That's (Not Exactly) Amore (24 page)

I hug her back. “I pray so, Brenda.”

We make it out to the curb and Aaron hails a cab. After we’re settled into the back of the car, I turn to Mom. “I can’t believe how great you were, Ma!”

“It was your idea. I was waffling on what to do.”

Aaron nods. “It was the perfect solution. He’s needed this for a long time. I’ve been too preoccupied with his mother for the last two years to realize how much he’s been drinking.”

“You can’t blame yourself, hon. Chad’s a grown man. This might have been just the nudge he needed. God is using this situation to get him help.”

He is? God? I’m just about to get mad since I’m the one who had to go through the ordeal. But Mom’s next words effectively diffuse the bomb about to blow up in me.

“Laini is much more capable of handling this sort of thing than I am. You should have seen the way she held up after her father died.” Her voice cracks and she reaches over to take my hand. “I fell apart. But not my girl. She finished school, worked hard, and then had the gumption to start over.”

Aaron nods, and I swear I even see pride glinting in his eyes. “It takes a lot of strength to stand on your own two feet like you have. Your mom is right to be proud of you.”

All right. I can’t continue to let her think I’m amazing when I know better. “Listen, Mom, I have to tell you something.”

Her silky eyebrows go up just a smidgeon, and she waits for me to continue. So I do. I tell her all about how bad I am at interior design and how I don’t even like it all that much.

“But you enjoyed decorating your apartment.”

“I know! I’ve always loved putting things together, going to antique auctions and finding bargains that might look nice in a house. But my idea of what works and most people’s ideas just don’t mesh. My grades are horrible.”

Her eyes go wide. “Will you get your degree in May?”

I nod. “Technically, I’ve passed all my classes. A couple of Ds, mostly Cs.”

“I’ve never known you to receive less than a B in a class.”

I give her a rueful smile. “Tell me about it.”

“But you will pass this semester?”

“The project is going really well. The concept anyway. After the contractors finish knocking down and building up, Jazz and I will start painting and putting together the furniture and pictures and the rest of the actual decorating. Then we’ll schedule an open house where the entire design department will come and observe. We took extensive photographs of the place before, and we have to blow them up and display them on easels.” It occurs to me that I’m rambling. But I’ve lived for this woman’s approval for as long as I can remember. The thought of confessing failure makes me nervous. “Anyway, I should pass, but I won’t be at the top of my class by any means, and most likely I’ll work as someone’s assistant.”

I stop and take a deep breath.

Mom pats my leg. “It’ll all work out.”

I wait for the rest. For the part about hard work paying off and how I need to find a job where I’ll be happy. But it doesn’t come.

“Look,” Aaron says, “it’s starting to rain again.”

And just like that my entire gut-wrenching confession is trumped by a chat about the weather.

“Who is that man?”

I look in the direction my mom indicates as the taxi pulls up in front of the house. My heart does a loop-de-loop. It’s Mark. Pacing and inspecting the damage. His dad’s black Tahoe sits in our driveway. He rushes to me as soon as I step out of the cab. Before I can greet him, he pulls me in for a hug. What would have been welcome two nights ago suddenly makes me uncomfortable.

“Mark, what are you doing here?”

“I had to hear from Liz that your mom’s house was vandalized?” He’s frowning, and his tone sets my teeth on edge.

“Well, if you had answered your phone Monday night instead of letting your girlfriend answer, you would have heard it from me.”

“Mark has a girlfriend?” Mom whispers loudly enough for everyone to hear.

“No, I don’t have a girlfriend,” he snaps.

“Don’t talk to my mother that way!”

Aaron clears his throat. “I think we’d best go inside and leave these two to talk.”

Mark looks to Mom. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sullivan—uh—I’m sorry, I don’t know your new last name.”

Mom’s face softens and she gives his arm a maternal pat. “Mrs. Bland. But you can call me Lydia. And I know you didn’t mean to be rude.”

Relief crosses his features. “Thank you.”

The two of them leave us in the drizzle and walk into the house.

Mark looks down at me. “Kellie lost her apartment.” He takes a deep breath. “I felt responsible. All those years we lived together and I paid most of the bills. I just didn’t know what to do.”

