Charming for Mother's Day (A Calendar Girls Novella) Page 5

“I’m flattered.” My sarcastic edge almost sliced my tongue while the words left my mouth.

  He tensed as he straightened to full height, his body stiffer than mine. “Jeez, I’m sorry, Lucie. If I’d have thought for one second you’d... and he’d... Does Sidney know?”

  I left the wall to replace the fallen menus in their pile at my station. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  Silence built up between us—an invisible wall of bitterness.

  “Come on,” he said with a defeated sigh. “I’ll take you home.”

  “You go on.” I jerked my head toward the front entrance. “I’m taking the bus, remember?”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Luce. You’re in no condition to walk home right now. And that storm is really raging out there.” As if adding credence to his statement, thunder rumbled and another flash poured momentary white light into the darkened restaurant. “Why don’t you let me take you home?”

  “Because, quite frankly, I don’t want you to know where I live.”

  He winced and sucked in a sharp breath. “Ouch. That hurt.” He headed back to the bistro chair and plopped down, removed his cell phone from his pocket, and focused on the screen as it lit up. His lips pursed in disappointment.

  I told myself I wouldn’t give in to his emotional blackmail. When I was young and stupid, that pouting pose would have melted my resolve. I would’ve turned cartwheels to cheer him up when he gave me that look. Not anymore. I knew the game now. I was a mother, immune to toddler tantrums.

  “Why don’t you go home?” I kept my tone bland, banal. “Take advantage of your extra...” I glanced at my watch: 1:20 a.m. “...half hour of sleep before it disappears.”

  “No,” he replied without looking up or changing expression—playing martyr to the max. “I’ll wait with you.”

  Oh, for crying out loud! I slammed my fist onto my maître d’ podium. Why did he insist on becoming my personal leech? “Look, Colin, I don’t know how to make this any plainer, except to come right out with it. Our working relationship would go a lot smoother if you treated me the way you treated all the other employees. That would mean no mentions of our past—especially about Rob—no kisses or flirtation, and no offers to drive me around. Okay?”

  “So that’s what you consider the perfect business relationship? A boss who doesn’t give a damn about his employees or their safety?” Bruce the shark returned to his face, a sly smile and know-it-all indulgence. “Let me get this straight. In the six years you worked for Sidney, he never drove you home, even in the worst weather?”

  “Of course he did,” I exclaimed before I thought about the repercussions. “But that was different.”

  He leaned back, those long legs thrust out toward me like arrows of accusation. “How?”

  “Sidney’s not just my boss; he’s my father-in-law. But even so, he only drove me home on nights when Ariana stayed at the restaurant until closing.” A total lie, but Colin didn’t know that.

  He said nothing for a long moment, and I stifled my joy. There’d be plenty of time for celebrating my victory when he finally left me alone.

  Finally, he stood and faced me, his eyes dark and solemn. “I don’t believe you. I’m gonna let you slide for now, but don’t think I’ve given up. You should know me better than that.”

