Blame it on Cupid
Page 20
“Hey,” said a sleepy voice from the doorway. Both of them whirled around to see Charlene wandering in, her blond hair all cowlicky, eyes still blurry with sleep. “What are you two talking about? What’s going on, Coop?”
All right, Merry thought. Clearly she was doing something really, really wrong with her life. It wasn’t as if she’d never slept with a man before, but it had never been remotely this complicated. She’d only made love with Jack last night. One time. One time. Yet less than twelve hours later, his kid had embroiled her in his life and secrets, and now Charlene had gotten wind of a problem, and her heart was being strangled in confusing loyalties.
What really killed her, though, was that there didn’t seem to be a single easy answer in sight.
When she’d moved here a month ago, she’d felt more alone than she ever had in her life. To save Charlene from being abandoned, it seemed as if she was stuck feeling completely alone and abandoned herself.
But there was a difference. Maybe all these problems were new and complex and forcing her to face uncomfortable issues in her own history. But Jack loved her. And no matter how many overwhelming problems life had thrown at her lately…knowing she was loved was incredibly empowering.
She had no idea what she was going to do yet. But it amazed her how much stronger she felt, just from being loved.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JACK PUNCHED DOWN a load of sweatshirts and jeans in the washing machine, pressing the cell phone to his ear at the same time. “So,” he said. “This is Sunday. Almost noon. And you’re just getting around to telling me now that you need me to keep the boys all next week.”
Maybe he was talking to Dianne, but he was thinking about Merry. He did not love that woman. Every damn dream had been dominated by erotic moments with her. Every damn waking moment seemed consuming with fretting what kind of trouble she was going to cause him now. Possibly guilt was eating him alive for seducing her without protection—a mistake he’d never even made as a brash teenager when his entire brain supply had been located behind his zipper. Never. Never had he risked a woman and a pregnancy over his own selfishness.
It was her. She did some kind of spell thing to him. She’d turned him into a stranger to himself. She sneaked under his skin like a sliver. Or an infection. Or a contagious disease.
Worst of all, he couldn’t wait to see her again.
Jack knew damn well he needed help. Maybe he needed drugs. Anti-psychotics? Maybe there was some kind of psychologist where a therapist knew how to slap some sense into a man?
“Yeah, yeah,” he said to Dianne. “I’ve heard it all before. Something just came up with your job. Nothing new about that, and you know damn well I want the kids. But you ever heard of a little notice? Yeah, they’re already here this weekend, but I’ll still have to drive into D.C., get more clothes and stuff for them, get back here, commute ’em to school…it’s not as if this is nothing to arrange. Why is it you can never give me some notice?”
He believed in keeping things civil with his ex. Normally it wasn’t that hard. He didn’t give enough of a damn to argue with her anymore. But he knew better than to play it nice all the time, because that just encouraged her to be more demanding. His time was worth zero. Hers, everything.
“Yeah, well, you could drop their clothes and books here. Instead of expecting me to do it.”
Certain kinds of women turned men tough and mean, he thought darkly. But as he walked into the kitchen, he momentarily forgot Dianne when he glanced out the sink window.
Two heads were visible in Merry’s kitchen, one blond, one brunette. His attention riveted on Merry, as she reached over, lifting a hand, clearly intending to hug Charlene…but Charlene jerked back. The slim arm with the wild red fingernails just hung there in space, when Charlene darted out of the room.
That damned kid was breaking her heart.
Not that he cared. Not that he loved her. Because he didn’t.
“Of course you can talk to the kids. Cooper!” He traipsed out of the kitchen, through the living room, the bedrooms. Eventually he located Kicker—who’d been known to take showers longer than most people napped—in the bathroom and said “talk to your mother.”
Unfortunately it wasn’t that easy to relinquish the phone.
“You’ve lost Cooper?” Dianne demanded. “You mean you don’t know where our son is?”
Talking to her had a lot in common with dusting. What was the point? It just came back. It’s not as if you ever solved anything. Besides, by the time he stalked past the kitchen window again, he saw Cooper.
Coming out of Merry’s house, for Pete’s sake.
“Hey,” he said when the back door opened. “I was looking for you. Your mom’s on the phone. Wants to talk to you. Kicker’s got it in the far bathroom.”
“Okay,” Cooper said and aimed in that direction, but not before Jack caught a good look at his face.
Big circles under the eyes. No direct eye contact. And the kid was rubbing the back of his neck, like a world of tension was balled between his shoulder blades. Something was with that boy—the same something that Jack had been trying to get out of him for days now. A couple weeks even.
And now he’d been over at Merry’s house? For what possible reason?
The kids talked to their mother for a blue moon. He had ample time to start the dishwasher, heap his briefcase full of work for the next day, haul clothes from the washer to the dryer. Kicker wandered in first, flanked by Coop. Both of them beelined for the fridge, and came close to emptying it in thirty seconds flat.
“Dad, we gotta go home. Get a bunch of stuff if we’re staying with you this week. Mom said she told you. She’s, like, gone already, but I got the number where we can reach her,” Kicker said.
