All That You Are (12 page)

“I'll stop messing with you,” he said, his deep voice sincere. “It's just that your eyes shine real pretty when you get aggravated.”

“No, they don't.”

“Yeah, they do.”

To her immediate relief, he moved his hand and leaned back. For a brief moment, she acknowledged that it had been pleasant having him touch her. If his hand felt this nice, what would his mouth do to her?

She staved off a shiver.

Thankfully Mark produced a small spiral notebook from his jacket, and he opened it to discuss the notations he'd made from the violation reports she'd given him. He'd written pages and pages of ideas, suggestions and ways to go about bringing things to code.

“So if you add a door here, you're going to have to widen that hallway.” He pointed to a rough sketch he'd made. “But it's better to do it before your reinspection. Those guys tell you to do one thing, and they don't mention that when you do, you create a new situation.”

All she could manage was a nod, feeling completely at a loss over the extent of things.

“As for your second exit, I put in a call to a structural engineer I know to draw up a quick set of plans for the fire exit. I told him to make it good-looking, not just utility.”

“I don't understand.”

Mark scribbled a rendition of her current patio. “We'll have to build the exit here—see?”

She leaned forward and he turned the drawing so that it would face her as he continued to add to it.

“You're going to need to come off this point, add steel girding, then bring it to the wharf. Thankfully you have that patio. Without it, you would have had to start from scratch.”

Everything seemed overwhelming to her. The changes would be drastic…and cost a lot.

Before they went any further, she had to confess, “I've got five thousand dollars that I can put toward the expenses. Beyond that, I'm tapped out right now.” Admitting her funds came up short gave her a humiliating,
deflated feeling, but she had no choice other than to be up-front with him. “Can you bring the project in for less?”

“Honey, five grand won't touch it.”

Her heart sank.

Mark laid his palms on the table in front of him. He eased his fingertips toward her, so close they lightly touched her knuckles where she'd knit her hands together. His contact sent an electrical jolt through her. “Don't worry about the cost. I already told you I'd take care of it.”

Inching away from him, she replied, “I don't want to owe you anything.”

“You won't.”

“Yes, I will. More than five thousand.” Bruised pride left a bitter taste in her mouth, the despair hard to swallow. “How much, Mark?”

He studied her at length, as if contemplating whether or not to be truthful about it. “Forty—probably closer to fifty.”

“Thousand?” She gulped.

“It's not nickels, sunshine.”

Smothering a groan, she almost wished he'd answered with a lie to placate her. She tried to regain her composure as the weight of his words settled in.

She hadn't seen this moment coming. Certainly not from the first she'd laid eyes on Mark Moretti two weeks ago.

That night when he'd come into the bar, she'd noticed him long before his friend had gotten into a stupid fight. She'd been at the bar for some reason, unimportant now, and he'd entered the Blue Note with a tall presence that she hadn't been able to ignore.

Right from the start, she'd been attracted to him, but denial had been easy to manipulate. She had grown to be an expert at it. She'd watched him for a long while, noticing the ease with which he moved, the way a smile fell naturally on his mouth. There'd been an envious pang that had filled her, something she'd long since tried to forget.

So what had led to this moment now, them together and sitting across a table…and what had he proposed? She trusted few. Herself least of all. She'd made too many mistakes in the past. Would this be one of them?

If she didn't let Mark make the repairs, she would lose the bar.

She had no other option.

Reaching into her jeans pocket, she produced a key. Setting it on the table, she slowly slid it toward Mark. His brow quirked with a curiosity she thought unfounded given what they'd been discussing. “You'll need to have access to the bar,” she informed him.

With a lopsided smile, he said, “Shoot—I thought you were giving me a key to your place.”

She felt a frown work over her mouth, almost glad he'd been crass. Far easier to be annoyed by him than humbling herself.

“You wish,” she retorted, pinching the bridge of her nose to rid herself of the headache that seemed to slap her all at once. The dull throb made her lose what little appetite she'd had.

