What a Man's Gotta Do (11 page)

In what Eddie figured was a rare moment of shared commiseration, the two kids looked at each other. Then Carrie said, “You mean you don't want to.”

“Did I say that? What I said was, it's dangerous for a man to—”

“Never mind. It's okay,” she said softly, and Eddie thought,
Oh, hell.
Except then she said, “Mama bought a whole bunch of stuff the day after Thanksgiving, 'cuz she promised we were going to have outside lights this year. But I counted on my calendar an' Christmas is only nine days away, an' everybody I know has had their lights up 'n' stuff for ages already. We're the only house that doesn't have lights for three
blocks.
Well, 'cept for Mr. Liebowicz, where we take piano, but Mama said that's 'cuz he's Jewish and celebrates Chanukah instead. 'Cept my teacher said that Chanukah is called The Festival of Lights, so I don't see why Mr. Liebowicz couldn't have lights if he wanted, do you? Mom's friend Nancy is Jewish, too, but her husband isn't, so their kids get Christmas
and
Chanukah, which
really
isn't fair. And we don't even have a
tree
yet.”

And Eddie thought,
oh, hell,
again.

“Guess your mama's been kinda busy, huh?”

One shoulder hitched. “I guess.”

Lucas gave him a big blue stare from behind his glasses. Eddie sighed.

It'd been years since he'd put up lights, since that Christmas he spent here with Molly and Jervis, in fact. And it was colder'n a witch's booty out there. And Mala probably would get mad at him. Or them. Or both.

And they were both looking at him with those dad-blasted big blue eyes.

Oh,
hell.

“So,” Eddie said on a rush of air, “you know where your mama put the decorations?”

The grins that streaked across both faces knocked him for a loop, is what. And the way they and the pup all stumbled all over each other to get to the hall, chattering and pointing to the closet, where apparently the elves has stashed the loot…well, he wasn't going to lie and say it didn't do something to his insides.

Then there were the giggles and cries of delight as he handed down each Wal-Mart bag, loaded with all kinds of lights and garlands and bows and gutter hooks and—oh, Lord, only Mala would think of this—heavy-duty extention cords, and he thought, this was what childhood was supposed to sound like.

But Mala was right. He didn't dare come across like Santa Claus. So he put on as stern a face as he could dredge up, then pointed to the living room.

“Before a single light goes up, that room gets cleaned.”

Carrie and Lucas looked at each other, then stomped off, both sets of arms crossed over their chests.

“I
knew
there'd be a catch,” Carrie said, tossing him her best ticked-off glare.

“Yeah,” replied an equally indignant Lucas. “Whatever that means.”

I
n the rapidly fading light, Mala could just make out, as she approached her house, a man hanging precariously over the edge of her roof. Since tangling with a million other after-work shoppers in the grocery store had done little to calm her jangled nerves, her heart now rocketed into her throat. In general terms, she was a firm believer that the only life forms that properly belonged on roofs were birds and the occasional squirrel.

Once in the driveway, she could barely get her car door open for the crush of small, chattering bodies. Words pelted her as she at last emerged, including “lights,” “cool,” “finally” and something about “stupid old Becky O'Brien.”

She crunched her way across the frozen snow, grocery bags and purse clutched in one hand, Lucas hanging on to the other. From her porch roof to the second story stretched her aluminum extension ladder; like a crippled centipede, icicle lights already dangled across the lower half of the house, while garlands wound around the porch posts and swagged across the lintel. Eddie looked down. Grinned. “Hey.”

At that precise moment, between her nerves and her wrong-time-of-month hormones, she realized just how much of a mess
she was. That a woman can only go so long without male…companionship, let's say, before she explodes. And seeing all that litheness up on her roof—never mind why he was up there, it meant
she
wasn't, and that was cause for immense gratitude—and that grin, and realizing that this guy had put himself out more for her kids than the sperm donor had in the whole three years he'd actually been in residence was doing absolutely terrible things to her self-control. Like shredding it into itsy, bitsy, not-worth-spit pieces. Not that she was about to let anyone in on that fact. “Hey, yourself. How the heck did you get suckered into this?”

He leaned back on his haunches, which meant, for the next few moments, at least, Mala could breathe again. “It was either this or Candyland.”

That choice might have driven Mala to the roof herself. “Ah…ohmigod, Eddie—be careful!”

He'd tugged a length of icicle lights out of their box and had now cantilevered his entire torso out over the roof to drape them along the edge.

“It's okay, Mama,” Carrie said, looking up with adoration gleaming in her eyes. “He's been doing this for like an hour already and he only slipped once.”

Mala's eyes shot to his. Eddie chuckled. “I know where the icy spots are now, no problem. Hey, kids—why don't y'all go back inside and see if you can find me the bags with the colored lights in them?”

Kids vanished. Eddie glanced down, still stringing, still grinning. “This doesn't make you nervous or anything, does it?”

Mala shifted the grocery bags. Warm, rotisserie chicken-scent wafted up, tormenting her. “Oh, no. I didn't need that extra five years of my life, anyway.”

