Seeing Red (10 page)

“I thought I heard the elevator closing,” Rosamund said, sticking her white-blond head out of her condo and presenting her usual glossy-lipped pout.

She thought Meg and Toby were bringing down the value of the place or something. She’d also insinuated a time or two in the past that she was hot shit because she held membership in the Daughters of the American Revolution. When she’d said that at one of the homeowner’s association gatherings, all Meg could do was turn her back and make a tiny whoopdie-do gesture with her index finger.

Meg plastered on a smile and said, “Yep,” through clenched teeth. She was pretty sure Rosamund and Spike had done the deed at some point during their separation. She hadn’t confronted either about it because A, she no longer cared who Spike put his dick in, and B, they probably deserved each other.

Rosamund rolled her airy head around on her neck, closed her eyes, and pushed out a long exhale as if she were sitting on a yoga mat aligning her chakras or whatever the hell those cultural appropriating hipster dorks did, and not just leaning against her doorframe making idle conversation.

Meg yanked the cart through the door and gave Rosamund a mock salute. “See ya.”

“Oh, Meg?” she said in that whisper-low voice, now deigning to step her bare foot out onto the hallway’s marble floor.

Didn’t she have a Pilates rack to go contort herself on or something? “What?” Meg asked, trying to sound blithe, but her voice came out too deep and too clipped.

Rosamund wrapped a long swath of her hair around her index finger and turned her thin face sideways. “You missed the meeting. The board brought a bunch of issues up for a vote.”

Nothing new. In four years, Meg had attended three of forty-eight meetings. They were always held at god-awful times. Reasonable people had things to do during the day beyond discussing crown-molding finishes and haggling over pool-cleaning contractors.

“And?” Meg shifted her weight, but kept her gaze squarely locked on Rosamund’s pale eyes. She gave Rosamund the same stare Erica had given Meg the first time they’d met, and Meg had insulted her in some subtle way she still hadn’t figured out. If the demeaning look had nearly the same effect on Rosamund, the woman’s brain should have been momentarily scrambled.

Rosamund blinked. “Um. Well. I’m sure they’ll put the information on the building web loop, but I just thought you’d like to know, considering your circumstances.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

She blinked again, and this time her head tilted upright. “Uh, for one thing, parking spaces are now transferrable and leasable, so if you wanted to let yours out to someone—”

“Why would I do that?”

Rosamund’s eyes widened. “Oh yes, that’s right. You got married! Saw that on one of those sites. Yahoo! Maybe. He’s big, huh?”

“I’d prefer if you’d mind your business.” Meg had no idea where that snarky outburst came from, but since she’d said it, she’d stand by it. Besides, she meant it.

Rosamund’s serene smile flattened into a thin, twitching line.

“Not even kidding,” Meg said. “If you so much as lay a pinkie finger on him during casual conversation—”

Rosamund laid her head to the side. “Have you considered meditation? It’s so good for moodiness, and with practice—”

Now it was Meg’s turn to cut her off. “Don’t start that Poor Meg shit. I can just tell you’ve got it brewing in that pea brain of yours. Why not try originality?”

“Well, maybe there’s some truth to it if you’re going to be so temperamental during a completely benign discussion…” She put her hands up in a calming gesture.

Meg didn’t feel calm as a result. Anything but. Pressing her palms against her closed eyes, she groaned and gathered her thoughts. “Rosamund, we’ve never had a discussion, per se. You’ve talked at me, and I’ve nodded and gone on my way.” When Meg dropped her hands and opened her eyes, her neighbor had her hands pressed together as if she were poised to loose a
namaste
at any moment. Meg opened her mouth to speak, but thinking better of it, shook her head and let the door close.

Toby had returned from the bathroom, and was pulling his shorts up as he strode toward the sofa.

Blowing out a sigh, Meg raked a hand through her messy hair. He was demonstrating yet another bad habit he’d learned from his father.

