Knock Me for a Loop (22 page)

It took two trips to get everything into the car, the second time going through the lobby to check out and turn in their key cards.

Once they were back on the road, the drive went much the same as the day before. A bit of small talk; the occasional argument over radio station choices; warm, panting Saint Bernard breath tickling their ears; and frequent stops for Zack to exercise his leg and Bruiser to water the local foliage.

The only difference was that today both their moods seemed lighter. Grace noticed the change immediately…as soon as they woke up, actually, but she was glad to see it carry over into their trip.

Zack’s conversation was breezier, less tense and walking-on-eggshells than it had been the day before.

The day before? Who was she kidding? Since she’d moved into his apartment, and probably more accurately, since she’d raced away from that hotel room in Columbus and refused to look back.

Oh, there were times when they’d been civil to one another, and she thought they’d done an admirable job of getting along these past few weeks, but looking back now, she could definitely see that things between them had still been strained.

For good reason, she knew, and not particularly surprising.

But last night had changed that. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel as snapshots of those hours together flashed through her mind.

How much they’d changed, she wasn’t yet sure. The sex had been good—great, amazing, freaking fantastic—but she wasn’t some bobble-headed stereotypical ditzy blonde. Zack could come bearing a vibrating, solid-gold dick that made her see the face of God, and she still wouldn’t be willing to simply roll over and forget or forgive everything.

She had some thinking to do where that was concerned. More than thinking; some deep, dark, and intense soul-searching.

But what she did feel fairly certain of was her willingness to
consider
starting over with him. Given that only a month or two ago she’d pretty much been wishing him into eternal damnation on an hourly basis, that was real progress.

For the first time in … forever, it seemed…she thought she might actually be willing to believe his claims that he hadn’t slept with that woman in his hotel room. She
wanted
to believe it, anyway, and felt open-minded enough (for a change) to try to get to the bottom of what had really happened that day.

She didn’t know how to go about that, exactly, but she would think of something. Some way to discover at least enough to put her mind at ease—she hoped.

Because even without being absolutely, positively certain he hadn’t betrayed her, the truth was that she felt better around him than at any other time in her life. Happier, more relaxed and content.

So if there was a chance she’d overreacted and assumed the worst when he was actually innocent…Well, she would kick herself for all the months they’d lost, for sure. But she would also rejoice in being able to take him back, and then dedicate herself to making up for wasted time.

The radio station they were listening to went from a nice, upbeat Kelly Clarkson song to something much louder, with a lot more screeching guitar and migraine-inducing drum solos.

“Oh, no,” she said, reaching for the button to find something else. “You can listen to that noise on your own time.”

She expected him to start a friendly argument. To tell her to leave it, to dispute that it was a good song, and she would appreciate it if she just listened for a few minutes with an open mind. She knew for a fact it was one of his favorite bands, even if she couldn’t stand them.

And given the rapport between them so far this morning, that should have been his lighthearted reaction.

But instead he remained silent. Not just listen-to-whatever-you-want-I-don’t-care silence, but tense, distracted silence. He was staring out the passenger-side window, watching the scenery as it flew by.

“Zack?” she said softly. “Are you all right? Do you need to stop and stretch your leg or…”

He turned his head to meet her gaze, and she noticed immediately that his eyes were shadowed, shuttered. His mouth was a flat slash across his face, his jaw squared with tension.

“Think we could take a short detour?” he asked.

She blinked, startled by the request.

“Um …” She glanced at the dashboard clock. The Insides Out people expected them to get into town sometime Wednesday, but she hadn’t been specific about their arrival. And except for a tentative meeting Thursday afternoon to discuss their plans for the photo shoots and such, they weren’t scheduled for anything crucial until Friday and through the weekend.

“Yeah, sure, I guess that would be okay.”

“Take the next exit,” he told her in a low, unemotional voice.

Another mile and a half passed in utter quiet until they reached that exit, but inside her nerves were jumping. Her heart had adopted a slightly irregular beat, wondering what was going on.

