Almost Like Being in Love (22 page)

“I'll make the coffee extra strong.”

“And I'll have to apply an extra layer of makeup to try and hide the bags under my eyes.”

“You primp. I'll prep the coffee.”

I
t was going to be a good day.

If he had a Superman T-shirt, Alex would wear it to work today. Under his uniform shirt, of course, keeping his identity hidden just like any other superhero.

He was being ridiculous, but the knowledge that he would fix Jessica's air-conditioning today had him fighting back a huge grin the entire time he showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth.

He'd made sure she was his first appointment, marking off the entire first half of the day to install the unit. If he had time left over, he'd fix her washing machine, too. If not, he'd let Jessica know he had the right belt now, and ask when he could come back to install it. She had to be tired of hauling both her dirty laundry and her rambunctious son to the Laundromat by now.

A quick stop in the kitchen to heat up a breakfast burrito in the microwave and then he'd get on the road.

The sight of his mother slouched at the breakfast table stopped him short. She wore her black robe over her thin frame, her hair loose and uncombed.

“Morning, Mom. Dad still here?”

“Haven't seen him.”

When had his mother's voice gotten so faint, so rough—her words like verbal sandpaper worn thin?

“He must have left for work already.” Which was where he needed to be going. Soon. “Do you want anything to eat?”

“Not very hungry.”

She never was. He shouldn't have bothered to ask.

“I could make you some toast—” He stood with the fridge door ajar. “Maybe some hot tea?”

“I'll get myself something to drink in a little bit.”

Alex shut the fridge door, his fingers tightening around the handle. Breakfast or try to reason with his mother? Eat . . . or waste his time fighting a never-ending battle he couldn't win?

When he sat across from her, she refused to look at him, eyes downcast.

“Mom.” He rested his hand on top of hers, willing himself to curve his fingers around her hand. Her skin was dry, her hand skeletal. “I know you're having a tough time right now—”

“You don't understand.” Her words rasped out. “I'm his mother.”

“But I am . . . was Shawn's brother.”

“It's not the same.” Her eyes were bloodshot. Unfocused. “And his birthday . . . it's always the worst.”

They hadn't celebrated a birthday in the house in years. Maybe his brother's birthday was the worst, but any family birthday was a day of mourning.

“But drinking like this . . . it doesn't solve anything.”

“It helps me forget.”

“You don't really want to forget him, Mom.” Alex's words felt like so many pieces of loose gravel tossed against a closed window. “Maybe I could take you to the cemetery, to visit his grave again—”

“No!”
His mother jerked her hand away. “I want to forget him. I want to forget everything.”

She stumbled to her feet, the chair behind her teetering back and forth.

“Mom, let me help you—”

“There's nothing you can do.” She pushed her hair from her face. “I'm tired. Need to go back to bed.”

Alex stood in the center of the kitchen, the sound of his mother's footsteps fading down the hallway. The bedroom door opened, closed with a click. He wasn't foolish enough to think his mother would go to sleep. No, she'd wait until she heard his car pulling away from the house and then make her way back to the kitchen to get a bottle and glass.

Why hide the bottles from her anymore? He and his dad limited the amount of wine in the house instead. Hiding the alcohol only made things worse—sending his mother out to shop for her relief. Preventing her from driving anywhere controlled things somewhat. His father had abandoned the battlefield years ago. An all-out surrender.

Alex had done what he could here. He'd tried—and failed—again.

Just outside the house, Alex stopped, staring at his cell phone. What time was it in Colorado? Would Caron be up yet? He'd call her, say good morning, relax into the familiar sound of her voice, allowing her to calm his frayed emotions.

“I love you.”

“I know you do. I love you, too.”

“Forgive me?”

“Of course.”

The snippet of their conversation outside the airport terminal offered him some comfort. And she'd called him to let him know she'd arrived safely in Colorado Springs, as she'd promised.

He pocketed his phone. He was running late, and Caron probably wasn't even up yet. He'd text her a quick “I love you” midmorning, promising to call her later.

They were fine. They understood each other. Loving Caron was easy—their relationship was the one reliable, good thing in his life.

•  •  •

Pulling up in front of Jessica's twenty-five minutes later restored his mood. Some. He'd learned a long time ago to leave personal stuff behind the closed doors of his home. He couldn't fix his mother. But he was at work now and he could install air-conditioning for one deserving single mother and her very active son, who would sleep better tonight.

The scent of cinnamon filled the air when Jessica opened the front door.

“It smells like a bakery in there.” Alex tucked his hat in his back pocket, smoothing his hair back from his face.

“Good morning.” The sound of feet pounding on the wooden floors caused Jessica to brace herself as Scotty ran up behind her and wrapped his arms around her leg. “I made cinnamon rolls this morning. Can I interest you in one?”

His “No, thanks” was interrupted by a loud stomach rumble.

“You sure about that?” Jessica's grin indicated she'd heard his stomach's complaint.

“I confess, I skipped breakfast this morning.”

“Do all repairmen have as bad eating habits as you do?”

“I haven't participated in that poll, ma'am.”

“Hi, Mr. Alex.” Scotty stepped forward. “Are you going to fix our air conditioner?”

“I'm going to do even better than that.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I'm
going to give you a different air conditioner. I've got it in my truck.” He winked at Jessica. “If it's okay with your mommy, you can unlatch the gate and wait until I bring it around to the backyard. Deal?”

“Deal.” Scotty tilted his head up. “Can I help Mr. Alex?”

