Home to Chicory Lane (9781426796074)

by Raney, Deborah;

  Landyn’s grandma—Grant’s mother—had to be one of the most interesting women Chase had ever met. The first time he’d been introduced to CeeCee, she was trudging up the hill from the creek behind the Whitmans’ house, fishing pole over one shoulder, blue-white curls framing the Cardinals baseball cap perched backward on her head, and muddy Nikes accessorizing her bib overalls. If not for her petite feminine build, Chase might have mistaken her for a man.

  When he’d seen her next, at Danae and Dallas’s wedding, CeeCee had been strawberry blond, the epitome of elegance in a pale blue gown, her wrists and earlobes dripping with rhinestones—or maybe they were real diamonds.

  Today, her hair was a coppery shade and piled high on her head.

  “So I hear you and Miss Landyn are going to move in with me for a while.”

  “We’re thinking about it, ma’am. If that’s okay with you.”

  She winked at Chase. “It’s okay with me as long as you heard the ‘for a while’ part of my invitation.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. We really appreciate it and we’ll only be here until we can decide what we’re supposed to be doing.”

  “Well, now . . .” A spark came to her blue eyes. “For some people that could be fifteen years. That’s just a hair longer than I meant by ‘a while’. I trust you and Landyn will have your act together a bit sooner than that.”

  Chase looked to Grant for a cue as to whether CeeCee was joking.

  But his father-in-law only walked to the dining room and looked out the window. “We need to get those trees trimmed, Mother,” he said. “An ice storm and you’d have big trouble.”

  “Well, come and trim them, then. Or maybe Chase can help me with that. You any good with a chainsaw?”

  “I’ve used one once or twice. I’d be glad to trim things up.” He hoped she understood that he would need to be working on his art while he and Landyn were here. He wouldn’t have time to be a maintenance man.

  “If you wouldn’t mind helping out a little around here, we can probably see to it that you don’t get charged any rent.” CeeCee looked pointedly at Grant. “Right, son?”

  Grant held his hands up, palms out. “I’ll leave that between the two of you.”

  “Sounds like a good deal to me,” Chase said. “We sure do appreciate you letting us stay here—”

  “For a while,” she reminded him. “Stay here for a while.”

  “Right. Just for a while.” He grinned. CeeCee was outspoken and a little outrageous at times, but Chase liked that she said what she meant and meant what she said. And if he could pay the rent with a few hours of yard work, this could be a real answer to prayer.

  “Now Grant told you I host my bridge club here in March, right? The fifteenth, I think it is.”

  “Yes, ma’am, he did. Don’t worry, we’ll be out of here long before then. Hopefully by Christmas.” He wasn’t sure where that had come from. He didn’t have a clue how this was all going to play out. They didn’t have any plans firmed up yet. They hadn’t set any deadlines.

  But it looked like he just might have committed them to one.

  * * *

  As soon as they returned to the inn from CeeCee’s, Chase dialed Landyn. He wanted to put off telling her about Miles’s call, but he might as well get the bad news out of the way. Maybe he could temper it with the good news about her grandmother’s offer of letting him work off the rent.

  Landyn picked up on the first ring. “Hey, baby. How’s it going?” The smile in her voice made Chase feel worse.

  “I have good news and I have bad news. Which one do you want first?”

  “What happened?” She wasn’t playing.

  “It might not be as bad as he thinks, but Miles reminded me that we’re probably going to owe a huge chunk in taxes. Because of all the art I’ve sold.”

  A long pause, then, “Define ‘huge chunk’ please.”

  He cleared his throat. “Probably around seven thousand.”

  “What! Chase, we don’t have that kind of money.” She sounded on the edge of panic.

  He didn’t tell her that was just for income from art commissions. It didn’t include any liability they’d have from their regular jobs. And they’d made sure they kept as much of each paycheck as possible.

  “I know,” he said, “but April’s a ways off. And Miles said we could file an extension if we need to.”

