Now You See Me (9 page)

“Fine. Okay. Here’s my best advice. If you want people to see the real Lyddie Brewster, the first thing to do is ask yourself who she is.”

“That’s easy. I—”

Oh, damn.

“As I suspected.” Nadine hoisted the tray on her hip and headed for the door. “Think about what’s important to you, kid. What you’ll fight for. Then go for it.”

Lyddie watched Nadine leave, then watched the kitchen door swing back and forth, slower and slower until it came to a stop. The sight of it at rest made her shiver. She could be that door—starting off at a good clip, gradually losing her steam until she ground to a complete halt.

No frickin’ way.

She gathered the tray of condiments and headed for the dining room. When she hit the door, she kicked it so hard that it slammed open, cracking against the wall loud enough to make Nadine shriek.

Lyddie grinned. That smack was nothing compared to what was going to happen next.

* * *

S
HE
BIDED
HER
TIME
,
waiting for the perfect moment. It arrived at precisely nine-fifteen, when Jillian rushed into the shop. Nadine stepped up to take the order but Lyddie zoomed away from the cash register and elbowed into place.

Behind her, Nadine groaned. “This is not a good idea, Lyd.”

Lyddie simply smiled. “Good morning, Jillian.”

“Morning. Medium hazelnut, no—”

“No cream, no sugar. Got it.”

Jillian’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh. Right. Thank you.”

“It’s not that hard to remember.”

“No, I suppose not.” Jillian laughed. “Does this mean I’m becoming predictable?”

“No, Jillian. It means I pay attention. I put things together. Like, people with their favorite orders. Or rumors of donations, with loans being refused.”

Nadine muttered an “aye yi yi” and ducked into the kitchen. Jillian looked somewhat surprised, but quickly put her official mask in place. “Lydia, I understand you’re distressed, but town business and bank business are two separate entities. Your loan was denied, but—”

“Spare me the song and dance. I already listened to the Ted version.”

Jillian’s eyes sparked with something that Lyddie could swear was anger, but in a second it was gone—replaced not by Jillian’s trademark politician mask, but by something a lot more infuriating. Something that looked a lot like pity.

“Lyddie. Listen to me. I know you have a—a fondness for this building, and that’s understandable, but you know, we all have to make concessions. If you can work with me on this, I’m sure we can ease you into a new location. We’ll take care of you. I promise.”

The hell with that.

Lyddie’s heart was doing a double cha-cha and her palms were so sweaty she didn’t dare pick up anything breakable, but other than wanting to throw up, this felt good. She pressed on. “No, thanks, Jillian. No concessions, either. I’m not going down without a fight. I’ve got alternate financing, and I’m buying this building.”

“Fine, Lyddie. You do that.” Jillian’s smile was so sweet it made Lyddie’s teeth ache, but at least it seemed closer to the way Her Worship would act with anyone else. “Remember, though, the sale can’t go through without planning-board approval.”

“There’s no reason to refuse it. I’m buying both buildings. I’m complying with all the regs. The only thing I’m not going to do is give up.” She handed Jillian the coffee, in a paperboard cup instead of the usual ceramic mug. “Here you go. It’s on the house. I took the liberty of making it to-go.”

Jillian hesitated only a moment before accepting the cup. Her cheeks flamed but her voice was steady as she said, “I see.”

About damned time.
Lyddie did her own version of the fake-smile thing. “I’m so glad we had this chat. It’s good to clear the air once in a while, don’t you agree?”

“The only thing clear to me,” Jillian said, “is that you have gone totally and completely out of your mind.”

With that, she turned and walked away. The tinkle of the bell seemed to linger in the silence that hung in her absence.

Nadine poked her head out of the kitchen. “Is it safe to come out?”

“Yes.”

“Did it feel as good as you hoped?”

Lyddie thought for a minute. “Yeah. I don’t like being screwed over.”
Or pitied.

“Well, hold on to that good feeling, girl. You’re going to need it when Jillian takes off the gloves.”

