Days Like This (14 page)

He eyed her long enough to send a
flush across her cheeks.  “Is that the way the wind’s blowing?”

“I have no idea what you’re
talking about.”

“Of course you don’t.  I bet you
never even noticed that face of his.  Let me give you a word of advice.  Don’t
even bother to go there.  My stepbrother has so many girls chasing after him
that his head’s spinning.  The last thing he needs is another one.”

“Jesus, Luke, all I did was ask a
question.  Don’t build a federal case out of it.”

“Besides, he’s your cousin.”

“Step-cousin.”

“I thought we were hanging today
because we’re friends, not because you have the hots for my stepbrother.”

“Oh, for the love of God.  We
are
friends!”

He studied her a moment longer. 
Then said, “He’s at football practice.”

She wrinkled her forehead. 
“Football practice?  But school doesn’t start until next week.”

“What planet did you come from? 
The first game is a week from Saturday.  The team has to be ready.  They
practice for three hours every weekday morning for the entire month of August.”

“In this heat?”

“Yep.”

“What a bummer.”

“Mikey doesn’t seem to mind. 
Maybe it feeds his ego.  He is the star quarterback, you know.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Of course
he is.  Are you saying he’s conceited?  Because he doesn’t seem that way to
me.”

“Not conceited.  Just aloof.  And
way too serious.”

“Yeah.  I kind of got that.  He
always has this grim look on his face.  Why do you suppose that is?”

“I don’t know.  I think it’s a
Lindstrom family trait.  Jesse’s that way, too.”

“Really?”  She thought about it. 
Luke’s stepfather did seem somber.  “So how do you suppose he and your mother
ever got together?  They seem so different.”

“To tell you the truth—”  Eyes
still on the road, Luke reached out to adjust the radio.  “I have absolutely no
idea.  Listen, Mikey and I are spending Saturday at Old Orchard Beach.  The
last hurrah before we go back to hitting the books.  Want to come with us?”

“How far is Old Orchard?”

“A couple of hours.  We’re taking
Mikey’s truck.  I don’t dare to go that far in this thing.”

“Wise decision.  Sure, I’d love
to go.  I can’t believe summer’s almost over. School next week.”

“Devon’s already headed off to
college.  I’m giving it a couple of weeks, then I’m asking if I can have her
room.  It’s bigger than mine.”

“You think they’ll give it to
you?”

“Just testing the waters.  It
never hurts to ask.”

Luke’s friends were a motley crew
of misfits, all of them appearing to be as laid back as her cousin.  He carried
in his guitar and amp, plugged them in, and introduced her around. 

“Tobey on drums,” he said.  The
drummer spun his sticks and saluted.  “Corey on bass.”  Another wordless
greeting.  “And this dude over here, on the keyboard, is Craig.”

“Hey,” she said.

A chorus of mumbled
heys
came back to her.  “So where’s Nate?” Luke said.

“Nate,” Tobey said, “is sick. 
Again.  I hear her name is Emily.”

Luke scowled.  “How the hell are
we supposed to get anywhere with this band if our lead singer keeps blowing us
off?”

“I don’t know, dude.  I’m just
passing on the message.”

“You need a singer?” Paige said.

“It’s hard to play without one,”
Craig said.

“Well, hell.  I can sing.”

The boys exchanged dubious
glances.  “You can sing,” Luke said.

She grinned and said, “Like a
little bird.”

Her cousin glanced around at his band
mates.  They all shrugged.  “Okay, then,” he said.  “Let’s see what you can
do.”

It took a few minutes to figure
out what songs they knew in common, what they could play well enough so it
wouldn’t sound like a cat in a blender.  They finally settled on Janis Joplin. 
She’d been Sandy’s favorite singer, and Paige had grown up listening to her
music.  While the boys did their best to keep up, she belted out her own
distinctive version of
Piece of My Heart
, putting everything she had
into that song.

When she was done, there was a
moment of astonished silence.  And then Luke, in a voice that sounded
remarkably steady when you considered the look in his eyes, said, “Somebody
call Nate, wish him good luck with Emily, and tell him he’s fired.  I think he
just got replaced.”

