Authors: Barbara Ellen Brink
“I can’t believe you’re really here.”
Billie released Adam from a rib-crushing embrace. She motioned him into the
house and watched as he hefted his bag. “You brought your guitar? You must be
planning a long visit.” Her brows drew together in a little frown.
Adam grinned to hide his
uneasiness. “Sure, why not? I’m out of school, looking for my path in life. I
might as well search in California as well as Minnesota.”
“I thought you already had a job
offer.” The reprimand in her voice was obvious but instead of waiting for a
reply she closed the door and led him through the house, down a hallway into a
guest room.
A tall four-poster dwarfed the
space, but the painting at the head of the bed immediately grabbed his
attention. The surreal vision of vibrant colors fighting one another to
dominate the canvas was almost more than he could take in. Billie was right
when she told him her uncle was exorcising personal demons with his art.
“Uncle Jack’s work?” He dropped the
bags and stepped around his sister to get a better look. “I thought you
auctioned them off or something.”
She shrugged and lifted her chin.
“I kept a couple. It seemed wrong to sell all of them. He was our uncle, after
all. Besides, I see them in a different light now.”
“Really? In a dark room with a dim
flashlight?”
She smacked his shoulder. “Same
little smart aleck you always were,” she said, her voice light with laughter.
“Are you hungry?”
He nodded and followed her to the
kitchen.
“What did Mother say about you
flying out here?” She pulled leftovers from the refrigerator; chicken breast,
wild rice, and broccoli materialized from containers. She lifted a carton of
milk. “Seems funny she didn’t call me.”
Adam scratched at the stubble along
his cheek. “That’s cause I didn’t mention it to her.”
She looked up from her
preparations, amusement flickering in the depths of her eyes.
“She’d just try to talk me out of
it. You know how she is.”
Billie bit at her bottom lip, a
longtime habit since she was a kid, and slipped the plate of food into the
microwave. “Haven’t learned how to deal with Mother yet without running away?”
she asked. She turned to face him as they waited for the food to heat.
“Hey! I’m not the one who moved to
California,” he reminded her.
“I didn’t move here to get away
from Mother. That was a bonus.” She smiled smugly.
“I’m going to tell her you said
that,” he threatened, and pulled his cell phone from his back pocket.
She laughed and shook her head, unafraid
as ever. “No you won’t. Cause then she’ll know where you are.”
“You’re right. I’d rather be sucked
into quicksand than have that conversation now. I’m too tired and hungry to
deal with thirty questions.” He sat at the butcher-block table, and propped his
head on his hand. “You aren’t going to quiz me, are you?”
“Not tonight,” she said as she set
the plate before him. “Maybe tomorrow.” She watched him eat with obvious
sibling affection.
He finished off the food in record
time, leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Thanks, that was great. You know,
they don’t feed people on planes anymore. And the shops in the airport are pure
robbery.”
“Did you take the taxi all the way
out? It must have cost a fortune. Why didn’t you call me?” she asked, her back
to him as she rinsed his plate in the sink.
“Nope. I hitched—and walked a
lot.” He chuckled at the look of astonishment on her face. It reminded him of
their mom. “Don’t worry. I only met two serial killers and neither wanted me.”
“It’s no wonder.”
“There’s something else I should
probably tell you though,” he said. He stood to stretch the kinks from his back
and deliberately avoided his sister’s gaze by peering through the window of the
back door. The yard was shadowed by the overhanging boughs of huge trees, edged
by vineyards to the south. He tried to see through the foliage, toward the
house he knew stood in the distance, but it was as remote as the woman who
lived there.
Billie’s groan was reminiscent of
the Frankenstein monster in the movies they watched together as children.
“Don’t tell me. You’ve run away from home and Mom will be beating down the door
shortly.”
“Not exactly.” Adam turned to face
her. “I met your neighbor.”
“Handel?”
He shook his head. “His sister. I
knocked on her door by mistake. Thought it was the winery.” He combed fingers
through his hair, pushed it back from his forehead in a weary gesture. “You
could have told me you lived by Marilyn Monroe reincarnated.”
