The Blue Dolphin

by Robena Grant

  He knew he couldn’t delay a moment longer. He’d had his fun with her earlier, but now he had some explaining to do. He took off his cowboy hat, smoothed his hair, and with hat in hand, approached the bar.

  Chapter Twelve

  Debbie toyed with the stem of her cocktail glass, and glared at the two olives skewered by a long toothpick and floating within. She loved olives. And the wooden toothpick made for a nice bar weapon. Someone got too sassy, or let their hands wander, you could always jab them as a warning. Yeah, like she’d do that. She smiled and pulled the toothpick out of the liquid.

  Sometimes, here at Cliffs, they’d put in two skewers with two olives apiece, just for her. She usually plucked them out and ate all four olives before taking her first sip of the drink, and those that had been stuffed with blanched almonds were her favorites.

  These two olives were stuffed with pimento, not her favorite but they’d do in a pinch. They were like green eyes with blazing red irises, and they judged her. Okay, so maybe she’d over reacted. She sighed, popped both olives into her mouth and chewed, and then took a sip of the cold liquid, followed by another.

  Jack had wandered outside with the Cabreras, and Dave. She’d refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing she cared about what they were doing, even though she itched to turn around and see where they’d gone. Maybe he’d left too. She frowned. Was their date still on? She supposed not, after the way she’d acted. Rachel and Janelle worked the other end of the bar, and neither one paid her any attention. Knowing full well she was pissed and knowing to give her wide berth. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then slid off the stool and walked toward her daughter.

  “I’m sorry, Janelle. Forgive me?”

  Janelle glanced up and caught the corner of her bottom lip with her top teeth. She gave a casual shrug of one shoulder. Her eyes were angry, maybe more hurt than angry, but they also shone with unshed tears. Debbie knew how much her daughter hated to argue. She always had.

  “I know I need to let you live your own life,” Debbie said firmly. “Let you make your own decisions.”

  Rachel’s head shot up and her eyes widened then softened. Her best friend had told her often enough that she had to give Janelle breathing room. Debbie glanced away. Even Jack, who barely knew her, had tried to tell her the same thing last night. She felt her chest squeeze tight, and took a couple of deep breaths. She felt worse than on the day she’d seen her daughter leave for college. Janelle had successfully lived away from home for nearly four years. She travelled alone. She kept good grades, and had a part time job.

  What the hell is wrong with me that I can’t let go, can’t recognize that my daughter is a capable woman?

  Janelle said nothing, but she maintained eye contact. Debbie pulled in a deep breath and blew it out. “You’re a young woman now. I understand that.” She cleared her throat and twisted nervously at her hands. “And you have your own life at school…but when you come back home…well, it’s like you become my little girl again and I feel like I have to protect you, and—”

  “Mom. Stop.” Janelle threw the cloth she’d been using over her shoulder, and then shoved both fists against her narrow hips.

  Debbie knew exactly where she got that action from.

  Janelle leaned forward. “I know you love me. I know the saying ‘once a parent always a parent’ and I respect that. I know you get scared. But you have to let go.”

  “Let go,” Debbie whispered, and nodded her head. Tears sprang into her eyes and she blinked them away. Her daughter didn’t need her anymore. She took a couple of steps backward and almost stumbled. Let go? She wouldn’t cry. Janelle would think she was pulling the pity card. She had to let go. She knew that, but why did it hurt so much? A warm hand brushed across the back of her neck, as a tear trickled down her cheek, and a strong arm pulled her close.

  “Am I interrupting anything important?” Jack asked softly, and he put his hat on the bar top before tucking her neatly into his side.

  His warm breath fanned her cheek, near her ear, but she couldn’t look at him. Not yet. Not looking like this, because she was sure her face had turned blotchy, and her eyes were red and watery. Besides, her mouth would be doing that awful tremble thing it always did when she tried hard not to cry. She pressed her lips tight, and shook her head.

  Janelle grimaced. “Tell her that Trigg is an okay guy.”