“I’ve lived through worse,” Lyddie said, though to be honest, she wasn’t so sure. The room was awfully quiet. A woman could have a hell of a lot of second thoughts in this kind of silence.

All of a sudden, she had a really good idea of how it felt to be J.T.

* * *

B
Y
THE
END
of the day Lyddie was only too happy to throw the lock and flip the Open sign to Closed. Closed, as in minds, she thought sourly as she walked back to the counter. She couldn’t wait to have a few minutes alone.

“Thank God this one’s over,” Nadine said. “I kept waiting for Jillian to come back and stab you with an eyebrow pencil.”

“She’s more of a poison gal, I think. No blood on her suits.” Lyddie made a shooing motion in the direction of the door. “Everything is set in the back. You go ahead, go home.”

“What about you?”

“Paperwork calls.”

Nadine wrinkled her nose. “Don’t let it suck up too much of your time, kid. Your days might be numbered. Better have some fun while you can.”

The memory of J.T. on the porch in the moonlight jumped into her head. She pushed it aside just as swiftly. “I’m taking the kids to the movies tonight. We’ll get double butter on the popcorn.”

“Be still, my heart.” Nadine vanished into the kitchen, reappearing almost instantly with her jacket and purse. “See you tomorrow, Lyd.”

“See you.”

Lyddie locked the door behind Nadine and turned off the lights. Immediately the room was plunged into shadows cast by the candle still burning on the mantel above the fireplace. The transition from bright and cheerful to calm and soothing was both instantaneous and seductive.

Lyddie hadn’t lied: there was a pile of paperwork on her desk. She also needed to call Sara, check in with her lawyer and place a supply order, all before leaving to grab Tish from day camp and getting her haircut. But it could wait.

Fifteen minutes of peace. That was all she wanted.

She popped into the kitchen and set the timer before retreating to the far end of the dining room. With a blissful sigh, she lowered herself into one of the overstuffed chairs, then propped her feet on the coffee table. “God, this feels good.”

She closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into the chair. Peace. Quiet. Exactly what she needed.

So her first attempt at kicking her image to the curb had turned around to kick her back. It was just one day. She had two weeks looming on the horizon, two weeks in which she could take a chance or indulge her wildest fantasies, and she had yet to decide what to do.

“What do you think, Glenn? Jogging? Pilates? They have classes at the Catholic church now. Or maybe those scuba lessons we always—”

Tap, tap, tap.

Someone was at the door.

“There are three hundred million doughnut shops in this country. Go find one,” she said into the silence.

Tap, tap, tap.

She opened her eyes. From where she sat, she could see the door, but the shadows would keep her hidden until she chose to expose herself. And she didn’t want to do that. She only wanted to know who was being so damned—

Oh.

It was J.T. And he was alone.

Spurred by concern, Lyddie made the return trip across the room a hell of a lot faster than the first.

“Hey, there,” he said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

He looked so casual with his palms splayed against the door frame and his face smiling in the sunshine that she relaxed immediately. Still, she couldn’t keep from asking, “Where’s Ben?”

“At the hardware store. We had to come back for supplies. Officially, he’s there to order more paint and call me when it’s ready. Unofficially, he’s being allowed a few minutes off for good behavior.”

“It went well, then?” Lyddie leaned against the frame and hoped she sounded more casual than she felt.

“Pretty good. He didn’t say much, but he was steady and helpful. Perked right up when I started talking nanophysics.”

“You’re kidding. You understand that stuff? He tries to explain it to me, but it’s so far out of my league that he ends up muttering about needing someone smarter to talk to.”

“A-ha.”

Did he have to grin that way every time she saw him? “A-ha, what?”

“I told him I teach physics and astronomy. He must think I’m his best chance at geek talk until school is back in session.”

Silence descended. Lyddie squinted against the sun to get a clearer look at his eyes. She hadn’t noticed the color before. Too busy trying to
not
look at his mouth, perhaps. But now, when both his mouth and eyes were crinkled in something that looked like delight, she could spare a moment to check.

