One of These Nights (9 page)

O
ver the past week, Jason had envisioned dozens of nightmare scenarios involving his mother's visit. Some part of him insisted that in imagining something awful happening, he was actually inoculating himself against it. If he could dream it up, it couldn't happen. So naturally, the one thing he hadn't considered was the thing lying in wait for him just as he hobbled out of the downstairs bedroom, freshly dressed with his hair still damp.

“Rosie,” he complained as his dog continued the spate of operatic barking she'd launched into while he'd been dressing. “One of these days your head's going to explode if you keep that up.” He figured she was probably losing it over a squirrel or something. Her intense hatred of squirrels was matched only by her loathing of the mailman, and she kept watch for both of them from her favorite perch—the back of his comfy reading chair, which backed up to one of the front windows.

He might even have adjusted it a little just so she could see better, though he regretted it often enough that he would never admit to having done it.

As soon as Jason moved into the great room, he could see that Rosie wasn't on the chair. She was standing in front of the door, barking with such ferocity that she bounced every few seconds, her tail wagging furiously. She turned her head once to look at him with an expression that clearly said,
Come on, slowpoke, can't you see I'm trying to tell you something?
That was when the doorbell rang.

“Christ,” Jason muttered, heading for the door. It had to be Zoe, even though she wasn't due for another hour. His heart lifted at the thought, which he immediately tried to mitigate by finding something irritating about it. He couldn't, though—which he guessed was irritating enough all on its own. If he ever let on that he was actually glad to see her, who knew what sort of hell would be unleashed.

Still, he found himself smiling like an idiot as he unlocked the door, murmuring at Rosie to cool it while she continued to try to bark their unseen visitor into submission. “Hey,” he said as he pulled the door open. “You're—”

His smile went tight, frozen in place when two pairs of eyes stared back at him, neither the color of a stormy sky.

“Surprise!” his mother cried, throwing her arms wide before glancing down uneasily at Rosie, who was very close to clawing a hole in the screen of the storm door. Her eyes flicked back up quickly, but he caught the glance, and his stomach sank.
Great. She still hates dogs. One more thing to look forward to.

“You're early,” he blurted out. He could tell immediately that he'd said the wrong thing. Her smile turned biting, and he sighed inwardly. “I'm glad you're here, Mom. Come on in.”

It wasn't enough to please her, but it seemed to be good enough for now.

“I'm so glad to be out of that car. Between the bumpy plane ride and Moira's driving, I was tempted to kiss the ground right here in your front yard.” She opened the door, his aunt Moira trailing in her wake carrying a pair of large suitcases and looking deeply annoyed. When she caught his eye, though, she rolled hers and offered a small smile, which he returned. His aunt had always been a sweetheart, though one unfortunately prone to be dominated by stronger personalities. She'd finally found someone worthy of her, though, since her loser ex-husband had taken off, and Jason had enjoyed seeing her finally relax into the kind of life he'd always wished for her.

It was why his temper quickly turned to a low boil when he saw that his mother, true to form, had opted to drag her little rolling carry-on and let her little sister do the heavy lifting. Since he was in no shape to be able to help, all he could do was try to shame his mother into helping, and she didn't shame easily. Actually, he wasn't sure she could be shamed at all.

“Wow, Aunt Moira, I thought Mom was the one who just ran an obstacle course race and a half marathon last month. You been working out?”

“Nope. Just naturally buff, obviously,” she replied, and he was glad to see the humor light pretty eyes the same green-hazel as her son's. His mother turned, looking exasperated, and let go of her carry-on's handle to put her hand on her hip, taking a swig from her ubiquitous water bottle before commenting.

“Oh, stop it, both of you. I've had a long day already. The guy in front of me on the plane reclined his seat the whole time, and the woman next to me was wearing enough perfume to gag a maggot.”

Since his nose was already full of whatever floral bomb she was currently favoring, he didn't think she had a lot of room to complain. He also made a mental note to pop a couple of aspirin before the headache set in.