Of all the guys she didn't want to be indebted to, Mark was on her short list. Applying pressure to her forehead, she gave him a heavy gaze. “If this is some elaborate plan to get me to—” She didn't know how to
finish the thought without visually spelling it out. Regrouping, she continued, “Look, if all you're trying to do is hook up with me, then you're going to a lot of trouble and expense—”

“Dana, for fifty grand, I could buy a whole lotta love.” For the first time since she'd given him crap about his motives, he got angry with her. Clearly insulted. “Trust me. I have no ulterior motives. I want to do this for me as much as you need it for you.” He raked his hair from his forehead. “And if I wanted to get you into bed, I could have talked you into it a long time ago.”

Conviction laced his voice, and the air between them snapped with tension. She wasn't altogether sure he was wrong.

O
SCAR'S DEATH
had changed Suni. She saw beauty in things she'd taken for granted. She became more forgiving, more patient. Past scars were healed, hard feelings forgotten. She recognized that life could be taken, breaths ceased. Live for today.

And she had much to be alive for.

A daughter. A grandson.

Her health. Happiness. Moderate prosperity.

In death, Oscar had made sure she'd be taken care of with the modest life insurance policy he'd secured. Most of the money stayed in a savings account for Terran's college education.

She'd paid off the loan on the house, gotten rid of Oscar's old Mercedes and bought herself a reliable Toyota. She didn't let Dana pay for utilities or things pertaining to the home. But as prideful as she was, Dana wouldn't let Suni buy her a new car. That junker S-10 was held together by rust and hope. How it even still ran was anyone's guess.

Suni enjoyed providing a place for Dana and Terran that they could feel special in. Build memories. She loved having them with her. Without them, her life would be very empty.

She remembered the evening that Dana had sat her down and told her she was pregnant. There had been no guessing who'd fathered the child. Dana had been seeing Cooper for less than a year, and she'd been infatuated with him from the start. Suni had never cared for him, and he did not have a lot of good qualities.

He procrastinated.

He was lazy when not prodded.

He needed some strong energy.

Dislike for him tainted the fabric of her path. Because of him, each fold of her life now unraveled. She would have loved to have seen him sail away on a paper airplane, but the moron had fathered her grandchild. From that day forward, she'd have to concern herself over what Cooper did. Now his thoughts, speech and actions would affect their lives forever.

Over the past five years, the first two being most difficult, Suni had learned to accept the new path. And much to her desire for it not to be so, Cooper had turned out to be rather “okay.”

He'd finally taken responsibility, entered Terran's life, and did indeed make a difference. And for the better.

So Suni did have many things to celebrate. She kept Oscar's memory alive, telling Terran stories about his grandfather. And about his uncle Terrance, whom he'd been named after.

“Grandma!” Terran called, racing ahead. “Why are you walking like a turtle?”

“Terran, you slow down, baby. It's slippery.”

Rain had been falling off and on that morning, but the annual July Fourth festivities never faltered. For Ketchikanites, it was a huge holiday featuring a big parade.

Terran paused on the sidewalk, bouncing in tennis shoes with impatience, waiting for her to catch him. He wore his hockey uniform, a black-and-gold jersey with the number 4 on the chest and sleeves. Gripping his hockey stick, he swished it over the sidewalk, chasing an imaginary puck.

As Suni set her pace faster, he hollered, “Grandma, how come you aren't running? Doncha want me to get you some candy at the parade?”

Suni didn't need any candy, but Terran seemed to think he could hoard more if he prefixed it with the intention of collecting handfuls for his grandma. Besides, the candy toss wasn't until the big parade, not the kiddy one. “I'm not worried about candy.”

“How come you don't worry?”

“Because worry isn't wise.”

Terran made a slap shot toward the curb, banging into a streetlamp base. “What's wise mean?”

“Smart.”

“How come you didn't say that in the first place?”

Striding next to him, she frowned. His endless questions did tax a person's patience quota. “Come on, we're almost there.”

