Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4) (4 page)

     “You sure?”

     “Yes, yes. Let’s go or we’ll be late.”

     Nicole slipped one arm around her mother’s waist and held on to her other hand as they walked toward the Cherokee. Her mom was definitely experiencing enough discomfort to make walking difficult.

     “You sure you still want to go to church? Maybe we should go back in the house and let you rest.”

     “Oh, no. This is Mother’s Day. I wouldn’t dream of missing.”

     With difficulty she managed the high step up into the Cherokee. But by the time they arrived at Hope Evangelical Covenant Church, her mother was able to walk in unaided.

     It was the church Nicole had grown up in, and there were still members who recognized her and made a to-do over Becky and Nathan and how much they’d grown since the last time they’d attended. Everyone was given a carnation when they came into the service.

     “I want a white one like Grammy,” whispered Becky.

     “No. White is if your mother has died.” Nicole hid a little smile. “The red ones are for everyone whose mother is still living.” She winked at Becky. “Guess what, I’m still here.”

     Most of the service honored motherhood, including the hymn, “Faith of Our Mothers,” which Nicole knew was just a knockoff of “Faith of Our Fathers.” Why didn’t mothers get a hymn of their own?

     Maggiano’s was crowded with Mother’s Day celebrants, and even with reservations they had to wait a while to be served. Once the food arrived, Nicole’s mother took her sweet time enjoying her salad and pasta, but the kids were antsy, so Nicole was relieved when they finally got back to her mother’s house and sent the kids outside to play in the yard. Nicole insisted her mother sit down and rest her ankle.

     “It’s all right, Nicole. It hardly even hurts anymore. Want some coffee?”

     “No, I’m fine. Please, I want you to sit down because I . . . I need to talk to you.”

     Frida Lillquist gave her a look, but obediently settled into her threadbare wingback rocker. “So, what’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

     “Well . . .” Nicole wasn’t really sure how to begin, but she was already committed. “It’s . . . well, I never really understood why you and Daddy separated.”

     Her mother’s eyes widened in surprise. “Hmm . . .” She chewed her lip thoughtfully. “We never really talked about it, I suppose, because your daddy and I promised each other we wouldn’t bad-mouth the other one to you. And we didn’t, at least as far as I know.”

     “But Daddy’s been dead for years, and I still don’t know.”

     Her mother was quiet for a while, then finally spoke in a voice so soft Nicole could hardly hear. “Turned out there was another woman. I didn’t know about it for years, though I sensed something had changed between us. One day when your father was supposed to be on a business trip in Toledo, he had a car accident right here in Oak Park at two in the morning. His secretary was with him. They were both injured, though not seriously, but bad enough to be taken to the hospital, and I got a call from the police.”

     Nicole’s heart was pounding, aghast at the story. “But maybe it wasn’t what it looked like.”

     “That’s what I hoped, too, all the way to the hospital.” Her mother’s voice sounded distant, as though she were retracing steps down an old path. “But he was supposed to be in Toledo, and when the nurse mentioned the woman they’d brought in with him, I peeked into her room and saw for sure who she was. I was devastated, of course. Still didn’t want to believe it, but when Eric came home the next day, I confronted him, and he admitted it.”

     Nicole felt as if someone had kicked her in the stomach. Gulping air, she asked, “So did you kick him out? Were you the one who divorced him?”

     “Not exactly, but when he said he couldn’t promise to break it off and not see her again, I said I couldn’t cover for him. We finally compromised . . . for your sake—you were a teenager by then—and he left with the understanding that we wouldn’t tell you until you were older.” She shrugged. “You loved him so much, I just never had the heart to tell you even when you were grown.”

     Nicole sagged in her chair. “I . . . I can hardly believe it.”

     “I know, dear.” Wincing, her mother got up stiffly from the rocker and came over to Nicole. Arms around each other, tears flowed for both of them.

     A thousand questions tumbled in Nicole’s mind, but she couldn’t verbalize even one of them.

* * * *

By the time Greg had arrived at Waukegan Harbor midmorning on Friday, advance people for some of the dealers and exhibitors were already there, checking out facilities and locations, making sure there were no permits still pending. Their enthusiasm always got Greg’s blood pumping. This was his world, and troubles on the home front would just have to sort themselves out.

