by July Dawson
"It is."
She shook her head, wisps of hair flying. "In the end, it's always the same. You like to flirt with me. But you go back to your friends. Take Kate to prom."
"This isn't high school anymore."
"You're right," she said. "I'd get hurt more this time when you froze me out. So how about I drive you, do your laundry, figure out how to make a decent cup of coffee, and we keep to our separate lives?"
I raised my hands in exasperation. “I’m not the one who kissed you.”
“Please. Me kissing you first? That was chance.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were going to kiss me.” Accusing me of that made her cheeks flare even redder. “So why shouldn’t I kiss you first?”
“Awfully sure of yourself, honey,” I told her. I was stunned her brutal honesty. I’d get hurt more this time. God. In her own way, she was so tough. That would be a hard truth to tell.
She bit down on her lower lip, her white teeth indenting that perfectly plush pink pillow. “You are impossible.”
"Naomi. I'm only here for a month. I'm not trying to have a relationship. I want to be friends."
"That's great," she said. "Friends I can do. Friends I can work with."
"Great. We'll be friends."
"So stop flirting with me."
"I'm not flirting with you!"
She half-laughed at that. "Is it that hard for you to turn it off?"
"Turn what off?"
"The charm, I guess." She made a general wave in my direction, and I caught sight of the scars on the back of her hand again. "Or what passes for it. The teasing, the little smiles, the touches..."
"I won't touch you." I folded my arms over my chest as if I were in danger of touching her by accident. "Christ. Do I seem like the kind of guy who touches a woman who doesn't want to be touched?"
"Not like that, that's not what I meant." Her tone was almost conciliatory. Almost.
I couldn’t stop myself. "So you do want to be touched?"
"Rob," she said again. "Knock it off."
I looked at her innocently over the top of my iced coffee, biting down on the end of my straw. As much as I admired how straightforward she was, it wasn’t my style to talk about my feelings.
"I'll knock it off," I promised. "Just friends."
But when it came down to it, I wasn't sure I could.
Naomi was my girl. Always had been, always would be.
Even if she didn’t believe it yet.
11
Naomi
My mom called while we were idling in traffic. I’d pulled forward too optimistically, and now I stared guiltily at the don’t block the box sign that hung alongside the traffic lights. She told me that one of our biggest corporate accounts had just canceled their service.
"No, Mom, I don't know what happened! I thought they were happy." My mind raced forward to what that meant. We would have to hustle for new accounts, or we wouldn’t be able to keep all our employees.
"What's wrong?" Rob mouthed at me. I held my finger to my lips, shushing him.
"I'll call them once I get to the hotel. Find out what's wrong." She asked where I was, and I felt myself blush. "I drove Rob into Boston. I thought I told you guys about that. We're staying for a few nights while he sees family."
I glanced over at him, my voice dropping to a whisper even though there was no way he wouldn’t hear me. "Yes, two hotel rooms. Mom. What do you think this is?"
Rob smiled to himself, and as usual, I wondered what he thought this was.
"Hold on, we're moving, finally," I said, pressing my cell phone against my cheek with my shoulder as I changed gears. "I should let you go, Mom."
But my mother apparently had a lot more to say; she was anxious about the business, and I tried to reassure her as we eased through the intersection.
"I'll call," I promised again. I tried to steer around a car that was turning left, out in the middle of the box.
"Look out," Rob said sharply. Suddenly in my rearview mirror, I saw the car that was speeding up behind us. I dropped the cell phone, slamming on my brakes, and the car whizzed around us with an inexplicable honk of its horn.
"I haven't missed Boston," Rob said.
He was talking about the traffic, so why did that hurt my feelings? "Or Rhode Island?"
He leaned down to get the cell phone, but when I reached out to take it, he put it to his own ear instead. "Hi, Mrs. Papadopolous?"
"Yes?" she said.
