Truly Madly Yours

by Rachel Gibson

  “How? By creating a scandal?”

  “If that’s her choice. You’ve done your job. You’ve raised her. Let it go or you might lose her again.”

  Gwen turned and Max saw fear in her eyes. “I am afraid she’s going to leave me. I always thought she stayed away because of Henry, but now I’m not sure. A few years ago I went to visit her when she lived in Denver, and she said that I always took Henry’s side when she was growing up. She thinks I never stood up for her. I would have, but Henry was right. She needed to get good grades and go to college and not run around town like a hoyden.” Gwen paused and took a deep breath. “Delaney is stubborn and holds a grudge for a long time. I just know that she’ll leave in June and never come back.”

  “Maybe.”

  “She can’t go. Henry could have made her stay longer.”

  Max dropped his hands to his sides. “He wanted to, but I advised him that a judge might strike down the will if Henry stipulated a lengthier period.”

  Gwen turned and walked to the fireplace. She gripped the brick mantel and gazed back at Max through the mirror in front of her. “He should have done something.”

  Henry had done everything he could to control the people in his life from the grave. He’d stayed just to the right of what a court would consider fair and reasonable restraints. The whole thing had been extremely distasteful to Max, and it bothered him that Gwen supported her late husband’s manipulations.

  “Delaney needs to stay here. She needs to grow up.”

  Max looked at Gwen’s reflection; her beautiful blue eyes and pouty pink mouth, perfectly flawless white skin and hair like ribbons of caramel and butterscotch. Desire settle in the pit of his groin. Maybe she just needed something else in her life to think about. He walked toward her, determined to give her that something else.

  Nick didn’t get the chance to call his mother the next morning. She rang his doorbell at seven a.m.

  Benita Allegrezza set her purse on the white marble counter and looked at her son. Nick obviously thought he could avoid her, but she was his mother. She’d given birth to him, which gave her the right to drag him out of bed. No matter that he was thirty-three and no longer lived with her.

  He’d pulled on a pair of ragged Levi’s and an old black sweatshirt, and his feet were bare. Benita frowned. He could afford to dress better. Nick never took very good care of himself. He didn’t eat when he should, and he spent time with loose women. He didn’t think she knew about the women, but she did. “Why can’t you just avoid that neska izugarri?”

  “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but nothing happened with Delaney,” he said, his voice rough from sleep. He took her coat and hung it in the hall closet.

  Obviously, he thought she could be fooled, too. Benita followed him into the kitchen and watched him pull two mugs from the cupboard. “Then why were you there, Nick?”

  He waited until he’d filled the two mugs with coffee before he answered her. “I installed some locks at her shop.”

  She took the mug he offered her and looked at him standing by the kitchen sink as if nothing had happened in that beauty salon. She knew better. She knew the less he said, the more he left unsaid. Sometimes she needed a Mack truck to pull anything out of him. He’d been that way for a long time now. “That’s what your brother told me. Why couldn’t she hire a locksmith like everyone else? Why does she need you?”

  “I told her I’d do it.” He leaned one hip against the counter and shrugged the opposite shoulder. “It was no big deal.”

  “How can you say that? The whole town is talking about it. You haven’t returned my phone calls and you’ve been hiding from me.”

  His brows drew together, and he frowned at her. “I haven’t been hiding from you.”

  Yes, he had, and it was Delaney Shaw’s fault.

  From the day she’d moved to Truly, she’d made Nick’s life harder than it had been before she’d arrived.

  Before Henry married Gwen, Benita could tell herself and everyone else that Henry ignored Nick because he didn’t want to have children. Afterward, everyone knew that wasn’t true. Henry just didn’t want Nick. He could lavish love and attention on a stepdaughter, yet reject his own son.

