Be Sweet (22 page)

Warning flags should be waving and snapping about now, the same way they always do when someone gets too close to me. But I don't see the warnings this time, or maybe I refuse to see them. For reasons beyond my understanding, I want Russ to see me, to know me, the real me, beneath the wounded layers.

The murmuring throughout the house dulls, and the room around me fades as my eyelids drift lazily to a close and the warmth of his lips meets mine with all the magic of a first kiss. The hint of peppermint mingles with warmth, and we bask in the moment. Tender, gentle, moist, and oh-so-amazing.

“Well, you two about ready to eat?” Mom's sharp voice explodes through the air like shards of glass, ripping through the silence, shatter-ing the ecstasy of the moment. We break apart like the cracked shell of an egg.

Thanks, Mom.

I lick my lips and fumble with my hands. “We'll be right there,” I say, without looking up. The sound of Mom's shoes retreating to the kitchen calms me. I look over at Russ, and we chuckle.

He extends his hand to me and lifts me up. “Come on, let's go eat.”

eighteen

“ Your mom has taught you well, Janni. That was
a mighty fine meal,” Dad says, causing Mom to blush and adjust the napkin in her lap. “Except I ate too much.” He pats his belly that barely makes a blip over his belt.

“Thanks, Dad.”

They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. No won-der I can't keep a man.

Compliments over the meal lift around the table. We soon clear the soiled plates and load the dishwasher.

Everyone spills into adjoining rooms while Janni and I linger behind to finish cleaning things up. I notice Mom and Dad talking in the living room together. Maybe there's hope for those two yet—if we can keep Dad away from the knives.

“I'll make the coffee,” I say, hobbling around the kitchen on my crutches, not because of the bruised ankle, but rather because that kiss has reduced my legs to the consistency of licorice whips.

“Why don't you go sit down, Char? You look a little flushed.” Janni sprays the faucet hose over another plate and cleans it.

I lean into her. “Well, it's not from my ankle.”

She stops rinsing and looks at me. Her eyes grow wide. “What? What is it? Did I miss something?” She looks excited and ready to throw a party.

My left eyebrow arches. “Wouldn't you like to know?” I walk back toward the coffeepot and set to work.

“Okay, that's just mean,” she whispers into my ear. “It's something to do with Russ, isn't it? He brought you bakery cookies?”

I turn to her. “He's a dentist, Janni. I hardly think he would promote cookies. Hippocratic oath and all that.” Which, by the way, makes me rethink where I want this relationship to go.

She hits me with a dish towel. “Oh, you. Spill your guts. What happened?”

Looking around, I make positively sure no one is within earshot, then I turn to Janni. “He kissed me.”

She gasps, and her eyes get so big, I'm afraid they'll pop out. “You don't mean it,” she says like a junior higher on the verge of squealing.

I grab her arm. “Shh, I don't want him to hear us.”

“So you like him?”

“He's nice.” I limp over to grab some mugs from the cabinet, know-ing all the while I'm driving Janni crazy.

“Nice? That's it?”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” I pull the final mug off the shelf and line them up for when the coffee is ready.

“What about Peter?”

I grope to find the words to explain. “As I told you before, Peter and I have a comfortable relationship, but we're each free to see others. We're good friends.”

“I see.” She studies me.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. It will be interesting to see how it all shakes out, that's all.” She smiles, lifts the carafe of coffee, and starts pouring.

She has a point, but I'm not going to worry about it. After all, I live hours away. It's not like this can go anywhere. Russ is safe. Peter is safe.

I'm safe.

While Russ and I work on a sketch for his
possible new home, Dad pieces together a puzzle on a cardboard table, Mom reads her book, Janni works on a puzzle in her Sudoku magazine, and Daniel snoozes quietly beside her. The kids are laughing together over something in the kitchen.

“Milton, are you all right?” Mom's question causes all of us to look up at Dad. Every hint of color has drained from his face. He's holding his stomach as though it might fall out.

“Not sure, Viney.” He rushes up from his chair and dashes off to the bathroom.

