Natural Born Charmer (23 page)

Her head shot up like a mother lion sniffing the air for danger to her cub. “What?”

He sat on the top step and told her exactly what had happened. “I’m not trying to make excuses,” he said as he finished, “but Riley was screaming, and he was chasing her.”

She came out of her chair. “He’d never do anything to hurt her. I can’t believe you tackled him. You’re lucky he didn’t break your stupid neck.”

She was right. Although he stayed in shape so he could keep delivering the high-octane concerts that were his trademark, he was hardly a match for a thirty-one-year-old pro athlete. “That’s not all of it.” He rose from the step. “Afterward, Dean and I had a talk, or at least I talked. I hung out all my sins. Complete honesty. Needless to say, he was thrilled.”

“Leave him alone, Jack,” she said wearily. “He’s taken enough shit from both of us.”

“Yeah.” He glanced toward the door. “I’d rather not wake Riley. Is it okay if she sleeps here tonight?”

“Sure.” She turned away to go back inside, and he almost made it down the steps. Almost, but not quite. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?” he said, gazing back at her. “Don’t you want to know what it would be like for us now?”

Her hand stilled on the screen door handle. For a moment she didn’t say anything, but when she finally spoke, her voice was a ribbon of steel. “Not even a little bit.”

Riley couldn’t hear what April and her dad had been saying, but their voices had woken her up. She felt cozy lying in bed inside the cottage, knowing they were talking to each other. They’d made Dean together, so they must have loved each other sometime.

She scratched an itch on her calf with her big toe. She’d had so much fun today she’d forgotten to be sad. April had given her cool jobs to do, like looking for flowers to make a bouquet and getting drinks for the painters. This afternoon she’d gone on a bike ride with Dean. Pedaling on the gravel had been hard, but he hadn’t called her pokey or anything, and he’d said she had to throw the ball around with him tomorrow so he could get in some practice. Just thinking about it made her nervous, but excited, too. She missed Blue, but when she’d asked Dean about her, he’d started talking about something else. Riley hoped him and Blue weren’t breaking up. Her mom had always been breaking up.

She heard April moving around, so she pulled the sheet up to her chin and lay very still just in case April decided to check on her. Riley had already noticed that she did that kind of stuff.

As the next few days passed, Blue told herself it was a good thing Dean was staying away because she needed all her wits to deal with Nita. Still, she missed him badly. She wanted to believe he missed her just as much, but why should he? He’d gotten what he wanted.

A good old-fashioned case of loneliness settled over her. Nita decided she wanted to be in the portrait with Tango, but she also wanted Blue to paint her as she’d been, not as she was. This involved digging through a stack of scrapbooks and photo albums, with Nita’s crimson-tipped fingernail stabbing at one page after another, pointing out the flaws of everyone she’d been photographed with—a fellow dance
instructor, a slutty roommate, a long series of men who’d done her wrong.

“Do you like anybody?” Blue said in frustration on Saturday morning as they sat on the white velour living room couch surrounded by discarded photo albums.

Nita flicked the page with her gnarled finger. “I liked them all at the time. I was naive about human nature.”

Despite Blue’s frustration at not being able to get started on the painting, she found a certain fascination in seeing Nita’s life unfold from her teenage years growing up in Brooklyn during the war, to the oft-mentioned fifties and early sixties when she’d taught ballroom dancing. She’d had a short-lived marriage to an actor she labeled “a drinker,” sold cosmetics, worked as a model at trade shows, and been a hatcheck girl at various high-end New York restaurants.

In the early seventies, she’d met and married Marshall Garrison. Her wedding photograph showed a voluptuous platinum blonde with a beehive, heavy eye makeup, and pale frosted lips gazing adoringly at a distinguished-looking older man in a white suit. Her hips were slim, her legs long, her skin firm and unwrinkled, exactly the kind of woman who turned male heads.

“He thought I was thirty-two,” Nita said. “He was fifty himself, and I worked myself into a fit worrying what he’d do when he found out that I was really forty. But he was crazy about me, and he didn’t care.”

“You look so happy here. What happened?”

“I came to Garrison.”

Turning the album pages, Blue watched as Nita’s anxious-to-please smiles gradually turned to bitterness. “When was this taken?”

