by Kaje Harper
Ryan looked over. He hadn’t had to chase a woman in forever. When you wore the uniform, unless you were a slug, they would come to you. Those girls were okay, he guessed. Two brunettes and an obvious bottle blonde. They were drinking mixed drinks and laughing a little too loudly. And eyeing the men at the bar.
“Good eye,” he said. “You going to go for it?”
John colored. “Not my thing. I don’t date much, and I like to get to know someone pretty well before I take them to bed.”
Ryan tossed back the last of his beer and stood, leaving the cane under the table. “Then wish me luck.”
John looked startled, but didn’t comment.
Ryan walked toward the women, keeping his stride as even as he possibly could. The beer wasn’t helping, but he disguised a lurch as an effort to dodge the waitress. The women were still smiling as he reached their table.
“I couldn’t help but notice you ladies laughing,” he said with his best charming smile. “Are we men really that amusing to you, or are you all just in a really good mood?”
They looked him up and down with frank appraisal, and then the blonde slid around and tapped one long lacquered nail on the single free chair. “Why don’t you have a seat and find out?” she said. “I’m Rhonda.”
“Ryan.” He slid the chair out and sat carefully. He hadn’t screwed this up yet. The women turned to him, and he started the delicate game of flirt and response.
Half an hour later, he had all three phone numbers, although one of the brunettes was dancing with a salesman from Duluth. The other two women were giving a good impression of being fascinated with the exploits of Ryan the fireman and soon to be MD. He had no illusions. Two A-list professions for dating were the thing keeping their attention. Ryan had bought them another round of drinks, although he’d stuck to beer. If the women were leaving soon, he hoped the bartender was planning to take their keys.
Rhonda, the blonde, was actually the smartest of the three. She was clearly the leader of the group. The little brunette periodically glanced at her for approval. Ryan and Rhonda had verbally danced around the idea of going “somewhere else” for a while now. They both knew what was potentially on offer.
Ryan glanced over at John’s table. He’d been sitting alone, sipping his beer and listening to the acoustic guitarist play. But now, that blonde with the blue shirt had wandered his way. She stood chatting, one hand on what had been Ryan’s chair. She was prettier than Ryan had realized from a distance. She wore silver-framed glasses, which she pushed up her small, straight nose with one finger. She said something to John, who laughed.
John had a great laugh. It was deep and resonant, and you just knew there was nothing fake about it. Not like the social laughter these women at Ryan’s table seemed to let loose with, at the slightest hint of amusement. They were trying too freaking hard. Suddenly Ryan was tired of the whole game of maneuvering and pretending.
He stood abruptly. “Listen, ladies. It’s been great meeting you. But I think I’ve had one more beer than is really good for me. I’d better catch up with my ride before he leaves without me. You all have a great evening, and maybe I’ll see you around.”
“You have my number,” Rhonda reminded him, running a fingernail over the back of his hand. “You can always call me.” She slid the tip of her tongue over her pouty lower lip.
Ryan watched that slick motion. She was pretty, and seemed sharp enough. A woman who knew what she liked. She was also built. He wasn’t sure what he was doing walking away from all that. But somehow, an early night in his own bed with a bottle of lotion sounded more appealing than facing a real live woman across the sheets.
He heard John chuckle again. The sound seemed to pull him across the room. “Maybe I’ll call when I’m sober.”
His walk back to the other table wasn’t as smooth as before. Twice he put a hand on a chair-back for support. When he glanced behind him, the two women were eyeing him speculatively. Wondering if he was a gimp, or just really drunk? But John looked up at him with clear, unchanging eyes. “Going? Staying? What?”
“I could use a ride home,” Ryan told him. “Unless.” He suddenly realized he might be the one interrupting. “If you were staying for a while, I can catch a cab.”
“No, that’s fine. I was just chatting with Mary here, while she waits for her husband to arrive.”
Ryan blinked. Married. It was a relief. Neither of them was getting lucky tonight. It made things more fair, he thought. “Your husband is a lucky man,” he said gallantly to the blonde.
She seemed startled, but said, “Thank you.”