"This is Rob Delaney. We are in crazy traffic. Naomi will call you back when we get to the hotel, okay? I want to keep her safe."
"Oh," she said. "Okay."
Rob said goodbye and hung up. When he dropped the cell back in the cup holder, I stared at him coolly.
"What?" he asked.
"You're being awfully high-handed."
He shrugged. "Sorry, I spend my days being in charge."
"Well, you're not in charge of me."
"Believe me, I've noticed." He scratched the skin just above the edge of his cast absently. "What's going on with your business?"
"That's my business," I said.
"Naomi, I want to help."
"How are you going to help?" I asked. "We lost one of our commercial cleaning clients. Commercial clients are our money-makers. We employ three people just because of that contract alone. So I have to find something else for them, A.S.A.P. or...."
"I know people," he said.
"I thought you tried not to talk to anyone from home except your brothers."
"And you," he said lightly. "I could make an exception."
"Put that hometown hero madness to work in our favor?"
"I asked you to cut that out," he chided.
I smacked the steering wheel with my hand. “I should be home where I can deal with this!”
He leaned back in his seat, sliding his sunglasses onto his face. “Sorry to be a distraction,” he drawled.
“It’s fine.” I felt embarrassed by my explosion. “You’re my job too.”
Rob didn’t respond to that. I glanced over, but I couldn’t read him in profile; his big jaw was set as usual, those kissable lips pressed together, and his eyes were hidden by those mirrored aviators.
He was a mystery.
I wished I knew how to be a mystery too.
12
Rob
After we finally found a parking space on a shady street a few blocks from Joe’s apartment, Naomi asked, "So have you stayed in touch with Joe?" The wind rustled her long, dark hair, and she pulled it back into a ponytail as she joined me on the sidewalk.
"Not really." In fact, Joe had sounded confused at first when I called and said, hey, it’s Rob. I’d had to clarify Delaney before Joe's voice turned warm. I had felt embarrassed, then a rush of misplaced anger. It was my fault, really; I hadn't called in years. I shrugged. "But I'll be glad to see him."
"He was always such a nice guy,” she mused as we walked back towards the apartment building we’d had to pass earlier, circling the block for a parking space. “Everything was so serious at your house. All those big parties and grown-up events, fancy clothes and best behavior. It was kind of a scary place when I was little. He would see my face and wink, and it would all seem fine."
"Yeah, tell me about it." It had been a scary place to grow up at times. Mitch had made it seem like we boys were always one screw-up away from shaming the family. Funny how that had turned out.
Joe had let us Delaney boys tag along with him to the hardware store or the gun shop, as if taking on four troublesome boys on top of the troublesome senior Delaney was all part of the job description. He’d planted the seeds for my future life. He taught me how to disassemble a gun, rewarded me for memorizing the gun safety rules with my first trip to the range, and taught me to use a drill and hammer as we helped him build the family safe room.
Now that I thought about that, my childhood seemed especially fucked up.
We turned a corner, and I saw Joe
sitting on the steps of a tan apartment building, reading a paperback novel. As he rose unsteadily to his feet, his hand trembling on the railing of the stairs, I felt a shock at how much Joe had aged. Joe was still tall, even more slender than before, his beard and hair silvery-gray now in contrast with his deep brown skin.
"It's so good to see you again, Rob," Joe said warmly. He hugged me tightly with one arm, clapping my back. "You too, Naomi. You still keeping this boy out of trouble?"
Naomi smiled, but her discomfort was evident in the stiffness of her shoulders and that attempt at a smile. I could imagine Naomi always trying to keep me out of trouble of some kind, whether it was giving me dirty looks over an unnecessarily attentive blonde at Abby's or rolling my socks into balls to pack for deployment. It was a fantasy that I liked.
"I remember a Christmas party when you were both very little,” Joe said as he turned to pull Naomi into a hug. “Rob kept trying to unwrap the presents under the tree, and you kept telling him, no, no, those aren't for you!"
