The Winding Road Home (9 page)

“Want to see where Cal was stabbed?” Tanner asked casually as he inspected the rack of video action titles.

Kate quickly shifted from the comedy section to stand next to him, sidling nearer until her arm brushed against his. “No.”

He laughed and glanced down at her. “What kind of a reporter are you?”

“Political.”

“No attempted murders, huh?”

“None.” She shivered at the thought and looked around the eerily quiet store.

The real estate agent had left them alone, promising to return and lock up in a couple of hours. Kate saw potential in the stale, dusty place. A coat of white paint and some heat would do wonders.

“Tanner, can we turn on the heat?”

“Good idea. We should inspect the furnace. Of course, that's where
it
happened. In the basement.”

She poked him in the ribs with her elbow and moved away.

“Ouch!” He laughed.

She went into the back room. “There's a Ping-Pong table in here!” Of course, he probably knew that already. She rummaged around in a closet and found paddles and a ball. If he wasn't going to turn on the heat, they could warm up with a game.

“What do you think, Kate?”

She looked up to see him leaning against the doorjamb. He was brooding. His black leather jacket, black hair, and dark eyes heightened the effect.

He went on. “The inventory is pathetic. The atmosphere is drab. Drugs were sold in this room. And blood has been shed in the basement. Is this a totally dumb idea?”

She heard an uncertain, little boy tone creep into his voice. “Some elbow grease and money put toward new DVDs is all you need. Maybe you could specialize in something, like family videos. You know the choice at Swensen's is really limited. I think Valley Oaks could support this place.”

He crossed his arms and looked around, not convinced.

“Ping-Pong can be a fun thing, a healthy diversion. Maybe you could get a big-screen TV and have video nights and sell popcorn. Cater to the young teens who don't fit in with the athletic stuff at the community center and need something to do besides eat pizza.”

“Hire a magician? Maybe a motivational speaker?”

She spread her arms wide. “Why not?”

He shook his head. “I'm getting cold feet.”

“Tanner, why are you doing it in the first place?”

“I liked the idea of having my own quiet little business.” He rubbed his jaw. “No, truthfully, in the first place I'm doing it to please my dad. So he can refer to me as his son, the entrepreneur, instead of the deadbeat.”

“What do you want for yourself?”

“An investment that will allow me to retire when I'm thirty-five.” He grinned, but quickly became solemn. “It's a big-time commitment, Kate. Major.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“I talked to Lia next door. She's got an apartment above the pharmacy. She'll rent it to me.”

“Really? You'd move to Valley Oaks?”

“Seems the sensible thing to do. If it were you, would you see your God's hand in it?”

She went over to him, grasped his arms, and stood on tiptoe to get in his face. “Tanner, you're overdue for a challenge. I'd say God has just delivered a gift with your name on it.”

“How do you do that? Be so sure of something?”

“Years and years of getting to know Him. Hey, are you going to turn on the heat?”

“You think it's cold in here?”

“It's freezing.” She went to the Ping-Pong table, picked up the ball, and tossed it to him.

He caught it in midair.

“We'll warm up with a game. Best two out of three. I bet I can beat you.”

“What's the bet?” He shrugged out of his coat. “Dinner?”

“Of course.” She handed him a paddle. “Is the Rib House open tonight?”

Standing in the produce aisle of Swensen's Market, Adele fingered the broccoli. Grocery shopping, a hit-or-miss affair over the past few weeks, had finally been relegated to the top of her priority list. With threats of staging a strike and shutting down the kitchen, she persuaded Chelsea and Kate to carve time out of their Saturday afternoon to join her.

They had commandeered three carts and set off in three different directions about half an hour ago. Still, Adele hadn't completed inspecting the fresh produce, a misnomer if there ever was one given the fact that it was the dead of winter and the only thing local growers could produce were seed-catalogue orders.

The broccoli was particularly rubbery. Maybe frozen would be the better—

“Hello.”

Adele looked up. “Graham! Hi.”

The effect of seeing the man was immediate, as it had been each of the five times their paths had crossed at the nursing home that week. Her heartbeat backfired, sputtered, and, after a moment's hesitation, kicked into high gear. She touched at the open collar of her blouse, gently pressing the hollow of her neck where it seemed all the erratic thumping was centralized.

He smiled, nodding at her cart. “So that's what a vegetarian's groceries look like.”

“That's it.” She observed the contents of the large blue handbasket he carried. It was easier than meeting those intense eyes. “And what is this?”

A stack of frozen TV dinners teetered on the brink of spilling over the edges of the basket. “Uh, that would be a cooking-challenged bachelor with an empty fridge.”

