She tried convincing herself that it was merely the presence of another person after an awful night, the annoyance of having to cook for one more. Sure. It has nothing to do with the fact that it’s Del waiting in there.
Smothering the sarcastic little voice, she pushed the door open, grabbed her tote and slammed the door behind her. The sharp bite of charcoal smoke lingered in the air, mixing with the sweetness of her roses. The neighbors loved to grill; she doubted they ever used their state-of-the-art kitchen. Somehow, the idea of cooking seemed as heavy as her bag, laden with research papers to be graded. It pulled on her shoulder and she adjusted it, fumbling with her keys as she approached the front door. It swung open before she reached it.
Del reached for her bag. “Let me get that.”
She shrugged off his hand. “I’ve got it.”
The tempting aroma of grilled meat hovered in the air. She glanced at him, refusing to dwell on how his faded jeans hugged his lean hips. “You cooked?”
He nodded, a small ironic smile playing about his mouth. “You didn’t think I expected you to do it, did you?”
Actually, she’d never entertained the idea that he would have supper ready and waiting when she arrived home. Half the time during their married years, he hadn’t been home for supper, had eaten leftovers long after the children were in bed.
She dropped her things by the couch and brushed her hair from her face. “I didn’t think about it at all.”
Quiet reverberated through the house, all the noise of teenage interaction missing. Even the television stood silent. “Where are the kids?”
“Their rooms, avoiding me.” His laugh emerged forced and uncomfortable.
“What do you mean?” Frowning, she walked to the kitchen. Five place settings graced the table along with a large salad. Foil-jacketed potatoes waited on the counter next to a platter of steaks grilled to exquisite perfection. A ridiculous lump of tears gathered in her throat. It was just grilled steak. Why did she feel like crying?
He followed and leaned in the doorway. “I think Blake would cut off his pitching arm to keep from having to talk to me. Lyssa is ticked because I made her do her homework instead of talking on the phone, and Anna…”
His voice trailed away in a rough clearing of his throat. Barbara eyed the tight line of his jaw. “Lyssa shouldn’t be upset. She knows the rule is homework first. It’s just because you’re in a different role. She’s used to the weekend you, the guy with the fun activities and the relaxed rules—”
“Yeah.” His collar stood open, revealing a vee of tanned skin and a dusting of dark hair. Her fingertips itched for the feel of that smooth, warm skin and she clenched her hands into tight fists. He gestured at the platter of steaks. “We should eat before it gets cold.”
She wondered at the way his face closed, but nodded. “I’ll call the kids.”
All through dinner, the strange silence weighted the table. Odd looks passed between Lyssa and Anna, and Blake sulked, pushing his food around his plate but not really eating. A hard knot formed in Barbara’s stomach. Too many memories of other family meals, filled with laughter and conversation, flitted through her mind, a reminder of what they’d had once upon a time.
After dinner, while the children cleared the table, she and Del walked outside. Barbara’s melancholy lingered and she avoided looking at Del. She settled into a sling chair, a green market umbrella blocking the late evening sun.
“Tick brought up something I hadn’t thought of.” Hands shoved in his pockets, Del leaned against the railing. “We need a way to make sure he doesn’t sneak out again.”
“We can’t exactly nail his window shut.” Although she’d seriously considered it once or twice during the long day.
“I know. But I think I have an idea.”
“Okay. I’m listening.” She was glad one of them had an idea. She was all out.
Freeing his hands, he rubbed his palms down the outside of his thighs, a nervous gesture she recognized. “I should stay until he gets the message that we mean business.”
That was his idea? Hadn’t they already agreed he wasn’t going back to Atlanta yet? “That’s great, but we need more of a plan than that. So are you staying with Tick or your mama?”
“I don’t believe you understood what I meant, Barb.” His hands made another foray down his legs.
She averted her eyes from those long fingers and tried to focus on his words. “What did you mean, then?”
“I meant I should stay here. I think I should move back in.”