  She made a noise that was a cross between a moan and a growl. “Don’t we have to pay even more if we do that?”

  “Probably some interest. But we’ll be okay, baby. Remember what Pastor Simmons said? All newlyweds struggle with finances the first few years.”

  “I don’t think he meant to the tune of ten thousand dollars in the first six months.”

  “Once you’re working again, we’ll be fine. I can pick up some work on the side, and we can raise a lot of the cash just by selling my car.” Ha! They’d be lucky if his beater brought a grand. That thing had been at least ten years old when he’d bought it from their next-door neighbor, but low mileage. Mr. Granger had been packing to move into a retirement home at the time and had sold it to him for five hundred dollars. The deal of the century, Chase now realized. But Frank Granger had died before Chase could thank him.

  “Not if we have to drive it back to Missouri to sell it.”

  “Would you quit being such a cynic?”

  “Besides, I thought we were using that money to fly one of us home—wherever home is now.”

  “Home is wherever you are, Landyn.”

  “Well, it just so happens I’m in New York, so you’d better get your tail out here.”

  Not exactly the response he was hoping his romantic line would get, but at least she’d implied that she wanted to be with him. It was a start. And he needed to take advantage of it.

  The screen on his phone changed, and he realized Landyn had hung up. Without asking what his good news was. Had she given up hope?

  If it took their last dime, he had to figure out a way to get to New York.

  * * *

  Landyn slipped her phone back into her purse and walked back to Chase’s studio in a daze. When she unlocked the door, she realized her hands were trembling. They were in deep and getting deeper.

  She had to tell Chase about the baby. He needed to know that she would not be finding a decent job anytime soon. Because she was having a baby. Their baby. And she would be showing before long. This morning, studying her figure in the mirror of the studio’s tiny bathroom, she would have sworn she was already showing. But maybe that was just the effects of one too many deli breakfasts. Which, it seemed, she could no longer afford to buy. She tossed her purse on the counter and slumped into the lumpy futon. How were they ever going to make it?

  She tried to sleep—not because she was tired, but because sleep seemed to offer the only acceptable escape from her circumstances. But after an hour of restless tossing, she went to get her phone and—before she could come to her senses and change her mind—dialed her father. She’d only spoken to her parents once since driving away from their house a week ago. She wouldn’t blame them if they told her to take a hike. But she couldn’t go on like this. Something had to give.

  Dad answered on the second ring. “Landyn? Everything okay?”

  “I’m fine, Dad.”

  “You’re feeling okay? Everything okay with the baby and—?”

  “Dad. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  “That’s a father’s job, Landyn. So when are you coming back? Have you figured that out yet?”

  “I haven’t figured anything out.” Tears threatened. “That’s . . .why I’m calling. I—I don’t know what we’re going to do, Dad.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re both just . . . confused, I guess. We just don’t know what we should do.”

  “What does Chase want to do?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t think he’s sure. I thought he was set on Bed-Stuy—that’s what started this whole mess. But now h
e’s talking about—” She gave a frustrated sigh. “I don’t even know.”

  “Well, you two had better figure something out. You can’t keep playing games with each other—”

  “That’s what I’m saying. But I don’t know what to do. And Chase just found out our taxes are going to kill us and—”

  “Taxes? How does he know that already?”

  “For the art he sold. I guess that’s all taxable and they don’t take anything out of his commission checks.” She explained what Chase had told her.

  Her dad was silent on his end and she imagined him fuming—whether at Chase or her, she wasn’t sure. Probably both of them. And she couldn’t really blame him.

  “Landyn,” Dad said finally. “I don’t want to interfere, but you guys need to make some decisions and I don’t mean next week. Do you want me to talk to Chase?”

  “No. And— Don’t tell him about the baby. Please, Dad. Let me talk to him first.”

  “I won’t tell him, but you have to, Landyn. You can’t keep pretending this will all go away. And you’re just getting in deeper and deeper—financially, I mean—with every day that goes by.”

