Sea Glass Cottage (15 page)

“Jonah! Do you have to repeat everything I say?”

“Well, you did say that,” Jonah stressed.

“But you don’t have to share every single thing I say with every person you meet,” Thane pointed out.

“But she is pretty.”

“Hey, if he said it, it’s clearly worth repeating, right?” Izzy teased Jonah.

“Lesson learned about watching what I share around Jonah,” Thane said ruffling the kid’s hair. “I have yet to invoke the spirit of the male bond ritual—what happens at home stays at home.”

“What does that mean?” Jonah challenged.

“It means you can tell me anything,” Izzy whispered, leaning over Jonah’s ear.

“I heard that,” Thane confessed. It gave him a jolt to see that his son had already begun to bond with her in such a short amount of time. How did he feel about that? Was Jonah that needy, that desperate for a mother figure in his life that he’d attach himself so easily to the first woman who entered his life? That gave him pause.

With no idea what was on Thane’s mind, Izzy made an offer. “Why don’t you guys come over to my place tonight for dinner? I’ll fix chicken tacos, guaranteed to fill the tummy. You guys can even watch football.”

“Yay tacos! I love tacos.” Jonah squealed.

“We need to work on your spelling for next week,” Thane said in a voice that caused an awkwardness to hang in the air.

Izzy met Thane’s eyes, an understanding passing between them. “Then I guess we’ll have to make it another time.”

That afternoon, Thane
settled in front of the flat-screen to catch the last half of the game between the Giants and the Vikings. But his brain couldn’t focus on either team’s defense. Instead, he kept replaying the confused look he’d seen on Isabella’s face when he’d dropped her off. He’d asked her to the beach for a picnic and she’d returned the favor. And what had he done in response? He’d pulled back. Even Jonah had acted puzzled by his abrupt behavior.

So how could he fix this situation he’d created? He glanced at the clock and decided it wasn’t too late to mend fences.

He picked up his phone, texted her number.

Is your offer for dinner still open?

It seemed like an eternity before he got a reply.

What gives?
Are you sure you trust me enough to fix your son a meal?

I deserved that. But I panicked. I’d like to come for dinner if you haven’t changed your mind.

It’s tacos on the menu.

That’s fine.

Then I’ll see you around six.

T
he aroma of onions and poblano peppers laced with a heavy helping of chili powder and chipotle wafted through her kitchen as she tossed the Spanish rice while it warmed in the skillet. Running a spoon around the creamy chicken, she checked its consistency before adding generous dashes of turmeric and cocoa to her simmering sauce.

It had been a very long time since she’d cooked for anyone but herself. It felt odd and yet she enjoyed going through the familiar tasks.

She turned to the counter, began chopping the ingredients for her own blend of Pico de Gallo. For fresh guacamole she pitted two avocados, mashed them up in a bowl, and added a splash of lime and salt.

When the doorbell rang, she wiped off her hands and headed for the front door, all the while the TV blared the beginning of the Sunday night game between the Colts and the Dolphins.

As soon as the door opened, Jonah held up a bag. “We brought more ice cream!”

“It’s my belief that you can never have too much ice cream on hand,” Izzy pronounced taking the grocery sack out of his hands. “I’ll go make sure this doesn’t melt. The game’s on. Make yourselves comfortable while I finish up. Dinner’s almost done. I just need to set the table.”

“We can take care of that, can’t we Jonah?” Thane offered.

“Yep. I’m good at putting out the spoons and forks and napkins.”

“Then, be my guest,” Izzy directed. “It’s great to have an extra pair of hands, or in this case, two extra pairs in the kitchen when making a meal.”

“Uncle Fisch says too many cooks make a mess,” Jonah tossed out.

Thane laughed. “He does. Fischer is one of those typically moody chefs who loves to have the kitchen all to himself.”

“On certain days that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing,” Izzy said as she brought in serving dishes full of meat and rice. “Now, I’m taking drink orders. What will it be?”

“Beer for me if you have it,” Thane said. “Milk for Jonah.”

“I have an amber Belgian ale, I’m fond of, will that do?”

“In Pelican Pointe?”

“I was surprised that Murphy carries it.”

“Works for me.”

Izzy returned to the kitchen, got down a glass for the milk and two beers.

