Homecoming in November (The Calendar Girls Book 3) (15 page)

Yeah, I did. More than he could possibly understand. While Gary strode out to pick up his son, I was left to let Max down easy. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s a business thing.”

“It’s cool. I took you away from work. Go on. Call me when you’re done. Maybe we can do dinner.”

I forced a smile. “Okay. I’ll do that.”

Of course, I had no intention of doing that. I was acting crazy, even for me. This time, though, I didn’t have the excuse of an alcoholic binge to fall back on.

♥♥♥♥

Jayne

I was reorganizing my closet in the mid-afternoon, a pathetic attempt to keep busy indoors, when someone pounded on my front door.

“Jayne! Let me in. It’s Iggy. Hurry up, before they devour me.”

I raced to the door and cracked it open enough for him to push and slide through the rest of the way. The noise outside reached a fever pitch, and flashing lights pierced through my windows to spotlight sections of my living room wall. Once he was safely inside, I closed the door and bolted it again.

“I thought you had a test today.”

“This morning,” he said as he leaned his back against the door. “At eight. I’ve been home since noon. Thought you would’ve called me, but you didn’t.”

“Was I supposed to call you for some reason?”

“To let me know what you were doing today.” He had the nerve to arch one dark brow as he peered at me with those razor-sharp eyes.

“You expect me to call you to say I did my laundry?”

“You know what I mean. I thought you were working today. You should have told me you had the day off. I can’t keep these howler monkeys off your back if I don’t know where your back is.”

I sighed. “You can’t keep them off my back anyway. They’ll probably return, year after year. It doesn’t matter where I go, what I say, how I treat them. They’re like locusts, feeding ‘til there’s nothing left, before moving on to their next feast.” Tears of frustration filled my eyes, and I sniffed them back. “Why won’t they leave me alone? After all this time, there has to be another story they can dig around in. Don’t they realize that if I’d had anything to do with David’s death, they would’ve found it by now? Especially after all the scrutiny they’ve given me. For God’s sake, Cole Abrams—” I stopped a second too late, and naturally, my guardian Marine picked up on it.

“Yeah, I saw him outside the vet’s last week. He looked a little too smug when he talked to you. Personally, I never liked the guy. Always came across as too sly. Oily. You know?”

Oh, yeah. I knew. I smirked. “Where were you when I fell for that oil?”

“What happened between you two?”

Turning my back on Iggy, I walked toward the kitchen. If I planned to talk about that dismal episode in my life, I didn’t want to face him while laying my stupidity on the table. “Cole approached me during the trial. Said he wanted the public to get
my
side of the story. The prosecutors had warned me to avoid talking to the press until after the trial was over. But this was
Cole Abrams
—a respected, award-winning journalist—not some muckraker. I told Cole about the ‘gag recommendation.’ I mean, it, technically, wasn’t an order.” I reached into my laundry basket, pulled out a towel and folded it, then repeated the procedure. “He said it was fine. In fact, even better. We’d wait ‘til after the trial was over, and once the bas— Pittman was convicted, it would make for an interesting follow up. I believed him. I mean, why wouldn’t I? He convinced me to give him background information in advance so, you know, they’d be ready when the jury came back with the verdict.”

Iggy plucked the last towel out of the hamper. “He didn’t wait.”

“No, he waited until after the verdict, just as he promised. In the meantime, though, we grew…” I struggled with the memory. “…close. Too close. At least,” I amended with a shrug, “I
thought
we grew close. I confided stuff in him—nothing damning, but still, intimate stuff. I thought what I said in our personal conversations wouldn’t spill over into his professional life.”

“You were wrong.”

