Once in a Blue Moon (27 page)

Lindsay wavered for an instant but remained firm. “But that’s exactly what he did—he lied to me.”

“Lindsay has a point,” Kerrie Ann put in.

“Thank you.” Lindsay cast her a grateful look.

“All I’m saying is, don’t rush to judgment,” advised Miss Honi. “Remember, innocent until proven guilty.”

“That’s only in court,” Lindsay said. “And even if he wasn’t in on it, why didn’t he tell me who his father was?” She recalled that he’d been on the verge of telling her when Lloyd showed up, but she dismissed it as a case of too little, too late. “All that time I was going on and on about the evil Lloyd Heywood, he never said a word. Not one word. If it wasn’t an outright lie, it was still dishonest.”

“You of all people should know what it’s like to want nothing to do with your kin,” Miss Honi said darkly.

Her words gave Lindsay pause. It was true that she’d wanted nothing to do with Crystal; she’d refused to even write to her in prison. But she’d never purposely misled anyone about her mother. And Randall hadn’t just misled her; he’d led her to believe that he cared about her, which made it worse. She felt doubly betrayed. How could she ever forgive that?

“Does she know you’re my son?” Randall’s father had asked earlier when they’d met for breakfast at his hotel.

They’d been sitting out on the bay-view terrace. The morning sun was breaking through the fog, and though it was still quite chilly out—chilly enough for the other hotel guests to opt for the glassed-in breakfast area fronting the terrace—the older man seemed perfectly comfortable outdoors in his lightweight slacks and linen blazer as he sat sipping coffee and nibbling on a Danish. He might have been on his way to a summer polo match. Randall, in contrast, felt chilled in his much warmer fleece-lined jacket and chinos.

“No—I’ve been waiting for the right moment to break it to her.” Randall frowned into his coffee cup, which he cradled in both hands, more for warmth than anything else.

“I wouldn’t wait much longer if I were you,” Lloyd advised. “You wouldn’t want her to hear it from someone else.”

Randall didn’t respond. He’d learned early in life to hold his cards close to his vest when dealing with his father. Starting in high school, when he’d phoned his dad with the exciting news that he’d gotten into Princeton. Lloyd had used it as an exercise in “character-building,” agreeing to foot the bill
only
if Randall would work for him during the summers. Since Randall’s mom and stepdad hadn’t had that kind of money, he’d had no choice but to go along.

Meanwhile, Lloyd’s two children with his second wife had never wanted for a thing.

Not that Randall was bitter. If character-building had really been his father’s intention, that much had been achieved. After graduating from college, Randall had headed for the one place where he was likely to make a killing and thus beat the old man at his own game. In the end, though, Wall Street had come close to killing him, soul-wise. However much money he made, it was never enough. He became like the people he worked with: an eye always on the main chance, devoid of a life outside the Street. Getting off the phone one day after having persuaded a client to buy shares of an iffy stock his company was aggressively pushing, he realized to his disgust that he hadn’t just beaten his father at his own game; he’d
become
his dad. He’d walked away from it then: the seven-figure income, the chic duplex in TriBeCa, the three-thousand-dollar Alan Flusser suits, the never-ending supply of women lured by the scent of money. There were those who’d probably seen it as a good move in a youth-driven business where anyone over the age of forty was considered past his or her prime—Randall was pushing forty by then—but for him it had been the only move.

But the old man was right about one thing: He
should
have told Lindsay the truth long before now. He was castigating himself even as he replied, “Who would she hear it from? I haven’t even told my publisher. The only people besides Mom and Anthony who know I’m related to you are the people I grew up with.” He’d taken his mother’s maiden name, Craig, when he’d come of age. “Oh, and your family, of course. But since I’m not even on their radar screen, I doubt they’d much care.” Randall couldn’t resist the dig at his father’s much younger wife and their children—a half-brother and half-sister who were all but strangers. In newspaper and magazine articles about his father, Randall, if he was mentioned at all, was referred to in passing as “an older son from an earlier marriage.”

“Nonsense. Vicky is always saying she wishes you’d visit more often,” Lloyd corrected, popping the last bite of Danish into his mouth and brushing the crumbs from the front of his jacket. “You really should, you know. Now that Brett and Tamara are away at college, the house seems a bit empty with just the two of us. We’d love the company.” His father and his second wife had a spread in Woodside, just south of San Francisco, but Randall could count on one hand the number of times he’d been invited there in recent years.

