Why Did It Have to Be You?

by Allyson Charles

  “I know this doesn’t look great,” Allison said. “But we can make it work. The guys from the fire department said they’d man the grills—”

  “Along with me,” Jerome said.

  Mrs. Garcia flattened her lips with displeasure.

  “So if I could get you guys to work a couple extra shifts, maybe bring along a friend or two…” Allison looked around, her big eyes hopeful. “Look, I sort of put this whole volunteer thing on the back burner and now Founders’ Day has snuck up on me. I don’t want the volunteer committee to think I slacked off.”

  “Too late for that.” Mrs. Garcia crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her legs. Her lavender polyester pants ended a couple of inches above her white orthopedics. “We all know exactly how much effort you’ve given your task.”

  Allison ignored her. “The midway lasts from noon till five, with an hour allotted for cleanup after. That’s three shifts of two hours. If you could each do two shifts, that still gives you time to enjoy the midway.” No one moved to add their names to the clipboard. “And I’ll give anyone pulling double-duty a free pie.”

  That kicked a few people into gear. One of the women called her husband and told him he was also working two shifts at the shaved ice booth so they could take home two pies. Allison’s pies were just that good. Connie already had the two to four shift in the cotton candy booth, and added the closing one. How much cleanup did a cotton candy machine need?

  Connie’s phone vibrated in her jacket pocket, and she pulled it out, her heartbeat leaping. Her shoulders drooped. Another text from Marisol. Another decision she didn’t want to make. She put the phone away.

  “What’s wrong?” Miss Eugenie rolled up her knitting and tucked it in a large canvas bag.

  “Nothing.” Connie shook her head, dejected. David hadn’t called or texted since their afternoon together. And that was fine. They hadn’t made any plans, hadn’t said they’d see each other again. He didn’t owe her anything. “I’m just busy with work.”

  The older woman sniffed. “That’s not all you’re busy with.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was taking Shep for a walk the other day, and we decided to cut through the woods and pay you a visit.”

  Connie’s stomach pirouetted and started a slow descent, like a hot air balloon coming in for a landing. “What day was this?”

  “The day you and Mr. Carelli decided to taste each other’s tonsils in your backyard.” Miss Eugenie kept her voice low, but the disapproval came through loud and clear. “Or do I need to be more specific as to which day? Do you climb all over men like that on a regular basis?”

  Connie could only hope. That would make her life much more exciting. She shifted on her chair. She only wished her excitement hadn’t been witnessed. “I know what day you’re talking about,” she whispered.

  Miss Eugenie slowly shook her head. “One can only imagine what happened in your house after that kiss.”

  Connie’s cheeks flamed. Please, please don’t let Miss Eugenie be imagining me and David together in bed. She prayed on all that was holy for the floor to open up and end this conversation. Nothing was worse than having someone as old as her grandmother, someone who’d lived through the sexual revolution but sure as hell didn’t approve of it, knowing about her love life.

  “Not that I can really blame you.” The older woman sighed, looking into the distance. “That boy swims during my water aerobics class sometimes. The stomach muscles on him…”

  Nope, she’d been wrong. Miss Eugenie lusting after the man Connie had slept with was worse. Much, much worse. She looked at Jerome’s duty belt. She could slip the Taser out, put herself out of her own misery. At least for a couple of minutes.

  “And his tooshie in that Speedo? Is it really—”

  She had to stop this now. “I didn’t see his tooshie in my bed.” Technically true. She’d dug her nails into it, but she hadn’t seen it until he’d gotten up for his shower.

  Mrs. Garcia broke off from the conversation she was having with the man on her other side. “Whose tooshie?”

  “No one’s,” she and Miss Eugenie said in unison. Connie blew out a breath. At least the woman wasn’t broadcasting her indiscretion all over town.

  “And can we please stop saying ‘tooshie’?” Connie added, dropping her voice even lower. “Mr. Carelli and I are just…friends.”

