by Karen Rock
“What should I do?” Becca hissed, her body rigid.
Christie slid money to the cashier and studied Becca. Poor girl. Detention and now this. Big problems for such a young teen. “What do you want to do?”
“Kill him.” Becca turned her back on the couple.
“Is he worth twenty years to life of prison food?” She grabbed their food and drinks, leading Becca to a table far from Colton.
Becca squirted ketchup on her burger and looked up. Miserable. “Maybe.”
“Do you mind?” Christie pointed at the fries.
Becca’s chin quivered. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“And waste all this good food?” She bit into a salty fry and pretended to savor it. “So you’re going to get arrested and starve yourself? Colton must be really worth it.”
Becca’s bitter laugh ended in a snort. “Worthless, you mean. And useless. And pointless.” She picked up a fry and took a savage bite. She downed a few more then wiped her shining hands on a napkin. “I’m so lame. Just another stupid girl chasing after a dumb boy.” She tipped her head up and stared at the blue sky. “Way to represent for the ladies, Becca.”
Christie covered Becca’s hands with her own and squeezed. “I don’t think that. We’ve all made mistakes when we thought we were in love. Never apologize or feel bad for going with your gut. And don’t stop fighting for the one you love, as long as he loves and respects you back.”
Becca peered at her and slurped her shake. She put it down and picked up her burger. “So what was your major dating disaster?”
An image of holding hands with her prom date before they glimpsed the ambulance’s flashing lights in front of her childhood home made her wince. “Some other time, okay? Promise.” As soon as she could relive that experience for herself, she added silently.
“Okay.” Becca took another drink. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
The wind ruffled the orange-and-white-striped umbrella overhead and carried the smell of fresh popcorn their way. Christie chewed on another fry, stalling. Kids and their arrow-to-the-heart questions. How to admit her overscheduled life didn’t leave room for romance? Or was it her fear of loving someone, as her analytical roommate, Laura, asserted, that made her overschedule her life? Either way, it was too complicated for her to figure out, let alone articulate to a thirteen-year-old.
“I did once. But not in a while.”
Becca stopped chewing her burger. A pickle slid from the bun and plopped to the mayo-smeared wrapper below. “Are you ever lonely?”
All the time, she thought. “Rarely,” she fibbed and thought of something happy enough to make her smile. “How could I be lonely when I meet new friends like you?”
Becca’s dim eyes brightened. “Thank you, Christie.”
She waved at the food. “It was nothing. Have to feed starving children don’t I?”
“No.” Becca’s braid whipped back and forth as she shook her head. “Thank you for everything. For helping me, helping my family and, I think, maybe helping Dad.”
Warmth crept into her cheeks. Before she could resist, she asked, “You think I’m helping him?”
A loud sputter sounded when Becca polished off her shake. She pulled out the straw, sucked on it, then twirled it between her fingers, her expression faraway.
“He smiles when you’re around. And that hasn’t happened in a long time.”
Happiness swelled inside Christie. Was she glad to help someone in need or did her feelings go deeper than that? As she looked into Becca’s curious blue eyes, so like her father’s, she realized the answer was staring her, literally, in the face. If Eli was only a client, she shouldn’t be thinking about his eyes.
“I’m glad I can help,” she said, once she could speak over the wild tango of her heart.
Becca leaned forward. “Is he still there?”
Christie glanced up at the now-standing couple, the girl yanking a reluctant-looking Colton.
“Becca!” he shouted as he ripped his arm free and strode to their table.
She tensed, hoping, just hoping, that their talk had made a difference. That Becca could handle this.
Becca stood. “Let’s go. It stinks out here,” she said to Christie, ignoring a scarlet-faced Colton. She sauntered past him without a glance, tossed their garbage and gestured to Christie.
“Ready?”
She shut her gaping mouth and followed Becca. Way. To. Go. Now that was representing for the ladies.
“Come back here.” Colton followed them to the fountain. “Come back or we’re through.” His tone changed from a threat to a whine when Becca marched on. “I didn’t mean what I said before, Becca. Please.”