  Yeah, I did.

  ~~~~

  The short ride to the bus stop only thickened the tension between us. I sat as close to the passenger door as I could, almost tucked into the storage pocket. I wouldn’t even look at Colin, choosing instead to stare out the window while rain pelted the glass and lightning flashed sporadic patches in the black night. Dark store fronts zipped past the car in hushed splashes. I hated the darkness, which brought back too many ugly memories.

  “You sure I can’t just drive you straight home?” Colin asked as he pulled the car to the curb across the street from the bus stop.

  Before he managed to shift into park, I opened the door and slid my feet onto the wet asphalt. “Nope. I’m fine.” The frigid wind whipped my pants around my legs.

  “Why don’t you at least sit here where it’s warm and dry until the bus shows up?” He jerked his head toward the sheltered canopy with its lone bench and the blown-up image of the real estate lady on the wall facing oncoming traffic. “I can’t imagine that Plexiglass hood gives you much protection when the wind and rain are this heavy.”

  “Nope,” I repeated and slammed the door closed on any additional argument he might try. Bending, I waved bye-bye through the window and proceeded to the meager weather shield where I ducked for cover from the torrential rain and blustery wind.

  Still, Colin sat there inside the car, engine idling, white smoke puffing from the tailpipe: a silent admonishment that stubborn pride prevented me from staying warm and comfortable on a horrible stormy night. Let him glare, let him hover, let him stew in his own juices. I would continue to keep distance between us. I had to.

  Jack showed up right on time, and the minute the doors hissed open, I climbed aboard with my fare in my hand. I refused to glance over my shoulder to watch Colin pull away. “Morning, Jack.”

  “Good morning, Lucie. You’re early. How are you today?”

  “Tired,” I admitted. Tired of the cold, tired of the late nights, tired of fighting with Colin.

  “Well, you just settle in and close your eyes. If you fall asleep, I’ll wake you when we get to your stop.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled. “I just might take you up on that offer.” I wouldn’t, but I didn’t care to explain I could only fall asleep in a locked room with a dim light on and my daughter safely a few feet away from me.

  “Go for it.”

  I sat, plopped my bag on my lap, leaned my head back, and picked up my book. Soon, the bad guy in the story would be caught and punished—so much neater than real life.

  To my surprise, I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I remember was an ear-splitting squeal as I lurched sideways, slamming my shoulder and head against the window on my left.

  Chapter 6

  Lucinda

  I woke up late the next day to the sound of my daughter’s giggles, followed by masculine chuckles. My brain went into overdrive. A man? In my house? Who? Lying still to avoid inflicting undue pain on my bruised side, I strained to identify the testosterone in the next room. I needn’t have bothered.

  “Grandpa!” Ariana shouted. “That’s not fair. The beast dances with Belle. Not Lumiere.”

  Sight unseen, I now knew exactly what was going on in my kitchen. Beauty and the Beast, an Ariana Soto production.

  My father-in-law laughed again. “Why do I have to be some old candelabra anyway? Why can’t I be the beast?”

  “Because,” Ariana replied with all the smugness of an eight-year-old Disney expert, “Chef Colin dances better than you.”

  I smiled. God, that child of mine was the bossiest—

  Wait. What? Chef Colin?

  He wouldn’t dare.

  His words from last night drifted into my slow-to-wake brain. Don’t think I’ve given up.

  Okay, so yeah, he would dare. But...how? Only one way to find out. I’d have to confront him. Again.

  I inched my way out of bed and hobbled to the corner where I grabbed a clean pair of sweats from the hamper. My one-story rental home in Mill Village was fifteen minutes from tony Snug Harbor, but worlds away, status-wise. Ariana and I shared the master bedroom—partly due to space limitations, but also because I couldn’t bear to have her out of my sight at night. Mom had the room across the hall. Not the ideal situation, but at least each of us felt secure.

  I stripped off the loose pajamas I’d donned before crawling into bed and, between sucking in breaths against the pain, pulled the pink sweatshirt over my head. I had to sit and allow my overstimulated nerve endings time to calm again before I could push my legs into the dove gray fleece pants. I didn’t bother with underwear, deodorant, or a toothbrush. The pain in my upper body prevented me from performing the most
mundane morning activities. If Colin wanted a beauty queen, he should have called ahead. He was about to see me at my worst.

