Cardinal (17 page)

“And then?”

“He started coming around again.” Latson scowls.
“He wanted her, but not his son. She fell into old habits; her tolerance level
wasn’t what it used to be.” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “You know
what happened next.”

I look back at the picture and the smiling
faces. Everyone looks so unsuspecting. They look like they’re ready for the
time of their lives, like nothing bad could possibly touch them. I can tell
they felt invincible.

“It was her choice,” I eventually say. “You did
everything you could.”

“Did I?” Latson gives me doubtful look.

“Yes.” I turn my body toward his. “You
intervened. She got well.”

“She didn’t stay that way,” he mutters.

“What were you supposed to do?  Monitor her
every move?  Set up shifts with Dean?  You two did –”

“This is getting us nowhere,” Latson cuts me
off. He sits forward and picks up his guitar. “Do you want to try those two songs
again or move on?”

There he goes, shutting down like he did in the
car. He may not think he wants to talk about what happened, but he keeps
revealing bits and pieces. I’m not sure how much is left to the story, but I
wish he’d let it out.

Setting the picture aside, I pick up my guitar
as well. “Show me the other songs and then we’ll go back to the first two. That
way I’ll know what to concentrate on when I practice later.”

Latson studies me for a few seconds before
leaning forward and kissing me.

“What was that for?” I ask.

“For not pushing. I changed the subject and you
let me.”

I lift my hand and play with his hair. “I can
be patient. You’ll discuss it when you’re ready.”

“I’m surprised I’m discussing it at all. I
think this tour is messing with me.”

My expression softens. “It probably is. Dean is
going without you.”

“You’re going without me.”

I freeze. “If it bothers you that much –”

“Don’t say you’ll stay.” Latson’s eyes grow
dark. “Not because of me.”

“I wasn’t.” I smirk. “I was going to say if it
bothers you that much, you’ll have to make time to come out and see me. A visit
or two won’t hurt, will it?”

He circles my wrist and lowers my hand,
bringing my fingers to his lips. “I’m so glad you said that. I didn’t want you
to think I was stalking you across the country.”

I laugh. “I see. How many trips were you
planning?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” He
kisses my fingertips. “But, there will only be a few. I have some things that
need my attention here, like a bar and a kid.”

“Being responsible is so overrated,” I tease.

“You’re right.” He inches closer. “Now you know
why I wanted to be a musician and not a doctor.”

I kiss his nose. “I’m happy you’re a musician. I’m
also happy I’ll get to see you. Thanks for fitting me in.”

“I think it’s you who will have to fit me in.”

I shake my head, although he would know a
touring schedule better than me. “We’ll make time,” I promise.

“Good,” he says, “because we’ll need to be
alone when we’re together.” Smiling, he leans over his guitar to kiss me again.
This time, when his lips meet mine, they stay there. Our kiss deepens, and our
guitars bump together.

“Um, there’s something in the way,” I say.

Latson takes quick care of the situation. “There
shouldn’t be anything between us.” He slides his hand around the back of my
neck to bring me closer.

“You’re right,” I murmur before my mouth is
occupied again. There will be too much distance between us soon enough.

Eight days later, the sound of hyper first
graders echoes in my ears. I put my hand to my forehead to block out the sun
and search the playground for Oliver. The weather decided to turn full-on
summer for his last day of school.

Eventually I find him at the water balloon
station. The kids are paired up on the grass and tossing balloons back and
forth like an egg toss. Sporadically spaced around the playground are other
activities, like sidewalk chalk, bubbles, tug-o-war, and a bounce house. Parent
volunteers man each station, and Latson was assigned to the shoe pile. I was
given the ice cream table, and my pre-made sundaes keep melting into mush before
they’re eaten.

“This is pointless,” Erica, Donovan’s mom, says
as she presses whip cream onto my cups of vanilla soup. “Although, the kids
don’t seem to care.”

I add some chocolate sprinkles to our
concoctions and look out over the covered pavilion in front of us. Kids are sitting
at picnic tables and slurping their ice cream with laughter. Some have vanilla
mustaches from drinking the dessert instead of using a spoon. It makes me smile.
“As long as they’re happy,” I say.

She agrees and keeps whip-creaming. She stops
when we finish enough sundaes for the next rotation of kids. I stick my spoon
back in the dish of sprinkles and my eyes roam the playground for Latson. He’s
all broad shoulders and khaki cargo shorts, his arms flexing as he helps
another mom chuck small shoes and sandals into a mountain of footwear. After
the last shoe hits the pile he looks over and waves. I wave back.

“So,” Erica fans herself in the heat, “how long
have you been dating Oliver’s uncle?”

When she introduced herself as Donovan’s mother,
I introduced myself as Oliver’s friend. She grew concerned about Mrs. Gibson
and asked if I was his new nanny. I told her I was seeing Latson to clear up
any confusion.

“A few weeks,” I say.

“Well, between you and me,” she steps closer,
“I know some PTA moms who are going to be disappointed.”

I frown. “Why?”

