Skylar toyed with her beer. Who was she waiting for? Not the guy who sat down next to her—she barely glanced at him. Mark dropped his head and grinned at the way she stiffened and her eyes narrowed.
Lothario smiled and oh-so-smoothly moved closer. She glued her gaze to the football game on the bar TV and turned her back to him. Ow, strike out. After a few more exchanges, she gave him an annoyed look before slipping off her stool and coming Mark’s way.
He settled against the doorjamb and pretended to watch the TV. She turned sideways and looked up at him. “Excuse me.”
“Sorry. Crowded tonight.” He stepped aside and put a hand to her back, as if to guide her around an approaching lady.
Skye paused, their eyes met, and she gave him a considering look as if wondering if he, too, was hitting on her. Damn. He’d wanted to slow her down a little on her escape—to hear her voice and see her up close—he hadn’t meant to annoy her further, but there was no mistaking the suspicion in her eyes after he’d touched her.
Mark smiled, surprised to find himself fascinated by a prickly spitfire. He was usually attracted to a sweeter, more accommodating woman. He sauntered over to the bar and slid onto Skye’s vacated stool. “Who’s winning?”
“Huh?”
Lothario stared at the doorway Skye’d gone through as if contemplating chasing her down and cornering her in the ladies room.
“The game.” Mark picked up Skye’s beer and used it to point at the TV. He took a long, deliberate sip. A little warm, but the lady had good taste in beer.
Lothario spared him a puzzled glance. “I don’t know. Hey that’s—”
“Don’t you just hate it when as soon as you turn your back, some guy hits on your lady?” Mark raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
Confusion, then understanding settled on his face. “Uh...yeah. Sorry, man.” He shrugged and grinned. “Gotta expect it with a hot babe like that.”
“Not really.”
The guy threw some bills on the counter and took off. Mark grinned and polished off the Peroni. When a waitress set a big paper take-out bag next to him, Mark stood. “Hey, Cindy?”
“All set?”
“Yeah. Will you give the lady another Peroni? And put the drinks and her dinner on my tab.” He took out a ten-dollar bill for a tip and put it next to the cash register.
“You know her?”
“I will.” Mark picked up his bag and headed for the door. “Don’t work too hard.”
* * *
After ten minutes, Skye figured she couldn’t hide out any longer. She left the bathroom and entered the bar just as Jenny rushed through the door. A quick glance at the room showed Skye their two empty spots. Red napkin-wrapped place settings sat on small bread plates with a warm breadbasket between them. No unwelcome admirer. Good. She met Jenny at their seats.
“Sorry I’m late.” Jenny shrugged out of her coat and dropped it over the back of her stool, then sat down. “The interview ran on forever, but I got some good stuff. Looks like you haven’t been waiting that long.”
“Not long.” Skye looked around for her beer. Great, the obnoxious guy chased her into the bathroom, and she lost her drink, too. Figured.
“What’s wrong? Why the depressed face? Dear Darlene can’t be that bad.”
“It is, but that’s not it. I’m worried about my sister. She had eclampsia and almost died giving birth to my niece, and on the way over here, I found out she’s pregnant with twins.”
Jenny winced. “That’s tough. Going to abort?”
“Not an option.”
“I’m sorry.”
The bartender put two waters in front of them, promising to be back to take their orders.
Skye glanced at the TV newscast and a shot of a car with a LEVINSON FOR SENATE sticker. She looked sideways at Jenny. “Think Levinson actually had a heart attack or just used it to avoid a humiliating loss?” She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t think Hastings could’ve caused it, do you?”
“I think you’re a slow learner. Give up the vendetta on Hastings.”
“You’re right. He’s too smart for that.”
Jenny gave her a sharp look full of reprimand. “Are you trying to get fired?”
“No. I’m just trying to understand how Hastings could be so stupid and ignorant when it comes to stem cells.”
Jenny raised her eyebrow. “Anyone who graduated from Harvard undergrad and U of M law school with honors is hardly dumb. Just because he disagrees with you doesn’t make him stupid and uninformed.”
