His Ordinary Life (3 page)

He continued to stare at her, his expression unreadable. “Yeah.”

“I’ll see you this afternoon.” She climbed behind the wheel. When she started the truck, Blake reached for the radio controls and soon Staind’s latest hit blared. She backed down the driveway, aware Del stood watching until they were out of sight.

The memory of that almost-kiss stayed with Del all day. The image of Barbara’s upturned face lingered while he made arrangements to cover his sales calls, rented an SUV with more room than his temporary car, and checked in with his mother. The thing that got him the most was the level of hunger he felt for that simple goodbye kiss. Once he’d gotten over the initial shock of having her lean toward him, he’d
wanted
that kiss the way a desert-stranded man craved water.

He still wanted it, and as he pulled into the school’s parking lot a little before four, an eagerness to be in Barbara’s presence tempered his concern for Blake.

God, he was just asking to get kicked in the gut. This morning had been habit and didn’t mean anything. She didn’t want him anymore, had made that more than clear when he’d moved out, and if he indulged in building fantasies out of the interlude, he deserved whatever heartache he got.

When he stepped from the rented Explorer, the humid heat blasted him, stealing his breath for a moment. Cars still filled the parking lot in front of the high school, but he’d been lucky enough to find an empty spot near the back row. On the large grassy field next to the building, the marching band practiced formations, red and silver flags spinning and twirling to the school fight song. Farther back, helmets clattered and a coach’s whistle shrilled.

Spring football practice. In the May sun, under pads and practice jerseys, the heat would be unbearable. His junior year, he’d passed out after a set of up-downs and opened his eyes to the pale, frightened faces of Tick and their younger brother Will. His senior year, with Tick away at UGA and Will gone, he hadn’t played. He’d drifted, ignoring his teachers, separating from his family. Until Barbara, his life preserver in the dangerous waters his life had become.

Blake was in his own version of those dangerous waters. Kids didn’t just change overnight without reason. Somehow, he’d get to the bottom of whatever was going on. Somehow, he’d be his son’s life preserver.

Del pulled the glass door open and stepped into the blessed cool air of the school lobby. The raw scent of fresh floor wax hovered in the air. The auditorium doors stood open, and out drifted the strident voice of Mrs. Louella Hatcher, who’d taught drama and English as far back as Del could remember. Several students sat in a circle in the lobby, strumming guitars and breaking into laughter with every wrong chord.

He walked into the office, not looking at the memoriam board to see if Will’s freshman photo was still posted.

“Can I help you?” The blonde secretary looked up and graced him with a perky smile. Recognition dawned in her blue eyes and the smile slipped. “Let me guess. You must be Blake’s daddy.”

With the chill in her eyes now, either Blake had copped an attitude with her, Barbara had given her the details of the separation, or she was one of Tick’s string of ex-blondes and he was guilty by association. He smiled his best salesman’s smile. “Yes, ma’am. It shows, huh?”

Her mouth tightened. “I guess it’s true all the Calvert men look alike.”

Definitely one of Tick’s blondes, and one not happy about the ex status, either. Funny how nobody ever made an issue out of his brother’s date ’em and dump ’em habit. He upped the wattage on his smile as if dealing with a particularly recalcitrant client. “I’m supposed to pick him up today. I need a visitor’s pass for Barb’s room, please.”

“Room 704.” The temperature in that smile dropped another ten degrees. Yeah, she had details. Bet he was the biggest bastard to ever grace Chandler County, Georgia. “Take a left on the 200 hall, then a right on the 700. Second room on the left.”

He rapped his knuckles on the desk. “Thanks.”

The school had expanded since he’d been a student. The 200 hall had been the A hall during his high school years. The lockers remained the same, a sea of blue against the creamy walls. Nostalgia nudging at his mind, he let his fingers drift over number 237. Lord, no telling how many times he’d waited at this locker for a glimpse of Barbara’s shining hair in the throng.

He passed the 300 hall and nodded at a pair of teachers walking laps in the corridors, their white athletic shoes a sharp contrast to the professional attire they wore. At the end of the 500 hall, a glimpse of familiar blue fabric caught his eye and he paused, eyes narrowed at the scene before him.

At his open locker, Blake stood with two other boys, a year or so older, a little taller, slightly heavier. One of them talked, thumbs hooked in the back pockets of his worn jeans. Blake didn’t look at him, staring into the recesses of his locker, his jaw set. The other boy stood, arms crossed over his chest, his expression smug and calculated.

Blake’s fingers clutched the locker door in a white-knuckled grip. Tension tightened every line of his body. He looked wary, angry, resentful.

Cornered.