Becca halted and squared her shoulders. Christie gave her an encouraging wink. “’Bye, Colton. And don’t bother texting.” She whipped out her phone and tapped the pad. “You’ve just been blocked.”
“You—” Colton hollered.
Luckily the guitar player, now surrounded by a small, clapping crowd, drowned out what was surely an offensive word.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Christie murmured as they wandered back to the dog park.
Becca gave her shoulder a little shove. “I like that. Thanks, Christie.”
She dodged a man wheeling an Italian ice cart. “Can’t take the credit. It’s my gran’s saying.”
“Wish I had a grandmother. Hope I get to meet yours someday.”
Christie’s heart squeezed. There wouldn’t be any more meetings after today since Eli would be rescheduling with Joan. The problem was, she felt less and less convinced that it was the right thing for her and the family. They needed her. Was it possible she needed them, too?
Becca stopped her before they opened the dog-park gate. Scout and Sweet Pea rushed the entrance, their nails scratching on the metal. The distant hum of cars passing along Fourth Avenue filled the humid air.
“Thank you, Christie.” Becca threw her arms around her. “Colton is a jerk. I should never have gone out with a guy like that.”
Christie hugged her in return. “We all date a few frogs. It’s the only way we can recognize the good ones when we find them.” She caught Eli’s eye over Becca’s shoulder and stepped back. “And I’m just a phone call away if you need me. I could even help you with that research project. Maybe you could come into the hospital.” Hopefully that would be okay with the more open-minded, now-smiling Eli.
Becca clapped her hands. “I would love that.”
“Love what?” His deep bass vibrated through her. He and Tommy walked out with the dogs and shut the gate behind them.
Her pet turned in yapping circles until Christie picked her up. Resistance was futile when it came to cuteness of Sweet Pea’s magnitude.
“Christie promised to help me do my health project.” Becca passed a dog biscuit to a leaping Scout and a squirming Sweet Pea.
“That’s very generous of her.” Eli raked his hands over his short hair. “But I’m sure she’s far too busy to—”
“Becca!” Colton yelled from a grove of trees to their left. He ducked his head out and gestured. “I need to talk to you.”
Becca fed the rest of the biscuits to the dogs and tossed the Bag O’ Bones into a wastebasket. “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” she said in a raised voice. “Right, Christie?” She linked arms with her and pulled her toward the north gate.
Christie glanced over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of Eli, his head pivoting between his daughter and Colton. She couldn’t take all the credit for Becca’s turnaround, but the warmth of Eli Roberts’s admiring stare felt awfully nice.
* * *
SHE’D REALLY DONE IT, Eli mused. In under an hour, Christie had gotten Becca on board with school and off track with her boyfriend. He tightened Scout’s leash then hurried to catch up with
Christie and his family.
The difference she made was undeniable. Impressive. Becca wasn’t sulking and Tommy hadn’t pulled a vanishing act. He smiled to himself as she steered them around some scaffolding. No crossing under ladders for his kids. She might have her superstitious quirks, but she cared. Most of all, she was good for them. He needed to rethink things with Christie.
As they neared Fifth Avenue, a group of huffing joggers raced by, numbers pasted to their chests. He overheard Tommy jabbering to her, catching words like T. rex and brontosaurus, although it sounded more like brontothauruth. But she bobbed her head as if she understood his tyke perfectly.
Although giving in to his attraction and growing feelings for her was out of the question, his kids benefited from having her in their lives. Just because he couldn’t allow her into his heart didn’t mean he had to shut her out of his world totally.
For all he knew, she wasn’t interested in a relationship any more than he was. They’d stay in the friend zone. Hang out. He liked to think she’d enjoyed herself today as much as he had. She had color in her cheeks now, as if the fresh air and the outing had agreed with her.