Chapter Four
“What?” Barbara stared up at Del. Surely she hadn’t heard him say he planned to stay in their house. Under their roof, where she would have to see him every day, a constant reminder of what they’d once been. The memories he’d left behind the first time were bad enough. Her stomach fluttered once, then clenched.
He ran his palms down his thighs again. “I should stay here. Think about it, Barb—”
“I don’t need to. You’re not staying here. You can go to Tick’s or your mama’s.”
“He needs to see that we’re together on this.”
“I don’t want you in the house.”
Pain pinched his mouth into a tight line. Remorse tugged at her and she shoved it away, made herself keep her expression impassive.
“I know that.” Frustration darkened his voice. “But, believe me, it’s the best way.”
“Then we’ll take the second-best way, because you’re not staying here.”
“Second best is having him move in with me so I can keep an eye on him.”
She glared. “No. He belongs here.”
He moved with quick grace, kneeling before her, his hands gripping the arms of her chair. “Yeah, he does, but he needs me right now.”
“He’s always needed you.” The raw words scraped her throat.
A spasm tightened his face, his eyes pained. “I know.” The bald statement emerged a hoarse whisper. “I’m trying, Barb. Let me stay.”
“Del—”
“Please.”
Barbara looked away from the depthless dark of his gaze. If he’d chosen smooth persuasion, she could have hardened herself to him. But his sincerity…the aching sincerity in his voice wrapped around her, seeping in, making her want to smooth the frown lines from his face, ease the hurt from his eyes.
Don’t. Remember what giving in to desire and the need to comfort him did before.
It gave us Blake.
And ruined all your plans, didn’t it?
She swallowed and faced him again, strengthening her defenses. “I don’t know. There has to be another way.”
“Give me one.”
“I…you’re being here isn’t going to keep him from sneaking out.”
“I can deter him. Trust me.”
Trust him. He made it sound so easy, like all she had to do was step back and let him take over, depend on him to not let Blake fall. Resentment curdled in her. Trust meant being dependent, letting someone else take control.
Trust me. I’ll handle it. Aunt Polly’s reedy voice echoed in her head. You can’t do this by yourself, Barbara Gail. The aunt who’d raised her had set her up to be the needy, desperate girl who’d reacted to the same need in Del. The one time Barbara had stood up to her, refused to let Aunt Polly handle things had been over Del, over Blake. She’d ignored the elderly woman’s insistence that the baby would be better off being put off for adoption. Instead, she’d clung to Del, listened to him when he’d murmured reassurances.
Trust me. I’ll take care of you. His words when they were standing outside a South Carolina courthouse and all her fears were crowding in. He had picked up right where her Aunt Polly left off, taking care of her. Look how that had turned out. When the responsibility became too much, he’d walked away.
Trusting him had been her biggest mistake.
And now he knelt in front of her, asking her to make that mistake all over again. Her hair tickled her forehead, and she tucked it be
hind her ears, avoiding his eyes again. “I can’t.”
His mouth tightened. “Then let me prove it to you. A couple of nights, Barb. That’s all I’m asking for. Long enough to show him we mean business.”
In the house the phone rang and young voices argued over who would answer it, the chaos filtering out to them. Barbara pressed her lips together and held his gaze steadily. Two nights. He wasn’t asking for much, not really, and if she was totally honest with herself, the idea of having an ally in dealing with Blake appealed. She could handle two nights.
She blew out a long breath. “All right. Two nights.”
Relief lit his eyes. “It’ll work. You’ll see.”
The dimple in his cheek flashed with his grin. She stared down at him, her knees almost brushing his stomach. He’d smiled up at her that way, in this same position, when she was miserable and large with the twins. Seated on their bed, she’d been ready to cry over her appearance, and he’d run his long fingers over her outer thighs and whispered that she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. He’d pressed a kiss to her stomach, to her thigh, and now, her face heated with the memories of how he’d pleasured her with his hands and mouth.
“Mama,” Anna called from the back door. “Miss Melanie wants to talk to you.”