The Federal Building loomed on Mission Street, a massive tarp-covered monster at the moment. At a public meeting this past April, the few people in attendance had voted to repaint the building in its current pink shade rather than a proposed cream. The National Register of Historic Places gave the city some leeway in arguing for the pink—since cream would have matched the sky's dreary color most of the time.

Suni thought the building looked like an L-shaped block of Pepto-Bismol.

Children, accompanied by adults, crowded near the entrance, organizing who would ride on decorated wagons pulled by parents, and who would race along on scooters or zip past on bikes. Everything had been decorated with red, white and blue crepe paper, and there were all sorts of waving flags, stars and whatever patriotic symbols the kids could find.

Terran's group had a banner to carry. His ice hockey team, the Chinooks, would be led by their coach—Cooper. Whenever Terran saw his father, his eyes lit brightly and he dashed ahead to give his daddy a leg hug.

“Hey, buddy!” Cooper said, lifting his son into his arms for a brief moment before righting him on his feet.

“Daddy!”

Suni held back, having done her part by bringing Terran to the parade start by ten-thirty. Dana had secured a spot complete with camp chairs and umbrellas for them near the tunnel on Tongass Highway where she waited, camcorder in hand, to video him as he marched along.

Glancing Suni's way, Cooper waved, then busied himself in the task of wrangling a dozen hyper five-year-olds into a rough formation.

 

M
ARK LEISURELY CHECKED OUT
the booths on Tongass Dock, a mix of carnival games and food stalls. He learned what
lumpia
was—a Filipino egg roll. The roasting smells of reindeer sausage came from portable grills. The Indian taco stalls serving fried bread and fixings had quite the lineups. Other stalls offered seasoned turkey legs that had just finished cooking, gathering a crowd ready for their lunch. Mouthwatering aromas filled the damp air, and rain threatened in the clouds that hung low in the sky.

People lined the street running along the dock. Most sat in folding chairs; some had bedding on the curbs and rain tarps pitched just in case. Some kind of parade made its way through town to the cheers of those watching.

Moving toward the street, Mark was tall enough to have a decent view from the dock. Children let off steam, waving at proud parents and darting like spring-loaded pinballs within the confines of the street.

Mark smiled as one little dude pumped his legs faster on his scooter to keep up with the rest of his pals. He looked wobbly and ready to take a header, but the grin on his face split it in two. He was clearly loving the parade.

His own childhood memories settled over Mark.

Every once in a while, Mark thought about what it would be like to have kids. It wasn't an idea he'd dismissed as a possibility, but at the same time, he didn't dwell on it.

For the most part, he was okay with never being a dad. He'd learned a lot from his own dad, and sometimes he thought about passing down his knowledge to a son of his own.

He was glad he'd had the opportunity to work for his father all those years, but sometimes wished they had bonded in other ways, as well. It wasn't as if he faulted Giovanni, but as the last boy in the family, Mark kind of felt left by the wayside at times.

Mark left the booths and walked toward the tunnel. He passed cruise-ship berths, their gangplanks and banners attached to the docks. It felt good to walk, so he continued through the tunnel, bypassing the crowd that had gathered at the end.

Exploring Water Street, he found the Arctic Bar. Rock-and-roll music spilled onto the street from its open door. The bar was a vastly different place from Dana's. It seemed more modern with a grid ceiling, neon lights, pool table and lively patrons.

In his younger days, Mark would have gone in and made some new friends. This had been his kind of place. Beer, shots. Women with some nice hardware. But he didn't feel like going back to old habits. So he turned around and went back through the tunnel.

He really shouldn't be wandering around, anyway.

He needed to take measurements at the Blue Note so he could order the Sheetrock. He'd already placed an order for an electrical panel and circuit breakers with the town's union electrician. For the larger projects—the updated sprinkler system, steel deck and exit door extension, he'd have to hire help.

The crowd thickened around him. A woman caught his attention, and he should have known by the way his body reacted, it was Dana. She was such a petite thing, it was a surprise he could even find her in the press of adults.