Pain shot up his leg, forcing him to stop. He rubbed his calf and dodged Christie’s sharp, concerned look. Despite the twinge, he forced himself not to limp. No signs of weakness. It wasn’t good for the children or her. He still thought about her losses, especially her brother’s leukemia. If they were to continue spending time together, he needed to protect her feelings as much as his kids’.
The rat-tat-tat of a man running a jackhammer overwhelmed the honking, tire-squealing, break-hitting noise of the bustling intersection. They’d arrived at the crossroads. Christie glanced back at him, her deep green eyes propelling him closer.
“Are you ready to cross?”
He nodded, hit the crosswalk button and turned her way. The lowering sun backlit her pert nose and delicate chin.
“This was fun. I’m glad we came,” she murmured, her voice pitched for his ears only.
He glanced from an iPod-scrolling Becca, earbuds in place, to Tommy, who’d turned his chatter on the dogs. He swallowed over the uncertainty clogging his throat. “Me, too,” he said quietly. “Would you like to get together again?”
Her eyes widened and he spied a fleck of gold beside each iris. “With the children,” he amended hastily. “You’ve been a great help to them today. Thank you.”
She ducked her head, her gleaming mahogany locks sliding forward. “No trouble at all. And I’m happy to help.” Her bowed lips curved upward. “Anytime.”
“Great. We’ll talk at the next support-group meeting.” Scout lunged, preventing him from saying more, as a couple eating hot dogs strolled by.
He’d promised to bring John to the next one, now that he’d recuperated. There, he’d see if she was serious about working with Becca on her project and spending time with him and the kids. As long as they kept things within friendship boundaries, he was ready. Ready to take the next step.
Waiting for the walk signal, he had the strange sensation that more than a light was about to change.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“THAT FATHER DOLAN, he’s quite a looker. My head was spinning and it wasn’t just the wine.”
“Gran!” Christie shook her head at the White Horse Tavern’s bartender, overriding her grandmother’s signal for another round. Two pints of Guinness were enough for a Sunday afternoon. At least, it was for her. She felt a bit fuzzy around the edges. “Did you even listen to the sermon?”
Fluffing her short, white perm, Gran pursed coral lips. Sharp lines radiated from them like a sunburst. “Ach. Couldn’t catch a word for looking at those blue eyes. You must have noticed, a single girl like you.”
Christie sipped her stout and pictured another pair of blue eyes, deeper and more soulful. “Not really.” She braced herself. An all-too-familiar lecture was brewing. She could feel it, recite every word before it was spoken.
“How old are you now?” Gran began, firing off her usual opening salvo. She waved to an older man as he seated himself on a stool at the tavern’s room-length wooden bar.
In the background, a jukebox played a Bob Dylan song, “Forever Young.” How ironic. She twisted her cloth napkin and surveyed the crowded pub filled with round wooden tables and walls covered in vintage black-and-white photos of the neighborhood through the decades. She inhaled the bar’s sweet, yeasty smell. “Twenty-eight.”
Gran nodded. “By your age I was—”
“Married with two babes and one on the way,” she finished for her. The faster they got The Talk over with, the sooner they would get back to having fun. Her weekly tradition with Gran—church then the White Horse for lunch—was the highlight of her week. “Why would you want me to settle down so soon? Don’t you always say you gave up your chance to be a Radio City Rockette?”
Gran crossed her calves beneath her lavender dress and angled her chair toward her staring male acquaintance. “Still have the legs for it, too. If it hadn’t been for your sweet-talker of a grandfather, my name could have been up in lights.” A lace-edged hankie appeared like a magic trick from her cardigan sleeve. She dabbed at her eyes. “God rest his soul.”
A group of chattering, picture-happy tourists stopped beside their table. They angled their cameras at a white-painted chandelier, carved horse heads on its hexagonal points. She blinked as one snapped a shot of her and a posing Gran, who’d transformed herself from a bereaved widow to a glamour-puss in two seconds flat.
“Gran. Don’t arch your back so.” She tucked a wayward strand behind her ear and pulled up the strap of her light blue tank dress. “You’ll put it out.”