  Before Delaney’s arrival in Henry’s life, Benita would sit with Nick on her lap and hold him close. She’d kiss his sweet forehead and dry his tears. Afterward, there were no more tears or hugs. No more softness in her son. He’d grow stiff in her arms and tell her he was too big for kisses. Benita blamed Henry for the pain he caused his own son, but in her eyes, Delaney became the living, breathing symbol of deep betrayal and rejection. Delaney had been given everything that should have been given to Nick, but everything hadn’t been enough for her. She’d been a troublemaker to boot.

  She’d always had a way of making Nick look bad. Like the time he’d hit her with a snowball. Although he shouldn’t have thrown a snowball at her, Benita was sure that girl must have done something, but the grade school hadn’t even questioned her. They’d just blamed the whole incident on Nick.

  And then there was that horrible episode when those awful rumors had spread through town about Nick taking advantage of Delaney. Ten years later, Benita still didn’t know what had taken place that night. She knew Nick was no saint when it came to women, but she was sure he hadn’t taken anything Delaney hadn’t been more than willing to give him. Then like a coward, she’d fled and escaped the stinging gossip, while Nick had stayed behind and braved the worst of it. And the rumor about Nick taking advantage of that girl hadn’t been the worst of it.

  She looked at him now-her tall, handsome boy. Both her sons had succeeded on their own. No one had handed them anything, and she was extremely proud of them. But Nick… Nick would always need her to watch out for him, even though he didn’t think he needed her at all.

  Now all she really wanted for Nick was for him to settle down with a nice Catholic girl, marry in the church, and be happy. She didn’t think it was too much for a mother to ask. If he married, the loose women would quit chasing him-especially Delaney Shaw. “You probably wouldn’t tell your mother if something did happen with that girl anyway,” she said. “What am I to believe?”

  Nick raised his mug and took a drink. “I’ll tell you what. If something did happen, it won’t happen again.”

  “Promise me.”

  He gave her an easy smile meant to appease her. “Of course, Ama.”

  Benita wasn’t appeased. Now that girl was back and the rumors were starting again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Delaney took her telephone off the hook. She kept it off the hook until she left her apartment for work the next morning. She hoped that somehow the impossible had happened and Mrs. Vaughn hadn’t been able to see into the shop. Maybe she’d been lucky.

  But when she unlocked the front door of her salon, Wannetta Van Damme was waiting and within seconds it became apparent Delaney’s luck had run out months ago. “Is this where it happened?” Wannetta asked as she hobbled in. The sound of her silver walker, chink-thump, chink-thump, filled the inside of the salon.

  Delaney was a little afraid to ask the obvious, but she was too curious not to know. “What happened?” she asked and took the older woman’s coat. She hung it on a tree in the small reception area.

  Wannetta pointed to the counter. “Is that where Laverne saw you and that Allegrezza boy… you know?”

  A lump formed in Delaney’s throat. “What?”

  “Hanky-panky,” whispered the older woman.

  The lump fell to her stomach as she felt her brows rise to her hairline. “Hanky-panky?”

  “Whoopie.”

  “Whoopie?” Delaney pointed to the counter. “Right here?”

  “That’s what Laverne told everyone last night at the bingo game over there at that church on Seventh, Jesus the Divine Savior.”

  Delaney walked to a salon chair and sank into it. Her face grew hot and her ears began to ring. She’d known there would be gossip, but she’d had
no idea how bad. “Bingo? Jesus the Divine Savior?” Her voice raised and got squeaky. “Oh, my God!” She should have known. Anything involving Nick had always been bad and she wished she could blame him completely. But she couldn’t. He hadn’t unbuttoned his own shirt. She’d done that.

  Wannetta moved toward her, chink-thump, chink-thump. “Is it true?”

  “No!”

  “Oh.” Wannetta looked as disappointed as she sounded. “That youngest Basque boy is a looker. Even though he has a nasty reputation, I might find him hard to resist myself.”

  Delaney put a palm to her forehead and took a deep breath. “He’s evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. You stay away from him, Wannetta, or you just might wake up and find yourself the subject of horrible rumors.” Her mother was going to kill her.

  “Most mornings I’m just glad to wake up. And at my age, I don’t think I’d find those rumors too horrible,” she said as she moved toward the back of the salon. “Can you squeeze me in today?”