“He went to Harvard? How’d a white boy like him get into Harvard?” She’d have to check that out.
“Oh, Lord.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “Tell me you did not just say that.”
“What?” Skye frowned. “You know what I mean.”
“So. I spent the past week learning about designer babies.”
“Baby clothes?”
Jenny shook her head. “Nope, designer babies.” She ripped a piece of warm, salty garlic bread off. “It’s the latest trend in the fertility industry. This lady buys eggs from attractive, college-educated women. She keeps a stash of sperm donors from handsome guys with doctorate degrees, and for about forty grand, will allow infertile couples to pick the genetic combo they want. A little mixing and matching, and presto; they’ve got their designer progeny.”
Jenny popped the bread in her mouth, closed her eyes and sighed in appreciation. “This bread. Is amazing.”
“How very Nazi eugenic. She’s bioengineering her own little master race. And this is legal?”
“So far.”
The waitress placed a fresh napkin and Peroni in front of Skye. “Compliments of Mark Dutton.” She turned to Jenny. “What can I get you?”
Skye leaned forward. “Excuse me, you must have made a mistake. I don’t know a Mark Dutton.”
“Well, he paid for your drink and dinner.”
“I...well...” How weird—and uncomfortable. Skye didn’t want some strange guy paying for her dinner.
Please tell me the redheaded creep isn’t Mark Dutton. Skye resisted the urge to move closer to Jenny—suddenly very glad for her friend’s presence. She swiveled in her seat to survey the room, expecting to see some guy’s smooth grin. “Where is he?”
“Gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yup. He saw that guy hitting on you, so he had a word with the gentleman, paid for your meal, and left.”
He did what? How’d he know she hadn’t enjoyed the attention? Silly thought. Skye knew she had a rather transparent demeanor, and she’d hardly been subtle with the guy. “What’d he say to him?”
“Don’t know, but the guy got all red in the face and took off.”
Skye’s jaw dropped open as she squinted at Jenny. “That’s crazy. Who does that?”
“Apparently, Mark Dutton.” Jenny turned to the bartender. “I’ll have a Bellini, please.”
“Wait a minute,” Skye called out. “He told you his name?”
The bartender reached into the refrigerator for a spiced peach to garnish Jenny’s cocktail. “Mark’s a regular. Loves the Chicken Neopolitan.”
“I don’t suppose you could give me his phone number or address?”
“I could, but I like my job.” She placed the drink in front of Jenny. “He’s probably listed.”
Skye raised an eyebrow. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “Probably listed.”
“Probably.” Jenny took a sip of her Bellini, closed her eyes, and sighed. “So. How was your day?”
“My day?” Emotionally worn out, Skye didn’t feel like explaining the family mess she’d uncovered. Her thoughtful gaze returned to the Peroni in her hand. “My day was a nightmare, but my night’s looking up.”
* * *
Skye eased her Prius to a stop in front of Faith’s house and put the car in park. Dropping her hands into her lap, she looked at the digital clock. The numbers glowed eight forty-five. Skye stared at the darkened house. Hmm. Had Peter and Faith gone to bed al
ready? She wrinkled her forehead. Was Peter on days or nights this month? She couldn’t remember. Skye turned the car off and sat with her hands resting on the inside curve of the steering wheel.
Mom had had a family policy of never letting them go to bed angry. She claimed that it was bad for the soul. Mom probably just made that up because she hated familial discord, but habits were hard to break and guilt was a powerful motivator. Skye sighed deeply and left the car.
Skye found the side door open, let herself in, and followed sounds of the TV into the family room. It was dimly lit from the glow of the TV and one small lamp. Not wanting to startle them, she called out a hello, then moved into the room.
Peter sat at one end of the couch and Faith lounged at the other end. Peter held Faith’s bare foot in his lap, his thumbs massaging the bottom of one foot as they watched TV. “You’d think a cop would be more cautious than leaving his house unlocked.”
