Blame it on Cupid (24 page)

 

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, Merry didn't sing in the shower, because Charlene was still sleeping. But she turned off the faucet, grabbed the towel, boogie-woogied herself dry, danced into the bedroom, and mimed some exceptionally fine moves as she chose what to wear. Life, dag-nabbit, was good.

Okay, beyond good.

No question that she'd been off her feed lately. Not depressed, exactly, but feeling regularly overwhelmed by the problems surrounding her. Charlene, not bonding. Charlene, still not really accepting her dad's death. Herself, not easily finding a way to fit in this alien land of suburbia. Herself, still failing to convince June Innes she was a fit guardian—and not so sure she was besides. Herself, trying to become a sedate house owner and staid community participant and teenage-chaperone overnight.

But some of that stuff was always going to take time to sort out.

She picked out jeans with a heart on the right butt cheek, a pink ruched top, a major push-up bra, then—and just for the hell of it—jumped on the bed to do a few more dance steps as she put it all on. Goofy, yes. But what was wrong with being singing-irrepressible on a fine, fine, sunny morning like this?

He said he'd loved her.

In fact, he'd said it and said it. In the middle of sex, of course. And men, being men, were completely brain dead during sex. But all the same…he'd
conveyed
it—in how he'd made love. In how he'd touched her, in how upset he'd been that he'd failed to remember protection ahead of time, in how he'd failed to set them up in a more romantic environment than the laundry room—which still made her want to laugh.

Romantic wasn't a
place.
Romantic was a man who came apart at the seams for you. A man who wanted you so much he forgot he was one of those fussy-engineering-mind types. A man who just seemed to get lost in being with you. A man who needed, so much, so sweetly, that he made you feel as if you were his whole world.

The phone rang—the land line. And though Charlie could usually sleep through anything—and did—Merry bounced off the bed and charged for it, just in case. She was overdue a call to her dad and sisters, although the time change usually meant it was easier to connect early evening than now.

She grabbed the line in the kitchen and said a breathless, “Hello?” just in time to hear the click of a hang up. What, this was surely the third time in the last two days?

Whatever. A crank caller wasn't likely to spoil her dancing-on-air mood or morning. Whistling silently, she finger brushed her damp hair and debated breakfast choices. The living room was a wee bit trashed, ditto for the kitchen table and counters. Sometime today, she had to turn into Merry Maid again and do the cleaning thing, because June Innes was due for her weekly stop by tomorrow. But right now…

Pancakes.

Decadent pancakes with blueberries and whipped cream.

Yes.

Better served with Jack. In fact, better served on top of Jack and licked off. But that not being an immediate option, she hunted up a bowl and the stuff for a batter and dug in.

Just as she was measuring milk, she heard the knock on the door and yelled out, “Come on in.”

She would likely have smiled for anyone, but about the last person in the universe she expected to poke his head in was Jack's son. “Hey,” Cooper said awkwardly. “Oh. I see you're in the middle of making breakfast. I don't want to bug you—”

“You're not bugging me, silly. Come on in.” She took another careful look at him. She liked both Jack's sons, but it wasn't as if they regularly popped over to visit. The twin thing fascinated her, although there was certainly no challenge telling the two boys apart. As similar as their physical traits, their temperaments affected their expressions and actions. She didn't have a favorite, but knew she had a tiny softer spot for Cooper. It wasn't because she liked him more or less than his brother; Cooper just struck her as more vulnerable. Kicker was so easy in his own skin. Coop reminded her of how miserable it was to be an adolescent. And both boys were so great with Charlene that she'd have loved them to bits for that alone. “If you needed Charlie for something, I'm afraid it was a pretty late night for her, and she's still konked out—”

“Didn't come here to see Charlie. Dad and Kicker are both sleeping, too. And that's why I thought I could maybe find you by yourself for a couple seconds. I just was hoping to talk to you about something.”

“Sure.” Again, she shot a look at him. Coop had never struck her as shy so much as contained, one of those deep-waters kids. Her dad would have said that he was the kind “who didn't show his cards.” But right now he was sure playing a nervous hand.