“Our Christmas party the second year we were married. When I’d lost the illusion that I could make everybody like me.”

The resentful expressions of the female guests showed exactly how they felt about the brash Brooklyn interloper in her big earrings and
too short skirt who’d stolen the town’s most important citizen. On another page, Blue studied a photo of Nita standing off by herself at someone’s backyard party, a tense smile plastered on her face. Blue flipped to a picture of Marshall. “Your husband was very handsome.”

“He knew it, too.”

“You didn’t even like
him
?”

“I thought he had a backbone when I married him.”

“You probably sucked it out of him while you were drinking his blood.”

Nita’s bottom lip curled, and she took a pull on her teeth, her favorite way of expressing disapproval. Blue had heard that unpleasant sucking sound more times than she could count.

“Get me my magnifier,” Nita demanded. “I want to see if Bertie Johnson’s mole shows up in this picture. The homeliest woman I’ve ever met, but she had the gall to criticize my clothes. She told everybody I was ostentatious. I fixed her.”

“Knife or gun?”

Suck. Suck. “When her husband lost his job, I hired her to clean my house. Mrs. High and Mighty didn’t like that at all, especially since I always made her do the toilets twice.”

Blue had no trouble imagining Nita lording it over the unfortunate Bertie Johnson. Nita had been doing exactly that to Blue for the past four days. She demanded homemade cookies, ordered Blue to clean up after Tango, and had even put her in charge of hiring a new cleaning lady—a daunting task, since nobody wanted to work for her. Blue snapped the album closed. “I’ve seen more than enough to start working. My sketches are finished, and if you’ll just leave me alone for a while this afternoon, I can get something done.”

Not only had Nita declared she wanted to be in the painting, but she’d also decided she wanted it done on a much grander scale, so she could hang it in the foyer. Blue had special-ordered the canvas and increased the price accordingly. She’d have more than enough money
to get started in a new city…if she could only get out of Garrison, something Nita was doing her best to prevent.

“How are you going to paint anything decent when you’re mooning over that football player all the time?”

“I am not.” Blue hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of him since she’d met him Tuesday on the street, and when she’d driven back to the farm to get her things, he’d been gone.

Nita reached for her cane. “Face it, Miss Big Talk. Your so-called engagement is over. A man like that wants a lot more in a woman than you’ve got.”

“As you keep reminding me.”

Nita regarded her smugly. “All you have to do is look in the mirror.”

“Are you ever going to die?”

Nita’s bottom lip curled, and she took a noisy tug on her front teeth. “He’s broken your heart, and you won’t admit it.”

“He hasn’t broken my heart. For your information, I use men. I don’t let them use me.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re a real Mata Harry, all right.”

Blue grabbed two of the albums. “I’m going up to my room so I can get to work. Don’t interrupt me.”

“You’re not going anywhere until you make my lunch. I want a grilled cheese sandwich. Use Velveeta, not that crap you bought.”

“It’s called cheddar.”

“I don’t like it.”

Blue sighed and headed for the kitchen. Just as she opened the refrigerator, she heard a knock at the back door. Her heart tripped. She hurried over and saw it was April and Riley. As glad as she was to see them, she couldn’t help but be just a little disappointed. “Come in. I’ve missed you.”

“We’ve missed you, too.” April patted her cheek. “Especially your cooking. We would have stopped by yesterday, but I got held up at the house.”

Blue hugged Riley. “You look beautiful.” Since Blue had seen her five days ago, Riley’s long, shapeless tangle had been replaced by a short, curly cut that showcased the oval of her face. Instead of her tight, too fussy clothes, she wore a pair of khaki shorts that fit her comfortably, along with a simple green top that showcased her eyes and complemented her olive skin, which had already lost its pasty look.

“Who’s there?” The old woman materialized in the kitchen doorway and took in April with a disparaging glare. “Who are you?”

Blue made a face. “Am I the only one who hears a cauldron boiling?”

April pulled in her smile. “I’m Dean Robillard’s housekeeper.”

“Blue is still mooning over your boss,” Nita said self-righteously. “He hasn’t come to see her once, but she won’t admit it’s finished.”