So, Jack thought. Same old bullshit. She’d conned the boys into believing it was okay for him to make the long drive to pick up their things. She was so good at that bitch stuff she could give lessons. Come to think of it, she had. To him. He opened his mouth to answer Kicker, but then Cooper interrupted.
“Hey, you didn’t tell us how the chaperoning thing went last night.”
“I would have, if you two hadn’t been sound asleep when I got home.”
“Well? ’Fess up. Did you save Merry from the monsters?”
“Monsters?” Jack said.
“Yeah. The other parents.”
All right, he had to chuckle. “She did fine. And for the record, she didn’t remotely need me there.”
“Maybe not need, but I’ll bet she was glad you were there. You’re not still mad we made you go, are you?” Kicker asked, as he leveled the half quart of milk still left—in a single gulp. Then popped the carton on the counter and smashed it, leaving spits of milk all over the counter and wall. Jack sighed. He’d never minded those kinds of messes. Until he had to clean them up himself.
“No. I’m not mad.”
“See, Dad.” Cooper dug a fist into a cereal box. Jack knew damn well he was going to empty the whole thing. “Do you get what we were trying to tell you now? That there’s a difference between Merry and the women you usually go out with.”
“Let me guess what the difference is. That I’m not going out with Merry?”
“Very funny. No. The difference is she’s nice. And they’re not.”
“Yeah,” Kicker agreed. “Sometimes you pick a babe. But they’re all into themselves, you know? They’re not looking at you, Dad.”
Naturally, the boys thought they knew everything. He’d known everything when he was fifteen, too. Listening to their advice on his love life, though, struck him as pretty close to slapstick. Particularly when they could be right. His failure in the love wars was loud enough to be legend.
But where the boys thought he should climb back in the saddle, Jack figured that a guy who was tone-deaf should permanently give up aspiring for a career in music. He’d tried to explain that to them before, but somehow they got confused with the metaphor.
“If we have to driv
e all the way into D.C. today—you guys better get your butts in gear. And, Coop—”
“What?”
“How come you were over at Merry’s?”
“Merry’s? Oh. I was trying to talk her into marrying you, Dad.” Coop clapped a hand on Kicker’s shoulder, inviting him to share the big joke.
All right, Jack thought. Another secret the kid was keeping from him. Of course, no fifteen-year-old told his parents everything; they’d be crazy to expect it. Or to want it, for that matter. Jack figured he’d worm it out of Merry the next time he saw her, anyway.
And one way or another, living next door, of course they’d see each other soon. Unavoidably. He only wished he’d had the intelligence and wisdom to remember that—before he’d slept with her.
MERRY STOOD IN FRONT of her closet, something she’d done a zillion times since she’d reached thirteen. The debate was what to wear for the parent-teacher conferences this afternoon. She cocked her head this way, then that.
Unlike in all the earlier years of her female life, the only choice here was really jeans or…jeans. Sweatshirt or T-shirt.
Dangles and spangles weren’t exactly required for a suburban mom. Neither were kicky shoes or glitter cream for her shoulders or pouty lip gloss. In less than two months, she’d gone from actively young and selling-it-vibrant to a life where a push-up underwire bra was optional.
On the other hand, she’d have been happy to revert back to her natural self for Jack…presuming, of course, they ever had two minutes alone together again.
She yanked on jeans and a long-sleeved tee—the blue one—and told herself that enough was enough with the pining. She’d just really wanted to see him yesterday, that was all. Obviously he’d had something he had to do with the boys, because she’d seen his truck pull out around noon and not return until after dark.
Just because they’d made love didn’t mean she expected him to dance attention on her.
It was just…that connection had been so special. So not even having the chance to squeeze in a hello really pinched. It was time, though, to get the Sam Hill over it.
“Charlie? I’m leaving for school. It should take a couple hours—”
“I told you you didn’t have to go.” Charlie yelled the answer from her room, where she was nose deep in some computer game, thrilled to have no school because of the parent-teacher conference.
“I know I don’t have to.”
“I’m getting As. You know that. So it’s a total waste of your time.”
“Uh-huh. You told me.” In Charlie’s doorway, she smooshed on some lip gloss and zipped up her jeans boots. “Hey, maybe you could teach me to play that one game after I get back.”
“Yeah. Like you’d like this.”
“Hey, just because I’m not a techie doesn’t mean I don’t like games. I—” The land line rang. She chased it down in the kitchen—so she could grab her keys and XOXO bag at the same time.
“Hello?” She sighed. “Okay, I’ve had enough. That’s about the fifth time,” she told the silence in the receiver. “A little of this goes a long way. Quit it or I’m calling the phone company.” She clipped it down hard enough to convey the message. One or two times could have been accidental, but now there’d been too many of the silent calls. It had to be a prank.
“Leaving, Charlie,” she sang out, and then zoomed to the school.
Her Mini Cooper readily found a parking space, although her baby was completely hidden behind SUVs. Still, once inside the school, she thought she’d done a fair job at fitting in. Maybe she was a little younger and not wearing any alligator labels, but she had the rest of the uniform right—jeans, boots, tee, ski jacket.
