The Friends We Keep (Mischief Bay) (5 page)

He was good with words, too, she thought gratefully. And life. Andrew understood life. He was successful—the vice president of sales for a large aerospace firm. He traveled a lot, but not more than he had to. He made sure he was home for significant events and he never once made Gabby feel that his work was more important than hers.

Now she resisted the need to cling to him, to complain about Makayla and the white pants, to ask that he go beat up his ex for being mean to her. No, those were her issues and she would deal with them.

“My day was fine,” she told him. “What about yours?”

“Good. We hit our numbers for the quarter, so I’m golden.” He flashed her a grin. “Until Monday, then it all starts again.”

The familiar joke made her smile. Just looking at him made her smile, too. He was eight years older than her, but aging well. Dark hair and blue eyes. There was a touch of gray at his temples, which made him look even more appealing. It was the distinguished thing. Because Mother Nature clearly favored men.

“I don’t remember the name of the fund-raiser,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t put it on the calendar. Just the date and time.”

He leaned in and kissed her again. “I didn’t tell you the name.” He pulled her close and lowered his head so he could whisper in her ear. “There is no fund-raiser, my sweet wife. I’ve rented a room at the Inn on the Pier. There’s a bottle of champagne chilling. I was hoping we could have our way with each other for a couple of hours, then order room service before coming back home.”

“I’d be willing to write a check to that cause,” she told him.

Andrew leaned back his head and laughed, then put his arm around her.

Tears burned. Happy tears, she told herself as she willed them away. The tears of a woman who had won the husband lottery.

Chapter Four

“Again!” Tyler said eagerly, not sounding the least bit tired, despite the fact that it was a good half hour past his bedtime and they’d had a full day. “Read it again.”

Nicole leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “Are you thinking too much?” she asked her son.

He grinned at her. “I am. I’m excited, Mommy. It’s better than Christmas.”

If only that were true, Nicole thought, knowing there was no way to prepare a six-year-old for potential disappointment, yet aware she had to try.

They’d spent their Saturday together—something she was still getting used to. Divorce from Eric had been difficult on so many levels, but financial wasn’t one of them. He might not see his kid very often, but he always paid his child support on time. The checks had allowed her to hire a couple of extra instructors at her exercise studio, Mischief in Motion, which allowed her to cut down on her evening classes and the luxury of not working on Saturdays. In a few short years Tyler was going to be too busy with school activities and friends to want to hang out with his mom, but until then, she wanted to take advantage of every second they had together.

She stroked his hair. “Meeting the author of
Brad the Dragon
is going to be great,” she began.

“I know. He’s going to be funny and nice and make everyone laugh.”

Nicole wanted that to be true. But weren’t authors authors for a reason? There was no way she could spend all day alone, staring at a keyboard, typing. She needed to be doing something and around people.

Of course, she probably had a ridiculous view of writers. Eric wrote screenplays, and while he did spend a fair amount of time alone at the computer, he was also out surfing most mornings. He took meetings, went to parties, did screenwriterly things, she wasn’t sure what. Maybe Jairus was the same way—working fifteen minutes on a picture book, then using the rest of the day to count his money.

She sighed. She really needed to work on her attitude. She was going to be meeting the man in a few days. She didn’t want to shriek at him in the first three seconds. Better for that to happen in the second hour.

The thought of yelling at the money-grubbing jerk made her smile. Tyler smiled back.

“You’re excited, too,” he said.

“I am.” A white lie was allowed because she was a mom, she told herself.

“You won’t forget?”

“Nope. I’m teaching at the senior center that morning but my afternoon is all Brad the Dragon, all the time. Just me and you-know-who.”

As she spoke, she tickled Tyler’s sides. He squirmed and laughed, then lay down. “One more time,” he pleaded, pointing at the book. “I’ll try not to think. I promise.”

“Only for you,” she murmured.

She picked up the book and turned to the first page. “Brad the Dragon had always been interested in flowers.”

She read automatically, not having to pay attention to the dragonly antics. She knew the story by heart, along with each and every other one of them. The never-ending thrill of B the D was that he evolved. Thank God the series ended when Brad turned ten. There was no way she wanted to read about a teenage B the D getting his stupid driver’s license.

Nicole finished the book, then kissed Tyler good-night. His eyes were closed and his voice slow as he whispered, “I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you, big guy.”

She walked out, careful to leave the door just a little open. So he wouldn’t feel cut off from her. Or maybe she was the one who needed the connection.

