Almost a Family (13 page)

"Because I found out this weekend I have an eight-year-old son."

She angled her head at him and smiled dreamily. "Don't you think I'd make a good mommy?"

He didn't voice his thoughts. How could he criticize the girl, when he'd been content with her company only a few days before? "Like I said, you can't come up here anymore. It's over between us."

She straightened her shoulders and jerked her wrists away, stumbling back out into the hall. "Are you sleeping with that dressed-up little miss who came in and dragged you away the other night?" she yelled, her eyes glassy with drunken tears.

"No," he said through gritted teeth.

"Bet you she's an uptight little thing between the sheets."

He closed his eyes and counted to five. "I'm going to call you a cab."

"No! Just leave me alone!"

He took a step toward her, then sighed. "Go home, Lisa, and don't come back. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," she spat out. "Loud and clear." She lurched away, and he watched her half walk, half fall down the stairs. "Screw you, Bailey!" she yelled just as she opened the hallway door to admit the sounds of a thumping bass guitar.

Distaste for his bad habits and bad judgment erupted in his stomach, roiling as he made his way back to the unmade water bed. He cursed—he could definitely hear the band. His nostrils flared at the lingering scent of stale sex on the tangled sheets. God, when had he last changed them? He searched for the remote control among the musky bedclothes, but frowned when he came up with the device, sticky with food and lint.

Disgusted, he pulled himself up and went to the kitchen in search of a lightbulb, then realized the chance for success among the chaos there was slim to none. He turned on every working light in the apartment and cringed at the sight that lay before him. Newspapers, magazines, pizza boxes, beer bottles, and clothing were strewn among and over the dilapidated, dusty furniture. An unidentifiable but foul odor permeated the rooms, probably some spoiled carton of takeout food.

He wrinkled his nose, then scavenged in the utility room for a bucket and a handful of rags. Further searching uncovered an unopened bottle of household cleaner left by the former resident. He ran water in the rusty utility sink until it steamed, then filled the bucket with suds and set to work.

At two in the morning he fell into bed, exhausted, but between clean sheets, and with the feeling that literally and figuratively, he was finally getting his house in order.

The early appointment with Jackson caused him to be a little late reporting to work, but he knew his boss, Lenny Banks, wouldn't mind. Besides, Bailey was so pleased with the deal he'd struck for the two restored cars, he didn't care if Lenny did yell a little.

" 'Bout time you showed up, Bailey," Lenny barked when he walked in the office. "I was ready to send a couple of guys over to your place to see if some jealous boyfriend had strung you up."

"Sorry, Lenny, I need to talk to you for a few minutes, then I'll get right out to the McClain job."

Once they'd entered Lenny's office, his boss spoke up anxiously, "You can't quit, Bailey, we got to finish—"

"Relax, Lenny, I'm not quitting." He told his friend of six years the events that had occurred since Friday evening, trying to weed out the melodrama.

"Man." Lenny shook his head in disbelief. "And I thought I had a big weekend."

"So," Bailey continued, "you can see that my financial obligations have taken an upswing. I know I turned you down when you asked me about taking over Dean's job when he leaves, but now I'd like to take a stab at it."

Lenny pulled on his chin, clearly pleased. "Why, sure, Bailey, I've been after you to join the design team for years. Be nice to see you exercise that brain of yours instead of those overdeveloped pecs." He laughed and extended his hand. "I'll talk to Dean this morning about turning his current projects over to you starting next week. Be thinking about your replacement, and have a name to me by Friday." He reached to pick up the phone, ending the conversation. When Bailey opened the door to leave, his boss called, "Oh, and Bailey—congratulations on your new family."

Bailey thanked him, his boss's words leaving his chest tight. He was a long way from having a family, but making progress. He left the office and climbed into his company truck. When Lenny had offered him the design job a couple of weeks earlier, Bailey turned him down flat, saying he didn't want to play politics with the city planners. But in fact he'd turned down the job because he didn't want to be reminded of the ambitions he'd abandoned years before. Mindless hours of cleaning the previous night had given him time to think, and he'd begun to realize that not only had he ditched his responsibility to Ginny when they were married, but he'd also ditched his responsibility to himself over the years. Accepting the design job was one small step toward reversing the cycle.

On the way to the job site, he called to line up an appointment with an architect and a builder later in the week. When he ended the calls, he smacked the steering wheel in satisfaction.

He spent the rest of the morning overseeing two skeleton crews on a job that was near completion, and the early afternoon with three large crews newly formed to landscape an entire industrial park. The blistering hot day seemed to creep by. He looked at his watch every few minutes, already anticipating the moment he would see his son again. His eagerness was further fueled by the knowledge he would also see Ginny, a thought that sent a stab of desire to his groin. Toward late afternoon his fantasies began to run so rampant, he abandoned his clipboard and joined two men hoisting sledgehammers just for the physical release.

At three o'clock he left the job site and went home to shower. The clean scent of the scrubbed bathroom was a welcome change, but not enough to make him dally. In and out in a flash, he was ringing Ginny's doorbell just before four o'clock, their agreed meeting time.

He'd barely taken his finger from the button when Chad threw open the door, then covered the steps in one leap. "Let's get outta here," he grumbled loudly.

"Hey to you too," Bailey said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.

Chad looked up. "Oh, hey."

"Where's Ginny?"

"Right here," she answered, stepping into the door frame, purse and keys in hand. Striking as always in snug white jeans and navy shirt, she looked a little worse for wear around the eyes. She'd pulled her thick gold hair into a low ponytail and through the back of a red ball cap, and except for the dark sleep circles, looked all of twenty-one.

