Simply Irresistible (13 page)

“How did everything go tonight?” Rhonda asked as she stood.

“Great,” Georgeanne lied, opened her purse, and pulled out her wallet. “How was Lexie?”

“She was fine. We played Barbies for a while and then she ate the macaroni and cheese with the little hot dogs cut up in it that you left for her.”

Georgeanne handed Rhonda fifteen dollars. “Thank you for sitting for me tonight.”

“Any time. Lexie is a pretty cool kid.” She raised a hand. “See ya.”

“‘Bye, Rhonda.” Georgeanne smiled as she let the baby sitter out. She moved to sit down on the peach and green floral-print couch next to her daughter. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
He doesn’t know
, she told herself.
And even if he did, he probably wouldn’t care anyway
.

“Hey, precious darlin‘,” she said, and patted Lexie on the thigh. “I’m home.”

“I know. I like this part,” Lexie informed her without taking her eyes from the television. “It’s my favorite. I like Roily the best. He’s fat.”

Georgeanne brushed several locks of Lexie’s hair behind her shoulder. She wanted to grab her daughter and hold her tight; instead she said, “If you give me some sugar, I’ll leave you alone.”

Lexie automatically turned, lifted her face, and puckered her dark red lips.

Georgeanne kissed her, then held Lexie’s chin in her palm. “Have you been into my lipstick again?”

“No, Mommy, it’s mine.”

“You don’t have that shade of red.”

“Uh-huh. I do, too.”

“Where did you get it then?” Georgeanne lifted her gaze to the dark purple shadow Lexie had liberally applied from eyelids to brows. Bright pink streaks colored her cheeks, and she’d doused herself in Tinkerbell perfume.

“I found it.”

“Don’t lie to me. You know I don’t like it when you lie to me.”

Lexie’s heavily coated bottom lip trembled. “I forget sometimes,” she cried dramatically. “I think I need a doctor to help me remember!”

Georgeanne bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. As Mae was fond of saying, Lexie was a drama queen. And according to Mae, she knew queens very well. Her brother, Ray, had been one. “A doctor will give you a shot,” Georgeanne warned.

Lexie’s lip stopped trembling and her eyes rounded.

“So maybe you can remember to stay out of my things without going to the doctor.”

“Okay,” she agreed a little too easily.

“Because if you don’t, the deal is off,” Georgeanne warned, referring to the bargain they’d agreed to several months ago. On the weekends, Lexie could dress in whatever she wanted and wear as much makeup as her little heart desired. But during the week, she had to have a clean face and dress in the clothes her mother picked out for her to wear. For now, the deal seemed to be working.

Lexie was mad for cosmetics. She loved them and thought the more the better. The neighbors stared when she rode her bicycle down the sidewalk, especially if she wore the lime green boa Mae had given her. Taking her to a grocery store or to the mall was embarrassing, but it was only on the weekends. And it was easier to live with the deal they’d made than the daily battles that used to ensue every morning when it was time for Lexie to get dressed.

The threat of no more makeup got Lexie’s attention. “I promise, Mommy.”

“Okay, but only because I’m a sucker for your face,” Georgeanne said, then she kissed her on the forehead.

“I’m a sucker for your face, too,” Lexie repeated back.

Georgeanne rose from the couch. “I’ll be in my bedroom if you need me.” Lexie nodded and turned her attention to the barking dalmatians on the television screen.

Georgeanne walked down the hallway, past a small bathroom, then into her bedroom. She shrugged out of her tuxedo jacket and tossed it on a pink and white striped chaise.

John didn’t know about Lexie. He couldn’t. Georgeanne had overreacted, and he’d probably thought she was a lunatic, but seeing him again had been such a shock. She’d always been careful to avoid John. She didn’t move in the same social circle, and she never attended a Chinooks game, which was no hardship because she found hockey appallingly violent. For fear of running into him, Heron’s never catered athletic functions, which didn’t bother Mae since she hated jocks. Never in a million years had she thought she might run into him at a hospital charity.

