by Gayle Roper
She looked confused. "Maybe I saw you?" Her confusion cleared, and her smile turned real. She looked at Charlie. "Mitzi, boy. Remember Mitzi?"
Her reaction could only mean she'd seen his humiliating chase after Mitzi the day she got away from him and raced up and down the sidewalk, barking happily at her freedom while he ran after her screaming, "Stop, Mitzi! Stop!" Talk about looking like an idiot.
"We were afraid she was going to veer into the street and get hit, weren't we, Charlie?"
"You were afraid? I had visions of welcoming my parents home with the news of Mitzi's demise." Talk about cause for being disinherited. He'd finally caught up with the speedy little beast just before she darted into the busy cross street, stopping her by stepping on the leash that trailed behind her. Mitzi had gagged and coughed and looked at him with a wounded expression, either unaware or uncaring that he'd just saved her life. He'd grabbed her up and stalked home, muttering to himself and to her, unaware he'd had a witness to his performance.
She studied him now with interest, not suspicion. "I knew I'd seen you before, but I couldn't place where."
"I live next door." He pointed to the big gray house.
She nodded. "I take it Mitzi has gone home? We haven't seen you with her recently."
"The happy reunion was last Sunday. May I come in? I'd like to talk about finding Annalise."
"Why?"
"Because it interests me."
She looked unsure, but Charlie backed up as if to make room for him to enter. Kelli released the lock.
Dane slowly opened the screen, his eyes fixed on the dog, and held out his hand. "Handsome Charlie. Good boy."
Charlie opened his mouth and bared huge canine teeth. Dane braced himself. How hard would it be to type one-handed?
A huge sloppy tongue slurped from fingertips to wrist, and Charlie smiled at him.
Dane smiled back. Two hands! He still had two hands.
Kelli looked at Charlie in surprise. "Some protector you are."
Charlie gazed up at her with adoration. The dog had good taste.
Kelli stepped toward her apartment. "Close the door and come on in."
"You sure?"
She nodded as she fondled Charlie's ears. "Charlie likes you. But if you misbehave, he'll take you apart."
Dane didn't doubt that for a second. He followed Kelli into her living room filled with comfortable but shabby furniture. He edged toward the sofa that he imagined came with the apartment as did the rest, but he didn't sit. He held out a placating hand to the dog, palm up. "Nice Charlie."
Charlie ignored his condescending remark and collapsed in a heap on Kelli's feet as she stood in the center of the room. She looked like she was regretting her hospitality.
Kelli indicated Dane's jeans and black sweater. "You're not in uniform."
"Not working." At least not at the job that paid the rent.
"So you want to help me?" I don't understand your interest swirled unspoken in the air between them.
As did the fragrance of food. "I've interrupted your dinner." He should have known. Six o'clock.
She shrugged. "Lean Cuisine sesame chicken. I can reheat it."
There was an awkward moment while she studied him, not as ready to accept him as Charlie was. Finally she turned toward the kitchen. "I've got another dinner, Mediterranean chicken. You're welcome to it." She glanced back over her shoulder. "I've got turkey too, but I'm saving that for tomorrow."
A frozen dinner was going to be her Thanksgiving feast? He thought of the loving chaos he'd be walking into tomorrow. They were all coming home, his four sisters and him, to Mom and Dad's for a day of food, football, and fun. The four brothers-in-law would be there, along with the five nieces and six nephews. He'd be questioned all day about his lack of a girl in his life.
"The Lord didn't mean for you to be alone, Dane," his mother would say. "I worry about you, honey. You need a warm, godly woman." Warm as in nurturing and encouraging, not as in still alive, though that was an attribute he valued too. The fact that alive crossed his mind proved that writing mysteries and suspense was exactly right for him.
Now if he could just make a living at it.
Kelli looked at him expectantly, waiting for something. He did a mental backstep. Lean Cuisine!
"Um." How to tell her a diet dinner was low, low on his list of favorite meals?
