Still the One (15 page)

She turned her head away from him. “Well, I have nothing further to say to you.”

“I think you do.”

Anger gathered in her chest like steam. “What part of the words ‘I have nothing to say to you’ don’t you understand?”

“It’s not the words; it’s just—well, I know you. After you’d do one of those silent treatments, you’d let loose a torrent
and really let me have it.”

“It never made any difference. You always twisted things around and made it seem like I was the one to blame.”

“I got mad at you because you were mad at me.”

“Exactly. You acted as if I never had a right to be mad!”

“Yeah.” He wagged his head in agreement. “I didn’t want to be wrong.”

His willingness to admit it left her speechless. She realized her jaw had fallen open, and abruptly closed it.

“Anyway,” he continued. “I think you have things you need to get off your chest, and if I go, you’ll never get to do that.”

“I repeat: I have nothing to say to you.”

“Okay.” He nodded amiably. “Then I’ll say it for you: I’m a prick. I’m a worthless bastard. I’m shallow and selfish and ungrateful,
and I never fully appreciated you or let you know you were loved. I was a lousy husband.”

“You were a pretty crappy father, too.”

The guilt on his face made her heart squeeze. Oh, God—she wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

His gaze dropped to his lap and he blew out a sigh. “You’re right. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish I could do it over.
If I could, I’d make every one of Paul’s softball games. I’d take him fishing and camping and I’d play catch in the backyard.”
He looked up at her, his eyes full of pain. “I’d be home every night for dinner.”

She hadn’t meant to talk to him, but now she couldn’t seem to stop. “You spent more time playing golf and drinking with your
buddies than you did at home.”

He’d called it networking. He used to say that the insurance business was built on relationships, and in order to get and
keep business, he needed to court his clients. That might have been true to some extent, but it had gotten out of control.
Way out of control.

He nodded. “Yeah, I did. And I turned into an alcoholic along the way.”

“That’s no excuse.” It irritated the hell out of her, how they called alcoholism a disease. Oh, she knew that at some point
it became an addiction, a thing beyond an addict’s control, but before it reached that point, Dave had had a choice.

“It’s not an excuse,” Dave said. “It’s just a fact. I take total responsibility for my actions. I’m working the steps, Annette,
and one of the steps is to make amends to everyone I’ve hurt.”

“Well, you can’t make them to me.”

“I think I can. I think I can help you vent some of that anger you’ve been hauling around.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Because being angry keeps me from feeling anything else for you.
The thought was as unwelcome as the pain in her knee, and just as sharp. At least her knee would get better.

“Get out of here, Dave.”

“Okay. But I’ll be back.” He rose from the chair and grinned. “So start making a list of ways to rip my head off.”

“It’s not your head I want to rip off.”

He shot her a roguish grin—the same one that had made her heart flutter back in 1974, when she’d looked up at a sorority party
and seen him across the room. It still had the same effect on her. Electricity sparked through the air, and despite it all,
she found herself grinning back.

A knock sounded on the door, then it slowly opened to reveal Katie. “Annette?”

Thank God for the interruption! What was wrong with her, sitting there grinning at Dave like some kind of mindless jack-o’-lantern?
“Katie! So nice to see you. Come in, dear.”

The door widened, and Katie walked in. A pale, sullen-lipped girl with dyed black-and-blue hair skulked in behind her.

Katie smiled. “Dave! I didn’t know you were here.”

“He was just leaving,” Annette said.

The girl looked at him with interest. “Hey—you’re the dude from the bookstore.”

“Yeah. Nice to see you again, Gracie.”

“Are you feelin’ okay?”

“Sure, sure. I’m right as rain.” Dave turned to Annette. “Annette, this is Katie’s daughter.”

The girl scowled. “Don’t call me that. Saying I’m her daughter implies she’s my mom, and a real mom doesn’t give her baby
away.”

Katie’s face flamed with misery. Annette exchanged a look with Dave. Dave had said that the girl had an attitude, and he hadn’t
been kidding.

“Then we need to come up with a better way to describe your relationship.” Dave stroked his chin thoughtfully. “We could call
Katie ‘the woman who gave you life,’ I suppose.”

Gracie rolled her eyes.

“No? Well, maybe we could call you ‘the DNA product she chose not to abort.’ ”

Gracie’s scowl deepened. Annette suppressed the urge to chuckle.