  Miss Eugenie dropped her chin, the silk rose on her pink cloche hat dipping toward the brim. She pressed her lips together. “Don’t give me that ‘friends’ nonsense. Even friends with benefits don’t get that hot and heavy.”

  Connie’s jaw fell open.

  “Oh, don’t give me that look. I watch Girls. I follow ‘Urban Lingo’ on social media. I know what the kids are saying.” Miss Eugenie tapped a bent finger on her latest generation smart phone. “Now, admit you like the boy and be done with it.”

  “I never said I didn’t like him,” Connie hissed. At least, she hadn’t said that lately. “I just don’t think that our relationship, or non-relationship, is anyone’s business but our own.”

  Nodding, Miss Eugenie pulled a mint out of her pocket and unwrapped it. She popped the red-and-white striped disk into her mouth. “That’s smart, keeping it on the down low. Considering he’s your opponent in a case.”

  “Right.” Connie cleared her throat. “He’s been…helping me build a fence, but we don’t talk about the case, except to discuss settlement. I haven’t given him any information I shouldn’t have.”

  Miss Eugenie leaned close and patted her hand, her peppermint breath washing over Connie. “I didn’t think you had. Young David might try to seduce the information out of you. Lord knows that boy has the morals of an alley cat.” Her steel-gray curls quivered with her head-shake. “But you’re made of sterner stuff than that.”

  “Thanks, I guess.” Connie rubbed at the dull ache that had settled in her chest. She didn’t believe that David had tried to seduce anything out of her, well, anything beyond the obvious. But this town would never accept him. Never believe that he could be a good man, when he put his mind to it. She knew how hard it was to search for redemption, but between the two of them, her path was a piece of cake. David had the Everest of mountains to climb before he ever got there.

  “I saw something else that disturbed me,” Miss Eugenie said.

  What else could there be? Unless the old woman had climbed onto her porch roof and peered in her bedroom window, that kiss was all that she and David had done in public. The woman was spry, no doubt, but not scaling walls spry.

  “A goat.” Miss Eugenie’s voice was as dry as a desert. “About forty pounds. Two-inch horns. And a lot of slobber dripping from its mouth.”

  “I know which goat you’re talking about. I only have the one. I don’t need a description.” Connie’s voice had risen to normal levels, and Jerome shifted in his chair to face her.

  “You have a goat? I don’t remember any livestock on your property,” he said.

  Miss Eugenie leaned back in her chair so she could talk behind Connie. “Yes, it’s about forty pounds, with two-inch horns—”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, he doesn’t want a description.” Connie leaned on the table, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. When had her life become so crazy? It had all started with that goat. She blamed Milo.

  “I don’t know.” Jerome leaned back as well, the leather in his duty belt creaking. “That sounded like the beginning of a thorough witness description. I’m impressed, Miss Eugenie.”

  The paper-thin skin on Miss Eugenie’s face turned pink. “Debbie and I took a course on criminal profiling at the community college which included a lesson on witness identification. In case we see a bank robbery or something, we want to be able to help the police as best we can.” She rolled the hem of her blouse between her fingers. “We can’t always be on the wrong side of the law.”

  Connie muffled a snort. She’d almost forgotten M
iss Eugenie’s and Mrs. Garcia’s brush with crime last Christmas, stealing holiday decorations in a round-about plot to upstage a neighboring town’s tree-lighting ceremony. How she could have forgotten, she didn’t know. The two women had created a viral social media campaign, complete with its own Pineville Pride hashtag, trying to explain and excuse their actions.

  Jerome’s grin widened. “I’m glad to hear it. I only wish all our citizens would be so inclined.” He nudged Connie with his shoulder. “Now, do you want to tell me about this goat? It doesn’t happen to like eating begonias and cherries, does it?”

  Miss Eugenie puffed her chest out, bristling with indignation. “That’s what I suspected. When did you get this beast?”

  “Uh, I put him in his pen last week.” Connie was getting awfully good at misleading without telling actual lies. Maybe she would be a successful attorney. She darted her gaze around the room, searching for an out. “Hey, look. There’s Lee and his family. I’m going to go say hello.”