“Right. Well, I’ll have to see what I can do. I’m pretty busy these days.” Where there was now apparently a welcome mat, he’d met with only excuses growing up. Scheduled visits that were put off time and again, due to some urgent matter of business his father had to attend to, or a crisis with one of the “children.” As if he’d been a distant relation toward whom they’d felt only a vague sense of duty. For Lloyd and his wife, he’d been a bothersome reminder of Lloyd’s first marriage, and for Brett and Tamara, a brother so much older that he was more a curiosity than anything. Now, all these years later, he was expected to feel like a part of the family? It was all Randall could do not to laugh.

“Why don’t you give Vicky a call and we’ll see if we can’t set something up?” His father wasn’t going to take no for an answer. But wasn’t that just like him? Railroading those around him by sheer force of personality. It must just kill him, Randall thought, that Lindsay had proved so resistant. He started a bit, as if his father had read his mind, when Lloyd went on, “Oh, and bring your girlfriend. It’ll give us all a chance to get to know one another. Clear the air, so to speak. I’m afraid we got off to rather a bad start.”

Randall was quick to scotch the idea. “Not going to happen—she’d never go for it.” He replaced his cup in its saucer so abruptly that some of its contents spilled over and made a show of consulting his watch. “Look, I should get going. I’m running late as it is.”

He started to get up, but his father’s hand clamped over his wrist. “Sit down, son.” Blue eyes that were mirror images of his own blazed from the old man’s seamed but still handsome face. “If you weren’t so goddamn stubborn, you’d see that what I’m proposing is in your best interests, too.”

Randall eyed him coolly. “Frankly, Dad, I’ve never known you to care about anyone’s interests but your own.”

“Despise me all you like,” said the old man, “but don’t cut off your nose to spite your face. Think, Randall. What’s her reaction going to be when you tell her? She’ll imagine you’re part of some sort of conspiracy. And why wouldn’t she think that?” He let go of Randall’s wrist and sat back, his gaze remaining locked on his son’s. “But what if I weren’t the enemy? If you were to bring her home to meet the family, have her to get to know us and see that I’m not such an ogre after all, then I’m certain we could work something out.” Lloyd’s blue eyes bored into him. “I’m not the enemy, son. And even if that’s how you see me, if we could work together on this, it would serve both our purposes.”

“You know what, Dad, why don’t I ask her?” Randall replied in a voice thick with sarcasm. “I’m on my way over there now. I’ll just casually lay it on her that you’re my dad and see how she’d feel about a fun weekend in Woodside, getting to know the folks.”

Something sparked in his father’s eyes: a gleam of triumph. Randall would have recognized it for what it was if his mind hadn’t been so clouded by anger and forty years of bad blood.

Now, as he drove away from Lindsay’s, Randall saw everything with a cold, clear eye. He replayed his father’s words in his head:
If we could work together on this, it would serve both our purposes
. Lloyd wanted Lindsay’s land. And Randall wanted Lindsay. Both would use any means necessary to achieve their goal. In that sense, they were indeed father and son.

At the first stoplight, Randall punched in a number on his cell phone. A girlish-sounding voice picked up on the third ring. “Victoria? Hi, it’s Randall. Yeah, I know, it’s been a while.” He gazed up at the traffic light that had just gone from red to green. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I was wondering when you and Dad might have a free weekend. . .”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

A
LL DAY
O
LLIE HAD BEEN ANGLING
, without success, for a moment alone with Kerrie Ann. Business at the book café had picked up over the past week with the arrival of the latest installment in the popular Dragon Hunters series—the author of which was being called the next J. K. Rowling—and everyone working in the store had been crazed, especially after Lindsay had advertised that a limited number of signed copies was available. Teens and tweeners accompanied by parents had been streaming in and out all day. As a result, the café was thronged, and Ollie’s dragon-themed cookies and cupcakes were disappearing as fast as he could stock the case. It wasn’t just the kids, either; he and Kerrie Ann had been working double-time to keep all those flagging parents supplied with caffeine.

The timing couldn’t be worse, but he’d made up his mind: Today was the day he was going to find out what, if anything, was going on between Kerrie Ann and her ex-boyfriend. Ever since Jeremiah had arrived on the scene, she’d been making herself scarce; these days Ollie almost never saw her outside work. He’d taken her at her word when she’d told him Jeremiah was here only because of their daughter. Still, Ollie couldn’t help noticing how, whenever Jeremiah called, Kerrie Ann went off into some corner where she could talk in private, and how lately, whenever she spoke of her custody battle, it was in terms of “we,” not “I.” Was Kerrie Ann being influenced by the fact that, overnight, Jeremiah had become a big hero to Bella? (Never mind the fact that he’d been a no-show for most of her life.) Was she buying into the notion that they could be a family again? Ollie hoped he was making too much of what might be an innocent situation, but at the same time he felt a sense of urgency: If he didn’t stake his claim, sooner rather than later, he might never get the chance.