He was rocking back and forth on his heels, edgy as a hedgehog, meeting her eyes, then shooting his gaze around the room, not coming in, not going out, the worried furrow between his brows deeper than a ditch. She couldn't imagine what was on his mind. “Hey, you know me. At least you know me well enough to be sure I don't bite,” she said gently.

“I know, I know. That's why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Sometimes when you can't get something out, the only way to do it is just spill.”

“I'm trying. Believe it. It's just…”

“You want some coffee or juice or milk?”

“I need this to be between you and me.”

“Got it.” Or she got “it” enough to recognize swiftly that there was something serious going on for Coop. She glanced down, saw the first round of pancakes were already black-burned and started to smoke, and turned off the stove.

“I've got a real worry, that's all. A private worry. Something I need to ask a female about.” He cleared his throat. “A woman-aged female.”

“Okay.”

“The thing is…how late is really late?”

“Huh? Oh.” Sometimes she needed a slap upside the head to get an innuendo, but this sure wasn't one of them. He meant period-late. As in unprotected sex. As in he obviously had a girlfriend.

She splashed coffee in two mugs, turned off her cell phone and motioned him to the stool across the counter, thinking
eek.
She was honored Coop believed he could come to her with a confidence, but this was such an
ohmygod.
She'd just made love with Cooper's dad, for heaven's sake. Was barely, nominally coping with Charlene. So poking her nose in something as intensely serious as Jack's son's private sex life seemed like a major bad idea…but she couldn't very well
not
help. So there it was.

“Well, flat out, Coop…girls your age,” she said tactfully, “aren't always as regular as clocks. What that means is that a period is often not predictable. But it also means that there isn't any totally safe time to have sex without protection.”

“It was just the one time.” Cooper could have bored holes in the counter, he was staring down so hard.

If he were just a little smaller, she'd have scooped him on her lap and given him a hug. Unfortunately this was a grown-up problem, even if he was still a boy. “I'm afraid it just takes one time.”

He lifted worried brown eyes. “We didn't mean for it to happen. I swear. I'd have bought protection if I thought it was going that far. At least this fast. I mean, yeah I hoped. How was I not supposed to hope? I like her. She's hot. It's really going good with us. But I just thought…sometime. Not this fast. But it just seemed to…happen.”

Worse and worse, Merry thought. Not that he'd said it, but she was pretty sure this was likely his first time, and the girl's, too. “How late is she, Coop?”

“Six days, four hours, three minutes.” He sighed. “She called, just before I came over here. I can't eat. Can't sleep.” He wiped a rough hand over his face. “I knew I could ask you. That you wouldn't yell at me.”

He had that right. Merry didn't know how Cooper sensed it, but she was incapable of abandoning anyone, come hell or high water. And for damn sure, not a vulnerable kid. “Okay, well, first things first. She needs to buy a pregnancy test. They're about twenty bucks, give or take. She pees on a stick first thing in the morning. At least, that's how I've heard most of them work. It turns color if she's pregnant. Then you two would know what you're dealing with.”

“Would she know this quick? Just a week late?”

“It's not by how late. It's by how pregnant. Or not.” He looked at her blankly. She tried again. “The test doesn't measure how late her period is. It just measures whether she's pregnant. And Cooper, she needs to do that test. Quickly. Don't wait. No matter what you two decide after that, first you've got to know what's what.”

“She isn't as upset as me.” Those sick eyes looked at her. “Merry, don't tell my dad.”

She could have smelled that coming. Cripes, he might as well have clamped her heart in a corkscrew and twisted. “If she's not pregnant, you won't have to tell your dad. Part of this isn't about your dad, anyway. If you're going to be sexually active, you need to get protection and use it. Every time.”

“But if she
is
pregnant…”

Merry squeezed her eyes closed, thinking man, this was not a fun conversation. “Then you'll need to tell your dad yourself.”

“But
you
won't say anything to him, right? Promise me?”