  “Yeah.” Jack rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, but still held Debbie close with the other. “See here Janelle, I’m not taking your mother’s side or anything…but I can’t really say that. Trigg is a bit more worrisome to me now.”

  “How so?” Janelle asked.

  Debbie could tell by Janelle’s wide eyes and slightly tilted head that she was willing to listen, at least to Jack. Her gaze stayed riveted on him, as if asking for further confirmation. She’d never had a father’s or grandfather’s influence. Debbie was aware that maybe she needed that. They’d been a family of females. She turned her head away, and grabbed that moment to brush the tears from her cheeks. She widened her eyes and blinked slowly, then took two deep breaths. Jack’s hand rested on her shoulder, and he continued to gently massage her neck.

  “He’s gay,” Jack said. He paused for a moment. “So, that raises the question of why he’s pursuing you, and—”

  “Gay? Hah!” Janelle started to laugh. After a few moments she rolled her eyes, and then shook her head. “He isn’t, but so what if he was? I’ve got lots of gay friends at school. He likes to talk to me, and he wants me to go out with him tomorrow, that’s all.”

  “We saw him kissing another guy,” Debbie said, turning, her voice sharp. With the surprise that shadowed her daughter’s face, she wished she’d kept her big mouth shut. Did Janelle really care about the scruffy guy? Or could she be researching for her book?

  Janelle lowered her gaze, and shrugged. “One kiss. That’s no big deal. People experiment in college.”

  “I can’t tell you what to do, or not do, Janelle,” Jack said.

  Debbie listened to the serious tone of his voice. It had the right kind of fatherly kindness, but she was still trying to wrestle with the idea of people experimenting with their sexual orientation. Had her daughter?

  “But, I’ll say this,” Jack continued. “Trigg is under police surveillance. If you go out with him, be aware of that. Your movements will be watched.”

  “No big deal.” Janelle held Jack’s gaze.

  Debbie moved a little closer to his side, drawing from his warmth and strength. He’d told the truth and that gave her a newfound respect for him. Plus he’d stood by her, supported her. He’d have made a great dad. And knowing her daughter’s nose for sniffing out a mystery, she knew they had to leave the rest up to Janelle. She needed to trust her to use common sense. Their eyes met and locked for one second, and Debbie knew the gleam in her daughter’s gray eyes meant the subject of Trigger was not closed. Not yet. In fact, she was certain it had been reopened with newfound determination.

  Jack rubbed the back of her neck again. “Are you still up for dinner?” he asked.

  Debbie nodded. She couldn’t quite find her voice, or trust it. He touched lightly at her elbow. She cleared her throat. “See you later, Janelle. I love you.”

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  Jack escorted her through the big double doors into the adjacent restaurant. She felt badly about her earlier behavior, but how could she explain herself? Debbie stood inside the main dining room, checking the surroundings. She hadn’t dined in here in years, usually ordering and eating in Rachel’s back room. It really was attractive, and she recalled, expensive. She had no idea what salary Jack made. Maybe she should offer to split the check. That was the least she could do, considering the circumstances.

  “We don’t have a reservation,” Jack said, when they approached the small antique desk. “Will that be a problem?”

  The hostess smiled. “Not at all, follow me.”

  ****

&n
bsp; The hostess seated them at a small corner table for two. Jack liked the rich dark woods, and the artwork, the huge stone fireplace with the low flickering flames. Rachel had done a great job in decorating the restaurant.

  They had a fabulous view from the big picture window of a courtyard fountain. It was resplendent with ferns, and small palm trees were set on raised platforms, and the water trickled lazily down a group of rocks at its center. Almost certain there’d be Koi swimming in the water at the base, he stretched his neck for a quick look, but couldn’t quite see from here.

  A waitress sashayed toward their table and handed them menus, and a separate wine list. She smiled at him, and did that slight batting of the eyelashes thing that women on the make often do. Why they did that he had no idea, because he thought it made them look as dumb as Barbie dolls. The waitress did a slight double-take when she saw Debbie, but then gave her a cool nod.