Back in the kitchen, she finished cleaning up the dinner dishes. Normally she did them after they were done eating but Tyler had been so wired they’d gone for a long walk instead. As she rinsed pans and put them in the dishwasher, she thought about how much she was dreading the upcoming author event at the city park camp Tyler attended.

Maybe she was being unfair. There was the tiniest chance he wasn’t totally awful. After all, she loved the
Fancy Nancy
books and they basically had the same trajectory as B the D. They started as picture books and moved to chapter books. She knew. She read them to Gabby’s twins when she looked after the girls.

But Fancy Nancy was different, she thought, hearing the whine in her head. She was lovely and sweet and there was always a lesson to be learned. Not to mention vocabulary words. Brad the Dragon was just so...annoying.

She finished with the kitchen and started the dishwasher, then wandered into her living room. The house—a Spanish-style beauty she’d managed to buy for a rock-bottom price just before the mortgage bubble—was a testament to craftsmanship. There were arches and thick walls, lots of windows and a beautiful yard out back. She loved her house. Loved that Tyler was growing up here. If sometimes she got a little lonely for male companionship, well, that was okay. She’d been blessed in the rest of her life.

Her phone chirped, telling her she had a text. A quick glance at the clock told her it was after nine. She thought instantly of Hayley and her frail condition, then hurried to read the screen. Even as she told herself that if something bad had happened, she would get a call not a text, she couldn’t catch her breath until she’d read—

“Damn him.”

She read the message three times before tossing her phone on the sofa. “Lying, selfish bastard.”

Nicole picked up her phone, ready to give Eric a piece of her mind. Then she read the words again.

Can’t make tomorrow. Sorry. Next time for sure.

Sadness mingled with her fury. Because in the morning, she was going to have to tell her son that his father wouldn’t be coming to see him. There would be no outing with Eric, no time for Tyler to see his dad.

The real killer was, Tyler wouldn’t mind. He would shrug and go back to whatever it was he’d been doing. Because Eric canceled more often than not and Tyler cared less and less about seeing the man.

The disconnection had started long before the divorce, Nicole thought, somewhere around the time when Eric had begun writing his screenplay. He’d pulled back from his family—spending his time surfing, writing or going to classes and his critique group. Then after he sold the screenplay, he’d been busy with revisions and a new project. She and Tyler had become less and less important.

She’d thought she would have to fight him for custody, but Eric hadn’t wanted more than one Sunday, every other week. That was it. And he blew off those days more and more.

She reached for her phone but instead of texting her ex, she sent a message to Hayley.

The bastard blew off his kid again. Is it wrong that I hate him?

Hayley’s response came in seconds.
No, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll hate him for you. Doing okay?

I’ll get through it. Thanks.

Nicole sank onto the sofa, drew her legs to her chest, and rested her head on her knees. If it wasn’t for her friends, she wasn’t sure how she would have survived the past year. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She and Eric were supposed to have been a family. That was what she’d always wanted, always hoped for. She hadn’t known her own father. He’d left his family before she was born. With Eric, back when he was a software engineer, she thought she’d found someone good. Someone stable. Someone who would be there for their children.

She’d been wrong. About all of it. Some of that was on her, but some of it was purely him. He didn’t care about his son. That was the bottom line.

She kept hoping he would change. That he would realize what he was missing. But so far there was no hint that he was having second thoughts about their custody arrangements. And Tyler no longer talked about missing his dad.

She had a sinking feeling that by the time Eric woke up to what he’d missed, it would be too late. That Tyler would be unreachable. But even worse was the very good chance that Eric would never care. Never ask for a second chance. That this was as good as it got.

She looked up at the Brad the Dragon stuffed animal sitting on a bookshelf by the TV. The creature was a happy shade of red, with big blue eyes. She glared at the dragon.

“This is all your fault,” she whispered. And while she knew it wasn’t, sometimes it felt really good to have someone to blame.

* * *

“Why does Boomer smell like corn chips?” Kennedy asked from her place on the floor next to the dog.

“I have no idea.”

Gabby thought about pointing out that it was better than how most dogs smelled, but knew better than to encourage smell talk. It would lead to an entire discussion on farts, burps and other things that were hilarious, but often led to awkward moments around other people. She was still recovering from the classic, “That lady farted” event from three weeks ago at the grocery store. She’d been embarrassed, the older woman had been embarrassed and the twins had thought the situation was the funniest thing ever. They told nearly everyone they saw. Which was why she did her level best to not take them to the grocery store any more than necessary.

