herself in and him out or she’d end up all over him like hot fudge sauce on an ice cream sundae.

  She lifted the mat but didn’t see her key. She flipped the mat entirely over. Still no key. Dylan had left it either in his pocket or inside the apartment. She straightened, and turned to find Gil right behind her.

  “I think I’m going to need your key again,” she said breathlessly.

  “I don’t think so.” He was frowning at the door. “It’s open.”

  She whirled, the anticipation in her belly turning to apprehension. “Well, that doesn’t make me happy.”

  Gil nudged her out of the way. “He must have left in a hurry.” He pushed at the door and took a single step inside, Kerry hovering at his back.

  “Anyone here?” He switched on the light.

  One look over his shoulder and Kerry wished he’d left the light off.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “OH, MY GOD,” she gasped, and shoved past him. That’s when the smell hit. With a choking cough, she pressed her nose to the crook of her elbow.

  Swearing a blue streak, Gil moved carefully to the pair of windows facing the outside stairs. Debris crunched with every step he took. After shoving open the windows, he turned back to survey the ruined apartment.

  “Must have been some party,” he said grimly.

  Jagged holes pockmarked the walls. Thick splashes of a viscous fluid—engine oil?—oozed down the white brick of the fireplace. Crackers and chips and M&M’S must have been tossed like confetti because they littered every available surface. A pile of broken lamps and kitchen appliances blocked the entrance to the bedroom, every electrical cord fashioned into a mocking bow.

  Tears swelled in Kerry’s eyes and scalded her throat.

  At least the elegant teal sofa and love seat had been upended and shoved into a corner—they appeared unharmed. No one had bothered to roll up the once-white rug, though. It lay matted with stains of every hue, half buried under pizza bo
xes, paper plates, crumpled chip bags, empty beer bottles, soda cans and red plastic party cups.

  Both hands pressed to her mouth, Kerry lurched forward. Gil reached for her, but she evaded him and turned the corner into the kitchen. The wreckage wasn’t as bad there. Although every cabinet had been opened, the contents strewn across the floor, nothing structural appeared to have been ruined. The countertops were intact, the walls free of...whatever that was in the living room.

  Kerry drew in a shuddering breath. The refrigerator door sagged open, and someone had thrown up in the middle of the table.

  Hence the god-awful smell.

  Gil followed her into the kitchen and did a slow three-sixty, pushing one hand through his hair. “Unbelievable,” he gritted. “How many kids did he have in here?”

  “It’ll take days to clean this up,” Kerry whispered. “Holy Hannah, what have I done?”

  “You had nothing to do with this.”

  “Of course I did. I let Dylan in here. I gave him a key. Oh, my God, Eugenia’s beautiful apartment. How am I going to tell her?”

  “Over drinks. Somewhere else.” He eased the refrigerator door shut and gave it a slap. “Get Dylan on the phone. I’m going to check out the bedroom.”

  “It’s two in the morning.”

  “Call him, Kerry.”

  With shaking fingers, she pulled her cell from her pocket. Not surprisingly, Dylan didn’t answer. After leaving a terse message, she went in search of Gil.

  He was in the bathroom, shaking his head as he gazed down into a toilet bowl jammed with clothes. T-shirts, panties... Kerry swore. Her panties. And a cell phone. Dylan’s?

  Gil swung around, phone to his ear. “Hey, Clarissa. JD around?”

  Sadness lay leaden in her chest. Of course he had to call the sheriff. A report had to be filed. An investigation had to be opened. Someone had to be held accountable.

  But earnest, sweet-faced Dylan?

  Water sloshed beneath Kerry’s shoes as she peered into the bathtub, which was blessedly empty.