John fished under the table, and passed Ryan his cane, as he stood up. “Here. You might want this. Beer not being helpful for walking in a straight line.”
Ryan took it, feeling a sudden wash of sentimentality. “You’re a good friend, John. And I think I’m a little drunk.”
John gave him an odd smile. “Just a little. Come on. We’ll go home.”
The cool air outside sobered Ryan. He took his cane more firmly in hand and trailed John toward the truck. “I could’ve picked up one of those women,” he said truculently. “I just didn’t want to.”
“Right.”
John opened the door of the truck and gave Ryan a boost up and in. Ryan’s head spun dizzily. John’s hand was warm and secure on his elbow. John tucked Ryan’s feet safely inside the door frame, slammed the door, and walked around. Ryan waited for his friend’s face to reappear. When John sat down beside him, Ryan sighed. “I’m so fucked up. I don’t know what the hell I want.”
“Don’t worry about it.” John’s voice was deep velvet in the darkness of the cab. “You’ll be asleep before you figure it out. And then in the morning, all you’ll want will be some aspirin.”
Ryan tipped his head back and shut his eyes. “Y’know, John, you’re a pretty smart guy.”
“Right.” John’s voice rumbled into the distance. “I’m damned brilliant.”
Chapter Six
John decided that coming into LA in November was like turning back the clock. Everything was warm and sunny and green. Where it wasn’t dry and burned brown. Last night in the hotel, he hadn’t slept much, wondering what kind of reception he’d get from the kids and Cynthia. Time to find out.
The Carlisles lived in a very nice house, just like all their neighbors. In this part of town, having a swimming pool was apparently required, and a half-circle driveway was standard. John parked on the drive and climbed the white steps to the front door. He resisted the impulse to check his hair again before ringing the bell. The first notes of the Pachelbel canon echoed behind the closed door. Typical.
Then the door was pulled open and he was looking at Torey. She hesitated for a second, long enough to make his heart sink. Then she shouted, “Daddy!” and her arms locked around his waist.
“Hey there, squirt,” he said, hugging her back. “Missed you. Are Mom and Mark in?”
“Mark’s up in his room,” she said. “I think Mom’s out back with the pool guy.”
Okay, do not picture that, rein in the overactive imagination. “Do you think I can come in?”
“Sure!” She swung the door wide. “Why are you here? How long can you stay?”
“A few days, and I’m here to see you. How about we go find Mom, and clear it with her, and then you can pack a bag for the weekend and we’ll have some fun?” Okay, telling Torey before asking Cynthia for permission was dirty pool, but he was tired of Cynthia’s games and he was going to see his kids.
“Mark too?” Torey asked.
“Of course Marcus too.” He chucked her under the chin. “Don’t make that face. He’s your brother.”
“Exactly.” She grinned, and pointed. “Mom’s in the back. You can go through there. I’m gonna go tell Mark.” She sprinted for the stairs yelling, “Hey! Butt-face!”
John sighed. God, he’d missed them.
He followed the directed route, and ended up at open patio doors. Outside, Cynthia stood o
n the tiled deck beside the pool, next to a slim, tanned boy in a white T-shirt and black pants. Quite innocently, of course. She was saying something about leaves in the filter. John leaned in the doorway and waited for Cynthia to notice him.
She looked younger than the last time he’d seen her, over a year ago. More tanned, more fit, a little heavier, her blond hair cut in a shining cap. She moved with confidence, gesturing about something. California obviously suited her. Or maybe it was marriage to someone else that suited her. She eventually finished with the pool boy, dismissed him, turned back to the house, and froze.
“John.”
“Hello, Cynthia.”
“What are you doing here? Who let you in?” She looked around as if expecting an armed assault team.
John bit his lip. “I rang the bell. Torey let me in. She’s grown another inch.”
Cynthia sighed. “What do you want, John?”
“I want to see the kids. My kids.”
“This isn’t a good time. They have plans for later.”
“Break them.” John let a hint of his anger show through. “Cyn, I scraped together the funds for those two plane tickets, which you’ve been sitting on for months now. If you won’t let the kids come to me, I figured I’d come to them.”