“I can tell you don’t much care for those,” Dave said. “I don’t, either. Come to think of it, ‘mother’ and ‘daughter’ is a
whole lot simpler. And there are all kinds of mother–daughter relationships. Why, Annette and Katie have one, and they’re
only related by marriage.” He patted Katie’s shoulder, smiled at Gracie, and winked at Annette. “See you all later.”

As the door closed behind Dave, Annette turned her attention to the teenage girl. “So, Gracie—it’s nice to meet you.”

The girl chomped on a wad of gum and ignored the pleasantry. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

“I fell down some stairs. I broke my leg in three places, and I had to have my knee completely replaced.”

“Replaced with what—plastic or something?”

Annette nodded. “I think it’s a combination of plastic, ceramic, and metal.”

“Awesome. How did they get your real knee out? Did they saw your leg off or something?”

“Gracie, I don’t think…,” Katie began.

“It’s okay,” Annette told Katie. During her years as a high school teacher, Annette had gotten used to the bluntness of teenage
curiosity. She smiled at Gracie. “They didn’t cut it all the way off, but they did use an electric saw.”

“Cool. Guess you’re gonna have a pretty gruesome scar, huh?”

“Not too bad.”

“Can I see?”

“It’s all wrapped up right now. But they’re taking the bandages off tomorrow. You’re welcome to come back.”

“If I get a job here, maybe I will. I like looking at scars.”

Katie looked horrified—which was probably just what Gracie intended. Annette decided to put a positive spin on the remark.
“Sounds like you might be interested in a career in medicine.”

Gracie shrugged. “I’ve always thought it must be awesome to cut people open and take out parts and replace them and crap.”

“It’s an amazing skill,” Annette agreed. “I can’t imagine having the confidence to do it.”

“You’d have to be pretty ballsy, all right.” She glanced disdainfully at Katie. “It’s sure cooler than being a hairdresser.”

Annette caught the pained look that flashed across Katie’s face. “I’ve always thought that styling hair is an art form,” Annette
said. “A very special one, since it uses human canvases.”

“Yeah, right.” Gracie rolled her eyes.

Annette decided it would probably be best to just change the subject. “So, Gracie—I understand you’re expecting.”

“Yeah.” Her eyes were guarded. Her hand went to her stomach. Annette noticed that she didn’t have that eager glow most pregnant
women got when talking about their child.

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” Annette asked.

The girl shook her head.

“She’s got an appointment to see Dr. Greene next week,” Katie volunteered.

“Oh, you’re going to love her,” Annette said.

“We’re hoping she’ll be able to tell us the sex of the baby,” Katie said.

“Tell
me.
” Gracie’s chin shot up. “It’s none of your business.”

Katie shot Annette an apologetic smile. My, my, my. The girl was a real piece of work.

The door squeaked open and a white-haired woman who looked like Santa’s wife stepped into the room, closely followed by a
tall, thin man. Annette grinned. “Dorothy! And Harold. Come in, come in!”

The elderly couple bustled in and gave Annette loud smacks on the cheek. “You’re looking chipper,” Dorothy said. She turned
to Katie and gave her a hug. “And you’re looking beautiful, as usual.” Katie hugged both elderly people.

“And this darling girl must be your daughter!” Before Gracie had time to protest, Dorothy had gathered her to her ample bosom.

“I’m not…,” Gracie started.

Annette decided to preempt Gracie’s not-my-mother speech. “Dorothy, Harold, this is Gracie,” she said quickly.

“Gracie, your mom is one of my favorite people in the world,” the little old lady said.

Gracie scowled and opened her mouth. Uh-oh. Here it came.

But Dorothy didn’t give her a chance to speak. “Katie’s the godfairy of my great-grandchild,” she continued.

Gracie’s brows pulled together. “Godfairy?”

“She means godmother,” Annette translated. Dorothy had a knack for mangling the English language. “Dorothy’s granddaughter
is Emma Jamison.”

Gracie’s eyes widened. “
The
Emma Jamison? The one on TV?”

Annette nodded. “The one and only.” Emma was the star of a nationally syndicated show called
The Butler’s Guide to an Organized Home.
She’d first gained notoriety when she’d unwittingly become embroiled in a terrible sex scandal involving the death of the
president-elect, but Gracie probably had been too young to have understood much of that.

“Emma and Katie are boffers,” Dorothy volunteered.

