Leave It to Claire (18 page)

Okay, “company” is perhaps a bit of a stretch. But I find it painful to simply think of Greg as a man who wants a key. I prefer
to think of him as the man who made an excuse to pick up a key so he can see me again, if ever-so-briefly. Smile.

“Oh? Is one of your girlfriends coming over?”

Smooth, Rosette. Real smooth.

“No.”

“Well, I know it can’t be a man.” That smug assurance in her voice jabs my pride like a sword.

“As a matter of fact, yes, it is.”

“You’re dating?”

“Hard to believe I could, isn’t it?”

“Hey, Mom,” Tommy calls. “Lewis just pulled in.”

“Sorry, Rosette. I have to go. He’s here.”

I hang up with only a slight feeling that sending a wrong impression might be considered the sin of lying. I offer a hasty
prayer of repentance just in case. And fluff my hair on the way into the living room.

When I get there, Greg’s presence sucks the breath from my lungs. His long legs fill out a pair of snug-fitting faded Levi’s,
and a gray-and-red Chief’s hoodie shows me the guy can pick his teams. Destiny (the sovereign, Jeremiah 29:11 kind) presents
a marketable plan to me and I fall for it hook, line, and sinker. I want this man to notice me. To think of me as “date” material.
“Wife” material is further reaching than even I want to allow destiny to offer. But a cozy sit-down dinner with a little music
in the background would be nice.

He smiles when he sees me. “See, I told you I actually have a daughter.”

“Huh?” Oh. Gravy. I didn’t even see the kid standing next to him. The beautiful raven-haired child might have been Snow White.
Enormous dark eyes and flawless skin. “Oh, Sadie. Of course I’ve seen you at church. I just can’t believe I never connected
you to your dad. You look just like him!”

She gives me a gap-toothed grin and I’m hooked. “Everyone says that.”

“And they’re right.”

I reach into my pocket and produce Mom’s key. “Here you go.”

Rick takes it and in true romantic fashion, his hand brushes mine. I fight to keep from reacting. “We were hoping you’d give
us a tour,” he says.

Is he serious? I glance up at him through the squinted eyes of skepticism.

“That is,” he says haltingly, “if you’re not too busy.”

Never too busy for you, babe. “Just let me tell the kids.” I jog up the stairs, trying to make it appear as effortless as
possible just in case he’s watching. Once I’ve turned the corner, out of his sight, I stop and gulp for air, pausing long
enough to catch my breath before I walk down the hall. I tap on Ari’s door then open it. I don’t knock for permission, but
rather to let her know I’m there. I mean, I know some people think kids need their “privacy.” But I remember being a kid,
and personally, I think the only privacy they’re entitled to is bathroom times and when they’re getting dressed. Other than
that, their time is my time. Period.

Ari is at her computer desk. “Hey, Ma. Can you read this over for me? It’s a short story for English.”

Pride shoots through me. My daughter is a wonderful writer. Much better than I was at her age. So the possibilities for her
are endless if she wants to be a writer like her mother. “I’d love to, after I get back from giving Greg a tour of Granny’s
house.”

“I thought you did that the other day.”

“This time he wants to show Sadie around.”

“Ugh. I hope he doesn’t buy it. That kid is such a brat. I’d hate to have her living in Granny’s house.”

Sadie the angel? “She seems so sweet.”

“Ha! The halo is a cover-up for the horns. Trust me.”

Worry niggles through me. What if she’s right?

“Anyway, run Jake a bath, will you? I shouldn’t be very long.”

“Why can’t Jake run his own bath?”

“Because he forgets about it and the water overflows and floods the bathroom. That’s why. Besides, I said so.”

She heaves a great sigh and tosses her wireless mouse onto the desk.

“All right. JAKE! BATHTIME.”

I cringe. Does she have to yell? What must Greg think? He’ll never ask me out if he thinks my kids are unruly… The irony
of that hits me like a line drive to the gut. He already knows about Shawn. No wonder he’s not asking me out!

I give Shawn and Jakey’s door a tap. Shawn is lying on his bed, hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling. Exactly
the place he’s been since he ran upstairs this afternoon. “I’m going to show Mr. Lewis and Sadie Granny’s house. I’ll be back.
Did you do your homework?”

He ignores me.

“Answer me, young man.”

He turns his head. “No.”

“Then do it. And it had best be done when I get back.”