Finally, she licked her lips and said, “Mind if I ask where we’re going?”

For long, drawn-out seconds, he didn’t respond. Then, in a low voice, he murmured, “My father lives about forty-five minutes from here. I thought I should stop in as long as I’m in the area.”

Instead of putting his request into perspective, his explanation only confused and intrigued her more. Zack had never spoken of his family before, at least not in any great detail.

She knew the basics about them—that his father had left him and his mother when he was only a few years old, going on to remarry several more times; that those relationships had resulted in a handful of half siblings Zack had never met; and that Zack felt very strongly that his father’s abandonment of them had forced his mother to work herself into an early grave just to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads.

Which was why his suggestion that they drop in and say hello caught her off guard. Of all the people she might have expected him to want to visit, his father would have been at the very bottom of the list.

“I didn’t think you and your dad got along,” she ventured to say. Tentatively, hinting that she was curious about their relationship, but leaving him room for privacy, if he preferred.

He shrugged a shoulder, returning his attention to the view out the side window. “We haven’t talked in a while, but I know his health hasn’t been great. I thought I should probably stop in and see how he’s doing since I’m this close.”

That was the last bit of conversation they shared— other than Zack’s roughly mumbled directions—until she brought the Hummer to a stop in front of a small, two-story brick house with white and black trim in a well-kept, middle-class neighborhood.

It was a nice-looking house. Neat without being ostentatious; in need of a little work without looking rundown. There were empty flower boxes lining the porch—which Grace assumed would be full of colorful blooms come spring—and the path leading to the front door had been shoveled free of snow.

Putting the Hummer in park, she shut off the engine and got out, moving around in time to help Zack. In the backseat, Bruiser danced around, excited about getting to explore another new patch of grass or meet new people.

But she didn’t think Zack would appreciate having an overactive Saint Bernard tripping him up while he was reuniting with a parent for the first time in God knew how long. For that matter, he might not want her around, either.

Ignoring the stab of disappointment that came with that thought, she waited for him to get his crutches under him, then said, “Do you want me to wait here while you visit? I can take Bruiser around town for a little exercise until you’re ready to go.”

It took a minute for him to answer, but when he did, it was with a shake of his head. “No, you can come in.”

That was it. No “Don’t be silly” or “I want you to meet my family,” just “You can come in.” But it was enough of an invitation for her.

Leaving Bruiser to soak the seats and paint the windows with pupsmears, she followed him up to the front door. He knocked and they waited, and seconds later the door opened to reveal a tall, gawky teenage boy with a mop of brown hair and spattering of adolescent acne dotting his long face.

As soon as he spotted Zack, his eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed. And then he was gone, taking off back into the house yelling, “Mom, Dad, it’s Hot Legs! Hot Legs is actually here, in my house. Holy shit!”

Grace chuckled. “Your reputation precedes you,” she told him.

“Yeah,” Zack muttered. Rather than being flattered, though, he looked slightly embarrassed and more than a little uncomfortable.

A few seconds later, a woman appeared, brows drawn together in a mix of curiosity and confusion. Her too-black hair (from a bottle; definitely, definitely not natural) was teased and sprayed in a style reminiscent of the 1980s…or perhaps modern-day New Jersey. She wore too much makeup and too-tight clothes, and put Grace in mind of the Peggy Bundy character from
Married…With Children.
She was even wearing a pair of high-heeled slides. Indoors. In the middle of winter.

“Can I help you?” she asked, taking hold of the door and closing it a few inches in a gesture that clearly said she wasn’t sure yet if they were welcome or not.

“I’m Zack. I’m here to see my father.” Straight to the point, not even offering his last name. Assuming, Grace supposed, that this woman should already know who he was.

Grace, however, was still clueless. Was the Peggy Bundy wannabe Zack’s stepmother, his father’s most recent wife? She looked awfully young for that, if Grace’s math was right. But then, if Zack’s dad had gone from woman to woman, wasn’t it likely that he’d gone for younger models each time he’d traded in a previous wife?