  The waitress leaned toward him, getting in his face, and exposing a healthy amount of cleavage as she lit the candle. “Can I get you a drink while you look at the menu?”

  Jack noticed the flirtatiousness and felt a twinge of discomfort. He sensed Debbie had noticed it too. But maybe not. She was still shell-shocked from her argument with Janelle. She hadn’t redone her make-up, and there were obvious tear stains on her cheeks, and he wondered if the dinner date would end up being a total disaster. He cleared his throat. Making sure he kept his eyes off the woman’s voluptuous bosom. This date will not be a disaster. Not if he could help it, and to hell with the waitress.

  “What do you think, sweetheart?” He reached across the white tablecloth and cupped a hand over Debbie’s hand, and gave her his sexiest grin. “This is your special night, Sugar Plum. Will it be wine, or would you rather have another martini?”

  Debbie’s eyes widened for a second. “Well, Honey Bear, how about my favorite Pinot Grigio?” She flicked a glance toward the waitress. “But they might not stock it. These small establishments don’t have extensive wine lists.”

  Debbie sent him another dazzling smile that almost knocked his socks off. The waitress straightened, and her smile lost most of its spark. Jack felt his lips twitch with amusement and ducked his head to peruse the wine list. He finally placed the order, and the waitress walked across the room to the bar.

  “Honey Bear?” He wriggled his eyebrows. Then he reached for Debbie’s hand again. “Rachel will kill you for that comment about her small restaurant.”

  She shook her head, and leaned forward. “Uh uh,” she said in an almost whisper. “She can’t stand her either. But good help is hard to come by down here. At least she turns up for work, even if it’s only to hit on every new guy in town.”

  He laughed. “Well, now you have to relax, and continue to play the role of being on a great date.”

  “That will be easy.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

  “You know she never did like me,” Debbie said, ignoring him and glancing toward the waitress, who stood at the small wine bar with her back to them. “High school rivalry, we were both blond, both cheerleaders, both in love with every football player around.”

  Jack grinned. “But you’ve moved on, and now you’re into cowboys.”

  “With your physique,” Debbie said, and her eyes raked his chest and shoulders. “She probably thinks you’re another jock.”

  Jack felt a stirring of passion, a fire that built from within and threatened to consume him any second. He shifted his position in the chair, and thought of cool thoughts, of beaches and fountains. He gazed outside. Water burbled and he imagined fish swimming. When he looked back at her, he narrowed his eyes. “So, you like my body?”

  She nodded and her eyes twinkled. “You got me,” she said, and laughed.

  He was glad she liked his body, but even happier that he’d made her laugh. He loved her laughter. “Janelle will be fine,” he murmured.

  “I know.” She nodded like she meant it. “I over-reacted as usual. Thanks for explaining everything to her.”

  “It was easy to do,” he said, and continued to stroke her hand. “I’m not a parent.” He shrugged. “And I’m not emotionally connected, so maybe that makes it easier. But we discussed this topic last night.”

  “I apologized to her. And we talked about me learning to let go,” Debbie said quickly. “It’s hard for me, because I made her my whole life.”

  “And you were so young.”

  “Yeah.” Debbie sighed, and then ran a hand over her hair. “I must be a mess. I should go and freshen up.”

  “Hey, you look fine. Don’t go anywhere.” He continued to smooth his thumb over her hand. Then he grinned. “Well, maybe put on some lipstick.”

  “I knew it,” she said, and opened her purse. She skimmed her lips with pink gloss, then pressed them together and made a little smacking sound. “Better?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Did you ever want children?” she asked, slipping the lip gloss back into her purse.

  Her mouth was slick and kissable. He stared into her gray eyes and thought “only with you” and shook his head to dislodge the thought. Where the hell had it come from? “Can’t say I’ve ever had the time…my work doesn’t lend itself to family.”

  “What about your parents? Do you have any siblings?”

  Jack felt the familiar flush creep up his neck. It happened when anyone quizzed him about family, even though he’d worked hard to come to grips with his past. He took a long drink from the water glass. For some reason he needed her to understand. Usually he didn’t, and he expertly brushed off most enquiries with a shrug and a joke. He’d become adept at social banter and evasion of feelings.

