Summertime Dream (15 page)

On the way home, they stopped at the grocery store to stock his fridge and pantry, and then picked up some beer and wine to finish.

After unloading and putting away the groceries, they lugged the mattress upstairs. Margie made the bed while Christopher emptied his suitcase into dresser drawers, closet, and bathroom.

She stood hands on hips and surveyed the room. “All done.”

“The room looks great. I’ll sleep well in here tonight.”

Heat rushed her body. Was it bad all she could think about was how good he looked standing by the freshly made bed and how she could envision him and her together there?

His eyes locked with hers for a long moment of electric silence. Was he thinking the same?

The broom fell with a sharp clack against the floor and broke the moment.

Giving a long exhale, he checked his watch. “It’s later than I thought. The inspector’s going to be here in ten minutes.”

“Wow, time flew.” Out of time for kisses. Or more. Probably for the best. Definitely.

“Why don’t you head on home, take care of Penny, relax and type up those notes of yours. I’ll call when the inspection is done. How about I meet you at the restaurant?”

“Okay. You’ll be nosing into all the nooks and crannies of the place. I’ll skip the spider web tour.”

He laughed. “Sounds good. I’ll give you the blow by blow at dinner and you can tell me more of your story. Go on, go relax. You deserve it.”

Margie was still bouncing with happiness when she arrived early at the restaurant, impatient to share her news. She ran into Mom first. “Guess what? Christopher’s extended his stay.”

“That’s great, sweetie. He’s a nice young man. We’ve enjoyed having him around.”

After telling Mom all the details, she headed into the kitchen, and dropped her bag by the phone.

Joe emerged from the walk-in with a large roasting pan.

“Hey, Joe. Where’s Dad?” She hugged him and peeked under the foil cover.

He play-slapped her fingers, and hugged her back. “Hey, aren’t you all bright-eyed and bubbly. He’s in the office with Aunt Ida. What’s up?”

“I had a wonderful day. And best of all, Christopher’s staying on for a while longer.”

“Fuck!” The cuss exploded from him, sharp and poisonous.

She recoiled. “What kind of remark is that? What is your problem?”

George Strait singing “I Hate Everything” on the radio punctuated the sudden silence as all the conversation in the kitchen cut off.

Pain creased Joe’s face and he smacked a sauté pan onto the stove. “You’re spending too much time with that guy.”

“I like spending time with Christopher. He’s a nice guy. You never gave me this grief with Eddie.”

“We knew Eddie. We don’t know him.”

She huffed a breath. “And look how things with Eddie worked out. Joe, please, give me a break here. I’m having a good time. I’m enjoying his company. My writing is going great. Christopher and I are just friends. On the twenty-seventh, he’s going home and I’m staying here. Why can’t you just be happy that I’m happy?”

“You’re already too into him. I don’t want you hurt again.”

“Christopher’s not going to hurt me. He’s nice. He makes me laugh. He treats me respectfully. Everything’s going to be fine, Joe.”

“I just...worry!” he snarled. “I can’t take you being hurt again. I’m trying to keep you safe, damn it!”

Enough with this broken-record conflict! “But you have to stop! I need you to let me have a normal life! I’m not Julie.”

Joe blanched and his head snapped back as if she’d slapped his face.

Flushing hot and cold, Margie clapped a hand over her mouth. Oh, she’d done it now, blurting the taboo real reason everyone treated her like fragile glass. And in the kitchen of all places, with everyone able to hear. Julie, the sister she’d never known. Who’d died when Joe was eight years old and whose short two-year life still shadowed her family. For whom Margie been the unplanned miracle replacement for that gaping hole in her family’s hearts.

The kitchen crew tried their best to be invisible and continue working. Her stomach rolled. Dad and Mom might not be in the room, but they’d be sure to hear all about this all too soon.

She lowered her shaking voice. “It’s not your fault Julie died. It’s not your fault I got sick. I love you, Joe, but you have to let go. You need to stop worrying so much. It’s not healthy for you and it’s confining for me. Stop trying to keep me in a bubble. Focus on fixing what went wrong with you and Stephanie. I’m stronger than I look. I survived the surgery. I survived Eddie breaking things off. I’m just fine. Your worry and trying to control everything probably drove Stephanie away. You’re going to work yourself into a heart attack if you’re not careful.”

