Life is Sweet (25 page)

She pushed the plate across the counter to him. “I'm so sorry. I know how awful it must be for you. Even if you and Nicole were having problems.”

“It's Olivia who I'm most worried about. Being cut out of her life is the most brutal part.”

There was no disguising the depression that settled over her. It matched his own. “She adores you.”

This was why people in the middle of a breakup needed to hide away from the world. They did nothing but spread woe.

“How is she supposed to make sense of this? It's hard enough for me. But adults are used to breaking up with people and never seeing them again,” he said.

Becca leaned against the counter, smiling wryly. “Unfortunately, I'm
not
used to that. This is a tough town for escaping your romantic past.”

“That's why I'm thinking about moving back to DC.”

She straightened, alarmed. “Right away?”

“When I find a place. I only moved to Leesburg to be near Nicole and Olivia.”

“Oh.” She shifted. “I know this is going to sound awfully self-centered coming at this time, but I was wondering if you still had any room for Walt. Just short-term.”

He smiled. “Only you would consider it selfish to ask for a favor for someone else.”

“Well, he's not your responsibility.”

“He doesn't have to be yours, either,” he pointed out.

“Yes, he does. If he's my dad, I can't just let the hospital release him onto the streets. Even if he's not, I still feel some responsibility for him, since he was staying at my place when he collapsed. Anyway, my friend Erin's helping me get him an appointment at the transplant center near here. Maybe there's hope for him.”

The name Erin jarred Matthew.
“I ran into Erin the other day,”
Dave had said, weeks and weeks ago.
“Bob cheats on her like crazy. . . .”
It couldn't just be a coincidence, could it? “You know Erin?” He searched for a last name. “
Bob's
Erin?”

Becca's gaze didn't quite meet his. “Actually, yeah. She's a good friend. She's staying at my apartment for a few days.”

Right. It was all becoming clear now. He shifted. “You probably knew when you called. . . .”

She ducked her head. “I knew. I'm sorry. I should have said something, but I didn't think it was my place.”

He frowned. So that was how she'd been so quick with the tea and sympathy. He'd been telling her old news. “If Erin's your friend, I'm guessing you've known about this for some time.”

She appeared to weigh her words. “I suspected, but I wasn't sure. Erin said she was trying to save her marriage.”

“But you knew that I was having doubts about Nicole. You never thought of giving me a heads-up?”

“I didn't want to get involved in anyone's breakup,” she said. “And I worried it would come off as self-serving.”

He stilled. “Why?”

“Well, because . . .” She turned away, flustered. “I never liked Bob, and I can't say I think much of Nicole, but I didn't want to dance on the grave of anyone's relationship.”

He didn't think that was what she'd originally meant to say, but he let it go. He tamped down the spike of anger he felt at being kept in the dark, too. Becca was right. In her place, he might have played it just as close to the vest. It was hard to fault someone for being too discreet, even if the discretion had come at his expense.

“I see what you mean about this being a hard town to hide in.” It sounded as if he'd been the last to know about his own breakup.

“Erin's upset at the moment, so I'm putting her up,” she said. “That's why there's no room at the inn for Walt.”

“He can stay here.” It actually seemed fitting that he would offer his place as a solution to her overcrowding situation, so Erin could be looked after by friends. A show of solidarity between the victims of the Nicole-Bob shakeup.

“Are you sure?” Becca asked. “I can pay you rent for Walt.”

“That's crazy,” he said. “I have an extra room. It's just got a fold-out futon couch, though. Not much else.”

“Walt's used to minimalism. In fact . . .” She swallowed. “Before you take him in, there's something you need to know. Walt's spent a pretty big chunk of his life in prison.”

Matthew frowned, trying to make the mental adjustment this news required. Becca had told him he'd kicked a drug habit, but not that he was a criminal. “That nice old guy?”

“That nice old guy used to be a heroin addict and an armed robber. He's been clean and arrest-free for over a decade, but I wouldn't blame you for deciding that you don't want a person with his past installed in your spare room. In fact, now that I'm saying it aloud, I feel as if I'm being unfair, putting you in this position.”

Matthew tried to square the words
armed robber
with that withered, harmless-looking man in the porkpie hat. It was like hearing that Captain Kangaroo had been an evil pirate. “When did you find this out?”

“He told me the first day I met him.”

“Before you knew he was your father?”

“Before I knew anything about him at all. One thing about Walt, he's not pretending to be something he's not.” Her brows knit. “If you don't count pretending to be just a guy when he was my dad.
If
he is my dad. That's the other thing. There's still a chance he might be a huge fraud—in which case, all bets are off.”