  He drew his hand away from hers, and took another sip of water. As the uncomfortable pause grew longer, he cleared his throat again, deciding to give it his best shot.

  “My father left us a month after I was born. I never knew him. My mother died when I was twelve. I bumped around in the foster system until I reached college age. Then I got a football scholarship.” He shrugged and made a small facial grimace. “Did the best I could.”

  “And you did great,” she said, a little hitch of emotion sounding in her voice.

  She reached out and cupped his hand with hers. She stroked the back of his hand. He didn’t want her pity, or anybody else’s for that matter. A well of anger rose in his chest, and he started to sweat, feeling the rush of the need to escape. He tried to swallow the dry lump in his throat but it kept getting bigger.

  The desire to jump up and get the hell out of there, before she saw the extent of his pain, almost consumed him. Yet he couldn’t leave. He had no family, and he couldn’t remember what family felt like. She increased the pressure on his hand. He remembered her story and his anger started to abate. It wasn’t that different to her story, if anything it had been a lot harder on her. She’d raised a child as a child.

  “Tell me about your mother,” she said, and her voice was gentle, almost hypnotic.

  The waitress brought back the wine, poured it for him to taste, and he went through the motions and then waited for her to leave.

  “You were so young. Do you remember much about your mother?” Debbie asked, and picked up her glass. “Cheers.”

  They touched their glasses at the rims. Jack took a sip, and then he blew out a breath. “She had eyes like yours…gray, like an Irish sea. She was Irish and had dark hair, almost black, and she wore it long, and curly. She was petite, like you. My guess is my father had the genes that provided for height and bulk.”

  Once he started to talk, the words gushed out surprising him. He took another sip of wine.

  “The footballer physique,” she said, and nodded. Then she took a sip of wine. But her eyes never left his face. “Was she kind? Was your mother good to you?”

  Did he want to talk about this? Hadn’t he said enough? Jack blinked a couple of times, and watched her across the rim of his wine glass. He hadn’t thought about his past for a long time, but yes,
his mother had been a loving mother, and she had protected and provided for him as best she could. He figured she’d died trying to provide for him. He swallowed hard. “In one word…she was gentle.”

  Debbie nodded. “Good. Hang on to that memory, and never forget it.”

  He felt a sense of weight being lifted off his shoulders, and he blew out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Talking wasn’t so hard after all, at least with the right person.

  “You’ve chosen the loner’s path,” she said. “I can’t blame you. Sometimes it seems to be the best, the least complicated route through life. You rely on only yourself. Nobody can let you down. I know, because I’ve been there and done that.”

  Debbie wasn’t judging him. She wasn’t measuring his worth, but accepted him, and she’d deliberately shone a light on a memory he’d almost forgotten. He’d spent so much time trying to forget. Or, questioning his fate, his lack of family, hating the foster system, rebelling as a teenager, and always feeling as an adult like he was an outsider. He was the one who always worked the holidays. He was the one to take the step forward, or raise a hand, to accept a difficult or dangerous assignment. He’d become a risk taker with his life, because he hadn’t thought that living was all that great. “Yeah, the loner and the loser,” he said, and took a sip of wine.

  “Jack, don’t ever say that. You’re a wonderful person.”

  “One with not much to offer a woman.”

  “How can you even think that, let alone say it?” Debbie said, and leaned forward scowling at him. “Cut yourself a break. You had a rough beginning.”

  He nodded, and then grimaced. And he took Debbie’s hand, and kissed the tip of each delicate finger.

  ****

  After a wonderful dinner and two glasses of Pinot Grigio, Debbie was relaxed. She’d seen Jack’s reaction to her words earlier, and he’d blossomed under her praise. He’d told her little anecdotes from his childhood, and shared memories and laughter from his teen years, although she knew he’d glossed over some of the not so great memories. She felt close to him; closer than she’d ever have imagined possible.