When Lightning Strikes Twice

by Barbara Boswell

  “I’m not thirty and Jennifer Payne is not a kid. She—”

  “Is only twenty-one years old, Saxon. She was in my sister Sarah’s high-school class at St. Philomena’s. She also happened to be my brother Shawn’s date for his Senior Prom. We have the pictures in the family album if you’d care to check out her fifteen-year-old self.”

  “No thanks. But I am curious to know if Shawn got lucky and scored on prom night.” Wade’s leer was comically salacious.

  “Nobody at St. Philomena’s ever got lucky and scored, not during high school,” Dana said flatly. “We were all too repressed.”

  “You’re wrong there, Sheely. Tim and that girl he dated—what was her name, Bernadette something?—scored every weekend. Several times a night.”

  “Tim?” Dana nearly fell out of her chair. “My brother Tim? And—And Bernadette Colvin? You’re kidding, of course.” Her incredulity slowly began to fade. “It’s just another one of your dumb jokes. Tim would’ve never—”

  “I’m telling you, Tim did. As often as he could. We were best friends, remember? We used to go to the drugstore at the mall to buy condoms together. Tim kept his supply at my house, for obvious reasons.”

  Dana’s jaw dropped again. “I—I just can’t believe it.” She looked shell-shocked.

  “What’s the big deal, Sheely?” Wade was exasperated. “Girls were throwing themselves at Tim all through high school, and he was a normal guy with the regular amount of hormones. Did you actually think Tim was a virgin when he and Lisa got married? Did you want him to be? C’mon, the guy’s in the navy!”

  “Do Mary Jo and Tricia know about this?” Stunned, Dana named the two sisters closest in age to her and Tim. Mary Jo was twenty-seven, Tricia, twenty-five, with Dana sandwiched between them.

  “How should I know? Probably not, since you didn’t. Tim isn’t the sort of guy to regale his sisters with—uh—intimate details. Now will you stop looking at me that way, like a six-year-old who’s just been told that the Easter Bunny doesn’t exist.”

  Dana felt that way. “What about his marriage to Lisa? The two of them seem so perfect together, so happy. Is it just a facade? Is he—Does he—”

  “Tim and Lisa are very happy together,” Wade cut in impatiently. “Why wouldn’t they be? His earlier relationships with other women have made him even more appreciative of what they have together, Tim told me that himself. Jeez, Dana, don’t tell me you think that a marriage is doomed unless the couple are both virgins on their wedding day!”

  “I don’t think that.” She pushed back her chair and stood up, her thoughts hopelessly jumbled.

  He’d called her “Dana,” which he only used in front of her parents when he was in full Eddie Haskell mode. He thought she was hopelessly naive, a silly prude. Which, of course, she’d just proven herself to be. She’d given away more than that too, though he hadn’t figured it out yet.

  Her face flamed. She didn’t want to be around him when he did. “I don’t want any more beer. I’m going home.”

  Dana grabbed her purse and suit jacket and stalked out, leaving him to pay the check. She squinted against the bright sunlight, an almost-blinding contrast to Riggin’s dim interior. And then she remembered that she didn’t have her car. Wade had driven her here.

  Abruptly, she turned around and marched back inside to the pay phone in the small vestibule. She was dialing Mary Jo’s number when Wade came to stand beside her.

  The answering machine picked up. “Hi,” Mary Jo’s voice chirped on the tape. “You have reached Mary Jo and Steve. Well, almost. We aren’t here but please leave your name and number and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.”

  Dana hung up without leaving a message for her sister and brother-in-law.

  “Guess they’re not home from work yet,” Wade observed. He lounged against the wall as she dialed Tricia’s number. And listened to the voice on the answering machine announce that neither Tricia nor her three roommates were there.

  “Going to try Shawn next? Good luck. He’s impossible to get ahold of.”

  “I’m willing to try,” Dana replied coolly. Shawn lived at the Sheely home, as did she, but when she dialed, the number was busy. Of course. It was perpetually busy. The Sheelys had been one of the first familes in Lakeview to install Call Waiting. Which didn’t seem to be working.

  Dana frowned at the receiver.