“So you let her move in with you?”

“Just until she finds a more reasonably priced apartment.” He rakes his fingers through his hair.

“She doesn’t have family?”

“She doesn’t really speak to them.”

“Well, maybe she should and she’d have someplace to go other than your apartment.”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you. I was going to tell you yesterday. You’ve never called me at four in the morning before.” He attempts a boyish grin, but I’m not buying it. It’s not cute. This is a crazy situation. I can’t be part of it.

“Mark, you’re a great guy and I like you a lot.”

He groans and his face clouds. “Don’t break up with me.”

“I can’t break up with you. There’s no commitment between us anyway. But there obviously was with Kellie, and I can’t deal with that kind of baggage. Not when you’re still carrying it around.”

I know I sound selfish and harsh.

“What about when she finds her own place?”

I shrug. “Maybe. If you can cut her loose for good, I won’t be put in a position where I’m jealous or suspicious.”

He nods. “I understand.” His eyes are glistening, and I’m aware of tears lurking below the surface. I don’t want to bring attention to it, so I turn my head.

I’m trying to figure out how to bring this to an end and send Mark on his way when the drizzle suddenly starts to come harder and faster.

“Well, I’d better let you get inside,” he says.

I nod but don’t ask him to come inside. He’s driving his dad’s SUV, so I figure he must have come over here from the restaurant. He hesitates for a second. “All right, then. I guess I’ll call you soon.”

I watch him go. My stomach tightens, but I know I made the right decision.

“Well, Laini-girl,” I tell myself, “you’re on your own again. What are you going to do with your life?”

23

B
y the time I return home Wednesday night, I have seven new orders for cinnamon rolls, bread bowls, and stuffed sandwiches. Each order is for more than three dozen of everything, and I’m feeling pretty darn overwhelmed. Nancy isn’t too happy either.

“Look, Laini,” she says. “No hard feelings, okay? But I think I’ll have to start looking for another place. You need to be able to use the kitchen all the time, and I need to be able to make a cup of tea without burning my hand on a pan of bread sitting on top of the stove to cool. I mean, I know I could use the kitchen, but it’s always so cluttered up with bread rising, cooking, or cooling that I don’t feel like I have a right to it.” Nancy sounds more frustrated than I’ve ever seen her. I wonder briefly if something more than bread is bothering her.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Her eyes fill with tears. “Tyson called again.”

My hackles rise.

“He says he’s left her for good and wants to see me.”

“You told him to go take a hike, right?” Her silent gaze tells me otherwise. “Oh, Nance. What are you going to do?”

“He’s flying in this weekend.”

“You didn’t tell him no?”

“I wish I had the strength.” She flops down onto the sofa and covers her face.

Compelled, I sit next to her and hold her loosely while she sobs. When her body stops shuddering, I grab a couple of tissues from the coffee table and press them into her hands. “Thanks.”

“Look, I think you need a few days to get your head together without me in the house bugging you. I’m taking my bread and will stay at my mom’s house.”

She looks at me, horrified. “I didn’t mean to kick you out of your own place!”

“You’re not. Mom has two ovens anyway. I’ll be able to work faster.”

Despite her protests, I definitely see relief in her face. I have a feeling Nancy’s going to be getting her own place soon. I don’t mind. I figure at almost thirty-one years old, it’s time for me to be on my own anyway.

I ask my mother if I can stay at her house to give Nancy some space. Since she and Aaron are renting a little two-bedroom apartment and the house is just sitting there while it’s being repaired, she readily agrees.

“I feel better having someone staying there anyway.”

So here it is Saturday afternoon, and I’ve been living peacefully alone in Mom’s house for three days. I’ve been baking practically nonstop. I’m ashamed to say I blew off my class last night. But I would never have finished the orders by this afternoon otherwise.

Using Mom’s double oven has helped speed up the process, but there’s no way I can keep up this pace. I’ve finished and delivered the first five orders. Despite the heady feeling from raking in the money, I haven’t even cracked a book all week, and there’s a test on Monday. I scurry around the kitchen while Jazz reads her notes to me over the phone.

“Laini! Are you listening?”