A voice came from behind John. “Won’t let us?” Mark’s voice squeaked, his new baritone cracking into a light treble. “Mom?”
John turned quickly. Shit. He’d sworn never to badmouth Cynthia to the kids. “Hey, son,” he said. “Just a problem with timing, I’m sure. But I have some flexibility right now. So I figured I’d take a long weekend and come out here.” He turned back to Cynthia, baring his teeth in what should’ve been a smile. “I’ve got hotel reservations for a couple of nights. I’ll take the kids; they can show me their new city. I’ll have them back to you Monday night.”
“Um.” She looked over his shoulder. “I don’t know if they’ll want to miss the movie premiere. And the horseback riding on Sunday.”
“There’ll be other chances,” Torey said stoutly from behind Mark. “I want to spend the time with Dad.”
That’s my girl.
“Marcus?” Cindy pressed. “You’re going to play laser tag with the baseball team.”
Mark shrugged one shoulder awkwardly. “It’s no big. He flew all this way. It’s almost Thanksgiving. I guess I don’t mind hanging with Dad this weekend.” John would have been more depressed by the lackluster tone of that, if he hadn’t spotted the stuffed backpack sitting by the boy’s feet. He’s already packed. John held back a more honest grin.
“Then it’s settled,” he said. “Ten minutes to pack for a couple days, and we head out. The limo awaits.”
“A real limo?” Torey asked, looking toward the front door.
They really have changed social groups. “No, baby, sorry. Just a kind of boring rental car. But it comes with a driver who’s willing to go anywhere you tell him. So it’s sort of like a limo.”
Her “Daaad!” was long-suffering.
He smiled. “That’s down to nine minutes for packing now, squirt.”
“Nine minutes!” It came out as a pained shriek. “Dad, I can’t pack my stuff that fast.”
“Try.”
She scurried up the stairs and he heard her footsteps hurrying overhead.
Mark glanced at him from under his bangs and gave the first hint of a smile. “Want to bet she can’t do it in under a half hour?”
John stuck out a hand, and clasped his son’s long fingers in his own. “You’re on.” God, he was going to enjoy this weekend.
****
When the airport shuttle dropped John off in front of his house three days later, there was just the faintest hint of pink in the early morning sky. He paused, bag at his feet, to stretch and look around. An overnight flight was not kind to someone his height, especially when it was packed full. He decided that when he headed to work, he’d make his first job a hike around campus. He could check some of the mulching he had the crew doing yesterday while he was gone. A hard walk would get out some of the kinks.
No one walked in LA, apparently. The kids had looked at him like he was crazy when he’d suggested it. Thank God for GPS in rental cars.
He’d let them choose what they wanted to do. It hadn’t been perfect. After all, a girl of twelve and a boy of almost fifteen can hardly agree on what day of the week it is, let alone what to do with a free afternoon. But they’d managed. When Torey had begged for shopping, he’d managed to fit it in by dropping Mark off at his baseball team’s end-of-season laser-tag party. That way, Mark didn’t miss the time with his friends, and John got to sit around in a mall watching Torey try on clothes.
Torey. God, she was growing up before his eyes. Wearing a bra, for Christ’s sake. Which apparently it was now okay to let show under your clothes, because when he down-checked a shirt for showing her straps, she’d rolled her eyes. He’d given up on the fashion commentary early. A mother, watching her daughter go in and out of the same changing rooms had offered some advice—if it’s really too tight or too low-cut, you either tell her it makes her look a little heavy or the color doesn’t do good things for her. But use your veto wisely.
The third time he’d come out with, “The color doesn’t do good things for you,” Torey had about died laughing. But they’d found a few pieces they both liked, without him having to put his foot down officially. And later, after the movie, he’d given Mark a bonus, letting him drive the rental car slowly around the dark vastness of the mall’s remote parking lot.
It had been Ryan’s suggestion, when he had begged for tips about where to take the kids in LA. Along with a list of attractions, he’d suggested driving for Mark. Apparently Ryan’s older brother had let him take the wheel when he was twelve and got his first growth spurt. Ryan claimed the resulting hero worship had taken years to wear off.
