Nothing but Trouble

by Susan May Warren

  A pitcher of orange juice and a basket of muffins lured PJ in to her mom’s kitchen. She took a muffin and put it on a napkin. “No. What do you think, Mom? That I’m still in high school?”

  She felt like it. Felt like she’d snuck out of the house and was trying to cover for it. Only she’d lost her skills. Her hand shook and she clenched it in her lap.

  It didn’t help that the touch of Jeremy’s hand wrapped around hers, guiding her to safety, lingered on her skin. Like an itch, it bothered her. And his revelation of being a SEAL stirred up more questions, and frankly, unnerved her. She knew in her bones that there was more behind Jeremy’s smoky, hooded eyes. Maybe it was better to stay as clear of him as she could.

  Her mother looked back at the crossword. “I’m glad I stopped by the house and picked up Davy’s pajamas.”

  Was that before or after Dora lay dying in the backyard?

  “Did you have a good time on your date?”

  PJ broke open the muffin and spice drifted out. “You knew it was a date?”

  Elizabeth penned in an answer to the crossword. “Please be careful.” She sighed, as if the next words greatly perplexed her. She had been doing crosswords so long she probably dreamed in crosswordspeak. “I just don’t understand what you see in that boy.”

  Something about her tone brought back Boone’s own label. Trash.

  PJ poured herself a glass of juice. “Did you know the stories about Boone’s mom? that she was an alcoholic?”

  Elizabeth looked up, plucked eyebrows raised, as if waiting for PJ to finish her sentence, elaborate. Finally she said, “Yes, I knew about Boone’s mother. The entire town knew about Boone’s mother.”

  “That’s why you didn’t like him, right? That’s why you hated us being together—”

  “No.” Elizabeth set down her pen and folded her hands on the paper. “Boone and you were like two sides of the same coin, PJ, but . . . he couldn’t see all that you were. All you could be. You had a light inside you, and I was afraid he’d snuff it out or eclipse it with his own. Which is one of the reasons, I admit, why I wanted you to leave. Not for ten years, of course, but maybe enough to get Boone out of your system. I didn’t want you to end up pregnant . . .”

  PJ looked down at her crumbling muffin. “Like my biological mother?”

  Her mother sighed. “I just wanted you to have a future that wasn’t influenced by Boone.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “You wouldn’t have left, would you?”

  Perhaps her mother understood her better than she realized.

  “But my actions had nothing to do with Boone’s parents or even the rumors in town. The mistakes of the parents don’t have to be the legacy of the child.” Her mother picked up her crossword, contemplating it again. “What’s a four-letter word for ‘a polite interruption sound’?”

  “Ahem.”

  “What?” She looked up, her eyes sharp. “I just think a person is who they make of themselves. Like you.” She reached over and patted PJ’s arm. “You never let expectations get in your way.”

  “I was actually answering your question. A polite interruption sound. A-h-e-m. Ahem.”

  “Oh, right.” She picked up her pen and pressed the letters into the boxes.

  PJ worked on her muffin, washing it down with the juice.

  “Auntie PJ!” Davy came flying through the kitchen in his Spider-Man jammies.

  PJ had to scoot out and react fast to catch him. “Hey there, little man!”

  He flung his arms around her, then pushed back and scrambled onto her lap. “Mommy called!” He reached for a muffin.

  PJ looked at her mother.

  “Last night. She was concerned because no one was home at her house. I let her talk to Davy. Can you believe it’s already been two weeks? . . . What’s ‘an expression of surprise’?”

  How could the weeks have passed so quickly? PJ wasn’t ready. She didn’t have a job or a place to live. And what about Jack and Trudi and her investigation? Who would watch over the goat and make sure Boris didn’t offend the neighbors with his sunbathing? And most of all, who would teach Davy to swim?

  She’d accomplished nothing of what she’d hoped. She was still jobless and, after last night, just a fingerprint analysis away from jail, considering Boone’s threats. And so much for earning her mother’s respect.

  No, she never let expectations get in the way, because, well, why bother?

  But she did know she didn’t want to be the girl hiding in the storage closet under the cover of darkness, waiting to be discovered, forever labeled trouble.