“Hey, Squirt.” Peter reached for the remote and paused the movie. “But then we’d miss out on surprise visits with whoever wanders by.” His glance lingered on his wife’s subdued greeting. Always good at reading the women’s nonverbal body language and knowing when they needed to talk, Peter pointed toward the kitchen and stood. “I’m... Just going to go make some popcorn.”
Faith tucked her feet under her and waited for Skye to speak.
“So.” Skye bridged her fingers, then put them at her waist. “Whatcha watching?”
“Just Go With It.”
“Jennifer Aniston?”
Faith nodded.
Skye shook her head. “I don’t think I ever saw it. Funny?”
“Uh huh.”
Unable to bear the stiffness between them any longer, Skye slid onto the couch and faced her sister. “Faith, I’m sorry for being such a butthead. I...I was just shocked and... Well, shocked pretty much covers it. And hurt that you hid your pregnancy from me and worried—but that’s no excuse. I acted like a selfish brat, and I’m sorry.” She bit her bottom lip. “A-n-d. I’ll do my best to be supportive. Can you forgive me?”
Faith blinked back tears. She nodded and held her arms open wide.
Skye launched herself at her sister, careful to not press against her belly. “I hate it when we fight.”
“Me, too,” Faith whispered, and she squeezed her tightly.
“I’m so scared for you. But I’ll control it,” Skye rushed to assure her as she pulled back.
“I’m scared, too.” Faith’s hand rested on her rounded stomach. “I mean I never thought we’d have more kids. We hadn’t planed on this.” She patted her belly. “I’m thirty-five now—a whole lot older than when I had Niki. And twins? Good Lord. Where am I going to find the energy for twins?” Faith ran a hand through her hair and propped her head on her hand as if it was suddenly too heavy to hold up.
“Don’t be silly—you’re not old. And you’re not alone. Peter’s a pro with a bottle and diapers.” Faith didn’t look convinced. “A-n-d... I can help if you need me.” Skye slowly spread her lips into a semblance of a smile.
“Really?”
Faith looked so hopeful and strangely unsure of herself that Skye had to force some optimism. One of them had to be confident and positive. “Sure. I can bring you meals from the bar. I’m a whiz at laundry and a genius with a Swiffer.” Skye patted her arm and smiled brightly. “Absolutely. It’ll be fine.”
Fine and dandy.
Chapter 6
Edward Hastings left the front seat of his assistant’s Audi and rounded the car to hold the door open for his wife. Drawing in a deep breath of crisp night air, he watched Noelle gracefully slide out of the car and walk toward their Tudor home. The click of her high heels pierced the quiet night, and the diamonds at her ears winked brightly in the full moonlight.
The event with the Right to Life group had been typically long and boring, yet Edward owed them many more nights of speeches and schmoozing for their considerable financial support. These were the people getting him reelected, and if he was ever tempted to forget that fact, Ben was there to remind him.
“That went well.” Ben grabbed an armful of binders, shut the car door, and headed for the house.
“It did. Thanks for the ride.” Edward hurried up the brick drive and patted Ben’s shoulder. “What’s that?”
“We have some stuff to go over. Shouldn’t take long, but I gotta confirm a few things so we can firm up your schedule, and this—” he hefted the binders in his arms. “—is your bedtime reading. I—”
“It can wait till tomorrow.”
“Nope. You’ve blocked out tomorrow as family time, and Sunday you fly out. It won’t take long to go over—an hour, two tops.”
Edward looked toward the house where the kitchen and family room lights cast a warm glow into the cold fall night. They’d be waiting for their traditional homecoming celebration. He took the binders. “Go home, Ben. Get some rest; you deserve it.”
“Just a half an hour,” Ben bargained.
A half an hour delay tonight could very well incite his wife to violence. Edward pivoted the younger man, pointing him toward his car. “Go home. I’ll do it.”
“One more thing.” Ben opened his car door, whipped open his planner, and angled it toward the light. “Make sure you get through those reports on violent video games and adolescents.” He nodded at the pounds of paper in Edward’s arms. “You have a breakfast meeting Monday morning with the senators sponsoring the bill.”
