Deep Down (Lockhart Brothers #1) (9 page)

“What kind of monster could get it up for his own child?” Margie said, her expression twisted with disgust. “It’s sick. He belongs in prison.”

The counter was clean and I was relieved for the opportunity to take my used towels back to the washing machine off the kitchen. This was why I kept my secret–because I couldn’t stand the thought of me and Noah being judged. I’d considered telling Margie I had been sexually assaulted. I trusted her and, despite her hair trigger temper, she was a very good person. But I knew she’d press for details, and I wasn’t ready to give them.

I lost myself in dishes and laundry until my shift was over. Then I stopped by the Lovely Public Library. The small red brick building was one of my favorite places in town. I checked books out by the dozen and used the computers for free Internet access when I needed it.

I was making a quick stop to use a computer today. The head librarian, Lillian, waved at me from the front desk to tell me it was okay to use a computer without signing in.

When I logged onto my email, I saw that I had a waiting message from April. We’d kept in close touch by email over the past three years. Seeing her name on the screen made me smile before I’d even opened the message. I clicked on it and sat back in my chair to read it.

Hello, Ivy. I miss you and wish you’d come to Seattle for a visit. It still doesn’t quite feel like home. Thanks for the pictures of Noah. He’s such a beautiful boy. I’ll be mailing a box of Christmas gifts for you guys soon. Just remember that the saying about real friends not buying their friends’ children drum sets is completely false.

Things were going well with me and Dave, but he interviewed for a job in Florida last week and it sounds like he’s going to get it. He asked me to move there with him, but we’ve only been dating for three months. It’s too soon. We’re talking about a long distance relationship. Guess we’ll see if it works out.

What about you? I hope you’re still helping with the hospital foundation. One of these days some hot doctor will sweep you off your feet if you’ll just let him. You can’t live in a cocoon forever.

Even though I don’t know the details, I know you’ve been hurt—badly. Just don’t let that define you, Ivy. You’re smart, caring and an amazing mother to Noah.

Speaking of you being smart, have you thought any more about starting college classes? I know you’re busy, but you can take classes online from your local community college. I’ll help with the application and financial aid process. You can do it, Ivy. The hardest part is getting started.

My prep period is almost over, so I better go. Oh, one more thing . . . I signed up for a 5K in the spring. Can you believe it? I may collapse halfway through, but that’s what hot paramedics are for, right?

Much love,

April

Tears pricked my eyes as I read the message again. April meant the world to me and her messages always reminded me of our brief time as roommates. I glanced at my watch and saw that I had time to write a quick message back.

Dear April,

I miss you, too. Things here are good. Noah has a new fascination with trains. I’m thinking of taking him to ride one sometime. There is a small commuter train nearby so maybe I’ll try that. One day, maybe we’ll take the train to Seattle!

You’ll be happy to know I applied online to the local community college and I got in. I think I’ll take one class next semester. They said I’m also eligible for a scholarship, so that will really help.

Today I slipped and fell at work. It was really embarrassing. A customer caught me so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

Sorry to hear about Dave moving. He sounds like a really great guy. Maybe the long distance thing will work out.

I’m so proud of you for signing up for the 5K! You’ll be amazing. Or . . . hot paramedic. Sounds like a win-win.

Off to pick up Noah. Take care.

xo Ivy

April had been encouraging me to try dating for more than a year now. Every time, I avoided the subject or I’d make vague promises about trying. She meant well, but she didn’t understand my distrust of men . . . and how could she? I knew there was some truth to what she was saying, but I just wasn’t ready for any of that right now.

I left the library and drove the five minutes over to Noah’s daycare and went inside, smiling at the sounds of kids playing. When I got to Noah’s room, he squealed and ran into my open arms. My heart swelled as he locked his arms around me in a hug.

“Hi, lovebug,” I said. “Ready to go home?”

“Yeah!” he cried happily. He took my hand and led me to the wall where the picture he’d painted earlier was displayed, the paint still a little wet. It was a swirl of shades of red and blue.

“What is it?” I asked, looking down at him.

“A doggie,” he said proudly.

“I love it.”

We said goodbye to his teacher and left to head home for dinner. I buckled him into his car seat and the trip home was filled with his happy chatter.

“Christmas tree!” he cried gleefully when we passed an evergreen. He pointed out evergreens every time he saw one, no matter what season it was.

“That’s a tall one,” I said. “We’ll be getting a Christmas tree in a couple months. What do you want for Christmas, Noah?”

“Pancakes.”

I laughed and glanced at him in the rearview mirror while my car idled at a stoplight. His light brown hair had a hint of curl and he shared my blue eyes. He was my whole world in one adorable little package.

“Do you want some new racecars?” I asked.

“Yeah. And pancakes.”

“I bet Gene will make us some pancakes on Christmas morning. He knows how much you love them.”

We’d spent the past two Christmases with Gene and Margie. They were crazy about Noah. We also spent Friday nights with them, usually playing cards and making homemade pizza. After Noah had fallen asleep there a couple times, Margie had insisted that we stay in their guest room on Friday nights.