  No more supersleuthing for her.

  Her mother wore a strange look. “PJ? Did you hear what I said?”

  “Hah.”

  “It’s not a joke, PJ. I’m serious. I don’t think she’s going to want to see a goat in her backyard. And it’s a good thing it’s Saturday, or Davy would be missing school.”

  Davy looked up and, before PJ could stop him, spilled the beans . . . or muffin, as it were. “I don’t go to school. I stay home with Baba!” He slid off PJ’s lap, and it took everything inside PJ not to run away with him. She swallowed and looked down at the last of her muffin.

  “He doesn’t go to school?”

  “Listen, Mom, don’t you think it’s a little stressful for a four-year-old to go to summer preschool?”

  “Not if he wants to get into—”

  “The best colleges, I know.”

  “I was going to say private kindergarten, but yes, Connie intends for him to have the best start he can under the circumstances.” She sighed and shook her head. “Oh, PJ—”

  “What have I done, I know.” She stood. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to make a mess of things. It just happened. I think Connie can probably get him back into Fellows—at least I hope so. Until then, Davy and I have an appointment at the beach.”

  She moved to follow him from the room, turned back, and tapped the crossword. “Hah. A three-letter word for an expression of surprise.”

  Her mother looked down. “I thought it was aha.”

  PJ shook her head. “No, that would be a three-letter word for ‘I knew you’d mess this up.’”

  Her mother said nothing as she left the room.

  * * *

  They didn’t end up at the beach. PJ wasn’t sure why, but she couldn’t go there, despite the sun trumpeting above, announcing a day created for swimming and sand castles.

  Instead she and Davy drove into the city to the Mall of America, parking in the cool cement structure, aware that she had about seven dollars to her name. But she didn’t have to buy anything—just wander.

  Davy slid out of the backseat. “LEGO land!”

  So he’d been here before. They found the entrance, and the cool air whisked off the morning’s heat. She realized as she watched neatly attired, buggy-pushing mothers that she’d come dressed in her yoga pants, a T-shirt, and flip-flops, but with Davy pulling her toward the sound of waterfalls and rides and the lure of ice cream and chocolate cookies, she didn’t have to watch their expressions.

  Not that she thought she might live up to any expectations anyway.

  Davy ran to the edge of the second-floor balcony and stood on tiptoe, poking his nose over the rail. “Wow. It’s big.”

  She wasn’t sure if he meant the park or the Ferris wheel or the roller coaster, all contained in the center of a three-story mall, but she came up behind him and lifted him for a better view. “Yep.”

  “Can I get a cookie?”

  They both needed a cookie.

  PJ fished around in her purse and discovered two extra dollars in change. She bought them a chocolate chip cookie each and a carton of milk for Davy, cutting her dollar supply down to change. They sat and watched moms and dads load their children onto kiddie rides.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have enough money to put you on a ride, kiddo.”

  Chocolate piled in the corners of Davy’s mouth and he wore a milk mustache.
“That’s okay. I got sick last time.” He grinned at her, and she resisted the urge to wipe his face.

  “PJ!”

  She heard her name but couldn’t believe it when she turned and spied Maxine Hudson, gripping tight to a twin with each hand as they dragged her toward their bench. She finally let them go, and Daniel and Felicia scampered to Davy.

  “So you decided to join us. How are you doing?” Maxine sat down next to PJ on the bench.

  Maxine didn’t really want an answer to that, did she?

  How PJ wanted to figure out how to help Jack or sort out anything on her list of messes, but she’d run out of ideas. And time.

  Davy had finished his cookie, so PJ grabbed a napkin and wrestled him clean.

  Maxine pulled out a ride ticket. “Do you guys want to ride the kiddie coaster?”

  Davy began to jump, clapping along with Daniel and Felicia.

  “Oh, Maxine, we don’t have a ticket—”

  “I have plenty of ride points.”

  PJ glanced at Davy, remembering his comment about getting sick. Maybe he’d been exaggerating. “How fast does the coaster go?”

  Maxine was already halfway there, her children streaking ahead. “Not fast. It’s for kids.”

  Right. PJ followed behind, watching the crew climb aboard. Davy strapped in and waved, beaming.