     The ultralight people had not only come, they’d already contacted the Zion Nuclear Power Station to confirm they had plenty of space for their little flights without approaching the two-mile, no-fly zone. Things were falling into place, but he still had a thousand details to attend to before heading home Sunday.

     By the end of the weekend when he’d finally returned the rental car and Enterprise dropped him off at the house, it was almost time for the kids to be in bed. Nicole took the flowers he’d picked up in the floral section at the grocery store and arranged them in a vase. “Thanks, Greg. They’re nice,” she murmured. “Yeah, we had a nice time,” she added simply, when he asked about her Mother’s Day lunch with Mom Lillquist. She didn’t bring up his Mother’s Day truancy.

     He left early the next morning, taking the Cherokee this time, to make sure he was on site before Hastings arrived.

     When the boss climbed out of his Lexus at noon, he stood with his feet planted apart, hands on hips, gazing at the flatbed truck with the ultralight on it. “Aren’t they gonna set it up?” he groused when Greg hustled over.

     “Oh yeah, sure. The woman who drove the truck said it’ll take them only a couple hours to have it ready to fly. They’ll set it up early in the morning.”

     Hastings looked up at the overcast sky and frowned. “Hope this weather doesn’t put a damper on our show.”

     Greg tried to keep his voice upbeat. “Yeah, might be some scattered showers tomorrow morning, but it’s supposed to warm up later this week.”

     By Tuesday afternoon, the drizzle had stopped and the wind calmed down enough for the ultralight to take several flights, which kept many visitors interested. Greg started to feel relieved—he’d pulled the show out of the drink. That evening when he called home, Nicole asked how the show was going, no edge in her voice. Maybe absence did make the heart grow fonder. But he could tell she still wasn’t her usual bubbly self. As the week progressed, he made sure he called each evening, and when the conversation started to lag, he asked to speak to the kids.

     Those conversations were always fun, both kids competing to tell him what they’d been doing in school that day. “Hey, Dad! I’m doin’ a project ’bout polar bears! Mom says we can go to the zoo so I can take pictures of a real polar bear!” . . . “Yeah, but polar bears eat baby seals. When we go to the zoo, I’m gonna take pictures of the seals.”

     But on Thursday evening, Becky asked, “Are you coming home tomorrow, Daddy? Mommy said you might.”

     “Hope so, sweet pea. The show’s over tomorrow afternoon. Boss said I might be able to leave and let some of the other guys break it down and do the cleanup.”

     “Well, okay. ’Cause that means you’ll be here for Saturday. We’re having a party.”

     “A party! What kind of a party?”

     “A welcome home party—”

     “For me?”

     His daughter giggled. “Well, yeah, we can do that first. But we got invited to a neighborhood party. It’s for the old lady who used to live across the street.”

     “Not ‘old lady,’” Greg heard Nicole say in the background. “Her name’s Mrs. Krakowski.”

     “Yeah, Mrs. Krow’ski. Everybody’s coming. I want you to come too.”

     Greg had no idea what Becky was talking about, but he said, “Becky, you can be sure, if I’m home, I’ll go with you to the party.” But he’d no sooner hung up than he wished he’d added, “If Mommy says it’s okay.” Should’ve checked with Nicole to find out what her plans were. Didn’t want any more conflicts. He faced enough fence mending as it was.

     He really did want to get home as soon as possible, but he had no idea what else he could or should say about Mother’s Day. On the other hand, he’d learned the hard way that remaining silent about unfinished business seldom worked with Nicole. Maybe it didn’t work with any woman, though it’s what he would’ve done if he’d had a tiff with his brother or his dad back in the day. With guys, if they both left it alone, things usually blew over and got back to normal.

     It was late by the time he fell into bed in his cheap hotel room, but he had a hard time falling asleep. Greg could understand Nicole being upset at his being away over Mother’s Day, but there seemed to be more to it than that. Why hadn’t their mini-vacation done more to calm the waters? He thought it was what she’d been asking for, but somehow, they were still missing each other lately, and he couldn’t figure out why.

* * * *

Two Powersports people got sick Friday afternoon—Greg suspected food poisoning from the taco vendor next to their management booth—and Hastings told Greg he needed him to help shut down. When Greg protested, his boss snorted. “Hey, man, whaddaya got to complain about. I probably won’t get home till Sunday night.”

