Almost a Family (19 page)

Her worry escalated as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She performed another search of her dresser and jewelry case, then fell to her hands and knees to search the carpet in her room. Nothing. Spent, she sat on the floor with her back against the bed, no longer able to ignore her rising suspicion. In her mind she saw Chad's tear-streaked face and heard him yell, "I'll get you back!"

She leaned her head against the mattress and sighed.

Chad had stolen her locket.

Chapter 11

When the doorbell rang a few moments later, she dragged herself to her feet and walked down the stairs, wrestling with whether to divulge her suspicions to Bailey. At the last second she decided against it, thinking if she confronted Chad and he owned up to it, no one would be the wiser. Resolved, she conjured up a smile reflective of her earlier anticipation, and opened the door.

She was greeted by the largest bouquet of wildflowers she'd ever seen. Laughing in delight, she asked, "Is my date in there somewhere?"

He peeked around the side, then whistled low. "Wow, you look great."

Her cheeks warmed. "Thanks. I'd ask you to come in, but I don't think you'll fit through the door."

Somehow they managed to get the flowers inside. Ginny was stunned to see that Bailey had traded in his jeans and boots for tailored slacks and dress shoes. A white collarless dress shirt fit his broad shoulders to perfection. "You look great, too," she said, swallowing hard.

"Then I guess we make a great-looking couple," he said, his teeth flashing.

Her throat went completely dry at the thought of them once again being a couple. She busied herself finding enough vases, pitchers, and water glasses to hold all the flowers. When they finished, she looked around at the bouquets and laughed aloud. "It looks like you raided one of your wholesalers."

His sheepish grin confirmed her guess. "DiNaldo's has the best plants in town."

"They're lovely... and I'm certainly impressed with the quantity."

"Size matters," he said with a mischievous grin.

She rolled her eyes, smothering a laugh, and glanced at the clock. "Should we get going?"

"Sure. We'll have time to have a drink at the bar before dinner."

"Where are we going?"

"We have reservations at Crosby's."

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, well."

He opened the front door. "After you."

At the bottom of the steps she froze in her tracks. "Oh, Bailey." At the end of the driveway, a small knot of pedestrians had gathered to get a look at a perfectly restored baby-blue 1953 Packard Caribbean convertible. "It can't be the same car you dragged out of that old woman's shed in Havensport."

"Yep—I gave her five hundred dollars for it and you thought I was getting ripped off."

She walked toward it, her mouth agape. "It's unbelievable! This car must be worth a small fortune."

"I wouldn't go that far," Bailey said, opening her door.

Sliding across the smooth white upholstery, she admired the sparkling chrome, the precise attention to restored detail. Suddenly Bailey's saving plan seemed more sensible than before. "You did this yourself?"

"With some help," he said, swinging into the driver's seat. "I'm glad you like it, because this is a farewell excursion." He started the engine and carefully turned the vehicle around.

"You're selling it? Why?"

He shrugged. "I found a motivated buyer, and money talks. Now I'll be able to do some things around Shenoway I've been wanting to do for a long time."

Warning bells chimed in her head. Unless she was hearing things, Bailey Kallihan was starting to sound... responsible.

She settled back into the comfy seat, enjoying the warm summer air blowing through her hair. Bailey drove at the minimum allowable speed on the expressways, garnering lots of attention and thumbs-ups from other drivers. It was a clear summer night, and Virginia felt special—in a special car, with a special man. Tonight she would put aside the past and see him through different eyes—maybe he
had
changed. She would try to be more open-minded where Bailey was concerned, but not let her guard down completely.

When they arrived at the restaurant, the valets scrambled for the honor of driving the Packard. She saw Bailey slip the guy a twenty tip in advance. "Don't let anyone touch my car," he said simply.

Once they'd given their names to the host, they claimed seats at the bar. Suddenly Virginia felt ridiculously nervous at having to converse with Bailey alone for an entire evening.

"What'll you have?" the bartender asked them.

From the wine list, she selected a glass of pinot noir.

"Same," Bailey told the man.

She glanced at him in puzzlement. "What happened to whiskey sours?"

He cleared his throat and gave her a small smile. "Turning over a new leaf."

Virginia fidgeted with her napkin, growing more nervous with each passing second at this new side of Bailey.

When the barman brought their glasses, Bailey raised his toward her. "To our reunion," he said, a smile crinkling his eyes.

She nodded and offered him a watery smile when she clinked her glass to his. The drink she took from her glass was deeper than she'd intended, the alcohol instantly warming the back of her throat.

"So how was the shopping today?" he asked.

"Not so good. Apparently, they don't make that gaming model anymore. I bought a newer one, but he barely talked the rest of the day."

He made a rueful noise. "He'll come around."

"I hope so. At least he was nice to my parents when they arrived. "

"Have you been notified yet about a date for juvenile court?"

She shook her head. "A woman at the police station told me over the phone it should be in the mail any day now."

"Well, let's hope the whole thing will scare him enough to keep him from doing it again."

Don't bet on it,
she thought, her mind on the locket. Involuntarily she reached for the spot the pendant normally hung, her fingers touching bare skin instead.

He noticed the movement. "Where's your locket?"

Unable to look him in the eye, Virginia took another deep drink from her glass. "I must have left it at home."

Their name was called, and a hostess led them to a secluded table on the second floor of the restaurant, with a nice view of the city lights. A pianist played classic romantic tunes in the background, and a few couples turned slowly on a tiny dance floor.

Virginia perused the menu, feeling languid and sentimental. Her menu didn't even have prices—they could never have afforded to eat there when they were first married. Suddenly she longed for a platter of barbecue from a little dive where they used to go when they found extra money or wanted to treat themselves.