And wasn’t it strange that she didn’t recognize Zack, either from a prior meeting or because he was practically a national celebrity?

Grace had more questions than answers, and had to bite her tongue to keep from asking every single one.

If anything, the woman’s expression soured even more at Zack’s lackluster introduction, but she didn’t try to shut them out. Stepping back, she said, “He’s in the other room. I’ll show you the way.”

Grace followed Zack inside, closing the door behind her. Without being obvious, she studied her surroundings.

Like the outside of the house, it was tidy; if there was a speck of dust on anything, she didn’t see it. But unlike the exterior, the interior carried an air of hauteur.

The furniture looked expensive…or maybe was
supposed
to look more expensive than it really was…and was made up of modern versions of old-fashioned designs. Victorian or Edwardian or Louis the XVIII knockoffs. Grace might not be up on her time periods, but she knew fakes when she saw them.

Zack’s crutches made
clop-clop
sounds on the hardwood floor, following behind the
click-click-click
of the other woman’s heels. The farther into the house they went, the less comfortable Grace became.

She knew Zack didn’t exactly hold warm and fuzzy feelings toward his father, and if they hadn’t seen each other in a while…well, they deserved a private reunion.

Laying her hand gently on his arm, she whispered, “You go ahead, I’ll wait here.”

Without missing a step, he nodded, though he didn’t seem overly happy about the prospect of going off alone.

Grace remained where she was, and a moment later, the ebony-haired woman returned. Her mouth was set in a lemon-sucking moue.

Since they didn’t call her “Amazing” for nothing, Grace pasted on her dealing-with-pissy-people smile and held out her hand.

“We haven’t been properly introduced,” she said in an upbeat tone. “I’m Grace Fisher.”

The woman eyed her as though she were about to steal the jewelry from around her neck, but lifted her own hand to shake briefly.

“Patsy,” she said.

Ha! Patsy, Peggy…she hadn’t been too far off, had she? Grace wondered if her maiden name had been anything close to Bundy.

“Grace Fisher,” Patsy repeated warily. “Are you that woman from the talk show?”

The corners of Grace’s mouth lifted into Dealing with Awed Fan Smile #3. Not the most sincere of her Dealing with Awed Fan smiles, but it was up there. “Yes, I am.”

“And you used to be engaged to Zackary.” A statement, not a question.

The grin slipped a fraction. “Yes.”

Patsy narrowed her gaze. “I thought you broke up.

So what are you doing together again?”

Rude, much? Nosy, much, you frigid bitch?
Grace thought, wishing she could curl her lip and show her disdain.

But then, this was Zack’s stepmother, and even if he didn’t love her, didn’t even like her or know her the least little bit and didn’t have a very good relationship with his father, she should at least try to be civil while she was a guest in their home.

“We’ve been seeing each other again,” Grace told her, enjoying the surprise her words brought to the other woman’s eyes.

Besides, it was moderately true. They had been
seeing
each other again, since they’d both been blessed with perfect twenty-twenty vision. And even seeing each other naked, so it totally counted.

“Come on into the living room,” Patsy said, more order than invitation, turning on her heel to lead the way. “I’ll get us something to drink.”

She didn’t ask what Grace would like or even offer a selection of choices, so Grace supposed she would have to take what she could get. She just hoped that whatever it was wasn’t laced with poison.

Taking a seat on the pristine sofa—which was so squeaky clean, the cushions so firm, it looked as though it bore a plastic cover five days out of the week—Grace waited for Patsy’s return by taking in even more of the room’s decorations. Her hostess apparently collected crystal figurines of every shape and size, and those miniature souvenir spoons. Both fell under the Dust Collector/What’s the Point? column in Grace’s book, but to each her own.

Patsy returned a few minutes later with a tray—an honest-to-God silver tray—holding a floral-pattern china tea set. She filled two dainty cups that looked infinitely breakable, and Grace added a touch of milk and sliver of lemon to her own, waiting for it to cool enough to drink.