We all exchange glances. Mom looks worried and darts after him. We follow suit. Nothing like having an audience outside your bathroom door.

By the time we arrive outside the closed door, there are sounds com-ing from inside there that I don't even want to think about.

“Milton, are you all right, honey?” Mom asks.

“I'm sick, Viney. Terrible sick.” He finally opens the door, looking as though he's seen a ghost—or is one, I'm not sure which. “Just like that time I ate too many green apples.”

“I'll fix you a place on the sofa where Char stayed. Do you mind, Char?” Janni asks.

“Of course not.” Poor Dad is so sick, and I'm whining over a pulsating ankle. Which reminds me, I could use another painkiller.

Janni and I spread clean bedding out for Dad, then the guys help him back to the sofa.

“Probably got a touch of the flu.” Mom puts her hand on his fore-head. “A lot of that going around.”

Dad groans.

“What's wrong, Milton?” Mom scrunches down beside him.

“I got a bad pain under my ribs, Viney. Bad pain.”

Russ looks at Mom. “Could be gallbladder.”

“We'd better get him to the hospital,” Janni says, already grabbing her coat. “Your stuff in here, Daddy?”

“Yeah,” he says, between groans.

“Sorry you're feeling poorly, Grandpa,” Ethan says, when the kids join us.

“Yeah, me too,” Blake says.

“Oh, don't you boys worry. I'll be fine.” Dad's raspy breath and pain-filled words do little to assure us.

“I'm going with you,” Mom says, clutching her purse in her hand, coat and gloves already on. She's armed and ready.

“You hold the fort down here,” Janni says to me.

“I want to go.” I'm not sure how I can do it with my ankle throb-bing the way it is, but I'm worried about Dad too.

“Listen, Char, no offense, but with the crutches and all, you'll just be in the way. I promise we'll let you know what's going on as soon as we know something.”

As much as I hate to admit it, she's right. “Well, let me know the minute you hear.”

“Will do,” Janni says, grabbing her purse.

“Want us to go?” Blake asks, brows creased together.

“No, you kids stay here. We'll keep you posted,” Janni says, giving the boys a quick kiss.

“Okay, we'll start packing, but we won't leave until we know what's going on.” Blake, Ethan, and the girls get up and walk out of the room.

We say good-bye to Dad, Mom, Daniel, and Janni, then they close the door behind them. Stephanie glances at me and smiles before leaving the room. Something in her smile reminds me . . .

I get up.

“You don't have to leave on my account,” Russ says, looking disappointed.

“I'm not leaving. I just need to talk to Stephanie a moment.” When I reach her, I lean in to whisper, “I think Blake has a crush on you and—”

“No problem. It's not going anywhere. I'll make sure of that.”

It seems silly to even mention it. Yet, when she smiles again, doubt crowds my heart, and I wonder just how well I know my sister.

I nod and hobble back to the living room and sit on the sofa. “I sure hope Dad is okay.”

“I'll bet you anything it's his gallbladder. He still has one, right?”

“As far as I know. Is that something a daughter should know? I mean, am I slime that I don't know if my dad's gallbladder is still intact?”

“No, you're not slime. You could never be slime.” Russ walks over to me. “I need to check on my parents, but I can stay for a few minutes,” he says, easing in beside me on the sofa, his arm extended behind me, resting on the sofa's top. The light blue oxford shirt he's wearing makes the color in his eyes pop and my stomach lurch. He turns to me. “Your dad will be fine. Janni will see to it.”

He doesn't realize how his comment hits me like a two-by-four. “Janni handles everything.” Guilt threatens to choke off my words. “No wonder she's burned-out.”

“You can't blame yourself for that, Charley.”

“I know. But I hate putting all the responsibility on her.”

“Why, just because you don't live here? She's chosen to stay. If your parents needed you, you would help them, right?”

“Right.”

“Janni knows she can count on you if she needs you.”

My thoughts take me where I don't want to go with my parents growing older and more feeble.

Russ grabs my hand again, but this time more in a comforting way. “Everything will be all right. You'll see.”