  Thankfully, Felicia and Daniel were sitting behind him.

  Or maybe that was worse.

  “Keep your mouth closed!” she hollered and then saw parents glance at her. She shrugged. “He . . . screams pretty loud.”

  Maxine came over to join her. “Trudi and Jack were in court yesterday for his arraignment.”

  “I know.” She’d called Trudi this morning before the flogging at her mother’s house and gotten a speedy, tense update.

  “Jack didn’t confess, did he?” Maxine asked.

  “No. But they can’t get the process of not guilty going until they indict him.”

  “What would make Jack kill someone?”

  PJ gave her a sharp look. Maxine was shaking her head, looking at the kids, waving at them as the ride swished past. “You don’t think it’s true, do you?” PJ asked.

  “I don’t know. But they don’t have anyone else in custody.”

  PJ leaned her hip against the rough-hewn wooden rail, arms folded. “I’ve hunted down a few leads, but they all seem to dead-end.” She didn’t mention that she’d gone so far as to break the law. “But I can’t escape the voice inside that tells me he’s innocent.”

  “Not every voice is one you should listen to—uh-oh!”

  PJ turned. “Oh! Davy, no!”

  The crowd around her moaned as Davy unloaded his snack on the floor of the ride.

  Maybe there were some voices she should listen to.

  Maxine was a trouper, and they camped out in the ladies’ bathroom while PJ washed Davy’s shorts and top in the sink with some sanitizer gel she had in her purse, then blew them dry. Maxine even bought Davy a 7UP to calm his stomach.

  PJ ducked her head when a couple fellow mothers came in and cast them a dark look.

  Maxine held up her hands in a sort of surrender. “Cookies, ladies. The kid tossed his cookies.”

  PJ laughed.

  “So, how did you like our church?” Maxine held Felicia on her lap and they paged through a picture book she’d dug out of her purse. PJ made a mental note to add Horton to her wannabe mommy bag.

  Except she wasn’t going to be “Mommy” for much longer. She looked at Davy, and something inside her weighed heavy.

  “I liked the praise and worship, and your pastor seems down-to-earth. Gotta like a guy who preaches in jeans and a polo shirt.”

  Maxine turned the page, leaning over to read, glancing up at PJ to nod. “We’ve been going there for about five years.”

  PJ tested the shirt—it felt dry enough. She wiggled it over Davy’s head. He was already wearing his dry shorts. “I liked the sermon. I can relate to Peter. He was a mess, had more passion than brains, and still managed to become something with God.”

  Maxine finished the story, letting her daughter page through the book. “He had brains, just needed direction. I think that’s one reason Christ gave him a different name. We’ll be studying Peter all summer long. Come back to tomorrow’s services—Davy can come home with us for that playdate after church, and maybe we can even make it an overnighter.”

  PJ washed her hands one more time, touched by Maxine’s offer, and followed her out of the bathroom. Maxine’s kids begged for another round of rides, but PJ gave Davy a quick shake of her head before he could suggest anything. Fat tears rimmed his eyes.

  PJ crouched next to him. “I’m sorry, pal. That’s just the way it is. You’ll get sick.”

  Maxine took out her ride card, looked at the points, then leaned down, putting her hands on her knees. “Your auntie loves you. You need to trust that when she says no, it’s for your good, Davy. Not everyone can ride the roller coaster. But I’ll bet you could ride that Ferris wheel.” She handed PJ her ticket. “Finish this one off. We’ll get another.”

  “No—really.” PJ made to hand it back, still hearing Maxine’s words: “Your auntie loves you.”

  She did love Davy. It took her breath away, really, how much she wanted him to be whole and happy and at peace. To shake free of his fears and nightmares, the terror inside that had made him kick her instead of accept her hug.

  “No, really,” Maxine said, closing PJ’s hand around it. “Being a good parent—or aunt—isn’t about being perfect. It’s about making him know you love him, protecting him, and seeing in him more than what he sees.”

  PJ looked at Davy now, rumpled in his bathroom-dried clothes, climbing a bench, jumping from it. Reckless, headstrong, sometimes afraid. Armed with his own dreams and now ready to love her back if she just opened her arms.