Her hair was different today. She'd let ringlets frame her face and cascade down her back. They were ethnic curls, appearing soft and tempting for a man's fingers to wrap around. She had on a thick moss-green sweater, no jacket. Dark denim jeans, with back pockets that hugged her butt in a way that left little to his imagination. Black boot tips peeked out from the jeans. To his recollection, it was the first time he'd noticed her in heels. She wore casual shoes to the bar, but now she had on a pair of come-to-papa boots.

She turned to a woman with Asian features who had to be related, maybe her mother. Then Dana smiled, laughed as a little boy ran to her and she scooped him into her arms, pressing a soft kiss on his temple.

Dana's green sweater contrasted with the boy's jersey. No doubt the boy was her son.

The feminine features on her face took on an entirely different appearance. A total softening from pure love. What would it be like if she ever loved a man and looked into his eyes like that?

She smoothed the boy's hair from his brow, and he rambled on about something in an animated way. He had the pleading expression that little boys get when they have to have the newest toy out of the catalog—ASAP. Mark knew he'd been just like that kid many times. Whatever her son asked for, Dana must have said all right, because he began to jump in place as if he were on a trampoline.

Lively little guy.

Dana turned to retrieve something from her chair, and it was then that she noticed him. Their eyes met and he didn't falter. He knew she'd know he'd been watching her. And he was glad.

He liked looking at her. Liked watching how she moved, how her face lit, the way she smiled. Those occasions were few and far between, and when she showed happiness, he drank it in like a man parched for water.

Mark went toward her and said his howdy, waiting for her to say something.

“Hey,” she finally offered.

“Hey, yourself.”

Then awkwardly, her gaze skirted to the woman
beside her. It didn't seem she had a choice, so she said, “Mark, this is my mom.”

“Hello, Mom.”

The woman wasn't sure about his response, but Dana had left out her mother's name.

Quickly rectifying that, Dana added, “My mom—Suni.”

“Nice to meet you, Suni,” Mark said cordially. Then, brows raised, he waited for Dana to introduce him. When she didn't, he filled in the blank. “Mark Moretti. I'll be doing some construction work at the Blue Note for your daughter.”

“She didn't mention you,” Suni replied bluntly, giving Dana a questioning stare.

“I've been busy, Mom.” Dana's hair fell about her shoulders. Her eye makeup shimmered in golden-green, a color that brought out her eye color intensity. He could lose his entire focus staring into her eyes.

The boy's chin lifted and his mouth—purple from some food—hung open while he studied Mark with a pucker to his brows. “How come you're so tall? Was your dad a giant?”

“My dad was an Italian.”

“Did he have green slime for snot and six eyes?”

The comment threw Mark for a curve.

Dana clarified with a shrug, “He thought you meant alien. Sounds like Italian. He doesn't know what that is.”

Nodding, Mark said, “My dad was a pretty tall guy, but I'm a lot taller than him.”

“How come?”

“Uh, because I just turned out this way. So what's your name, dude?”

“Terran. Are you going to be in the parade?”

“No.”

“How come?” But he moved on in rapid-fire, not giving Mark the opportunity to reply. “The grown-up parade people throw candy to the kids. I already got a grape lollipop from my dad.”

That news about a dad halted his thoughts briefly. So Terran's father was in the picture, living in Ketchikan and obviously here. Mark hadn't connected that dot this far.

He hadn't spent any time considering how Dana's ex fit into her life—if he was around or what happened to their relationship. In a way, the news was satisfying. A boy needed his father. But Mark did feel a sharp pang wondering how much Dana relied on the guy.

Suni eyed him from top to bottom, taking in every noteworthy piece of him. Hair, eyes, mouth, shirt, pants and shoes. He felt as if he was under a microscope. He couldn't imagine why she wanted to dissect him like a bug. Unsettled, Mark got the distinct impression she didn't approve of men talking to her daughter.

“You think it'll rain, Suni?” he asked, trying to draw her into a polite conversation.