As soon as she had, she regretted it. J.T.’s eyes were the same rich brown as her favorite café au lait. And she had the distinct impression that he would taste just as rich and smooth, if she ever—

She needed a reality check, and fast.

“So. A teacher, huh?”

His eyes widened a bit, but his voice stayed light. “Well, that’s what I tell my mother.”

“A cover story?”

“Could be.”

“So in reality, you’re either CIA or an underwear model.”

As soon as she said it she wanted to slap her hand over her mouth. Of all the idiotic, half-brained, dumb-ass things to say.

“Can’t say I ever posed in my jockeys. At least, not for a camera.”

She struggled to regain control despite the all-too-vivid pictures forming in her mind. “That leaves the CIA. And if you tell me, you’ll have to kill me, right?”

His grin grew wider. Her heart rate accelerated a notch.

“How about, I’d have to find a way to keep you quiet for a while.”

Hoo boy, the things she could imagine...

She lounged against the door frame, arms crossed, feeling saucy and funky and just a little bit like pushing the envelope. Kind of like when she’d confronted Jillian, but without the desire to throw up. “So, Mr. CIA Man, will you be driving past the school again tonight? Because you never know. It might be my turn to spray-paint a few buildings.”

His eyes gleamed, but he shook his head. “Sorry. I have a hot date with a caulking gun.”

Lucky gun.

“Okay,” she said. “In that case, I’ll skip the painting party and go drag racing on the back roads instead.”

“You like living dangerously, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. Every night I tuck the kids into bed and head out on a crime spree. The cops don’t even ask for my statistics anymore. They have everything memorized.”

The grin deepened, bringing out a dimple in his left cheek. She had a totally inappropriate thought about dragging him to the kitchen, grabbing lemon pudding and filling that little cleft so she could lick it clean.

“Never thought I’d meet anyone here who could rival my record.”

Lyddie tossed her head indifferently. “Sorry, J.T., but you’re history. Hope that doesn’t bother you.”

“Bother me? Hell, no. I’m inspired.”

So was she.

“So,” he said, leaning against the wall in an exact mirror of her pose. “After the cops let you go and you’re free, where does the owner of the only coffee shop in town go when she wants to get a cuppa joe with a friend?”

Lyddie’s heart did a strange little combination between a flutter and a thud. Her stomach clenched. Was that an invitation?

A loud beep pierced her panic. She jumped before reality kicked in and reminded her that she’d set the timer.

“Let me guess. I asked the wrong thing and set off your alarms.”

He was too close to the truth for comfort. “No, I—that’s the timer. I set it before I sat down. I—” This was the coward’s way out and she knew it, but there were times when it would be foolish to pass up the perfect escape once it was presented. She might want to change her image but that didn’t mean she had to jump in both feet first.

“You have to go, right?”

“That’s about it.”

The timer beeped again, long and insistent. Lyddie shook her head and hoped he wouldn’t think she was a wuss. “I, um, I have to get Tish. I’d better turn that off and hit the road.”

“Gotcha.” He nodded. “I’ll drop Ben at your place around four. Have a good one.”

Without another word, he sauntered back down the road. She closed the door but didn’t move until the next beep from the timer dragged her into the kitchen. She punched the button with a fist full of frustration.

No wonder she couldn’t make the town see beyond her reputation. She was so nervous, so out of practice at being anything other than the Young Widow Brewster, that she panicked at the first hint of someone showing interest in Lyddie the woman. This was going to take a hell of a lot more than a change of clothes and a new haircut.

She didn’t know precisely how she was going to pull this off. But as she grabbed her purse and locked the door on her way to the van, she couldn’t deny the creeping suspicion that whatever she did, J. T. Delaney was going to be a big part of the process.

CHAPTER SEVEN

H
OUNDING
A
KID
to find out what was up with his mother was one of the cheapest tricks in the book. Luckily, J.T. had no problem being cheap when it came to Lyddie.