Protective instincts urged Del to go to his son. Intimate acquaintance with male pride bade him stay where he was. Instead, he adopted a relaxed pose and kept his voice casual when he spoke. “Blake, you about ready to go? Boy, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

All three boys turned startled faces in his direction. Frustration glinted in the eyes of the two older boys; relief showed plainly on Blake’s face for a moment before disappearing behind his sullen mask.

Blake shouldered his backpack and slammed the locker door. “That’s my dad. I gotta go.”

When Blake joined him at the corridor junction, Del rested a hand on his shoulder. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing.” Blake shrugged off the touch.

“You sure? Didn’t look like nothing.”

“Huh.”

“Have you been to your mom’s room yet?”

“No.”

Del resisted asking if he could formulate a complete sentence. “Come on, let’s check in with her before we go.”

The familiarity surrounded him again when he turned onto the 700 hall, the former D hall. Years ago, room 704 had been D-2, lair of the crustiest, most crotchety English teacher to ever draw breath in the state of Georgia, Mrs. Evelyn Adkins. She’d taught all four of the Calvert boys—adored Tick, tolerated Del, mourned Will and liked Chuck.

The elderly woman had loved and mentored Barbara, fostering her love of literature and words. When Del, lost in a fog of grief and guilt, failed the first semester of senior English, she’d arranged for Barbara to tutor him. He’d found salvation in the situation and ended up ruining Barbara’s life.

Mrs. Adkins had never forgiven him.

With all of that swirling in his mind and mingling with his concern for Blake, he pushed open the partially open classroom door, almost expecting to see Mrs. Adkins’s black-and-white posters of classic authors gracing the walls in precise rows. The color attacked him first, the bright turquoise paper on the bulletin boards, the gaily colored posters with grammar and classroom rules, signs labeling supply and conference areas. Desks arranged in groups sat like islands awaiting inhabitants. The sweet, spicy scent of Barbara’s favorite potpourri washed over him.

He glanced toward the back of the room, where he and Barbara had pulled desks together during his tutoring sessions seventeen years before. He’d stolen his first kiss with her under the sunshine spilling in through that tall, narrow window.

Her teacher’s desk sat near that same corner. Sunlight picked out the gold and platinum highlights in her blonde tresses, her head bent over the papers on her desk.

She wasn’t alone. A tall man, his rusty hair lit by the sun as well, leaned over her, a hand on the papers before her, a smile curving his mouth. His stance spoke of male interest. Raw, primal jealousy flooded Del’s chest.

“I don’t know.” Barbara laughed and tucked her long bangs behind her ear. Her silver teardrop earrings swung in a lazy arc. “I thought I entered them all correctly. Maybe I didn’t save them? I had this problem last grading period, too, remember?”

“Yeah, but it’s a small problem. You’re a great teacher, Barb. You’re a natural. And don’t let the technology scare you. Once you get the hang of it, getting grades done will take no time at all.”

“So why are all my averages off?”

“Because you didn’t weight the scores. See this column?”

The burn of jealousy scalding Del’s throat didn’t let up and Barbara’s pleased, genuine smile only made it worse. Blake dropped his bag on a student desktop with a bang, and both Barbara and the man looked up. Irritation flashed across his face at the interruption, and Del narrowed his eyes, meeting the other man’s gaze.

Blake slumped into another desk. Del didn’t move, staring at the guy hovering over his wife. Okay, soon-to-be ex-wife, but still
his
wife for the moment.

“You’re here. Del, this is Brian Rawlings, our journalism teacher.” Barbara rose, forcing Rawlings to move away. “Brian, Blake’s father, Del Calvert.”

Rawlings moved forward to shake Del’s hand. “Good to meet you.”

“You too.” Del tightened his grip a little more than he would for a business handshake.

“Blake.” Rawlings nodded toward the teenager, and Blake slumped lower. He thumped his thumb on the wood, eyes downcast.

Barbara closed the grade book and tossed it in her bag. “I’ll take a look at this and talk to you about it later, Brian.”

Clearly aware he was being dismissed and just as clearly unhappy about it, Rawlings nodded. “Sure.”

Barbara waited until Rawlings left to turn to Blake. “When an adult speaks to you, I expect you to respond in a respectful manner. Is that understood?”

“Yeah,” Blake mumbled, his gaze on his shoes.

Del nudged his shoulder. “Excuse me?”

Blake looked up, his jaw taut. “Yes, ma’am.”

“The girls will be waiting.” Barbara picked up a legal pad and a pen. “I have a department meeting, then tutoring until five-thirty. I should be home around six.”

Bet Rawlings would be in that department meeting too. “We’ll be there.”

Barbara glanced at him on her way to the door, her eyes cool. “Are you still staying for dinner?”

He nodded. “If you want me to.”

She cast a look at the back of Blake’s head. “It’ll give us a chance to talk.”