  As if she didn’t know that.

  20

  I’d like to surprise her and fly out there. But . . . we’re pretty strapped right now.”

  Grant shut off the weed-eater he wielded and studied his son-in-law. Apparently plans had changed since he’d talked to Landyn Saturday. These two had changed their minds more often than his mother changed her hair color. “Couldn’t you put airfare on your credit card? Pay it off when you sell the car?”

  Chase shifted from one foot to the other. “We’re kind of maxed out right now. On the credit cards.”

  “Kind of?” How much could a one-way flight to New York be?

  “We are maxed out . . . sir.”

  Lord, help me keep my cool. “I probably don’t have to tell you that I’ve already helped Landyn out more than her share. Are you aware she asked me to loan her the money to fly home?”

  “Recently?”

  “Yesterday.”

  Chase’s eyebrows went up. “I . . . I didn’t know that.”

  He placed the weed-eater on the edge of the sidewalk, then wiped his brow with his shirttail. “Are you thinking of going back to New York?”

  “We’re not sure, but—”

  “No, I mean you.”

  “Oh. Well, I think it’s best we bring the cars back here to sell one of them, so I’ll probably need to make another trip.”

  Grant wasn’t sure he liked that idea, but he was keeping out of their business as much as possible. Besides, he didn’t have a better option to offer. “Fine, but you two had better get your schedules synchronized before you end up crossing wires again.”

  “We will.” Chase stretched and the thin white T-shirt he wore pulled taut over his chest. His tattoo showed through like an ugly bruise.

  The thing was the size of a bagel. He didn’t care if it was a cross. How anyone could do that to themselves, Grant didn’t know. He looked away. “So you’re wanting a loan for airfare, I take it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “When a man has five kids, he needs to be careful he doesn’t play favorites.” He paused, letting his son-in-law sweat a little. “But I guess I could make you a temporary loan if you’ll pay it off from the proceeds when you sell the car.”

  “Yes sir. I can do that.”

  Grant didn’t correct Chase calling him sir. He was glad to see this hadn’t been an easy request to make. He didn’t want it to become a habit. Although it crossed his mind that he might be on the asking end someday soon if things kept going the way they were with the inn. He would be grateful when these kids got their differences worked out. So far it had been like watching a couple of bumbling circus clowns. “Did you say you wanted to surprise Landyn?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Grant cleared his throat. “Diamond necklaces are good surprises. Bouquets of roses are good surprises. What you are planning would be a surprise, but I’m not so sure it would be a good one.” That line might come back to haunt him once Chase found out the surprise waiting for him in New York. But much as Grant was tempted, he wasn’t going to be the one to spill the beans on Landyn’s “surprise.” That news was for her to tell.

  He only hoped she did it soon. And that Chase would take the news like a man.

  * * *

  Chase wiped damp palms on his jeans and rang the doorbell. It felt strange to be ringing his own doorbell, but it would have felt even more strange to walk in on Landyn.

  He heard rustling inside, and then the door opened and suddenly, she was standing in front of him. His wife. Today, Friday, was the soonest he’d been able to get a reasonably priced flight—and it had now been over four weeks since he’d seen her face to face. It felt more like four years.

  “Hi.” She swung the door wide open, not smiling, but looking nervous and a little breathless. And beautiful. She was wearing one of those long swishy skirts with a T-shirt, and her hair was the way he liked it—wild and curly like she’d just crawled out of bed. Yet he knew how long it took her to get it looking that way. He thought it was a good sign.

  He hitched his duffel up on his shoulder and entered, looking around the small space. “The place looks good.”

  She shrugged.

  The apartment was tidier than he’d left it, and there were slightly droopy flowers in a Styrofoam cup on the lone counter by the sink. He wondered where they’d come from. Knowing Landyn, she’d probably talked a street florist out of day-old flowers. Even wilted, they cheered up the space. Or maybe it was Landyn who cheered it up.