No matter what lurked in the man's past, he couldn't see Walt suddenly turning criminal again now. If he'd wanted to, the guy could have robbed Becca's shop weeks ago. “I don't have much here worth stealing.”

Hope shone in her eyes. “You'd still consider it, then?”

“I don't know how much longer I'll be here, but . . .” He took a breath. “Sure. Okay.”

She practically pirouetted across the kitchen to hug him. “Thank you! If he needs anything, just let me know. I can bring towels, sheets—anything.”

That simple, all-too-short hug made his day. It was harder to focus after it was over. “I'm not sure how comfortable he'll be here. That futon is a remnant of my post-college days.”

“That'll seem luxurious to Walt. I had him sleeping on a cot we bought in the camping supplies department of Target.” She met his gaze. “I meant what I said about paying you.”

“And I meant what I said about his being welcome here.”

“But if you're moving . . .”

He looked at her, again trying to detect any hint of how she felt about his leaving. And not just how it would affect the availability of an extra room for Walt.

And to think, just an hour ago, he'd been contemplating being alone and unfettered. He'd been ready to shut himself off, but no sooner had he cracked the door open to Becca than it started filling up again. His brain told him to tread carefully, but when he looked into Becca's bright eyes, caution evaporated.

 

In the afternoon, Becca packed all Walt's belongings into his Rubbermaid tub and went to pick him up. He was up, dressed, and ready to go, but as per hospital rules, she had to wheel him to the front of the hospital and have him wait while she drove the Subaru around to collect him.

“Feels good to be free,” he said, watching the autumnal world out the passenger side window. “But I'd prefer it if you'd just take me back to the shop.”

He'd been resistant to living at Matthew's, but she thought she'd convinced him it was the best solution. “You can't live in the storeroom anymore, and I told you that Erin's at my place.”

“But how am I going to get to the cake shop to do my work? If Matthew has to drive me, that'll be a big hassle for him.”

“You don't have to work now. Just concentrate on feeling better.”

“I feel as fine as I'm ever going to,” he insisted. “But I've got to have something to do, and some way to make money.”

“No, you don't. At least, not right now. Just relax for a few days.”

He tapped his hands against his knees. “Relax,” he repeated. “You mean do nothing. I already spent too much of my life doing nothing. Eight years.”

“Hopefully Matthew's place will be a little better than jail.”

“I don't mean to complain,” he said. “I just don't want to be a burden to anybody.”

“Matthew's glad to have you, and his spare room is sitting empty right now. You're not a burden.”

“If I could just find a place like I had before . . .”

Remembering his old flophouse on Ferber Road, she shuddered. “Give this a few days. I'm trying to get you an appointment to see a transplant surgeon. They should be getting back to me soon.”

“That sounds like a lot of trouble for nothing.”

It was all she could do not to smack her forehead against the steering wheel. “Your life isn't nothing.”

He muttered something under his breath, then remained silent the rest of the way to Matthew's house. Once there, he insisted on hauling in his own tub of belongings. When he deposited it in the spare room, he wiped his forehead and stared around the four walls. “This place is about as bare as a jail cell,” he said to Matthew. “How long have you lived here?”

“Six months.”

“Looks like you're ready to make a quick getaway.”

As Walt explored the town house, checking things out, Becca and Matthew trailed after him to watch his reactions as they might if they'd brought a new cat home. Walt spent the longest time inspecting the kitchen, testing chairs for tippiness and seeing if there were any loose drawer pulls.

“Nothing for you to fix here,” she said.

He picked up Matthew's wand blender and squinted at it.

“That's a mixer,” she piped up.

“For making smoothies,” Matthew said.

“A smoothie's a—”

Walt barked out a laugh and set the utensil down. “I know what a smoothie is. I wasn't born yesterday. Or sprung yesterday.”

Sometimes she suspected he liked to mention his jail time just to mess with their heads.

The town house boasted a postage-stamp backyard, and Matthew had placed a few pieces of lawn furniture out there.

“You've got more stuff outside than in,” Walt observed, going out to take a look. He settled into a plastic chaise longue, zipped his jacket up to his chin, and closed his eyes. Becca and Matthew watched him nodding off from the other side of the sliding glass door.

“It feels like I'm dropping a kid off at camp,” she said. “Thank you for doing this. I promise it won't be forever. And if there are any problems—”

“There won't be,” he assured her.

“But if there are, just call me. I'll figure something out, even if I have to boot Erin back to her own house.” She drew back. “Come to think of it, maybe I should have just moved Walt over there. That would have given Bob a shock.”

