Soaring (55 page)

“So you don’t care for her all that much,” I guessed.

“Won’t have to think anything once Pip finds her place in high school and Polly’s history.”

That was his hope.

He did not like Polly.

It was also my hope because as awful as it was to say, I didn’t either.

I nodded. “Okay, Auden. I didn’t want to put you on the spot but I also got the sense she wasn’t Pippa’s kind of friend. That said, it’s clear Pip likes spending time with her so I didn’t want to bring it up with your sister and upset her.”

He nodded too. “Yeah. But we’re just back at school, Mom. Freshmen settle in. She’ll find it.”

“Okay, kid,” I replied.

“Don’t worry. Pip’s a good girl. It’ll turn out okay.”

I loved my son.

I smiled. “You’re right. It will. But mothers worry.”

He smiled back. “Well, you can stop worrying about that.”

Very,
very
much loved my son.

“Okay, I’ll leave you to your music.”

“Right, Mom. ’Night.”

“’Night, kiddo.”

I gave him another smile before I went out the door, closed it behind me and walked back to my room.

Feeling better about all that, only then did I settle into my daybed to read and wait for Mickey’s call.

* * * * *

My body jolted as my cell rang.

I sat up, my book crashing to the floor, and snatched the phone up.

“Hey,” I said into it.

“Hey back,” Mickey replied. “Almost on our street.”

“Okay, honey, I’ll be over at your place. Quick kiss then you can hit the sack.”

“See you there.”

We rang off and I stared a little guiltily at the fire I’d left burning and fell asleep in front of (though, who would have imagined I could ever fall asleep waiting for Mickey coming back after fighting a fire). I shut off the gas, waited for the flame to die out then slid my feet into my slippers that looked like they were made of sweater material, with sequins on the knit and a fluffy trim of fake fur. They were warm but they also had a plastic sole with traction.

Then I took off, dashing down the hall and out the front door.

I slowed my step as I made my way down the walk.

I speeded it up as I saw the lights of Mickey’s SUV coming down the street.

I darted in a half-jog, half-walk up Mickey’s drive, doing this following his SUV.

I slowed again as he got out of his truck but only because I was nearly upon him.

I didn’t wait for him to close the car door before I threw myself in his arms.

As mine closed around him, his wrapped tight around me and I could feel his breath stirring the hair on top of my head.

“Fuck, you smell good,” he murmured.

“Took a bath before bed to relax,” I replied to his chest.

“Mm…”

I felt his sound through my cheek and it vibrated deep in my belly.

We held on a while and when Mickey stated gently, “I’m good, Amy,” I tipped my head back to catch his eyes.

“Yeah,” I whispered.

He cupped my jaw with a hand. “You worried.”

“I was terrified out of my mind,” I told him the absolute truth but did it in a quip and then delighted in his chuckle.

He thought I was joking.

And he would think that, forever.

I would never lie to Mickey about anything else.

But so he could do what he loved to do to protect the citizens of Magdalene without a thought of the worry it caused me, I’d hide that from him for as long as he gave his time to the MFD.

Then he said something to me that, not with his words but with the strength he assumed I had in sharing them, was one of the biggest compliments he could give me.

“It was arson, Amy.”

I stared up at him. “Really?”

“Chief’s callin’ in an investigator. We don’t have one workin’ for the county because we don’t need one. But it was not one fire that spread. We found fire origin in three of those shops. We saw it. We know it. Bobby wants someone to make it official so Coert’s got everything he needs.”

“Who would do that?” I asked.

“No clue,” he answered. “Could be some issue with those shops or that development. Could be we got a fire bug.”

Oh, God. No.

I hid the panic at the very idea of that and what it would mean to the boys of the MFD, primarily Mickey, when I saw the fatigue gathered around his eyes and said, “Okay, honey. It’s out now and all’s good. But it’s late so I need to let you go so you can get some rest.”