Tears trail down my cheeks.

“Hey, it's okay,” he says, pulling me into a hug.

“I don't know what's wrong with me.” His arms feel good. Too good. Warm, comforting, strong, safe, sweet. Very sweet.

“You're going through a lot with the way your mom is acting. You're away from home, coming back to a painful place. And you're on painkillers.”

“How do you know all that, anyway?” I pull away, grab a tissue from the stand, and dab at my eyes.

He fumbles a moment. “Well, I gave you the pain medicine samples, and you lived here with Eddie for many years. It has to be hard.”

More tears. “It is.”

“Just don't write us all off because he was a jerk.”

“When did you find out about Linda and Eddie, anyway?”

“When I moved back into town.”

“Was that when you saw Linda and their little girl—isn't her name Carissa?—at the store?”

“No. Gail Campbell told me first, then I saw Linda and Carissa a couple of weeks later.”

“The town crier. Figures.” I blot my tears once more.

He laughs. “You know, I've been thinking about our date on Friday night. I don't want to force you into it just because I worked on your tooth, but if guilt works, maybe I'm okay with that.”

His comment now causes me to laugh.

“Now that you've had time to think it over, are we still on?”

“We're still on.” I smile. He tucks my tissue-free hand into his, weaving his fingers through mine again. I could get used to this.

“You know, I used to daydream about this—when I was in high school, I mean. You, me, like this.”

“You're kidding.”

“Nope. I'd see you and Eddie at the ball games and wish it was me in his place.”

Boy, was I stupid.

Just then my cell phone rings. “Oh, I'm sorry, I'd better get that.” Reaching over for my phone, I answer. “Hello? Oh, hi, Peter. Um, good to hear your voice too.” Okay, this is awkward, talking to Peter with Russ beside me.

Russ leans over to me, his breath tickling my free ear. “Just so you know, I don't give up as easily as I did in high school.” With a wink and a grin, he grabs his coat and walks out the door.

nineteen

“Did you hear what I said, Charlene?” Peter' s
voice is clearly irritated.

“What? Oh, sorry, Peter. Someone just left, and I was distracted.”

“Oh, do I have some competition there?” His words trap me like a prisoner in a house not my own.

“Competition? How can you have competition when we have no arrangement?”

“Uh—oh—uh, yeah, right. Right.” The way he stumbles over his words, I'm wondering if he's forgotten that part. Though I doubt he's forgotten it where he's concerned. Men prefer to keep their options open, but it's funny how they want their women to be tied only to them.

“So I guess I do have competition, huh?”

“I didn't say that.”

“You didn't say that it wasn't true, either.”

“Look, Peter, I'm upset. My dad is in the emergency room right now.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Charlene. I didn't know.”

My ankle looks a bit swollen, so I lift my leg on the coffee table again. “We think it might be his gallbladder, but no word from the doctor yet.”

“Well, you do what you've got to do there. I'm holding the fort down at the office.”

“Oh yeah, that reminds me. A guy by the name of Jeremiah Bell contacted me about buying a property. He sounds like a good, solid client. I told him to contact you.”

“That's good to know. He's listed on my callbacks, so I'll get right on it. Why did he call you?”

“Lydia Harrington referred me.”

“You have quite a reputation in this town. You do a good job, Charlene. I'm glad you're taking a much-deserved vacation. You've earned it after closing on those three big deals last month, but don't get used to it.”

“Used to what?”

“Staying away. We need you back here to keep business afloat.”

My back bristles when he says that. That's why he wants me back. So I can bring in the money.

“Uh-oh, you're quiet. I know we've agreed to you cutting back, but I'm just saying don't leave me, okay?”

Like a noose, his words wrap around my neck and cut off my air supply. I can't seem to shake it. It's not as though I'm planning my future around him. We're friends. He comes over, and we entertain friends. We give each other something to do on a Friday night. Period. Besides, we both know the main reason he wants a personal relationship with me has to do with real estate sales.

“You always say to follow your dreams.”