Her life had been so much easier when she quit any and everything every time she wanted at the drop of a hat. Hell's bells, there was no way she could keep something this important from Jack. It was dead wrong, even if she hadn't been sleeping with him, even if she hadn't fallen exasperatingly, deeply in love with him. To not share something this important, affecting his son's future? “You won't have to worry about me telling him, because if it comes down to it,
you'll
tell your dad,” she said to Cooper. “You know you can. You know he'll be there for you—”

“Hey,” said a sleepy voice from the doorway. Both of them whirled around to see Charlene wandering in, her blond hair all cowlicky, eyes still blurry with sleep. “What are you two talking about? What's going on, Coop?”

All right, Merry thought. Clearly she was doing something really, really wrong with her life. It wasn't as if she'd never slept with a man before, but it had never been remotely this complicated. She'd only made love with Jack last night. One time.
One
time. Yet less than twelve hours later, his kid had embroiled her in his life and secrets, and now Charlene had gotten wind of a problem, and her heart was being strangled in confusing loyalties.

What really killed her, though, was that there didn't seem to be a single easy answer in sight.

When she'd moved here a month ago, she'd felt more alone than she ever had in her life. To save Charlene from being abandoned, it seemed as if she was stuck feeling completely alone and abandoned herself.

But there was a difference. Maybe all these problems were new and complex and forcing her to face uncomfortable issues in her own history. But Jack loved her. And no matter how many overwhelming problems life had thrown at her lately…knowing she was loved was incredibly empowering.

She had no idea what she was going to do yet. But it amazed her how much stronger she felt, just from being loved.

J
ACK PUNCHED DOWN
a load of sweatshirts and jeans in the washing machine, pressing the cell phone to his ear at the same time. “So,” he said. “This is Sunday. Almost noon. And you're just getting around to telling me now that you need me to keep the boys all next week.”

Maybe he was talking to Dianne, but he was thinking about Merry. He did
not
love that woman. Every damn dream had been dominated by erotic moments with her. Every damn waking moment seemed consuming with fretting what kind of trouble she was going to cause him now. Possibly guilt was eating him alive for seducing her without protection—a mistake he'd never even made as a brash teenager when his entire brain supply had been located behind his zipper. Never.
Never
had he risked a woman and a pregnancy over his own selfishness.

It was
her.
She did some kind of spell thing to him. She'd turned him into a stranger to himself. She sneaked under his skin like a sliver. Or an infection. Or a contagious disease.

Worst of all, he couldn't wait to see her again.

Jack knew damn well he needed help. Maybe he needed drugs. Anti-psychotics? Maybe there was some kind of psychologist where a therapist knew how to slap some sense into a man?

“Yeah, yeah,” he said to Dianne. “I've heard it all before. Something just came up with your job. Nothing new about that, and you know damn well I want the kids. But you ever heard of a little notice? Yeah, they're already here this weekend, but I'll still have to drive into D.C., get more clothes and stuff for them, get back here, commute 'em to school…it's not as if this is nothing to arrange. Why is it you can never give me some notice?”

He believed in keeping things civil with his ex. Normally it wasn't that hard. He didn't give enough of a damn to argue with her anymore. But he knew better than to play it nice all the time, because that just encouraged her to be more demanding. His time was worth zero. Hers, everything.

“Yeah, well, you could drop their clothes and books here. Instead of expecting me to do it.”

Certain kinds of women turned men tough and mean, he thought darkly. But as he walked into the kitchen, he momentarily forgot Dianne when he glanced out the sink window.

Two heads were visible in Merry's kitchen, one blond, one brunette. His attention riveted on Merry, as she reached over, lifting a hand, clearly intending to hug Charlene…but Charlene jerked back. The slim arm with the wild red fingernails just hung there in space, when Charlene darted out of the room.

That damned kid was breaking her heart.

Not that he cared. Not that he loved her. Because he didn't.

“Of course you can talk to the kids. Cooper!” He traipsed out of the kitchen, through the living room, the bedrooms. Eventually he located Kicker—who'd been known to take showers longer than most people napped—in the bathroom and said “talk to your mother.”

Unfortunately it wasn't that easy to relinquish the phone.

“You've lost Cooper?” Dianne demanded. “You mean you don't know where our son is?”

Talking to her had a lot in common with dusting. What was the point? It just came back. It's not as if you ever solved anything. Besides, by the time he stalked past the kitchen window again, he saw Cooper.

