“Guess I’m up,” Rob says, unbuttoning his jeans.
I try not to watch as he shucks them off, but it’s a losing battle. Under, he’s wearing a pair of loose black swim trunks. And holy smokes, he’s got great legs—long and muscular with a dusting of dark hair. Totally male. I wait for him to take off his shirt, but he doesn’t.
Sherm has Macie’s hand and they’re wading slowly into the water. Rob follows them in, and Theresa grabs my arm.
“Nice choice, Adri,” she mutters, then trots in after them.
I pull out my phone and decide to make myself useful and immortalize the event. I snap shots from the beach as the kids splash around. Thankfully, Rob doesn’t have to throw himself between children and hungry sharks. There are tons of oohs and aahs—apparently there’s a baby manatee out there—and the kids come out an hour later, excited and tired.
They dry off and sit and eat their bag lunches at a group of picnic tables overlooking the bay, then we load them back into the bus. When I climb on, bringing up the rear, Rob is back in our seat, his damp T-shirt clinging to pecs and abs that would put any Calvin Klein underwear model to shame. And his wet swim trunks are also clinging.
I force my eyes away.
“Everyone accounted for?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. “No shark depletion?”
“We were just lucky this time,” I mutter.
“Good,” he says. “Thought I saw a few of the little ones get picked off around the edges.”
“And you didn’t intervene?” I ask in mock outrage.
He guffaws. “You’re kidding, right? I told you my philosophy. Every man for himself. Plus, who’s really going to miss a few little ones.”
He seems much less haunted by that phrase than he did a few hours ago.
“How did you end up in Florida?” It’s because I can’t think around him that I just blurt these things. I’m not usually a blurter.
The storm in his eyes swirls, but never fully develops. “Business,” he says after a beat, his gaze never leaving mine.
I feel the shift in him as he answers, as if he’s resigned himself to something, but I’m not sure what. But when I process his actual response, I cringe.
“So I guess you didn’t need that job lead, then.”
He takes a deep breath. “The business venture isn’t coming along quite as quickly as I’d hoped, so I might need that job after all.” He sinks deeper into the seat. “I never said thanks for that. And for everything you’ve done for Sherm. You’ve been really great for him.”
My heart is pounding, and I will it to slow down. I don’t want to feel this attracted to someone who may or may not be married. I want to ask him about the woman. I want to ask him why Sherm won’t speak to him. But, surrounded by chattering nine-year-olds and eavesdropping teachers, it doesn’t seem like the right time.
“You’re welcome for the job lead, and as far as Sherm, he’s a pretty amazing kid. I really enjoy having him in class.”
He nods and lowers his eyes. “He is a great kid.”
“Did you know the house you’re living in is called Widow’s Leap?” I volunteer to keep the conversation going.
A little of the wariness that’s melted away over the past week creeps back into his expression.
“Not to be nosy. I just happened to notice the address in Sherm’s school record. We used to tell ghost stories about that house when I was growing up. I knew someone had bought it and fixed it up when I was away at college, but I haven’t been past it in years.”
“Where did you go to college?” he asks.
“Clemson. I graduated just before my mom died.”
The corners of his eyes crease. “Sorry.”
“Me too,” I say on a sigh.
“How long ago?” he asks.
“Ten months,” I say, my heart squeezing into a knot.
His gaze grows distant. “It gets a little easier, but you never forget.”
I tip my head back against the seat and close my eyes, trying to stop the heartache, because it’s not the forgetting that’s the problem. I’m having trouble remembering. Her spirit abandoned me, and now I’m letting her memory slip away too. I hate myself for it.
We get back to school just at the afternoon recess bell, and the kids unload and run onto the playground to brag to their friends about the trip.
“This was interesting,” Rob says. “Thanks for inviting me along.” It seems like there’s more he wants to say, but he bites his lip and watches Sherm and Macie head to the playground.
“I appreciate you risking your life for the good of the class.”