She held up her hands. "It's okay. Pretty puny food for a big guy like you."
Somehow, in spite of the fact that she didn't trust him and hadn't invited him to interrupt her dinner hour, she seemed embarrassed not to have anything else to offer. Growing up with four sisters had made him very sensitive to subtext.
She was also relieved. Offering him dinner was the polite thing to do, but actually eating with him seemed an intimacy she'd rather avoid.
"You're right. A Lean Cuisine won't be enough for me." He patted Charlie on the head and smiled as charmingly as he could. "Would you like to go get something that has a bit more substance?" It was the least he could offer.
She looked blank. Or was that terrified?
"I thought you wanted to find Annalise."
He felt like a bobble head, he was nodding so hard. "I do, but we have lots of time. We'll think better on full stomachs."
He didn't blame her for her hesitation. She didn't know him, and no Charlies were allowed in restaurants.
"It's not like a date or anything, of course," he hastened to say. "Just dinner. We've got to eat." He wasn't looking for a woman in a romantic context. His stomach rumbled. He was looking for dinner.
She studied him for a long time, and he could see her wariness.
"We can strategize about how to find Annalise." He offered her the carrot stick she couldn't resist.
She studied him some more, then gave a small nod. "Do you mind if I drive myself?"
The question was a test. It was evident in the tense way she awaited his response. If he gave a logical answer like, "It'd be a waste of gas to take two cars," he'd fail. Anything that could be construed as pressure to be alone with him would have her curling into a ball, a little hedgehog protecting herself. Her caution seemed more extreme than a public venue like a restaurant warranted. Someone somewhere had done a number on her.
"Sure, take your own car."
She looked down at herself, holding her sweats out like a baggy skirt. "Charlie, sit with the man while I go change."
Charlie lumbered to his feet and walked to the sofa. He backed up to it and settled his rump comfortably on the center cushion. His front legs rested easily on the floor. He looked at Dane, then at the cushion next to him.
Dane got the message and took a seat next to the dog.
"The kids ought to see this," he said as he ran a hand down Charlie's back. "In fact, they can. Do you mind if I take your picture?"
Dane pulled his phone free and held it out for the dog to see. Charlie looked at the phone, swung his massive head to Dane, and Dane could swear the animal shrugged. Taking that as a yes, Dane rose, aimed, snapped and snapped again.
"He loves having his picture taken. Thinks he's big stuff."
Dane smiled over his shoulder at Kelli, now wearing jeans and a rosy fleece top over a white shirt. "He is. Big stuff that is. Or at least big. And it's for my nieces and nephews. Seeing it is so much better than hearing about it, especially when you're three or four."
"You'll see them tomorrow?"
"Big family bash at my parents' house."
She nodded, then ducked her head as she grabbed her purse, but not before he caught that flash of longing. No big family bash for her. Frozen dinner alone. Maybe there was no family at all?
"I won't be long, Charlie," Kelli said. "Keep guard."
Charlie answered by pulling his whole body up onto the sofa and burrowing in. He was snoring before Dane and Kelli were out the door.
They walked in silence to the street. He was sure she already regretted agreeing to come.
Chapter Three
&
nbsp; Kelli climbed into her car. What was she doing? She never did spur of the moment things, especially with a man. Life was manageable only when you planned and prepared. Spontaneity was for people with happy lives, not that hers wasn't happy. It was. At least it wasn't unhappy.
Her sister would say, "Go for it!" A handsome guy was a handsome guy, and you should take advantage of every opportunity. But then Nance followed the classic dysfunctional way to finding love when your father didn't give it. She had three kids by three different men.
"I need someone to love," she'd said, justifying her choices. "And I love my kids." Then she grinned. "And I loved their fathers."
Kelli never failed to be amazed at how their definitions of love differed.