“Don't tell me you're scared of heights?”

“Okay. I won't.”

“Then how the Sam Hill did you plan on getting lights up here, anyway?”

“I didn't. My plan ended at the porch roof.”

He chuckled again. “Wuss.”

“But a
living
wuss.”

Another soft laugh, warm and gentle, floated down. There was no put-down in his teasing, she realized. No attempt at humiliation. Instead, it actually made her feel good. Alive. And almost normal in a situation that was anything but. “Anyway, so how
did
they talk you into doing this?”

“Three words. Big blue eyes.”

Mala melted, right then and there, felt tears sting which she quickly sent packing. Criminy, her hormones were really doing a number tonight. Just because he was a nice guy didn't mean… She glanced at the front door, which the kids had left open, then back up at Eddie, crouched like a cat.

“You must be freezing your butt off.”

“Hard to tell. It went numb a half hour ago.”

She laughed, then frowned. “You know, you don't have to—”

“You say that far too much, lady, you know that?” he said gently, then shimmied down the ladder to the porch roof, called out to the kids. “Y'all find those lights yet?”

They came scampering back outside, bags banging against legs. Eddie knelt by the gutter, held out his hand. “Give 'em to your mama, so she can pass 'em to me.”

Realizing she'd been shocked into silence—not an everyday occurrence—Mala traded the grocery bags for the lights, told Carrie and Lucas to take the bags to the kitchen, then handed Eddie the lights, during which process she found her voice.

“It's just that I don't like putting people out,” she said as Eddie opened the next box. His eyes darted to hers just as the streetlight flickered into life, illuminating his benign expression.

“I see. Well, you wanna hop on up here and take over?”

Her mouth twisted. “I'd rather shovel.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured you'd see it my way. But just for the record, you're not puttin' me out, Mala. Actually, I'm kinda enjoying myself. Numb ass and all. And besides, outdoing
that
—” his voice lowered, he nodded across the street at the O'Brien's tribute to Coney Island “—has just become a matter of honor.”

A laugh sputtered from her throat. “God. You are such a man.”

Silence stretched between them, during which he gave her a look which she couldn't see but her knees caught, anyway. “Rumor has it. Although I don't get much chance to prove it these days.”

Oh, God. “And, um, trying to blind the other half of the neighborhood does it for you, huh?”

Another grin spread across that long, lean face, this one slow and lazy and everything a grin could be. “For starters.”

Oh…
God.

Then he said, “Been a long time since I've watched any football, too,” and Mala burst out laughing, partly from panic, partly from relief. She suddenly felt a lot better. She also suddenly felt a lot worse, which didn't make sense, but then, nothing did. And hadn't, she realized, for some time. She sucked in a breath, extremely grateful that it was too dark for him to see her sizzling cheeks.

“Got the new tires okay?” he said.

Nothing like being dragged back to reality. “Oh, yeah. And I have to admit, there's a lot to be said for feeling the suckers actually grip the road. In fact, I hit a patch of ice over on Main, the car didn't even flinch.”

“Well, that's real good. And you
really
changed out the flat by yourself?”

“Yes, Eddie, I really did.”

“I'll be damned. You are one helluva lady, you know that? What was in those bags?”

Her brows lifted. “Dinner.”

“Great. I'm starved. If there's enough, that is.”

She wasn't sure whether to laugh or…what. “There's plenty, but…excuse me? Did I miss something?”

“Like you inviting me?”

“Yeah, that's it.”

He shrugged. “Just figured dinner was as good a way as any to even up the score. For freezing my butt off.”

She flushed. “Oh. Well, uh, sure. But…”

“But what?”

“It's just…” Way in the very pit of her stomach, the trembling started. “Criminy, Eddie—you're the fabulous cook. Not me. I mean, I can manage the basics okay—my mother taught me how to cook when I was twelve—but we're talking meat loaf and tuna casserole and sticking something in the broiler kind of cooking. Nothing like what you do. And then tonight, things got so screwed up, I just picked up a rotisserie chicken and some potato salad from the grocery store deli. Don't get me wrong, I certainly cook for my kids, almost every night, but I was running late and I still have all this work to do—”

“Whoa…
whoa.
” Eddie stopped what he was doing, his hand propped on one knee, his brow tightly drawn as he looked down at her. “You think there's something wrong with taking the convenient route, every once in a while?”

“No, of course not. It's just—”

The words caught in her throat, as the shakes assaulted her all over again. She couldn't talk, couldn't breathe. But this was ridiculous, after all this time…

A gasp popped from her mouth as she felt Eddie's arm go around her shoulders, especially since she hadn't even heard him jump off the porch roof. “Criminy, Mala—are you okay?”

“What?” His solidity, his nearness, were nearly more than she could deal with. No man other than her brother or father had touched her since Scott, and the sudden, vicious need to be held was nearly overwhelming. She couldn't…

She lifted a hand to her head, swallowing down the sickness and the need, both, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I just got a little dizzy there, for a moment.” She dared to lift her eyes. He clearly wasn't buying it. “It's okay, Eddie. Really. I just haven't eaten in a while, that's all.”