He laughs, but then his expression darkens and his eyes drill through mine. “Lucky guy.”
“What?” I ask in a fog, losing myself in their depths.
“Your date.”
His words are like a bucket of cold water to my face. I feel my mouth open and close like a fish as I struggle to find a reply, but nothing comes.
He turns for his car. “I’ll be back for Sherm after school.”
I watch him go, then I head to my room and pull out my phone, scanning through the pictures. They’re mostly of Rob, I find. My heart beats a little harder when I find one of him climbing out of the water, his T-shirt and swim trunks glued to his body. I blow it up, and my heart rate quickens more as I scroll from his face slowly down his hard body.
God, he’s gorgeous.
I jump and nearly throw my phone across the room when the door opens. Sherm passes through to the bathroom. When he comes out a few minutes later, I’ve got myself mostly together.
“What did you think about the manatees? Cool as sharks?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “They’re totally different.”
“Five extra-credit points if you can tell me three differences.”
“Manatees are mammals and sharks are fish,” he says, ticking off one finger. He uncurls a second finger. “Manatees are herbivores and most sharks are carn—”
“That’s good, Sherm,” I interrupt, holding up a hand to stop him. “Heard enough, thank you. A plus.”
He giggles and starts for the door.
I swallow. “Sherm? Tell me about your ring.”
He stops and fingers the small lump under his T-shirt. “It’s for Mom, so we don’t forget.”
I remember Rob telling me about his sibling’s Civil War names. “Do all your sisters and brothers have rings?”
He nods.
“Do you see them very often?”
He squints at me like he doesn’t understand the question.
“Do you and Rob visit your brother and sisters sometimes?” I clarify.
He blinks as though he’s still confused. “Lee moved into my room.”
“Your sister?” My mouth falls open. “Your sisters live with you?”
He nods again.
Last week Rob said he’d have Lee work on reading with Sherm. Robert E. Lee. My heart begins to race as all the pieces click together in my head. “And your brother, Grant?”
“He swears a lot.”
I can’t stop the laugh, and I hate that it’s partially out of relief. Rob lives with his brothers and sisters. That woman was one of his sisters.
But the next instant, my heart sinks when I realize nothing about this revelation changes anything. At lunch yesterday, Theresa was gossiping about the chemistry teacher at Loveland High who got canned last semester when he got caught in an affair with the mother of one of his students.
“Now that’s what I call chemistry!” she’d joked.
Granted, a group of students walked in on them doing the deed in his classroom, and granted, they were both married, but still, I doubt this kind of relationship is encouraged by the school board. I need to stop thinking about Rob that way. And besides, his hard shell seemed to soften a little on the bus today, but I don’t think that constitutes the beginning of a relationship.
But it definitely makes this whole mystery a little more complex. Both Rob and the sister I saw have to be
in their twenties. How old are the other two? They seem a little old to still be living together. Has it always been that way, or is this a new development since the move to Port St. Mary?
“So … do you have something to remember your dad by?” I ask.
Sherm shakes his head. “Papa’s in jail,” he says with all the indifference of saying he was at work.
My jaw hits the desk. His father’s supposed to be dead.
The bell rings before I can question him any further, and I decide that’s probably a good thing, because I’m having trouble containing myself, and poor Sherm was just about to get the third degree.
But untwisting the mystery occupies my thoughts for the rest of the afternoon.
What if this is the traumatic thing that happened between Sherm and Rob? Maybe whatever their father went to jail for is what has caused Sherm to close down. But then I think about Sherm when he said it. He didn’t seem at all affected by it.
Rob comes to the door at the end of the day and waits there for Sherm, as though he doesn’t trust himself to come any closer. I pretend to be engrossed in paperwork because, honestly, my mind is taking me to some pretty outrageous places and I feel like I need a grip on my thoughts before I start asking questions. Once the room has cleared, I take a deep breath and tug Sherm’s file toward me, thumbing through it for the number of his previous school. It’s listed as Skyview Elementary. I root through my bag for my phone and dial. I jot down my questions as it rings.