The day they’d made love was engraved in Ollie’s memory—every tiny detail of that experience, down to the chipped polish on Kerrie Ann’s toes and her belly-button ring with the turquoise stone that matched her eyes—but the following day at work, she’d acted as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Had she filed it away under “casual encounter,” or was she merely waiting for the dust to settle, with her legal situation and with Lindsay, before declaring her true feelings for him? He prayed it was the latter.

“Need a hand with that?”

Ollie, roused from his thoughts, looked up at Kerrie Ann, who stood at his elbow eyeing him quizzically.

“No, I’m fine. Just lost track for a second there,” he said as he slid four cupcakes onto a plate. “If it gets any more crowded in here, the fire department is gonna shut us down. Who knew dragons would be the next coolest thing to iPods?” He replaced a candy corn that had fallen off a cupcake—one of the dragon’s fangs—before passing the order to the customer at the end of the line, a harassed-looking mother with four children in tow.

“Why don’t you take a break? I can manage on my own for ten minutes,” Kerrie Ann told him, raising her voice to be heard above the hissing of the espresso machine as she expertly manipulated its levers.

“No, I’m good.” Ollie flashed her what he hoped was a nonchalant grin. “But I could go for some pizza later on, after we get off work. What do you say? My treat.” Kerrie Ann’s gaze cut away, and he immediately kicked himself. Was it too obvious a ploy?

But she only said, “Sure. Whatever.”

He wasn’t sure if she’d remember, but when six o’clock rolled around, it was she who said, as they were locking up, “What about the Flying Pie? Their pizza’s good, and it’s usually not a long wait.”

“Fine by me.” Ollie tried to act casual, even though his heart was racing.

“Good, because I’m starved.”

They called out their good-byes to Lindsay and Miss Honi and within minutes were rattling along Shore Drive in Ollie’s Willys. The Flying Pie pizzeria was in a strip mall, where the turnoff for downtown intersected with the feeder road for Highway 1. When they arrived, they settled into a booth in back. Looking across the table at Kerrie Ann, Ollie felt his spirits rise.
Alone at last
, he thought. He broke into an involuntary grin.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, his grin widening.

“Then why do you look like you just won the Daily Scratch jackpot?”

“I’m in a good mood is all.”

“After the day we just put in? If you weren’t such a straight arrow, I’d say you were on something.”

“Chocolate and caffeine. I must’ve inhaled enough fumes to have me flying high the rest of the week.”

She laughed. “You’re such a dork.” She said it with affection, though.

“Wanna split a large?” he asked after they’d perused the menu.

“Yeah, sure,” she replied distractedly.

“Pepperoni with mushroom, right?” Ollie had made a mental note of her preferred toppings when they’d had pizza delivered to the book café, the evening the two of them and Lindsay had worked late setting up the Dragon Hunters display.

“You remembered.” She looked pleased.

He shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Me? I’m an anchovy man. It’s in my DNA. If you’re an Oliveira and you don’t like seafood, you might as well join the circus.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Don’t you hate it when those little bones get stuck between your teeth?”

He mock-shuddered. “Worse than spilling Coke on the remote control.”

She laughed again, and this time she looked at him—
really
looked at him—for the first time in days. “You’re a funny guy, Ollie. I’m surprised some smart girl hasn’t sewed you up by now.”

His heart sank. What was
that
supposed to mean?

“He walks, he talks, he’ll even bake you cake,” Ollie quipped. His smile felt like something caught in freeze-frame. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had his share of girlfriends. He had women who came on to him at work, too. But he couldn’t imagine being with any of them. For him, there was only Kerrie Ann. She was so beautiful—even more so lately, as if her beauty had been a neglected plant that, with a little care, had started to bloom. Taking in her glowing eyes and skin, her hair, restored to its natural color, falling in soft waves about her shoulders, he dared to wonder if he’d had a small role in bringing that about. And if not him, who? Jeremiah?

When their pizza arrived at the table, still bubbling, Kerrie Ann dove in as if she hadn’t eaten in a week. Ollie’s appetite, however, had waned.

“What’s the matter?” she asked when she noticed he was only picking at his slice.

“Nothing.” He shrugged, pushing aside his plate. “Long day. Guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

“Okaaaay.” Obviously she wasn’t buying it. He watched, mesmerized, as she caught a strand of cheese hanging off the slice in her hand and twirled it around her finger before popping it into her mouth. It was strangely sexy, and Ollie felt a stirring in his groin.