Matthew winced a little, and she immediately regretted having that name slip out. Matthew and Nicole's breakup was making for fraught conversations all over town. Their boring little burg had suddenly become a hotbed of interrelated gossip, like a soap opera. It felt as if
All My Children
was alive and well and living in Leesburg.

Matthew took her hand. “Don't worry about it,” he said, as if he'd guessed her thoughts.

She glanced down at their linked hands and tried not to think about how right they looked together, or about all the neurons a simple touch of skin against skin could set off inside a body.

“You've heard of the rebound, haven't you?” she asked him.

“No, never,” he joked.

“Starting something one day after a relationship ends would definitely qualify.”

He took her hesitance with good grace. “Nice to be schooled in impulse control by a woman who picks up ex-convicts at gas stations.”

She tugged her hand back and crossed her arms, laughing. “Sometimes I think I exist solely to be a cautionary tale to others.”

“ ‘Don't Let This Happen to You—The Life of Rebecca Hudson, ' ” he said.

She tried to be serious again. “Honestly. I hope that you don't think that by taking in Walt . . .”

He waggled his brows. “Now that your maybe-dad's installed in my spare room, I'm on the inside track.”

“I mean it,” she said. “I'm really grateful . . .”

He shook his head. “Would you stop? I know. You've thanked me a hundred times. And believe me, there's no quid pro quo. I'm glad to help out.”

Since she wasn't allowed to voice her gratitude anymore, she smiled it, and they turned and looked out the window at Walt, still snoozing away in the puny shade of a recently planted maple. The trouble wasn't the quid pro quo that didn't exist in Matthew's thoughts. It was that her heart felt full, and indebted.

Chapter 20

Matthew told himself that he just wanted to beat the afternoon rush hour. He
was not
hurrying home from work early because a guy who'd spent eight years in a California penitentiary was staying in his town house.

Completely unrelated.

He gripped the steering wheel and cursed the speed limit.

His assurances to Becca about being glad to help out hadn't been a lie. Not when he'd given them. He was glad to take Walt in. He'd met the news of the man's shady—okay, criminal—past with bravado.
Nothing to steal in the house anyway
. The weekend had passed without incident. But all day as he'd been sitting at his desk, he'd thought of little things, and some not-so-little. Like his home office and computer. Walt didn't strike him as tech savvy enough to be a cybercriminal. A guy who looked puzzled by a wand blender wasn't likely to crack his encryption software. But there was always the old-fashioned pawnshop. The computer itself was worth something. And some of his older files and documents were sitting in an unlocked file cabinet. A gold mine for an identity thief.

Even if the man was clean as a whistle, who knew what his friends were? Telling Walt that he couldn't have visitors had never occurred to him. In fact, he'd urged him repeatedly to make himself at home. Mostly because he'd found Walt
too
polite. The night before, while Matthew was doing work research online, Walt had checked to make sure the sound of the television wouldn't bother Matthew. Then he'd turned on the closed captions and muted the volume. Later, he'd knocked on the door to ask Matthew if it was okay if he took some ice from the freezer.

It had been hard to hide his exasperation. “Help yourself.” Seriously. Did he really believe he needed permission to take ice cubes?

Matthew just hoped his “help yourself” didn't result in Walt's helping himself to his belongings and hitting the road.

When he pulled into the town house's driveway, right away something seemed wrong. The place looked odd. Different. It took him a moment to figure it out—the windows were open. Even on perfect days, Matthew generally kept the AC on and the shades pulled. Now, although there was a fall chill in the air, the town house windows were wide open. Jazz music drifted out on the late afternoon breeze. Odder still, a blue bicycle leaned against the front stoop.

His first thought was to wonder where Walt had found a bike. On closer inspection, he realized that he knew that bicycle.

Inside the house, the music grew louder, and there was also laughter. Familiar laughter. He followed the sound to the kitchen, where Olivia was sitting cross-legged on a chair at the kitchen table, a fistful of cards in her hand. When she spotted him, she grinned ear to ear. “Hi, Matthew! Walt's telling me about somebody called Sonny Rollins and teaching me to play poker.”

Matthew bit back a sigh as he dropped his briefcase. He hadn't foreseen this scenario. He looked at Walt, who smiled affably and gave him a quick shrug, as if to say,
What was I supposed to do?

“Did you bicycle all the way over here?” Matthew asked her.

Olivia blew a bubble. “Just from the Y. I'm supposed to be over there again after school. But it's awful there, so I came here to find you.”