“Have you seen your boyfriend?”

Yes,
I think.
I saw a lot of him this morning
after he dropped Oliver off at school.
I’ll never be able to look at his
shower the same way again.

Erica glances over my shoulder at a group of
ladies gathered on the sidewalk. There’s not a lot to monitoring the chalk
station, and they’re staring in Latson’s general direction.

“The one on the far right, Natalie Spencer, she’s
Max’s mom,” Erica says. “She’s been after your man since she got divorced last
year. And the one in the middle?  Jackie O’Rourke?  She’s been eyeing him since
Oliver first started at this school.”

She’s serious. “They really talk about him?”

Erica nods. “I’m surprised he’s not a permanent
agenda item. The PTA meetings usually start out like an episode of
Cougar
Town
.”

I laugh. I wonder if Latson knows.

Speaking of, out of the corner of my eye, I catch
him walking my way. He grabs the bottom of his shirt and wipes his forehead
with it, earning a collective gasp from the chalk moms. I stifle another laugh.
I’m tempted to tell him he’s the PTA hottie.

He makes his way over to me with a smile. “Can
I get a water?”

“Sure.” I open a cooler under the table marked for
volunteers. I hand him a bottle and watch a bead of sweat roll down his temple
before I brush it away. “I’m glad I got the job in the shade.”

“Lucky.” He smirks before downing half the
bottle. “I’m surprised how bad little kids shoes stink in the heat.” He makes a
face, then looks down. “How are your feet?”

I look at my exposed toes in my flip flops. “They
don’t smell.”

“I meant are they cold,” he says. “You’re getting
on a plane in a few hours.”

“I know,” I sigh. “It’s hard to believe I’ll be
in L.A .tonight.”

The past week has flown by so fast my nerves haven’t
been able to keep up. It’s been both a blessing and a curse: while I haven’t
had a chance to be anxious, I know, sooner or later, reality is going to bite
me in the ass. I’ve been going through the motions to make sure I stay busy, so
I won’t second guess my decision. Keep working: check. Spend time with Pete and
Jules: check. Try to learn Dean’s songs: check. Try to pack everything I own:
check. Spend quality time with Latson: check. And last, but not least, attend Oliver’s
picnic.

Check.

“Yoo-hoo!  Lat-son!”

I look to my right and see Natalie wave as she
comes over. When she makes it to us she flashes a perfect, white smile. “Sorry
for interrupting, but I’ve been meaning to ask ... who are you requesting for
Oliver’s teacher next year?  It’s a toss-up between Littlejohn and Hunter for
Max.”

She bats her eyelashes and I take in her denim
capris, flowy tank, and cute wedges. Her brown hair is layered in a trendy cut,
and she looks like she could be in her late thirties.

“I’ll let the school decide,” Latson responds. “He’s
a little young to have a preference, I think.”

“But he’ll want to be with his friends.” She
lets out a tittering laugh. “Max and Oliver are like two peas in a pod.”

They are?  I glance at Latson and recognize the
knowing gleam in his eye. He can tell she’s flirting. “He talks about a lot of
kids,” he says. “I’m sure some of them are bound to be in his class.”

Natalie shrugs and moves closer. “It doesn’t
hurt to be sure. I can submit the form to the office for you. It would only
take a few seconds. I could also sign him up for t-ball with Max for the summer.
We could carpool. What do you say?”

Latson gives me a wide-eyed look, as if saying,
“Can you believe this?”
A snicker gets caught in my throat, and I cover
it with a fake cough.

He takes another drink of water, then leans in
to give me a wet kiss on the cheek. “I’d better get back.” He looks at Natalie.
“I think we’re all set, but thank you.”

His tone indicates he’s talking about more than
class selection and sports. He winks at me then walks away, finishing his water
as he goes. When the bottle is empty, he shoots it like a basketball at a
nearby recycling container. It goes in.

Natalie turns to me, her shocked expression full
of questions. “You know him?”

I give her a sweet smile. “Yes.”

The top of her ears turn pink. “Well, I … I … didn’t
realize.” She stiffens her spine and holds out her hand. “Natalie Spencer, PTA
president. You are?”

“Jen Elliott.” I shake her hand. “Girlfriend.”

She nods, then turns on her heel and walks away,
struggling to keep a slow pace back to the other moms. I look at Erica and she
laughs. “You should have seen her face when he kissed you. No amount of Botox
could have hid that reaction.”

I shake my head. This is the last place I
expected women to vie for Latson’s attention. Torque and the gym I understand. But
an elementary school?

My thoughts are interrupted when the kids in
front of us start to leave. Per my instructions, I round the front of our table
and hold out a container of disinfecting wipes for them to take as they walk by.
Behind me, Erica grabs another stack of plastic cups. “Ready to make some more
slop?”

“Ready as ever,” I say.

By the end of the afternoon, the kids are tired,
sticky, and sunburned.  Oliver says goodbye to his teacher and his friends, and
the three of us head to Latson’s car for my trip to the airport. Since I have
to be there early to get through security, we decided to leave straight from
the picnic. After shutting the car door, I turn around to look at O in the backseat.
“Did you have a good time?”