  “Emily ignoring those persistent little clicks?” Wade asked. “She always does.”

  “I’m going to ask Mom to have another talk with Emily.” Dana was disgusted. Fourteen-year-old Emily was the youngest and most talkative Sheely, and she actively resisted any technological attempts to interrupt her lengthy telephone conversations.

  “Why don’t I drive you home?” Wade suggested. “Unless you want to continue this exercise in futility? Because if you’re dialing in birth order, Sarah is next on the list and we already know she’s somewhere along the Jersey shore with Matt. Do you think they took Cormack’s car or did they hand it over to Rachel, along with the baby?”

  “There are times when I dislike you intensely, Saxon,” Dana gritted through her teeth.

  “I know. And this is one of them.” He hooked his hand around the nape of her neck. “I’m sorry I shattered your illusions about your big brother. Let me make it up to you by driving you home.”

  She really had no other choice. Dana allowed him to steer her out of the bar to his car, trying to ignore the feel of his long, lean fingers on her neck. But heat crept along her nerve endings, sending a tiny shudder of awareness through her. Which she abruptly and firmly squelched.

  After all, Wade touched her often, placing his hand on her shoulder or the small of her back to guide her in and out of places, reaching over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, laying the tips of his fingers on her forearm when he wanted to stress a particular point.

  She was used to casual affection, Dana reminded herself. The Sheelys were one of those families who kissed hello and good-bye, who thought nothing of draping a loose arm around one another or linking hands or sitting close together on the always-crowded sofa to watch TV. No doubt Wade had picked up his habit of easy, informal touching from time spent with the Sheelys because the Saxons were not demonstrative.

  Dana and Wade reached his car, and he glided his hand along the length of her back as he opened the door for her. Despite his cavalier attitude toward his dates, he had gentlemanly manners when he chose to exercise them.

  Wade’s dark green Mercedes—a special order from the Pedersen Car Shoppe—rolled smoothly out of the parking lot. Dana perused his collection of compact discs before selecting one that she had insisted he buy. Wade complained that the group was hopelessly commercial and derivative and didn’t jibe with his sophisticated musical tastes; she knew he’d enjoyed the band’s concert at the Spectrum when she had dragged him there last summer. Not that he would ever admit it.

  He groaned as the familiar melody filled the car. “First, you cheap out on buying your round of beer and stick me for the entire cost of the nachos and now this. You’re really gunning for me today, Sheely.”

  She was unrepentant. “You’re a rich lawyer, Saxon. You can afford to pick up the entire tab from time to time. Oh, and if you plan on listening to music while you’re in the car with Jennifer on your big date tomorrow, you’d better stop by Blockbuster and buy some of those dance-club mix CDs. Jennifer is really into that.”

  She knew how much he hated to dance and how he loathed dance-club mixes. His reaction was all she’d hoped for. He looked appalled. “Tell me you’re joking, Sheely. Jennifer doesn’t really—”

  “Jennifer absolutely loves the dance-club scene. If you ask her where she wants to go tomorrow night, she’ll say Club Koncrete, I guarantee it. You’ll love Friday nights at Club Koncrete, Saxon,” Dana taunted. “It’s the place to be for the under twenty-five crowd. Sarah and Matt and Shawn are always talking about what a radical time they have there. You’ll probably see them th
ere, along with all the other kids their ages, dancing up a storm to the pulsing sounds of techno-pop.”

  Wade gripped the steering wheel with such force that his fingers started to turn white. He and Sheely always kidded each other, but she was being particularly merciless tonight.

  In fact, she was being downright cruel! Accusing him of being an aging swinger desperately seeking his lost youth. Cutting their evening together short. He’d planned to spend several more hours at Riggin’s, maybe even buy dinner there, because he was tired of takeout food and nuking frozen meals in his microwave.

  Wade glanced over at Dana, who was placidly listening to a song that always reminded him of her, and his slow burn grew hotter. He felt distrustful and ill-used. For as he reviewed her offenses of the day, her collusion with Quinton Cormack to pirate Pedersen from Saxon Associates returned sharply to the forefront of his mind.