"That's something I'm sure I'd heard from my own mom," Naomi said with a smile. "Poor Rob. They really were for him."
"Nah, they were just wrapped boxes. To look cute under the tree." Joe said.
"I was never the one on the Honor Roll," I said.
"Come on up,” Joe said. We walked behind him as he shuffled up, leaning heavily on his cane.
“You doing okay?” I asked. “The VA taking care of you?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Bad luck. Would you believe I was hit by a drunk driver a few years ago? After I retired?”
Drunk drivers. The words always made me feel a pang.
Joe led us into his apartment, holding the apartment door open. His living room was small but immaculate, with framed Marine Corps movie posters decorating the walls. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"I wouldn't mind a beer, if you have one," I said. "Need something to calm my nerves after having this one drive me in the city."
"I thought SEALs had implacable nerves," Naomi retorted.
"Your driving would make the Lord himself fear for his life."
Joe gestured to the tan leather couch and then went on to the galley kitchen at the other end of the room. "For a second, I forgot you're both old enough to drink. You still look so young."
"I wish I felt young," I said, settling back into the couch.
"Corona good for you? For you, Naomi?"
"Just water for me, please."
Joe returned with two beers and a glass of iced water.
"Do you not drink?" I asked her.
"That's a blunt question," she said.
"I didn't realize it would offend you. After all, you're the queen of blunt."
"I drink on occasion," she said. "But I don't drink when I'm on chauffeur duty."
Joe settled into the armchair. "Like you said, Rob, she's always been the smart one out of you two."
"I don't think I said exactly that. Anyway, I don’t drive after having a drink either." Despite having the muscle mass to metabolize alcohol in a hurry. After Mitch flipped the Audi, I hadn't been afraid to drink, but not if I had to drive. I promised my life to stand between Americans and the evil in the world. Imagining my car as a high speed projectile, made into something evil itself, made my pulse rise.
I nudged Naomi, who still stood beside the couch. "Are you going to sit? Rest up for another harrowing trip when we leave Boston? I've been on rides through Afghanistan where the driver seemed less tense."
Naomi glanced at me, her face neutral but her posture stiff, and wandered across the living room to look at the movie posters.
"I want to hear all about this Navy nonsense," Joe said. "I thought you were going to be a Marine."
"The Marine recruiter was closed the day I turned eighteen," I said.
"You always were impulsive. Too bad." Joe reached out to clap me on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you anyway."
"Thanks," I said. My tone was light. As if those words didn’t run into a deep, aching well that my father had dug into my soul.
Joe settled back into his armchair with an exhausted sigh. "You see your dad lately?"
"Haven't had the chance yet."
"You know he lives just at the other end of the city."
"Yeah, I'll go for a visit." I jerked my thumb at Naomi, who was strangely intent on a poster of The Sands of Iwa Jima . "Can't keep her away from her cats too long, but we're going to have breakfast with him tomorrow morning before we head back."
"Oh, god, not more about the cats," Naomi said.
"I know, can't some things be sacred?"
Joe’s eyes swiveled back and forth between Naomi and me, then returned to mine. There was a knowing flash in his eyes, but all he said was, "What did your dad think about you joining the Navy?"
"He thinks I'm crazy. I imagine that's what most of Newport thought, though."
"That's not what most people think," Naomi said. "They think you're setting yourself up for a political career. Future President Delaney."
"Oh, really?" I briefly imagined myself as President, everything a negotiation, the stakes always high. It sounded like a big pain in the ass. "I don't think that's for me."
"Best news I've heard all day." Naomi deadpanned without turning around.