“Yes!”  He grins. “I did so many flips in the
bounce house I almost threw up!”

My face contorts. “Gross. That doesn’t sound
like fun to me.”

He giggles. “Uncle Gunnar?  Can Donovan spend
the night?  He wants to come over and his mom said maybe.”

“Not tonight, buddy,” Latson says as we leave
the school. “After we take Jen to the airport we’re going to dinner, remember?”

“Oh, yeah!”  Oliver looks excited. “We’re going
to Medieval Times.”

“What’s Medieval Times?” I ask.

“It’s where you eat with your hands, and there
are knights and horses. They have battles right in front of you.”

“That sounds much better than puking,” I say. “Make
sure you take pictures and send them to me.”

“I will. Uncle Gunnar?  Can I use your phone?”

Latson’s eyes find Oliver in the rearview
mirror. “Sure, dude.” He looks at me. “You might get a bunch of blurry texts
later.”

I smile. “I look forward to it.”

Latson pulls away from the school, and we
discuss Oliver’s summer vacation plans. Along with more aquarium time, he’d
like to visit the zoo, go swimming, see his buddies, and have more Nerf wars,
for which he says he’ll need some sort of new gun.

“You have forty guns,” Latson says. “That’s
enough.”

“You’re lying,” Oliver’s little voice accuses. “I
have eighteen; I counted. You have more guitars than anything and you don’t
even play with all of them.”

My eyes grow wide and swing to Latson. This is
the most attitude I’ve ever heard from O. “I think you just got told by a
second grader.”

He smirks. “He’s not a second grader yet.”

“Am, too,” Oliver interjects.

“We’ll see once I get your report card,” Latson
says.

Their back and forth banter is sweet, and a
pang of sadness hits. I’m going to miss this over the next few months. I’d love
to take O to the zoo or to the beach. We never did get to the park to play in
the fountains. Suddenly, I want more time. I stare out the window and swallow.

We pull into O’Hare International Airport, and
Latson finds a parking space. Dean is supposed to meet us inside, along with Pete
and Jules. I grab my guitar, swinging the case over my head and shoulder, and
then my carry-on bag. Latson pulls my two suitcases from the trunk. I’m only
working with what I brought to Chicago, so there wasn’t much to pack. As we
make our way to the crosswalk to head to the terminal, Oliver decides he wants
to help. Latson lets him drag one of my bags, and the sight is too freaking
cute. Maybe I’m being overly sentimental, but I let the boys walk ahead of me
so I can take a picture.

Once I get checked in, we walk to the security
screening point. There, I find Dean, Jules, and Pete standing off to the side.

And, unexpectedly, Carter, Felix, and Gwen.

“You guys!” I say in surprise and hurry my
steps. “What are you doing here?”

Carter opens his arms wide, and I step into
them for a hug. “Little J. Do you think we’d let you leave without saying
goodbye?”

“I said goodbye last night at work.” My voice
is muffled against his chest.

“It’s not the same.” He holds me tight. “I
forgot to tell you. If you need a bodyguard, let me know. I’ll be there in a
heartbeat.”

 
Aww,
I think. Before I can respond, he
steps back and hands me off to Felix.

“Mi amor,” Felix says with a pout. He catches
my hand and kisses my knuckles. “Como voy a vivir sin ti?”

I give him knowing look. “You’ve lived without
me before. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

He grins. “Be careful out there.” He wraps me a
quick hug before Gwen pushes him out of the way. She holds on to my shoulders
and looks me squarely in the eye. “You
must
call or text me,” she demands.
“I want all the details. I want pictures of roadies. I want pictures from the
stage. Oh!  I want pictures of you
on
stage.”

I laugh. “Okay, but only if you promise to take
care of my boys.” My eyes jump from Carter to Felix, then to Latson and Oliver
who are talking to Dean. “You don’t have to worry about Pete. Jules has that
covered.”

“You’re damn right I do,” Jules says and walks
over. “Don’t worry about us back here. Concentrate on you.” She leans into my
side. “And, remember, if you need someone on the tambourine, my offer still
stands.”

“Got it,” I say. “You guys will probably get sick
of my daily updates. I’ve never met Paul or Drew, and I doubt Dean and I have
much in common. I’ll need someone to talk to.”

“We’re here for you twenty-four, seven,” Jules
says and Gwen nods. “Any hour of the day or night. Don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thanks.” Even though I assumed as much, it’s
still reassuring to hear the words.

Jules’ eyes focus on something over my shoulder,
and I turn around to see my brother. He doesn’t say anything; we’ve talked
about this opportunity so many times over the last week there’s nothing left to
discuss. Without words, I step up to him and we give each other an insane
squeeze. “Love you,” he says against my hair.

“Ditto,” I say into his chest.

After I step away from Pete, Oliver skips over
and tugs on my hand. “I made you something.”