  He wondered how and when he should break that unwelcome news to Aunt Eve and Rachel. To say they were not going to be pleased was an understatement bordering on the absurd. He envisioned the approaching storm and longed to postpone it. Could he? Should he?

  He had just turned the corner of the Sheelys’ street when the loud, sharp blaring of a car horn startled him so much, he almost swerved onto the sidewalk.

  “What the hell …”

  “That was Brendan, in my car.” Dana clutched her hand to her chest, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. They had come within inches of crashing into a telephone pole; she had eyeballed the wood grain. “He was just honking hello.”

  “Well, he almost got us killed,” muttered Wade.

  “No, your overreaction almost got us killed.”

  “Oh, sure, blame me! God forbid that one Sheely should ever speak against another one.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  “Even if the Sheely in question happens to be in the wrong.” Wade pulled his car in front of the Sheely house. “As in the upcoming Sarah-Rachel-Cormack baby disaster,” he added triumphantly.

  He enjoyed the concern that flashed in her eyes. It was about time the Sheelys experienced the negative side of Quint Cormack! The Saxons certainly had—and with the Tilden will looming and Pedersen’s departure, they were about to be Cormacked yet again.

  On the front porch of the house, Katie Sheely sat on the wooden bench swing beside a skinny blond man with a scraggly goatee. The pair were engrossed in conversation, and Katie was gazing at the young man with rapt concentration; an expression Wade had never seen upon her face during office hours. He didn’t think Katie was capable of playing close attention to anything or anyone; certainly she’d never displayed such ability at work. Yet there she sat, looking positively intelligent!

  When he confided his observations to Dana, he expected her to share the humor. After all, she had laughed long and hard when he’d told her Saxon Associates was going to hire Katie as their new receptionist. She chuckled at the reports of Katie’s continuing screwups, advising him that it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been warned, that employing the flighty Katie fell into the “no good deed goes unpunished” realm.

  But there were no laughs or chuckles from her tonight. Not even the trace of a smile appeared. Dana’s expression, already dark, turned thunderous.

  “You might not have anything better to do tonight than to trash my family, but I don’t have to stick around and listen.” She opened the car door and sprang out. “Take your rotten mood and your premature midlife crisis and go home, Saxon!”

  Wade took her insult square on the ego. “I am not having a premature midlife crisis.” He attempted to sound cool and sardonic, but his voice shook with anger. “And if I’m in a rotten mood, it’s because I’ve been with you, and you’re in hormonal overdrive today. It must be that time of the month, huh, Sheely?”

  He knew that was a cheap shot, he knew it would infuriate her, and it did. He was fully aware that women hated having their words and actions attributed to their monthly cycle, and Dana was no exception.

  She slammed the car door shut and strode up the stone front walk to the house without looking back.

  “Creep!” she called out as he zoomed away from the curb and down the street. “Smug, arrogant, sexist clod!” She felt like kicking something. Too bad Wade Saxon had taken himself out of her range.

  “Hey, that’s my boss you’re insulting,” Katie said cheerfully.

  “Dude’s got a helluva set of wheels,” Katie’s goateed friend opined.

  “I never really appreciated until today how difficult working for the Saxons must be, Katie.” Dana regarded her younger sister with newfound pity. “There is Rachel, a ticking time bomb of bad temper, and Wade, who is a shallow, egotistical, moody, cynical pinhead. Katie, you poor kid, you’re definitely earning your money the hard way.”

  “It’s not so bad.” Katie smiled sunnily. “Wade and Rachel never yell at me, even if I screw up big-time. Sometimes I can tell I’m getting on their nerves, but they never say anything. Eve does though. When she’s mad, you really know it, just like with Mom. I’m always glad when she’s out of the office.” She regarded Dana curiously. “What did Wade do that made you so mad, Dana?”

  Dana glared at Wade’s car, now merely a dark green dot in the distance. “What did he do? He—He just—He’s—” Her face flushed as she lapsed into incoherence.

  “Oh, wow!” Katie clasped her hands to her cheeks, her blue eyes round as saucers. “I think I know. It finally happened, didn’t it? He finally made a move on you and—”

  “Of course not!” exclaimed Dana. A pervasive tremor ran through her body at the very thought “That’s crazy! We’re friends. L-Like brother and sister. You know that, Katie, everybody does.”

