The House On The Creek (22 page)

Everett walked around the plastic table, and stared into the hearth. “That the only reason you wrote your daddy? For money?”

Chris had thought up a reply to that one while he’d stood out in the rain hitching. Because he knew that, if Everett hadn’t asked it, eventually his mom would.

But he’d already told a fib once tonight, about taking a cab, and somehow he just wasn’t up to another.

“No.” He said, hardly louder than the wind outside. “Mostly, it was because of the money. But I wanted to see if I could make him like me. Not all the kids at school have dads, but those that do, they seem pretty nice. I guess a guy doesn’t need a father to grow up right, but sometimes it helps.”

“Sometimes,” Everett said, still staring at the flames. “But sometimes, kid, it’s just not meant to be.”

That wasn’t the answer Chris wanted to hear. But he was afraid, deep down, that it might be the truth. At least in his case.

Not meant to be. And twelve year olds didn’t cry over not meant to be.

Still, he had to glare into the fire himself to keep his eyes and nose from running.

Chapter Fourteen

CHRIS’S MOM BLEW INTO THE HOUSE
with a bang and a clatter. Her footsteps sounded hard and loud in the front hall. Chris squirmed in his chair, and glanced over at Everett.

He stood still and straight in the middle of the room, one hand stalled halfway through scrubbing blonde hair, his eyes fixed on the door. His face was mostly blank, but Chris noticed the way the corners of his mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh. Or spit out an especially nasty cuss word.

Then Chris’s mom stormed into the parlor, and he saw Everett’s face change, just for an instant. His mouth stopped twitching and curved instead, and those weird green eyes went sharp as lasers.

Chris thought he looked a little like a pirate. Or maybe a soldier in General Lee’s army. Bright and fierce and ready for battle.

But Chris’s mom ignored Everett completely. She swooped across the room, and the expression on her face made Chris clench his teeth tight.

Maybe she would whup him after all.

“Christopher Allen Ross.” She sounded gruff. From crying, Chris thought, with a twitch of guilt. Or maybe shouting. Maybe she’d shouted her way all along the James, practicing her scold.

“What are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?” She crouched in front of him, and he saw that beneath her meeting clothes she’d exchanged high heels for yellow rain boots. The ache behind his breast bone threatened to turn into a hysterical giggle.

Chris swallowed it down and shook his head.

“Because if that’s your goal, you’ve come mighty close. One more shock like this, young man, and I’m liable to be out like a light.”

Now her voice trembled. Chris glanced quickly at her face, trying to determine whether the quiver was anger or tears. On the whole he thought he’d prefer anger.

“I left a note. Right on the kitchen table.” He’d planned to keep quiet until she’d blown herself out, but he didn’t want to look like a jerk in front of Everett.

His mom snorted. “‘Be back in an hour’, it said. Not a word as to where you’d gone. And on a night like this!”

The fire popped and flickered, and for the first time Chris saw the smear of dried tear tracks across her cheeks. His heart lurched, and his stomach began to hurt again.

“I’m sorry.” He balled up his fingers until they hurt, and stared hard at the irons in the fire place.

“You will be.” She stood up all at once. Putting a firm hand on his arm, she tugged him from the chair. “We’re going home.”

This was when Everett was supposed to break in, settle things down, start to explain what Chris didn’t know exactly how to say himself. But the man remained silent, a shadow in the background.

“Wait-” Chris squirmed, and looked desperately back over his arm.

“Wait, nothing.” His mom snapped. She moved her hand to the small of his back, and steered him to the parlor door. “It’s past your bed time and there’re a few things to settle before either of us gets any sleep.”

“Mom!” Chris set his heels against the wood floor. He tried to catch Everett’s eye. “Just wait a minute.” He couldn’t believe Everett would fail him. Not after he’d just spilled his guts.

His eyelids pricked, and he took a deep breath, sucking back tears he was too old to shed.

“Abby.” They were two steps into the hall before Everett finally spoke.

Chris felt his mom stiffen. She paused but didn’t look around.

“You’re too het up to go, yet.” Everett crossed the room. “The kid’s practically in tears, and you’re too mad to see any sense. And the wind’s blowing so hard it’s like to tear my roof apart, let alone your ma’s old car.”

His mom let go of Chris so quickly he bobbled. “Your roof’s in no danger.”

Chris saw Everett’s mouth curve again, but his eyes stayed steady. “You know that, do you?”

“It’s forty year shingle.” She growled. Her foot tapped in a yellow rain boot. “And I walked every inch of it myself.”

Everett nodded. “Because you’re a careful woman, when you’re thinking straight.”

She huffed out loud. Chris almost closed his eyes in relief. Because that sound meant she was listening, even if she didn’t like what she heard.

Everett must have understood, too, because he seemed to relax some. He nodded at the chair.

“Let the boy sit back down. Give him a chance to consider what he’s done and whether or not he’ll get his butt blistered.” He waited, then leveled a look at Chris’s mom. “Come and help me start the coffee.”

She shook her head, but Everett’s hand drifted to her shoulder, and she froze.

“You’re still seeing crimson,” he murmured, quiet like so Chris could barely hear. “Once you’re calm you can go straight home. When I’m sure you can find the road past the blood in your eye, Abby.”

She huffed again, and turned to give Chris a freezing look. “Don’t you move from that chair. We are not nearly finished.”

For the first time in a whole day Chris felt the muscles in his neck unclench. He nodded, relieved. Because he knew Everett could make her understand.

“I’ll stay,” Chris promised.

Chris kept his promise for almost five minutes. Then the butterflies returned to his stomach and sent him tip toeing after.

“He’s a good kid.” Everett poured coffee into a mug. “Just a little mixed up.”