Coming out of Merry's house, for Pete's sake.

“Hey,” he said when the back door opened. “I was looking for you. Your mom's on the phone. Wants to talk to you. Kicker's got it in the far bathroom.”

“Okay,” Cooper said and aimed in that direction, but not before Jack caught a good look at his face.

Big circles under the eyes. No direct eye contact. And the kid was rubbing the back of his neck, like a world of tension was balled between his shoulder blades. Something was with that boy—the same something that Jack had been trying to get out of him for days now. A couple weeks even.

And now he'd been over at Merry's house? For what possible reason?

The kids talked to their mother for a blue moon. He had ample time to start the dishwasher, heap his briefcase full of work for the next day, haul clothes from the washer to the dryer. Kicker wandered in first, flanked by Coop. Both of them beelined for the fridge, and came close to emptying it in thirty seconds flat.

“Dad, we gotta go home. Get a bunch of stuff if we're staying with you this week. Mom said she told you. She's, like, gone already, but I got the number where we can reach her,” Kicker said.

So, Jack thought. Same old bullshit. She'd conned the boys into believing it was okay for him to make the long drive to pick up their things. She was so good at that bitch stuff she could give lessons. Come to think of it, she had. To him. He opened his mouth to answer Kicker, but then Cooper interrupted.

“Hey, you didn't tell us how the chaperoning thing went last night.”

“I would have, if you two hadn't been sound asleep when I got home.”

“Well? 'Fess up. Did you save Merry from the monsters?”

“Monsters?” Jack said.

“Yeah. The other parents.”

All right, he had to chuckle. “She did fine. And for the record, she didn't remotely need me there.”

“Maybe not
need,
but I'll bet she was glad you were there. You're not still mad we made you go, are you?” Kicker asked, as he leveled the half quart of milk still left—in a single gulp. Then popped the carton on the counter and smashed it, leaving spits of milk all over the counter and wall. Jack sighed. He'd never minded those kinds of messes. Until he had to clean them up himself.

“No. I'm not mad.”

“See, Dad.” Cooper dug a fist into a cereal box. Jack knew damn well he was going to empty the whole thing. “Do you get what we were trying to tell you now? That there's a difference between Merry and the women you usually go out with.”

“Let me guess what the difference is. That I'm not going out with Merry?”

“Very funny. No. The difference is she's nice. And they're not.”

“Yeah,” Kicker agreed. “Sometimes you pick a babe. But they're all into themselves, you know? They're not looking at
you,
Dad.”

Naturally, the boys thought they knew everything. He'd known everything when he was fifteen, too. Listening to their advice on his love life, though, struck him as pretty close to slapstick. Particularly when they could be right. His failure in the love wars was loud enough to be legend.

But where the boys thought he should climb back in the saddle, Jack figured that a guy who was tone-deaf should permanently give up aspiring for a career in music. He'd tried to explain that to them before, but somehow they got confused with the metaphor.

“If we have to drive all the way into D.C. today—you guys better get your butts in gear. And, Coop—”

“What?”

“How come you were over at Merry's?”

“Merry's? Oh. I was trying to talk her into marrying you, Dad.” Coop clapped a hand on Kicker's shoulder, inviting him to share the big joke.

All right, Jack thought. Another secret the kid was keeping from him. Of course, no fifteen-year-old told his parents everything; they'd be crazy to expect it. Or to want it, for that matter. Jack figured he'd worm it out of Merry the next time he saw her, anyway.

And one way or another, living next door, of course they'd see each other soon. Unavoidably. He only wished he'd had the intelligence and wisdom to remember that—before he'd slept with her.

 

M
ERRY STOOD IN FRONT
of her closet, something she'd done a zillion times since she'd reached thirteen. The debate was what to wear for the parent-teacher conferences this afternoon. She cocked her head this way, then that.

Unlike in all the earlier years of her female life, the only choice here was really jeans or…jeans. Sweatshirt or T-shirt.

Dangles and spangles weren't exactly required for a suburban mom. Neither were kicky shoes or glitter cream for her shoulders or pouty lip gloss. In less than two months, she'd gone from actively young and selling-it-vibrant to a life where a push-up underwire bra was optional.