  “Everybody doesn’t think so, Dana.” Katie folded her arms in front of her chest and stared quizzically at her sister. “Tricia says you and Wade are lusting after each other and don’t even know it yet.”

  Dana stood stock still. She couldn’t move; she felt as if she’d been blindsided. She and Wade lusting after each other? No, never, not in a million years! And then, the sudden sharp memory of their little walk from Riggin’s bar to Wade’s car assailed her.

  Dana struggled to keep her breathing in check as she remembered the feel of his hand around her nape, the brush of his fingers against her skin. Liquid heat surged through her. She pictured his mouth, focusing on an image of that full sensuous lower lip of his and for the first time ever, she wondered what it would be like to nibble on it. To taste him.

  For the first time, she imagined the feel of his lips on hers. In her mind’s eye she could see it happening, his head lowering to hers, his mouth moving closer and touching hers, gently, softly at first and then …

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Dana’s voice rose to a breathless squeak, but she persevered. “The stupidest thing Tricia’s ever said. In fact, it goes way beyond stupid, it’s right up there in the pantheon of—of—” Her mind went blank.

  “Uh, stupidity?” Katie’s blond friend suggested helpfully.

  “Yes!” snarled Dana.

  “Oh.” Katie shrugged. “So then what did he do?”

  “What?” Dana stared at her, eyes glazed and uncomprehending.

  “What did Wade do to make you so mad?” Katie pressed, a little impatiently.

  “Nothing!” Dana flung open the front door. “He didn’t do a thing. And I’m not mad!”

  Katie and her friend exchanged glances. Their laughter followed Dana as she stomped into the house. It rang in her ears the whole way upstairs to her bedroom, which she used to share with Mary Jo and the traitorous Tricia. Now she had it all to herself.

  The moment she closed the door behind her, she burst into tears.

  5

  Quint finished his dinner of fried eggs and bacon—his low cholesterol level was a physician’s dream, eliminating any dietary restrictions—and stacked the dishes into the dishwasher. He glanced up at the kitchen clock, then at his watch, which confirmed the ti
me on the clock.

  It was a few minutes past seven, and the questions he’d managed to hold at bay broke through his wall of reasonable excuses. Where were Brady and Sarah? Why hadn’t she called to inform him of their whereabouts, like she always did? Should he phone the Sheelys and ask if they were there?

  Until now, he’d assured himself that they were. Sarah took Brady to her family’s house for dinner several times a week and Quint used those days to work late, arriving home in time to put his son to bed.

  The lack of the phone call today had nagged at him, but he hadn’t permitted himself to dwell on it. He was a great believer in Occam’s Razor, the scientific and philosophical rule which maintained that the simplest explanation was the most likely. Simple logic decreed that Sarah had taken Brady to the Sheelys, as usual.

  However … Quint purposefully steered his thoughts away from all those alarming howevers.

  He’d never been prone to hysterical conjecture; that was Carla’s province, she was the queen of it. Maybe that was why he’d been able to stifle his worrisome parental doubts until now. After the hours spent in Carla’s company today—where hysterical conjecture ruled supreme—he wasn’t about to succumb to more of the same.

  But now it was past seven o’clock. Sarah never stayed with Brady at the Sheelys that late because his bedtime was seven-thirty, and a bath and bedtime story always preceded it. He could think of no simple logical explanation for their continued unexplained absence.

  There were always those sickening exceptions to Occam’s Razor, the gruesome stories that dominated the newscasts when the unthinkable actually did happen. One of those terrible exceptions had changed his life one night, the night his mother’s and sister’s lives had been ended.

  Rigid and tense, he dialed the Sheelys’ number. It was busy. Naturally. Quint heaved an exasperated sigh. Young Emily was ignoring Call Waiting again. He knew that Sarah circumvented Emily’s own circumvention by calling the operator and claiming an emergency. On those grounds, the operator would break into the call, Sarah would lecture Emily and then deliver her message. Quint debated following suit.