“Okay, baby, kiss first.”

I nodded, rolling up on my toes as he bent into me and we shared a quick, sweet kiss that was a little wet since, during it, he touched his tongue to mine.

I rolled back and whispered, “Glad you and all the guys are safe, Mickey.”

“Me too, babe.”

I gave him a squeeze and ordered, “Go to bed.”

“Right,” he muttered, bending in for another lip touch before I pulled away and moved away so he could get out of his car door and close it.

“Sleep well,” I told him, grabbing his hand and leaning back into him.

“Will do. You too.”

“Will do. ’Night, honey.”

He tightened his hand in mine before letting it go on his, “’Night, Amy.”

I grinned, turned and walked away only to stop and turn around when he said loudly with great humor, “Jesus, darlin’.”

“What?” I asked.

“Only my heiress would have fluffy slippers with sequins on ’em.”

I loved it that with the night he had, he was smiling and I’d done something to make him do it.

Thus I went for more.

“There’s not much I do to keep up the Bourne-Hathaway name, but I feel it’s a moral imperative to wear appropriate heiress slippers.”

He shook his head and ordered, “Go home.”

“You got it,” I replied, turned and strolled back to my house.

This time, I didn’t do it letting Mickey watch me in my yoga pants and sequined slippers.

I did it turning once and waving hard, with a big smile.

He also had a big smile and he jerked up his chin.

I didn’t hear the garage door go down and I would see as I was closing my front door that Mickey waited at the rear bumper of his SUV for me to get home safely even though I lived right across our usually sleepy but at that hour, now totally comatose street.

My guy was a good guy.

I locked the door and then jumped a mile when I heard, “Mom.”

I turned, hand to my chest, heart hammering, to see Olympia in the shadows.

“Honey, you scared the dickens out of me.”

Suddenly, I found my daughter in my arms, the side of her head pressed to the side of mine and she was squeezing the breath out of me.

Just as suddenly as she threw herself in my arms, she said, “Glad Mickey’s okay,” let me go, turned and hurried away.

She’d heard me make plans to go see he was all right.

She’d waited up with me.

And maybe, (I didn’t put it past my girl, she could be nosy) she’d watched through the guestroom window as I ran across the street to make sure he was all right.

I had a feeling Mickey had already earned my baby girl’s stamp of approval.

Just because he meant something to me.

And fortunately, even though she’d waited up, obviously she hadn’t heard her brother and me talking about Polly.

I smiled to myself as I turned away from the door, wandered down the hall, took off my cardigan and threw it on the arm of the daybed, kicked off my sequined slippers and climbed into bed.

Then I, Amelia Hathaway, who’d grown up not learning how to deal and never having a solid foundation, after a very rough night, fell right to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Three

My Umbrella

I was Pledging my fabulous new dining room table that looked
perfect
in its place in my great room and better, the bowl I’d bought that began my new beginning looked
perfect
in the middle of the table, when my phone rang.

I wandered to it, thinking I needed a rug under it and wondering if I’d be able to find that, and arrange for Mickey—and perhaps Junior and Jake, with the help of Auden—to come and move the huge, heavy table in order to put the rug under it.

This was a happy thought, which made the announcement on the display even more annoying than it normally would be, considering it obliterated my happy thought.

I sighed and wondered if I should perhaps not be grown up all the time as I took the call and put the phone to my ear.

“Conrad,” I greeted.

“You didn’t phone my secretary,” he replied.

No hello. He didn’t even say my name in greeting.

This was not starting out great.

“I’m sorry. You called during an important evening and it slipped my mind,” I somewhat lied.

He ignored my mention of the important evening and asked, “Now that I have you, when can we meet?”

“Perhaps first you can tell me
why
we’re meeting,” I suggested.

“We need to talk,” he said shortly.

“I could guess that. But about what?”

“This situation with the children isn’t working.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way but it’s working for me”

“I can imagine it is. But it isn’t for Martine.”

