by Alison Stone
Jesse unlatched the back tailgate and it groaned as he lowered it. Twenty years and this baby was still ol’ reliable.
“Zach is going to freak.” Amanda’s eyes grew wide as she took in the small blue dirt bike, perfect for a nine-year-old. “You really came through. Thank you.”
“One of my customers’ sons had outgrown it. Got it at a great price. Didn’t hurt that I could do some of the engine work on it myself.” Jesse tapped the side of the truck. “Let’s get this baby down.” He slid out the ramp and unfastened the bungee cords holding the bike secure. He found his gaze drifting to the front door from time to time to see if Bill’s little sister would reappear.
After a few minutes, he and Bill had the bike off the truck and his friend pushed it across the cracked cement of the driveway toward the detached garage. “I can’t wait to get Zach out on this.”
Jesse flicked his hand. “Looks like you’re all set. I’ll catch you guys later.” His gaze traveled toward the house. No sign of Mary Clare, or MC as her family called her.
If it had been Mary Clare.
“You’re not leaving.” Amanda hooked her arm around his at the elbow and pulled him toward the garage. “You need to see Zach’s expression when he sees this. Stay for dinner, too. There’s plenty.”
Jesse’s sister, Lynne, was with his dad so he supposed he had a little more time. “Thanks.”
Amanda held up her palms. “You guys wait here. I’ll grab the pizza out of the car and then go get the boys.”
Jesse leaned back on the tool bench in the garage and crossed his arms. “We need to get on the bikes again. It’s been too long.”
Bill patted the seat of the larger dirt bike in the garage. “It’s hard now with a family, and all. Between work, projects around the house, there’s no time.” Bill gave him a curious look. “You going to be around this summer? I’m surprised you have time with your business, and all. Aren’t you headed back out to California? It’s prime track season, right?”
“My business partner’s handling it for now. I gave up my place in California until I get things settled here. Dad needs an extra mechanic at the garage.” That was only partly true, but Jesse wasn’t one of those guys who blabbed all his family drama. However, Bill wasn’t just anybody. They had been good friends since high school. His dad had enrolled him in the Catholic high school, hoping to get him away from the wrong crowd. The Felician nuns had probably said their share of Hail Marys for his soul. He often wondered if their prayers were in vain. “So yeah, I’ll be around this summer.” Beyond that was up in the air.
Bill narrowed his gaze at him for a fraction of a second. “Is everything okay? I know how hard you worked to grow your business. And you have quite the life out on the West Coast, enough to make an old man like me jealous.”
Jesse hiked an eyebrow. “We’re the same age.”
“But you’re living the life.” Bill laughed, then grew serious. “Is your dad okay?”
“He’s doing fine. Getting older, you know?” Jesse’s dad had always been a private person and Jesse often felt like he was betraying his father by revealing too much.
Apparently sensing his hesitation, Bill said, “If there’s anything I can do—”
Jesse held up his hand, ready to deflect the offer. “We’re fine.”
A commotion sounded on the driveway. “Dad,” Zach called. “Dad?”
Bill stepped out of the garage and waved to his son. “Over here.”
Zach, a mini-Bill with a cowlick at the crown of his head, slid to a stop on the loose gravel in front of the garage. Another boy around the same age stood next to him. When Bill’s son saw the bike, his eyes widened and his gaze ping-ponged from his dad to Jesse and back. His small mouth opened and closed and opened again before he finally found the words. “Is that for me?”
“Yep. What do you think?” Bill asked.
“This is the best birthday present ever.” Zach charged headfirst toward his dad and wrapped his arms around his waist.
Jesse glanced down at the long crack in the garage floor and shifted his weight.
“I can’t believe you and Mom got me a dirt bike.” Zach’s smile spread from ear to ear.
“You better thank Jesse. He found the bike and did some tune-up work.”
Zach couldn’t seem to peel his eyes off the bike. “Thanks, Jesse.”
“You’re welcome, buddy. Ride it safe, okay?”
