That's (Not Exactly) Amore (23 page)

I dial his cell phone, but it goes directly to his voice mail. I can’t really blame him. After all, it’s the middle of the night. But I need to feel safe, and in my world, Mark’s the guy who carries the gun. I dial his home phone and cross my fingers. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I whisper.

“Hello?”

Wait, that’s not Mark. As a matter of fact, it’s a woman’s voice on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, I must have the wrong number.”

“Is that you, Laini?”

Okay, wait. . . . Who is that?
Who
is this woman answering Mark’s phone at four o’clock in the morning?
And
she knows me?

Gasp.
“Kellie?”

“Yes, but it’s not what you think.”

I take a really deep breath. I mean, really deep. She doesn’t have any idea what I’m thinking. Zero. This woman doesn’t have the capacity to look into a brain like mine and figure out—

“I’m not spending the night with Mark.”

Okay, maybe she does know what I’m thinking, but it’s not rocket science, is it?

“Hello? Laini? Are you there?”

At this moment, I don’t even know how I can speak to this woman. I blame my next action on the crazy hour I’ve just had. I mean, do I need to stand here and talk to the
other
woman?

“I know you’re there. . . .” Her tone is becoming rife with irritation.

I hear a mumbled male voice in the background. Guess who?

“It’s your girlfriend. And she won’t talk. I swear I’m going to hang up if you don’t start speaking, Laini.”

So I beat her to the punch. I hang up.

My phone immediately rings and of course I know it’s Mark. But I’m not answering.

The swine.

I do what I should have done in the first place: I call Dancy.

“Are you kidding me, Laini? That scumbag. I hope they lock him up and throw away the key.”

Part of me agrees with her. But I think about his wife, pregnant with their first baby, and my heart goes out to her.

“Listen, is there anyone you can call? Your pastor or someone to come over and stay with you until I get there?”

“I don’t know. He’s really more my mom’s pastor than mine.”

“Don’t be silly. You’ve been there every Sunday for how many months now?”

“A few.”

“You’re probably more faithful than half the congregation. Call him, already.”

I make the call, and a sleepy-sounding Pastor Moore promises to be over in a few minutes. “It’ll take me at least half an hour to get there. The youth pastor lives just a few blocks from you. Do you mind if I call him to come stay with you until I get there?”

Even in my fearful state, I can’t help but find the humor in this situation. “Sure, he can come stay with me until you get here to stay with me until Dancy can make it from Manhattan.”

His warm laugh washes over me in a wave of peace. “Okay, now, Laini, I’m going to hang up and call him. Do you know what he looks like?”

“Tom Michaels?”

“Yes.”

“I know who he is.”

“Good. Listen, Laini. I’m going to put Patty on the phone while I call him. Don’t hang up until he gets there, okay?”

I’ve spoken to the somewhat elusive pastor’s wife only once before, at Mom’s wedding. But I find her pleasant and compassionate as she keeps me talking. A few minutes later, the youth pastor shows up wearing a loose pair of lounge pants, a T-shirt, and a pair of flip-flops.

“Oh, Tom, come in.” I hold the door so he can get in out of the cold. “You could have put real shoes on at least. I bet the ground is really wet from the rain earlier.”

“You got that right. My toes are frozen off.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” His voice trails off as he looks at the glass all over the place. He gives a slow whistle under his breath. “He did a number on your place, didn’t he?”

I swallow. “It’s actually my mom’s house. She’s on her honeymoon.”

“Pastor Moore mentioned that. Have you called her yet?”

“Oh my goodness. I didn’t.”

“I’ll just start bringing things in to cover that window if you want to go into another room and call her.”

“What do you mean, cover the window?”

A smile curves his mouth. “You didn’t think we were going to come over here, pat you on the back, and then leave, did you?”

Uh, yeah.

He breaks into a pleasant laugh as he obviously reads my mind. “Well, we’re not going to do that.”

My phone rings. Tom jerks his thumb toward the door. “I’ll be back.”

The phone rings again and I answer. It’s Dancy. “You okay?”

“Yeah, the youth pastor is here.”

“Good.” Relief is evident in her tone. “Okay, we’re about to get on the train, but I wanted to touch base with you before we board.”

“We?”

“Me, Tabby, and Jack, of course. David has to stay with the twins.”

