A Different Light (37 page)

L
IFE SUCKS
announced the bumper sticker on the car that stopped in front of Athen’s at the red light.

“Tell me about it,” she muttered.

The congestion caused by cars fleeing the city at rush hour normally would not bother her. Tonight, the maze of vehicles, the pouring rain, the honking horns—all combined to exacerbate her already cranky mood that had started when the alarm went off that morning and only got worse as the day went on. Veronica wisely kept Athen’s door closed, not willing to venture into the big office herself other than to deliver phone messages, which she quietly placed on her the desk. For the better part of the day, Athen sulked in solitude.

So this is how it feels,
she reflected,
to go from windshield to bug.

The pity party was in full swing. As far as she was concerned, everyone had let her down.

Ms. Evelyn had not pulled through. Rossi made her look like the village idiot.
Thanks for that, Quentin.

Quentin. How could she have believed for one minute that she would ever be more than a potential story to him? How could she have trusted him?

But he didn’t betray your trust,
a tiny voice inside reminded her. Athen told the tiny voice to shut up.

At least Meg will be home soon and I’ll have a sympathetic shoulder to cry on,
she comforted herself as she rounded the corner onto her street.

A strange pickup truck was parked in her driveway. Curious, Athen stopped at the curb, parked, and approached
the man who sat in the driver’s seat.

NORMAN PARSONS. PAINT & PAPER
read the sign on the truck.

“Mr. Parsons,” she called to him. “Am I late?”

“No, actually, I’m a bit early.” He was a very small man, half a head shorter than Athen, with the face of a gnome and white hair upon which sat a painter’s cap. The cap and his pants were speckled with multicolored bits of confetti-like dots of paint.

“Come on inside.” She motioned for him to follow her.

“I can see you need a lot done here.” He glanced around the entry and into the living room. “Yep, I’d say your whole first floor could use a sprucin’ up.”

He followed the faded walls right up to the second-floor landing. “Yep, all the way up. How long’s it been since you painted in here?”

Athen tried to remember when John had last tackled the job. “Maybe ten years.”

“Yep, I’d say you’re due.” He nodded. “But I can’t get to a job this big till maybe August. I’m booked solid through July.”

“Well, actually, the painting isn’t what I called you about. There’s a bedroom upstairs that’s partially papered that I’d like to have completed.”

They went up the stairs and paused when the gnome in the painter’s hat stopped to check the wood moldings. “This should all be redone, too.”

“We’ll put it on the list.” She led him into the spare bedroom.

Mr. Parsons surveyed the job that had been interrupted by John’s death. “Yep. Not a whole lot here to do. You got enough paper?”

Athen pointed to the bundle of pale yellow paper
rolls. “My husband started this, but he didn’t get to finish.”

“Ah, what a shame that was.” Mr. Parsons shook his head solemnly. “Met him a time or two. Had all the tools stolen off my truck once. Your husband responded to the call. Nice young fellow he was. A real shame.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Athen nodded, wondering how she’d tell Meg she’d be stuck in the room with the bunny paper again. “Is there any chance you could fit this in before August?”

“Well, it’s a real small job, maybe half a day at the most. Having the table and all set up, some of the paper already cut, that’ll all save a little time. Did you need this done anytime special?”

“My sister-in-law will be here for a visit within the next week or so. I was hoping to have it finished before she got here.”

Mr. Parsons studied the project. How ’bout Thursday morning. That soon enough?”

“This Thursday? Really?”

He nodded. “Like I said, it’s a small job.”

“That would be perfect, but I thought you were booked up?”

“This job is nothing, won’t take any time at all. The big jobs get booked in blocks of time, but I can this fit in. I can probably do this myself. Seven thirty too early for you?”

“Not at all.”
Yay! Bank error in my favor!

“You really should think about doing the rest of the house before too long, Mrs. Moran,” he said as they marched back down to the first floor. “Bright, pretty lady like you should not be living in such drab rooms.”

“I’ve been thinking about repainting, but I haven’t
gotten around to it.” She led him to the front door, her spirits raised. “Maybe while you’re here for the papering, you can work up an estimate for the rest of it.”

“I’d be glad to.” He waved as he went to his truck. “I’ll be around early on Thursday.”