He hadn’t planned to follow through with it. Letting a kid drive without a permit was totally illegal, and a terrible precedent. But there’d been a core of sadness, something rigidly solitary about Mark. Like he was holding himself aloof from the world. In desperation to break through that barrier, he’d offered to turn over the wheel, there in the safe empty space. And it had worked on Mark too. The kid had sat up out of his slouch for the first time, and paid rapt attention.
They’d done some of the tourist stuff the next day, letting the kids show him their city. They got off on correcting his errors, so he’d pulled out a few wild guesses, speculating at random for them to set him straight. Truly, he hadn’t known stuff like the origins of the HOLLYWOOD sign. By the end of the weekend, his credit cards were about ready to burst into flames, but the early distance between them had vanished. He got goodbye hugs from both kids when he dropped them back home. And Mark had said he liked his early birthday gift.
They were LA kids now. Clothes, vocabulary, activities. But they were still his kids. They both wanted to come back to York at Christmas. Cynthia had promised, and John would hold her to it this time. As fun as the weekend had been, he wanted to see them back here, running up those steps, leaving that yellow door open so he could yell at them.
He felt a warm glow as he picked up his bag and headed up the walk. He liked this house, he realized. Really liked it. He’d felt pressured by Cynthia when she made him buy a bigger place. He’d gone out and gotten the biggest one he could afford. But somehow it had grown on him over the past year.
It welcomed him home. The porch light was on by the door and a lamp shone deep inside, brightening the front window. Probably from the kitchen. He glanced at his watch. Yep, six thirty a.m. Ryan would be up, yawning, pouring his first cup of coffee.
Ryan was usually up before him, and moving around in the kitchen when John straggled in closer to seven. The coffee would be brewed in the old thermos. John would pour himself a cup, and give Ryan a hard time about doing it wrong. Just because. In fact it was hard to do drip coffee wrong.
Ryan would be at the table, eating a bagel a
nd a banana. If he had a quiz, there might be a book propped up against the tissue box in front of him. If the subject was hard, there’d be a little crease between the guy’s dark eyebrows as he concentrated. But he’d look up and smile when John came in.
He’d been surprised to find himself missing Ryan’s company in LA. Every now and then, he’d wanted someone adult. Someone who would get his worst puns, or roll his eyes in sympathy when his kids gave him pure teenager disdain. And Ryan knew LA. He would’ve been a help when they got confused in the downtown streets. Maybe sometime Ryan would want to visit his brother, and they could combine trips.
John dumped his bag in the hall by the stairs, and headed for the kitchen, drawn by the scent of coffee. And there was Ryan, leaning against the counter waiting for the toaster. He was wearing loose PJ pants and an old T-shirt. His black hair was rumpled and damp from his shower. He looked perfectly at home. And when he saw John, his smile was sweet and warm.
“Hey, look what the cat dragged in.”
John took one step forward and stopped. What was he going to do? Shake hands? Hug the guy? He’d been away for just three days, for Christ’s sake. He converted the motion into a pass at the coffee thermos. Which was, after all, why he’d gone in there. Yeah, that was good. He sipped and rolled the dark liquid on his tongue. “Three days without the good stuff. I was going into withdrawal.”
“Did you eat anything? I could toast you a bagel.”
He shook his head. “I ate some kind of vending-machine crap at the airport. I don’t think my stomach is ready for real food.”
Ryan wrinkled his nose in sympathy. “Hate those red-eye flights. So, tell me about your weekend. Was it worth the trip?”
“Hell yeah.” He peered at Ry. “Do you really want to hear about it?”
“Of course I do.” Ryan juggled his hot bagel onto a plate and dug in the refrigerator for the butter. “I feel like I know your kids already. And after all, if they come to visit, I’ll have to live with them.”
“Oh. Yeah. Cynthia promised they’d come out here in December. She said it in front of them, so I hope this time she’ll follow through. Which means you’ll have to share a bathroom with two teenagers, unless you decide to use mine.”