Zach nodded. “Can I sit on it?”
Bill held the bike steady while the birthday boy flung a leg over the seat and hopped on his other foot a few times before Jesse gave him a little boost the rest of the way.
Zach stretched and wrapped his small hands around the grips. “This is the most awesomest birthday ever.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Henry, check this out.”
“You’re lucky.” The other boy’s expression was a mixture of awe and envy.
Zach squeezed the brake and wiggled a bit on the seat, getting a feel for the bike. “Awesome, right?”
“Yeah.” Henry stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his khaki shorts and dipped his chin toward his collared golf shirt. He looked a bit overdressed next to his friend.
The woman he had seen running into the house walked up behind Henry and planted her hands on his shoulders confirming that it was indeed Bill’s little sister, Mary Clare. Jesse’d recognize the wary look in her eyes any day. “Wow. That’s pretty cool.” She patted the boy’s shoulders, her long fingers tipped with pink nails. She seemed to be avoiding his gaze, or maybe he was imagining it.
“What do you think?” The excitement in Amanda’s voice hadn’t dimmed.
Little Billy lunged forward in her arms and pointed a chubby hand at the bike. “Dirt bike.”
“Hey Jesse,” Bill said, “this is my nephew Henry, and you remember my little sister?”
Jesse held out his hand. “MC, right?”
“I prefer Mary Clare.” Accepting his hand, she angled her head and pressed her free hand against the side of her neck. “I remember you. I believe you’re the reason my mother waited at the back door with a wooden spoon.”
Jesse held up his palms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bill rubbed his hip. Laugh lines creased the corners of his eyes. “Mom knew how to crack that spoon just right. Guess I can thank Mom because I turned out all right.” Her brother jerked his thumb toward his friend. “But Jesse wasn’t all bad. He got me into dirt bikes.”
“I remember that, too. Mom and Dad had to give up their dreams you’d be a golf pro.”
“That wasn’t going to happen.” Bill made an exaggerated yawning motion. “Can’t compare motocross to golf.”
Mary Clare’s eyes tracked Henry as he circled the dirt bike, dragging his fingers along the tailpipe. Her expression lacked the enthusiasm apparent on her son’s face.
“Dad got mad because I was relentless. I begged for a dirt bike and we couldn’t afford it.” Bill turned to his son. “Want to hop down and we’ll get some birthday cake? Grandma should be here soon.”
Zach pushed out his lower lip in a pseudo pout. No doubt he’d rather hang out with his new dirt bike than eat cake.
“Hey,” Jesse said, tucking his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, “if you guys aren’t doing anything tomorrow, we can load up the bike and Zach can try it out on the practice track. Haven Hills has an open practice from noon to five. I have a few contacts there.”
Zach tugged on his father’s arm. “Please, can we?”
Bill glanced at Amanda and something unspoken passed between them. Jesse often wondered what it would be like to have a relationship like that, but dismissed the idea just as quickly.
“Sounds fantastic,” Bill said. “Sure you can get away from the garage?”
Jesse hesitated. Work was sparse at the garage and what was there was definitely under control. And his sister had already made plans to pick up their father and spend the day with him. “Yes, let’s do it.”
“Oh, there you are.” A singsong voice sounded from across the driveway. Mrs. O’Connor headed toward them, a hint of annoyance settled in the corners of her downturned mouth. “I thought dinner was at six.” She twisted her wrist to check her watch.
“Hi, Mother.” Bill kissed his mother’s cheek. “I’m going to run in and wash up before dinner.”
Mrs. O’Connor’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Look who’s here? My long-lost daughter. I didn’t think you’d be gone all afternoon.”
Jesse might have missed the flicker of annoyance that crossed Mary Clare’s face if he hadn’t been watching her intently. He remembered the mother and daughter’s hot and cold relationship from his days hanging around the O’Connors’ house as a kid, mostly because he never had the luxury of fighting with his mom. She had bailed on her family when Jesse was in middle school.
