Rattling Around: The Baxter Boys #5 (The Baxter Boys ~ Rattled)

by Charles, Jane

  “I will.”

  “If there isn’t enough money, don’t tell her that.”

  “Okay.” But, unless there a ton of issues I don’t know about, there is more than enough money.

  “You tell me. It will be taken care of.”

  The order comes from Tink and I can tell by the look in his eyes and the grim set of his mouth that he’s serious. “Will do.”

  I head out, nod to Zach. He comes over. “What’s going on?”

  I don’t even know where to begin. Noelle isn’t the only one reeling from the conversation from inside. I am too. I don’t want to tell him all of Noelle’s personal stuff, but I can’t keep the other connection to myself. “Did you know that Mrs. Dempsey is a Baxter?”

  He pulls back, his brow furrowed. “As in the school?”

  I nod and look over at her. She’s sitting in a chair and pulling weeds from one of the raised beds. Maybe if she was brought out here more often, her garden would come back.

  She turns to us. “Did you say Baxter?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Dempsey,” I answer. “I just learned that was your maiden name.”

  “That was a long time ago.” She chuckles.

  I wonder how much she does know, or remembers, since she can’t remember that her daughter died.

  “It’s a school now, right?”

  She brightens and the happiest smile comes to her face. “It’s what Theo wanted.”

  Zach and I share a look. We have no idea who Theo is.

  “Such a nice boy. The school was for him.”

  So, Theo was one of the troubled and talented or he just had a vision of what could be done.

  “All those wonderful and talented children. We used to go up and see plays, and musicals, concerts, go to the exhibits.” She sighs. “I miss that.” She sets her gloves aside. “There was one girl I remember, oh, it must be years since I’ve seen her.”

  There were a lot of girls and the school opened in something like 2003, so who knows how long ago it was.

  “I think she was there because she was an actress, maybe.”

  Mrs. Dempsey is staring off as if she’s gone back there or trying to remember.

  “No. She painted. That’s right.” She turns fully toward us. “But her best and most wonderful gift was in the gardens.” Mrs. Dempsey sighs. “She was such a joy to be around.” Then she brightens. “I think that was her name too.” Mrs. Dempsey laughs. “She would rather be taking care of those beautiful gardens than doing anything else.” She gets serious. “I thought they should hire her right out of school. Make her the head gardener but my family insisted she be given a chance at college.” She relaxes back in her chair.

  All Zach and I can do is stare at her.

  Mrs. Dempsey is talking about our Joy.

  “Remember how someone explained the six degrees of separation to us one time?” Zach asks.

  “Yep. But, I don’t think it’s so much bullshit right now.”

  Zach goes over and gives Mrs. Dempsey a kiss on the cheek.

  “What was that for, dear?”

  “Thank you.” He clears his throat. “I was a Baxter kid.”

  Her eyes widen as a beautiful smile graces her lips and she presses a palm against his cheek. “You were?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s wonderful. Do you remember Joy?”

  He just laughs. “I’ll ask her to visit.”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful. Maybe she could do something with this mess.”

  “Hey, I gotta get going,” I tell Zach. “I need to get to Noelle.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes and no. I’ll explain later.”

  Dylan is heading out with his laptop as I head up the walk.

  “She’s in a mood,” he says.

  “A lot was just dumped on her.”

  “More shit?” he asks in surprise. “Did something happen with her step dad?”

  “No. Other stuff, not all bad, just a bunch of stuff.” I don’t have time to mention the Baxter connection. I’ll need to, of course, especially if Noelle is going to be around a lot, and she does live across the street, but all of that can wait. At least until I see if she’s okay. The way she just suddenly decided to cook was off. I’m not sure if she was shutting down or that is her way to work through, but all in all, not all bad things came from today. Just a lot of things.

  He nods. “I’ll be at Adeline’s. Noelle kept asking permission to use stuff. I think she’ll be more comfortable with me gone.”

  “Thanks,” I say as I head inside.

  When I get to the kitchen, Noelle is vigorously stirring something in a big bowl. I have no idea what it is, but she’s going to town, fast and hard. After a minute, she sets it aside and starts mixing other stuff. I wish I had a clue to what she’s making but I don’t.

  She glances up and looks at me. “What?”

  “Nothing,” I defend. “Just wondering what you’re making.”

  “Cookies.”

  I’m not sure if she’s in a manic state or she’s about to break.

  “Do you need something?” she asks.

  “Nope. Just heading to the basement. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  That’s just it. I don’t think she is, but I head downstairs anyway. She’s in her head, working through what she needs to do. I’ve been there. She needs space and I’m going to give it to her.

  The taste is off. The cookies are dry, brittle, and not even close to sweet.

  Taking the entire batch I dump them in the garbage.

  What did I do wrong?

  Has it been so long since I’ve baked a regular batch of cookies instead of bakery size batch that I can’t remember how to bake normal?

  These are the first cookies I ever learned to bake. Mom taught me in Grams’ kitchen, when the stove still worked. When Grams still had her mind. Before Gary came into our lives.