“Well, you're here now,” Jason said, hoping he sounded happier about that than he was.

“Yes, I am! Here to take care of my poor baby boy.” She made a show of embracing him then, though he could feel the nervous tension running through her wiry frame. She wasn't a hugger, not really, but sometimes she tried when she felt the situation warranted it. Her touch filled him with the same uncomfortable mixture of love and bitterness that had come with her presence for at least as long as he'd been able to identify the feelings, and probably a lot longer.

He patted her back awkwardly, with one hand, and wished the two of them enjoyed each other as much as she and Tommy seemed to. But he wasn't Tommy, as he'd been continually reminded for most of his life.

His mother drew back, smiling at him, but her eyes were assessing, the way they always were. “So,” she began, and he knew where things were headed. For once, he'd done something that interested her. “When do I get to meet her?”

“Soon,” Jason said, glancing at the clock on the far wall. “She planned to be here when you got here.”

“Oh, that's sweet! I like her already!” Somehow, he doubted that, but a guy could hope. It was no charming surprise that she'd arrived earlier than planned, with no word. This, he knew, was about gaining the upper hand early. His stomach began to knot, and he tried to regulate his breathing, pushing back the anxiety that might tangle his tongue and provoke unwanted commentary from the woman who'd only reluctantly gotten him help for his childhood stuttering in the first place. He thought of Zoe with more than a hint of remorse and knew he was going to owe her big . . . if she ever spoke to him again after this.

She's tough. She can probably out-snob her,
Jason tried to tell himself. But all he could think of was the Chinese food, and the piece of chicken she didn't know he'd seen her slip to Rosie. And her smile—so new to him, and surprisingly open.

He stopped himself before his thoughts wandered any further in that direction. There was nothing that way but trouble, and he had enough of that on his hands already.

“Ah, do you want to stay for lunch, Aunt Moira?” he asked. She'd dumped the suitcases by the base of the stairs and stood looking around. Jake had filled her in on everything, he knew. And from the small smile playing on her lips, that “everything” included the thorough cleaning the house had gotten yesterday.

“No, that's okay, honey. I've got some things to do, and we'll all have dinner sometime this week, I'm sure.” She moved to give her sister a quick, perfunctory hug, and Jason had a stark reminder of the contrast between the two sisters. Moira was small and dark, with a quiet, classical prettiness that made her look years younger than she was. Molly was her opposite, tall and artificially blond, with a sturdier frame she took pains to keep whittled and a brashness that came through in every move she made. One had been an athlete, one a theater rat, and from the time they were young, newcomers to town rarely picked up on the fact that they were sisters until they were told, despite the matching last names. If they noticed Moira at all, that was.

Molly had been the star, Moira the shadow. That dynamic, Jason knew, was probably why he'd always felt an affinity for his aunt. His mother had done her damnedest to re-create that dynamic with him and his brother. He couldn't say it had been completely unsuccessful, but he also knew that one of the reasons he continued to frustrate her so much was that he'd simply refused to be put in the box she'd designated for him.

“Thanks, Aunt Moira,” he called after her as she left. She stooped briefly to ruffle the fur on Rosie's head, but where she normally would have lingered to fuss over her, she vanished out the front door with impressive speed. He couldn't blame her. Having escorted some of the company out, Rosie trotted back over to where Jason and his mother stood by the couch.

“Good girl,” Jason told her. She wagged her tail at him, panting happily.

“I don't know why you got such a little dog. They bite.”

“She doesn't bite,” Jason said firmly. “She just barks. And you see where the fur's just starting to grow back on one of her haunches? That's where somebody got her with a BB gun.”

“Oh. That's too bad,” she replied, turning and heading for the kitchen without so much as a glance at his dog. “Why didn't you get another golden retriever? You loved Max.”

He watched her fill up her water bottle, already tired of the conversation. For someone who professed to hate his ex, she sure talked about her a lot. Her, and the trappings of his former life. Poor Max. Taking him was the one thing Sara had done that Jason had found truly vindictive. The dog had always been more his than hers.

