Driftwood Lane (11 page)

A shadow flickered on his face, and he stared back, defiant. Ben didn’t budge.

What right did the man have? Who did he think he was? She gave him a pointed look.

A moment later Jake released Ben. “Go on, little man.” He rubbed Ben’s head as the boy turned away.

Ben ambled down the back stairs, and Meridith turned to follow.

“Wait.” Jake’s eyes were dark as midnight in the hall’s shadows, the chandelier at his back.

“What?” she asked.

He waited until the sounds of Ben’s footsteps faded. “I know you think this is none of my business, but you can’t just clean their parents out of their life. They need to remember them, not forget them.”

T. J. had been her parent, too, or had Jake forgotten that? “You’re right. It’s none of your business.” She turned to go.

Jake grabbed her arm. “They’ve been hurt enough.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt them.”

Noelle’s sobs filled the gap.

“You don’t know anything about loss, do you? Well, I know all about it, and these kids need help.” He jerked his head toward Noelle’s room. “She needs comfort.”

“She won’t let me, I’ve tried!”

“You think you can just walk into her life and expect her to confide in you? You’re a stranger. You have to earn her trust. And Max spends too much time cooped up in his room, working on his models.”

“He enjoys it.”

“He needs to talk.”

“He talks plenty.”

“And all Ben does is cling.”

Meridith shook off Jake’s hand. “He’s just affectionate.”

Jake put his hands on his hips, looked away. He pressed his lips together.

From behind door number one Noelle dragged in a shuddery breath. If Meridith thought for one second it would do any good, she’d go in there.

Jake faced her again, his eyes snapping.

Meridith didn’t wait around to hear what else he had to say.

Meridith couldn’t sleep. The children’s reaction, combined with Jake’s, left her shouldering a heavy load of guilt and remorse. She turned over and stared at the dark ceiling. She wondered what Jake had meant when he’d said he knew all about loss. What kind of childhood had he had? What kind of pain had he suffered?

She could almost feel pity for him, except for his other comments.
You don’t know anything about loss, do you?
Especially that one. He didn’t have a corner on the loss market. She’d lost plenty, starting with her dad. The losses with her mother were more complicated. Loss of childhood, loss of security, loss of stability.

She remembered waking to a loud noise one night when she was ten. A loud clank jerked her from sleep. Her digital clock read 3:21. She pulled Emily, her Cabbage Patch doll, close into her side, listening, eyes wide in the darkened room.

A soft clatter sounded. Her heart thudded against Emily. Maybe it was her mother. But Mom had hardly been out of bed for weeks. Only for work, then she came home and disappeared under the covers until morning.

Meridith wanted to shut her door and lock it. But didn’t burglars have special tools to open doors? Besides, her door was old rickety wood. A grown man could kick it in if he wanted. That’s what happened in apartment 4B last year.

She had to get to the phone and call 911. If she could just make it to the living room . . . Meridith slipped out of bed, set Emily down, and tiptoed across the stiff carpet.

Her mother’s room across the hall was dark, the door half shut. A glow came from the kitchen, and Meridith crept along the wall. The noises increased as she neared the living room. She became aware of a smell.

Something sweet. Cake. The smell of it filled her nostrils, made her stomach grumble.

She rounded the corner. Her mother swept across the linoleum in her floral nightgown, waving a spatula. She cradled a bowl against her stomach and was stirring ferociously.

A buzzer rang, and Mom set down the bowl, pulled a pan from the oven, then set it on the counter with what looked like two hundred other cupcakes. Bags of flour, sugar, and chocolate chips were scattered everywhere.

She saw Meridith. “Oh, honey, I’m glad you’re up. Come, sit down. Mommy has wonderful news!”

Meridith moved slowly across the sticky carpet. She climbed onto one of the bar stools overlooking the sea of cupcakes. Chocolate ones, vanilla ones. Some of them iced with pink, others as naked as her Totally Hair Barbie doll.

“I’m going to start a bakery business! I quit my job. Who needs that lousy, boring job anyway? I’m going to make cupcakes and cookies and, here, taste this.”

She handed Meridith a cookie, and Meridith slid it into her mouth, chewing tastelessly.