  After several deep breaths to give me a placid appearance, I opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. There, I stopped short. Ari, aglow in her yellow polyester, glittering ball gown, was held in Colin’s arms as he swept her around the cramped space between counters, cabinets, and our mismatched dinette set. Sidney sat in the corner chair, his face wrinkled in happiness.

  Colin hummed along to the theme song playing on Ariana’s portable CD player, and he managed to stay on-key. Of course. Annoyance sparked inside me. Why couldn’t he be tone-deaf? How did he know the song anyway? Just once, I’d love to see a flaw in that perfect veneer: smelly feet, or hair sticking out of his ears, or an inability to parallel park. Was that too much to ask for?

  My heart somersaulted as I watched the two of them: Ariana, as Belle, and her gentle beast. I had to break up this charming scene. But what kind of mother destroyed the radiant joy on her child’s face? I might as well play one of the evil roles: Maleficent from Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella’s cruel stepmother, the Wicked Queen from Snow White, Ursula the sea witch, or the female version of Gaston. Any villain would do.

  Get it over with, coward.

  “Ahem!”

  “Hey, Mom!” In her sudden excitement, Ari kicked—in Colin’s most vulnerable area—hurtling her dance partner to his knees and gaining a quick release from his grasp.

  Sucking in a breath, I winced in empathy at Colin. “Sorry about that. Ari’s not used to being held by men.”

  “I get that,” he groaned, doubled over.

  Sidney’s low chuckles at initial impact increased to hearty guffaws. “I warned you not to pick her up.”

  “You could have been more specific on why,” Colin ground out.

  Meanwhile, Ariana chewed her lip and bounced from one foot to the other. “I’m really sorry, Chef Colin. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Honest.”

  “It’s okay, princess.” The words came out rough as sandpaper, but gentle in tone. At snail-speed, he straightened and faced me, fresh and clean while I resembled a wounded frump. “Good afternoon. I hope we didn’t wake you.”

  Still groggy, and disgruntled at finding the sleek, perfect Prince Colin in my kitchen, I couldn’t tell whether his greeting was meant to insult me for sleeping in, or uttered out of true consideration. With my daughter watching our exchange, I opted to give Colin the benefit of the doubt. “No. Not at all. But thanks.”

  As statements go, I hadn’t exactly waxed eloquent so I made a beeline for Mr. Coffee on the counter near the sink. His inky contents waited to help me draft a better script for this conversation. I poured a healthy dose of liquid courage into my ceramic “World’s Best Mom” mug and took a hasty sip before adding my usual two sugars and splash of skim milk.

  With the bitterness still lingering on my tongue, I faced Sidney first, starting with the easy target. “Where’s my mom?”

  “Work,” he said. “She called me to stay with Ari until you woke up. I was with Colin, going over some paperwork at the restaurant when she called, so we both came right over.”

  My bad luck streak continued. Did Colin freakin’ live at the Gull and Oar these days? I couldn’t seem to catch a break with him. But I swallowed my resentment, along with more coffee, in favor of a more reasonable question. “Why didn’t she just wake me before she left like she always does?”

  “She said you got home later than usual,” Colin replied, a look of censure riding in his narrowed eyes and downturned mouth. “Which is odd since I saw you get on the early bus. The one-forty, remember? What happened after I left you last night?”

  I shrugged and took another sip of coffee, postponing the inevitable. “Nothing major.”

  “Wait a sec,” Sidney interjected. “You weren’t on the bus last night when that truck hit it, were you?”

  “What?!” The question stole Colin’s angry focus on me, flipping to surprised concern directed at Sidney. “What truck?”

  “I saw it on the news this morning. The East End bus was involved in an accident with a tractor-trailer around two-thirty a.m. The truck driver apparently fell asleep behind the wheel and veered into the oncoming lane. He slammed head-on into the bus. He’s fine, but the bus driver’s a mess, from what I heard.” He turned his sharp-eyed gaze to me. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “What the hell?” Colin strode forward and grabbed my hand to steer me around. Pain whipped through me, and I couldn’t squelch my reaction fast enough. I cried out. He released his hold and stepped back, his complexion pale. “Jesus, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I replied with as much nonchalance as I could draw up from my battered body.

  “You were there?” Sidney asked. “When I spoke to your mother this morning, she said you missed the bus and caught a ride home with a coworker.”

  “You lied,” Colin accused under his breath.