A bitter laugh broke from my lips. “Oh, yeah. I was big-time wrong. Then, when everything about Pittman’s trial had died down, the justice system had their guilty verdict, and the news channel had nothing left to report on but the latest local fire or home burglary, Abrams used the information I gave him to smear me, to ‘prove…’” I curled my fingers around the word, “…I must have been involved from the get-go. To boost the network’s ratings and brew a new scandal, starring me. The network even did a dramatic reenactment, using actors to portray the ‘steamier’ scenes in some soft filmy focus, and a sultry voiceover relating the most salacious innuendo about me.” I kicked the hamper, and it skidded into the stove with a thump. “I called the district attorney’s office, but it did no good. Basically, they told me I’d ignored their advice, now I had to deal with the fallout on my own. I hear the docudrama has over four million views on the internet. Now, with Pittman’s murder, they’ve got a new lie to run with, that he and I were romantically involved at the time of David’s death and that’s why we plotted together to kill my husband. Abrams portrayed me as some kind of needy, man-hungry, money-hungry tramp, and Pittman and his defense team took full advantage of that portrayal to keep the doubts focused on me.” With my eyes rolled up toward the ceiling, I clucked my tongue. “God, I was such an idiot!” I slapped my forehead. The tears fell in earnest now.

“Hey, hey.” Iggy stepped closer and ran a soothing hand down my back. “It’s not your fault. Cole Abrams is a cockroach. He took advantage of you when you needed a friend. That’s not going to happen again.”

It was completely natural for me to fold myself into him. My cheek nestled against his chest, and my bones sagged with relief. His arms wrapped around me, comforting but not restrictive. His effortless hold shielded the vulnerability I’d struggled to hide for years. Funny. I’d played “strong” for so long, it felt good to finally let someone else share the burden—even for a minute. He took on the role with quiet dignity and a warm embrace. And I needed that—
God
, how I needed that!

“You’re not alone anymore, Jayne. And I’m not going anywhere as long as you need me. Hell, even when you think you don’t need me anymore, I’ll still be around.
Semper fi
. Always faithful. I live by those words. Count on it. Count on
me
.”

I knew what I was doing when I tilted my head up and licked my lips. I mean, as far as signals went, it wasn’t the most subtle.

“You sure about this, Jayne? Because I’m not playing games here. If you’re with me, you’re with me all the way. Otherwise, don’t start something you’re not prepared to finish.”

His words made a quick impact. I pulled back, hesitant and afraid. “I’m sorry. I can’t—”

He chucked me under the chin. “It’s okay. When you
are
ready, like I told you, I’ll still be around.” His tone took on an easy banter. “Right now, I have to go check on my mother. Feel like taking a ride with me?”

I glanced at the window and frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

I snorted. “You know why. I’m not giving them a reason to hound me any more than they already do.”

“In other words, you’re gonna hide in here ‘til they leave town?”

Sounded cowardly, right? Maybe so. Most people who’d never experienced the unwanted celebrity of a scandal could never understand the way the vultures had ruined my life from the moment the police showed up at my door to inform me I’d become a widow. Try going out to dinner or to a park or even grocery shopping with an entourage of screaming questions and flashing lights. Only those who’ve lived through it were allowed to judge me. I didn’t want to fight. I shrugged. “It’s not that bad. They usually leave after a few weeks when they see they’re having no effect on me.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “No effect on you, huh? Because you like your self-imposed exile?”

“No, but—”

“No buts. Come to the hospital with me.”

Sinking into the nearest chair, I propped my chin on my fist. “I know you think this is some kind of game where you can outwit them by being braver or more macho or more in-your-face. But it’s not. Wait. You’ll see. As time goes by and they keep on hassling you, you’ll get tired of being associated with the notorious Jayne Herrera, black widow. Everybody does.”

“Everybody, as in everybody you knew before you came here?”

I stared down at the tabletop. I did not want to talk any more about my past and the mistakes I’d made.

“Come with me, Jayne. Get out of the house for a while. It’ll do you good. I’ll check on my mother and then, maybe we’ll go to that new tea shop in town. Or for a stroll on the beach, if you prefer solitude.”

Solitude. Right. “Uh-huh. And how do I get past them?” I pointed out the window.

“You walk out the door and ignore them. Just like you do when you go to work. You go about your day, with me at your side.”