“Leave Stephanie out of this!”

“How can I? You love each other and you’re hurting so much. You say it’s your fault. Fine. Fix it!

“I can’t!” Fury grated in his voice. He crashed the sauté pan down like a hammer, jolting everyone and bending the handle. “We’re not discussing this.”

“Then we’re also not discussing Christopher and me.” She spun on her heel and charged out of the kitchen, further exasperated by the slow smooth hinges of the OUT door denying her a satisfying door slam.

Her heart pounding and knees shaking, she kept walking, straight on out of the restaurant, with a wave at Mom as if everything was hunky-dory. She walked hard and fast, and she’d gone three blocks before she calmed enough to think again. Oh, great, she’d left her purse in the kitchen, so she couldn’t go home, but no way was she going back for her keys.

She kept on walking, feet aching and head pounding, straight on to Peach Street. Walking in this heat in heels was a doubly bad decision and her phone was in her purse, so she couldn’t call Christopher. With her luck, he was on the way to the restaurant.

But Christopher’s car stood in the driveway when she’d reached his house.

She pressed the doorbell, flushed, sweaty, sick to her stomach, and, as the seconds ticked on, ever more deeply ashamed.

Chapter Six

Christopher stepped out of the shower, clean, but grumpy.

His vague hopes that the house wouldn’t need as much work as he’d worried had sunk like a stone during the home inspection.

“
You want the bad news or the mostly bad news first?”

He hadn’t found the inspector’s quip all that funny. That the inspection had gone pretty much like crap should not have been a surprise. Between the water damage, the termite damage, the dry rot, the ancient wiring and plumbing, the foundation issues, and a whole slew of other issues plaguing the house, carriage house, and barn, he was glad he wasn’t the one buying the place and pretty sad he owned the mess. He couldn’t even vent to Margie at the moment. If she were here, she’d find all the upsides to the downsides.

Lloyd was right. He should just list the place as-is.

Still...ignoring all the problems struck him as irresponsible.

Too early to dress for going out, he threw on his shorts, and headed downstairs, shirtless, and barefoot. He scanned and emailed Lloyd the initial report, asking him to get back with his opinion and recommendations if he had a chance. He told himself he’d sensibly attend to the primary safety issues, and then he’d get the place on the market.

He’d barely hit send, when Lloyd’s reply popped up: “
No problem. Will look at it tonight
.”

He had good friends.

The doorbell rang—well, more of an anemic buzz than the chiming bell tone it should have.

He found Margie waiting on the front porch. “Hi there.” He opened the unlocked screen door. Why hadn’t she just let herself in?

“Hi.” Her voice was dull and she looked flushed and frazzled.

“Come on in. Everything okay?” Dumb question. Clearly, something was wrong. He touched her shoulder and nudged her to come inside. He glanced at the driveway. No car. Why had she walked in this heat?

As she gave into his nudge, she shrugged tightly. “Do you mind if we change plans?”

“No problem. Where’s your car?”

“At the restaurant. I walked. I had an argument with Joe. I shouldn’t have, but he made me so mad.”

“Sorry.” He guided her to the kitchen and to a chair. She looked more beat down and hurt than mad. “Would a glass of beer or wine help?”

“Thanks, wine would be nice.”

Concerned at her overheated flush, he flicked on the box fan to get the air moving around and poured her a glass of water. The walk from the restaurant was way too far in this weather.

She gave a wobbly smile and drank. “I feel horrible now. I said something I shouldn’t and I should apologize, but I don’t want to. He just pushed, and I was so mad. I can’t go back there tonight.”

A searing protective rush galvanized him. What had Joe said to her? No wonder she was tense. “It’s okay. Since we hit the store earlier, I can fix supper for us or we can order from the Chicken King. Whatever you like.” He pulled the cork on the wine and filled two of the delicate cut crystal glasses from the dish closet.

She slipped off her sandals. “Whatever is fine. Thank you.” After another swallow of water, she shut her eyes and rubbed one foot. A pained frown crossed her face. “Can I borrow your phone? I left my purse at the restaurant. I’d like to call Mom and ask her to bring it home.”

“No problem. It’s upstairs.” He returned the wine bottle to the fridge. “Be right back.”

“Thanks.”

