Chasing Sunsets (12 page)

“Yes. Looking at that picture, I was reminded of why I never heard from him again after . . .” I laughed again. “This is
so
silly.”

“How come?”

“How come it’s silly?” Patsy nodded at the question. “Because I’m just too old to be feeling these ridiculous feelings. Why am I jealous of a college student?”

“Jealous of a—jealous of a college student?” Patsy shook her head side to side as though she were watching a ping-pong tournament. “No, honey. You aren’t jealous of that child. You’re jealous of the reason she’s walking on this earth. But that wasn’t her fault, now was it? What her parents did to bring her to this life was no more in her power than when you brought your boys into the world.”

I hung my head low. “Patsy, Patsy.” I said. “You have such a way of looking at things.”

“Good. Then you just go over to your house and call Steven and tell him you’d love nothing more than to see him again. Have him take you out on that boat of his.”

My head snapped to attention. I blinked. “No,” I said. “Not quite yet. Granted, my attitudes and actions are a little juvenile, but I’m still a little touchy on the subject.” I stood. “Thank you, Patsy.”

She reached for my hand with hers, and I took it. We both squeezed. “Don’t waste time, Kimberly. Time is something we all think we’ve got in abundance until suddenly the clock stops ticking. Don’t waste a single minute of your life, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“Especially not when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I hear you.”

I returned to the house, played with Max for a few minutes, then left for the market. Maddie looked up as I entered; she greeted me, and I waved back. My eyes automatically went to the bulletin board. A man stood before it, gently tearing away one of the strips with my phone number.

I looked at Maddie, who winked at me, and then back to the man. He was richly tanned, with hair so black it was nearly blue, and full lips that were naturally cherry. “Hi,” I said, nearly skipping toward him. “I’m Kimberly Tucker.”

He jumped at the sound of my voice, turning fully toward me. “I’m sorry?”

I laughed lightly. “No, no. I’m sorry.” I extended my hand and steadied my breath. “I’m Kimberly Tucker. You just tore my phone number off that little poster there.”

He looked at the poster and then to me again. A smile spread lazily across his face, showing straight white teeth and a deep dimple in his right cheek. The topaz in his eyes—almond shaped and deep brown—twinkled in the sunlight coming through the windows. “Well, then,” he said. He waved the little piece of paper near his shoulder. “I guess you just saved me a phone call.”

“Do you know someone who may be interested in the job?”

Another dimpled smile. “Me,” he said. Then he shook his head, which caused his thick hair to shimmy. “Actually, my new company, of which there are two employees. Myself and my sister.”

I thought for a moment. “Do you have a card?” I asked.

He reached into his back pocket, drew out a leather tri-fold wallet, removed and then extended a business card toward me. I took it between my fingers and read it. “Luis Muñoz.”

“That’s me.”

I smiled up at him. “I like the name of your company. ‘Keeping It Clean.’ Cute.”

“My sister,” he said. “She is the one who came up with it.”

“Well, tell her I like it.” I paused, then added, “I’ve got to pick up a few things here, but if you have time and can follow me back to the house . . .”

“Be happy to.”

Luis drove his car, following mine until we reached the house. I asked him to wait outside a minute while I ran the Oreos over to Patsy. He nodded in agreement. I didn’t bother to tell Patsy that I might have found someone to take care of the house. I only knocked, then opened the unlocked door as I called her name.

“I’m in the bathroom,” she called back.

“I’m putting the Oreos on your kitchen counter,” I said.

“Okey-dokey!”

When I returned to the house I found Luis standing on the cement platform, his feet spread wide and his arms crossed over his muscular chest, looking out at the water. I’d run from Patsy’s, so I stopped long enough to catch my breath then approached him from behind. When he heard me he turned and smiled. “This is some view, chica.”

My breath caught. “What did you call me?”

“
Lo siento.
I’m sorry. It was a slip of the tongue . . . something between my family and me . . . something we always do.”

I shook my head as I took a few steps closer and finally reached the platform. “No, it’s just that a friend of mine who lives here used to call me that when we were kids. Rosa Fuentes. Do you know her?”

A twinkle danced in his eyes. “Why do you ask that? Do you think every Latino knows every Latina?”

I blinked. “Goodness, no.” I placed a hand on my chest. “That did sound a little racist, I guess.”

He laughed then. “No worries. Actually, Rosa is my cousin. She told me about you needing some help. She said you gave her a piece of paper with your number on it but that she’d misplaced it. Then she remembered that you said you’d placed a notice at the market.”

“Luis! I remember you! Well, I mean, we never met, but I remember Rosa talking about you . . . about visiting you at her grandmother’s house on the mainland.”

Luis’s expression was that of old home week. “That’s right. Small world, no?”

“I feel like I’m hiring a friend of the family. My father is going to be happy to hear this.” I looked toward the house. “So, let’s get started. I’ll show you what needs to be done, and then you can give me a price. If it sounds good to Dad, then we’re set to go.”

And, I thought, I can get home where I’ll be closer to my sons, sooner rather than later.

I ran up the outside z-shaped staircase to call Dad as soon as Luis’s car was down the road and out of sight, heading toward Highway 24. “I think I’ve found someone,” I told him. “He and his sister own a cleaning service; they can start on Monday. I’ll stick around until Tuesday. I can be home by Tuesday afternoon, no later than evening—”

“Whoa there, Boo,” Dad said. “What’s got you so breathless?”