  My head swirls with everything that Tink and Gramps told me and I can’t focus on a damn thing. I have no business taking a seat at the Foundation. I can’t even fucking manage my own life right now. How can I help make decisions that will affect others?

  Money! Mom had money and Grams has money and nobody ever told me. Not that it would have made a difference but it’s another secret kept from me. Then they just drop it all in my lap and decide to move away—leaving me to deal.

  And poor Kaden, he’s stuck with me when he should have his mother.

  Usually cooking and baking settles me. Clarity comes with eggs, flour, and kneading. It’s always been that way so why isn’t it working today?

  I pound my fist against the granite counter top and then grab a dish cloth and start cleaning the mess I made.

  I’m usually not this messy either.

  What the hell is wrong with me and why can’t I get to the place I need to be, with everything filed in my brain as it should be so that I can concentrate on one thing at a time, jump the hurdle and move on.

  After stacking the dirty dishes at the side of the sink, I turn on the faucet so that I can wash them to start all over, making a mental list of the groceries I need to buy to replace everything I used today.

  Nothing.

  No water.

  How the hell can I wash dishes without water?

  I turn the faucet off and back on.

  Not a damn drop.

  This can’t be happening.

  I need to fucking wash the dishes so I can bake some more. I need to make those cookies, just like Mom did.

  I need…

  Tears fill my eyes. I don’t know what the hell I need, or what I’m doing and how I’m going to get through this.

  I need my mom. I need her to tell me what to do. I need her back.

  I need to turn the clock back and not go to Paris or at least come home as soon as I was done with school and not stay there. If I had, she’d still be alive.

  She’s dead because of my selfishness and I’m going to have to
live with that for the rest of my life, and my brother too.

  Holding on to the counter, head bent over the sink, the tears come and no matter how hard I try, they don’t stop. The pain in my heart and gut is crippling and I can barely stand.

  I can’t stop crying and can’t make any of it stop. I need to get back in control and stay in control. I need to focus, stay strong and move forward. My brother needs me to be. I’m all he has. Even Grams and Gramps are abandoning us.

  A sob breaks and I try to bury it. Nobody can see me like this. I’m the one in charge and I don’t know how to be. But, I have to stay strong.

  But I can’t do a damn thing. I can’t even make cookies and I’m a pastry chef with a degree.

  The faucet whines and then water bursts out, spraying the front of my shirt, soaking me before it dies down to a normal flow.

  I grab a towel, dab at my front, then wipe my face, but it doesn’t matter, it’s just wet again.

  Why the hell can’t I stop crying?

  Why does everything hurt so badly? My throat and neck aches, my head is pounding and my heart and lungs are being crushed with such force that I can hardly breathe.

  I need it to stop.

  “Hey, the water…”

  I quickly try to dry my face, not that it does any good because the tears are still flowing. I can barely see Sean through the watery mess. I duck my head and use the towel again. Sean can’t see me like this. Nobody can.

  But it’s too late. He already did.

  He slowly comes into the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” His gentle tone is almost too much.

  “The cookies…they’re bad…there wasn’t water…there’s dishes…” I gesture to the sink wishing I could speak a coherent sentence but even that’s beyond me now.

  He reaches me in a few strides. “This has nothing to do with cookies or water.”

  His words are so tender and I can’t contain the sob. “No.” I cry just as my knees give out, unable to fight the turmoil inside.

  Sean’s arms are around me in an instant as we drop to the floor and then he’s pulling me into his lap.

  I can’t stop the pain, the tears or the sobs.

  He gently presses my head against his chest and strokes the back of my head while he murmurs, “Just let it out. Let it go. That’s it.”

  He doesn’t have to encourage me because it’s all I can do. I’m in the grip of whatever this is and any will or control I want is being held hostage by the pain.

  A pain of my own doing because I wasn’t there when Mom needed me. And now, my grandparents are abandoning me.

  I don’t want to be alone.

  18

  This is good. This has to be good.

  I know better than anyone that sometimes all those buried emotions need to come out. It’s not healthy to bottle them up and, by the way Noelle’s body is racked with sobs, I have a feeling she’s been bottling them up for a really long time.

  I’m just glad I was here when it happened. Nobody should be alone in their pain.

  Her tears are soaking my shirt, not that I care, but I reach up and behind me to grab the dishtowel, but it’s wet too. Slowly I open the drawer next to me and pull out a clean, and dry, dish cloth and hand it to her. She takes it, wipes her face and then starts all over again.

  All I can do is cradle her on my lap, stroke her hair and hold her close to my heart.

  A world of hurt is gushing from her, probably because she’s been burying so much deep inside, leaving it to stir and build, just like a volcano. Once enough pressure builds, it has to explode and I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening here.

  Dylan steps into the kitchen, his messenger bag over his shoulder. His eyes meet mine, he gives a quick nod and silently backs out of the room.