I’m not, really. Mostly I’ve been thinking about how the last batch of rolls is in the oven and I’ll be able to deliver the last two orders and get back before dark. I’m still a little creeped out when it gets dark. I hate it and I know I have to get over it. But Chad really scared me.

Speaking of Chad, he’s been to two AA meetings and has his first anger-management appointment with a psychologist on Monday. Mother says Brenda’s face has lost that worried look.

Anyway, back to Jazz, who is reaming me.

“Look, if you don’t study, you’ll bomb the test Monday and it won’t matter how good Nick’s looks when we’re done. And it’s amazing, by the way. They’re making real progress.”

“Oh, you’ve been over there?”

“Of course! I can’t stay away. The guys are getting sick of me.” Her laughter twinkles through the phone line. “I’m dying to start decorating, aren’t you?”

No. Not really. Mostly I just want to get it over with.

“Listen, Jazz, that reminds me.” I slip the rolls into the oven and grab my purse from the counter. “I have the number of a lady looking for someone to redo her husband’s office.”

“You mean Joe’s drunk aunt?”

Oh, yeah. Of course I told her about it. I wanted her input. “That’s the one. Anyway, I’ve decided not to even attempt anything on my own for a while. Not until I get to work side by side with someone. Do you want to call her?”

“Sure, thanks!”

An hour later I’m feeling pretty good about myself as I load up the boxes and calculate how much money I’ll be making. I’ve made enough just in the last week to pay my rent for three months. I’m really rethinking Joe’s suggestion of starting a catering business instead of pursuing design.

I wanted to have time to shower off the smell of bread dough and cinnamon, but it’s already after three and I have several stops to make. Aaron loaned me his car so I could make the deliveries. There’s no way I could carry five boxes of baked goods on the train.

I load up and make my deliveries. Then on a whim I decide to stop by Nick’s to get a look at the place. I don’t know what kind of strings Joe pulled, but the contractors are there on a Saturday. A holiday weekend at that, with Easter tomorrow.

I thought I’d have to just peek through the window, but the door is open and I walk inside. The chalky dust nearly chokes me and I notice the guys are wearing masks. I guess I know why. No one even seems to notice me as I walk through. The door is open leading to the part of the coffee shop we’re turning into an old Italy–style outside café. I walk through the door and, to my surprise, the awning has already been set in place. I can’t help but smile. It looks exactly like the proposal we submitted.

The other door is open and I’m dying to see how things look on the other side. I walk slowly across the dirt. No stone path yet, but it will come. I stand at the door and peer in, catching my breath when I spy Joe across the room. I’m about to call out when a man walks up to him and I swear there’s a handoff of . . . something . . . from Joe to the guy. I can’t imagine what it might be. Unless . . . Money? Drugs? I turn around to get out of there before he notices me, when he does just that.

He flashes me his trademark heart-stopping grin. Okay, I just have to pretend I didn’t see that “deal.” Whatever it was.

And I have to pull myself together fast, because he’s making a beeline across the room to me. I send him a tentative smile.

“I’ve missed that smile.”

Illegal activity (on his part) aside, I realize how much I’ve missed him too. The image of Cindy throwing herself at him has been more than my brain can handle. I’m sure they’re dating, but I don’t have the guts to ask Nancy.

He jerks his head toward the rest of the building. “You want a tour?”

“You bet.” I’m not sure how to take the look he’s giving me.

“It’s good to see you.” He puts his arm on my shoulder. Something in that simple gesture sends warmth through me. It’s all I can do not to lean into him.

“You smell like bread,” he says softly.

Heat bursts to my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to shower before I made my deliveries.”

His hand slides down my arm and clasps my fingers. “Don’t apologize. It’s sexy.” He winks. “You know the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

Oh, Joe. Don’t do this to me unless you mean it.
Darn him. He doesn’t even give me a chance to recover or respond. Instead, he leads me through the other side of the coffee shop. My mind can barely focus on what he’s saying. I can barely catch my breath and, to be honest, I have no idea if it’s the dust in the air, or if it’s Joe.

“Nance tells me you’ve been staying at your mom’s house.”

I nod. “Yeah, she doesn’t like the idea of it standing empty with the workers there fixing the damage Chad did.”