1) Math level?
2) Social skills? Shy? Talkative?
“Skyview Elementary,” a secretary answers.
“Hi. This is Adri Wilson calling from Port St. Mary Elementary in Florida. I have a student here, Sherman Davidson, who was in Ms. Patrick’s fourth-grade class last semester. I’d like to speak with her if possible.”
“Certainly,” she says. “Let me see if she’s available.”
There’s a series of beeps and a brief pause before a woman picks up. “Debra Patrick.”
“Hi, Debra. My name is Adrianna Wilson and I’ve got Sherm Davidson in my class. I wondered if I could ask you a few questions.”
“How is he doing?” she asks by way of an answer.
“He’s starting to adjust, but it’s been a rough transition. He’s still quite withdrawn and I was hoping to find out about his demeanor when he was there.”
“Yes,” she says. “He was quite withdrawn. But that’s understandable considering he lost his parents so recently.”
“When was that again?” I’m suddenly shaking, and I hope she doesn’t hear it in my voice.
“Two years ago, I believe,” she answers.
A cold tingle crackles under my skin. Rob said Sherm was four. That was five years ago. “Oh. I thought it was longer ago than that.”
“Did Sherm tell you something else?” she asks cautiously.
“No. I just had that impression.” I tap out a nervous rhythm with the end of my pen on Sherm’s file. “And both the parents were killed in the accident?”
“That was my understanding, yes,” she says with that same air of caution. “Such a tragedy.”
We talk about his grades, and she stumbles when I ask what math they were studying. I can’t put my finger on why, but there’s an itch under my skin and nothing about this conversation feels right. By the time I hang up, I’m more convinced than ever that all is not as it seems with the Davidsons.
Chapter 9
Rob
For the last two weeks, I’ve watched from the widow’s walk as Grant’s made good on his promise. The first day down on the beach, he and Sherm mostly just walked at the edge of the water. By the end of the first week, what started as Grant giving Sherm a noogie ended with them wrestling in the sand. Every day since, Grant has inched Sherm toward figuring out how to fend off his noogie attack. Today, for the first time, he’s teaching Sherm how to throw a punch.
Hopefully, it won’t be long before Sherm will be able to protect himself at school. Now I just need to figure out how to do the same, because a pretty blonde keeps picking away at my fortress, undermining the walls.
Part of it is me. When she smiles at me … hell, even when she’s in the same room as me, I catch the scent of Ivory soap and I can’t think straight. When she said she had a date, it was all I could do not to interrogate her. I picture her with someone else and I want him dead.
But it’s also her. She sees things no one else does. I’ve sat at bargaining tables with kingpins, business moguls, and US senators, and I’ve never blinked. I’ve got nerves of steel and a stone-cold poker face. But this girl is my kryptonite. She does something to me that no other woman ever has, and it’s dangerous. She’s so innocent … so open and up front, she makes me want to tell her things that no one can know. She asks questions and I want to give her answers.
If Sherm can learn to defend himself, so can I. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her out of my head. I’m not going to let her bring us down.
Grant lets Sherm land a punch squarely into his stomach, and he makes a big production of falling to the sand and flailing. I hear Sherm’s laugh carry up the bluff from the beach, and feel the familiar pinch in my chest.
Grant is taking my place. This is good. Sherm needs someone to look up to. It’s good for Grant too. In Chicago, he had a safety net. Here, not so much. Looking after Sherm keeps his afternoons full.
It’s what he does with his nights that concerns me.
He usually rolls out on his Harley after dinner. We don’t see him again until four or five in the morning. He won’t say where he goes, but he swears he’s not getting into trouble. I have to believe he cares about Sherm enough that he wouldn’t risk exposing the family.