“I did, yeah. I just like dogs, Mom. Rosie qualifies.”

“Hmm. Well, I hope she behaves. I like goldens better.”

His eyes narrowed as she opened the fridge. “You didn't like them in the house.” One of his great pleasures as a kid had been letting Pongo and Perdy inside when she wasn't around, putting their paws on all the furniture that she wanted to keep immaculate. They'd seemed okay with their doghouses, and with the garage on the truly frigid days, but he'd always wanted them in where it was warm, where maybe one of them could have slept at the foot of his bed.

Well, now he had Rosie, who slept wherever she wanted on the bed and snored like a freight train. The thought of the sound carrying tonight made him happier than it should have.

“Oh, stop,” she said, waving her hand while she dug around. “Those dogs had good lives outside. Can you imagine what a mess the house would have been if we let them run around the indoors? We'd have had so much dirt, not to mention the ticks and fleas . . . did you get me my lemons? And what is all this Chinese food? Is this what your girlfriend is feeding you?”

“I haven't been doing a lot of running to the store,” he said flatly. “We can go out later. I'll have Zoe drive.”
Hopefully. If she hasn't run screaming out of here by then.
“We did takeout last night.”

“Well, you'll be eating better while I'm here,” she informed him, shutting the fridge. “I thought I'd take the three of us into town for lunch today. She and I can get acquainted, you can get some air . . . it'll be fun!”

She had the wild look in her eyes that brooked no argument, so Jason moved around to the front of the couch and sat. He barely had to pat the cushion beside him before Rosie appeared there, circling once before flopping down with a sigh as heavy as the one he wanted to heave. His mother chattered away at him while she got situated, moving her suitcases up into the loft bedroom he couldn't use right now, turning on the TV so she could keep half an eye on her daytime talk shows, and offering running commentary and critique on everything from the state of his house (acceptable, still too small) to his shorts (didn't he have something better than that to go out in?).

But to his surprise, he didn't feel like the rest of the day was completely hopeless. It was still weird to think of Zoe Watson as an ally, but it was true. She was probably headed this way by now. And given how he felt about that, Jason guessed the old adage must be true.

Misery really did love company.

*   *   *

Zoe was nothing if not punctual.

She pulled in at noon on the dot, silently patting herself on the back for getting there exactly when she'd meant to. “Like Gandalf,” she said quietly, and grinned. She felt a little ridiculous for the way her stomach began to flutter immediately at the sight of the house, which was still as quiet and cozy as a cabin in the woods ought to be. The trees surrounding it, just beginning to turn, were going to be gorgeous in fairly short order. This whole scene would be as pretty as a painting.

And she would be busy elsewhere, she told herself firmly. By then, Jason ought to be back to whatever kind of routine he had—yelling at clouds, frightening small children, whatever he did for fun—and she'd be busy with the gallery's fall schedule. Which was good, because they would have run out of things to talk about long before she was done here—she was sure of it. Even if last night had been sort of . . . surprising. The man could actually talk. Without saying anything antagonistic, even.

Maybe it had just seemed all right because his dog was so cute. The way things were going, she was a long while from being able to have a dog of her own, but Rosie was certainly selling her on the Pekingese breed. She was pampered and pretty, but she had some sass. It was a winning combination.

And she wasn't going to get to fuss over her if she just stayed in the car imagining the beings currently in the house instead of actually interacting with them.

Zoe stepped out of the car, smoothed her dress, and headed up onto the porch. Rosie's immediate barking made her smile. Jason had told her to just let herself in today. He sure didn't like getting around on those crutches, even if he seemed to be doing just fine on them.

She felt a little strange about just walking in like she owned the place, but knocking and waiting just to annoy him was, for once, the less appealing option. They had to function as some kind of unit today. Better to start off on the right foot. It wasn't like they wouldn't have plenty of opportunities to poke at each other later.