“I’m not mooning. I’m—”

“She lives in fairy-tale land that one, thinking Prince Charming is going to rescue her from her pathetic life.” Nita tugged on one of her three necklaces and zeroed in on the eleven-year-old. “What’s your name? Something odd.”

“Riley.”

“It sounds like a boy’s name.”

Before Blue could put Nita in her place, Riley said, “Maybe. But it’s a lot better than Trinity.”

“In your opinion. If I’d ever had a child, I would have named her Jennifer.” She pointed her cane toward the doorway. “Come into the living room with me. I need a fresh set of eyes to read my horoscope. Somebody else couldn’t be bothered.” She glared at Blue.

“Riley came to visit me,” Blue said, “and she’s staying right here.”

“You’re coddling her again.” She regarded Riley with disapproval. “She treats you like a baby.”

Riley looked down at her sandals. “Not exactly.”

“Well?” Nita said imperiously. “Are you coming with me or not?”

Riley nibbled on her lip. “I guess so.”

“Hold it.” Blue curled her arm around Riley’s shoulders. “You’re staying right here with me.”

To her shock, Riley edged away after only a moment’s hesitation. “I’m not afraid of her.”

Nita’s nostrils flared. “Why should you be afraid of me? I like children.”

“For
dinner,
” Blue retorted.

Nita sucked her teeth, then said to Riley, “Don’t just stand there.”

“Stop where you are,” Blue said as Riley began following Nita toward the living room. “You’re my guest, Riley, not hers.”

“I know, but I guess I have to go with her,” Riley said with a note of resignation.

Blue exchanged a look with April, who gave a nearly indiscernible nod. Blue planted a hand on her hip and pointed toward Nita. “I swear, if you say one mean thing to her, I’ll set your bed on fire after you fall asleep tonight. I mean it. Riley, you tell me what she says.”

Riley rubbed her arm nervously. “Uh…Okay.”

Nita pursed her lips at April. “Do you hear the way she talks to me? You’re a witness. If anything happens to me, call the police.” She gazed at Riley. “I hope you don’t spit when you read. I can’t stand that.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Speak up. And straighten those shoulders. You need to learn how to walk.”

Blue waited for the defeated look to come over Riley, but the eleven-year-old took a deep breath, pushed her shoulders back, and marched into the living room. “Don’t pay attention to anything she says,” Blue called after her. “She’s mean to the bone.”

The sucking finally faded.

Blue stared at April. “Why is she going with her?”

“She’s testing herself. Last night she took Puffy outside after dark
for an unnecessary walk, and this morning, when she saw a snake by the pond, she made herself walk around the edge so she could get a closer look at it, even though she was pale as a sheet.” She took the chair Blue indicated. “It’s frustrating. She had the guts to run away from Nashville—the story behind that will curl your hair—and she stood up to her father, but she sees herself as being afraid of everything.”

“She’s a great kid.” Blue peered into the living room to reassure herself that Riley was still alive, then pulled the cookie tin out of the cupboard and carried it over to the kitchen table.

“How can you stand living with that woman?” April took one of the homemade sugar cookies Blue offered.

“I’m pretty adaptable.” Blue grabbed a cookie herself and sat down in the gilded chair across the table from April. “Riley’s an amazing kid.”

“I suspect Dean’s the reason behind all this testing she’s doing. I overheard him talking to her about mental toughness.”

A golden-haired elephant had wandered into the kitchen. “He’s finally acknowledged her?”

April nodded and filled Blue in on what had happened last Tuesday night, the same night Dean had shown up in the caravan and they’d made love. Blue knew he’d been in pain, and now she understood what had caused it. She broke off the edge of her cookie and changed the subject. “How are things going at the house?”

April stretched her catlike body. “The painters finished up, and the furniture is beginning to arrive. But the guys who are supposed to be building the screen porch picked up another job during Nita’s boycott and can’t come back for two weeks. Believe it or not, Jack’s taken over. He started framing the porch on Wednesday.”

“Jack?”

“Whenever he needs an extra set of hands, he barks at Dean to come help him. Today they worked all afternoon and barely said a word to each other.” She reached for a second cookie and moaned.

“God, these are good. I don’t know what you and Dean are fighting about, but I wish you’d make up so you could come back and cook. Riley and I are getting tired of cereal and sandwiches.”