Like I gave a crap.

He had to know I felt that way so I didn’t tell him that.

“They’re of an age they can decide where they want to spend their time,” I informed him of something he knew, since he’d forced them to make that decision in a legal way. “But more, it would seem from their demeanor that they enjoy that freedom. I think, as their parents, having put them in a position where they have to divide their time between us, giving them the ability to do that as they wish is something we should allow.”

“The way things are, Amelia, Martine doesn’t know if they’re going to be home for dinner. If she’ll need to pack lunches for them. This affects grocery shopping—”

I interrupted him, “I face the same thing. However, I do find it’s easy to cope with making last minute adjustments. And they aren’t six and eight, Conrad. They can pack their own lunches, something they do at my house.”

“Martine likes to be certain they eat healthy,” he returned. “You would find it easy as they’re
your
children so you’d make those adjustments as a matter of course. We can’t forget that they
aren’t
Martine’s children, their home is her home, and the mingling of that has to be managed. This is not managed well.”

The mingling of that has to be managed?

This entire thing was making me uneasy.

“Conrad, I don’t need to remind you that your wife chose to pledge her troth to a man with children. Thus she had a readymade family, which I’m sorry if you disagree, but it’s my feeling
she
would need to adjust to fit within that family, make our children comfortable in the home she shares with them, not
her
home,
all of your
home, and do what’s best for them. If this means she has to endure the horror of cold cuts going bad because someone isn’t eating them, I’m sure she’ll eventually find it in her to survive.”

“There’s no need to get ugly,” he clipped.

“You’re taking my time to share the fact that your wife is annoyed she can’t predict what groceries she needs to buy for the week, Conrad. I’m busy. I have a life. I don’t have time for these trivialities. Honestly?”

“Our children aren’t trivialities, Amelia,” he snapped.

“We aren’t discussing our children,” I shot back. “We’re discussing your wife. And to me, she
is
. Now, unless there’s some
real
reason that this situation with the children cannot continue as it stands that you wish to discuss, the discussion is over. Things remain as they are and Martine has to find it in her to deal.”

“Fuck, why did I think you’d give that first shit about managing an issue with our kids?”

“Because this
isn’t
an issue with our kids,” I whispered my reply. “You have an issue at home with your wife.” That was a guess but with this ridiculous conversation, with the way I now knew my children were escaping that house and with what I knew of my ex-husband, it was a guess I suspected was correct. “You’re making this
my
issue because you can’t sort it yourself. I do not factor in your life, Conrad. I do not
want
to factor in your life. I will not be dragged into issues you have in your home with your wife. So do not
ever
call me when things are not going well for you unless that
genuinely
involves our children.”

“I’m assuming this is your way of telling me that even though you’ve at long last settled down and pulled yourself together, you don’t wish to participate in a team effort in the raising of our children.”

How could he take that from what I said?

“Am I speaking English?” I asked.

“Go fuck yourself, Amelia,” he retorted and hung up on me.

God, what a
dick
.

I stared at my phone now knowing things were not good with Conrad and Martine.

I didn’t give a crap about that.

I was worried about my kids.

Shit.

* * * * *

Later that morning, I pushed open the door to Dove House and my eyes went right to the reception area where I saw Ruth sitting.

“Hey,” I greeted.

I was surprised she was there. Ruth was still volunteering but sporadically, mostly because my three days a week, three hours a day had morphed into four days a week, four to five hours a day, and since I was there so often Dela didn’t really need another volunteer who may or may not be in it for the long haul (the last part was what she really didn’t need).

We always needed help, though, so Ruth filled in here and there, but it was no longer regular.

“Hey, Amelia,” she replied.

“Good to see you,” I said, shrugging off my jacket.

“You too,” she returned. “But, um…Dela wants to see you too. In her office.”

I focused more closely on her and saw her usual pretty, benevolent features were shadowed with something.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.