Something was going on with her. It was more than the swing of her newly short hair, though that was entrancing him far more than was wise, all things considered. Ever since he’d sort of tried to ask her out for coffee, she’d seemed almost shy around him. No, that was the wrong word. More like...nervous. Skittish, his mother would say. Like she was waiting for something she either wanted or dreaded.

He had yet to figure out which emotion would win.

In the meantime, he’d talked to the lawyer and got the ball rolling on the sale. He needed to go over some details with her but he wanted a hint as to what was up before they met. If her nervousness was his fault, he wanted to know now before it messed up the sale.

Or anything else.

Right?

So when he and Ben finished the first coat on the inside of the cottage-in-progress just before lunchtime, he decided to serve a little subtle interrogation alongside their sandwiches.

“Hey, Ben. What’s the big excitement around town these days?”

“Nothing.” Ben heaved a giant sigh. “Was it this boring when you were around?”

“Worse. No internet, no Wii, no cable.”

“Sucks.”

“Tell me about it. That’s half the reason I got in so much trouble. Nothing else to do.”

Ben shrugged and crammed another bite of tuna sub into an already full mouth. J.T. read the back-off signals loud and clear.

Tough. For once, they were going to discuss something other than supernovas and nebulae.

“I always thought this place would be more exciting once I grew up, but I guess I was wrong. Either that or I just haven’t found the hot spot yet. What does your mom do for fun?”

“Mom? She doesn’t do any— I mean, she doesn’t have time for fun stuff. That’s what she tells us, anyway.”

As he’d suspected.

“She never goes out with her friends, just for a good time?”

“She goes to bingo with Gran sometimes. I don’t think she likes it.”

Having endured one bingo night with Iris in the not-distant-enough past, J.T. knew the feeling well.

“You think she’d like to kick back and have a good time once in a while?”

Ben sighed and set his sandwich down on the step. “Look, if you’re planning to hit on my mother, just tell me.”

So much for the theory that geeks were totally clueless when it came to interpersonal affairs.

“I’m not gonna hit on her.” Maybe. Definitely not yet. “But she seemed kind of...fluttery, the last couple of days. I thought she might be worried about you.”

“PMS.”

Whoa. “Aren’t you a little young to be talking about that so casually? When I was your age I couldn’t even walk down
that
aisle of the drugstore without wanting to puke.”

Ben shrugged and reached into the bag of potato chips that lay between them. “Can’t help it,” he said. “I got Mom whining about it all the time, and when it’s not her, it’s Sara.”

“Lucky you.”

“I just throw chocolate at them and they shut up and leave me alone.”

Smart kid.

Since Ben seemed to prefer the direct approach, J.T. decided to roll with it, starting with the subject that had afforded the most luck thus far. “If I did hit on your mom, would that bother you?”

Ben smiled.

“What? I don’t like that grin. Does that mean it’s okay, or what?”

“It means good luck.”

“You don’t think she’d give me a shot?”

“I wouldn’t bet on it.” He took another handful of chips and added, “It’s not you. She says no to everyone.”

“Everyone who?” And why did that bother him so much?

“I dunno. Tourists, mostly.”

“Well, I can understand that. Only an idiot goes out with a tourist.”

“That’s what she says. And she’s always telling me and Sara to stay away from them.” He switched into a high-pitched imitation. “Be polite, be helpful, but don’t be stupid. Don’t fall for someone who’s going to leave.”

Ah, damn.
He
was going to leave. He’d made no bones about it, right from the start. Did that mean that he, too, was forbidden?

Not that he was looking to get involved. God, no. But it was only the day after Canada Day, and he was probably going to be around until mid-August. It would be nice to spend some of that time with Lyddie.

But whether his chances were good or lousy, he had to tend to business first.

“Listen to your mother about the tourists. She knows what she’s saying.” He snatched the bag of chips before the boy could dive in once again. “And stop eating these. They’ll stunt your growth.” He reached in for a handful himself, savoring the grease and salt that had been banished from Iris’s cooking.

“So, you gonna hit on her?”

“Is that any way to talk about your mother?”