Saturday morning, he was alone in
the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand and Igor draped over his shoulder,
when his daughter bounced into the room wearing an unbuttoned man’s dress shirt
and, beneath it, a pink bikini so small it would have been banned in Boston.  Above
hot pink Converse sneakers, her long, bare legs reached almost to her neck, and
between the two tiny scraps of fabric a long, slender stretch of youthful skin
was on flagrant display.  Giant pink hoop earrings dangled from her earlobes,
and she’d glopped on the make-up so thick he barely recognized her. 

His blood pressure shot high
enough to put him at serious risk of suffering a coronary.  “What in bloody
hell is this?” he said.

The kid raised both eyebrows and
widened innocent green eyes.  “This what?”

He waved both hands in a gesture
that encompassed the entirety of her.  “This…THIS!  The way you’re dressed.”

She seemed genuinely puzzled.  “What’s
wrong with the way I’m dressed?”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph.  Where
do I begin?”

The kid glanced down at herself
and shrugged.  “I’m going to the beach with Luke and Mikey.  This is how I
always dress for the beach.”

He plunked his coffee cup on the
counter so hard that hot liquid sloshed over the rim.  At the sudden movement, Igor
leaped to the floor and slunk off toward the living room.  Grimly, he said, “Not
any more, it’s not.”

“What are you talking about?  It’s
just a bikini.  Mom always let me wear it.  Everybody—and I mean freaking everybody—dresses
this way!”

“Yeah?  Well, your mom isn’t in
charge any more.  I am, and you are not leaving this house looking like a
two-dollar hooker.  I’ve known drag queens who wore less make-up.”

Her eyebrows went higher.  He’d
snagged her interest.  “You know drag queens?”

“That’s not the point!  You are
not going anywhere dressed like that.  Sure as hell not anywhere with two
sixteen-year-old boys!  I may be an old fogey now, but I was once a
sixteen-year-old boy, and I’m not so old I’ve forgotten what it was like.”

“You’re kidding, right?  They’re
my cousins!”

“At sixteen, hormones trump blood
every time.  And only one of them is your cousin.  Mikey’s only a pretend
relative.”

“Oh, my God.  I can’t believe
you!  Are you trying to ruin my life?”

“You’re fifteen years old.  You’re
not supposed to have a life.”

His daughter squared her jaw.  “You
are seriously behind the times, and I am not dressing like something out of a
Dickens novel just to please you!”

“Hold that thought.”  He marched
to the wall phone, picked it up, and dialed his sister’s number.  When Jesse
answered, he said, “Just the person I wanted.  I need an expert opinion.”

“Go for it,” his brother-in-law
said.

“Fifteen years old.  Make-up six
inches thick.  A bikini that leaves nothing to the imagination, and a belligerent
attitude.  Thinks she’s wearing this attire to go to the beach with Luke and
Mikey.  As I just reminded her, I was a sixteen-year-old boy once.  I need your
take as someone who spends a lot of time with teenagers.  Is this appropriate
attire? Does everybody—and I mean freaking everybody—dress this way?”

“Those are two very different
questions.  Yes, it’s pretty much what they all wear these days.  The bikinis
get smaller and smaller every year.  And no, it’s not what I’d consider
appropriate attire under the circumstances.  I was a sixteen-year-old boy once,
too.  Not all that long ago, if you count it in dog years.”

“So I’m not overreacting?”

“Trust me.  If there’s one thing
I know, it’s teenagers.  Locking her in a chastity belt and a suit of armor
wouldn’t be overreacting.”

“And you won’t be offended if I
read your son the riot act before I allow my daughter to get into the car with
him?  And threaten to kick his ass from here to Chicago if he so much as lays a
finger on her?”

“In your shoes?  It’s what I’d
do.”

“Thank you.”  He hung up the
phone, turned back to Paige.  “The jury’s in.  Go back into your room and
change into something presentable.  Shorts and a tee shirt will work just
fine. 
Decent
shorts.  The bikini can stay here.  While you’re at it, you
can scrub that crap off your face until you look a little less like Mae West.”

“I don’t even know who Mae West
is, and I hate you.  I really, truly hate you.”

“My heart bleeds.”

“If Casey was here, she’d tell
you how ridiculous you’re being!”

“Casey’s not here right now, and
I’m the king of this particular castle.  Of course, if you really value her
opinion that much, we can always wait for her to get home.  You’ll probably
miss your ride, but, hey, that’s your funeral, not mine.”

