Charming for Mother's Day (A Calendar Girls Novella) (8 page)

             
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 tongue 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.”

             
“That’s the sanitary television news version. Let’s hear your dirty details.”

             
“I don’t have any.”

             
“Bull.”

             
“No, really,” I replied. “I was asleep when the truck hit us. I woke up when I slammed against the side window. One of the cops said that was probably what kept me from serious injury. I didn’t brace for the impact because I wasn’t aware.” Afterwards, of course, I was plenty aware. Memories swirled in my mind, awash in the red and blue lights of the emergency vehicles. Blood gushed from one man’s nose because he propelled forward and slammed his face into the rail in front of him. A woman suffered a broken arm. And Jack. Poor Jack. “Jack was a mess,” I said aloud. “The windshield shattered in his face. He was taken to Morrison Hospital by ambulance. So were the others who were hurt.”

             
“But not you.”

             
“No. I stayed long enough to give the cops my statement and then I went home.”

             
“How’d you get home?”

             
“I walked.”

             
“You walked home after being in a bus accident?”

             
“What’d you expect me to do?” I snapped. “Summon the chauffeur? It was no big deal. The accident happened a few blocks from here. I waited until the cops arrived, gave my statement, then walked home.”