“Kerrie Ann . . .” He leaned—no, lurched—across the table to take hold of her free hand, nearly knocking over her Diet Pepsi in the process. “There’s something I need to know. Are you . . . is there? . . .”

She caught his drift, and before he could choke out the rest of the sentence, her hand slid slowly from his, like water through clenched fingers. She shook her head. “I want you to know, Ollie, I think you’re an amazing guy,” she said gently. “And that day at the house? I’ll always remember it as something really special.” Perhaps moved by the look of desperation he wore, she spared him further agony by cutting to the chase. “Look, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it: Jeremiah and me . . . we’re back together.” She eyed him with compassion. “I’m sorry, Ollie. I would have told you sooner, but I wasn’t sure myself where it was going.”

Ollie had to swallow several times before he finally found his voice, a voice that turned out not to be his after all but that of someone making odd croaking sounds. “So what’s the story? I kind of got the impression he wasn’t too high on your mistletoe list. I mean, he cut out on you and Bella, didn’t he? What kind of guy does that?” he asked bitterly.

She gave him a look that cut him worse than anything: It was the look you might give an old dog you were putting to sleep. “We were together a long time,” she said by way of an explanation. “It got bad at the end, yeah, but that was just the drugs. Jeremiah’s really a good guy. I can’t explain it, but it feels right.”

Ollie swallowed again. “So you’re . . . it’s serious?”

She nodded, dropping her gaze as if she couldn’t bear to see the anguish in his. “He found a place here in town. A job, too—on a construction crew. He wants me to move in with him.”

So soon! It was a moment before he could choke out, “What about Bella?”

“My daughter comes first. I’m not making a move unless the judge okays it.” He could see from the look on her face that this was one area in which she wouldn’t compromise. “But the important thing is, she’ll have a mom
and
a dad, which will look good in court. In fact, things are looking up already. My lawyer just called, and guess what? The judge is letting Bella come for an overnight visit. This weekend. It’s all arranged.”

“But I thought. . .”

“I know. Me, too. But apparently Abel convinced him to try it on a—” She frowned, as if struggling to recall the words.

“Provisional basis?” Ollie supplied.

“Yeah, that’s it. Kind of like probation. I guess he could see that I’m trying. You know, like with my anger management course and everything.”

“How’s that going?” he asked in a dull voice.

“Not bad. The instructor’s a cool guy. He has us do exercises and stuff, like acting out different scenarios, so we’ll know how to handle it when it’s for real. I only lost my temper once.”

Ollie gave her a smile that felt as if it were held in place with toothpicks. “Well, that’s progress, I guess. And hey, that’s great news about your little girl. You must be thrilled.”

She nodded, her eyes shining, and he could see that she was struggling for his sake to contain her happiness. “It’s just a small step, but at least we’re moving in the right direction. And if it goes well, my lawyer thinks there’s a good chance it could become a regular thing. We’ll see.” She gnawed on a thumbnail, the worry creeping back in. So much was still up in the air.

“I’m sure it’ll all work out,” he reassured her, as he had so often in the past.

She eyed him with gratitude. “I meant what I said, Ollie. You’re an amazing guy.”

You got that right—amazingly stupid
, he thought. But all he said was, “Better watch out. If you keep telling me that, I might start to believe it.”

“You should. Any girl would be lucky to have you.”

Any girl except you
. It was all he could do to sit there chatting with her like it was no big deal that she was breaking up with him. No, this didn’t even qualify as a breakup, he thought, since they had never really been a couple to begin with. Just friends with benefits. “We should get going,” he said as soon as she was done eating. “Unless dragons go out of style overnight, I have about a million more cupcakes to bake.”

“As long as there are knights in shining armor, I don’t see dragons going out of style,” Kerrie Ann said lightly as she slid out of the booth.

“You sure you know what you’re doing, sugar?”

Miss Honi and Kerrie Ann were in the kitchen cleaning up, Miss Honi washing while Kerrie Ann dried. “’Course not. When do I ever know what I’m doing?” Kerrie Ann joked. At the older woman’s look of concern, she added in a more serious tone, “Relax; I’m a big girl. And Jeremiah’s behaving himself. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Whenever I’m told not to worry, that’s when I worry.” Miss Honi reached up with a soapy hand to pat Kerrie Ann’s arm. “I don’t mean to ride you, hon. I got nothing against the boy—he’s likable enough. And there oughta be a law against any fella that looks that good in a pair of jeans. But you know what they say: Two people in a shaky lifeboat is twice the chance of getting sunk. I’m just worried you’re in for a dunking, that’s all.”