The Friends We Keep (Mischief Bay) (2 page)

Nope, Gabby told herself. Not pregnant. But there
was
something.

They worked through the rest of the stations, then loaded their meals into their totes. Gabby packed up the car before going back to get her girls.

“You ready?” she asked.

Kenzie and Kennedy looked at each other before nodding at her.

“They were great,” Cecelia told her.

“We were very good,” Kenzie added.

“I’m sure you were.”

The twins were at that age where they were angelic with everyone but her. She’d read dozens of books on child rearing and from what the experts said, the need to be more independent battled with the need for Mom. So while everyone else got smiles and good behavior, she got push-back and tears.

She waited while her girls hugged Cecelia goodbye. They were growing fast, she thought with contentment. They were bright, inquisitive and loving. Given how right everything was in her life, she could deal with a little push-back now and then.

They left the child-care area and headed toward the front door. Today they’d chosen matching clothes. Blue shorts and blue-and-white T-shirts with little kittens on them. They’d lost that toddler chubbiness and were now looking like little girls.

They were fraternal twins, but so close in appearance that most people thought they were identical. They both had big hazel eyes and strawberry blond hair. They sounded alike and were both energetic.

But there were also differences. The shape of their chins. Kennedy had thicker, slightly curlier hair. Kenzie was a bit taller. School was going to be interesting, Gabby mused. Kennedy was more outgoing, but Kenzie had a level of patience her sister didn’t. She wasn’t sure which characteristics would mean success.

They reached her SUV and she opened the rear door on the driver’s side.

“In you go.”

The girls didn’t budge.

“We want booster seats,” Kennedy said firmly. “Car seats are for babies. Mommy, we’re starting kindergarten.”

“That means we’re not babies anymore,” Kenzie added.

Gabby didn’t know which kid at their summer camp had said something about booster seats versus car seats, but she really wished he or she hadn’t.

She thought about the bottles of wine waiting back inside Supper’s in the Bag. She could give the girls back to Cecelia, have a couple of glasses and then phone Andrew to drive them all home. She could bang her head against the side of the SUV until that pain was bigger than the argument. Or she could suck it up, remind herself that she was blessed and lucky and every other good thing, and simply deal.

Despite the fact that the wine scenario was really appealing, she went with the latter.

“You are growing,” she said, keeping her voice gentle. “And I love you very much. That’s why I want to keep you safe. Please get in your seats so we can go home and get dinner ready for your dad.”

The twins stayed stubbornly in place.

Gabby held in a sigh. Where was the win in this fight? She wasn’t going to be blackmailed by five-year-olds. “Boomer and Jasmine are waiting for their dinners, too. I want to go home. Please get in your car seats now.”

“We won’t.” Kennedy crossed her arms over her chest. Kenzie followed, because Kenzie always followed.

“For every minute we wait here, you will lose fifteen minutes of your television time,” she told the girls. Kind of a big deal because TV was limited in the Schaefer household.

The twins glanced at each other, then back at her. Kenzie leaned over to her sister.

“Fifteen minutes is a
long
time.”

Kennedy sighed heavily, then got in the SUV. Kenzie did the same. Gabby vowed that later she would talk to her husband and they would brainstorm a solution. Or at the very least have a glass of wine and remind themselves that in ten years, when the twins wanted to start dating, they would look back on the car-seat fights and tell themselves these were the good old days.

Chapter Two

“I heard the news,” Cecelia said as she tidied the crayons scattered across the kid-sized table.

Nicole Lord held in a heavy sigh and faked a big smile. “Of course you did. Isn’t it fantastic? We’re all superexcited.”

Cecelia stepped closer and lowered her voice. “It’s okay. Tyler’s over there.”

Nicole glanced at her son who was across the room, playing with Hayley, then back at the nineteen-year-old babysitter. “Can you believe it? I can’t. Of all the luck. Or lack of luck. Tyler’s thrilled. He’s counting the days. If his math was good enough, he’d be counting the minutes.”

“And you?” Cecelia asked.

Nicole rolled her eyes. “I’m counting the minutes, too, but for different reasons.”

“You’re not going to attack him or anything, are you? I’d hate to read about you being arrested.”

The question, meant to be funny, offered a visual that Nicole found tempting. Not being arrested. Despite the guilty pleasure of the show
Orange Is the New Black
, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t do well in jail. Or prison. Either, really. But attacking Jairus Sterenberg was a different matter. She wouldn’t mind smacking him really hard. Or maybe just giving him a piece of her mind. The angry, annoyed part.

“I will not attack him, I promise. Tyler loves his
Brad the Dragon
books and I would never hurt my son.”

“What if he didn’t find out?” Cecelia teased. She held up one hand. “I’ll stop now. It’s just, you really hate the guy.”

“I don’t
hate
him,” Nicole said, hoping it was true. “How can I hate someone I’ve never met? It’s just...” She shook her head. “That whole empire of his. The article I read on him a while back said he was a pretty awful person, making money off of kids. Which means he’s little more than a weasel rat bastard who would merchandise air if he could figure out a way.”