“Awesome, huh? I can’t wait until morning, I’m going to call all the local grocers and restaurants. I’m going to call it Simone’s Sweets, don’t you love it?” Her blue eyes glittered under the bright kitchen lights. “Don’t you like that name, Simone?” She said it with a foreign accent. “I’m going to change it tomorrow—so much more elegant than Susan, isn’t it? Aren’t you happy, baby, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Mommy.” Her mother’s auburn hair hadn’t been washed in days, and it stuck to her scalp at the top, but the rest was tossed and ratty like she’d just roughed it up good.

“Once all the grocers and restaurants around here start carrying my baked goods, I’ll open my own shop, and we’ll make a fortune! No more living in this run-down apartment, no sirree! I’m going to buy my baby a house in Lindonwood Park with the rich folk, what do you think of that? And once my sweets hit it big, I’m taking it national! A whole chain of Simone’s Sweet Shops!”

“But—but what about your job, Mommy?”

“Ugh, you sound like your daddy. Don’t be such a spoilsport! This is my new job, and it’ll be so much more fun! You can help me bake—here, stir this—and we’ll build it together. Tomorrow you can help me make fudge and candies, and then we’ll take samples around to every grocer in St. Louis, and once they taste our awesome sweets, they’ll order up a big batch—all of them!”

“Tomorrow’s Wednesday, Mommy. I have school.”

“Oh! That’s right. Well, you can help me when you get home. We’ll have so much fun together and make a fortune, just you wait and see!”

Meridith set the bowl and spoon down and looked at the stove clock. “I think I’ll go back to bed.”

She thought her mom might argue, but she was already scooping batter into the baking cups and humming “Achy Breaky Heart.”

Meridith slid off the stool and returned to her room. How were they going to pay rent if her mom quit her job? She had slid under the covers and pulled them over her head, knowing she wouldn’t go back to sleep.

Now, Meridith turned over and pulled the feather pillow into her belly. Simone’s Sweets hadn’t gotten off the ground, hadn’t been picked up by the grocers or restaurants. Within a matter of weeks her mother was back in bed, her dreams of the bakery business fading as quickly as the leftover aroma of cupcakes.

Fifteen

Two days later Meridith returned home from the Nantucket Atheneum with an armload of books on grief and children. She sneaked them to her room, avoiding Jake, who was replacing the chandelier in the dining room.

Since the big blowout two days earlier, a new tension had invaded the house. Noelle was barely speaking, Ben clung to Noelle instead of to Meridith, and Max buried himself in his boat model project. Even though Meridith had gone to the thrift shop and retrieved the hat. Even though she’d offered to take the children and buy back anything they wanted.

It had apparently been the concept, not the clothing, that mattered. Meridith wished she could alleviate the children’s pain. Her own guilt had morphed into a pervasive ache.

Jake had changed, too, growing more distant, speaking only when necessary. The mood in the house was stilted and awkward and made Meridith want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head. But she wasn’t ten anymore.

A loud crash sounded downstairs, followed by Jake’s grumbles. He’d been so grouchy. She did her best to avoid him, though it wasn’t easy when he worked in the main living areas. She’d already run every conceivable errand. She’d stocked the cupboards, had the oil changed in the van, bought Ben some button-up shirts that allowed for ease of change with his cast. She’d even gone to the driving range and hit a bucket of balls, just to stay away awhile longer.

The phone rang, and she rushed down the main stairway to answer. She retrieved the extension, catching sight of Jake through the dining room doorway.

“Summer Place, may I help you?” She injected the words with an enthusiasm she didn’t feel, watching as Jake ran the utility knife blade through the tape of the new light fixture’s box.

“Hi, honey.”

“Stephen. I’m glad you called. You must be on lunch break.”

The utility knife paused for a beat.

“I realized it’s been three days,” Stephen said. “Time just seems to leak away during tax season.”

“I miss you, too, sweetheart,” she said warmly.

She could see Jake’s muscles strain as he pulled at the fixture, but the box wouldn’t release its contents. He set his foot on it and jerked.

Meridith’s lips twitched.

Stephen was telling her about a new tax law, but the show in the dining room was more entertaining. As the box released the fixture, Jake’s elbow connected with the table’s edge.
Thwack
. He dropped the light fixture and kicked the empty box across the room.