The phone rang once and Callie answered it in the kitchen. Judging by Callie’s shriek of laughter, it was one of her friends. Athen went upstairs and changed into shorts and a light sweater. She had to do something about dinner, but had no inclination to cook.

“Callie, want to go for pizza?” She strolled into the kitchen.

“Wait, hold on, Tim.” Callie put her hand over the phone. “What, Mom?”

“Pizza?” She frowned.
Timmy. I had to encourage her to befriend him.

“Sure. Just a minute. Go on, Timmy …” Callie giggled.

Athen sighed, and went out onto the back porch. She sat on the top step with Hannah, and waited for her daughter to finish her conversation with the enemy’s spawn.

MR. PARSONS DID, INDEED, FINISH
the room on Thursday, and as it turned out, it wasn’t a day too soon. When Athen returned home from work at six on Friday afternoon, she opened the back door to let Hannah out and found Meg camped on the back porch.

“For heaven’s sake, what are you doing out there?” A delighted Athen hugged the new arrival.

“I forgot my keys.” Meg grimaced.

“How long have you been here?”

“The cab dropped me off about forty minutes ago.”
Meg lifted her suitcase and carried it into the kitchen. “I thought Callie would be home.”

“Ordinarily, she would be, but she has a big softball game tomorrow, so they had an extra practice this afternoon. I take it you’re here at Brenda’s request?”

“She called me at the station yesterday.” Meg’s eyes glowed. “She loved my tapes. She showed them to her father, and he loved them, too, so they wanted to meet with me as soon as humanly possible. Needless to say, I could not get out of Tulsa fast enough.”

“When are you going to meet with them?” Athen put water on for tea.

“I’m meeting with Brenda tomorrow morning at her office. She said that you and Callie would be out to the house in the afternoon because Callie will be riding, so I’ll go out with you and I’ll talk to Hughes then, providing, of course, that I pass the test with Brenda. Great, huh? You get to schmooze with a hot guy, Callie gets a riding lesson, and hopefully, I’ll get a job offer. Win. Win. Win.”

“Well, two out of three ain’t bad.” Athen opened the cupboard and removed two cream-colored mugs.

“What does that mean? Two out of three …?”

“Callie will be riding, and you will be interviewing, but I will not be schmoozing—or anything else—with the aforementioned hot guy.”

“What?” Meg dropped her purse on a chair. “The last I heard, this was a promising romance. What the hell happened between then and now?”

“This happened.” Athen pulled the previous day’s newspaper from beneath a stack of papers on the floor near the back door and handed it to Meg. Meg sat and read through it, occasionally uttering a curse on Rossi’s
head.

“He is one nasty SOB.” Meg read a particularly odious phrase aloud.

“Can you believe he did that to me?” Athen gritted her teeth. “And I trusted him, Meg.”

“How many times did I tell you that Rossi was not to be trusted? I’m sorry you had to learn the hard way that …”

“I’m not talking about Rossi.” Athen cut her off. “I’m talking about Quentin.”

“What about Quentin?” Meg stared at her blankly.

“What do you mean, ‘What about Quentin’? He wrote that garbage.”

“It has his byline, but he didn’t say all that crap about you. Dan Rossi did.” Meg pointed out the obvious. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that a man I was starting to care about and trust …”

“Whoa, girl. You stop right there.” Meg held up a hand. “Are you telling me that you think that because you had something going with Quentin he should not have gone ahead with this story? Is that what this is all about?”

“Meg, Quentin promised me he’d be fair to me …”

“And from what I’m reading, he has. There’s no editorializing here.” Meg picked up the paper and waved it. “Don’t you understand that this article has nothing to do with Quentin?”

“It has everything to do with him. He wrote the article.” Where was the sympathetic shoulder of her best friend?

“Hello? Reporter? Doesn’t make up stuff, just reports the facts?” Meg sat back in her seat. “That’s why they call
us—duh—
reporters
.”

“Very funny.” Athen was clearly not amused.

Meg scanned the article again, shaking her head. “I just don’t believe this.”

“I didn’t believe it either.”

“It’s your attitude I don’t believe.” Meg’s eyes began to smolder the way they always did when her ire was roused. “Look, Athen, I don’t know how else to say this, but your expectations are way out of line. You have no right to think that because you’re cozy with the press …”

“He promised he wouldn’t hurt me,” Athen protested.