“Oh, Dancy. You guys don’t all have to come. Especially Tabby. She needs her rest.”

“Don’t be silly.” She’s breathing heavily, so I imagine she’s rushing to catch the train. “Tabby wouldn’t let me come without her. And David wouldn’t let Tabby go until Jack assured him he was coming too. Gotta go, Laini. I’ll be there soon.”

She hangs up and the phone rings again practically simultaneously. I glance and scowl. Mark. I know I’ll have to deal with him and Kellie soon, but not now. I have too much on my mind. I hear Tom in the living room. I pick up the house phone and dial the number written on the whiteboard hanging next to the refrigerator.

“Hello? Laini, what’s wrong?”

Good grief. I haven’t gotten a word in edgewise and darn whoever invented caller ID.

“Ma, calm down, for crying out loud.”

“How can I calm down when you’re calling me at three in the morning while I’m on my honeymoon?”

Three in the morning? Oh, New Orleans. Central time.

“Let me talk to Aaron, Mom.”

“Why do you want to do that? Something is wrong, isn’t it?”

I’m not about to fill her in when she’s already keyed up just from the phone ringing. “Mom. Seriously.”

“Oh. Fine.”

“Laini?” Aaron’s voice sounds concerned. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Honey? Well, I guess that’s okay. I fill him in, including what his son did to the house.

“I just can’t believe it.”

Poor Aaron. I know he’s got to be mortified. “The police are looking for him. I’m not sure what they will do. But I imagine Mom’s going to have to press charges.”

“Yes, yes, of course. We’ll come home right away.”

I know there’s no point in trying to persuade them to stay in New Orleans, so I don’t even try.

Aaron hangs up with the promise of calling the airlines and seeing about tickets home.

I walk back into the living room to find Pastor Moore and Patty. They’ve already started diving into the glass, and they’ve tossed the majority of the larger shards into heavy-duty lawn-and-garden bags that they must have brought along.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your kindness,” I murmur. I suddenly feel so shy and unworthy in the presence of these three. People who live out their faith in flip-flops and lounge pants, with plastic bags.

Tom is pulling pieces of glass from the window itself. I see wood planks lining the wall, and I frown. “What’s that?”

“To cover the windows. We can’t leave them without something on them—for one thing, it’s still too cold, and for another, it’s dangerous.”

Heat fills my face. “You’re right. I didn’t think about it.”

Patty slips an arm around my shoulders. “You’ve been through a traumatic experience tonight. Why don’t we go out to the kitchen and make you some tea?”

“I should help clean up!” I don’t need to be treated like a fragile crystal vase, but I have to admit it does sort of feel good.

“Oh, the guys have all that covered. There’s not much. Mostly glass. They’ll get it cleaned up in no time and then they’ll cover the windows.”

My phone rings again and I heave a sigh as, sure enough, I see Mark’s name.

“Do you need to get that?” Patty asks, eyeing my phone.

“I’d rather not.” But he’s not going to stop calling until I do, apparently. I decide the very next time he calls, I’ll answer.

What a night. Seriously. What. A. Night.

22

C
had sits across from me, his tearful face making my heart squeeze with sympathy even as I want to sock him for damaging my mother’s home.

“I know what I did was wrong. I have been coping with my problems lately by drinking. Not that I’m saying that’s an acceptable excuse.” He gathers a deep breath. “I know I scared you, and I’m completely sorry.”

We’re sitting around a conference room table at the law offices of Handegraff and Reed. Chad’s lawyer clears his throat and fixes his lawyerly gaze on me. “Will that apology suffice?”

“Wait, Hank.” Chad looks from his lawyer back to me. “I know part of your mother’s agreement to not press charges has to do with my apology to you. But I want you to know I’m truly sorry. This isn’t just about getting off legally. I know I was wrong. You have every right to toss me in jail.”

Hank clears his throat again.
Loudly.

“It’s okay,” Chad says to the guy who is this close to a stroke.

“Don’t worry about it, Hank,” Aaron says, clapping the attorney on the shoulder. “You’ll get paid either way.”

Hank glowers.

Silence filters through the room and everyone’s eyes are on me.

“Okay, look.” I know that doesn’t sound like the beginning of a speech that needs to end with “I forgive,” but I’m still holding a little bit of a grudge. Sympathetic or not. “My mom’s house is going to need a lot of work to get it ready to sell, thanks to your little tirade. How do I know you won’t get smashed some night and do it again?”