Her jeans hugged the curve of her ass and muscular thighs and calves, even though she wore a baggy t-shirt like she wanted to hide. The t-shirt, and the rise of attraction I felt anyway, made me think of when she joined the swim team. She’d worn this high-necked green swimsuit, and she kept tugging absently at the straps. But once she started swimming, she was all grace. Athletic glutes and calves, and a narrow waist, had made her curvy in her own way even though she was petite and flat-chested. She smiled as climbed out of the pool, her hair a sopping dark knot on top of her head. There were faint summer freckles still dotting her olive skin. I’d felt the comfortable sense of knowing Naomi flicker out. Something new bloomed in its place.
I wondered what she looked like in a swimsuit now. Out of one? No, she was right. Sex with Naomi would be a mistake.
Fun, but a mistake.
"Might I use your bathroom, please?" Naomi asked.
"Of course." Joe stretched out a finger towards the closed door visible down the short hallway. As soon as the bathroom door had clicked shut behind her, Joe leaned over towards me. "She have a boyfriend?"
"Nope."
"You have a girlfriend?"
"No time for a girlfriend."
Joe sat back, looking at me steadily.
"What?"
"You have time for anything you want to make time for," Joe said.
Leave it to Joe to allow for no excuses, even a high op tempo. "Then I guess it's just not a priority for me."
"Huh," Joe said thoughtfully.
"What?"
"Guess you haven't met the right girl yet."
"Guess I haven't." My voice came out quiet. I didn’t want Naomi to overhear.
"We can walk, you'll never find another parking space," Joe said as Naomi came back into the living room. He took his jacket down from a hook next to the front door and pulled his cane back out of the corner.
"Are you sure?" Naomi asked.
"I'm fine. A little slow on my feet, but as long as it's only my feet that are slow, I've got no worries." Joe smiled at Naomi. "I wouldn't ask you to get back behind the wheel of a car when you have to put up with Rob's backseat driving."
"I wish I could drive from the backseat," I said automatically. I wondered if something had happened that gave Joe that limp, or if it was just old age.
Joe’s eyes met mine. "I’m doing all right, kid. Just that car accident."
"Were you working?"
"Yeah. Forced me to retire, and that's not all bad. I’ve gotten to spend more time with my daughter since. Barely saw her when she was growing up.”
“Your daughter?” Naomi glanced at me. Nope. I had not known that the most important adult figure in my life had a kid of his own.
> “Roslyn. She’s in grad school at Boston College.” Joe paused in the doorway, opening his cell phone to a screen saver of a young woman with short, curly hair framing a heart-shaped face.
“She’s beautiful,” I said.
“Thanks,” Joe said, grinning. “Makes me antsy when a Delaney says my girl’s pretty, though.”
The flash of hurt that ripped through my heart at that was one that I pushed away, and I grinned easily. “I’m too busy romancing Naomi over here, don’t worry.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Joe said. “Not about your father and the wreck.”
I nodded, not interested in discussing it, and then Naomi said mildly, “I thought we were just friends.”
I could’ve kissed her for rescuing me from that topic. “Of course. It’s just that you could so obviously use some romancing.”
“Give Mitch my best when you see him,” Joe said, slowly making his way out the door.
“Even after what he did to you?” I asked. The image of Joe carrying his bag down the driveway to his truck, because he wouldn’t lie for my prick of a father, was burned into my memory.
“I don’t care about him,” Joe said. “I care about you boys. You deserve to see the good in him, to remember the good times.”
I shrugged.
Joe said, "Your father isn’t all bad, Rob. He was running on instinct that day. Trying to preserve his legacy after. It has nothing to do with you. I couldn't be more impressed with how you boys turned out."
It was better than I had hoped for when I'd turned off the television in the rec room ten years before and turned to face my brothers. Liam, never one to shy away from a fight, had stared back. Josh had his freckled face propped up on his hand, looking bored, but his dark blue eyes were intent. And then Nick, still in middle school, had stared up at the ceiling, blinking hard.
"Listen," I had said, "Dad fucked up. It's got nothing to do with us, you hear me? We can be better men than him." We’d just listened to a newscaster call our dad a spoiled playboy murderer. We could serve our country; we could do something different.