Georgeanne sank down on the floral chintz comforter covering her bed. She didn’t like to think about John, but forgetting about him completely was impossible. Occasionally she would walk through a grocery store and see his handsome face staring at her from the cover of a sports magazine. Seattle was crazy about the Chinooks and John “The Wall” Kowalsky. During the hockey season he could be seen on the nightly news slamming other men against the boards. She saw him on local television commercials, and she’d seen his face on a billboard advertising milk, of all things. Sometimes the smell of a certain cologne, or the sound of crashing waves, would remind her of lying on a sandy beach and staring up into deep blue eyes. The memory no longer hurt as it had once. It wasn’t a sharp ache to the heart. Still, she always pushed away the images of that time and of that man. She didn’t like to dwell on them.

She’d always thought Seattle was big enough for the both of them. She’d thought that if she made every effort to avoid him, she’d never have to actually see him in person. But even though she didn’t think it would ever happen, there was a part of her that had always wondered what he would say if he saw her again. Of course, she’d known what she would say. She’d always pictured herself acting indifferent. Then she’d say, as cool as a December morning, “John? John who? I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.
It’s nothing personal
.”

That hadn’t happened. She’d heard someone call out the name she hadn’t used in seven years, the name she no longer associated with the woman she was now, and she’d turned to look at the man who’d used it. For several heartbeats her brain hadn’t registered what her eyes had seen. Then complete shock had taken over. The fight-or-flight instinct had kicked in and she’d run.

But not before she’d looked into his blue eyes and accidentally touched his hand. She’d felt the warm texture of his palm beneath her fingers, seen the curious smile on his lips, and recalled the touch of his mouth pressed to hers. He looked so much like she remembered, and yet he seemed bigger and age had etched fine lines at the corners of his eyes. He was still extremely nice to look at, and for a few brief seconds, she’d forgotten that she hated him.

Georgeanne rose and moved to stand in front of the cheval mirror across the room. Her hand lifted to the front of her tuxedo shirt and she unbuttoned it. Because of Lexie’s dark hair and coloring, people often commented that she resembled Georgeanne, but Lexie looked just like her father. She had the same blue eyes and long, thick lashes. Her nose was the same shape as his, and when she smiled, a dimple creased her cheek. Just like John.

Pulling her shirt from the waistband of her pants, she unbuttoned her cuffs. Lexie was the most important thing in Georgeanne’s life. She was her heart, and the thought of losing her was unbearable. Georgeanne was scared. More afraid than she’d been in a long time. Now that John knew she lived in Seattle, he could find Lexie. All he had to do was ask someone at the Harrison Foundation, and he could find Georgeanne.

But why would John want to seek me out
? she asked herself. He’d dumped her at the airport seven years ago, making his feelings painfully obvious. And even if he did find out about his daughter, he probably wouldn’t want anything to do with her. He was a big hockey player. What would he want with one little girl?

She was just being paranoid.

The next morning Lexie finished her cereal and put the bowl in the sink. From the back of the house she could hear her mom turn on the faucet, and she knew she had a long wait before they left for the mall. Her mom loved to take long showers.

The doorbell rang and she walked into the living room, dragging her boa behind her. She moved to the big front window and pushed the lace curtain aside. A man in jeans and a striped shirt stood on the porch. Lexie stared at him a moment, then let the curtain fall back in place. She wrapped her boa around her neck and walked across the room to the front entrance. She wasn’t supposed to open the door for strangers, but even though the man standing on the porch had on black sunglasses, he wasn’t a stranger. She knew who he was. She’d seen him on the TV, and last year Mr. Wall and his friends had come to her school to sign their names on some of the kids’ shirts and notebooks and stuff. Lexie had been way at the back of the gym and hadn’t gotten anybody’s name on anything.

He’d probably come to sign some of her stuff now, she thought as she opened the door. Then she looked up—way up.

John removed his sunglasses and stuffed them in the pocket of his polo shirt. The door opened and he looked down—way down. Almost as shocking as finding a child in Georgeanne’s house was the little girl staring up at him wearing pink snakeskin cowboy boots, a little pink skirt, a purple polka-dot T-shirt, and a wild green boa around her neck. But her electric clothing was nothing compared to her face. “Ahh... hi,” he said, taken back by the powder blue eye shadow, bright pink cheeks, and shiny red lips. “I’m looking for Georgeanne Howard.”