Brad the Dragon had started life in picture books and was now also in chapter books. And the merchandising! There were stuffed animals and clothes and sheets and games. The man was wallowing in money, she thought bitterly. All at the expense of kids and parents everywhere.

Worse, so much worse, she’d just discovered he lived in the area. And in what some people would mistakenly claim was a generous offer, he’d held a contest through the parks’ summer programs. The same summer programs where Tyler spent his days.

Kids were invited to write a paper explaining why they loved B the D. The winning camper and his or her class got a personal visit from Jairus himself, along with an autographed book.

Tyler had been thrilled to find out about the contest and had spent two weeks perfecting his entry. Nicole would know—she’d helped him every step of the way. They’d come up with a B the D story line where Brad met Tyler. They had even included pictures.

“I know you don’t think he’s a bad guy,” Nicole said. “But come on. Kids having to write a paper before they can meet the guy? Couldn’t he just show up at the camp like a regular person? But
noooo
.”

Cecelia laughed. “You have so much energy about that poor man.”

“Trust me, he’s far from poor.”

“Still, what if he’s not evil?”

“Then I’ll feel really, really bad about trashing him.”

“Think that’s likely?” Cecelia asked.

Nicole grinned. “Not a chance.”

She confirmed the upcoming week’s schedule with Cecelia, then went to collect Tyler. She had to admit, if only to herself, that her loathing of B the D’s creator was a recent thing. That in her heart of hearts, she understood that she just might be projecting her feelings onto a man she’d never met.

Nearly two years ago, her then-husband had quit his job to write a screenplay. Something he hadn’t discussed with her or even mentioned until two days after the fact. There’d been no negotiation, no warning. Eric had simply up and quit, leaving her to support their household while he spent his days surfing to “clear his head” before he began writing.

It was right about that time when Nicole had started to find Brad the Dragon and all his merchandise the tiniest bit annoying. What was it about writers? Did they all have to be self-centered jerks? Or was it just the successful ones? Because Eric had gone on to sell his screenplay for the unbelievable amount of one million dollars. And then he’d left her.

“Ready to go?” she asked Tyler.

He stood with his thin arms wrapped around Hayley’s waist as he leaned against her. Hayley hugged him back. The two of them had always been close. Hayley was a kid person down to her bones.

“See you next time,” he told Hayley.

“I can’t wait,” the other woman said. “Have fun meeting Jairus.”

Tyler grinned so broadly, Nicole knew his face had to hurt. “It’s only five more days.”

“Do you know how long that is in minutes?” Hayley asked, then slapped her hand over her mouth as Tyler turned to Nicole.

“Mommy?”

“I’m sorry,” Hayley whispered. “I just made it worse, huh?”

“We’ll survive.”

Tyler rushed over and danced in front of her. “We can know how many minutes?”

“Sure. We can do the math when we get home. We’ll need a calculator.”

Hayley winced. “Now I’m making you do math.”

Nicole hugged her friend. “I love you, even when you make me do math. But when I regrout my bathroom tile, you’ll be the first person I call.”

“It’s a deal.”

Nicole straightened. For a second she studied Hayley. As always, her skin was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. She looked as if she were in the middle of fighting some awful illness. Nicole knew the truth was slightly less desperate, but still painful. Hayley was recovering from yet another miscarriage.

Nicole took Tyler’s hand and led him out of the store. As she helped him into his booster seat, he chattered on about B the D and the upcoming visit by the prolific author.

Maybe it wasn’t Jairus’s fault, she told herself as she closed the rear passenger door. Maybe he was really a very nice man who loved children. She doubted it, but hoped she was wrong. Because she would hate for Tyler’s heart to be broken by meeting a flawed hero.

On the bright side, she’d volunteered to be there for the visit. So if Jairus turned out to be a complete ass, she would do everything she could to protect Tyler and the other kids. At the very least, she could accidentally trip the man. And call him names. Possibly beat him with a stuffed B the D doll.

That image made her smile. Perspective, she reminded herself. So much of life was all about perspective.

* * *

“‘And we’re learning how to trust. And we’re finally starting to live.’”

Hayley Batchelor tapped her fingers against her steering wheel as she sang along with the radio. The new Destiny Mills song had her swaying in her seat. When the light turned green, she drove through the intersection, and made a right.

At six-thirty on a Thursday night there was plenty of traffic—neighbors pulled into driveways, kids were out playing in front yards. The speed limit was only twenty-five, but no one went faster than that. It wasn’t that kind of neighborhood.

Hayley saw that the house on the corner now had a second story. For months it had been in disarray. It had been interesting to watch the demolition followed by the reconstruction. Once finished, the house would be stunning. Most of the neighborhood was going through a similar process—updating, sprucing. Hayley knew there was a term for it—gentrification, maybe.

She turned at the next corner and drove down her street. Here there were more signs of the revitalization. She liked the fresh paint, the new front doors. But when she pulled into her driveway, she wrinkled her nose. Talk about shabby, she thought as she stared at the overgrown yard and peeling paint around the windows. The pale gray stucco was still in good shape, but the house looked like what it was—a place that had been neglected for a while.