“Then I suggest we remedy that as soon as possible,” he said, dropping his arm and walking back toward the porch. Then he twisted around, one finger pointed. “And don't you dare let me hear you apologizin' like that again, you hear me?” The hand dropped. “If I've got the gall to invite myself to dinner, then I can damn well deal with whatever you give me.
And rotisserie chicken and potato salad beats the hell out of another sandwich.”

Then he turned his back to her, tweaking with the strands of lights looped around the garlands framing the porch. His scent lingered in her nostrils, his touch in her nerve endings. He'd just fussed at her, she realized. But his words had felt like a caress. Not like a series of blows.

She scrambled for her control as if it were a fumbled football.

“A s-sandwich?” she said. “You're kidding?”

“Nope. After all the cooking I do for other people the rest of the week, I don't cook much for myself when I'm on my own. Okay, let's plug these suckers in and see what we've got.” He took the porch steps two at a time, crossed to the outlet next to the front door, then picked up the plug and yelled inside. “Hey, kids! Showtime!”

Ten seconds later, after they'd all been dispatched to the sidewalk to get the maximum effect, he plugged in the cord…and the house flashed into brilliance, the colored lights sparkling like candy over the dangling, glittering icicle lights. The kids both whooped in delight, clapping their hands, as a shard of bitter disappointment sliced through Mala. This was what she'd envisioned when she'd married Scott, what she'd envisioned from the time she was a little girl dreaming of her own white knight, magic moments like this that bind a family together. A husband who adored her, who'd freeze his backside off to bring smiles like that to his children's faces. Only the man now loping down the steps toward them wasn't her husband, wasn't even part of her family, but just a nice guy who'd be gone in a few months.

She supposed after all this time she should at least be grateful for this much, since this was obviously as good as it was going to get.

“Well, how's it look?” Eddie said beside her, beaming nearly as much as the kids. Mala glanced over at him, her heart's stuttering shoving aside her own maudlin thoughts long enough to realize that's exactly what was going on here: the child who never got anyone's approval.

“It's absolutely gorgeous, Eddie,” she said with a sharp nod, and knew, without looking at him, that, this time, he wanted to kiss
her.

 

He didn't get it. He'd managed to get through the last fifteen years without worrying about another human being. At least, not on a personal level. So what sort of power or pull, or whatever the hell this was, did this woman and her kids have over him, that he found himself in immiment danger of doing so now?

“Carrie?” Mala called down the hall from the kitchen doorway, drying her hands on a dishtowel—she'd out and out refused to let him help with the dishes—her hair hanging all loose and soft to her shoulders, sleek as mink. “Time for your bath, honey.”

“Aw, Mama—”

“Now, Carrie. Chop-chop.”

Oh, man, he'd wanted to kiss her so bad out there, he thought he'd pop.

Not that he wasn't still in control, even if Miss Mala and her softness and sense of humor and whatever had just set her off like that were all combining to give that control a run for its money. He just had to be careful, was all, maybe remind himself a little more firmly that nobody ruled Eddie King but Eddie King.

“Coffee?” she asked.

He hesitated, figuring he really should go. Not wanting to. “I don't want to keep you from your work or anything.”

All those curves of hers, even underneath layers of sweaters, swayed gracefully as she walked across the kitchen. “I can't get anything done until they're in bed, anyway.”

“Then coffee sounds great.”

So she went about putting on the coffee while he watched her, the pup curled up at his feet, thinking about how much energy he'd wasted growing up on being angry at all those people who periodically discarded him like last week's Sunday paper. How he'd been so sure the only way to protect himself was to turn off his emotions, not letting anyone or anything
get to him. Maybe he hadn't much liked himself like that, but he hadn't known what else to do. Wasn't until after his divorce that it finally dawned on him he'd been going at things all wrong, that there was more to survival than just sandbagging your feelings. No, the key, he finally realized, was making sure you always held the upper hand, see. Controlling your own destiny, or fate, or whatever. He didn't have to be a bastard. He just had to be the one in charge.

And wanting to help had nothing to do with getting emotionally involved.

That'd been the only reason he'd wrangled that dinner invitation, because he hated to see people miserable. He had a ton of food upstairs, although the part about his cooking for himself hadn't been a lie. But from the moment he saw Mala get out of her car this evening, he could tell, just from the way she held herself, all cautious and careful like she'd break if she moved too fast, that something was wrong or something had happened, one or the other. And it was like…like something had shattered inside him, seeing her like that. Oh, he'd told himself it was none of his business, that she had plenty of people around to lean on, to confide in, that they'd done this dance before and she would only push away any offer of help or solace or whatever it was he thought he was offering, he wasn't really sure. And that she was right, there was no point in his going and getting himself all tangled up with her and the kids when he wasn't going to be around.