She squared her jaw.  Her
shoulders.  Glared at him.  He glared back.  For a full ten seconds, they
stared each other down.  And then she turned, stalked across the kitchen, and
slammed into her room.

He reached for his cup of coffee,
abandoned on the counter, and realized his hands were shaking like a wet dog
after a rainstorm.  He picked up the cup, tossed its contents into the sink,
and left it sitting there.  Crossed the room, opened the fridge, and took out a
beer instead.  Popping the cap, he brought the bottle to his mouth, upended it,
and took a long, slow swallow.

And said to nobody in particular,
“That went well.”

Her meeting had run late, so
she’d swung by the bowling alley and picked up a pizza for lunch.  Clutching
the box to her chest while spicy and delicious aromas wafted directly up her
nose, she kicked off her shoes in the shed and let herself into the house.  The
kitchen was silent, peaceful, the lack of rap so blessed, she nearly fell to
her knees in gratitude. 

Somewhere in the distance, Junior
Walker softly asked the musical question,
What does it take (to win your
love)?
  Casey set down the pizza and followed the music to the living
room.  Rob was slumped on his tailbone on the couch, those endless legs
extended, bare feet resting on the coffee table, Igor purring softly in his lap. 
He held a half-empty bottle of Heineken tilted against his thigh, and with his
head leaned back against the cushions and his eyes closed, he wore a look of
such supreme bliss, she was reluctant to interrupt.

She moved silently to the couch,
knelt on the cushion beside him, and settled there, curled up with knees folded
and her feet tucked neatly beneath her.  He opened his eyes, looked at her, and
struggled to focus.  “It’s that sax,” he said.  “It gets me every time.”  He
thumped his chest.  “Right here.”

She took the Heineken from his
hand, raised it to her mouth, and took a sip.  “I brought pizza.”

“I know.  I can smell it.”

She helped herself to another sip
of beer.  “Tomatoes, mozzarella, pepperoni, green peppers and onions—”

“I might’ve done something that maybe
I shouldn’t have.”

She glanced at Igor and said, “Do
I even dare to ask?”

The cat didn’t answer, just
stared back at her, his huge, blue Siamese eyes wide with mistrust.

“I was right.  Damn it, I was
absolutely, one hundred percent right!  It’s just that…maybe I could’ve been a
little gentler about it.”

“Oh, Flash.  What did you do?”

“If only you’d seen the way she
was dressed.  You remember that bikini you wore in Nassau?”  His eyes sought
hers.  “The one that, um…snagged my interest?”

“The one you picked out?  It
would be hard to forget.”

“This looked just like it.  Except
it was on my daughter.  My friggin’ daughter!  All that skin.  All that damn
bare skin.  She’s only fifteen!  And she’d slapped on make-up so thick she
could’ve grouted tiles with it.”

“And you freaked.”

“What was I supposed to do?  She
was headed to the beach with two sixteen-year-old boys.  There’s no way I could
let her out of the house half-naked like that.  I have to protect her against
her own stupidity.  It’s my job.  Except…I maybe went a little overboard.”  He
paused, sighed.  “I wasn’t very nice to her.”

“How not very?”

“I told her she wasn’t leaving
the house looking like a two-dollar hooker.”

“I bet that went over well.”

“And I made her change into
shorts and a tee shirt.  She wasn’t impressed.  She invoked your name.  Told me
that if you were home, you’d let me know what a flaming ass I was being.  She
didn’t use those exact words, but that was the gist of it.”

She ran a fingertip around the
lip of the beer bottle.  “What am I going to do with you, MacKenzie?”

“This is tougher than I thought
it would be.  This whole parenting thing.  I didn’t expect it to be easy, but
this is ridiculous.”

She nudged an annoyed Igor away,
eased herself over and took his place on her husband’s lap.  Handed him the
beer bottle and, combing her fingers through his hair, said philosophically, “We’ll
survive this.  If we survived disco, we can make it through anything.”

He let out a soft snort of
laughter.  Fiddled a little with the collar of her shirt.  “I guess we are
bulletproof, aren’t we?”

“Able to leap tall buildings in a
single bound.  That disco—”  She took a sip of beer.  “That was some nasty
stuff.”

“Like a persistent rash of
unknown origin.”  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.  “And then, there
was New Wave.”