“I'm back to working full days in Washington.”

“I forgot,” Olivia said. “But Walt was here, so it all worked out.”

The bravado in her delivery couldn't hide the anxiety in her expression. He would have given anything to be able to tell her to come and hang out here whenever she wanted, but they both knew that would never fly.

“I have to take you back now,” he said.

Her mouth trembled before settling into a scowl. “Why?”

“First, because you said yourself that you're supposed to be at the Y. Do you think they won't notice that you're missing? They'll call your mom.”

“She won't care.”

“Are you kidding? She'll be panicked.” The next part was more delicate. “And you have to know that she doesn't want you hanging around here. Around me.”

“Or me, probably,” Walt added.

Anger flared in her eyes. “Why not? A month ago she left me with you. And she doesn't even know Walt.”

“Hon, I'm guessing she wouldn't want to,” Walt said.

That was an understatement.

Olivia crossed her arms. “I don't care what she wants. Who is Mom to judge?” she asked Matthew. “She left you for Bob, and believe me, that is
not
an upgrade.”

It was hard not to laugh, or to love her more for her loyalty. “Thanks,” Matthew said.

“I mean it,” she said. “At first I thought everything went crazy because Mom had heard about you and Becca hanging out together. Then I got home from school and Bob was there. Like, living in my house. Mom said he had to stay because he'd been locked out of his own place.
Locked out
. How does that happen to a grown man?”

Walt shook his head. “I can think of several ways.”

“Well, one way is that Bob's an idiot,” Olivia said. “Although not to hear him tell it. According to him, he's a genius. The first conversation I had with him was all about the colleges he'd been to and the degrees he had. Then he asked me where I wanted to go to college, and I told him I didn't know, but wherever it was, I wouldn't spend the rest of my life bragging about it. Then I got sent to my room.”

Matthew sat down. “I'm sorry about all this, O. I worried that you would think I didn't care about you, or that I wouldn't miss our hanging out together.”

“What else was I supposed to think?” Her eyes flashed in accusation. “You didn't even call.”

“The truth is, I didn't want to have to say good-bye. I suck at those.”

Tears stood in her eyes. “Mom can't pick my friends. You're still my friend, aren't you?”

“Of course. Always. But—”

“I don't tell her that she can't see Bob,” she said. “Although
that
would make sense.”

“The difference is,” Matthew said, “she's your mom. She's doing what she thinks is right for her. For both of you.”

Olivia snorted.

“And you know she wouldn't want you over here when she's paid for the afterschool program at the Y, so I need to take you back.”

“It's not fair,” she said.

“No, it's not,” he agreed. “I wish I could say this is the worst case of life-is-not-fair you'll ever come up against.”

Walt clucked his tongue. “Life is a rough ride.”

It took some doing, but Matthew finally convinced Olivia to load her bike into his SUV. On the way to the Y on Fairfax Street, they had to pass downtown.

“Cupcakes!” Olivia's cry nearly gave him a heart attack.

“We don't have time,” Matthew said.

“Mom doesn't pick me up until six fifteen,” she argued. “Just one cupcake. Please? Please-please-please-please-please—?”

He had a hunch the
pleases
would have gone on for several more blocks or maybe even infinity if he hadn't hooked the vehicle into a free space on the street. Olivia's requests had always been hard to resist, and now that she needed cheering up, he was more susceptible to them than ever.

A puzzled expression pulled at Becca's brow as he and Olivia walked through the shop's door.

He sent her a shrug and a barely perceptible shake of the head as if to say
No, I'm not back together with Nicole.

As if that were in any doubt.

Becca smiled at Olivia. “Hey. What can I get you?”

“I want a job,” Olivia announced in a bullhorn voice.

Becca sputtered in surprise, and heads bobbed their way. It looked like old home week in the cupcake store. Pam was behind the counter, and Cal was leaning against the coffee station reading
The Loudoun Times-Mirror.
What was he doing there? Another woman was parked at one of the small round tables with a laptop. A capacious handbag, a jacket, scarf, and a few shopping bags took up all available space around her. Either she was also a good friend of Becca's or the cake shop was now taking boarders.

Matthew suspected he knew who she was, but his mind backed away from putting a name to that forlorn-elf face.

“You said you would hire me, once,” Olivia told Becca.

“When you were older, she said,” Matthew reminded her.

Olivia bobbed on her heels. “I'm older now. A month older. But it feels like years.”

Becca's mouth turned down at the corners. “I've had a month like that myself.”

“Will you give me a job?”