“They’ll start hounding you, you know,” I argued, but he cut me off again.

“Good. Let ‘em. Now, go get your coat.”

What else could I do? I got up and grabbed my coat.

Terri

When I got back to the shop, the place was dark and locked up tight. I still had no idea what I would say to Gary when he arrived. Or even if he’d be willing to talk to me. I mean, if I hadn’t happened to go to that particular meeting today, at Max’s insistence, would he have ever told me about his past?

Once inside, I relocked the front door and flipped on one tabletop lamp near the window facing the street. A squeal pierced my ears, and the rear kitchen doors swung open. With a sharp gasp, I jumped back.

So did my aunt. “Oh my God, Terri. You scared me.”

“Ditto,” I replied, my hand over my hammering heart. “Why are you still here? We closed an hour ago.”

“Siobhan had an evening appointment with an engaged couple, so I sent her home right after you and Gary left.” She frowned. “Somebody responsible had to lock up. Not Chelsea or Rachel—a grownup.”

“Chelsea and Rachel
are
grownups, Auntie.”

“I know, but—”

“But, you don’t trust my judgment yet,” I finished the statement with no bitterness, just a calm acceptance. It would take time. I’d put my aunt and uncle through so much heartache in the last fifteen years. I often wondered, if I hadn’t smashed my nose in the ladies room that night at The Lookout a few months ago, how long would I have continued along my destructive path? How many bodies would I have left behind?

Aunt Andrea pulled me into her embrace, squeezing me tight against her non-existent bosom, those deadly ribs piercing through my boucle sweater. At breakneck speed, I hurtled through time to days before my parents’ deaths, when nothing in the world made me feel better than a hug from my mom. Bridget O’Mara smelled of cookies and roses and, probably because she was plumper than her sister-in-law, gave the softest hugs—no angles or sharp protrusions.

“Not true,” my aunt said, jerking me out of happy memoryland and thrusting me into cold reality. “I do trust you. I wouldn’t have turned over the shop if I wasn’t sure you were ready to take on the responsibility of a business. Besides, you have Gary to look out for you.”

Among the questions simmering in my skull since seeing him at the meeting was whether or not my aunt and uncle knew about Gary’s past. I guess I now had my answer.

Then again, he’d been clean for years. Maybe they knew the truth and hoped his influence would rub off on me. In the grand scheme of my life, I guess it really didn’t matter whether they knew or not.
I
knew.

“What are you doing back here?” Aunt Andrea asked.

I kept up the lie I’d started with Max. “I asked Gary to meet me here after hours so we can go over some new menu options.”

“That’s wonderful! In that case, I’ll leave you to it.” She headed to the coat rack to grab her gray woolen jacket. As she thrust her arms into the sleeves, she swerved to face me again. “You know, sweetheart, your uncle and I are so proud of you. We know it hasn’t been easy for you. And, I’ll be honest, I was worried we were pushing you too hard too fast. It wasn’t until Gary signed on that I started to breathe a little easier. Poor man. Did you know his wife died in a drunk driving accident?”

“Umm, yeah, I heard about that.”

Clucking her tongue, my aunt shook her head. “Such a shame. That precious little boy of his never got a chance to know his mother.”

Yeah. I’d thought of that. I missed my mom a lot. Would it have been better or worse if I’d lost her when I was eight days old, rather than eight years old? Did anyone ever get over the loss of that one important link? How did kids who were adopted feel?

Wanna know why I spent so much of my days blotto? To silence the questions constantly running through my mind. The whys and what-ifs have been endless and deafening since the day I learned about my mom and dad. Now that I’m struggling to stay sober, they’re more frequent and louder than ever. So I have to voice them every once in a while or go crazy. Lucky you get to be the recipient of my mental meanderings.

Aunt Andrea gave me a little wave and sashayed out through the kitchen. Alone, I sat in one of the cushy wingchairs and waited. Soon enough, I heard the back door open and voices in the kitchen area.

“Terri?” Gary asked.

