Valentine's Child (12 page)

“Could I see?” Mandy asked when Sherry remained rooted to the spot.

For the next hour and a half Sherry dug around but to no avail. Her nerves were shot and with Mandy hovering around, waiting expectantly, her concentration was broken so badly she wanted to huddle into a corner and cry. The Craigs arrived and the situation intensified, growing more uncomfortable.

“I’ll keep looking,” Sherry told Mandy hoarsely. “How long will you be in Seattle?”

“Just ‘til tomorrow,” Tom Craig said quickly.

Gina Craig added, “We’re sorry we didn’t call and warn you. The investigator thought maybe we should, but Mandy… well she was anxious.”

Sherry read that to mean Mandy had taken matters into her own hands before her adoptive parents could intervene. Sherry smiled wanly. She shook their hands and wished she knew what to say. But words escaped her.

After that they all stood outside Sherry’s apartment for a while, no one knowing what to do. Small talk prevailed. Sherry explained that she was part owner of Dee’s Seattle Deli and Mandy bluntly announced she would come visit her the next day before she left. The Craigs wrung their hands and didn’t argue. Sherry could only nod, exhausted. She watched them drive away in their white rental car, then headed straight for the liquor cabinet, which consisted of several airplane-size bottles of vodka, mixed herself a tasty concoction of vodka and water and drained it so fast it brought tears to her eyes.

It didn’t help.

The next day she appeared at work looking gray and ill. Dee, who was deep into creating one of her delicious soups of the day, looked up from deftly chopping onions and gasped in alarm. “My God, girl! What happened to you?”

“It’s a long story.” One Sherry had never told.

Dee, who was five foot seven and whose chest looked large enough to balance a tray, came over and hugged and kissed Sherry on the cheek. She then went back to her chopping while Sherry stood in the center of the tiny deli kitchen and cried, silent tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks to splash on the red tile floor.

She told Dee the story.

Dee, herself, was a single mom raising a fourteen-year-old son, Jonathan, and she was very verbal about what a pain in the neck Jonathan could be, although she loved the “little devil” dearly. Upon hearing that Sherry possessed a daughter the same age, she gazed at her friend in pure sympathy. “I know you’re reeling,” she said. “But you gotta roll with the punches. That’s what parenting is, when they’re this age.”

“But I’m not really a parent.”

“Honey, she came to you. You’re a parent now. It’s outta the closet and in your face. Don’t think it isn’t.”

“I always dreamed of this. I’ve thought about her every day, ten times a day. I’ve wanted her so much. But now …”

“You’re in shock. It’s natural. And she’s not a little girl in pink ribbons, is she?”

“No.” Sherry laughed, brushing her tears aside.

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. She’s coming by the deli today, and I’m — torn. I want to see her. God, you don’t know how much.”

“Ah, honey.”

Dee enfolded Sherry in her arms again, patting her on the back. With an effort Sherry pulled herself together and prepared for her next meeting with Mandy, but as soon as her daughter breezed through the door, panic seized her again. If possible, Mandy seemed more direct, and yes, more antagonistic, than she had the day before.

“Did you find that picture?” Mandy demanded before she even reached the front counter.

On the other side of the barrier Sherry curled her fingers over the tile edge, hanging on for support. “I’m still looking.”

“You don’t have it, do you,” she stated flatly.

“I just don’t know where it is.”

“Is that true?” Mandy’s blue eyes searched Sherry’s so thoroughly, Sherry felt her very soul was explored. “You didn’t really want any reminders, did you?” she added with terrible adult understanding.

“It wasn’t the best time of my life,” Sherry admitted.

Liar! It was the very best time.

“I want to meet him,” Mandy announced, shattering what was left of Sherry’s precarious world.

“So, you’re Mandy,” Dee interjected at the moment, placing a hand on one of Sherry’s trembling arms. “Your mom told me about you. You live in California? Whereabouts?”

“Oakland.”

“I have a sister who lives in Oakland. Do you like it?”

“It’s okay,” Mandy said.