She groaned again, covered her
mouth and released the breath of a laugh into her palm. “You didn’t mention the
resemblance to Margaret, did you?”
“Most women would be flattered,” he
muttered, annoyed by the teasing light in his sister’s eyes. “She acted as if I
likened her to a Guernsey cow rather than a sexy movie star. What’s with women
anyway?”
Billie cupped his scruffy chin in
her hand as if he was still the little brother and not half a head taller than
she. “Some women like to be admired for attributes other than big breasts and
blonde hair. You might try looking below the surface.”
He shrugged and pulled away. “That
takes time,” he said, moving toward the living room. “I didn’t get the
impression she gave guys like myself the opportunity to dig deeper. Is it just
me or does she seem a bit stuck up to you too?”
Billie followed and plopped down on
a leather sofa across from the recliner he stretched out in. “She has her
reasons. I wouldn’t call it stuck up; more like reserved. You would be too if
everywhere you went men gaped and made lewd comments or catcalls.”
“Beauty is such a curse.” He wasn’t
usually so snide but he was tired and failed to keep it in. “And I didn’t do
any of those things,” he argued, crossing his arms.
“I didn’t say you did. But I’m sure
that’s what Margaret heard. She’s been trying to live down her past for so
long, she thinks everyone else is just as obsessed with it.”
“At least Davy doesn’t seem
traumatized by her attitude.” Adam yawned widely and rubbed a hand over his
face.
“You met Davy?” His sister smiled,
her whole face emanating warmth at mention of the kid. She apparently had
fallen for more than one Parker male. “I don’t think anything could traumatize
that boy. He’s the most secure child I’ve ever known. Margaret is a good
mother. Davy is proof of that. She’s not as confident as she wants people to believe
and she comes off as brusque, often inhospitable, but underneath I think she
just needs a friend.”
“A friend, huh?”
“Yeah, a friend.”
Her steady gaze was disconcerting
and Adam couldn’t help but look away. Friendship with a woman was seldom
long-lived. If he liked them well enough to be friends, something physical was
usually brewing on one side or the other. Platonic was not a word he could
envision using in regard to the woman next door. He just wished there was some
way to start over with Margaret Parker.
“So?” His sister’s question brought
him back to the conversation at hand.
“So, what?”
“So what are you really doing here?
Besides ticking off my neighbor.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He pulled his
jean pockets inside out, revealing a ball of lent and twenty-six cents. “I need
a job.”
“You studied business and
accounting,” she said, frowning. “We need field workers right now. It’s harvest
time.”
“I could try that—but someone
told me your accountant is spending time in Sing Sing.”
A smile lit up her eyes and she
chuckled. “I was kind of hoping she got put out on Alcatraz.”
“Good accountants are hard to find
these days.”
She pressed her lips together and
looked away. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
bring up bad memories.”
“It’s okay.” She slid her fingers
over the smooth leather sofa, a shadow of pain in her eyes. “At least the bad
memories are out in the open now. Believe me, they’re much easier to deal with
than nightmares.”
“Are you doing the books yourself?”
“Right now I’m doing a bit of
everything, but not mastering anything. Maybe new blood is a good idea. I could
use the help.”
“Terrific. When do I start?”
“Is tomorrow too soon?”
He grinned. “That gives me just
enough time to press my three-piece suit.”
“Lucky for you, we’re a little more
laid back around here. Suits are optional.”
“Whew! That’s a relief. Cause I
didn’t actually bring a suit.”
She snorted. “I didn’t actually
believe you did.”
*****
Margaret set a plate of cheese and
crackers on the floor beside her son where he hunched over a complicated Lego
structure. He’d been working on it for the past four afternoons.
He looked up and smiled. “Thanks,
Mom.” His attention immediately returned to the task at hand. He was a natural
at complicated directions and intricate details. Even at nine years old he
seemed to have an innate sense of how things fitted together. She relied on him
to direct her on any project that included boards, screws, or wrenches of any
kind.
“What are you building there?” she
asked, glancing about the room. The pile of socks and shorts she’d folded and
left on the top of his dresser earlier was still there. She slid open the top
drawer and placed them inside.
