Just Flirt (25 page)

A flash of recognition overwhelms me.

Hang in there.

That’s what was written on Mom’s bouquet card.

Rex is Mom’s
not exactly
.

And the man with Mona is Larson Walker.

*   *   *

I can’t believe it. No, I don’t
want
to believe it.

Mom with Rex Reynolds?

And Mona with
Larson
, of all people, who is now taking a canapé off a serving tray without thanking the waiter. He licks food off his manicured fingers and kisses Mona on the forehead, reminding me of the day Blaine first introduced me to him. Larson had kissed my hand in the same debonair fashion, so either he’s just a naturally charismatic person like Blaine … or he’s completely full of it.

“What do you know about Larson?” Roxanne asks.

“Not much, other than that he moved here from somewhere in Pennsylvania four years ago and bought the Riverside Inn. Oh, and his wife left him when Blaine was younger,” I add, leaving out how Blaine hates her for it, which explains his attitude toward women.

Still doesn’t explain why I used to put up with him, though.

“Well,” Natalie says, as she sits and pulls her laptop from her backpack. “If someone in this neighborhood has an unsecured wireless network, then we can see what else ole Google has to say about him!”

As Natalie’s computer boots up, Roxanne watches her mother nod politely as her father talks with another couple. From the way Victoria’s hands fidget, I can tell she’s bored out of her mind. That’s odd—you would think she’d be a pro at social events.

“Yes! We have Internet!” Natalie says.

Her fingers fly over the keyboard. She surveys the list of Web sites the search engine brought up and says, “Let’s see, we have a Calvin Larson Walker, a Cody Larson Walker, and a Leigh Larson Walker—wait, here’s a Facebook page for Larson Walker.” She clicks on it, but the profile picture of a brunette wearing a sexy nurse costume is definitely not him. Natalie keeps searching long enough for the waiters to make another round. She then stops and taps her nails against the keyboard, staring at the bumper of a Cadillac convertible.

“Huh. Don’t you think this is weird?” she asks.

I motion to the party. “What, Larson being with Mona?”

This seems to set off a trigger in Roxanne. “Why would that be weird, because Mona isn’t worthy? Because she’s different?” she asks, her face turning red. “Who are you to say a man like Larson couldn’t love a woman like her?”

Something tells me she’s not talking about Mona.

Natalie holds her hands out, coming to my defense by saying, “Whoa, Dee didn’t mean it that way, but come on, Larson looks like a total player, so his hooking up with Mona is like George Clooney hooking up with a waitress his own age.”

“How do
you
know? Maybe George woke up one morning and said, hey, I want a woman who can serve me a damn good piece of pie. Maybe George is—”

“Maybe George is
broke
,” Natalie says, pointing to her computer screen. “What I was
going
to say is how it’s weird that Larson’s inn reviews for the past six months have been terrible. Poor service from a short staff. The rooms aren’t kept clean. And one of the bands from the pub is suing him for back payment! This can only mean—”

“Shh!” I wave my hand frantically in front of her.

“Did you just shush me?” Natalie asks.

“Would you please just be quiet?”

They follow my gaze. Larson is now walking toward us, pulling a cell phone from his trouser pocket. We duck lower, my stomach clenching when he nears the Suburban. He stops, glancing around to make sure he’s alone before dialing.
Holy crap
, Natalie mouths as Larson holds his cell to his ear and drains the rest of his wine.

“Hello, Henry, it’s Larson, how are you? Yes, I know … I’m a couple months behind with my payment, but if you can be patient a little while longer, I can assure you I’ll get caught up soon. Yes, I know. Thanks, Henry.”

We don’t move a muscle until Larson hangs up and saunters back to his party.

Couple months behind?
Holy crap is right.

Natalie turns to Roxanne. “Hmm, still think all George wants is pie?”

“Yeah. Two million dollars’ worth of pie,” she says, slumping back against the roll bar. “But if he’s using Mona, what can we do, try to prove it? There’s no chance of that happening unless we can find someone to dig up dirt about him, someone who can…”

Roxanne stares at her mother.