“My son and I are going to San Francisco on vacation this year. Maybe in a month or two. I really love the area …” Dee rolled on but the conversation was terribly one-sided. It seemed to swirl over Sherry’s head like dark, roiling clouds, full of doom. She was powerless to do anything but stand there and let it happen. Meet J.J.? My God. He didn’t know. He
didn’t know.

Eventually Mandy’s monosyllabic responses to Dee’s well-intentioned probing halted the conversation altogether. Mandy gazed at Sherry, waiting. Sherry had neither the heart nor the courage to tell her that her father did not know she existed. It wasn’t fair to Mandy, and it wasn’t fair to J.J. But at the time, Sherry had been too young and too scared to do anything but bend to Patrice Beckett’s wishes.

Except she hadn’t let J.J.’s mother talk her into an abortion.

“I’ve got to talk to him first,” Sherry heard herself say from a long, long distance away. She felt as if she were in a tunnel and Mandy stood at the far end. “I’ll tell him you want to see him, and I’ll let him contact you.”

Mandy pitched a fit. She wasn’t used to being thwarted. She wanted to know who her father was and where he lived, and she wanted Sherry to tell her
right now
. But there was no way to tell her, or Sherry might have been tempted to. She let Mandy spend her adolescent rage and was almost glad that she still had this little bit of power and control left. She couldn’t believe it when she’d finally persuaded Mandy to wait. Mandy was the best and worst of her and J.J.; that was clear. And Sherry needed all her wits to keep this emotional ember from exploding like a volcano.

So, here she was in Oceantides, her first meeting with J.J. a basic disaster. She’d run like a frightened bunny and had even let Patrice’s frigid fury upset her a little. Just a little. The Beckett name and power didn’t affect her nearly as much now as it had when she was a teenager.

But J.J. affected her. There was no denying that.

The Craigs sent Sherry a picture of Mandy within the week. With a thank-you prayer to the gods of good fortune, Sherry recognized how lucky she was that Mandy had been delivered to such caring, fair people. Although reluctant, at first, they were embracing this new relationship with their daughter’s birth mother, and for that Sherry would be ever-thankful.

But J.J …?

Like the older man seated several tables ahead of her, Sherry caught herself staring at the clock. Eleven o’clock. The morning was nearly gone. It was time to get a move on. Time to face J.J. with the truth.

As Sherry rose from the table, the preppy couple stood at the same time. Sherry inhaled a sharp breath as she recognized them: Roxanne and J.J.’s old buddy, Matt Hudson.

As if her shocked stare penetrated their own cocoon of self-interest, they both looked over at her as one. Roxanne’s face broke into a smile. “Sherry?!”

Sherry lifted a hand and sank back down into her chair. “Rox.”

Matt merely gave her a funny smile, as if he didn’t know what to feel or how to act.

“What are you doing here? God, it’s been so long! Are you visiting or back to stay?”

“Visiting,” Sherry assured her.

Roxanne pressed her hands to her cheeks. “This is great. You know Summer lives in Los Angeles now. Married. Two kids. An English sheepdog. Can you believe it? And, and, you know Matt, of course. We’re getting married on Valentine’s Day! You’ve got to come!”

Valentine’s Day. Mandy’s birthday.

Sherry was speechless for a dozen reasons. Roxanne came over to her table and pulled out a chair, tossing her feet onto another one. Her dark hair had developed streaks of gray although she was barely over thirty, but it only made her gypsy-like looks seem even more exotic.

“How
are
you?” she demanded seriously. “Man, when you left school before the end of senior year we were all so worried. And then no word! We were afraid that …”

Sherry waited.
Afraid that I might be pregnant?

Roxanne, who had never been coy with her thoughts, proved to have changed little in the intervening years. “We were afraid your dad was somehow responsible.” She paused. “You know. Because of his drinking.”

Sherry didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So her sudden disappearance had been given a different cause. Was that better? She didn’t know, especially since the truth was soon to be public knowledge.

“Hey, Rox, we gotta get going,” Matt murmured. He looked as uncomfortable as he undoubtedly felt.