“I'd love to,” Becca said, “but I can't. Child labor's illegal. Also, it wouldn't be much fun for you.”

“It would be better than the Y,” Olivia said. “I hate it over there. First they make us do kids' Zumba, and then they make us study. It's like jail.”

“Zumba study hall.” Pam shook her head in commiseration.

The woman at the table nodded, adding, “Much worse than regular jail.”

Becca glared at them to let them know they were being unhelpful, and then Cal looked up from his paper. “Any study hall always seemed like jail to me.”

At the sound of his voice, Olivia gasped and pivoted. When she'd made her beeline for Becca, she'd walked right past him. “Cal!” She zipped over to him. “Would
you
give me a job?”

Cal's expression as Olivia buttonholed him was classic deer-in-headlights. “I . . . uh . . .”

Matthew tried to tug Olivia back toward the door, but she shrugged him off and stood her ground. “I could do a lot of chores out there. I'd clean stalls or whatever. Even ride horses, if they need exercise. You wouldn't even have to pay me.”

Cal's pained expression searched out Becca and then Matthew for help.

“You have to be realistic,” Matthew told Olivia. “How would you even get to the stables after school?”

“My bike.”

“It's miles out there,” he reminded her.

“And it's going to be winter soon,” Cal added.

Taking pity on Cal, Becca wrapped up a strawberry cupcake for Olivia and set it on the counter. “Here—this is on the house. I promise, the moment I can hire you, I will.”

Olivia's face was scarlet as she glared at them all. “Everyone is so selfish—nobody wants to help even when I'm willing to work like a slave for them!” She turned on her heel, then stopped, pivoted, and snatched the cupcake bag from the counter. “Thanks,” she said. “I'm sorry for whining, but Walt's right. Life really is a rough ride.”

She stomped out.

Matthew backed apologetically toward the door, too. “I'm sorry,” he told Becca, including the others in the sweep of his gaze. “I had no idea she was going to ambush you.”

“I understand.” Becca tilted her head. “Is everything okay otherwise?”

He lifted his shoulders. “So far.”

“Tell Walt I'm picking him up tomorrow morning at ten,” she said.

He nodded and then hurried out the door, hoping he could get Olivia back to the Y before Nicole discovered her daughter had gone AWOL.

As the thought occurred to him, his phone rang. He looked at the screen and groaned. Nothing to do but face the music. He hit Talk. “Nicole, don't worry. She's fine.” He took a deep breath, and let the blast of maternal anxiety, relief, and anger wash over him.

This would teach him to leave the office early.

 

When the bell over the door tinkled Matthew and Olivia's departure, Becca and the others exchanged glances. The tornado of anguish that had just blown through left them all slightly stunned.

“What was that all about?” Pam asked.

“I think it was about the effect of adult craziness on kids.” Becca's heart felt bludgeoned. “I didn't know what to say to her.”

“So that was Olivia.” Erin sagged in her chair. “More collateral damage.”

How she could still be sitting down after being installed at the table for hours was beyond Becca's comprehension. Erin's moment of feeling triumphant and free had surrendered to a weekend of moping and fear for her future. As if a woman with several million dollars had anything to be afraid of. She was on her fifteenth cup of coffee of the day, and almost as many cupcakes. Between caffeine, sugar, and manic-depression, it was amazing that her body hadn't shorted out.

“She really put me on the spot,” Cal said.

Erin sighed. “Poor kid.”

Pam clucked her tongue thoughtfully. “Shame about those child labor laws. I bet Olivia would make a good worker. If the world could just find a way to harness the excess energy of middle schoolers . . .”

“Maybe I should start up an afterschool apprentice program,” Becca mused. “Have kids come over and do my work for me. Kids like to make cakes.”

“Kids like to
eat
cakes,” Cal said.

Pam nixed the idea. “If children get the unbearable urge to work in a kitchen, I'm guessing their moms would prefer to be the beneficiaries.”

“True.” Becca sighed. “Oh well. It was a nice dream for the ten seconds it lasted.”

Over in her corner, Erin stirred out of her funk. “When I was a kid, I did sort of have an afternoon job at a stable.”

The three of them gaped at her in amazement.

“You did?” Becca asked.

“Yeah. The family chauffeur would pick me up after school and take me to the stable, where I rode and took care of horses. Light chores—just what Olivia was talking about, actually. It was slave labor, but it was fun. Also, one of my uncles owned the stables, so it was free for me, but other kids actually paid. I think there was even a little bus or van that went by a few of the public schools to pick up kids. Their parents would collect them on the way home after work. Lots of stables do that, I think.”