“I don’t have any.”

“Oh. Well, then. Take a bath after Jakey and then get into your jammies. When I get back we’ll read our chapter of
Purpose-Driven Life.
It’s your turn to read.”

He dismisses me with a nod.

That kid. You’d think someone in the kind of trouble he’s in would show a little remorse—or, at the very least, fear.

Last stop, Tommy’s room. I tap and enter. Tommy scrambles. My suspicious nature comes to the foreground. “Whatcha doing, Toms?”

“Geez, Mom. Can’t you knock?”

“Sure I could.” If I wanted to.

He gets my drift and scowls.

“So what were you doing that you don’t want me to know about?”

“None of… nothing.”

Oh, he is so lucky he changed his direction of wording.

“You were obviously doing something. What was it?”

“I’m writing a note.”

“A note?” I’m seeing a forged note from his dad or me, excusing him from school without our knowledge. “What kind of a note?”

“To a girl, okay? I like someone.”

“Oh, how sweet.” I clamp my hand over my mouth. He didn’t want to hear that. No wonder he hides his crushes from me. I can’t
be trusted not to gush over him. I clear my throat. “Sorry.”

“She doesn’t like me anyway.”

The little tease! “What do you mean she doesn’t like you? Of course she does.” Unless she has mental problems.

“She hates the skateboarder look.”

Ah, smart girl. Please, God, let this crush be strong enough to get him over this phase in his life. No more wanting to wear
eyeliner or lip rings. No more talk of name changes. I’d be so grateful if You could work that out for me.

“Well, maybe she’ll change her mind.” I pause. “Unless you’d like to reconsider the long hair and black clothes.”

“Nice try.” He grins and my heart melts. The boy is still the same on the inside. I don’t care what he looks like. Well, I
care. But it’s not the most important thing.

“I’m going to show Mr. Lewis Granny’s house.”

“How many times does he have to go through it?”

“This time he’s showing Sadie.”

“Keep that kid away from me. She drives me crazy.”

Two-fer. No wonder Greg can show sympathy to Shawn. He’s got a handful himself.

“Finish up your homework if you have any. When I get back we’ll do our next chapter in
Purpose-Driven Life.
”

He heaves a great sigh. Some things a teenager just can’t get excited about, I suppose. But I’m determined to be consistent
with this. This is our third night. Third chapter. I’m discovering purpose. They’re mostly grumbling.

I head back to the stairs. Greg looks up at me like he’s a senior high school boy and I’m his prom date as I descend the steps.
He smiles, and he’s leaning on the banister in Rhett Butler fashion. My heart plummets as his eyes travel the length of me
and back to my face. I look away before I can see the disappointment or disgust in his eyes.

Better just face reality, I tell myself in no uncertain terms. Andy Garcia Eyes can have anyone he wants. And believe me,
girlfriend, he doesn’t want you.

“All set?” At the sound of Greg’s voice I force my eyes back to his. Oddly, there’s only kindness—affection even—shining back.
I’d love to stay in this eyes-melting-into-each-other moment, but I’m aware of his daughter waiting by the door.

Curious about my kids’ attitude about Sadie, I focus my attention on the little girl. Her eyes are widely innocent. Too innocent?
I wonder. But when she smiles, I have trouble picturing her as the demoness my children have made her out to be. I find myself
drawn to reciprocate the smile. “Ready to see the house? I bet you can’t guess what’s in the backyard.”

“What is it?”

I send her a wink and she grins. I’m charmed. “You’ll have to wait until we get there. It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“Mmm-hmm. Do you like surprises?”

“Yes!” Her hair bounces and shines with her enthusiastic nod.

We walk to the door and Greg steps back to allow me to precede him onto the porch. What a guy.

He walks beside me, shoulder to shoulder, as his little girl skips ahead of us on the sidewalk. I’m thinking I could get used
to seeing his truck in my driveway when he leans in close and keeps his voice quiet. “So what’s the surprise?”

Sadie is already making a beeline to the back. “Come on. I’ll show you,” I say, picking up the pace.

When we catch up to her, Sadie is standing in the middle of the yard. She turns to me. I catch my breath at the disappointment
and anger in her eyes. “Where’s my surprise?” Her lip is pushed out a bit and her little hands rest impatiently upon teeny,
tiny hips.

Oh, boy. I’ve found the first questionable thing about Greg: Sadie. The kids are right. She’s a total brat.