Ben sighed again—damn, this kid loved to sigh—and said, very slowly and precisely, “Pardon me, sir, but are you planning to ask my mother out on a date?”

“Smart-ass.”

“So are you?”

“Tell you what. I’ll answer that one if you tell me where you got those cans of spray paint I found with you.”

The teasing curiosity in the boy’s face slammed closed faster than any door J.T. had ever seen. “Bought ’em.”

“Where?”

“Store.”

“Isn’t that interesting.” J.T. leaned back, bracing his elbows on the step behind him. “Wonder how you managed that, what with the town passing that by-law that made it illegal to sell spray paint to a minor.”

Silence.

“Okay, so you don’t want to talk about it. Let me tell you one thing, and then I’ll drop the wise-old-man act. I was just about your age when I started acting like an idiot. I had some fun, no doubt about it. But I paid for it, big-time.” Ben opened his mouth to say something, but J.T. shook his head and continued. “I’m not going to tell you what to do. I’m not your mother. But I’ll tell you this—there’s a difference between me and you. I was the one leading the trouble. You’re following someone else. Which means it’s a lot easier for you to get out of it than it ever was for me.”

“You think I’m some dummy who does anything they say?”

“’Course not. You’re too smart for that.” He paused. “At least, that’s what you tell yourself.”

Ben shook his head. “Like you said, you’re not my mom. I don’t have to listen to you.”

“No, you don’t. You can think I’m the biggest nitwit in three counties if you want. Free country and all that. But make damned sure you know that when everything goes to hell, not one of those kids will stand up for you. They’ll run faster than they’ve ever run in their lives and leave the last one out to hold the bag.”

“Bull—”

“No, it’s not. Been there, lived that.”
And your dad was one of the ones who ran.
Not that he would ever let that slip. It would accomplish absolutely squat. Worse, the last thing Ben needed to hear was that his own father had had some moments of testing limits. No point in encouraging him to see juvenile delinquency as an acceptable option. “If you don’t believe me, then tell me why nobody stayed with you at the school the night you got hurt.”

Ben flushed and stuffed wax paper into his sandwich bag. His jerky movements told J.T. he’d hit a nerve, but he sure didn’t feel like celebrating.

“One more thing,” he said as Ben stood up.

“Yeah?”

“If you really don’t want anyone to know that you got the paint from the kid whose dad owns the hardware store, you might want to be a bit more subtle next time you run into each other.”

The slight flush on Ben’s face was all the confirmation he needed.

Ben gathered up his trash and headed to the cottage. J.T. waited until the kid was out of earshot before indulging in a heartfelt curse. His own misspent adolescence wasn’t nearly enough preparation for this kind of situation.

J.T. had worked with a lot of kids in his time and had pulled a hell of a lot of numbskulls back from the brink. He was no novice at getting through to a kid.

But he’d never had a kid get to him the way Ben did.

Like mother, like son.

* * *

J.T.
GOT
A
BIT
CLOSER
to understanding Lyddie’s skittishness the next night, helping Iris separate linens into boxes—Pack, Toss, Donate. She chattered about Lyddie taking down Jillian, all while moving items from one location to another whenever she thought J.T. wasn’t looking.

“...then Jillian left. But as Tracy said, you know she’s not going to let things drop.”

No, she wouldn’t. J.T. tossed a handful of monogrammed napkins into the donation box and scowled. Damn Lyddie. Why did she have to start at the top? Couldn’t she have found a slightly less threatening victim on whom to test her new claws?

He had no doubt that there was a boatload of anger simmering under that slightly frazzled exterior she presented. How and why she let it loose was none of his business, of course. But he hated to see her get hurt. And try as he might to talk himself into believing this could work, the sour feeling in his gut told him Lyddie had made a major-league mistake.

“What are you doing?” Iris asked. He pulled himself from his thoughts and realized he was standing frozen with an ancient tablecloth in his hands.

“I’m—uh—deciding. Figuring out whether to keep this or not.”