  “No need. He’s coming over here.” Jerome bent his head toward hers. “We’ll talk later about your goat.”

  “Great,” she said tonelessly. She wasn’t looking forward to creating a defense for Milo.

  Jerome stood and shook Lee’s free hand. “Good to see you, man. How’s the shoulder?”

  “Healing. I should be back to work in a couple weeks.”

  “A month.” His wife leaned into his side, shaking her head. She had a small girl in her arms, and a boy hanging on to her shirt. Bobby stood behind them, scrolling through his phone.

  “Between a couple weeks and a month,” Lee amended.

  A crick began to form in her neck from looking up, so Connie stood, as well. “That’s good news. David will be pleased when you get back.”

  Lee and Maureen flicked glances at each other. “Yeah, maybe,” he said.

  Jerome leaned forward. “You get another offer?”

  Lee just shrugged.

  “Good for you,” Mrs. Garcia said, turning in her seat so she faced the conversation. “You’ve worked for that slimeball Carelli long enough.”

  Lee scratched his fingers through his beard. “He’s not that bad.”

  Maureen’s eyebrows shot to the sky, and Connie guessed Lee’s opinion was a recent one. Maybe she wasn’t the only one noticing changes in David. Connie had known Lee casually for a couple of years. He was a no-nonsense kind of guy. If he was softening on David, maybe David had a shot with the rest of the community.

  “David taught me how to throw straight.” Bobby glared at Mrs. Garcia, looking up from his phone. Lee laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “He’s done a good job with the team,” Lee said. “At least, as good a job as anyone can do.” He nudged Bobby forward. “Well, we’re going to go grab a table. Have a nice evening, everyone.”

  Connie and Jerome sat back down. Mrs. Garcia scooted her chair in, her stomach jostling the table. Connie grabbed her ice tea glass before any of the liquid could spill.

  “That man should sue,” Mrs. Garcia said. “I heard Carelli Construction was using sub-standard materials, and because of that, Lee almost died.” Planting a pudgy index finger on the Formica tabletop, she pinned Connie with a stern gaze. “You should take his case. Make Carelli pay.”

  “She’s not an ambulance chaser,” Miss Eugenie said firmly. “And you don’t know all the facts, Debbie. It’s too soon to say whether anyone was responsible.”

  Mrs. Garcia’s double chin shook with the effort it took to keep her mouth from falling open. It wasn’t often one of the tree twins contradicted the other publicly. Connie could only assume Miss Eugenie was trying to be sensitive to her feelings, knowing of Connie’s and David’s relationship. A tingling sensation warmed Connie’s limbs, and she shot the older woman a grateful smile. She’d never thought of Miss Eugenie as sweet before. But her neighbor surprised her.

  Miss Eugenie picked up a wedge of lemon from a saucer in the middle of the table and squeezed it into her water. “That poor man,” she said, looking back at Lee. “In an instant he could have been killed. You never know when the ride’s going to end.”

  No, a person never knew. Connie turned her glass between her palms, the condensation making her hands wet. She listened with half an ear to the conversations going on around her. She knew how short life could be, how quickly someone you cared about could be snatched away. She’d seen Caleb’s death as a warning not to get too close to anyone again, not to open herself up to the kind of pain the loss of a loved one could bring.

  But maybe she’d been looking at it all wrong. Instead of a warning, maybe Caleb’s death should have been a reminder not to waste the life she had. One car accident, one slipped step in the shower, and her life could be over. If it all ended tomorrow, who did she want to be with today?

  The answer to that was easy. She wouldn’t expect anything long-term or any commitment. But right now, she wanted to be with David. She’d made strides going after the career she wanted. It was time she went after the personal life she wanted, too. Grabbing her bag, she said goodbye to the group and started for the door.

  Allison raised her hands, palms up. “But we have cake coming out.”