“The run up the stairs for one thing. And, Dad, I really think you’ll be pleased with who I’ve got.” I took in a few breaths, then exhaled. “I want to be at home, Dad. To be near the boys.”

“You’re as close to them there as you are here. Charlie isn’t going to have you over for potluck, you know.”

I was in the living room, leaning against the frame of the sliding glass doors, watching the sun dance on the water. I closed my eyes and sighed. “I know, Dad. But still . . .”

“Okay, Boo. Tell me about these people. How do you know you can trust them? Have you run a background check?”

I felt the air blowing out of my sails. “Well, no, but . . . it’s Luis. Rosa’s cousin.”

“Rosa?”

“Yes. I remember her talking about him when we were kids.”

“That means nothing to me, Kimberly. He could have been a straight-A student then and be a registered felon in the state of Florida now.”

“Dad . . .”

“I’m serious, Kim. I want you to have a background check run on him.”

I gritted my teeth and shook my head back and forth. When I was done with my version of a temper tantrum, I said, “And how am I supposed to do that?”

“You’re a smart girl. Figure it out.”

“Isn’t it enough that Rosa recommended him?”

“No, Boo, it’s not. This is my home. I own it. It’s full of precious memories and things I have no desire to lose.”

“I understand, Dad. I do. But, if you met Luis—”

“I don’t need to meet Luis. I need for you to do the job I sent you down there to do and run a background check on him. Do you still have my credit card information?”

Some time ago Dad gave each of us his numbers and other vital information “in case of an emergency.” I supposed in his mind now was one of those times. And not that Dad couldn’t have done all this himself, I figured. But then, just as quickly, I reasoned this was another one of his ways of keeping me occupied. “Yes,” I said. “I have it.”

“Good. Order a background check. If he is supposed to come on Monday, I suggest you do it soon.”

I sighed again. “All right, Dad. But you’ll see. I’m right about this guy.” Then I chided myself silently.
Well, you thought you were right about Steven Granger and Charlie Tucker too.

With all the activity of the day, I’d hardly paid attention to Max. After I hung up the phone with Dad, I fed him, adding extra to his bowl to make up for the misery I might have caused him, and then went outside with him for a game of fetch.

The only problem with playing fetch with Max was that he had the retrieval part of the game down but not the return. In the end, I did more running around than Max, which left me soaked with perspiration.

“Okay, boy,” I said, panting harder than he. “One more throw and one more time of me getting the ball out of your mouth and we’re going inside. You are rank, and I’m not that far behind you.”

Max yelped in anticipation, a bossy,
Stop talking, Mom, and just get on with it.

I threw the ball, Max bounded for it, and then I took off after him. As I wrestled the slimy red orb from between his clenched teeth, tires crunched along the road from the highway. I looked up, horrified to see Steven’s Jeep Wrangler Rubicon driving toward the house.

I looked at Max, who was looking at me with his long pink tongue hanging out and his eyes questioning. “Max,” I implored. “Did you call him and tell him to come?”

And with that, Max ran for the automobile gliding to a stop. An obvious yes.

When Steven exited the car, Max bounced in welcome as I ran my fingertips over my sweaty face and moaned. My old flame looked remarkable in dark blue shorts and a tan shirt with the boat tour’s logo etched across it. His hair was combed and in place with the light breeze from the water feathering the front, which only added to the boyish charm he still possessed.

And he smelled good too.

I, on the other hand, looked a mess and I said so.

“You look . . . fine,” he said with a smile as he reached me. “Max been running you too hard?”

I placed my hands on my hips. “Actually, yes. He has.” I looked toward the house and then back. “What brings you here, Steven?”

His eyes had followed where mine had gone, then back to rest on what I knew to be the pitiful sight I was. “Well, I was hoping maybe we could talk.”

My heart hammered. “About?”

He looked out over the water. “About fifteen minutes, I’d say.” Then he smiled. “I’ve got a two o’clock tour scheduled.” He looked down at his watch. “I’m barely going to make it as it is . . . but I really wanted to talk to you about a few things and I didn’t want to wait.”

“Okay.” I licked my parched lips. “I’m listening.”

He chuckled. “Kim. It’s hot as blazes out here and you look like you could use a glass of something wet and cold, so why don’t you ask me inside.”

“All right then.” I started toward the stairs, and he followed. When we were inside I asked if he wanted anything to drink. He asked if I had sweet tea. I did. I had an entire gallon of it chilling in the refrigerator.

I prepared a couple of glasses. After handing him his, we sat at the kitchen table. He took a sip; I nearly gulped mine.

Again he chuckled. “Thirsty?”

I looked over at Max, who was slobbering all over his water bowl. “I’m afraid I’ve learned table manners from my dog.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He took another sip, then placed the glass down on the table. When he had crossed one leg over the other, he came to the point. “Kim, did I do something or say something last night that upset you?”

If my face were not already neon red from the heat, I was sure it was now. I’d tried to end our date kindly. Apparently, I had not succeeded. And, like he’d always been able to do, he’d read my thoughts . . . or at least my actions. And he’d read them well.