“And he hasn’t,” Meg nearly shouted. “Dan Rossi has. Can’t you tell the difference?”

“You sound just like Quentin!” Athen glared at Meg.

“I should hope so.” Meg glared back.

“I thought he cared about me,” Athen tried to explain.

“I’m sure he does care about you, and I’m sure this”—Meg grabbed the paper—“has nothing to do with the way he feels.”

“It hurt that he wrote those things about me.” Why was she having such a hard time explaining herself? Why was she suddenly feeling like a child?

“Then develop some thicker skin.” Meg poured herself another cup of tea. “If you take this type of thing personally, you and I could have some real problems. If I get this job—which I hope very much to do—there may be times when the news doesn’t put you in a particularly favorable light. Are you going to expect me or the station I work for to only report on the positive and ignore the negative? Because if you do, the next year is going to be a very, very long, uncomfortable one for both of us.”

Athen slumped deeper into her chair.

“And we need to get one thing clear right here and now,” Meg told her bluntly. “Don’t ever expect me to compromise myself for you the way you expected Quentin to. It won’t happen. If I am hired to do a job, I’m going to do it. Same as Quentin.”

They sat in stony silence, staring at each other.

“Are you angry with me?” Meg asked quietly.

“No,” whispered Athen. “I guess I expected you to take my side and yell, ‘
Yes, damn it! Quentin’s a bastard!’
But I’m not really angry with you.”

“I am—now and always—on your side.” Meg sighed. “You’re one of the most important people in my life, Athen. I love you and I’m very sorry you feel wounded. But you’re wrong this time, and I can’t lie and tell you I think Quentin is a cad for not refusing to quote what Dan had to say. What you need to understand is that he had no choice. That’s his job, and I’d be willing to bet he wasn’t particularly happy about doing it.”

Fingers tapping on the table, Athen stared into her cup of cold tea.

“And here’s something else you probably don’t want to hear: you owe Quentin a very big apology, regardless of how you feel about him.” She paused. “How
do
you feel about him?”

Athen shook her head to indicate she didn’t know. She was having trouble separating her emotions, and wasn’t too sure of anything at that moment.

“Yay! Aunt Meg!” Callie flew through the door and engulfed Meg in a bear hug.

“The Woodside Slugger has arrived.” Meg laughed and hugged her back. “Big game tomorrow, so I hear.”

“Will you come?” Callie pleaded.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” her aunt assured her.

“Come on, Aunt Meg.” Callie grabbed the flight bag with one hand and Meg’s arm with the other, and pulled her toward the door. “We have a surprise for you upstairs. You coming, Mom?”

“In a minute.” Athen tried to force a smile at her exuberant offspring.

“You think about what I said,” Meg whispered as Callie dragged her from the room.

Mr. Parsons had done a fine job on the wallpaper, but unfortunately, the bed in which Meg was to sleep was still in pieces in the attic. After dinner, Athen folded up the worktable, and she and Meg carried it and the ladder to the garage. Then they carried the bed’s components down to the second floor and assembled it. By ten o’clock, a guest room had emerged.

“This is wonderful, Athen,” Meg said with a smile. “My own room. Temporarily, of course.”

“For as long as you need it.”

“Thanks.” Meg held out a hand to her. “Am I forgiven?”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Athen took Meg’s hand. “But you’re right. I behaved like a bratty child. I just don’t know what to do about it now.”

“Well, the shortest distance between two points is still a straight line.” Meg sat down on the edge of the freshly made bed. “Why don’t you just call him?”

“I don’t know what I’d say.” Athen leaned against the doorway.

“How ’bout, ‘Quentin, I’m sorry. I’m a blockhead and I was wrong’?”

“I think I’ll have to work up to it.”

“Well, don’t take too long.” Meg unzipped her suitcase and searched for a nightgown and her toothbrush.
“I’m sure you’re not the only woman in Woodside Heights who knows a hottie when she sees one.”

“HERE, CALLIE, GIVE ME THAT.”
Meg reached for the picnic basket that Callie had packed with God only knew what.

“Thanks, Aunt Meg.” Callie straightened her baseball cap and grabbed her glove and cleats. “Mom, are you ready? I want to stop and see Grampa before the game.”