Mary Clare struggled to tamp down the instant irritation that flared at her mother’s passive aggressive comment. I am not going to take the bait. I am an adult. I am not…I am not…
Mary Clare smiled tightly and forced a cheery tone. “The boys were having such a good time, I hated to tear Henry away.”
“Well, I would have only played nine holes if I knew you were going to start the party without me.” Mary Clare’s mother squeezed through the small crowd gathered in the garage, her eyes growing wide at the sight of the dirt bike. “I see someone got what he wanted for his birthday.”
Her mother planted a kiss on Zach’s cheek and swiped away imaginary lipstick marks with her thumb.
“Hi, Grandma. Isn’t it awesome?” Zach patted the seat of his new dirt bike.
“Happy birthday.” Mother stepped back and shook her head. “No way my gift will compete now.” If she meant to be funny, she only succeeded at sounding put out. She raised a blue gift bag emblazoned with a smiling red train engine recycled from six birthdays ago.
“I’m sure he’ll love your gift.” Amanda smiled at her mother-in-law in an easy and unaffected way, something Mary Clare admired but could never achieve when it came to her mother. “Let’s go in and have pizza before it gets cold.”
Everyone headed for the back door. Mary Clare watched Jesse out of the corner of her eye, secretly pleased he was sticking around.
“I assumed you’d be spending more time at home now that you’re staying with me for the summer. I thought you’d be helping me get organized before I put the house on the market.” Her mother’s faux-friendly tone grated on Mary Clare’s nerves.
“Mother…” Mary Clare squared off with her mother, giving a pointed nod toward her son. Thankfully, he was ten steps ahead of her and the last one to enter the kitchen through the sliding glass doors. She didn’t want to be a bad example for her son—respect your elders, and all. “I’ll help you.”
“I’m just saying. It took a divorce for you to bother to show up in Mills Crossing.” A coolness flashed in her blue eyes.
“You’re always just saying. Can’t you cut me a break? For once?” Five minutes with her mother and all her defense mechanisms clamored in her head, drowning out the little voice demanding she be civil.
“Maybe you’ll work things out. The divorce isn’t quite final yet, right? Wouldn’t that be best for Henry?”
Mary Clare froze on the steps of the back deck, glad they were alone. “You don’t know what it was like to live with Chip. You had Dad.” Easygoing, fun-loving dad. She cut her gaze toward the kitchen. “The divorce is as good as final. We’re just waiting for a few more documents.” She forced the words through clenched teeth, wondering why she felt the need to explain. Again. “Drop it. Just drop it.”
So much for not taking the bait.
“You can be hard on people. You’ve always been too critical.” Her mother’s words pinged off her brain. “How bad was it, really? Chip provided a nice home. You didn’t have to work.” She fluffed the tissue paper poking out of the gift bag. “What more could you want?”
Someone who supported her dreams.
Someone who didn’t try to control her.
Someone who loved her for who she was.
Mary Clare wanted the man she thought she had married. Not the man Chip had turned out to be. Her lips twitched. “I wanted more than a house. More than things.”
“Funny.” Mom’s pinched features exuded the opposite of amused. “Isn’t that why you left Mills Crossing in the first place? To have more than you had growing up?” Her mother wrapped her free hand around the railing.
Heat swept up Mary Clare’s neck and cheeks. “Let me—” She took the gift bag from her mother. “I’ll put this with the other gifts.”
“You can’t avoid your problems. I’m glad your father’s not around to see his grandson raised without his father.” Her mother’s voice grew louder and crashed over the words his father.
Tears blurred Mary Clare’s hazy vision. She’d had a tight bond with her father. But two years ago, he had died suddenly. Aneurysm on the golf course.
And because of Dad, she had vowed to make nice with Mother. She just wasn’t always successful.
Mary Clare tugged open the glass door and stepped into the kitchen, dipping her head to hide her face. An off-tune rendition of “Happy Birthday” started up. Forced to look up, Mary Clare saw Amanda carrying into the kitchen the fantastic motocross cake with the candles flaming. She slid the cake in front of her son and he puffed up his cheeks and blew out the candles. A trail of dark smoke floated up from the extinguished wicks.