Meridith pressed her lips together and turned her back.

“. . . and then I said, ‘Welcome to accounting 101.’” Stephen laughed.

In the other room she heard Jake slamming something down. Hopefully not her new light fixture.

“What’s all the racket?” Stephen asked.

“That’s the contractor. I’ll go upstairs where it’s quieter.” Her feet were already moving in that direction.

“How’s the one kid’s arm—Sam?”

“Ben. He’s coping, keeping it dry, and he’s sleeping through the night. He’s down to an occasional Tylenol now.”

“You poor baby. You must be exhausted.”

“You have no idea.” She entered her room, shutting the door behind her, and told him about the fiasco with the clothes and the fallout with the children.

“You did the right thing. They might be upset, but they have to move on. The sooner they do, the easier it will be. Have you heard from the uncle yet?”

“No. I hope something hasn’t happened to him.”

Stephen gave a weak laugh. “I sure hope not. I want you back sooner rather than later.”

She should tell him now—tell him she had to keep the kids. Tell him Uncle Jay wasn’t fit to parent them.

“Oh, there’s someone on the other line, a client. Gotta go.”

“See you,” she said, but they were disconnected before the last word left her tongue.

She’d tell him next time they talked. Stephen was the most rational, even-tempered man she knew. They were two of the qualities she appreciated most in him. He’d see how important keeping the children was, especially in light of her childhood.

But if she was so certain of that, she wondered, why did she continue to postpone the conversation?

Stupid cheap bracket
. Nothing was going right today. Or the day before. Jake had been so preoccupied earlier he’d forgotten to shut off the electric and had gotten zapped good. Then when he’d shut off the electric, he’d whacked his head on the corner of the fuse box door.

All he could think about was the fiasco that had shaken the kids and left them brooding. He kept seeing the look on Max’s face when he talked to him after Meridith went downstairs, kept remembering the way Noelle’s fists had clutched his shirt as she sobbed into it, soaking it with tears.

And then there was Meridith. The look on her face when she’d realized what she’d done, how she’d hurt the kids. That hadn’t sunk in until after his anger had burned off. And the fact that Meridith’s feelings mattered at all ticked him off.

Who was she but an interloper who’d usurped his rightful place? She had no clue what she was doing. Monday’s debacle had proven it.

But that look . . . the way she’d crossed her arms over her belly like she was nursing a wound.

After he’d left for the evening, he’d gone tooling around the island on his Harley. He’d needed to clear his head, but all he thought of was Meridith and what she’d done. And then that look. Back and forth he’d gone. Anger and resentment warring with compassion and pity. It was about to drive him crazy.

Get on one side of the fence or the other, Walker.

Ever since he’d arrived that morning, he’d been aware of her every move. Her steps on the stairs, the creaking floor over his head, the quiet hush of running water in the kitchen. He was relieved when she left. And then the house felt empty. Too empty. He spent the whole time she was gone wondering where she was and when she was coming back.

But then she returned, and he reverted to tracing her every movement. Up the stairs, then back down to answer Lover Boy’s call.

He’d been glad she’d taken her conversation upstairs. It bugged him to hear her crooning to her fiancé. Then it bugged him that it bugged him.

What was wrong with him? Maybe he’d whacked his head so hard he’d knocked a few marbles loose.

He finally got the bracket in place and set a screw. The powerful whirring of the screwdriver gave him a scrap of pleasure. He felt like doing something physical. He’d have to set up a game with Wyatt soon to blow off steam. And beat the pants off his friend. That would help, a little friendly competition.

When he set down the screwdriver, he heard the squeak of the floorboard at the top of the stairs and found himself wishing Meridith would leave again. She stirred something in him, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He had to keep his wits about him. Had to think of the kids, watch for signs of instability. Signs like throwing out their parents’ belongings.

He set another screw in the bracket and drove it in. The bit slipped off the screw and rammed into his thumb. A deep growl escaped his throat.

He wished Meridith would leave so he could focus on the stupid light fixture.

He was setting the screwdriver down when he heard her light footfalls on the stairway. Then a wad of keys jingling. And the front door closing.