Jessica waited for Alex's nod. “Sure. And while you do that, I'll get Mr. Alex some breakfast.”

“I appreciate it. I've always been partial to cinnamon rolls.”

“Then this is your lucky day. My mother's recipe is the best ever. I'll bring breakfast out when it's ready.”

“Are we gettin' started soon with the new air conditioner?” Scotty hopped from right foot to left and back again.

Alex ruffled the little boy's hair. “Yes, we are. You've been very patient. Meet me by the gate, okay?”

“Yessir!”

Jessica's laughter followed him out to the truck. Just a few minutes talking with her and Scotty had improved his attitude. Of course, the promise of homemade cinnamon rolls would help anyone have a better day.

Scotty stood waiting for him by the gate like a pint-sized sentinel, waving him through, his eyes serious. He hopped and skipped his way beside Alex to the old unit.

“Mom says not to ask if I can help anymore.” His voice bobbled with his bouncing body. “But can I watch?”

“You can stay and watch—” Alex pointed to the picnic bench. “—so how about if we carry that over here and you sit on that while I work? Sound good?”

“Yep!”

As they carried the bench over, Scotty's end considerably lower than Alex's, Jessica exited the house with a paper plate and a tall blue tumbler.

“What did I tell you about not bothering Mr. Alex?”

“He said I could watch, Mom.”

“It's true, I did.”
Alex accepted the plate of not one but two cinnamon rolls and a glass of cold milk. “Thanks.”

The first taste was a blissful bite of still-warm cinnamon-flavored roll, topped with drizzles of sugary icing and nuts.

“My compliments. This is the best cinnamon roll I've ever tasted.”

“Thank you.” Jessica bobbed a small curtsy, holding out the corners of her white denim shorts. “So, have you figured out how you're going to propose to your girlfriend yet?”

Alex choked on his gulp of milk. “Pardon me?”

“Proposing. You know, have you thought about how you're going to do it?” She straddled the bench.

“I don't know.” He thought for a minute. “How would you want to be proposed to? I'm open to suggestions.”

“I'd be fine with my guy showing up at my door with a pizza for our regular Friday movie night. And then proposing when the closing credits are rolling—but definitely not during the movie.”

“Really?” Alex chased the question with a gulp of cold milk. “Nothing fancy, then?”

“Nope. I got fooled by fancy talk and an elaborate proposal the first time. Fell for it all. Next time—if there is a next time—I want a simple, straightforward ‘I love you. Will you marry me?' ”

“Why can't I just do something like that for Caron?”

“Because this is her first—and hopefully her only—proposal. You're a good guy, Alex. I can tell. So do it right. Do a little research on diamonds—or emeralds or rubies or sapphires—whatever it is that she likes. Then find out what type of ring she prefers before you go planning the proposal.”

Too bad he hadn't heard Jessica's advice before he'd bungled the proposal with Caron on the way to the airport. But he'd get
it right the next time. Might as well take advantage of Jessica's willingness to offer suggestions.

“I still don't know how to actually ask her. Got any ideas on how I should pop the question?”

“Does she like horses? I had a friend whose boyfriend took her horseback riding and then proposed to her at the end of the trail ride.”

“No, she's not into horses, but she did play basketball in high school.” Alex finished off one roll and started on another.

“Oh, you could take her to a basketball game and do the whole Jumbotron-proposal experience in front of thousands of people. But that's been done to death, don't you think?”

“Yeah, plus I don't want to drive all the way down to an Orlando Magic game just to propose.”

“Is she adventurous? Instead of a hot-air balloon ride, you could go parasailing in Destin and propose then.”

“And drop the ring in the Gulf? No, thanks.”

“I thought Mr. Alex was here to fix our air conditioner, Mommy, not talk to you.”

With a laugh, Jessica stood and stepped away. “You're right, Scotty, that's exactly why he's here.”

Alex chased his last bite of pastry with a gulp of cold milk. “I just had to finish these yummy cinnamon rolls your mom gave me. I didn't have breakfast this morning.”

“You mean your mom didn't make you breakfast this morning? You're lucky. Mommy always makes me eat breakfast.”

“Don't be silly, Scotty. Mr. Alex is an adult. He makes his own breakfast.”

“That's right.” And Jessica didn't need to know he still lived at home. “And you've got a very nice mommy. I bet she makes you really good breakfasts.”

“Most of the time. I don't like oatmeal.”

“I didn't like it when my mom made me oatmeal, either.”

Not that he could remember the last time his mother made him breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner. It was sometime around when he was ten years old—he just couldn't remember it.

•  •  •

“Everything going okay?” Jessica's voice sounded behind him.

“Yep.” Alex focused on the task at hand. So far no problems. “Scotty get to his friend's house okay?”

“Yes, you were very nice to let him watch you work all that time. But I figured it was best to get him out of your hair.”

“He's a good kid.” He sat back on his heels. “Does he see his dad much?”

Now what prompted him to ask such a personal question, he didn't know. Idle curiosity. Keeping the conversation going, maybe? Or maybe because Jessica had brought up his relationship with Caron earlier? Conversational tit-for-tat.

“No. He lives here—well, in Panama City. If he wants to see Scotty, all he has to do is ask. He just doesn't ask. And I am fine with that. Makes it easier all around.”

“The guy doesn't want to see his son?”

“No. Not that I'm surprised. Being a father cramped his style. Scotty and me—that's my normal.” Jessica sat on the picnic bench, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees. “So, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“What's your normal?”