“What did you wish for?” his mother asked.
He plucked the mini dirt bike from the cake and dragged his tongue across the tires, lapping up the frosting. A blob of chocolate hung in the corner of his smile. “It’s in the garage.”
The bird clock chirped the hour. Mary Clare’s gaze drifted to the clock and her stomach bottomed out. Ugh. She had to catch her lawyer before the weekend. She begged off from a piece of cake and grabbed her phone from the counter and slipped outside to the front porch. The evening air was about ten degrees cooler than the cramped kitchen. She collapsed on the wicker couch, exhausted.
She pressed a few numbers and waited. Her lawyer’s voicemail kicked on. “Hi, this is Mary Clare. Wanted to know if there’s any news on the closing of the house and the final divorce papers. Please call me.”
She tapped the phone against her chin. Strange. A year ago, she would have flipped out over abandoning her vaulted ceilings, her kitchen, her sunroom.
Not anymore. She was ready to move on. She had her eye on a new townhouse in the same neighborhood, allowing Henry to stay at the same school. But she wouldn’t have the funds for the deposit until the sale of her home was concluded.
The screen door creaked. Jesse stood in the doorway, his hair dented from the baseball cap he had on earlier. He glanced down at the phone, then took a step back. “Sorry. Am I interrupting?” He reached for the door handle as if he were going to duck back inside, his white T-shirt stretching across his broad chest.
Mary Clare tossed the phone on the wicker table and carefully kept her expression neutral. Apparently Jesse had traded rugged tanks for chest-hugging tees, and shredded jeans for regular ones. And a gangly body for one that had obviously seen a lot of hours inside a gym. Feeling a little flushed, she gathered her hair into a ponytail, lifting it off her neck. “No, I’m good.”
“It’s warm in there.” He motioned toward the empty chair. “Mind if I sit?”
“No, of course not.” A hint of aloe and clean skin—like Dove soap—reached her nose and sent a little shiver coiling low and deep in her belly, making her forget he was the guy who used to pester her right along with her brother, as if it were their mission in life. “You’re not going to throw anything at me?”
Jesse laughed. “Throw something at you? I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re delusional.”
“No. I have a phenomenal memory. You an
d my brother terrorized me.”
“Terrorized is a strong word.” Jesse leaned back in the chair as if he belonged there. “In my defense, Bill was the one with the big ideas.”
“What are older brothers for, right?” She stared across the street at the brick ranch and next to it, the well-maintained Cape Cod. The small homes appeared cozy, warm. Unlike the sterile development with cookie-cutter McMansions in which she had lived with Chip and Henry. As a girl, she had dreamed about living in one of those upscale homes, not realizing that well-maintained lawns and sparkling chandeliers couldn’t dress up an unhappy home.
Her brother had purchased a house down the street from his childhood home. He never forgot his roots. There was something to be said for that.
“How long do you plan to stay in Mills Crossing?” Jesse slung his elbow over the back of the chair.
“For the summer.”
His eyes grew wide. “Your husband doesn’t mind?”
She covered her bare finger on her left hand, and smiled politely. Country-club polite. She wasn’t sure why she had—perhaps because she had been used to having a ready-made excuse for her husband’s absence on her lips: he’s traveling or he’s working late. She had learned this tactic to avoid being the subject of the country club gossips. Mary Clare had heard how they talked about others. She didn’t want to be that person.
But she was home now. Among friends. She removed her hand and glanced at the indentation on her bare ring finger. She lifted her left hand for Jesse to see. “No husband.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“We separated over a year ago. The divorce should be final any day.” She tucked her hands under her thighs. “I thought it would be a good excuse to come to Mills Crossing for the summer. Henry could get to know his cousins better.”
“Seems like they’ve already hit it off.” Leaning forward, Jesse planted his elbows on his knees. The intensity of his gaze radiated down to her toes.