The next couple of hours passed by in a blur. By the time I’d played trains with Noah, made dinner, washed the dishes and given him a bath, I barely had the energy to get a shower and climb into bed. I read for less than five minutes before I turned out the light. Our mornings always started early—well before sunrise—and I needed all the sleep I could get.

The next day I dropped Noah off at daycare and went into work. We were short a morning waitress, which meant me and Margie had to work harder than usual.

I knew most of my customers well. Most were farmers meeting for coffee and gossip, or retired people who came in for some company. Time flew as I poured, served and chatted. I’d stopped for a quick drink of water when Margie approached and gave me a look.

“Walter’s getting impatient,” she said in a tone only I could hear. I glanced down the front counter to the stool on the end, where a man with sparse gray hair was scowling at me.

“On it,” I said.

“Oh, here comes Ben Henderson,” Margie added in the same hushed tone. “He left his wife for their
babysitter
over the weekend. Can you
believe
that? I used to respect him, too. Poor Dena’s just mortified. And how do you think their poor kids must feel?”

I’d learned Margie didn’t care if I responded to her gossip as long as she thought I was listening. I nodded in acknowledgement and then walked down to greet Walter.

“Good morning, sir. What’ll it be?”

“Should I order breakfast, or is it lunch time now?” He tapped his wristwatch and squinted his eyes at it.

“It’s seven forty, so I think you’re still good for breakfast.”

“Hmph.” He opened the menu and scanned it. I played along, though we both knew exactly what he would order. He’d been coming in every weekday for several months, and he always ordered the same thing.

“Two eggs, over medium. Wheat toast with real butter. Small dish of plain oatmeal,” he finally said. “And black coffee.”

“Got it.” I scrawled his order in my pad and took his menu. “And I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Walter.”

“I’d rather wait for you than have one of the other servers,” he said, looking at me over the wire rims of his glasses. “There’s you or that fellow with greasy hair and open facial sores.”

“Don just busses tables. And there’s Margie, too.”

He grunted his distaste. “Too chatty.”

“I think what you’re trying to say is that you like me. And I like you, too.”

“My dear, no one
likes
me. And I don’t much like anyone either. I make an excellent recluse.”

“I started reading one of your books the other night.”

“Oh?”

I nodded. “It’s good. It moved a little slow in the beginning, but now I’m into it.”

Walter grinned with amusement. “Which one is it?”

“Lucky Seven.”

He waved a hand. “Only made the
New York Times
sixteen weeks in a row. You’re right to be unimpressed.”

“I didn’t say I’m not impressed. You’re a famous author. That’s quite impressive in itself.”

“Bah.”

I winked and headed for the pass through to the kitchen to deliver his order. Margie had told me when Walter first came in that he was actually Tom Hobson, the famous suspense novelist. I knew his pen name—everyone did—but behind it was Walter Grieves, a slightly grouchy man who liked his privacy. He’d moved to Lovely several years ago seeking anonymity, which was probably why I’d bonded with him immediately.

He’d been a morning regular at the Lovely Café until he was permanently ejected for yelling at a waitress over his burnt toast. And now he was a regular at Gene’s.

He tipped me precisely fifteen percent every day and always let me know when his coffee wasn’t just right. I’d grown attached to seeing him every day. It thrilled me to think I got to have conversations with a man who went home after breakfast to pen another bestseller. Lovely was small and imperfect, but it was my home now. It gave me a measure of pride to know someone rich and successful would chose Lovely as his home above all other places.

I wasn’t rich or successful, but I was grateful for the friendships of Margie and Gene . . . and Walter. Every day I was glad the blue butterfly had led me to Lovely.

FOR THE FIRST TIME
since moving home, I was able to hang out with the three of my brothers who lived here. Kyle had the afternoon off, but was on call at the hospital. Austin was always off on Sundays, and Mason set his own hours since he ran his own tech business.

We were playing two on two at the gym, a place we’d spent thousands of hours at when we were growing up. I’d missed playing with my brothers, because we shared the same competitive nature.

The only sounds on the court were the bouncing ball, our shoes squeaking against the polished surface and the occasional grunt or swear word. I was sweating heavily from the best workout I’d had since getting home.

“How’s it going with Dad?” Kyle asked me during a quick break. “He giving you all the shit work?”

“Not yet.”

“How’s the dog doing?”

“Snoop’s good. We go for a run every morning at the dog park. He comes to the office with me some days.”

“The boys have been asking to come see him,” Kyle said, a hint of regret in his expression.

Snoop had become my dog after Kyle bought him as a surprise for his two sons. After two days his wife Kim declared that she was taking him to the shelter because he stank like dog and got hair on her new couch. When Kyle called me and begged me to take the dog, I could hear the boys crying in the background. I’d driven to Lovely that evening to get him.

“Bring them over,” I said. “They can stay the night with me and visit with Snoop all they want. I’ll take them to the dog park with us.”

“They’d like that,” Kyle said. “Maybe next weekend.”

We started back at the game and Mason sank a three pointer and then turned to me.

“You going to the hospital foundation fundraiser Friday night?”

“Yeah, Mom roped me in.”