When he reached his room, he threw on a polo shirt, grabbed his phone and hurried back to Margie.

Her color was better, but she looked exhausted and on the verge of tears. He handed over his phone. He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her. He settled for stroking his hand over her hair and down to cup her warm cheek.

She softened into his touch for a moment, then turned away as she tapped in the number.

“Hi, Mom, it’s me. No. I had to borrow Christopher’s phone. I left my purse in the kitchen.”

Feeling helpless, and hating the feeling, he took a good swallow of his wine.

“At Christopher’s. I’m sorry. No.” Her voice tightened. “I argued with Joe and had to leave.”

Now he was really concerned she’d cry.

“No. I’m fine. Will you bring my purse home tonight?”

He laid his hand on her shoulder, stroking his thumb gently over her nape.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now, Mom. It was stupid and I’m sorry. I’m going to let Joe cool off before I see him again. I’ll have supper here. Okay?”

He liked the idea of staying in, relaxing, having Margie to himself.

“No, I can walk home.”

“I’ll drive you.” Christopher spoke loudly so her mom could hear.

Margie sighed, shoulders slumping. “Okay. I’ll let Christopher drive me. See you later.” She ended the call and set the phone aside on the table.

He caressed her back, feeling her ease more under his hand. He wanted to ask her just what all had happened, but settled for stroking her. “Would you like to sit on the back porch?”

She nodded. “That would be nice.”

They sat in peaceable quiet, the rockers gently creaking. Margie sipped at her wine, her gaze fixed on the ducks paddling and dipping in the pond, but her mind focused far beyond.

She’d almost finished her wine before she spoke again. “I should apologize to Joe. I brought up two things that weren’t fair. He just had me so mad with his needing to control everything. It’s mostly not his fault he’s the way he is. We...He’s...He’s really a good guy. We had a sister. She died before I was born. He was only eight at the time and it affected him hard.”

“I’m very sorry.” What else could he say? Another thing he couldn’t fix or make right for her. Losing Dad hurt bad enough, but Dad had at least lived a full life. And his uncles’ deaths had been hard, but they too had been adults. Losing a young sibling? He couldn’t fathom that kind of loss.

“Thanks. And Joe’s had a rough year. He and his wife broke up, I got sick, and then Eddie—Well, Joe takes everything hard. I worry about him. He’s an awesome big brother, I love him to pieces, but he’s making me absolutely nuts these days. I’m sure he’d be a bossy worrywart even if Julie hadn’t died, but I think he believes he was responsible or could have stopped it, and now he projects that fear onto me.”

“Understandable.” Okay, he’d give the guy some slack for stress, but…

“Yeah. But so frustrating. He’s so unhappy, he really misses Stephanie, but he won’t listen to sense, bend, and fight to get her back. I know she misses him, but I think she gave up on his being so controlling. It’s so unhealthy. Mom suggested counseling, but he just refuses and buries himself in work.” She rolled the glass between her hands, staring at the wine’s cling and slide. “So, that’s the deeper history behind my family’s hovering and worry. I’m sorry he’s so rude to you. I don’t want you to think he’s a complete jerk.”

“I can deal. No problem. I don’t have a sister, but with my mom living alone, I can understand some where he’s coming from on being protective.”

“I’m mad at him, and I hate being mad at him. I’m just so, so...frustrated doesn’t even come close. I just want Joe to be happy for a change.” She slumped back in the rocker, and shut her eyes. Two tears glinted and slipped.

Christopher sighed and stood. He brushed the tears away and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He took her glass. “I’ll get you a refill.”

Her eyes remained clamped shut, but she nodded.

Frustration dogged him into the kitchen. Not much more he could do to fix things for her than he was doing. He pulled out the wine.

The doorbell wheezed.

“Be right back.” Damn, he hated seeing her cry. If that was Joe, he’d tear her brother a new ass, legitimate stress or not.

He yanked open the door. She probably wouldn’t appreciate his butting into her family business.

A little old lady wearing a purple baseball cap emblazoned
Florida
with pink sequins and an equally sparkling floral top smiled up at him. “Hello, you must be Christopher. I’m Francie Cabot. Well, Francie Smith back when I went to school with your grandmother, Loretta. I heard about you and wanted to meet you and see the house again. I thought you might like to hear a little about Loretta.”