"Bailey."

He looked up from the menu, one eyebrow raised in response.

"Is Blackey's still in business?"

He looked surprised, then pursed his lips in concentration. "I think so... yeah, I heard some guy at work mention it the other day."

"Let's go."

He frowned and leaned forward. "Excuse me?"

"Let's go eat barbecue at Blackey's."

He looked all around them, then whispered, "Ginny, are you drunk?"

She laughed. "Not on one glass of wine."

"Are you saying you want to leave?"

"It's a nice place, but suddenly I had a longing for something more... familiar."

This time both eyebrows shot up.

The waiter suddenly reappeared at the table. "Are you ready to order, madam?"

"No." She fanned herself furiously with the menu. "In fact, I'm suddenly feeling very ill." She took several deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling in an exaggerated fashion.

"Can I get you something?" the man asked, his face crumpled with concern.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I think we'd better leave."

Bailey barely concealed his amusement. "I think she's right." He moved behind Ginny's chair and made a big show of trying to help her from the chair.

The waiter looked completely perplexed. "I hope your wife feels better, sir."

Ginny stiffened slightly at the title, but tried to maintain her "sick" demeanor.

"She'll be fine," Bailey said to the man, then lowered his voice. "She's pregnant."

Virginia choked, and Bailey massaged her back. "Are you okay, sweetheart? Do you need a drink of water?"

"No," she gasped, "just some fresh air."

They hurried downstairs and out the door. The valet recognized them, and sprinted off to collect their car.

Once in the car, they looked at each other and started laughing.

He captured her gaze and shook his head slowly. "What on earth made you think of Blackey's?"

She shrugged, raising her hands. "I don't know, it just came to me that we were there getting ready to buy an overpriced meal when we could be having a good time at Blackey's."

He frowned slightly. "I wanted to take you to a nice place, Ginny. I can afford more than Blackey's now."

It hadn't occurred to her that she might have accidentally bruised his ego. She touched his arm. "I know you can afford more than Blackey's now, Bailey, but that's the point—we can go wherever we want, and tonight I want to go to Blackey's."

He smiled, and reached up to twine her fingers with his. "Then Blackey's it is."

* * *

Memories assailed Bailey as soon as the door opened to admit them in a rush of air. The fact that the word "authentic" was misspelled on the sign in the window of Blackey's Authentic Pit Barbecue was a customer's first signal to lower their expectations about the interior. But what Blackey's lacked in decor, it made up for in atmosphere.

Blues music blared from cheap stereo speakers hung haphazardly on the walls. Ceiling fans whirred frantically overhead in a failing attempt to circulate the smoky, greasy air. Long, scarred wooden tables butted up to each other cafeteria-style in three strips across the square, squatty room. Dozens of chairs, each different, lined the edges of the tables, about half of them full.

He noted most of the diners looked college-aged, which seemed logical since Blackey's sat in a rundown part of town only a few blocks from the campus of Ohio State University. He might have balked at bringing the Packard there had it not been for a secure parking garage nearby, and had he not been so eager to please Ginny.

Along with a lot of other students, he and Ginny had spent many mornings there studying, which hadn't bothered the owner since mornings were slow anyway. When he'd graduated, he'd met Ginny there regularly for lunch. After she'd withdrawn from school and they married, they occasionally splurged and came for dinner.

He turned to look at Ginny, her cheeks flushed and full, her figure still as lithe as a coed's. Their rendezvous at Blackey's seemed like a lifetime ago... and only yesterday.

"Grab you a chair," a waitress yelled as she passed, laden with two huge trays of food.

They claimed two chairs side by side in as secluded a spot as they could find. The menus were stacked in irregular little piles up and down the tables, more often than not splattered with barbecue sauce. He chose two of the cleanest-looking and handed one to Ginny.

She scanned the food items, her eyes shining. "It's the same menu," she said. "I'll have my usual—"

"Number seven," he supplied. "With dipping sauce on the side."

She grinned. "You remember."

"Sure I do. And I'll have—"

"Number twelve, extra hot sauce, extra napkins."

This time a grin tickled his lips. "Right." Then he glanced down at his snowy shirt. "I might need a bib too."

"What'll it be?" yelled the waitress, one hip cocked. They placed their food orders and requested bottles of good beer, their one deviation from the old days when they drank the cheapest draught.

The brews were delivered right away, the food, they knew, would take a bit longer. Ginny lifted her bottle in the air. "To Blackey's."

Buoyed by her good mood, he clinked his bottle against hers. "To Blackey's."

After a long drink, Bailey settled back, draping his arm around the back of Ginny's chair. Graffiti was encouraged at Blackey's, every customer could write their name and any bits of wisdom they could find room for on the cracked plaster walls. "Do you remember where we wrote our names?" he asked her.

Squinting, she looked around the room as she worked her mouth in concentration. Suddenly she brightened. "Over there, by the far window."

He nodded. "Think they're still there?"

She shrugged and grabbed her beer bottle. "Let's see."

Bailey followed her, feeling as if he were walking on eggshells. Which memories to touch on, which to avoid? For some reason, Ginny seemed more open and fun-loving tonight—but was it because she was becoming more receptive to him, or because he'd promised her a night on the town with "no funny stuff?"

They stood shoulder to shoulder, studying the hundreds of signatures and sayings which mostly merged into illegible garble.

"I see them!" she cried, pointing just above his head.

"Where?"

"Right there! See the red V? You can barely make out the rest of it, but I see your name just underneath."