She fished the car key out of her little purse and thought about the new cars that didn't use keys. Push a button, and the vehicle purred to life. Maybe someday she'd have such luxury. Today she was pleased to have a car that ran. At least she hoped it still ran. It wasn't used to the cold damp weather of the Jersey shore in late November. She missed the warmth of home, where Thanksgiving weekend meant long sleeves only if there was a cold snap.
She turned the key, and the car started with nary a burp. She patted the dash. "Good car. I'm proud of you." She felt like a cowboy talking to Old Paint.
Too bad her apartment didn't come with a garage, but where a garage might have been was a storage building and an enclosed shower for sandy and waterlogged renters returning from the beach. She'd gladly endure street-side parking for an apartment that allowed her to have Charlie.
As she slid the car into drive, she wondered what Nance would think of Dane. And why did she concern herself with Nance's opinion?
Nance lived on welfare and the kindness of the man-of-the-month. "I want to be a stay-at-home mom for my babies," was the way she explained her indolence. It wouldn't be quite so bad if she actually stayed home with the kids.
On the days she didn't sleep for hours, she ran with equally unreliable girlfriends, parking her kids with neighbors or Kelli. At night she left them alone so she could go clubbing.
"But I make sure they're asleep before I go anywhere," she said, never considering they might awaken in the night and need her.
One of these days something terrible was going to happen, and social services was going to take the kids, ages twelve, ten, and four. Then they'd either go into the foster system, or Kelli'd end up with them. The thought gave her chills either way.
The kids were wild men. Already the two older boys were little thieves, and she knew for a fact that Nance thought it a riot when they sneaked beer or harder stuff from whoever was the current live-in. The twelve-year-old, a smart, skinny kid named Marius, stole bills from the guys' wallets, and he loved the challenge of shoplifting. It was only a matter of time before he ended up in juvie.
"You've got to discipline them, Nance," Kelli had told her. They'd had the same conversation so many times, Kelli was tired of hearing the words coming out of her mouth. "They're going to get in terrible trouble. And you can't let them near alcohol. Aside from the fact that they're way too young, with Dad's alcoholism, there's that genetic tendency. Look at you."
And Nance would frown through her all too frequent booze-induced haze. "Whaddaya mean, look at me? I can handle myself. I will never be a drunk like Dad."
Nance had been an alcoholic long before her twenty-first birthday.
Dane pulled in front of Kelli and waved. She waved back and followed because she didn't have the courage not to. Chicken Little. That was her. Always expecting the sky to fall. Hadn't it, though? All her growing up years, it fell and fell and fell. She'd learned to do whatever was necessary to try to prevent another catastrophe. Make everyone happy. Keep everyone safe. She recognized her people-pleasing for what it was: classic behavior for an adult child of an alcoholic.
Moving to Seaside had been her second big rebellion against that people-pleasing compulsion, and she felt guilty every day for abandoning those who needed her.
Oh, God, it was get out of Dodge or die! Why she felt compelled to explain herself to God, she wasn't sure. He knew her heart—and He loved her still. That was the miracle.
She was eight the first night she talked to God. "It's me, Kelli. I hear people say You're like a heavenly Father. If You're there, can You be my Father? My dad's not doing too good a job."
For years she talked to Him, and she felt less alone. The year she was thirteen, a little storefront church started two blocks from their house in the vacant building beside the laundromat. She went, terrified they wouldn't let her stay if they knew her story but hoping that church would make her feel nearer to God.
There she met Jesus and Mrs. Abel. Jesus saved her soul, and Mrs. Abel saved her life.
When Dane put on his turn signal and pulled into a municipal parking lot, so did she. He was out of his car and beside hers before she had the gear shift in park. He opened her door and held it for her as she climbed out. She smiled and nodded her thanks even as she felt unworthy of the gesture. If he knew who she really was…
His hair was mussed from the wind, and he had a scarf wound around his neck and tucked into his leather bomber jacket. The chill wind blowing off the ocean a couple of blocks away made her shiver.
He looked skyward. "Winter seems to be settling in. At least that's what the weatherman says. It'll be getting colder, maybe even snowing, tonight."