  He wanted to wrap her in a hug, but she was hugging herself and standing as far away from him as she could get in the twenty-by-twenty-foot studio.

  “Have you eaten?”

  He tossed his duffel by the door and shrugged out of his jacket. “I had a burger at the airport. Why? You hungry?”

  “No. I had something already.”

  They stood awkwardly staring at each other until Landyn looked away and went to the sink. “I’m thirsty. You want some water?”

  “Sure.”

  She filled two glasses and offered him one.

  “Thanks.” Her hand brushed his as he took the glass from her. He caught a whiff of the familiar scent of her favorite body lotion. An intoxicating mix of flowers and fruit.

  They drank in silence, Landyn looking out the window to the street. Him watching her. It was going to be a long couple of days if somebody didn’t break the ice. He took a deep breath. “So . . . You have everything you need here?”

  “It’s fine. I met your super.”

  “Yeah, you said . . . Ray’s a good guy.”

  “He let me park in some guy’s spot while he’s out of town.”

  “I wondered what you were doing about that. Have you seen the prices the garages are charging now?”

  “I know. It’s crazy. So, Dad loaned you the money to fly out?”

  He nodded. “I don’t think he was too happy about it, but I told him we’d pay him back when we sell the car.”

  “How much do you think we’ll get for it? It’s still your car you want to sell, right?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we should see how much the Honda would bring.”

  She tensed, and he waved off his comment. “Whichever you think. I don’t know . . . We may not need a car at all.”

  “I thought of that. But I thought you said you wanted to stay in Langhorne for a while.”

  “Just till we figure things out.”

  She looked at the floor, tugging at a long curl, then winding it around her finger—a signal he’d learned to recognize.

  “Can we just put everything on the table, Landyn? Do some pros and cons lists like we learned in counseling?” Without waiting for her to respond, he went to the taboret near the easel and pulled out two sheets of scrap paper. He rummaged in a mug for two pens that worked and put paper and pen on the bar coun
ter in front of each of the mismatched stools.

  “Pros and cons for what?”

  He studied her, trying to get a feel for where she was emotionally. “Maybe I shouldn’t have put it that way. Maybe what we need is a list of possibilities.”

  “Okay.” She pulled out a bar stool and moved it up close to the wall before hiking herself up onto it. Her skirt rustled as she tucked shapely legs beneath her, resting her chin on one knee. She slid the paper and pen across the bar and clicked the pen.

  Chase put the other stool at the far end of the bar and straddled it, mesmerized by her movements, remembering how her silky skin felt beneath his fingers. He wouldn’t push her, but man! He wanted her.

  It had been too long. Far too long.

  21

  Once they started tossing out ideas to write on their papers, Landyn began to feel a little more at ease with Chase. His hair was longer than he usually wore it and he looked like he’d gained a little weight. It looked good on him. Funny how a person could change in only four weeks.

  Or maybe she was just remembering him wrong.

  Chase wrote something else on his paper, then clicked his ballpoint pen and picked up the sheet. “Okay. Remember how Pastor Simmons said to do it? I’ll read my list and if there’s anything on it you absolutely aren’t willing to do, we’ll cross it off. Then same thing with my turn.”

  “Okay.” She tried to sound more enthusiastic than she felt. But she could have predicted what was on Chase’s list of possibilities.

  “Okay . . . The obvious,” he started. “Coming back to New York and living together here.” His arm swept the small apartment with a wide gesture, as if he could make the place appear larger than it was. “Number two, moving back to Langhorne, and sort of”—he shrugged—“starting over. Number three, moving back to the Upper West Side and me commuting to Bed-Stuy.”

  “Really? You’d do that?”

  “Well, it’s not my first choice—”

  “Or second.”

  “No. But . . . I’d consider it. If that seemed like the best thing for both of us.”

  “Okay.” He’d managed to surprise her. “What else?”

  “That’s about it. Except maybe . . .” He pressed his lips together as if he’d changed his mind about telling her something on his list.