The crunch of gravel on the road below catches my attention. I turn to see Lee pull up the drive. She had what has to be her tenth interview today. So far no luck. Things don’t look like they’ve improved when she slams out of the Beetle and stomps into the house. I head downstairs. Ulie makes a face from the kitchen, where she’s mashing something in a bowl with her hands.
I sink onto the sofa next to Lee. “Any luck?”
She lifts her head out of her hands, gives me an exasperated look. “No one is ever going to hire me for anything I’m actually qualified to do because they don’t know I’m qualified. I can’t put anything real on my résumé.” Her eyes flare hot. “I earned that damn degree, Rob! I worked hard for it.” She slumps deeper into the cushions, totally dejected. “I loved Northwestern.”
I slump down next to her. She should be finishing her MBA at the most prestigious business school in the country, not groveling for jobs from nobody CPAs in nowhere Florida. “We have cash stashed away and we’ll get sustenance checks from the Feds for another year and a half.”
“Then what? I’m never going to find a job.”
Then, whoever did this to us will have paid the ultimate price and we’ll have taken Chicago back. I’ll be back at the helm of the organization and Lee can focus on school … eventually transition out of the business if that’s what she wants. “I’m sorting it out, Lee. It’s going to be fine.”
It’s going to be better than fine, but I’m still not ready to fill her in on the details. I need a few of my ducks in a row first, which is proving to be a challenge since I can’t just pick up the phone and call anyone, even Pop, without the area code giving away our location.
She sits bolt upright and glares at me. “Damn it, Rob, stop saying that! Nothing is fine!”
The boys burst through the front door, covered in sand. Grant’s got the start of a scruffy blond beard that he’s stopped shaving over the last few weeks. He won’t let Lee cut his lion’s mane of hair, so he looks wild—the total opposite of his groomed Chicago playboy persona. He’s not hurting anyone by it, though, and he doesn’t look too out of place here, so I’ve decided I need to choose my battles.
“Sherm is the baddest in the land!” Grant announces, raising his arm as if he’s the heavyweight champion of the wo
rld.
Sherm laughs and squirms out of his grasp.
Lee’s eyes narrow as they comb over Sherm. “What are you talking about?”
“He seriously knocked the wind out of me with a right hook,” Grant answers with one of the few smiles I’ve seen from him in the month since everything went down.
She stands, plants her fists on her hips. “Why was he punching you?”
Grant’s confused glance flicks to Sherm then me. “Because Rob told me to teach him to fight.”
“There is no maid, guys,” she says in a measured tone, her hand waving at the door. But her scorching glare is pinned to me. “Shake off outside.”
Grant rolls his eyes and tows Sherm back out by the scruff of the neck.
“Dinner’s ready,” Ulie announces proudly. “Farsumagru!”
Another one of Mom’s favorites. I inhale deeply and realize, slowly but surely, Ulie is bringing us home, at least gastronomically.
“Why does Sherm need to know how to fight?” Lee asks, her myopic focus still on me.
“He doesn’t need to know how to fight,” I answer honestly. “He needs to know how to defend himself.”
“I don’t want him fighting,” she says, obviously not listening to a word I’m saying.
I shake my head at her. “Do you really think Sherm is going to start something? Have you met your little brother, Lee?”
Grant and Sherm pile back in and Ulie tries again. “Dinner’s on!”
The boys scramble to the table. Lee and I follow. I close my eyes with my first bite and let the taste of home melt on my tongue. “This is perfect, Ulie.”
She gives me a sad smile that tells me her culinary choices aren’t by accident.
After dinner, Lee and I clean while Ulie settles onto the sofa with Sherm. Grant heads up to the shower. We’re just finishing when the roar of engines I’d heard in the distance encompasses the house and rattles the dishes on the counter.
I pull my Glock from my waistband, move to the window.
In the driveway are at least a half a dozen Harleys, most with couples on them. One by one, they cut their engines and dismount.
Outside the Lines Page 10