Two beer steins thunked on their table, an inch of foam topping their dark contents. Before she could protest, the florid bartender pointed a thick finger toward the elderly man Gran had greeted earlier. “Compliments of the gentleman at the bar.”
Gran raised her glass to him and sipped, froth lacing her upper lip before she wiped it away. “My thanks to you, Elliot,” she called over the now-thinning crowd. She signaled for him to stay put when he rose. An ornate mirror behind him reflected his distinguished head of white hair and wide shoulders. “I’ll see you Tuesday.”
Christie’s mouth fell open when Elliot waggled bushy eyebrows and winked. Were they dating? Did Gran have a better love life than her granddaughter? She sighed. Then again, who didn’t? Maybe she needed The Talk after all. Gran was an expert at living life, while Christie excelled at hiding from it.
Maybe that was part of the reason she enjoyed these visits so much. Her grandmother was the most vibrant person she knew. Some people shied away from their elders as reminders of their own aging. But they had it backward. Who better to hand you life’s reality check than those who’d learned not to squander it? Gran was a survivor. A healthy, strong woman who’d aged with grace, dignity and a bit of mischief to spice things up. Many of Christie’s patients would give anything to live Gran’s charmed, colorful life. Even for a day.
“Hot date?” She traced a ridge in the scarred tabletop with her fingertip. A loud cheer rose from a group in front of a dart board, nearly drowning out her question. Money changed hands and men jockeyed into position once more.
Gran’s penciled eyebrows arched over sparkling green eyes. “He’s taking me to La Esquina,” drawled Gran. “The enchiladas will be spicier. But it beats shopping from my couch...alone.” She cleared her throat and shot Christie a meaningful look.
Christie fingered her favorite Home Shopping Network necklace—a beaded four-leaf clover on a silver chain. Jewelry trumped a random date every time. The bling lasted forever, a rare quality in her life. Besides, her work and volunteer schedule didn’t give her a chance to breathe, let alone wonder if she felt lonely. Yet she sensed a cold void at night, lying in bed, worries for her patients circling in her mind before
she fell asleep.
Eli’s surprise request to see her again—with the kids—had made her restless, keeping her awake for a different reason lately. Her next support group couldn’t come soon enough. Her cheeks warmed when she thought about seeing him again and what he might propose.
“You’re blushing.” Gran’s hand descended on hers, her blue veins bulging beneath paper-thin skin. “Who is he and when do I meet him?”
Christie gulped her Guinness, the smooth, toasted-grain flavor doing little to settle her jumpy nerves. How to describe her relationship with Eli? Or their nonrelationship relationship.
Two oversized Caesar salads appeared, delivered by Aiden, the tavern’s young owner. He’d taken the reins of the family business ten years earlier and upheld the tradition of keeping a sharp eye on all of his customers and paying particular attention to his regulars. Patrons felt like family, part of the White Horse’s homey charm.
“And how are the lovely Mrs. and Miss Bates today?” He twisted a Parmesan grater over Christie’s bowl until she held up a hand. She inhaled the briny aroma of anchovies, her stomach rumbling.
Gran batted her eyelashes. “Grand now that we’ve seen you, Aiden. And how is your Margaret doing?”
A lock of dark hair fell across his eyes when he ducked his head. “Haven’t spoken to her in a week. We’re not together anymore.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.” Gran’s pearly whites shone. “She shouldn’t have let a fine, strapping man such as yourself go.” She nodded to Christie. “Isn’t that right?”
“Perhaps love isn’t in the cards for me after all,” Aiden answered, missing the exchange when he turned to replace their vase of wilting flowers with a fresh one.
“You’re too young to give up hope. A nice fellow like you. Why, who wouldn’t be proud to step out on your arm?” Gran lifted her chin and squinted at Christie. “Don’t you agree?”
She tried not to wince when her grandmother’s foot connected with her shin. Gran had been trying to set them up for years and had yet to admit defeat. She nodded quickly and sent Aiden a sympathetic smile. “Thanks.” She pointed to the bowl. “This looks great.”