  Maybe she already knew this child. Maybe she saw him in the mirror every day.

  “By the way—” Maxine snared her twins one by one—“I hope Jack is innocent. Maybe he just needs someone to believe in him, to keep looking harder and with a different perspective. Someone who won’t give up.” She glanced at Davy, then winked at PJ and pulled her kids over to the bumper cars.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Thwump!

  PJ heard her own gasp of pain and doubled over as she clawed her way out of sleep.

  Thwump! “Auntie PJ, wake up!”

  She covered her head, then her stomach, not sure which was more vulnerable as she focused on her attacker. Sunlight streamed in like fingers through the shuttered windows, reaching into her day. Davy stood at the edge of the bed, his dark hair sticking straight up from the bath she’d given him last night, hands on his hips, grinning.

  Better than an alarm clock.

  “Are we going to go to church?”

  Church.

  She sat up. Glanced at the clock.

  A smile found her, despite the early cast of morning as Davy climbed on the bed and bounced on the covers. “I wanna go to church.”

  She scrolled back to last week, wondering at his fascination, and remembered that he’d scored a candy bar from the storehouse in her bag. Yeah, she’d go to church for a candy bar too.

  She sank back into the pillow. “Are you sure, little man?”

  “Daniel and Felicia will be there.”

  Oh yeah. And Maxine. And most importantly, it was probably the one right thing she could do for Davy.

  “Get dressed, pal.”

  She climbed out of bed and peered out the window, her spirit rising at the sight of Billy on his feet in the yard. However, the smell that drifted toward her watered her eyes.

  Connie, and probably all her neighbors, would ban her from the city limits.

  Boris moved into her view, bringing the goat a bucket of grain, petting it, cooing. PJ wanted to pump the air with victory. She’d fooled him.

  She should probably be ashamed of that, but she couldn’t help it. In fact, maybe she
would ride the winning streak and today attempt to fit together the pieces of the puzzle surrounding Ernie’s murder. The truth felt just beyond her fingers.

  If only she could get her hands on that list Jeremy had scored from the country club break-in. But she hadn’t a clue how to track down Jeremy.

  She tossed through her clothes and pulled out a pair of jeans and a pink tee. If the pastor could wear jeans, so could she.

  She showered, dabbed on some makeup, and met Davy downstairs.

  He wore the suit that Connie had purchased for the wedding. A regular dapper young man. “Want some breakfast?”

  “I ate.”

  On closer inspection, she spied the trail of chocolate Pop-Tart down his white shirt. She wiped his mouth with a paper towel and raced him out to the Bug.

  Music streamed from the open doors of the praise and worship center as they parked. Davy jumped out and charged the doors. She caught Maxine waving from across the parking lot.

  “Davy’s sure looking happy today.” Inside, her son intercepted Davy in a headlock and they tussled, scattering conversations in front of the welcome booth. “Recovered from yesterday?”

  “Just a little.” Seeing Davy laugh and wrestle nudged PJ’s spirit further upward. She snagged him and grabbed a bulletin from one of the ushers.

  “Sit with us, PJ.” Maxine wound her way through the crowd to a dark-skinned man waving to them from a wheelchair near the front. “My husband comes early for prayer,” she said, as if explaining why they weren’t together.

  Her husband was in a wheelchair? He seemed older, despite his dark brown hair and obviously strong arms. Suddenly it came back to her—Maxine’s contemplative, even distant, look at the beach. Did she struggle with her husband’s disability? She seemed such a refined, relaxed picture of a put-together woman.

  Then again, PJ more than most knew that what you see isn’t always what you get.

  “Ethan, this is PJ, Trudi’s friend. PJ, my husband, Ethan.” Maxine held the twins back for PJ to scoot in.

  He greeted PJ with a smile and a handshake. “Glad to meet you.” She hid her surprise at his British accent.

  She slid into the pew, bookended Davy, the twins, then Maxine and Ethan. Praise songs had already begun and worshipers filtered in, some clapping, others chatting. The fresh music found her frayed ends, and before long, she could sense the not-so-absent PJ, the one she seemed to have forgotten during the last week, rising again to the surface.