“In the front,” I called back. My heart galloped. What was I gonna say to him?

And suddenly, there he was, standing in front of me. Seriously, the man moved with a quickness and silence that spies would envy.

“So,” he said in greeting. “That was Max.”

And that was the last thing I expected him to lead with. “Huh? Oh, right. Max. Yeah.”

He took the chair across from me, his gaze solemn and piercing. “You don’t need me to tell you to be careful with him, right? I’ve seen a hundred Maxes in my time in the program. They’re all the same. Bad news.”

“What are you, my mother?” I snapped and regretted it before the last syllable left my mouth.

The glint in his eyes turned steely. “No. I’m your business partner.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Yeah, you did. And that’s okay. Your friendships outside of work are none of my business. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I laughed. “Max can’t hurt me.”

“Yes, he can. Worse, he can drag you down. Look, you won’t like hearing this, but he’s not serious. Not about you, not about the program, not about anything but getting his next big acting gig.”

The “not about you” part stung my pride. The fine hairs on my nape bristled. “And you know this from the inordinate amount of time you’ve spent with him? You may not wanna believe this, but I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. I don’t need you hovering over me. You already said my friendships are none of your business. So keep your nose out of what goes on between me and Max, okay?” Well, that was stupid. And insensitive. And so not what I wanted to talk to him about right now. I took a deep breath, started over. “Umm…I just wanted to say…I’m sorry…about your wife. I had no idea.”

“Don’t.” He held up a hand. “If that’s why you brought me back here, forget it. You didn’t know her, you didn’t know me back then, and if it weren’t for this tea shop, you wouldn’t have cared what happened to ‘Gary the scary bartender’s’ wife. In fact, I’d lay money you would tell your friends she died to get away from me.”

Crap. My cheeks flamed, and my galloping heart thudded to a halt, cracking in half. The briefest flash of memory lit up in the darkest corner of my brain. “I said that once to you, didn’t I?”

“Not really. What you said was ‘She probably left you because you’re a miserable SOB with no sense of humor and the personality of a rotting corpse. I bet she couldn’t wait to be rid of you.’” He shrugged. “Or something along those lines.”

Double crap. “It was the booze talking. You know that, don’t you?”

He shook his head. “The booze gave you the stones to say it. But it was what you honestly thought of me.”

“I didn’t know you! I still don’t. You never told me about your wife, about your son.” To my shame, tears stung my eyes and spilled out. “Did you ever once tell me that you were an alcoholic, too?”

“No.”

“No,” I said at the same time.

“Dad?” a voice said from behind me. I hadn’t realized until that second that I’d been shouting at him.

“It’s okay, Chris,” Gary told him, calm and even-toned. “Just stay in the kitchen please. I’ll be there in a few minutes and then we’ll head home.” 

“O…kay.”

I waited a breath or two before continuing in a softer volume. “You know plenty about me, but if I hadn’t been at that particular meeting today…”

“It’s not exactly a story I bring up in casual conversation.”

“You could’ve found the time to share it with me. Do you remember when I told you I was going into rehab? Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? To go up to you, of all people, and say, ‘I’m sorry. I’ve screwed up my life and I’m going upstate to dry out. I hope you can forgive me’?”

“And I told you I was proud of you. And I promised I’d be here when you got back. I think I delivered on that promise, don’t you?”

I shook my head. “You don’t get it. I was
terrified
of you. I didn’t call you the ‘scary bartender’ on a whim. You scared me all the time with the way you growled, the insults you hurled at me, how you looked at me. Like I was useless. Like I was trash. That night would’ve been the perfect night for you to say something like, ‘I know how hard this is gonna be for you, but you can do it. I know you can, because I did it.’”