She shivered again. "This isn't cold?"
He smiled down at her. "Where are you from?"
"Alabama."
He nodded as he led the way across the street. "That explains the honeyed slur of your words and your thinking forty degrees is cold."
She frowned. "I do not slur."
He just grinned again, and she thought, "Nance, I may have hit the jackpot." The thought scared her. What great guy would want to get involved with someone with her history?
They entered the restaurant he'd chosen, blessedly warm, slightly frayed about the edges, and redolent with wonderful aromas. The sign just inside the door read, Seat Yourself.
"Table or booth?" he asked.
"Booth."
"Good girl. I much prefer booths."
For some reason she felt she'd done well, like she'd gotten an A-plus on her exam or finally convinced Andrew McMullen to behave for her or gotten Charlie to stick to his side of the bed.
As soon as they settled in their booth, their server approached. "What can I get you to drink?"
Kelli tensed. What would Dane drink? What if he drank too much?
For years she'd had nightmares in which she got sucked into a bottle of Johnny Walker or Grey Goose by black magic. Ssvvtt! She'd tread water, terrified of sinking. She'd stretch for the lip of the bottle, almost reach it, only to tumble back into the fiery liquid until she was dragged down, down, down by its undertow. She'd awaken terrified, gasping for air, drenched in sweat.
She was eight years old the night she rolled her father onto his stomach so he wouldn't aspirate his vomit and vowed she would never drink or marry anyone who did. She'd kept the first part of that vow by choice and the second… Well, it wasn't as if she'd had a lot of opportunities, but she'd kept it, too.
"Iced tea," she told the server. Then she held her breath.
Dane didn't blink. "I'll have water with lemon."
The server made a note on her pad and left.
"I hope you don't mind not having a glass of wine or a cocktail," he said.
"Not at all." She gave a little smile. "I don't drink."
"No wonder you settled in Seaside."
She frowned, unsure what he was referring to.
"Seaside's a dry town. No alcohol available in any of the restaurants—or anywhere else on the island."
"Really?" How had she missed that fact? "I think that's wonderful."
"I'm not a drinker," Dane said, "so it doesn't bother me at all."
Kelli felt her shoulders relax. Lots of very nice people drank. She knew that. But with her background
, she much preferred alcohol-free living.
"How did you get to be a UPS guy?" she asked after they placed their orders.
He fiddled with his glass of water. "I wanted a job that paid me enough to live while I established myself as a novelist."
"You write?" Fascinating.
He nodded. "I do."
"Published?"
"Two with a third being written."
"Under your own name?"
He sighed. "Under my own name."
"Why the sigh?"
"That question means you've never heard of me."
"Oh. Right. Huh."
"Is that a good huh or a who-cares huh?"
"Oh, a good one. I can't imagine writing a book, so I'm impressed. All those words telling a story you made up. I'll have to look for you on Amazon. I can find you there, can't I?"
"You can." He looked slightly embarrassed, and she liked his lack of pretension.
Their server appeared with their salads, and Kelli bowed her head to say a silent grace.
"Do you mind if I say grace for both of us?" Dane asked.
She looked up and smiled. "I'd like that." She spoke calmly, but inside she was screaming, He prays! The man prays!
His prayer was sincere and short. "I never pray long before a meal," he said after saying amen. "Don't want my food to get cold."
"Practical and spiritual? That's a nice combination." It was a wonderful combination.
"I noticed you bow your head before I spoke. Do you always do that?" He looked as if the answer mattered.
"I try to. I have a lot to be thankful for."
"Like?"
She chose her answers carefully. "I'm thankful for the little start-up church in my neighborhood where I grew up. It's where I met Jesus. I'm thankful for the wonderful people there who loved me through those gawky teenage years and encouraged me all through college. They cried when I moved here. And I'm thankful for my job." She eyed him. "What about you?"
He shrugged as he cut a tomato slice. "The usual. Paying job, creative job, family who love me, and the Lord."