“It’s a replica of the space
station. I saw a picture on the Internet at school.” He pushed a tiny block in
place, his eyes narrowed into a squint. “But I’m not sure if this is right. I
think I might have to print out a copy.”
Margaret ruffled his hair. “You’re
something else.” She headed for the door.
“Billie’s brother is pretty cool,
isn’t he?” he said.
She stopped, one hand on the
doorframe. “Why do you say that?”
“He’s really good at soccer and he
has a guitar. I bet he can play that rock and roll you like.”
She tried not to laugh. “I think
your cool meter is broken, babe. That guy was a jerk.”
Davy narrowed his eyes as he
considered her view. “Maybe he’s like new wine. He just needs time to soak up
the flavors around here and you’ll like him better. I didn’t know if I liked
Billie when she first came and started living in Jack’s house,” he said, his
voice thoughtful, “ but now we’re like best friends.”
“Yeah? Well I didn’t know about
Billie right away either, but I’m pretty sure I won’t change my mind about her
brother.”
He stared up at her a moment.
“Don’t you like men, Mom?” he said finally, his blue eyes intent.
The question struck her heart like
an arrow. She didn’t want Davy to think she was a man-hater, one of those women
that put all of the male species into one box. He was, after all, becoming one
of them. But lately she’d felt a growing tendency to blame everything wrong
with her world upon the macho sex.
The rattle of the garage door
brought her son to his feet. “Uncle Handel!”
He ran past her, leaving the question
still hanging unanswered in the room.
She followed him down the hall and
into the kitchen where Handel stood before the open refrigerator, staring
inside with a practiced eye. “What’s for dinner?” he asked without turning
around. He lifted the carton of orange juice and drank straight from the spout.
Beloved brother or not, Margaret
wanted to throw herself at him and pummel him with her fists. Not because he
was drinking from the carton like a pig, although that annoyed her too, but
because he was acting as though this were any other day of the week. She‘d
waited patiently for his call all morning and afternoon, and he hadn’t had the
sense to pick up a phone. How could he walk in here and ask what’s for dinner
as though her whole world wasn’t ready to fall apart? She knew him too well to
think he’d actually forgotten to call. Something must have happened that he
could only relate in person. So she continued to wait, her arms crossed tightly
over her chest, jaw clenched in anticipation.
“Uncle Handel, guess what?” Davy
interjected into the dark void of Margaret’s thoughts.
Handel replaced the carton, let the
door swing shut, and slowly turned toward them. Margaret saw his face change
from somber to pleasantly cheerful, obviously for Davy’s benefit. Was that pity
she detected in his eyes when he glanced her way? It was hard to say. Her
brother was usually very adept at hiding his feelings. After all, he was a
lawyer.
“Do I have to? I had a really long
day, Kid. Guessing takes energy, and I’m all out.” He slumped playfully against
the refrigerator as though he could barely stand upright.
Davy grabbed Handel’s arm and
pulled him toward the kitchen table. “Sit down and I’ll tell you.”
“All right.”
Margaret went to the refrigerator
and pulled out the package of hamburger patties she’d planned to cook for
dinner. Thoughts of what may have transpired between Handel and Agosto blocked
out Davy’s conversation at the table. Until Adam Fredrickson’s name came up.
“He had a guitar on his back while
he was kicking the ball. Can you believe it? It was cool!”
Handel met Margaret’s eye. “Is that
right? Billie’s brother showed up? I didn’t even know she was expecting him,”
he said, clearly disappointed that he was out of the loop.
Margaret plopped the burgers onto
the preheated skillet and set on a lid. “I don’t think she knew either. I’m
pretty sure he conceived the idea for this grand visit on his own.”
Handel’s eyes narrowed at her tone,
but he didn’t comment.
So predictable, she thought. He
never caused waves. He certainly wouldn’t be first in a pool of criticism that
involved his girlfriend’s brother. Chalk up another point for the male
brotherhood. She poured a package of frozen corn into a bowl and set it to cook
in the microwave. When she looked up he was still watching her, a sad
expression on his face.