To his credit, Greg hops to it. “Sadie, is that anyway to speak to Ms. Everett?”

Slowly, she shakes her head and drops her gaze.

“You know what to say,” he prods.

“Sorry.” Or at least that’s what I think she said. Her chin is pretty much pressed against her chest.

Greg turns an apologetic gaze on me. “She’s gotten a little out of hand since her mother died. My mom hasn’t got the heart
to discipline her.”

“It’s okay,” I say, somewhat convincingly.
How
long has it been since her mother died?

I’ve lost all desire to share my tree house with this demanding and somewhat belligerent child. But I can’t help but think
of how Tommy has changed, and Shawn, too (as I’m discovering), since the divorce. And they still get to see their dad. There’s
no telling how their personalities might have changed if they had to deal with permanent separation from one parent or the
other.

I gather a breath and smile at Sadie, whose eyes still hold a demanding question. At least her body language has calmed down.

“Look up into the big tree in the middle of the yard.”

Her little chin rises as she tilts her neck. A gratifying (to me) gasp shoots from her lips. “A tree house! Daddy, look! I
have my very own tree house!” She runs for the ladder.

“Sadie, wait!” Greg calls. “It might not be safe.”

Figures. She’s not stopping. By the time he catches up to her, she’s on the second rung. Half expecting her little rump to
catch a swat, I’m surprised when Greg catches her close, snuggling her against his chest.

I watch in bemused silence. Methinks the child’s grandma isn’t the only spoiler in this family.

“Sadie, honey. You can’t climb into the tree house by yourself. You could fall and get hurt. And I don’t know what I’d do
without you.”

A daddy and his little girl. What a sight. My heart melts a little more for this man. I’m afraid if I am forced to witness
much more of his perfection, I might just lose my heart altogether. A perfectly delicious, if somewhat terrifying, thought.

I hear one of the kids splashing around in the tub when I get home forty-five minutes later. Ari’s door is closed, as are
the boys’. Just as well. I need a few minutes to sort out my thoughts about Greg’s spoiled daughter, not to mention the butterflies
in my stomach at the memory of Greg’s smile.

I’m definitely losing it where this guy’s concerned. And so far he’s been nothing but friendly. No kisses or hugs, not even
a handshake that lasts a bit too long. I think maybe he’s just not that in to me. Hmm. Don’t they have a book about that?
I make a mental note to check it out on Amazon.com next chance I get.

That gives me an idea. I clench and unclench my fingers a few times to test the waters of my wrist pain. Not bad. A slight
twinge, but I bet I could check my e-mail. I find myself drawn to my computer like a crazy moth to a flame. E-mail! I need
it. I’m dying for some interaction with like-minded individuals.

I tiptoe to my office, fully aware that every person in my life would have a cow if they knew of my intention. But no one
intercepts me as I sink into my lovely, black, ergonomically crafted desk chair. I feel the pleasant familiarity of butt-in-chair
syndrome as I reach toward my computer. Only guess what? Some smarty has taped the Wal-Mart receipt with my List to my monitor.
I can only guess it was Ari. She knows me very well. I snatch it away from the screen and scan the lofty goals I impulsively
penned a month ago.

During the next three months I will:

1. Go to church more. (This includes daily prayer time and maybe a Beth Moore Bible study.)

Okay, so far so good. Church attendance is up. And, for the most part, it has nothing whatsoever to do with Greg. Okay, maybe
a little. But the Beth Moore Bible study part has nothing to do with him.

2. Clean my house. (Or probably hire someone. My wrists, you know.)

I don’t want to talk about it. The cleaning service went bankrupt just before I signed an agreement. No need to point out
that perhaps they just weren’t that good.

3. Reconnect with my children. (Will have to plan further for this one.)

Monday-night movie night hasn’t been wildly successful so far. But I keep hoping. At least my relationship with Tommy is looking
up.

4. Exercise—maybe. (But then again, I will be recovering from surgery. Wouldn’t want to hurt myself. Could probably walk on
the treadmill. We’ll play this one by ear.)

Well, okay, I did try this one a few times, but nothing steady yet. I’m still working on the motivation factor. Maybe tomorrow.

5. Figure out why my only socialization revolves around my computer. I mean, I love the writing groups, but does lunch with
the girls always have to involve trying to negotiate a turkey sandwich while instant-messaging one-handed?