“My mom’s in the shower, but you can come in.” She turned and walked into the living room. A scraggly ponytail high on the back of her head swayed with each step of her boots.

“Are you sure?” John didn’t know very much about children, and absolutely nothing about little girls, but he did know that they weren’t supposed to invite strangers into the house. “Georgeanne might not like it when she finds out you let me in,” he said, but then, he figured she probably wouldn’t like finding him in her house whether she was in the shower or not.

The little girl glanced over her shoulder. “She won’t mind. I’ll go get my stuff,” she said, and disappeared around a corner, presumably to get her
stuff
. Whatever that meant.

John slipped Georgeanne’s checkbook into his back pocket and stepped inside the house. The checkbook was an excuse. His curiosity had brought him here. After Georgeanne had left the banquet last night, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. He closed the door behind him and walked into the living room, immediately feeling out of his element, like the time he’d bought underwear for an old girlfriend at Victoria’s Secret.

The house was filled with the pastel colors and fussy decorations feared by even the most confident heterosexual man. Her flowery couch had lace pillows that matched the curtains. There were vases of daisies and roses and baskets of dried flowers. Some of the photographs sitting around had angels on the silver frames. He kind of liked that and wondered if he should worry about himself.

“I’ve got some good stuff,” the little girl said as she pushed a miniature shopping cart made of orange plastic into the living room. She sat on the couch, then patted the cushion next to her.

Feeling even more out of place, he sat next to Georgeanne’s little girl. He looked into her face and tried to determine how old she was, but he wasn’t any good at guessing a kid’s age. Her makeup job didn’t help any.

“Here,” she said, plucking a T-shirt with a dalmatian on the front from her basket and handing it to him.

“What’s this for?”

“You have to sign it.”

“I do?” he asked, feeling huge next to the little girl.

She nodded and gave him a green marker.

John really didn’t want to sign the kid’s shirt. “Your mom might get mad.”

“Nuh-uh. That’s my Saturday shirt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.” He shrugged and took the cap from the marker. “What’s your name?”

Her brows lowered over her dark blue eyes, and she looked at him as if he were a few sandwiches short of a picnic. “Lexie.” Then she pronounced it again just in case he didn’t get it the first time. “Leexxiiiie. Lexie Mae Howard.”

Howard
? Georgeanne hadn’t married the child’s father. He wondered what kind of man she’d been involved with. What kind of man abandoned his daughter? He flipped the shirt over as if he were planning to write on the back. “Why do you want me to ruin your perfectly good shirt, Lexie Mae Howard?”

“‘Cause the other kids got stuff that you wrote on and I don’t.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he thought he’d better ask Georgeanne before he marked up her daughter’s shirt.

“Brett Thomas has lots of stuff. He showed me in school last year.” She sighed heavily and her shoulders drooped. “He gots a cat too. Do you have a cat?”

“Ahh ... no. No cat.”

“Mae gots a cat,” she confided as if he knew Mae. “His name is Bootsie ‘cause he gots white boots on his feet. He hides from me when I go to Mae’s. I used to think he didn’t like me, but Mae says he runs away ’cause he’s shy.” She grasped the end of her boa, held it up for him to see, then shook it. “This is how I get him, though. He chases it and I grab him real tight.”

If John hadn’t known before that this little girl was Georgeanne’s daughter, the more he listened to her talk, the more obvious it became. She talked quickly about wanting a cat. Then the subject moved to dogs and somehow progressed to mosquito bites. While she talked, John studied her. He thought she must resemble her father because he didn’t think she looked all that much like Georgeanne. Maybe their mouths were similar, but not much else.

“Lexie,” he interrupted her as it occurred to him that he might be talking to Virgil Duffy’s daughter. He never figured Virgil for the type of man to abandon his child. Then again, Virgil could be a real jerk. “How old are you?”

“Six. I had my birthday a few months ago. My friends came over and we had cake. I got the movie
Babe
from Amy and so we watched it. I cried when Babe was taken from his mommy. That was really really sad, and I got sick. But my mommy said he got to go visit on weekends, so I felt better. I want a pig, but my mommy says I can’t have one. I like that part when Babe bites the sheep,” she said, and then began to laugh.