  “What? You want your hair done?”

  “Of course. I didn’t go to all the trouble of getting myself down here just to talk.”

  Delaney rose and followed Mrs. Van Damme to the shampoo sink. She helped her into the chair then set her walker aside. “How many people were at the bingo game?” she asked fearing the answer.

  “Oh, maybe sixty or so.”

  Sixty. Then those sixty would tell sixty more and it would spread like a brushfire. “Maybe I should just kill myself,” she muttered. Death might be preferable to her mother’s reaction.

  “Are you going to use that shampoo that smells so nice?”

  “Yes.” Delaney draped Wannetta, then lowered her back toward the sink. She turned on the water and tested it on her wrist. She’d spent the previous day and night hiding in her apartment like a mole. She’d felt emotionally battered and bruised by what had happened with Nick. And so extremely embarrassed by her own abandon.

  She wet Wannetta’s hair and cleaned it with Paul Mitchell. When she was finished with the conditioning, she helped her walk to the styling chair. “Same thing?” she asked.

  “Yep. I stick to what works.”

  “I remember.” As Delaney combed out the tangles, Nick’s parting words still echoed in her head. They’d been echoing in her head since he’d said them. To see if I could. He’d kissed her and touched her breasts, just to see if he could. He’d made her breasts tingle and her thighs burn just to see if he could. And she’d let him. Just like she’d let him ten years ago.

  What was it about her? What personality defect did she possess that allowed Nick to slide past her defenses? During the long hours she’d spent contemplating that question, she’d come up with only one explanation other than loneliness. Her biological clock was ticking. It had to be. She couldn’t hear it ticking, but she was twenty-nine, not married, with no prospects in the immediate future. Maybe her body was a hormonal time bomb and she didn’t even know it.

  “Leroy liked when I wore silky drawers,” Wannetta said, interrupting Delaney’s silent contemplations about ticking hormones. “He hated the cotton kind.”

  Delaney snapped on a pair of latex gloves. She didn’t want to envision Wannetta in silky underwear.

  “You should buy you some silky drawers.”

  “You mean the kind that come up past your navel?” The kind that look like car seatcovers?

  “Yep.”

  “Why?”

  “Cause men like ‘em. Men like women to wear pretty things. If you get yourself some silky drawers, you can get yourself a husband.”

  “No, thank you,” she said as she reached for the waving solution and snipped the top off. Even if she were interested in finding a husband in Truly, which was of course ludicrous, she was only going to be in town until June. “I don’t want a husband.” She thought of Nick and all the problems he’d caused since she’d been back. “And to tell you the truth,” she added, “I don’t think men are worth all the problems they cause. They are highly overrated.”

  Wannetta grew silent as Delaney poured the solution on one side of her head, and just when Delaney began to worry that her client had fallen asleep with her eyes open, or worse, passed on, Wannetta opened her mouth and asked in a hushed voice, “Are you one of those lipstick lesbians? You can tell me. I won’t tell a soul.”

  And the moon is made of green cheese, Delaney thought. If only she were a lesbian, she wouldn’t have found herself kissing Nick and her hands tearing at his shirt. She wouldn’t have found herself fascinated by his hairy chest. She met Wannetta’s gaze in the mirror and thought about telling her yes. A rumor like that might neutralize the rumor about herself and Nick. But her mother would freak even more. “No,” she finally sighed. “But it would probably make my life easier.”

  Mrs. Van Damme’s finger waves took Delaney just under an hour. When she was finished, she watched the older woman write out a check, then she helped her with her coat.

  “Thanks for coming in,” she said as she walked her to the door.

  “Silky drawers,” Wannetta reminded her and slowly moved down the street.

  Ten minutes after Mrs. Van Damme left, a woman came in with her three-year-old son. Delaney hadn’t given a child a cut since beauty school, but she hadn’t forgotten how. After the first snip, she wished she had. The little boy pulled at the small plastic cape she’d found in the storage room as if she were choking him. He writhed and fussed and continually yelled NO! at her. Cutting his hair turned into a wrestling match. She was sure if she could just tie him up and sit on him, she could get the job done in a hurry.