A reprieve. Thank God. Barbara rose, nearly colliding with Del’s chest. He reached out a hand to steady her, the warmth of his callused palm on her wrist sending a jolt of awareness along her skin. She stepped back, afraid he’d feel the sudden jump of her pulse. His hand dropped away.
“Excuse me a minute.” She hurried across the deck to take the cordless phone from Anna. Pulling the door shut closed out the sounds of her children bickering over whose turn it was to take out the trash. Resisting the urge to tell them to look at the chore schedule, she lifted the phone to her ear, glad the deck was large enough that she could stand outside and still be out of Del’s earshot. “Hello?”
“Hey, girl.” Melanie’s cheerful voice washed over her. “What’s going on?”
Barbara laughed, a short humorless sound. “You really don’t want to know.”
“Uh-oh. More trouble with Blake.”
“Not exactly.” She cast a surreptitious glance at Del, who had settled into the sling chair she’d vacated. Head tilted back, eyes closed, he appeared boneless. “I just agreed to let Del move back in for a couple of days.”
“You what?” Melanie’s incredulity shrilled into her ear. “Okay, I’m coming over and we’re going for a walk.”
“Melanie, wait. I can’t—”
“Oh, hell, yes, you can. Get your walking shoes on. We have to talk.”
*
“Is this a regular thing for your mom?” Del flipped through the stack of homework, checking it off against Lyssa’s planner and initialing each listed assignment. He stood at the island in Barbara’s cheerful kitchen with its bright coral walls and white ceramic tiles to match the white cabinets. Sometime over the past few months, she’d ripped out the old countertops, painted the warm pine cabinets they’d chosen together. He’d noticed other changes in the house, as though with him gone, she’d wanted to start eradicating his presence from the place.
Slowly, the place ceased to be his home.
“Is what a regular thing?” Blake asked.
“Walking with Ms. Williams.”
Slumped on an island stool, Blake shrugged, the tense line of his body screaming resentment at being made to sit in the kitchen with his father. “They walk two or three times a week. If Mama doesn’t do laps.”
So he hadn’t been imagining the delineation of muscles in Barbara’s arm when he’d touched her earlier. All of Barbara’s body seemed more toned than he remembered. Although he’d liked her figure just fine before, he couldn’t stop looking at her trimmer form and wondering what it would be like to run his hands over those tight curves.
He cleared his throat, trying to dismiss the taut pressure in his stomach. “Ms. Williams seems nice.”
Another terse shrug. “She’s okay. I have her for biology.” Blake glanced at him, an under-the-radar look beneath his lashes. “So are you leaving once Mama gets back?”
Del bought a minute by carefully shuffling Lyssa’s homework into a pile and laying her planner on top. Hell, walking through the minefield of conversation with his teenage son was harder than his first job interview. “Actually, no. I’m staying here.”
Blake stilled. “Here? In the house?”
“Yeah. Here, in the house. With you.” He darted a glance at the living room where the girls watched television. All he needed was Lyssa getting the wrong idea about his staying. He’d talk to the girls later, explain why he was here, unless Barbara wanted the privilege of that particular conversation.
“You don’t need to—”
“Obviously, I do. Face it, son, whether you like it or not, you broke our trust last night. You have to earn it back.”
Blake looked away, muttering beneath his breath.
Angry heat flushed Del’s neck. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing.”
“You know, I’m tired of this attitude—”
“And I’m tired of you pretending you care!” Blake rushed from the room. His stool wobbled and crashed to the floor, followed by the slamming of his door.
Responding anger rumbled through Del. After returning the stool to its upright position, he followed and opened Blake’s bedroom door.
Blake, sprawled on his bed, headphones already covering his ears, glared at him. “Get out.”
The anger burned hotter. “Let’s get one thing straight. You will not slam another door in this house. Got that?”
Blake’s eyes narrowed further and he pushed the headphones to lie around his neck. “It isn’t your house anymore.”