Roxanne frowned. “I thought we were meeting here. He’s the one who’s late.”

“He?” Sherry asked automatically.

“Jake. I mean, J.J. Beckett to you, I guess. He’s supposed to show up so we can nail him on his duties as best man. The guy’s a workaholic. No fun. Hard to believe, isn’t it? He’s turned into a real pain in the butt. I think it’s Caroline’s influence.”

“Roxanne.” Matt looked pained.

“You think so, too,” she reminded him, scooting out another chair with one foot. He took it reluctantly. Sherry began to wish fervently that she hadn’t run into them, no matter how glad she was to find a friend. Those memories of her and J.J. weren’t dead for Matt, either, apparently, although Roxanne seemed to be having no problem with the past.

“They dated forever,” Roxanne revealed. “He finally asked her to marry him and now the engagement’s lasted eons. Just to kind of kick him in the butt I suggested they make it a double wedding. Hey, Valentine’s Day’s romantic, right? Caroline went for the idea and even though she’s not my favorite person, she’s tolerable.” Roxanne heaved a deep sigh. “I wouldn’t say the same of Jake!”

“Jake’s okay,” Matt interjected.

“He got old before his time.”

Old? His image was indelibly etched on Sherry’s mind, and last night’s encounter hadn’t changed it. In fact, her impression was how little he’d changed. She could still feel his fingers on her arm.

“He ducked the whole issue. Too busy. Not the right time. Blah, blah, blah. I don’t think he really loves her.”

“Roxanne!” Matt snapped.

“Hey.” She lifted her hands, then dropped them in her lap. Conversation over.

For Sherry, though, the knowledge that J.J. might appear at any moment galvanized her into action. She didn’t want to confront him here, among reminders of the past. “I’ve got a bunch of stuff to do while I’m here, so I’d better get doing it.”

“Where’re you staying?” Sherry named the motel, and Roxanne said, “Call me.” She scratched out her number on a paper napkin. “I want to catch up.”

“Okay,” Sherry promised.

“Don’t lie to me.” Her old friend grinned.

“I’ll
do
it. I’ll call.”

“Come to the wedding,” Roxanne urged. “It’s only a couple weeks away.”

“If I’m still in town.”

“Oh, Sherry, make it a point. Please. I want you to come. Summer’s going to be there, too. It’s like a reunion!”

“Yeah, about that…”

“Shut up. Say you’ll be there. Come on.”

“I’ll try,” Sherry said, realizing Roxanne wasn’t going to let up. She rose to her feet and slung her purse over her shoulder, her back to the door. A waft of cool air silently announced another visitor. Scared to look, she nevertheless darted a glance behind her but there was no need. J.J., she thought with a sinking heart, her gaze clashing with his.

“Speak of the devil,” Roxanne declared. “You’re late. And you almost missed an old friend. You remember Sherry Sterling, don’t you, Jake?”

It had been a bitch of a morning after Caroline’s departure. Tenants from his rental properties called one after the other, as if they’d somehow divined his generous treatment of Jill Delaney and wanted the same. Then the chef at the Beckett restaurant, Crawfish Delish, quit because of a fight he’d had with one of the busboys, a local tough who’d been hired by the manager in a weak moment and who’d let it be known that all chefs were gay and stupid. The manager fired him but not before Gerald, who was really little more than a glorified cook but who could make magic with seafood, stalked out of the restaurant and into his Renault and headed straight for the Tank House, a local watering hole. Gerald was always looking for an excuse to drink, and Jake had gone to the Tank House to try and reason with him. Gerald could not only drink, he could drink fast, and Jake ended up driving him home to the Windsurf, another Beckett apartment building, so he could sleep it off. Jake had then returned to Crawfish Delish and told the beleaguered assistant cook the bad news: lunch and dinner were his.

Thank God it wasn’t high season.

Jake had then been tempted to take up residence on Gerald’s stool at the Tank House. Half the time he felt like a babysitter; the other half, a psychologist. Neither occupation was where he’d ever hoped to be.