  “No, of course not. I did catch a ride with a coworker.” I gestured at Ariana, watching our exchange with avid curiosity. “Not now,” I whispered through my smile. “Please?”

  Thank God, both men caught my desperation. On a screech of chair legs on linoleum, Sidney rose. “Hey, snickerdoodle, whaddya say we go get pizza for lunch?”

  Excitement overrode Ariana’s curiosity. She bounced, clapping. “Yes!”

  “Okay, then. You get your coat, and we’ll go pick up a pie. I’ll even let you choose the toppings.” He looked up at Colin and me. “Okay with you two?”

  “No.” Ariana went still, and her smile flipped to a frown. “I want Chef Colin to come with us.”

  My daughter’s request tore me in half. I didn’t want to be alone with Colin, knew he’d hammer me for details about the bus accident. In equal measure, I didn’t want him spending time with Ariana. Even with Sidney along.

  Colin knelt to be level with her height. “I need to talk to your mom alone, princess. You go with Grandpa Sidney, and I’ll still be here when you get back.”

  Ari planted her fists on her hips and stared back at him with open scrutiny. “Promise?”

  “Promise.” He made a cross over his chest.

  “O...kay.” As Colin rose, she scampered off to get her coat, leaving me alone in the kitchen with two angry men.

  “How badly were you hurt?” Sidney’s voice shook, and he touched a hesitant finger to my cheek.

  “Nothing bad. Really. I’m banged up on my left side, but I’ll live. You know me. I always bounce back.” I had aimed for lighthearted humor, but the grim expressions I came up against suggested I’d failed.

  “Was that the doctor’s prognosis?” Colin asked.

  “I didn’t see a doctor.”

  “Why not?”

  I couldn’t sort through the multitude of reasons fast enough. I’d been too tired, too cold, too frazzled. Hospital treatment was too expensive. I hated the weird looks and long-winded explanations that came with any medical examination.

  “I’m ready, Grandpa!” Ariana’s noisy return allowed me the opportunity to change the topic.

  “Bring your gloves, please,” I directed her. “The calendar might say spring, but it’s still chilly out.”

  “They’re in my pocket,” she replied, patting her purple jacket.

  Sidney removed his coat from the rack and slipped his arms into the sleeves. “Let’s go, doodle.” He looked up from his buttons to encompass Colin and me with his steady gaze. “We’ll be back.”

  “Take your time,” Colin said, his tone dark and ominous.

  Oh, goody. I was about to get a stern lecture. I waited until my daughter was out the door before I went on the offensive. “Can I at least grab a couple of Tylenol before you bring out the bare light bulb and rubber hose? My head’s pounding.”

  He kicked out an armless spindle-back chair from the dinette table. “Sit. I’ll get you the meds. Just tell me where.”

  Although my brain knew I’d regret it, my ton
gue opted for sarcasm. “Still trying to get into my drawers, Colin?”

  His eyes flashed anger and, pointing to the chair with the stab of his index finger, he ground out through gritted teeth, “Sit.”

  I sat. What else could I do?

  “Now, you can either tell me where the pills are, or go without while I grill you.”

  Going without, while listening to a speech on my shortcomings from the perfect Chef Colin Murriere would only exacerbate my suffering. “Corner cabinet, near the sink, top shelf,” I said on a defeated sigh.

  To his credit, he didn’t pat my head or say, “Good girl,” or do anything else to get my back up. Pain throbbed in my skull, and I closed my eyes while I listened to him rifle through my various over-the-counter drugs. “Here we go—no, that’s children’s...This must be it—no, that’s antacid...Aspirin for heart patients—no. Ah! Got it.”

  His mumbles acted like a lullaby, and I felt myself losing the battle to stay alert.

  “Here.”

  When he drew near again, he jostled my elbow—the left one—and my eyes shot open as white fire zapped through my arm. Breath left my lungs in one long hiss.

  He sat beside me and pressed two white tablets into my palm, then slid a glass of water within reach. I tossed the pills into my mouth, took a swig of water, and jerked my head back to swallow. A new agony sizzled from the top of my skull to the base of my spine, and I choked. One—or maybe both—of the Tylenols lodged in my throat, filling my mouth with bitter paste.

  “Easy!” he exclaimed and pushed the water glass into my hand. “Drink something. You okay?”

  While tears gathered in my eyes, I gulped the water to wash away the awful taste.

  When I finally leveled my head again, Colin’s concerned face loomed a breath from mine. “Okay now?”

  I couldn’t trust my throat to work yet so I nodded.

  “Good.” He clasped his hands on the scarred oaken table top. “Tell me what happened last night.”

  “Sid…” The one syllable erupted in a frog’s croak. I sipped the last of the water and tried again. “Sidney already told you,” I rasped. “A truck driver fell asleep and collided with the bus.”