“And once again, you’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t think you were useless. Or trash. And I didn’t say anything like that to you that night for the same reason I called you all those names. Every time I looked at you, I saw the old me. The old Claire. The way we tried to hide our pain in a haze of booze. I wondered what might have scarred you so badly. Because I knew your aunt and uncle; everybody knows everybody in this town. They were decent, hardworking, affectionate people. I didn’t understand why someone who lived with them could fall headfirst into a bottle. It didn’t add up for me. And if I looked at you too closely, I saw a woman who seemed to have everything going for her, but still managed to toss it all away for a buzz night after night. You think I scared you?
You
scared
me
, honey! When I looked at you, all I saw was someone who seemed to have it all and still didn’t cope. And if you couldn’t do it when you seemed to have everything going for you, what chance did I have? Me. Who grew up with an abusive alcoholic father. Me who’d already lost so much, thanks to the booze and who now spent every night surrounded by the lure of the one drink that could take away the pain for a few hours.” He bent forward, hands on his knees, and added in a hoarse whisper, “You don’t know how many nights, after I yelled at you or threw you out, I’d look at all those bottles surrounding me and think, ‘What the heck. I’m never gonna amount to anything anyway. My son would be better off without me.’ And then I’d picture Chris in my head, crying over my coffin, and I’d shake myself loose from whatever poison you’d wafted into the air around me. That boy means
everything
to me. And you, the drunk you, were a threat to what I was desperately trying to build, with him and for him. I couldn’t let you get close to us.”

“But you have now.”

“Yeah. I have now. Sometimes against my better judgment. Because, like it or not, you do something to me. After Claire died, I built this wall around myself that no one but Chris could penetrate. Until you came along. You got around my wall and for a while, the fact you did angered me. Because you make me feel everything but numb. You frustrate me and scare me, but I’m also so damned attracted to you, it physically hurts. I find myself drawn to you, to this real you, the one who’s sitting in front of me now, angry and scared and confused and so kissable with that little dip between your eyebrows. You make me want to stay sober, not just to prove myself wrong about you, but also to prove to you that it’s possible to climb out of the bottle and stay there. And be happy every day that you made it out with something worthwhile to cling to. I’ve got Chris. What do you have to cling to, Terri?”

I could barely speak. The tears streamed down my cheeks, and my throat closed around my bitter confession. “Nothing. Nobody.”

“Wrong. You’ve got me. If you want me.”

♥♥♥♥

Jayne

To my surprise, I stepped out of the house with Iggy, and the reporters loitering on my sidewalk retreated farther away from me. And there were less of them than there had been earlier this morning. I knew it wasn’t because they’d given up and gone home. Not so soon.

I looked over at Iggy, who wore a proud grin as he surveyed the quiet. “What’d you do?”

He flushed a dark red from throat to cheeks. “Nothin’.”

“Don’t tell me that. Did you call Sam?” Even though I’d specifically told him not to?

He shook his head. “Nope. I wouldn’t do that. Maybe one of your neighbors got tired of them blocking the street and complained to the town. Or maybe some of them got that new story in their nostrils you mentioned earlier.”

“Maybe,” I replied with some doubt. I still believed Iggy responsible for their sudden disappearance. Not that I wasn’t grateful. Personally, I wouldn’t care if he went full Marine on them and stormed my front yard with a platoon of soldiers. Anything to give me peace. At this stage, I could only hope whatever had chased the others away would eventually spur the stragglers into abandoning me, as well. The sooner I saw the last of Cole Abrams and that Carter woman, the better.

At the hospital, when we turned the corner to the hallway leading to Mrs. Zemski’s room on the sixth floor, a short, curvaceous woman with strawberry blond hair cut in a sleek bob, strode to Iggy, her heels clacking on the tile floor. “Thank God you’re here. She thinks she’s leaving today.”

“Oh, yeah? What’d Dr. Humphrey say about that?”

“That she needs an MRI and maybe a CT scan before they’ll even consider discharging her. I’ve already caught her twice trying to get out of bed to look for her clothes. She insists she’s getting dressed and going home. She won’t listen to me.” At that moment, she looked in my direction, smiled with genuine warmth, and held out her hand. “You must be Jayne. I’m Irenka. Iggy’s sister.”