“Toby.” She pulled the grocery cart toward the kitchen island. “You’re the love of my life, but please do me a favor and zip up your shorts before you leave the bathroom. When you start school, the kids in your class will appreciate that courtesy.”

He grunted and pushed the button through its hole. “It’s just you.”

“Thanks, boy.” He would have been funny if she didn’t know what that behavior could bloom into, given twenty-five years or so.

A tentative knock on the door gave her pause as she stowed a carton of orange juice in the refrigerator. Thinking it was probably Rosamund, she rolled her eyes and resumed unpacking the grocery bags. She had the meat arranged in the freezer compartment just so when the knock came again, this time a little louder.

“Mommy, there’s someone at the door!” Toby yelled.

Meg put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at the boy, who was pressing buttons on the universal remote control, but not the right one to turn on the television. “What if I was pretending not to be home?”

His finger paused over the device and he furrowed his brow. “Then they would know you’re home now.”

“Exactly.”

“Why would you pretend not to be home? That’s lying, Mommy.”

“No.” She strode toward the door, wagging a finger at him. “That’s called time management and crisis avoidance. You’ll learn it when you’re a bigger dude.”

“Okay.” Finally, he found the correct button and let out a little “Whoop,” only to immediately deflate when he realized the station was set to CNN. Back to work he went.

Standing on tiptoes, Meg put an eye to the peephole. “Is that…”

Even standing a couple of feet back from the door, he filled the panoramic view the fish-eye lens afforded, and his coppery hair shone in the hallway’s soft lights.

“How’d he get in?” she mused.

Didn’t matter. With some squinting, she realized Rosamund had poked her head out again, and Seth was turned to her, talking.

Hell no.

Meg snatched the door open and said in the sweetest voice she could manage, “Did you lose your key already?”

He turned, eyebrows raised, lips slightly parted, but quickly adapted to the situation at hand. He nodded and shifted the black backpack strap on his shoulder to his hand. “Yes, I…I tried calling your phone, but it kept going to voice mail.”

Shit.

She’d turned the thing off after clearing her voice mail and hadn’t bothered to turn it back on.

“I accidentally dropped my phone in the sink. It’s drying out in some rice,” she lied, moving out of the way of the door for him to enter.

“I’ll talk to you later, Seth,” Rosamund said. The ballsy bitch actually stepped across the hall and followed Seth as far as the doormat. “I teach some classes at Gerrity’s Gym, so if you’re looking for a—”

Meg pushed the door closed.

“I take it you don’t like her?” Seth set his backpack and briefcase by the table where Meg usually tossed her keys and spare change.

His movement drew her attention to the wad of gauze and the medical tape affixed on the inside of his elbow.

Toby must have noticed it, too. “What’d you do to your arm, Seth?”

“Oh.” Seth flexed the arm, working his elbow, as if he’d forgotten the bandage were there. “Nothing’s wrong. I went to my doctor earlier. He drew some blood.”

“Ew. Can you change the channel? I don’t want to watch this. This is boring. Are you sleeping in my room? I’ve got bunk beds.”

Suddenly, that Dr Pepper she’d sipped while flitting around the grocery store wasn’t sitting right in her belly. Toby didn’t seem to have a good understanding of what Seth’s role was in this mess, which made good sense because Meg hadn’t been all that good at explaining it. She hadn’t even told him what they were doing in Bermuda, hoping that when the charade all fell apart, his only takeaway would be the memory of a nice vacation and not much else.

But now… He seemed to know that in some way he was connected to Seth, and that Seth belonged in the household. However, he couldn’t have known why and Meg didn’t know what lies to tell him.

Seth sat on the sofa next to Toby and took the remote. He quickly brought up the channel guide and scrolled through the offerings.

“Read them. I can’t read,” Toby demanded.

“Saying please would go a long way,” Meg said.

Seth just grinned and kept scrolling.

“Please read them!” Toby said.

And so Seth did.