“You’re keeping that, of course. And the napkins.” She pulled them out of Donate and threw them into Pack. “These were from your father’s family. You can’t give them away.”

“Ma, let’s get real. I’m not a linen kind of guy. And you might have forgotten, but my initials are not
PC.
”

“All right, so they’re from your father’s mother’s family. They’re still quality pieces. You won’t find that kind of detail today.”

“We can’t keep everything.”

Iris smoothed the fabric in her hands. J.T. looked at her wrists and winced. She was still so damned thin.

Not for the first time, he asked himself if he were doing the right thing. Staying in Comeback Cove could kill her...but taking her away could, too.

He took the napkins and set them gently in the keeper box. “We’ll hold on to these.”

Iris nodded quickly. He saw her blink once, twice, then swallow and shake her head.

“The other thing I heard is that you are being blamed for Lyddie’s sudden change,” she said.

He grunted. “No surprise there.”

“People say you’ve been spending a lot of time with her.”

“I’m selling the buildings to her. Her kid works with me. Of course I spend time with her.”

“Are those the only reasons?”

He saw the hope she didn’t dare speak. Another piece of his heart broke off.

“Ma, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to fall in love with Lydia Brewster and move back here. Don’t even go there, okay?”

“I never said you were.”

But she had been thinking about it. Probably hoping and praying, too.

It was just like when he was seventeen. But then he’d deserved the guilt of knowing he was hurting her. This time it wasn’t all his fault. And damn, that felt even worse than having only himself to blame.

“This is the hardest part,” he said softly. “It gets easier as you go.”

She nodded, head down. “I said that to you on your first day of school.”

“And the first day of band, and at football tryouts, and the first time I got hauled in front of the cops.” He hesitated. “And even though you weren’t with me, it’s all I heard the night I left town for good.”

Iris grabbed one of the monogrammed napkins and pressed it to her eyes. J.T. waited, knowing this had to happen, hating being unable to help.

“I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to have to leave. It’s not... Why do these things have to happen? Why do I have to be so stupid and weak?”

“You’re not stupid, Ma. Or weak. Being sick doesn’t make you either of those things.”

“Sick.” Bitterness twisted her face the way she twisted the napkin. “Other people can cope with this—this
thing
without losing their homes. I could manage it when your father was here to help. Why can’t I do it now?”

There was no point in even trying to answer. They’d been over this ground too many times, shed too many tears already.

“I’ve been thinking....” She lifted her head, dared to look at him. “Summer isn’t bad for me here. Maybe we don’t have to sell the house. Maybe I could be a snowbird, staying here in the summer, going to Tucson in the winter. I think...I think if I could do that, it would make it easier. If it wasn’t all or nothing.”

It was a good solution, one he kicked himself for not considering earlier. “That could work,” he said cautiously. “And if it would make it easier for you to spend the winters with me, then we should make it happen.” At the sudden brightening of her face, he added, “But I don’t think it would be practical to keep this house. We should still sell it, maybe keep one of the cabins for —”

But she was shaking her head, shaking away his words.

“No. J.T., you don’t understand. I want to stay
here.
”

“But—”

Then he got it.

“Because of Dad. Right?”

She inhaled, ragged and shaky. “I miss your father so much.”

“Me, too.”

“I told him not to go out on the water that day. I told him it was too rough, but he just laughed and said he’d seen worse....” She pulled the napkin away and he could see it all, the loneliness and hurt she’d been holding back since he walked through the door. “How can I leave? This is our home. This was where we raised you, this was where he walked and laughed and... I can’t go. He’s here, all around me. I can still feel him watching me, I know what his voice sounded like in this room and in the backyard and...I can’t... If I leave here, how will I remember him?”

He couldn’t give her the answers she needed. All he could do was step over a pile of towels and hold his mother tight as she broke down and cried.

* * *

A
COUPLE
OF
HOURS
LATER
,
when the tears and the talking were over and an exhausted Iris had taken herself to bed, J.T. found himself wandering the house. He couldn’t settle down yet. Everything was too raw, too recent to allow him to sleep.