His pen tracked down the page. “Then we need to get a statement out about the proposed eatery smoking ban—I’ll get Adrienne on that and send you a draft,” he mumbled, then looked up. “And don’t forget you accepted an invitation to speak at the NRA about their new mentoring program.”
“I did?” The cell phone in Edward’s pocket vibrated. He pulled it out; his home number glowed neon blue. Noelle was growing impatient.
“Yup. After the dinner they threw that raised nearly two hundred grand for your campaign, you were happy to.”
Edward slipped the phone back in his pocket. “And what am I speaking about?”
“About the benefits of the Mentored Youth Hunting Program that eliminated the minimum hunting age and authorized the Natural Resources Commission to establish rules for hunters under ten years old.”
Edward raised his eyebrows. “And I’m applauding putting guns in the hands of children?”
“You’re supporting parents’ right to determine if and when their child is ready to hunt. Michigan’s hunter participation ranks third in the nation. More than 750,000 sportsmen and women spend over 2.3 billion dollars and generate tax revenue of over one hundred thirty million in Michigan annually—and anglers another 2.4 billion. That’s a lot of money. And the kids are under strict supervision from experienced mentors. It’s a good program that emphasizes hunting safety. Read it.”
Edward shifted the binders and looked at his watch. “Anything else?”
“Just the black-tie for the Girls in Math and Science. You’re presenting the award.”
“Couldn’t forget that. Noelle’s on the committee. That it?”
Ben clicked his pen and shut the planner. “No, but good enough for now.”
“Thanks for keeping on top of everything.”
“It’s my job.” Ben tossed the notebook into the passenger’s seat and stuck the key in the ignition.
“Night,” Edward called out.
The cell phone in his pocket vibrated again. Edward pulled open the side door and dumped the binders on the kitchen counter as Noelle came in, looking snug in her flower flannel pajamas and fluffy slipper socks. She’d released her hair from the intricate coil imprisoning it all evening, so that it hung in a shiny mink curtain loosely about her face, and she’d removed all traces of makeup. His wife now looked like the fresh-faced college girl she’d been when they’d first met.
Noelle hung up the phone and then stared pointedly at the binders as if they were porn magazines. “Can’t Ben and work wait for just
one night?”
“Sorry. We needed to go over a few things.”
“We need you, too.”
Edward shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over a counter stool. Moving close, he put his arms around his wife. “From now on you will have my undivided attention.”
“Until your phone rings again.” Noelle looped an arm around his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss. The other hand trailed down his chest, slid into his pants pocket, and relieved him of his phone in a slick move any pickpocket would have been proud of. His phone jingled off and thunked against the granite countertop.
Edward broke away from Noelle’s lips to nuzzle that little sweet spot behind her ear that smelled so fantastic, driving him crazy. “I’m all yours, babe.”
The microwave bell dinged, and the smell of popcorn wafted through the room. Noelle pulled out of his arms. “Hold that thought ’til after the movie. You gonna change?”
“What thought?” Noelle’s father entered the kitchen and moved past her to get the popcorn from the microwave. Joseph Dickerson, attired in a maroon silk dressing gown and leather scuffs, should have looked overdressed in his elegant nightwear, but instead he reminded Edward of a pompous English Lord.
“Thanks for staying with Jeff, Joseph.”
Joseph upended the popcorn into the plastic bowl Noelle slid across the counter. “Glad to.”
“Give you any trouble?”
He reached for the warm butter and drizzled it over the top of the popcorn. “Only in ping pong. The kid’s getting good.”
“Takes after his old man.” Noelle patted Edward’s chest as she carried the snack into the family room.
“What’re we watching tonight?” Edward asked. His glance moved to the binders and hours of reading he had to do this weekend. Maybe if it was a movie they’d seen before, he could get away with multitasking.
Joseph opened the refrigerator and scanned the shelves. “One of the Divergent series.”
“Of course. Is there anything else?”
“Hunger Games or Maze Runner.” He shut the refrigerator door and put two Cokes, a Sprite, and an iced tea on the counter.
The Lives Between Us Page 5