He blinks, as though he is mortified that I would ask such a thing.

“I mean,” I continue, since he just doesn’t seem to get it, “have you been drinking long? Is it a problem? Are there alcoholic tendencies? I think this deserves answers that go beyond a simple apology.”

He opens his mouth, and I cut him off again. “Don’t get me wrong. I do believe you’re sorry. I don’t think you’d be inclined to take a bat to a house in your right mind. It’s your anesthetized brain swimming in alcohol that I worry about for next time. What steps are you willing to take to reassure us this won’t happen again?”

“Now, listen,” Hank begins. “I don’t think there’s any cause to assume this will happen again. My client has complied with Mrs. Bland’s wishes.” Okay, not the issue at the moment, but hearing my mom called “Mrs. Bland” leaves me a little cold.

Aaron takes my mom’s hand and spears—and I do mean spears—Chad with a look. “I think Laini has a very good point. I’ve seen similar behavior from you in the past. And don’t even try to deny it.”

“That was three years ago, Dad!”

Aaron nods. “Yes, but you were drunk and violent and destroyed your wife’s car.”

Chad’s face goes white, as though he can’t believe Aaron brought it up. “I thought she was cheating,” he mumbles.

I turn my gaze to Brenda, who looks miserable. She shrugs at me. I suspect she’s had her share of heartbreak over this idiot stepbrother of mine. My heart goes out to her.

“Personally,” I blurt out, “I wouldn’t let you off the hook without anger-management classes and documented AA meetings.”

Hank frowns at me. “Are you saying you’ll forgive him if he agrees to those two conditions?”

I shake my head. “No. I’ve learned that forgiveness is a gift. I bestow that freely. What I’m saying is that if I were my mother, I would insist on those two things along with his apology to me. Otherwise, I’d press charges.” I give him a too-sweet smile. “But that’s just my opinion, Hank. I can’t begin to guess what my mother will do. It’s her decision. After all, it was her house he smashed up.”

I turn and meet Chad’s narrowed gaze head-on. He doesn’t look at all happy.

“Now wait a minute. The agreement was that I apologize to you, and your—” He pauses and I want to forget forgiveness and hop across the table. Jerk. “And your mother here wouldn’t press charges.”

I refuse to answer. I just keep staring at him and give a shrug.

My mom speaks up for the first time. “Chad, you are about to be a father. I know what it’s like growing up in the home of an alcoholic.”

She does? She never told me.

“Laini’s suggestions are good ones.”

Chad scowls. “You would think so. You’re her mother.”

Aaron slaps the table. “Stop interrupting and listen.”

Mom touches Aaron’s hand ever-so-slightly and her new husband immediately calms. “Chad,” she says, “I’ve been watching your wife during this exchange. She’s humiliated and, if I’m not mistaken, a little fearful.”

Brenda’s eyes go wide and I have a feeling Mom hit it on the head. Will the little wife have the guts to speak up for herself, though?

“You don’t even know my wife,” Chad says, keeping his tone even—deliberately even, I’d guess. At least he’s smart enough to do that. I don’t think it would take much to push my mom into letting him rot in jail for a while.

“That’s true, Chad. But I hope to.” She gathers a breath and pans the room, including each person in her line of vision—Chad, Hank, Brenda, me, Aaron. “That’s why I’m going to do this: Chad, you’ve got two real problems that need to be controlled before your child is born. Alcoholism and anger.”

At this moment, I marvel at my mother. Chad keeps his mouth shut, and surprisingly, his eyes are not reflecting anger. Something else . . . hope, maybe?

“I want you to get help for both of those things. Anger management and Alcoholics Anonymous, just like my daughter suggested. You agree to those things in writing, and I won’t press charges.”

When all is said and done, we accomplish a lot in the meeting room of that attorney’s office. Poor Hank is slightly bewildered by the whole thing, though. He and Chad both probably thought they would get off easy. Apologize for scaring the life out of me, pay for damages to the house, and voilà, you’re off the hook.

Brenda turns to me as we leave the room and squeezes me a lot tighter than one might think possible, as tiny as she is. “Thank you, Laini. Maybe this will all be worth the trouble.”