She opens her mouth, and then closes it quickly, as though she changed her mind. But when Roxanne sees Mona cleaning up a wine spill like a servant she says, “I have an idea,” while hopping out of the cart with a burst of confidence and opening her cell. She dials, and seconds later Victoria Swain steps away from the crowd, answering her own phone as she walks down the deck steps.

Roxanne’s determination fades as Victoria steps onto the curb.

“Uh, hey, Mom, it’s me. Please don’t be mad, but—”

Victoria Swain’s free arm drops to her side in a clenched fist as she responds to Roxanne’s
please don’t be mad
line, not knowing that we can see her. It reminds me of the time when I saw Blaine walk past me at the mall while I was in line for a smoothie. I called his cell, but he ignored it after seeing my name on the screen. That really sucked, but this sucks more.

Blaine was just a bad boyfriend.

Mrs. Swain is Roxanne’s
mother.

“Mom, stop, I didn’t do anything. It’s just that I’m at—” Her mother keeps talking as she walks, until Roxanne finally says, “Look to your right, Mom.”

Victoria jerks her head up, searching until she sees Roxanne on the sidewalk, who gives her a weak wave. Victoria tiptoes across the yard in her heels. “Young lady, what’s wrong, are you okay? And why, exactly, am I not supposed to be mad?”

“I’m fine, Mom, it’s just that … I need…”

“And how in the world did you get here?”

Roxanne has no choice but to nudge her head toward where Natalie and I are trying to look inconspicuous. “I sort of drove over here with them. But there’s a very good reason why we—”

When Victoria leans over and sees the golf cart, it is clear that she’s
not
happy with our mode of transportation. “Roxanne Swain, you came here in a vehicle that’s not legal! You knew I wouldn’t approve of that! And look at your new shorts, they’re covered with motor oil. Here I was so excited when you finally agreed to go shopping the other day, and now they’re ruined!”

“Mom, I’m sorry, but I told you people don’t wear stuff like this to races—”

Victoria holds her hands up, ducking her chin to her shoulder. “You don’t have to explain. I should have known better. You’re like your father, who acts as though everything I do for the family is a complete joke.”

As a stylish couple carrying a bottle of wine strolls past them, traces of Roxanne’s hostility return, the same anger that caused her to slam doors and pee ice cubes. But instead of yelling, Roxanne takes a deep, calming breath and says, “No, Mom, I never … Can we please just start over? I’m sorry for riding here in the golf cart, but we had a good reason why. And I need your help. It’s important.”

Victoria narrows her eyes. “A favor? You’re asking me for a favor?”

Roxanne nods. “Yes, I need you to find out all you can about Larson Walker, both business-wise and personal.”

“Are you crazy, Roxanne? I will not snoop into Larson’s private affairs when he’s been nothing but kind to us. He’s going to be our next-door neighbor, for heaven’s sake.”

“The guy’s a jerk, Mom! He’s only using—” Roxanne stops, as though she’s leery about saying more, which is smart. What if Mrs. Swain blabs about our suspicions to Larson? “I can’t tell you why, but it’s important, so can you please do it? Can you please take my side for once?”

Victoria’s clenched hand starts to slowly open like she wants to say yes—needs to say yes—but her bitterness drowns out the notion. “Yeah, as if you’ve
ever
taken my side. And maybe I don’t want you involved with Dee right now.”

Whoa, hold on, what does she have against
me
? A sudden resentment floods my veins, but it’s nothing compared to Roxanne’s reaction. “Are you serious, Mom? You’re the one who wanted me to be friends with Dee, remember? You wanted me to dress like Dee. You wish I could
be
Dee, someone who is pretty and thin.”

Victoria steps back, complete surprise on her face. “No, that’s not true, Roxanne. I just want you to not push me away so much!”

“Yes, you do think that and you know it,” Roxanne says, tears brimming. “You wish for a normal daughter, not one who wants to go to Lincoln Tech and has grease under her nails.”

Oh God. No wonder she hated me.

“Roxanne, I—”

“And you’re right, Mom, it’s crazy to ask you for a favor. I was crazy to think you’d trust me enough to do something that doesn’t make sense when you don’t even trust me to look underneath the hood of your precious car. Look at us! We can’t even have a conversation. And yeah, maybe I do push people away. But so do you, Mom.
So do you
.”

Jazz music drifts out from the party as they lock eyes.