He took his first sip, commented, “Creamy, a little sweet, but woodsy.”

“That’s what I like about it.”

The trio gathered around the dining room table with walls painted a cheery cranberry red. This was different than Friday afternoon when they’d shared soup and sandwiches or when they’d dug into a plate of macaroni. Somewhere along the way a comfort zone had sprouted.

“I made a mild version for Jonah and a spicier one for us.”

“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, what with your leg still bothering you.”

“Don’t be silly. I have to eat. I have crunchy tacos or soft. Which do you prefer, Jonah?”

“Crunchy. Even though my tooth is loose. See?”

He tilted his face up to her and opened his mouth, wiggled it back and forth with his fingers. Sure enough Izzy spotted the culprit.

“That’s pretty loose. Let’s hope it makes it through the meal.”

“I get a dollar if it doesn’t.”

Thane forked over tender chicken, dipped it into the mole sauce. “Oh this is good, really good.”

“I make a mean chili, too.”

“If it’s anything like this, you can cook for us anytime, right Jonah?”

With his mouth full of taco, the boy simply nodded and then let out a loud belch.

“What better compliment is there than that,” Izzy said as Jonah broke out into howls of laughter. Yes, she thought, the three of them were so much more at ease than before. 

“Are we ready for dessert? The sea salt caramel gelato will go with the double fudge brownies I made.”

“Oh boy, sugar here we come,” Thane said.

“Okay, maybe that is too much. We’ll pass on the brownies and just have the ice cream.”

“No way.”

“Brownie a la mode it is then.”

The meal ended with a flurry of kitchen cleanup. Pots and pans went into soak-mode. Plates clinked together as Jonah helped load the dishwasher.

“Can I play a game on my iPad now?” the boy asked as the last plate slid in between the prongs.

“Sure. But before you do that, thank Izzy for fixing supper.”

“Thanks for supper, Izzy. You make good tacos.”

“You’re very welcome. Thanks for coming.”

Thane watched him take off for the living room and then bounce into one of the comfy chairs. “That boy is only still when he’s asleep.”

“But you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

He moved to where she stood at the island, pulled her into him. Touching his lips to hers, he let her sweet and spicy taste sink in and ramp up before boosting her up on the counter. He began a slow nibble along her jaw and down to her neck. “You have beautiful, soft skin,” he stated as he left a string of kisses to prove it.

She held on to his muscled arms, locked her fingers behind his neck. She scooted into his hard abs, locked her legs around his toned torso. From the living room she heard Jonah let out a whoop during his game, which had her breathing out, “What about Jonah?”

Thane backed up a step, putting a halt to the make-out session.

“We need a time and place where we can be alone,” he whispered. “I want you, Isabella. But right this minute I have to head home to get Jonah in the tub and ready for bed. I want you to start thinking about us spending time together.” He tilted her chin up, met her eyes. “Are you up for that?”

“I’m definitely game.”

M
onday morning, a little after nine o’clock, Isabella answered the door and was surprised to see River Cody standing on her front porch.

“Hi, I’m River Cody, Brent’s wife. I don’t mean to drop in on you like this but I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“Sure, come on in. Would you like coffee?”

“No, I’d better pass. Had a cup of decaf already.” River made a face and launched into a detailed account of why she was cutting back on caffeine. The story revealed her pregnancy.

“Congratulations. Well, I have orange juice containing lots of folic acid good for the brain,” Isabella said in response.

“I’ll take it,” River said following Isabella into the gleaming kitchen. “Wow. I saw the ‘before’ pictures but I prefer the ‘after.’ I used to walk up here with Luke, that’s my son, to show him the lighthouse. I peeked into the windows once or twice after Logan got this place whipped into showplace form. It’s what inspired us to redo our old place.”

Isabella poured a tall glass of juice, handed it off. “Logan definitely has a flair for bold design and using vivid colors.”

“I love that he made it open and airy.”

“And got rid of the body,” Isabella quipped.

“I heard about that. Carl Knudsen’s work. You’re not spooked living here are you?”

“Not really. I think Scott Phillips watches over me.”

“Honey, Scott watches over all of us.”

“You didn’t even blink at the mention of his name. You believe I see him?”

“I’m Native American, Pueblo specifically, so of course I believe in spirit guides. That’s what he is, you know.”