  In a contest of Connie’s current temptations, Allison’s cake didn’t even tip the scale. And that was some of the highest praise she’d ever given a man. “Next time,” she called back. Hurrying to her Jeep, she glanced at her watch. Just after five. David would still be at work. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, considering her dilemma. His office, or anyplace public, was out. Her father probably had his feet up on her couch, watching TV and bitching about her lack of cable. Which only left her one option.

  Turning the key, she pulled out onto Main Street and headed for the lake. David’s house was a three-story glass and stone marvel she’d seen many times while sunning at the public beach across the lake. Everyone knew it was David Carelli’s house. He had it designed and built from the ground up. When he’d received a coveted lakeside building permit, more than a few Pineville residents had complained about the city being bought off.

  She twisted her lips. That seemed to be a common complaint about David. Turning onto the road that ran along the lake, she drove toward the spot his house sat on. And kept driving until she hit the north end of the lake and knew she must have passed it. Turning around, she drove the road more slowly, looking for glimpses of the slate blocks the house was made of.

  And ended up back where she’d started. “What the hell?” She drove the ten minutes around the lake to the public beach and stared at his house. Three stories of glass and gothic stone architecture rose from the water. The waning sunlight reflected off the floor-to-ceiling windows, burning her retinas if she stared too long.

  Okay, the blasted place hadn’t disappeared since her last visit to the beach. She tried to mark its location against landmarks on the other side of the lake. It looked like it was a couple hundred feet north of Lover’s Peak, a rock formation of two huge boulders leaning against each other, the stones kissing.

  Connie pulled onto the road and tried again. The second time past the rock, she finally saw a small mailbox, tucked behind a blue spruce. The driveway dropped off down a hill and wound its way to the lake.

  David’s black BMW sat parked in front of the garage.

  The house was built onto the side of a hill, and the front door was on the second story. A redwood deck flanked the sides, and wrapped around to the back, Connie knew, looking out onto the lake.

  She cut the engine and stared at the stone edifice in front of her. Impressive. Formidable. Much like the man who resided inside. Wiping her palms on her jeans, she sucked in a deep breath. He might not want her here. Maybe once was enough to get her out of his system. She didn’t think so. His goodbye kiss hadn’t actually felt like a goodbye. But then, she’d read him wrong before.

  As Caleb used to say, however, no guts, no glory. Opening her door, she chided herself. She neede
d to stop bringing Caleb into her relationship with David. As she stood before his front door, his eight-foot-high, double-wide front door, her throat felt too small to swallow even saliva. She stared at the carved wood doors, eyed the detail in the mane of the lion’s head on the brass knocker, and tried to suck up some courage. No woman wanted to be rejected, and Connie figured there was a thirty-seventy chance she might be.

  In the end, it was only Caleb’s voice that got her to ring the doorbell. No guts, no glory, she repeated in her head. She could only hope David felt the same way about seizing the day.

  Chapter Twenty

  Feeling like he was pushing through wet cement, David plodded to the front door, the painted concrete floor cold beneath his bare feet. He was exhausted. OSHA had decided to send out inspectors to monitor his build, and they seemed to do more interfering than watching. He’d been pulling sixteen hour days trying to catch up with his schedule.

  The work had been good, though. It had kept his mind off of what his body was missing with Connie. That, and the intense two-hour swim sessions he’d put himself through, making him too worn out to even think about sex. Much.

  He’d sent a small crew over to finish her goat pen, and he hoped the open-faced two-story loft and play area for her weird pet expressed his feelings better than he could have. But he didn’t trust himself to explain in person that he needed to back off until their case was over. Not when her skin felt like silk under his hands. When her eyes went liquid when he touched her.

  He pulled one of the double front doors open, and those same eyes glared at him. Connie stepped inside, pushing past with a knock to his shoulder. “Why is it so friggin’ hard to find your house? A sign with your street number up by the head of your driveway isn’t too much to ask.”

  She strode into his living room. Her long legs, encased in tight, dark blue jeans, ate up the floor. Her shoulders were a rigid line beneath her linen jacket, which tucked in at her waist and flared out around her hips.