I hold my breath, feeling horrible for witnessing their raw emotions and wishing that Mrs. Swain would say something,
anything
. She doesn’t. Instead, she goes back to the party, leaving Roxanne with no other choice but to slowly walk back to us. We drive to the campground in silence, pulling off the road whenever a vehicle approaches. But after I park the cart in the shed, I say to Roxanne, “There’s something we need to introduce you to.”

Natalie picks right up on it. “Yep. Skinny Cow Fudge Bars. Want one?”

Roxanne nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

But as we open the store’s freezer, her cell phone begins to buzz. She reads a series of texts that flash on the screen. “They’re all from my mother!”

Larson is a UCLA grad, used to sell real estate before opening a restaurant, loves French cuisine so much that …

… he has lunch plans at a French restaurant in Fairfield tomorrow at 1:00, which is odd. Earlier on, Mona told me she works Sunday afternoons at the VFW …

… Roxanne—please be careful. And my car is making this funny ticking noise. Think you can check it out?

21
Sabrina

If I hear Blaine say the word “bogie” one more time, I may vomit.

Bogie, wedge, divot, birdie, mulligan—I have no clue what those words mean. And I’m sure Torrance and Bridget don’t know either, but they listen raptly to Blaine’s boring recounting of his
amazing
golf game with unwavering attention.

Please.

“We were behind these old women,” Blaine says, acting as though we didn’t just break up
yesterday
. “And Prescott, here, decides he’s tired of following them. So he uses his five wood to hit up behind them. You should have seen them jump!”

Prescott laughs and affectionately rubs Vanessa’s neck like he’s such a good boyfriend who never cheats on his lady, oh, no! “It worked, didn’t it? We played through and saved at least forty minutes in our game. Too bad Danny wasn’t there.”

Of course Danny wasn’t there. He had a race, but something tells me he wouldn’t have thought so highly of Prescott’s stunt. Blaine, however, claps him on the back and Torrance giggles, even though—hello—Prescott could have hurt one of the older women.

Jerks.

Did I always know they were jerks? Yes, I did, so either I’ve overlooked it for so long or I’m a jerk, too. But leaving this crowd now with senior year right around the corner would be socially disastrous. And besides, I was here long before the charming duo of Larson and Blaine Walker breezed into town. I am not about to be shoved out of my own territory, even though my territory sometimes feels like a war zone—and Blaine will probably soon start bringing around whichever skank he was cheating on me with. Is that why Danny isn’t here tonight, because he broke up with Torrance and now he doesn’t feel welcome?

Oh, no. That’s
not
going to be me.

Of course, Torrance claimed to be relieved because Danny always smells horrible after working in his garage. Yeah, right.

I check my cell for the time. Two more hours of torture to go, since my stupid car is still in the shop and Mom is my only way home. No, make that a
lifetime
of torture, if Mom is actually serious about her engagement and Blaine becomes my
stepbrother
and Larson my
stepfather
. No wonder Blaine agreed to the breakup because things were too “weird.” This is more than weird.

This is nauseating.

Once again, my head throbs at the memory of seeing Larson waiting in our driveway after the settlement meeting. The way he smiled and leaned against his car like a dog that has just marked his territory brought my own hackles up. But Mom was ecstatic to see him, even more so than the day she won front-row Reba McEntire tickets. So although the thought of her with my ex-boyfriend’s
father
makes me ill, I have to admit it’s nice to see her happy.

I still can’t help but ask myself: Why did he pick her?

At least I do know the when. Mom confessed how it was Larson who sent her the tiger lilies, which was most likely the real reason she offered to drive me to Blaine’s after my car wouldn’t start. So I’m betting Larson asked her out sometime after Rex gave her a tour of the Swains’ house.

From the upstairs deck, I hear Mom’s nervous laughter. This morning she threw open my bedroom door at eight, wearing a jogging suit and hardly any makeup. “Wake up, sugar,” she said, “the mall opens at nine. I have to find the perfect, PERFECT outfit for tonight’s party, so will you
please
help me? I made you coffee. And I heated up one of those yummy Toaster Strudels you love so much.”

For some reason, I thought of Meghan from the blog, and how her daughters didn’t help her shop for new clothes. So I said yes.