“I disagree. That would be indigestion in the making. Come for dinner.”
Oh my.
She looked up at him. “I mean, there's no reason for you to eat like that. We're cooking. Chelsea and Kate and I. Just down the street from you. It breaks my heart to think of you sitting alone in your apartment eating that…that stuff.”

The more she talked, the more his grin expanded.

“Oh, but maybe you're going to see Rand. Or working on your research?”

His attention flickered over her shoulder. “This must be your daughter.”

Adele glanced around to see Chelsea nearly breathing down her neck. The expression on her face indicated she was on the verge of bursting into laughter.

“Chels! Uh, this is Graham Logan. Graham, Chelsea.”

He shook her daughter's hand. “Nice to meet you. I'm sure you hear this all the time, but you are the spitting image of your mother.”

Chelsea smiled. “Oh, now and then someone comments to that effect. Mom, do you mind if I get the chocolate raspberry ice cream? Tara and I like that the best.”

Adele nodded.

“You
do
mind?”

“Um.” She shook her head. “No.”

Chelsea leaned toward her and whispered, “Toes curling?” In a louder voice, she asked, “So will you come for dinner, Mr. Logan?”

“Thank you. I'd like that very much.”

“See you later then.” She headed down an aisle.

“What time, Adele?”

“Anytime. I mean, we'll be home in half an hour. Come on over. If you're sure? You don't have other plans?”

“Even if I did, I can't be responsible for breaking your heart now, can I?”

“Silly figure of speech.”
Just like toe curling.

Graham stashed the frozen dinners into his freezer while he talked on the phone to the nurse at Fox Meadow. “Heather, you're a doll.”

“No, I'm not, Mr. Logan. Just saving my skin. Can't have you complaining again.”

It had become a standing joke between them over the past week. The initially rocky start concerning Rand's medication had been straightened out. Graham recognized his overreaction and Heather admitted her error, but not before Adele's authoritative intervention, which he had heard about from the good-natured nurse. He pictured her now walking to the dining area next to her station, cordless phone at her ear. There were no phones in the room, and so he had called the nurse.

She continued, “And besides, Mr. Jennings is sitting right here. No problem to let him talk. Just don't tie up the line for long. The big boss might be trying to call me.”

“Thank you.”

“Graham?” It was Rand.

“Hi, Pops. You doing all right?”

“No, but then you know that. Why are you calling?”

“She
just invited me over for dinner. I found her at the grocery store.”

The old man chuckled.

“You okay if I don't get back out there until tomorrow morning?”

“As long as it's Addie Chandler, you know I am fine.” There was a catch in his raspy voice. “Graham, thank you.”

“This is why I'm here. Sleep well.”

Kate slipped into her favorite imaginary role of fly on the wall and observed the busy scene in the kitchen. The thought crossed her mind that flies did not smile, but she couldn't help herself.

Naturally Adele was there, directing vegetable chopping and ignoring Kate's browning of ground beef while Kate ignored Adele's smelly fish baking in the oven. Upbeat Hispanic music blared from Chelsea's CD player on the counter.

Graham Logan was there, casual in jeans and demeanor. Still, something about him—the intense focus of his eyes perhaps—set him apart from the average run-of-the-mill 40-something.

Chelsea and her good friend Tara were there. They both wore overalls, planning on creating pottery in the basement later. Tara was striking with long black braided hair, a brilliant smile, and a cheerful attitude.

Tanner was there, mercilessly teasing the girls as he fried tortillas in a skillet of sizzling oil. Kate almost regretted her insistence that Chelsea and Tara promise not to swoon and giggle within a hundred feet of the guy. At the moment, he deserved some aggravation right back. Well, almost. He was a good sport to join them for dinner. In the past five days he had bought her dinner twice again. When they made plans to see a movie tonight, she invited him over before he could suggest a restaurant. He spent money as though it was a nonissue, but for her it was an issue and she could not, in all good conscience, let him buy again.

He looked over at her now and winked.
Fiddlesticks.
Chelsea would misinterpret that for sure. Earlier she had asked Kate, “Are you two, like, dating?”

Kate had laughed. “He's just a friend! Like you and Tara. We hang out together.”

Chelsea had gotten that dreamy, starry-eyed stare. “But we're talking about Mr. Carlucci!”

Kate had shaken her head. Mr. Carlucci might be a dreamboat to the majority of Valley Oaks females, but to her he was fast becoming a good friend. His looks had nothing to do with that. She wondered what she would have done without him. Their ability to connect surpassed what she experienced with either Rusty or Adele.

Tanner wasn't exactly her type anyway. Not that she'd ever met her type. Surely her type would live in a big city and be consumed with news-related pursuits.