“Sounds good. Blake, you ready to go?”

“Does it matter?”

“Just get your stuff and come on.”

Del held the door for Barbara. The soft, subtle scent of her perfume teased his senses as she passed into the hallway. She looked up at him, unsmiling. “I’ll see you later then.”

“Yeah.” He stared at her, the memory of that almost-kiss flaring once more. The urge to tug her into his arms and brush his mouth against hers threatened to overwhelm him. Lord, he could
feel
the perfect fit of her curves against him, her softness fitting to the hard planes of his body. He shook himself back to reality. Those days were long gone. “Need me to pick up anything for you?”

“You know, that would be…” The words trailed away. She shook her head and glanced at her watch again. “No, thanks. I’ve got to go.”

Del watched her walk away, the loose capris caressing her thighs and hips with each step. A sharp twinge of arousal tugged at his lower abdomen before being swallowed in a wave of confusion. She couldn’t even let him do something as simple as pick up groceries she might need? She wanted to be that separate from him.

Beside him, Blake shifted his backpack to his other arm. “Are we going?”

“Yeah.” Del kept his gaze on Barbara until she disappeared around the corner. “We’re going.”

On the other side of the large storefront gym, Lyssa and two other girls about her age practiced their routines on the balance beams. Her slender limbs moved with easy grace, muscles flexing in fluid motions. On top of her head, a glossy brown ponytail bobbed with each turn and jump.

“Couple years and you’re gonna need a shotgun to keep the boys away from those two.”

Startled, Del glanced at Tick, standing just inside the glass doors next to the bleachers. Damn, he moved quiet. Their father had moved the same way. His brother was in his investigator’s uniform of khakis and department polo shirt, and Del’s gaze skittered over the 10mm handgun at Tick’s waist. His stomach pitched, and he swallowed. “Yeah, I know.”

Not that he would
ever
have a shotgun in the house with his children, or any gun, period. Too much could happen.

Tick leaned an elbow on the top seat, his gaze on Anna, now kicking a pad held by her instructor. “Actually, Anna could probably fend them off on her own.”

Del chuckled. “Looks awful fierce, doesn’t she?”

“She
is
awful fierce. My understanding is that one of Beau Ingler’s boys told her karate was for sissies after church Wednesday night, and your little girl showed him different. Put his nose in the dirt and hurt his pride.” Tick glanced at the other end of the stands, where Blake sat working on his geometry homework, headphones covering his ears, head bobbing. “Have any more luck there?”

“No. His stubborn streak is showing.” He’d tried talking to the boy, once on the drive between the high school and middle school and again while the girls changed for classes. Blake’s responses had been no more than terse grunts and monosyllables.

“Gee. Wonder where he gets that from.” Wry humor lurked in Tick’s weary voice.

“Runs in the family. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Just got off duty. Knew the girls would be here, thought I’d run across you.”

“You found me.”

Tick pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and tilted his head toward the door. “Want to step outside?”

Del pushed to his feet and followed him. “I thought you quit.”

“I did.” On the sidewalk, Tick tapped out a cigarette and lit it. “For about a week. Listen, I thought you’d want a heads-up. We had some incidents last night—a stolen mailbox, toilet paper in the youth minister’s yard, petroleum jelly on the pay phones downtown, that sort of thing. Kid stuff. No leads, but…”

“Yeah.” Del cast a dark look through the window at the back of Blake’s head. “I’ll try to talk to him again. Anyway, he’s grounded until further notice, so even if he was involved, he won’t be in the foreseeable future.”

“How are you going to ensure that? What’s to keep him from sneaking out again?”

Because I told him not to and he wants to live.
He swallowed the words. Tick’s even voice echoed the doubts that had circulated in Del’s mind since he’d laid down the restriction. He was in a damned-whatever-he-did situation—come down too hard and alienate the kid further, do too little and watch the kid sink. It didn’t help that these days he felt like a visitor in his son’s life.

He pushed his hair back from his forehead and shrugged. “I guess I’ll camp out on the couch at ho—” He cleared his throat. “…at Barbara’s for a few nights until he gets the message.”

One of Tick’s eyebrows angled upward, his expression one of supreme amusement. “Does Barbara know that yet?”

“No.”

“Can I be around when you tell her?”

“No.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m glad you get so much amusement out of my problems.” The words emerged on a snarl and Del cringed. Sweet Jesus help him, he sounded like Blake.

Tick stepped back, hands lifted in a gesture of surrender. “Sheesh, Del. I was kidding. Chill out, brother.”

“Do I make fun of your problems?”

Tick’s face closed, the polite mask of his law enforcement training slipping into place. “What problems?”

The ones that have you looking like a damn ghost.
“According to Tori, you’re nursing a broken heart.”