She held up a pink T-shirt. “One of my favorites,” she said.

Kenzie, who was combing an incredibly patient Jasmine, nodded. “Me, too.”

Kennedy didn’t bother answering. While she was normally the twin in charge, when it came to clothes, Kenzie was the spokestwin. Gabby wasn’t sure how they made up their rules but she mostly went along with them.

“And we are done,” she said, staring at the five outfits, times two, chosen for the upcoming week.

In an effort to create order from chaos, when the girls had started preschool, she’d made it a point to choose their outfits in advance. Now it was something they did together every Sunday afternoon. It helped with the morning craziness and was a fun time for the three of them to have girl talk.

The twins abandoned their pets to put their outfits away in a special drawer in each of their dressers. When they were done, they looked at her expectantly.

“Daddy’s next,” Gabby said brightly.

Kenzie leaned over and picked up Jasmine. The cat submitted to being half carried, half dragged to the master closet. Boomer followed on his own, then flopped down in the doorway. Kennedy immediately draped across him, while Kenzie sat in the middle of the floor, prepared to offer fashion advice. Jasmine settled next to her and proceeded to lick her fur back into order.

Gabby picked up the sheet of paper Andrew always left for her on Friday evenings. It was his schedule for the upcoming week. His assistant emailed her his travel schedule every time a trip was added or changed, but Andrew took care of making sure she knew where he was all the time. It was something he’d started when they were first married. She remembered following him through the apartment they’d shared while they were waiting to close on the house.

“When will you be back?” she’d asked, knowing she sounded petulant. “It’s hard when you’re not here.”

He’d turned to her, his blue eyes dark with concern. “Are you worried about being alone in the apartment? Do you want me to get an alarm installed?”

“No, silly. I just miss you.”

He’d stared at her for a long time. She’d watched confusion change to understanding, relief and love. He’d hugged her so tightly, she hadn’t been able to breathe. But that was okay. Andrew was more important than air.

The next morning she’d received her first email from his assistant. The following Friday, Andrew had brought home his schedule for the upcoming week. Because that was the kind of man Andrew was. He didn’t want her to worry. He didn’t want her to be concerned about anything.

From the night they’d met until their wedding had been nearly a year. He’d told her about his first marriage and what he thought had gone wrong. She would have sworn she knew everything about him. But until that night in their small apartment, she hadn’t really understood what he’d been saying.

Candace hadn’t cared. She hadn’t bothered to keep track of his travel schedule or asked when he would be home. She’d rarely made time for Makayla. Her work was her one true passion. Gabby could understand loving a career, but not at the expense of people.

Now she looked at his schedule and saw the various meetings he had.

“Daddy’s going to be home all week,” she told the twins.

“Yay!”

“Can we make him brownies?” Kenzie asked.

Gabby thought about her inability to fit into her dress the previous Friday. Since then she’d been thinking she had to do something. “Um, sure.”

She could ignore the brownies, she told herself. Just because they were in the house didn’t mean she had to eat them.

She sorted through Andrew’s suits and shirts. Even with the pile of shirts to go to the dry cleaner’s on Monday, there were still plenty to choose from. She held up a gray suit with a pale blue shirt.

“Which tie?”

Only Kenzie considered the question. “The one with the blue and pink stripes.”

Gabby found it. She hung the suit, shirt and tie and moved on to the next selection.

While Andrew was perfectly capable of picking out his own clothes, she liked doing this for him. It was a connection, a way to quietly say she was thinking about him and that she cared. Like him leaving her his schedule.

When they were done, she led her posse back to the kitchen. She didn’t need her wardrobe laid out and Makayla wasn’t back yet from her mom’s. Even if she had been home, she’d made it clear she didn’t want or need the help. She was fifteen, after all.

Gabby briefly wondered if she’d been difficult at that age and figured she probably had been. It came with the territory. But knowing that didn’t make her any more eager for Makayla’s return. Sunday nights after Candace weekends were always difficult. The visits rarely went well and Makayla usually came home both hurt and angry. She needed someone to pay for what she’d been through and that person was usually Gabby.

She’d tried talking to Andrew about the temper, the snide comments, the door slamming. But Makayla was always careful to act out when her father wasn’t around and if Andrew had a weakness it was his daughters. Not just Makayla but all three of them.

A trait she admired, Gabby reminded herself. So she would take the high ground. Or at least try. It was the only advice her own mother had given her when Gabby had been getting ready to marry Andrew.