  He gets it and is probably sending a message to all of the guys, Nina and Kelsey right now to avoid the kitchen until an all clear from one of us. They’ll stay away with no questions asked, especially if he tells them Noelle has finally broken and that she’s on my lap sobbing.

  Slowly the sobs lessen and her body stops quaking until there are just a few sniffs and hiccoughs. She wipes her nose with the dishcloth but stays curled against me.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbles into my shirt.

  I tighten my hold with a quick reassuring squeeze. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

  “Your shirt;s wet, the kitchen’s dirty, and I’m apparently a mess.”

  I try to bury the chuckle but it’s there anyway. “Damn, you’re human after all.”

  She gently punches my chest then stills, dropping her head against my heart. “I’m a horrible selfish human.”

  What the hell? “No, you aren’t.”

  “Yes…I am…”

  With that her body starts to shake as if she’s going to start sobbing again. Which is fine if she needs to get more out, but I won’t let her believe badly of herself. “Why do you think that?”

  “My mom…dead because of me.”

  Oh, hell no, she is not taking that on. I slide to my knees and cradle her against me as I stand. This is not a conversation to have on the kitchen floor and there is no way in hell that I’m going to let her go on thinking her mother’s death was her fault. I know that burden and guilt. I carried it for years.

  Noelle gasps when I stand and she clutches me. “Put me down,” she argues, but it’s kind of weak.

  “Nope.” I’m not letting go of her until we’ve talked. But, we need privacy for that, and too many people live in this house and they’ll be coming home soon, if they aren’t already here like Dylan.

  “I can walk.”

  “Give me this. Give yourself this.” She needs someone to take care of her right now.

  I carry her through the dining room and head for the stairs.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To my room.”

  “No. I should go home.” She pushes against me.

  I pause in the middle of the landing. “Is that what you really want? To go back to the house you grew up in, now own, and sit with your grandparents, or do you plan on going to your room, getting in your own head, and continuing to believe the worst of yourself?”

  Tears spike in her eyes again. Her lashes are already wet and pointed, her eyes are red and swollen, and her nose is a little red too, and all I want to do is keep cuddling her and make it all better.

  “No,” she finally answers with a heavy sigh.

  We head down the hall, passing Dylan’s room. He’s in the middle of his bed, leaning against the headboard, computer up on his lap. Our eyes meet as I pass. He’ll give the all clear that the kitchen can be entered again.

  At the end of the hall I head up the next flight of steps then turn at the top and head to my room, kicking the door shut behind me. Striding across the room, I then sit on the bed, scooting until my back is against the headboard, still cradling Noelle against me. She hasn’t pushed away so I’m assuming she’s resigned to just being.

  She shudders on a sigh and relaxes against me.

  Noelle is probably exhausted after her sobbing in the kitchen, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she fell asleep, not that I expect her to, but if she did, I’d hold her until she woke up and then we’d talk.

  “Are you ready to talk about it?” I ask after she’s been quiet for a bit.

  “About what?” She sniffs and wipes her nose with the dishcloth. “My meltdown?”

  “Why you’re taking on the guilt.”

  “It’s mine to carry.” Noelle shrugs against my chest.

  “How do you figure?” I rest my chin on the top of her head and even though I’m holding her, it’s not tight because I don’t want her to feel trapped, but I don’t want her to pull away either. I’m aiming for safety, security and comfort.

  “I should have come home.”

  “When?”

  “After I graduated.”

  Her answers are short, but don’t really explain and I have a feeling I’m going to have to pull each and
every detail from her. “Why didn’t you?” That is as good a place to start as any.

  Why? That’s easy to answer. “I was young, spoiled.”

  “Um, I don’t think so. You didn’t know your mom had money until a few hours ago.”

  Because I was lied to at every turn. What else wasn’t I told and why wasn’t I told?

  He’s rubbing my back and it feels so good. Not in the good like the massage yesterday, but comforting. I really need not to feel alone right now.

  But, I am alone and the people who are here are leaving me. “I miss my mom.” The tears start again. That’s it, I’ve said it. That’s what hurts the most. I’ll never have my mom to talk to again. Even living a continent away, we were close and talked weekly. She was my biggest champion and encouraged me at every turn. I confided everything in her.

  She didn’t confide in me though. I failed her.

  Sean holds me as I start crying all over again. Shouldn’t I be out of tears by now?

  “Noelle, have you even mourned your mom, until now, that is?” he asks after this last bout of crying.

  “Of course.” At least I think I have.

  “So you’ve cried and let it out?”

  I have to stop and think. “I didn’t have time to do that.”

  “That’s what I thought,” he says, all knowing.

  “That doesn’t mean I wasn’t mourning,” I defend. “But when I got the call, I had to pack, get on a plane. I was more anxious to get to my brother and grandparents and hoping that Gary was in jail. Then Kaden needed me. He was so messed up at the beginning. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t mourn.”

  “I’m sure you did, but you also buried it and didn’t deal with your own pain.”

  “I didn’t have time,” I argue.

  “I know,” he says in a soothing voice that tells me he doesn’t want to argue.

  Or maybe I’m being over sensitive.