“And Tori watches too many of those flippin’ old romance movies.”

“So you’re not pining for someone, huh?”

“No.” With a savage twist of his wrist, Tick flicked his cigarette butt into a nearby ash can. “I’m not pining for anyone. Listen, I’ve got to go, but if you need any help with Blake—”

“I can handle it.”

Tick nodded, a shadow of disbelief in his eyes. “I’ll see you, then.”

“Later.”

He watched his brother walk back to the dusty pickup he’d driven for almost ten years. Tick’s normally fluid gate seemed jerky, the whole line of his body tight with a deep tension. Worry nagged at Del’s gut. Maybe Tick wasn’t pining, but one thing was for sure—his health wasn’t up to par.

Inside, he nudged Blake’s shoulder. Blake looked up and pushed the headphones back. “Sir?”

Del gestured toward the empty practice area. Girls gathered near the exit, greeting mothers and giggling in small excited groups. “Where are your sisters?”

“Getting dressed.” Pulling the headphones back into place, Blake nodded toward the locker rooms.

Ten minutes later, with no sign of Lyssa and Anna, Del sighed and moved toward the locker area. How long could it take to change? It wasn’t like they had several outfits to choose from. He resisted the teasing nostalgia pulling at him again. Barbara’s penchant for changing clothes two or three times before deciding on an outfit had driven him crazy more than once. If he’d given Blake a gene for stubbornness, Barbara had passed the slow-dressing gene to their girls.

The locker room possessed open doorways, with a concrete block divider to prevent those outside from seeing into the dressing area. Del paused at the water fountain on the outside wall.

“Anna, you saw it.” Lyssa’s excited voice, as hushed as she ever got, carried to him. “They were going to
kiss
.”

His heart sputtered like a gas-deprived engine. Lord, he hadn’t even
considered
the idea that the girls had seen the near-kiss he’d shared with Barbara. And it sounded like not only had Lyssa seen it, but she was putting together fantasies of Mama and Daddy together again.

“Lys, come on.” Anna’s voice emerged muffled for a second, as if through a T-shirt being pulled over her head. “They’re getting a divorce. You know, not married anymore. Not
in love
anymore.”

“You don’t know that. Mama says all the time that Daddy still loves us. He could still love her, too.”

An icy arrow pierced his heart and he leaned against the wall, head bent. Mama said
what
all the time? Sweet Jesus, had he left his children that insecure, that Barbara had to assure them of his love?

That’s a dumb-ass question, you stupid son of a bitch. You
left
them. What are they supposed to believe?

“He doesn’t love her, Lys. Not that way.”

His head lifted. Not love Barbara? Of course he still loved her. He’d never stopped. He just hadn’t been able to stay once he realized the way she really felt about him. Hadn’t she told him what a mistake marrying him had been? She didn’t want or need him anymore, and he tried not to think about what he’d had and lost. The cold loneliness tightened his lungs.

“What if they fell in love again?” Eternal hope lingered in Lyssa’s voice.

“And what if Blake stops being a jerk? Get real, Lys.”

“It could happen.”

“It could, but it won’t. Daddy’s happy in Atlanta. He likes it.”

“He’d be happier with us,” Lyssa insisted, her testy tone invaded by a hint of Calvert stubbornness.

“Give it up! He doesn’t want to be with us. If he did, he’d be here. All the time.”

The words rained down like heavyweight punches. His stomach clenched as though the blows were physical. Eyes closed, he rested his head against the wall. His daughter, his
baby
, thought he didn’t want her, didn’t love her mother, didn’t want any of them.

She couldn’t be more wrong. He wanted them all with a visceral hunger so deep he hurt. He wanted his life back.

What’s to keep him from sneaking out again?

If he did, he’d be here. All the time.

Then that’s what he’d do. He’d stay and begin winning back what he’d thrown away. He opened his eyes and stared across the gym at Blake, now reading a Steinbeck novel on the bleachers. Starting with keeping his son safe.

Maybe along the way, he could convince Barbara he wasn’t the worst mistake she’d ever made.

When she heard what he had in mind concerning Blake, though, she was going to throw a fit.

The girls tumbled out of the locker room, carrying gym bags and their backpacks. Anna didn’t meet his eyes; Lyssa stopped short and stared at him. “Daddy. How long—”

“I just walked over to find you.” He forced a smile, relieved when the tension drained from his daughter’s face. He draped an arm over her shoulder and hugged her to him. “Hungry?”

“Yeah!”

“Good.” He reached out to ruffle Anna’s hair, stopped, and touched her cheek instead. His chest tightened, squeezed by the same rush of love he’d felt when he’d first seen her, red and wrinkled and squalling. “Let’s surprise Mama. We’ll stop by the grocery store and have supper ready when she gets home.”