Single in Suburbia (30 page)

But this was the real world and Tyler Mackenzie was not going for an Oscar. He simply shrugged, just a casual lifting of the shoulders as if none of this really mattered at all and he didn’t know what she was making such a fuss about. “OK,” he said. “Whatever. We don’t have to make a big deal here. I just want a Gatorade and a pack of gum.”

Brooke shot him a look and instead of growling at her, he smiled. “Please,” he said.

Brooke smiled back and her heart lightened. With a nod, she went to get the things he’d asked for.

Amanda stepped forward and gave Ty a smile too. “So what was the shouting about out there?” she asked.

“Wyatt struck out the whole side, Mrs. Sheridan,” Tyler said. “Three up, three down. It was beautiful.”

“You’re kidding.” Amanda was already untying the apron she wore. “Did he really?”

“Yep.” Tyler nodded sagely. “It was totally awesome. Mr. Sheridan went absolutely crazy.”

Amanda set the apron on the counter and ran a hand through her hair to straighten it. “Is he pitching the next inning?”

“We’re in the bottom of the fifth,” Tyler replied. “Coach thinks we might actually win this one.”

“I’ve got to get out there,” Amanda said already heading for the concession stand door. “This is one victory I intend to witness myself.”

Watching Amanda and Tyler hurry down to the field, Brooke crossed her fingers and offered up a little prayer on Wyatt’s behalf. She’d had her own small victory today. She wanted the Sheridans to have one too.

That night after the kids went to bed, Amanda sat at the kitchen table and faced reality. It was not a pretty sight.

First, she forced herself to open all the bills she’d been avoiding. Staggered by their total, she divided them by category and sorted them into piles in an effort to lessen the overall impact.

Then she looked at her income. Based on two homes a day, five days a week—assuming she continued to accept Brooke’s help and generosity—she could make the most critical ongoing bills on a monthly basis.

What she couldn’t do was pay off the dauntingly large lump sum that was owed on the credit cards—even making the current minimum payments wasn’t going to happen.

If she could just add a few more houses, do three a day a few days a week for a month or so, she could make a dent in them. None of this, of course, allowed for emergencies or anything unexpected, but it would at least put her on track to whittle away the debt. And then?

Feeling panic threaten, Amanda reached deep down in search of her inner Solange.

Several deep breaths later, that inner voice began to chastise her.
Don’t borrow trouble,
it said.
Just focus on creating extra income.

The split personality thing was becoming a tad worrisome, but Solange, of course, was right. There was no point in worrying about the “then” until she took care of the “now.”

Picking up the phone, she dialed Candace’s number. “Ees that you,
Candee ass
?” she asked when her friend answered.

Candace groaned at the nickname, but didn’t bother to correct her. “It’s
moi,
” she said dryly. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to add a third client on Fridays and Mondays. I know it’s too late for tomorrow, but do you think we could start this Friday?”

“Booking the jobs isn’t going to be a problem.” Candace hesitated but then, being Candace, forged ahead. “But how are you going to handle that kind of workload? And what will you do about the kids now that they’re out of school? Isn’t tomorrow the first day of summer vacation?”

“Very good questions,
mon amie
.” Amanda pulled the calendar from another pile of papers; the one she had filled in for her children with the wiliness of Machiavelli. She’d arranged for Meghan to get a ride to afternoon dance practices all week and signed Wyatt up for a hitting clinic that Drew Donovan was attending. The rest of the summer was similarly accounted for.

“I’ve got the kids pretty much covered and Rob has promised to pitch in when he can. I need those extra houses, but I don’t want Brooke coming along. She’s doing more than enough already. I’ll handle the extra cleaning on my own.”

“Amanda, I’m not sure that—” Candace began.

“Well, I am,” Amanda interrupted with Solange’s determination. Then more quietly she said, “Just book me, Candace. And don’t say anything to Brooke. Solange and I will take care of it.”

For the rest of the evening, Amanda kept one ear cocked for the phone. If she hadn’t slept with Hunter James—and didn’t still remember just how many condoms they’d gone through—she would have been the one calling him to share the news of Wyatt’s pitching breakthrough. But the truth was she was too embarrassed to call. And with every hour that the phone didn’t ring, she became more convinced that sleeping with him had been a massive error in judgment.

On Tuesday morning Amanda stood on the James’s front step dressed for work. Hunter still hadn’t called and despite the protection of her disguise, her heart pounded when Brooke rang the doorbell. Her palms went slick with sweat as they waited for him to appear at the door.

But there was no approaching shadow through the sidelights, no hint of Hunter’s voice from inside. Torn between relief and disappointment, Amanda reached under the welcome mat and pulled out the key. “I guess he’s not home,” she said needlessly.

Brooke followed her into the house. There was no coffee, no Fido hurtling toward her, nothing but the hush of an unoccupied home. An envelope of cash with Solange’s name scribbled on the front sat on the counter. Under her name he’d written:
Work emergency. Girls at grandparents. Out of town. Please leave key with Amanda Sheridan.

Well, at least that was convenient.

“See,” Brooke said. “He wants you to have his key.”

“No, he wants the maid to drop it off with the closest person she knows. It’s not exactly a telling action.”

Brooke raised an eyebrow, which made the mole shift slightly. “A little testy, aren’t we?” she asked.

Yes, she was. Because she wanted him around to flirt with—and possibly to sleep with again—not traipsing off somewhere conducting business.

She was looking for validation that what they’d shared was more than random lust. She wanted specific lust, aimed directly at her. Oft-repeated lust would be even better.

“I’m not…testy,” Amanda insisted. “I’m just a little disappointed that he’s not here, that’s all.”