She studied Tanner now and tried to conjure up an image of them as a
couple.
It didn't work. He was definitely
not
an average-looking, run-of-the-mill Joe with those long-lashed fathomless brown eyes and thick black hair. On the other hand, she was a plain Jane with a splash of freckles. He was tall, with an athletic build. In comparison she was a runt. Jock and geek. Never the twain shall meet.

To top it off, he was into diddling around with hobbies, and she was single-mindedly pursuing a career in Washington, DC.
And
he didn't know Jesus! She had no idea why they got along so well.

“Kate!” Adele handed her a stack of plates. “The table?”

“Right.”

A few hectic minutes later they all gathered in the dining room at the worn, round oak table with its eclectic collection of chairs. Adele's homey ambience centered around handme-downs.

Their hostess lit candles while directing them. “Please, sit anywhere. I'll sit here next to the kitchen.”

It was like musical chairs when the music abruptly halts. Graham quickly laid one of his big hands on the chair next to Adele's. Tanner took the one next to him as Chelsea tripped over her own feet reaching the one next to
him
. Kate chuckled to herself as she and Tara slid onto the remaining chairs. At least in this game everyone got a seat.

“Graham,” Adele said, “would you mind?”

“Not at all.”

They joined hands, Tanner a bit slow on the uptake, but he joined in and received Kate's smile with one of his own. They bowed their heads as Graham asked the blessing on the food.

Dishes were passed and jovial comparisons made about fish tacos versus spicy beef ones, the benefits of each loudly debated. Just as Kate sank her teeth into the first yummy bite, the doorbell rang. Chelsea popped up like a jack-in-the-box to answer it.

Graham was entertaining them with a description of a Russian he knew eating his first taco when Chelsea reappeared…with Will Epstein in tow.

“Mom.”

Adele's eyes were riveted on Graham as she laughed at his story.

“Mom!”

She looked over, fish taco in midair, and her laughter faded to a gurgle. “Will!”

“Adele?”

“Hi! Would you like a taco?”

“Adele, did you forget? The concert? The one you invited me to?”

Now she popped up like a jack-in-thebox. “Oh my gosh!”

“Dinner reservations are in thirty minutes. If you…” The unfinished thought hung as did Will's outstretched hand, palm up.

At last Adele responded. “Oh! Oh. Yes. Give me three minutes. This is, uh, Kate and, uh, Tara, and—”

Kate interrupted. “Adele, we've met. Go get ready.” She flipped her hand as if shooing her away. “Will, have a seat.”

As Adele bounded up the staircase, her date continued standing under the archway looking decidedly awkward as they all stared at him.

Kate slid her chair over a bit. “Pull that chair up. Have some chips and salsa.”

“I'll just wait out—”

“No!” The word burst forth in her eagerness to leave the awkward moment behind them. “I mean, please, sit. You're reminding me of when I was little and had to wait for my mom to pick me up at Jenny Dubin's. Her mom always made me sit in the living room while they ate dinner, pretending like I wasn't there. I hated that feeling.”

Tanner asked, “Then why did you go over there?”

Kate laughed. “I don't know!”

Will carried the chair over to the table, and then he politely shook hands with Tanner and Graham as they introduced themselves. He greeted Tara, whom he knew because she spent almost as much time at the Chandlers as Kate did.

Kate noticed that beneath his stylish, long black wool coat and cashmere red scarf, Will wore a dark suit, white shirt, and silver tie. He smelled nice. It must be a dress-up affair.

“So,” she asked, “what's the concert?”

“I believe it's Mozart.”

“Mom's favorite. I like Tchaikovsky myself. There's so much more oomph to his works.” Chelsea turned to Tanner. “Mr. Carlucci, who's your favorite composer?”

Tanner had just bitten off an entire third of a taco. They all waited politely with bated breath while he chewed. Kate decided things had turned much too polite since poor Will showed up.

At last Tanner swallowed. “Bob Marley.”

Disappointment flickered on Chelsea's face. “I meant classical type.”

“He's a classic.”

Chelsea obviously knew the Jamaican reggae artist had not composed symphonies. Her eyes rolled. Tanner's face remained expressionless. Kate's giggle interfered with eating and came out a cough. She reached for her water glass.

Adele clattered down the steps. “Okay! Let's go!”

In a glance Kate took in her friend's preparations. Or lack thereof. Adele's natural curls required little attention, but she had added a barrette, holding her hair behind an ear. Instead of clogs, she wore sleek fashionable boots. There was the faintest hint of lipstick. Other than that, her outfit remained what she had put on that morning: a deep purple long skirt, white blouse, embroidered vest, hoop earrings, and a few strings of beads.