  “Brandon’s such a good boy,” his mother cooed from the neighboring chair. “Mommy’s so proud.”

  Incredulous, Delaney stared at the woman who’d decked herself out in Eddie Bauer and REI. The woman looked to be in her early to mid-forties, and reminded Delaney of a magazine article she’d read in the dentist office questioning the wisdom of older women producing children from old eggs.

  “Does Brandon want a good-boy fruit snack?”

  “No!” screeched the product of her old egg.

  “Done,” Delaney said when she finished and threw her hands upward like a champion calf roper. She charged the lady fifteen dollars with the hope Brandon would plague Helen next time. She swept up the child’s white-blond curls, then flipped the Out to Lunch sign and walked to the corner deli for her usual, turkey on whole wheat. For several months she’d eaten her lunch at the deli and had gotten to know the owner, Bernard Dalton, on a first-name basis. Bernard was in his late thirties and a bachelor. He was short, balding, and looked like a man who enjoyed his own cooking. His face was always slightly pink, as if he were a little out of breath, and the shape of his dark mustache made him appear as if he always wore a smile.

  The lunch rush was slowing as Delaney stepped into the restaurant. The shop smelled of ham, pasta, and chocolate chip cookies. Bernard looked up from the dessert case, but his gaze quickly slid away. His face turned several shades pinker than usual.

  He’d heard. He’d heard the rumor and he obviously believed it.

  She cast a glance about the deli, at the other customers staring at her, and she wondered how many had listened to the gossip. She suddenly felt naked and forced herself to walk to the front counter. “Hello, Bernard,” she said, keeping her voice even. “I’ll have a turkey on whole wheat like I usually have.”

  “Diet Pepsi?” he asked, moving toward the meat case.

  “Yes, please.” She kept her gaze pinned to the little “Extra Pennies” cup by the cash register. She wondered if the whole town believed she’d had sex with Nick in her front window. She heard hushed voices behind her and was afraid to turn around. She wondered if they were talking about her, or if she was just being paranoid.

  Usually she took her sandwich to a small table by the window, but today she paid for her lunch and hurried back to her salon. Her stomach was in knots and she had to force herself to eat a portion of her meal.

  Nick. This
mess was his fault. Whenever she let her guard down around him, she always paid for it. Whenever he decided to charm her, she always lost her dignity, if not her clothes.

  At a little after two, she had a client who needed her straight black hair trimmed, and at three-thirty Steve, the backhoe driver she’d met at Louie and Lisa’s Fourth of July party, walked into the salon bringing in a wisp of cool autumn with him. He wore a jean jacket with sheared sheep lining. His cheeks were pink and his eyes bright, and his smile told her he was glad to see her. Delaney was glad to see a friendly face. “I need a haircut,” he confessed.

  With one quick glance, she took in the shaggy condition of his hair. “You sure do,” she said and motioned toward her booth. “Hang up your coat and come on back.”

  “I want it short.” He followed her and pointed to a spot above his right ear. “This short. I wear a lot of ski hats in the winter.”

  Delaney had something in mind that would look awesome on him, and she’d get to use her clippers, too. Something she’d been dying to do again for months now. His hair would have to be dry so she sat him in the salon chair. “I haven’t seen you around much,” she said as she combed out his golden tangles.

  “We’ve been working a lot to get done before the first snow, but now things have slowed down.”

  “What do you do in the winter for a job?” she asked, and fired up the clippers.

  “Collect unemployment and ski,” he spoke over the steady buzz.

  Unemployment and skiing would have appealed to her when she’d been twenty-two, also. “Sounds like fun,” she said, cutting up and away in an arching motion and leaving the hair longer at his crown.

  “It is. We should ski together.”

  She would have loved to, but the closest resort was outside Truly city limits. “I don’t ski,” she lied.