“Spirit guide? Hmm, I hadn’t considered that. Ghost absolutely, but spirit guide? That actually makes me feel…more in tune with him.”

“He was instrumental in helping Brent find my son, our son,” she corrected. “Long story.”

“This I have to hear. Take a seat.”

“My ex abducted Luke when he was six months old. I didn’t get him back until a cop in Wyoming confronted him in this out of the way café. He’d gone all woodsy—my ex, not the cop. Anyway, by that time, Luke was nearly three years old. Between Scott and Brent’s detective work, we were able to hone in on that area, stay focused in the right direction in order to bring my baby back home to me.” River looked up from her glass. “On numerous occasions Scott’s even helped save lives here in town.”

“How?”

River thought of the story Cord Bennett had told her. “Like saving people from suicide, stuff like jamming guns so they won’t fire. Other times he’s warned people away from dangerous situations right before something terrible happened, like sniper fire. That happened to Brent. Just a few months ago it was a lightning strike. Don’t believe me? Just ask Ryder and Julianne how they barely escaped from getting struck by lightning. And he woke Nick Harris up in time to prevent Kent Springer from setting fire to Promise Cove.”

“See? That’s why I feel safer having him guarding the cottage.”

River narrowed her eyes in a frown, considered that info. “Is there someone after you?”

“I have a crazy ex, too.”

“Ah, ever wonder why there are so many out there?”

“Crazy seems to have become the new norm. What did you want to ask me?”

“The Chumash Museum opens in a month. I’m looking for an assistant, someone who might be familiar with cataloging items for display. A little bird told me that you have experience working in an art gallery.”

Isabella’s mouth dropped open. “How could anyone besides Logan possibly know that?”

“Small towns,” River said by way of explanation, wiggling her eyebrows up and down. “If you’re thinking he broke a confidence, I didn’t hear it from Logan, although I can’t reveal my source. So don’t ask.”

“It isn’t that. I’m just amazed at the flow of information—or rather disinformation. Some so outlandish I don’t know where they get their ideas. One day last August, Myrtle Pettibone confronted me at movie night certain that I’d once danced for the Bolshoi Ballet but was forced to leave because I was involved in a sex scandal.”

River cracked up laughing. “A sex scandal? And you’ve been keeping that to yourself? Unfair to hold back details like that. Okay, it was the hubby who mentioned the art gallery connection. But if it comes up in conversation, you twisted my arm to get that out of me. I’m not sure exactly how Brent heard. So is it true?”

“No, I never danced for the Bolshoi,” Isabella admitted with a grin. “And yes, I do have gallery experience.”

“Perfect. Then what about coming to work for the Museum? I promise I’m not a slave driver, not much of one anyway.”

To add another enticement, River tossed out the salary. “I know it’s not what they pay in Paris but…”

“I’ll take it,” Isabella blurted out. “And for the record my gallery experience comes from my college days where I spearheaded a private art collection. Not sure what that has to do with Native American exhibits but I’m willing to expand my horizons if you are.”

“As long as you’re familiar with the boring side of data entry and the importance of description in a computer database, I’m willing to stretch your hands-on experience.”

“Then we have a deal. When do I start?”

“Is tomorrow too soon?”

“Tomorrow’s perfect.”

At ten o’clock
recess, Jonah filed out to the playground with the rest of his class. As soon as he reached the yard, he did what he always did. He made a mad dash for the slide, getting in line behind several others. Just as he was about to climb up the ladder, a voice belonging to third grader Bobby Prather yelled out, “Hey, Delacourt, why doesn’t your mother live with your father?”

Another third grader, Doug Bayliss, and Bobby’s cohort, tossed out, “Jonah doesn’t got no mother.”

“That’s because his mother was a druggie and a whore,” Bobby declared. “My dad says that people who do drugs are stupid. That makes your mother dumb and stupid.”

“I heard he never had a mother,” another boy chimed in.

Jonah stepped back from the slide and shouted, “I do too. She’s just dead is all. And she wasn’t a whore!”

“She was and I say that makes Jonah Delacourt a bastard,” Bobby proclaimed to everyone.

“I am not. You take that back,” Jonah said, clenching his fists, ready to fight.

Tommy Gates, a stocky boy, moved in beside Jonah, prepared to show support. “You cut that out, Bobby. Stop picking on Jonah. He never did nothin’ to you.”