Once Toby was settled in front of a cartoon movie he’d already seen at least five times by Meg’s count, Seth joined her in the kitchen, looking somewhat bashful and out of place given the way he shifted his weight. “I…have a meeting in Research Triangle Park in the morning and I thought—”

“It’s fine.” She hoped to placate him with her soft tone. Soft was hard for her, but how dare she be crusty when he was so kind to Toby? So patient? She pulled the freezer door open and rearranged the meat to find the beef round she’d just bought.

Maybe stroganoff…passive cooking.

If dinner were going to be only for her and Toby, she probably would have made them soup and sandwiches, and they’d hang out in front of the television, recovering from their travels. But maybe they’d had enough soup-and-sandwich nights in recent history. She hadn’t had the mojo to cook for just the two of them. It wasn’t that Toby wasn’t entitled to a substantial hot meal, but seeing all those leftovers that would get stored for three days and then scraped into the trash was depressing.

“So, you don’t mind? I did try to call on the way here. Also called Sharon to get your house number, but she said you didn’t have one.”

Meg shook her head and drew in some air when she finally let her gaze settle on his face. He was an attractive man with that coloring and the masculine cut of his features, but when he showed those moments of tentativeness, there was a vulnerability that seemed to enhance it all. The shyness humanized the big man. He had to know how people saw him. They wouldn’t know he wasn’t the sort of man who’d throw his weight around, but Meg did now. He didn’t abuse his capacity. She wasn’t afraid of him.

“I don’t have a landline phone anymore,” she said, then broke her gaze. Kneeling down to the cabinet where she stored small appliances, she drew out her slow cooker and set it on the counter. “Got rid of it a couple of years ago. I wasn’t using it for anything but ordering pizza.”

“That’s pretty much all I use mine for.”

“See?” She smiled and let the cabinet door clap closed. “Italian beef for dinner? Picked up some great soft buns at the store that are good all on their own. Got any aversions to pepperoncinis?”

As if the man had ever missed a free meal.

“I hate pepperoncinis!” Toby called.

Meg sighed and opened the spice cabinet. “You’ve never had pepperoncinis.”

After a moment, Toby said, “Oh.”

“You don’t have to cook,” Seth said, stilling her movements by placing his big hand over her right wrist. “You’re just getting home. I’ll just have whatever you two were going to have or I can go out and bring us back something later. Or I can go harass Curt and Erica. She’s always annoyed when I’m in town and don’t come eat.”

“No,” Meg said, perhaps with a bit too much snap. She wrapped her left fingers around his wrist, and tried to smile, but it felt forced. Unpracticed.

The truth was, she was glad to see him. Glad he’d come over on his own, so she wouldn’t have to ask.

The thought of spending another night alone in a big bed seemed so goddamned defeating, she’d planned on sleeping on the sofa. And the more she thought about it, the more it became clear that it wasn’t just any man’s body she wanted in her bed. There was something especially appealing about the one standing in front of her at the moment. She tried to be rational about it. Maybe she just liked him because he was nice to her, and after all those years with Spike, she needed kindness.

But, weren’t kind men the ones you rebounded with and moved on when the next bad boy came along?

He squeezed her hand and quirked an eyebrow up at her.

She swallowed, and forced her tense shoulders down to their natural position. “I mean…I’m really making it for the leftovers. Can recycle it into a couple of other dishes. You’re not putting me out.”

He didn’t seem to believe it, judging by the way he gnawed at his bottom lip.

“Really,” she insisted. She tightened her grip on his hand, knowing she should let go, but she didn’t want to.

His chest expanded with his deep draw of air, and he exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry I won’t be here for the leftovers,” he said. With his free hand, he tucked back the swath of hair that’d fallen over her eyes.

“I hate leftovers!” Toby shouted.

Meg opened her mouth to rebut, but Seth got the drop on her, and said to the boy without looking at him, “Leftovers are what make us way cooler and smarter than other primates.”