“You know what he’s thinking, do you?” Abby took the mug with a scowl. The steam wreathed her chin. “Because I haven’t got a clue.”

Chris, hovering in the shadows just outside the kitchen, held his breath. His mom looked angry enough to boil water. She took a sip from her mug, but Chris was pretty sure she didn’t even taste the coffee.

“I can’t quite figure out how you’ve suddenly become an expert in my son and what he needs.”

Chris winced a little. She looked mad enough to give Everett a tongue lashing. He worried that Everett would snap back and send her away. But the man only poured himself a cup of the coffee, and leaned against the counter.

“He talks to me.”

“Of course. He talks to you. Which makes perfect sense as you’ve only been in town four weeks. He makes you his confidant. And he refuses to talk to me, his mother of eleven years.”

Everett shrugged.

“I know. It’s some sort of guy thing. He talks to Jackson about sports. He talks to you about his feelings. He asks me what’s for dinner.”

“He talks to me about sports. And other things.”

Chris’s mom set her mug on the counter with a clunk. She brought her hands to her hips. “Fine. What is it this time? Drugs? Booze? You can tell me. I can take it.”

Chris’s mouth dropped open. He saw the glitter in his mom’s eyes, and almost ran into the room to reassure her. But Everett spoke first.

“It’s not drugs, or booze. I told you, Abby. He’s a good kid. He just wants to know his daddy.”

Chris waited for Everett to explain about the money, but he didn’t. Instead, he walked across the room until he stood next to Chris’s mom. Not quite touching. But Chris saw Everett’s breath puff her hair.

“I almost think you’d prefer drugs or booze.” He spoke so quietly Chris had to strain to hear.

“No.” She sniffed. Everett reached across the sink, and grabbed a paper towel. Abby snatched it from his hand, and wiped her nose. “Of course not. Though an ex football hero, investment banker daddy with a tall, blonde wife is almost as bad.”

“Only almost?”

To Chris’s surprise and relief, his mom laughed through her tears. Not a big laugh, but still, a real laugh.

“Sit down.” Everett pointed.

She hesitated, and then climbed onto a bar stool, pulling one knee up to her chest the way she did when she was unhappy. Like a pill bug, Chris thought. Curling up to hide.

“I’m having a party.”

“Of course,” his mom said in that stiff voice she usually used with clients she didn’t like much. “To celebrate my failings as a mother?”

Chris watched Everett cup his hand to the back of his mom’s head. She leaned back against his fingers, resting for a moment, and then she tucked her chin on her knee.

“Alright,” she said, sounding a little less scratchy. “I give. A party?”

“A company Christmas party.” He left her and opened the fridge, digging out milk. “Last year it was New York. The year before that, the Space Needle.” He poured a dollop of milk into his coffee. “This year we have a reservation at the Mauna Kea.”

“Hawaii? That’s some party.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Your check book will thank you, I’m sure.”

“I’m having it here.”

Chris watched his mom. She didn’t move, even when Everett added a splash of milk to her own cup. Then she shrugged. “Williamsburg is lovely in the winter, especially if we get snow. Not exactly tropical paradise. But CW does it up right with bonfires and holly wreathes and seasonal costumes.” She paused, “The hotels are probably all booked up by now.”

“Not a problem, because I mean to have it in this house. Which will need to be fully furnished. I’ll want caterers and wait staff. Valet cars back and forth between Richmond. Flagstones laid on the back lawn, and heaters, and a tent for seating. We should have rooms set up to sleep ten, twelve if possible. Not everyone will want to stay in Richmond for the week.”

“A week?”

“My clients expect big, Abby. Especially during Christmas. And it’s my job to make them happy.”

“I get that.” Chris guessed his mom was thinking about Mrs. Carlyle and her etched limestone moldings.

“I need your help.”

She picked up her coffee and sipped. She watched Everett over the brim, stared at him for so long that Chris began to worry. Then she balanced the cup between her hands on her knee.

“We can do the flagstones. It’ll cost you to get it done, especially as the ground freezes, but we can do it, if I juggle a few jobs around. And I’m willing to finish furnishing the house, but that’ll cost you, too. Christmas is only two months away.”

“As for the rest...” She shook her head. “I don’t do caterers or transportation.”

He nodded. “I’ve an assistant for that. You’ve got an eye for this house. Would you consider handling the seasonals?”

Her forehead wrinkled. “It’s called Chesapeake Renovations. We’re not party planners. Jackson wouldn’t know a bayberry garland from a snake. And I’ve got three jobs in the wings.”

Everett shifted slightly, and Chris’s heart stopped, sure he’d been seen. But Everett only walked around the counter, and dumped his mug into the sink.

“How much work do you get done in the winter?” He turned on the tap. “I’ll pay time and a half, so long as Pierce doesn’t wrap my banister with adders.”

Chris took a deep, quiet breath. Time and a half was a good thing. His mom usually danced in the shower after a day of time and a half.

“Double time,” she returned. “I hate the Christmas rush.”

“No rush if you start now, Abigail.”

“Double time,” she repeated. “I’m a contractor, not a fairy godmother. I can’t work miracles without cash flow.”

“I’ll want multiple trees. Decorated. Colonial style. No silly themes.”

“I’ll want twenty-five percent in hand before you fly back West.”

“Get me the bid tomorrow.”

“Done.” She slid off the stool and set her coffee cup in the sink.

Chris crouched against the wall, waiting. But his mom just stood there next to Everett, back to the room, which was dumb because he was pretty sure she couldn’t see anything in the dark past the kitchen window. He couldn’t even see the their reflections in the glass as they stood shoulder to shoulder. The lights were too low.