"I see you're both ready to go," he said dryly.

"Yep," Chad responded.

"Got the list right here." She waved a long sheet of paper and walked quickly toward her car parked by the curb.

"Bad day?" he asked under his breath.

"Don't ask," she said.

"We can take my car."

She stopped and frowned slightly, considering his offer to drive.

"More trunk space." He pointed to her list, then leaned close to her ear. "And remember how big the backseat is?"

She jerked back as if she'd been shocked. "We'll take my car," she said firmly.

"Want me to drive?" he offered. "You can navigate." She relented and handed him the keys. He ordered Chad from the front passenger seat to the back, then paused until everyone was buckled in. Heading down the highway, he noticed they looked every bit the upper-middle-class family: one kid in the backseat of a luxury sedan, headed for the mall. The thought rather pleased him that at least outwardly they looked like they belonged together.

He followed them from store to store to buy furniture, a comforter, curtains, paint, wallpaper, clothes, tennis shoes, and last but not least, a bicycle. Chad seemed to be on his best behavior. Bailey argued with Ginny over paying for the items, then finally agreed to split things down the middle. Four hours, one hamburger, one cookie, one ice cream, and three sodas later they dropped into chairs in the waiting area at the center of the mall, laden with bags, boxes, and delivery slips.

When his bottom met cushioned comfort, Bailey exhaled in relief, wriggling his cramped toes inside his low-heeled boots. He rolled his shoulders and groaned. He'd fared better with the sledgehammer today than with the cumbersome shopping bags.

Ginny laughed, and he realized she, too, was exhausted and hurting. "So much for aerobics," she said, her eyes closed, her head leaned back.

Chad sighed with impatience. "Can I go over there?" He pointed to the neon sign of a multimedia store blasting music.

Bailey opened his mouth to say yes, but Ginny cut in. "Not by yourself. Let us rest for five minutes and we'll walk over with you."

"But it's just right there!" Chad complained, waving his arm. Wheeling to face Bailey, Chad crossed his arms. "She wouldn't let me go to the park alone today and ride my skateboard—she followed me there and sat and watched the whole time. It was embarrassing—I was the only kid there who had a baby-sitter."

Bailey tried to hide his smile, then looked at her. "I can see the front of the store from here, Ginny."

She looked back and forth at them, then sighed. "Be back in twenty minutes to wake us up." Chad's new sneakers squeaked as he took off.

Silence stretched between them, punctuated by the sounds of shoppers leaving for home.

"I'm beat," Ginny said unnecessarily.

"Me too."

She laughed and leaned her head back. "And broke."

"Me too." He rubbed his eyes in big circles. "How do people do this on a regular basis?"

She yawned loudly. "It's become entertainment for families who have money—or credit cards."

"We never did this."

"That's because we never had money or credit."

He sat up, eyes open. "I shopped for you... sometimes. I remember bringing home one fun little turquoise number that you enjoyed—"

She lifted her head and narrowed her eyes. "Until I found out you'd spent a week's grocery money on it."

He grinned. "It was worth every bologna sandwich."

She reddened adorably, and he felt his body tense with longing.

"You wouldn't happen to still have that little number, would you, Ginny?"

She opened her mouth to respond, then glanced away and straightened when something across the mall caught her eye.

He looked too, and immediately jumped to his feet. Chad was at the door of the store he'd begged to visit, being yanked by two men.

"Help!" he yelled, struggling. "Let me go!"

"They're taking him!" Ginny shouted.

Bailey dropped the parcels he held and bounded over, with Ginny only a few steps behind. As he neared, he heard an alarm beeping shrilly, drawing the attention of passersby. The two men wearing nametags weren't taking Chad, they were restraining him.

"What's going on here?" he demanded of one of the men who held Chad by the wrist.

"Do you know this kid?"

"He's my son," he retorted, widening his stance. "What's the problem?"

"The problem, sir," the other man said in a monotone, "is your son is a thief."

"What?" Bailey bellowed. "There must be some mistake," he said as he looked at Chad's panicked face.

"No mistake, sir." The first man reached into the front of Chad's jeans and withdrew two compact discs. "The police are on their way."

Chapter 8

Virginia felt faint, but anger kept her on her feet. Chad had been caught shoplifting—what a fitting end to the roller-coaster day she'd spent with him.

She'd awakened to the sound of a blasting TV. Then he demanded pepperoni pizza for breakfast, which he ate in sullen silence while playing his Nintendo. Then he refused to budge from channel-surfing all morning. After lunch he'd asked to go to the park by himself, but she'd insisted on going, so he hadn't stayed very long. When they returned and she asked what he wanted to do about his bedroom, he made a gagging sound and said he could fix it all with a match and a can of gasoline.

The one bright spot had been when her parents called to talk to him. He'd changed colors like a chameleon, politely answering their questions and enthusiastically agreeing to go camping with them in their RV one day the following week. When he hung up, he flopped onto the couch.

If he'd asked once where Bailey was and when was he going to get there, he'd asked thirty-five times. Cozy little fantasies she'd harbored about getting to know her son that day were banished when he announced he needed to make a few phone calls to friends back home. She'd agreed, retreating to the kitchen. She was going a little stir crazy herself because of her abrupt hiatus from work, so she resorted to cleaning windows. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop—in fact, she'd been pretty certain he'd purposely talked loud enough for her to overhear his comments.

"Yeah, he's real cool, but I have to live with
her...
Expects me to sleep in some sissy pink room,
yuck
... Drives a fancy car, but lives in a cracker box with no yard... I feel like I'm in prison."

Ironic word choice, she thought, considering he was now courting detention time.