And extremely disappointed that she didn’t know when he’d be back. Even a determined optimist needed something to look forward to.

That night Brooke and Hap had dinner at The Thai House, a tiny restaurant tucked into a strip mall around the corner from their house. The décor was starkly modern—black lacquer tables and chairs—with a few plaster Buddhas strategically placed for atmosphere.

Brooke’s gaze zeroed in on the closest Buddha’s belly as Hap placed their order. It was smooth and white like the white polyester uniform Simone would wear to Susie Simmons’s in the morning. As happened more and more, thoughts of Simone led Brooke to thoughts of her mother—an alarming tendency given how completely she’d believed she’d cut Cassie Blount from her current life.

“Honey?” Hap’s voice broke through her reverie.

“Yes?” She turned to her husband. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

He looked at her strangely, as if she’d somehow managed to surprise him. “I was wondering what you did to Tyler?”

“What I
did
to him?” She couldn’t tell from his tone whether he considered whatever she’d done good or bad.

The waiter brought their drinks then placed a bowl of fried noodles between them.

Hap picked up his beer bottle and tilted it toward her in salute. “If I’m not mistaken, his hostility quotient seems to have dropped a bit.”

Brooke sat back in her chair and studied her husband. “And all this time I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“I love that boy,” he said. “But I’m not blind. It was about time you read him the riot act.”

“Well, I’m not sure I’d put it in those terms.” She remembered how Candace and Amanda had encouraged her to speak up and Tyler’s surprise at her candidness. “I just told him how I felt about you and that I wasn’t planning on going anywhere so he might as well get used to me.”

“Good for you.” He flashed a smile of approval. “I was hoping you’d find a way to pull him in line. It’s better coming from you than me. He needs to respect you for yourself.”

Pleased at Hap’s praise, she considered him from across the table. What would happen if she just opened her mouth and told him the secrets she’d been guarding so carefully? Would his smile grow wider or disappear altogether? Could he possibly know all there was to know about her and love her anyway?

He took a sip of the Thai beer. “Tell me how you’re filling your days. I haven’t heard you mention going back to work for a while now. What have you been doing with your time?”

As openings went, it didn’t get much better than that. Mouth dry, she reached for her tea and took a drink as she considered her response.

He’d asked. Maybe she should just tell him. She could start with her part in Amanda’s cleaning business and segue right into the fact that she came from a long line of cleaning women. Then she could explain that she wasn’t actually estranged from her mother; just too ashamed of where she’d come from to let her current and past worlds intersect.

But how could she say something that didn’t even sound plausible in her head?

Brooke set her cup down, the moment gone. “I’m actually working on a, um, project with Candace and Amanda,” she finally said, trying not to lie outright this time.

“That’s great,” Hap replied, his tone signaling that his attention had already begun to stray.

For once that was OK. Because her thoughts had moved on too. Or rather back. To all the things she might have told him. And now probably never would.

While Brooke searched her soul, Candace searched her closet for something a French maid might conceivably wear to work.

As she perused the possibilities, she fought back the nausea and lethargy that continued to plague her. If she was coming down with something, she wished she’d get it already so that she could spend a few days in bed or take an antibiotic and get over it.

Studying the designer pants suits and coordinates, she attempted to push the memory of her failed Friday night dinner from her mind. She’d gone over and over what she might have done differently and had come to the conclusion that the whole dinner concept had been much too subtle. The next time she had the opportunity, she planned to knock their heads together and tell them to grow up. Just thinking about Dan and her mother made her want to cry. Of course, so did Hallmark commercials. She’d become an absolute emotional basket case.

“OK,” she muttered to herself. “Take a deep breath and focus. Right now, all you have to do is find something you can wear to clean houses tomorrow.”

This, of course, was not an eventuality she’d ever shopped for, and at first it appeared that none of the designers she favored had ever considered creating a line of “Housekeepingwear” either. But at last she found a white Donna Karan from a couple of seasons ago that she thought might pass as a uniform. She’d leave it to Amanda to disguise her from the neck up.

Giving in to the exhaustion she couldn’t seem to shake, she laid out the pants suit and crawled into bed knowing she’d need all the energy she could muster in the morning. And, of course, she really needed to come up with a name for her new persona. Solange was about to acquire a new relative. If Amanda thought Candace was going to let her handle all that extra work alone, she had another thing coming.

chapter
26

B
onjour, mes amies.”

Amanda and Brooke turned from the guest room mirror where they were adjusting their disguises at the sound of Candace’s voice. It was hard to tell whose jaw dropped farther.

“What?” Candace asked, sounding amazingly like Maurice Chevalier. “You are not happy to see Chanel, your long lost cousin?”

“Chanel?” Amanda asked. “As in the designer?”

“But, of course.” Candace gave a deep-throated laugh. “My mother the runway model, she named me after her.”

“And what you’re wearing is?”

“A leetle beet of thees and a leetle beet of that.”

What it looked like was a designer pants suit that, even though it had been smudged strategically with dirt, still looked like it cost as much as the vacuummobile. Candace’s wig, which moved freely as she shook her head, was a long frosted blonde number. It, too, had probably cost a fortune.

“I figured you could just add a few features to disguise my face and we could be off.”

“Off?” Brooke asked. She stepped closer to Candace. “You don’t seriously intend to try to clean houses in that getup, do you?”

“Do you even know how to clean a house?” Amanda asked.

“Well, not exactly,” Candace said, “but I’m sure I can…”

Brooke looked from Candace to Amanda. “What’s going on? Aren’t I covering enough ground?”