On the other hand, she'd have been happy to revert back to her natural self for Jack…presuming, of course, they ever had two minutes alone together again.

She yanked on jeans and a long-sleeved tee—the blue one—and told herself that enough was enough with the pining. She'd just really wanted to see him yesterday, that was all. Obviously he'd had something he had to do with the boys, because she'd seen his truck pull out around noon and not return until after dark.

Just because they'd made love didn't mean she expected him to dance attention on her.

It was just…that connection had been so special. So not even having the chance to squeeze in a hello really pinched. It was time, though, to get the Sam Hill over it.

“Charlie? I'm leaving for school. It should take a couple hours—”

“I told you you didn't have to go.” Charlie yelled the answer from her room, where she was nose deep in some computer game, thrilled to have no school because of the parent-teacher conference.

“I know I don't
have
to.”

“I'm getting As. You know that. So it's a total waste of your time.”

“Uh-huh. You told me.” In Charlie's doorway, she smooshed on some lip gloss and zipped up her jeans boots. “Hey, maybe you could teach me to play that one game after I get back.”

“Yeah. Like you'd like this.”

“Hey, just because I'm not a techie doesn't mean I don't like games. I—” The land line rang. She chased it down in the kitchen—so she could grab her keys and
XOXO
bag at the same time.

“Hello?” She sighed. “Okay, I've had enough. That's about the fifth time,” she told the silence in the receiver. “A little of this goes a long way. Quit it or I'm calling the phone company.” She clipped it down hard enough to convey the message. One or two times could have been accidental, but now there'd been too many of the silent calls. It had to be a prank.

“Leaving, Charlie,” she sang out, and then zoomed to the school.

Her Mini Cooper readily found a parking space, although her baby was completely hidden behind SUVs. Still, once inside the school, she thought she'd done a fair job at fitting in. Maybe she was a little younger and not wearing any alligator labels, but she had the rest of the uniform right—jeans, boots, tee, ski jacket.

The parent was supposed to follow their kid's schedule. Charlene's first class was Mr. Morann's, so that was where Merry hung out in line first. Dialogue between the moms covered dinner, cheating husbands, the sale at Kohl's, the best divorce lawyers, how to get your kid into an Ivy League school, and the price of nannies. Most of the faces and personalities were familiar now, or starting to be. The women tried to include her in the chitchat—good thing, since it was a long wait.

Mr. Morann was a tiny little bug of a guy, who wore a checked shirt and glasses that kept slipping down his nose. He taught social studies and history. “And you're here…why?” he asked her in true absentminded professor manner.

“I'm Charlene Ross's guardian. I'm been with her since her dad died. I just wanted to know how she was doing.”

“She's gotten all As from the day she walked in. There's nothing new.”

Getting any more out of him was like pulling teeth, but Merry had high hopes for the math teacher, because he was Charlene's favorite. And the guy did enthuse. “God, she's smart. You dream of teaching kids like Charlene. She just takes it in like a sieve. I can't challenge her enough. She just saps it up.”

“That's great to hear. How does she get along with the rest of the kids?”

He blinked. “Well, fine, I guess.”

So…he didn't really know. After that came the gym teacher, Mrs. Butterfield, who bounced a basketball around the gym as she talked. “Charlene's not real athletic, but she never shies away from trying. Good kid. I know she's more brains than muscles, but she always tries.”

“The other girls are okay with her?” Merry asked. “Have you noticed the kids she hangs with?”

“Well…she's not in one of the ‘in' groups. She tends to separate herself from groups, in fact. But I've never seen her look real unhappy or anything like that.”

Merry thought, maybe the gym teacher had been raised on a different planet than she had, because that sure wasn't reality as she remembered it. Eleven years old, and you
had
to hang tight with someone or have a best friend in the wings, or for darn sure you felt the pain.

The last teacher, finally, sounded tuned to Charlene the way Merry hoped. The subject was English, not Charl's strength. But Merry took one look at the teacher—Jacey Matthews—and felt an instant connection. Jacey was blond, young and dressed in Filene's Basement. The first thing she said was, “I've been worried about her, to tell the truth.”