More ugly words flew back and forth causing the other kids to gather round to watch the fracas build up into a full-blown fight. The shouting got the attention of more and more kids as an inner circle formed around the five boys involved and grew out from the center.

From the stoop near the door, Olivia Brach spotted her favorite troublemaker, Bobby Prather. After teaching third grade for five years, Olivia recognized a boy with a disruptive homelife. The Prathers were known far and wide for having a tumultuous marriage. They lived on Athena Circle and couldn’t stop yelling and screaming at each other long enough to get much else done. Neither one refused to give an inch in a fight or walk away to stop the verbal battery. Since the start of school, Olivia had seen Bobby cultivate a foul mouth. His friend, Douglas, didn’t help matters. The only thing the two boys excelled at more than name-calling was picking on younger classmates.

Olivia leaned back inside the doorway, called out to another teacher in the hallway. “Go get Ms. Dickinson. I want her to see this. And hurry. Tell her Bobby is at it again.”

Olivia darted off the porch and headed toward the group of children. Pushing her way through short little bodies she reached the fray about the same time Bobby drew back his fist to punch Jonah.

Focusing all her efforts on Bobby though, Olivia missed the Delacourt boy behind her about to make his charge toward his tormentor.

Good thing the principal grabbed Jonah around the waist in time to prevent a full-out brawl.

Julianne Dickinson raised her voice over the din. “Boys, stop this! My office. Right now, this minute! No argument.” To the other children, the principal instructed, “Recess will be over soon. Go back to playing or you’ll miss the opportunity before you have to go back to class.” With that, she marched both boys into the building and straight into her office.

“Now, you want to tell me what started this?” Julianne demanded, looking first at Bobby for an explanation. “I want the truth.”

Bobby hung his head, unable to take his eyes off the floor.

Turning to Jonah she hoped for enlightenment. “Tell me what happened.”

That was all the prompting Jonah needed to repeat the ugly things Bobby had said about his mother.

Julianne stared at Bobby, tilted his chin up to meet her eyes. “Is that true, Bobby? Did you say all that about someone else’s mother? How could you say those things? What if someone said that about your own mother? How would you feel then?”

“I didn’t say anything. Jonah just wanted to fight,” Bobby muttered swinging his feet back and forth under the chair.

Julianne sighed at the boy’s stubborn resistance to the truth. Knowing Bobby’s reputation for dishonesty she pressed further, “You should probably know that I heard you taunting Jonah from the steps. So there really isn’t any point in denying it. Besides that, you’re two grades ahead of him. Why is an eight-year-old picking on someone who’s six? If that wasn’t enough, now you’re lying to me. I’m calling your parents in hopes they’ll put a stop to this behavior of yours. We have a long school year ahead of us. I don’t want to have to haul you into my office every day because you’ve been acting out like this with your classmates.”

Julianne turned to Jonah. “And you, fighting isn’t the answer, I’m also calling your father. He’ll probably want to come get you.”

When his cell
phone dinged, Thane stood in the middle of his restaurant talking to a potential supplier. The phone number ID that came up on the digital readout said Pelican Pointe Elementary. Never a good sign, thought Thane as he excused himself to take the call.

“This is Thane Delacourt.”

“Mr. Delacourt, this is Julianne Dickinson. There’s been some trouble at school.”

“Is Jonah okay?”

Thane listened as the principal caught him up on what had happened.

“It’s my belief that it’s this sort of thing that brings out an opportunity where you have the power to turn negative, ugly words into a positive by reinforcing the image of his mother,” Julianne offered. “It’s a critical time to listen to his concerns and hear what he has to say about what happened.”

“I agree. I’ll see you in a couple minutes.”

It took him less than ten minutes to finish up with the supplier and make the short drive to school. In days past, he’d spent his fair share of time sweating it out in the principal’s office, waiting for one of his parents to walk through the door. It brought back memories when he spotted Jonah wiggling in what looked like a very uncomfortable chair in the outer office area.

“Hey, buddy. You okay?”

“Daddy! What took you so long?”

“I got here as soon as I could.” At the sound of his voice, Ms. Dickinson came out of her office to greet him, so he turned back to Jonah and said, “You stay put while I talk to Ms. Dickinson, okay?”