It took an effort to unclench his jaw. The disdain evident in the words scalded him. “That’s right. It’s not.” He refrained from pointing out he was still making the damn mortgage payment. “However, I am your father, and I’m telling you…you will not slam another door in your mother’s house again. Understand?”
Silence.
“Blake.”
“I heard you.”
“Do you understand? No more slammed doors. And this one stays open until you’re told otherwise.”
“I got it.” Resentment weighted the admission.
“Good. And one more thing.” Maybe he shouldn’t push this button yet, but he was damned tired of the kid’s attitude. He’d gotten this far, might as well lay out one more ground rule.
“What?”
“When you speak to your mother or me, I expect you to use a respectful tone.”
Blake blew out a breath and clamped his lips closed. He nodded.
Del eyed his son. An opportunity stared him in the face and he had no idea how to use it, no clue how to begin the conversation they needed to have, or even where that conversation needed to go. He was lost, on a road he’d never really traveled, and he didn’t have a map.
His face devoid of all expression, Blake dropped his gaze and slid the earphones back into place. He pushed the volume control up on the MP3 player, his posture a clear statement of Del’s dismissal.
A frustrated growl climbed in Del’s throat and he swallowed it. Yeah, he was definitely lost and he’d just missed his exit.
*
“So why did you say yes?” Melanie’s words emerged on a pant and she lifted her water bottle to her lips.
“Because it makes sense.” Barbara walked faster, as if one more lap around the block would put distance between her and the man in her home. A droplet of sweat trickled between her breasts, her damp T-shirt clinging uncomfortably to her back.
“Oh, bull feathers. The real reason.”
“That is the real reason. I don’t know what—”
“Oh, come on, Barbie, this is me.” Melanie aimed a playful pinch at Barbara’s waist. “Tell Melanie all about it. What possessed you to agree he could stay in the house?”
; Barbara lifted a hand at a neighbor out deadheading daylilies. What had possessed her? Complete inability to say no to Del Calvert, that’s what. But she couldn’t tell Melanie that, could hardly stand to admit it to herself. “Seriously, my first concern is Blake. If having Del around will help him, I can handle it.”
“Um-hmm.” Melanie nodded, brushing her hair away from her face. “Testing yourself, aren’t you? If you can do this, stay in the house with him, avoid the ex-sex trap, it means you’re really over him.”
“Oh, please. Ex-sex?” Barbara forced a laugh, torn between irritation and the images Melanie’s words invoked. Lovemaking with Del, the incredible warmth of his skin against hers, his hands touching her in wonderful ways, the guttural groan of satisfaction rumbling from his throat with his climax.
She fanned her hot face, glad she had the exertion as an excuse. “Believe me, I’m getting over him.”
“Really?” Melanie regarded her with an uplifted brow. “I wonder. I only have one question for you. What if you find out you’re not?”
She wouldn’t. All she had to do was keep reminding herself how getting wrapped up in Del Calvert had ruined everything—her future, the dreams, the plans—the first time around. That should keep her from making the same mistake twice.
*
The late dusk of summer lay heavy on the neighborhood when Barbara turned up her driveway. The front porch light glowed a welcome, and open curtains offered a view inside her living room. She paused on the pathway, a weird mixture of affection, pain and desire gripping her. The television was on and Anna lay on the floor, swinging her feet in the air while she watched. On the couch, Lyssa munched from a bag of popcorn, her shoulder snuggled into Del’s side. He read the local paper, but lowered it to grin at some comment made by one of the girls.
She closed her eyes. Despite her determination not to be drawn in, she missed him, missed them, missed their family. The next two nights promised to be the longest of her life, longer even than the near forty-eight hours she’d spent in uneven labor with Blake.
Another memory to torture her. The small delivery room at the local hospital, the weird burning pain that definitely did not feel like strong menstrual cramps, as a couple of the older ladies at church had told her to expect. The worry that maybe keeping the baby was the wrong thing to do. Overwhelming fear, of the pain and the unknown, of how her life would change again.
His Ordinary Life Page 5