The parent was supposed to follow their kid’s schedule. Charlene’s first class was Mr. Morann’s, so that was where Merry hung out in line first. Dialogue between the moms covered dinner, cheating husbands, the sale at Kohl’s, the best divorce lawyers, how to get your kid into an Ivy League school, and the price of nannies. Most of the faces and personalities were familiar now, or starting to be. The women tried to include her in the chitchat—good thing, since it was a long wait.
Mr. Morann was a tiny little bug of a guy, who wore a checked shirt and glasses that kept slipping down his nose. He taught social studies and history. “And you’re here…why?” he asked her in true absentminded professor manner.
“I’m Charlene Ross’s guardian. I’m been with her since her dad died. I just wanted to know how she was doing.”
“She’s gotten all As from the day she walked in. There’s nothing new.”
Getting any more out of him was like pulling teeth, but Merry had high hopes for the math teacher, because he was Charlene’s favorite. And the guy did enthuse. “God, she’s smart. You dream of teaching kids like Charlene. She just takes it in like a sieve. I can’t challenge her enough. She just saps it up.”
“That’s great to hear. How does she get along with the rest of the kids?”
He blinked. “Well, fine, I guess.”
So…he didn’t really know. After that came the gym teacher, Mrs. Butterfield, who bounced a basketball around the gym as she talked. “Charlene’s not real athletic, but she never shies away from trying. Good kid. I know she’s more brains than muscles, but she always tries.”
“The other girls are okay with her?” Merry asked. “Have you noticed the kids she hangs with?”
“Well…she’s not in one of the ‘in’ groups. She tends to separate herself from groups, in fact. But I’ve never seen her look real unhappy or anything like that.”
Merry thought, maybe the gym teacher had been raised on a different planet than she had, because that sure wasn’t reality as she remembered it. Eleven years old, and you had to hang tight with someone or have a best friend in the wings, or for darn sure you felt the pain.
The last teacher, finally, sounded tuned to Charlene the way Merry hoped. The subject was English, not Charl’s strength. But Merry took one look at the teacher—Jacey Matthews—and felt an instant connection. Jacey was blond, young and dressed in Filene’s Basement. The first thing she said was, “I’ve been worried about her, to tell the truth.”
“Tell me,” Merry said.
“First, the hair. The whole guy look. Eleven, twelve, they’re all doing the sexual identity thing. You can’t believe how exhausting it is. And how funny sometimes. The guys doing the swagger, the girls doing the batting-eye thing, the flirting. From one day to the next, the girls are getting boobs; the boys are getting erections. Either one could suddenly cry at the drop of a hat.”
Merry said, “A challenge to teach this age?”
“It’s why I love them. They’re so impossible. But the thing is, they’re really on Charlie about the guy look. They all love saying ‘gay’ and ‘fag’ and ‘lesbo.’ It’s not that they’re bad kids. It’s just the age, when using a tag like that makes them feel like they’re cool, have power. But it’s more than meanness. It’s also about so much identity. And Charlene…cripes, that hair.”
“I know. It’s about her dad.”
“Yeah, I got that. She talks about him. If there’s an essay to write, she writes about him. She cranks off if the kids call her ‘Charlene’ instead of ‘Charlie.’” Jacey shot her a sympathetic look. “I wouldn’t be that age again for all the tea in China.”
“I’m struggling. Wanting to be there for her. Wanting to let her get through this her own way. But I admit I’m having a terrible time getting her to talk to me—”
“What? She thinks you’re beyond terrific.”
Merry stared at her. “That can’t be right.”
“She says you’re only going to be there for a little while, but—”
“What? That’s not true, either…”
“I’m just telling you what Charlene says. She thinks you’re cool. You let her do stuff the other mothers would never let the girls do. Like that sleepover. Wow. Got her enough status to last six months. But…”
“But what?”
“The assignment was to write a short, short story about something you’d never done, but could imagine.”
“She wrote about being on a fantasy planet, having to fight everyone,” Merry said worriedly.
Jacey nodded soberly. “This isn’t her favorite class. She hates writing. She likes math, computers, sciences. But this bothered me. There’s nothing worrisome in the content itself, but she’s mentioned several times that you’re not staying there long. And that if she had to live by herself, she could. She’s strong, like her dad. And then there was this. She just seems so…”
“Angry?”
Jacey nodded. “Not on the outside. Not what shows.”
“She’s still mad that her dad died.”
“That’s my take, too.”
On the drive home, Merry kept thinking, Okay, take a breath. She hadn’t learned anything she didn’t already know. Charlene was still afraid she was going to abandon her, still angry that her dad died—another kind of abandonment.
Neither were problems that could be fixed overnight, any more than grief was something that could be rushed along. But it did hurt—that she’d been trying so hard, and yet still couldn’t seem to do the one thing in her life that she absolutely had to get right…and that was being there for Charlene.
Once she got home and peeled off her jacket, she went searching for the kid—not that locating Charlie was ever too hard. With a free couple of hours, she was either going to be huddled over some grease in the garage or messing with a computer game.
This time it was the computer business. “Hey,” Merry said from the doorway. “Your teachers seem to think you’re pretty darn smart. I guess you can fool some of the people some of the time, huh?”