     Hastings finally let him go Saturday afternoon.

     Greg had no idea when the party Becky wanted him to attend that evening was supposed to start, but an accident on I-94 turned the southbound lanes into a parking lot.

     As a result, the sun was nearly setting by the time he got home, and he was met at the door by two bouncing kids screaming, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” while their puffy eyes and red noses betrayed that they’d been crying. He pushed his way into the house and dropped his bag as both kids pulled on his arms.

     Nicole came out of the kitchen with The Look hardening her features. “They thought you’d forgotten.” Before he could think what to say, she added, “Well, did you?”

     “Of course not. Didn’t get away till nearly four and hit bad traffic—probably an accident.” He gritted his teeth. What else could he say? She obviously thought he was responsible for these recent disappointments. But not wanting to make matters worse, he smiled to cheer things up. “But I made it.” He dropped to one knee and gave both kids a big hug and smooch, launching them into the “wiggle giggles,” as he called them.

     Becky tugged on his arm. “Come on, Daddy. The party’s about to start.”

     He looked up at Nicole. “Can you fill me in on this? What’s it about?”

     She shrugged. “Something to do with Mrs. Krakowski, you know, the elderly lady who used to live in the two-flat up the street. Mrs. Bentley—the people who bought her house—came by and invited us the other day. Said Mrs. Krakowski was returning to live in their first-floor apartment, and they thought it would be nice if everyone turned out for a yard party to welcome her home.”

     He decided not to say he barely knew the woman. “What time?”

     “She said eight o’clock.”

     Greg looked at the clock on the fireplace mantel across the living room. “Guess we better get goin’, eh, kids?” He eyed Nicole. “You coming?”

     She waved dismissively. “Go ahead. I’m not quite ready.”

     “You look okay.”

     “I still need a few minutes, but I’ll be along in a bit. Oh, we saved some supper for you. You can have it when you get back.”

     Food. He was suddenly famished. “We supposed to bring anything?”

     She shrugged. “Didn’t say. Bentleys are the ones who brought around those cinnamon rolls when they first moved in. She’ll probably provide some snacks.”

     Greg wished Nicole was coming now. He didn’t know that many of the neighbors. Maybe she did, could introduce him if he forgot a name. Wasn’t like her to miss something like this. “Uh, kids. Give me a minute to change into some jeans and a T-shirt.” But Nicole still wasn’t ready by the time he and the kids headed out the door.

     Across the street and a couple of doors north, twenty or more people milled around on the front lawn of the graystone two-flat. Homemade luminaries—tea candles inside paper bags weighted down with sand—lined the walk up to the door, giving the yard a festive atmosphere. As he joined the group, Greg recognized most of the neighbors, though he couldn’t name many. He nodded at the guy who drove the big pickup with “Farid’s Lawn Service” painted on the door. His wife was with him, head and shoulders shrouded in a pale headscarf. Muslims probably. Estelle Bentley, dressed in a loose African-print caftan, was trying to keep the kids from kicking over the luminaries as they chased one other across the yards in some game of tag.

     Greg took in the sight with a smug feeling of satisfaction. It really was a great neighborhood, pretty safe for kids to run and play since Beecham dead-ended. And it was like a mini-United Nations—black, white, mixed, Hispanic, Middle Eastern, even an Orthodox Jewish family on his end of the block. He looked around but didn’t see them—the father definitely stood out with his black hat and side curls. But the two gay guys from the north end of the block were there. He didn’t see their boy, Danny, around this evening, but he was about Becky’s age, and Greg had been dreading the awkward conversation that was bound to come up sooner or later when his kids asked why Danny had two daddies.

     Greg recognized the father and teenage son of the black family on his side of the street. They’d sometimes waved to each other on Sunday mornings as both families headed out dressed for church. At least he presumed they were going to church. So with his kids in tow, he wended his way through the knot of people and extended his hand. “Hey, neighbors! Name’s Greg Singer. We live on the other end of the block from you.” He thumbed the direction over his shoulder. “Next-to-the-last house. And these two munchkins are Becky and Nathan.” The kids nodded, but seemed antsy, so he nodded his permission for them to run off and play.