She knew all the reasons why and they made sense, but things had changed. It was time for their house to reflect those changes.

She collected her Supper’s in the Bag totes and made her way to the front door and went inside.

The house was small—just fifteen hundred square feet. When it was first built, the home had been only twelve hundred square feet, but the previous owners had added a master suite, complete with a small bathroom and walk-in closet. That brought them up to three bedrooms and two baths. The lot was a decent size and the location—just four blocks to the ocean—was prime.

The hardwood floors in the living room were original, as was the fireplace. Not that they ever used it much. Los Angeles wasn’t known for cold winters. But it was pretty and every now and then the temperature dipped enough to warrant burning a log or two.

Hayley stepped into the kitchen and put away the dinners. Two went into the refrigerator while the rest were stacked in the freezer. When she was done, she turned on the oven and pulled out what she would need to make a salad. She folded the bags and stored them in the small laundry room, then turned back to look at the kitchen with what she hoped was a critical eye.

The layout was good. The counters—fifties tile done in two-tone green—weren’t exactly contemporary, but they kind of suited the house. There was a lot of natural light and plenty of storage space. The cabinets were solid wood and beautiful, though they could use a good refinishing, along with updated hardware. She ran her hands across one and wondered what it would take to redo them. Was it something she and Rob could handle on their own?

The floor was a sad linoleum, but replacing it would be too expensive. The sink was on the newer side and when their old stove had died, they’d replaced it with a nicer model.

If they left the tile and focused on the cabinets... That would make a difference. Some fresh paint would make a big impact, too.

She wandered down the short hallway that led to the main bath and two bedrooms. She and Rob argued about the bathroom a lot. It, too, was original to the house, with two-toned blue tile and a huge tub. He wanted to gut it and put in something modern. She liked the character of what they had.

The secondary bedrooms were easy. Paint would improve them a lot and maybe some inexpensive window treatments. The back bedroom, the smaller of the two, was a home office. The other one, well, she didn’t go into that room. She knew what it looked like. Pale yellow walls and gleaming hardwood floors. A rocking chair sat in the corner. Otherwise the space was empty.

The master addition was on the other side of the house. Again, paint and maybe new bedding would make it look just fine. The house had good bones, was in a great neighborhood. They just needed to give it a little more TLC.

She heard the front door open and footsteps in the living room.

“I’m home,” Rob called.

Hayley went out to greet him. “Hi. I just got in myself. We’re having enchilada casserole for dinner.”

Rob was about five-ten, with light brown hair and blue eyes. He wore glasses and had an easy smile. He was the kind of guy people instinctively trusted and Hayley had liked him from the first moment they’d met.

Now she stepped into his embrace and hugged him. He kissed her cheek.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“Good. Busy. I went to Supper’s in the Bag.”

“I figured. You know I love those enchiladas.”

“I do.”

His gaze settled on her face. “You feeling okay?”

“I feel great. Strong.”

His expression was doubtful, but he smiled. “Good. It’s a nice evening. We could eat outside.”

Because while the rest of Los Angeles sweltered in the mid-July heat, Mischief Bay had the natural air-conditioning brought on by an onshore breeze.

“Great idea.”

They walked into the kitchen together. While Rob washed his hands, she put the casserole in the oven before setting the small timer in the corner. He got two beers from the refrigerator and two tall glasses from one of the cupboards. He poured and handed her a glass. They went outside to the shade of their east-facing backyard. Chairs dotted the brick patio.

Hayley sat in her usual spot, her feet up on an ottoman. Rob sat across from her.

“How about you?” she asked. “Good day?”

He nodded. “Nothing blew up.”

“There’s a plus.”

It was a comfortable joke, she thought. Six months ago Rob had taken the job of assistant manager of service at the local Mischief Bay BMW dealer. On his first day of work, there had been an explosion in one of the service bays. Something about compression and heat. No one had been hurt and no cars had been damaged but it had made for an exciting start.

The job had been a big step up for him—both career and money-wise. The hours were long, but he didn’t have to travel and she liked having him around. He had good benefits, also a big plus. Eventually there would even be paid vacation but that was a few months away. Still, it would be good for when she had a baby. He had a second job, helping a friend restore old cars on the weekend. Easy work for a guy who loved cars.

“You’re sure you’re feeling okay?” he asked.

His tone was light, but she heard the worry behind the words. She also knew the reason. She could see herself in the mirror and knew that she looked like someone who had been through medical tough times. The price she had to pay, she thought grimly. That she would keep paying, no matter what. Because the dream was too important.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. She lightly nudged his thigh with her foot. “You worry.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, and I’ve been thinking.”

He paused with his beer halfway to his mouth. “Am I going to like what you’ve been thinking about?”

“You are. When I was driving home tonight, I was looking at the neighborhood. We have the ugliest house on the block and we shouldn’t. This place is adorable. But with everything going on, we haven’t had time to fix it up. I’d like us to talk about making changes.”

Rob leaned toward her. “Yeah? That’s great. I agree. We’re an eyesore. I keep expecting the neighbors to start a petition. I have a lot of ideas.”

Which didn’t surprise her at all. She and Rob had always thought alike.