“
What?
” Gracie’s eyes rounded.

“I think she means BFFs,” Katie supplied quickly. “We’re best friends.”

“Oh. Wow.” Gracie looked at Katie as if she was revising her opinion upward. “Emma’s really famous.”

And today’s youth equated “famous” with “wonderful.” Hopefully, some of Emma’s shine would rub off on Katie.

“Emma moved here after that awful scandal,” Dorothy volunteered. “Katie was one of the few people who believed in her and
stood up for her. And Katie helped her start her own business.”

Gracie shrugged, trying hard not to look impressed.

Katie turned to Dorothy and Harold. “I understand you two are going to join Emma and Max in Italy.”

Dorothy bobbed her head. “Yes. Harold and I are meeting up with them in Rome in a few months.”

“I can’t wait to show my bride the Trevi Fountain by moonlight,” Harold said, taking Dorothy’s hand.

“Bride?” Gracie looked from one to the other. “Did you two just get married or something?”

“Practically.” Dorothy batted her eyes at Harold. “We’ve only been married three years.”

“Wow. I never knew old people got married.”

“You’re never too old for love, sweetie,” Dorothy said.

Gracie wrinkled her nose, as if the very concept was disgusting. “Whatever.” She shifted her purse over her stomach. “So who
do I talk to about maybe getting a job here?”

“Mrs. McCracken. She’s in the business office on the first floor. She’s so much nicer than that awful old biddy who ran the
place when Emma was here.” Dorothy linked her arm with Gracie’s. “Come on, dear, and we’ll show you where she is. Your mom
needs to get down to the salon in a few minutes, because that old sourpuss Iris Huckabee is sitting outside the door with
her stopwatch, and she’ll complain through her entire shampoo and set if Katie is one minute late.”

“Thanks, Dorothy—Harold. I’ll see you later.” Katie waved as the elderly couple escorted Gracie out of the room.

“Gracie’s a real firecracker,” Annette said.

Katie grinned. “She is, isn’t she?”

“She looks just like you.”

Katie dropped her eyes, embarrassed.

“It makes me wonder…” Annette stopped herself.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Annette picked at a piece of lint on her blanket. Why, oh why, had she opened her big mouth?

Katie gently placed her palm over Annette’s hand. “I thought about it, too. If Paul and I had had a child, would she be like
Gracie?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“And now you’re thinking it’s so sad we’ll never know.”

Annette smiled at her. “When did you become a mind reader?”

“I didn’t have to read your mind. I’ve been thinking the same thing.” Katie sat on the side of the bed and took her hand.
“I’ll tell you something I wouldn’t have predicted—seeing Dave here.”

“Me, neither.” She glanced at the roses he’d brought the day before. He’d conned a nurse into providing an empty pitcher to
use as a vase, then popped back in her room to set the flowers on the windowsill. “He says he wants to make amends.”

“What did you say?”

“That he’s a day late and a dollar short.” Annette wanted to steer the conversation away from the uncomfortable topic of her
ex-husband. “Gracie is a lovely girl.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that. She’d probably go pierce her other nostril, her lip, and her tongue just to prove you wrong.”

Annette grinned. She’d seen a lot of rebellious teens during her years of teaching high school English, and her heart always
went out to them. A lot of pain and confusion hid behind their attitudes of defiance and detachment. “That girl’s got a lot
to cope with—losing her parents, moving to a strange town, and being pregnant.”

“Yeah. It is a lot.”

“You’ve got a lot on your plate, too, Katie. A daughter! And a grandchild on the way.”

“That’s a hard thought to wrap my head around. I’m going to be a grandma at the ripe old age of thirty-five!”

And Annette would never get to be one, since Paul had been her only child. The thought was a fresh stab of grief.

“So what’s Gracie’s father like?” she asked to change the subject.

“He’s okay, I guess.” Katie’s cheeks colored and her eyes darted away in very un-Katie-like fashion.

Was she just uncomfortable discussing this man with her, or did Katie have feelings for him? “Is he like you remember him?”

“In some ways, but not in others. I mean, it’s been over seventeen years.”

“A lot happens in that amount of time.” It was only normal that Katie would have had romantic involvements before she’d met
Paul—after all, she’d been twenty-nine when she and Paul had married—but the thought still disturbed Annette. Which didn’t
make sense. Paul had had girlfriends before Katie. “So… did you love this Zack?”