The Family Solution
Bobby Hutchinson
Bella Monroe woke up one morning to find her life dumped into the litter box. After sixteen years, her husband took the car and the family's savings–leaving Bella with a note, a failing business and two increasingly difficult teenagers. All Bella can do is channel her rage into…well, more productive things.When ex-cop-turned-Realtor Charlie Fredericks realizes Bella's renovating and selling her house, he offers to help her fix it up. But Bella's life needs a lot more than a quick fix-up. She needs a solution.And maybe Charlie is it….
The Family Solution
Bobby Hutchinson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
My thanks to Paul Eviston in Vancouver and
Bruce Gilmar in Sparwood for real estate
information—and for both leading me gently to
two signs that said Sold.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
PROLOGUE
BELLA JANE MONROE TURNED thirty-seven on October 9.
As consciousness slowly dawned, she had no presentiment that this was the morning her life would change. She simply woke up feeling guilty and remembering too late one of her mother’s favorite sayings—which of course Mae Howard had never applied to her own short-lived marriage.
Never go to be bed angry with your husband. Disregarding the source, the advice was solid. Why, Bella wondered, did she only remember good advice after the fact?
Last night she’d been mad enough at Gordon to want to smack him with something heavy. But she wasn’t really the violent type, except in her imagination. If she wasn’t a fighter, however, then neither was she a lover. She’d come to the conclusion during the past year that she didn’t love Gordon any more, which made her feel sad and guilty, and was probably at the root of the problems between them.
Certainly she’d loved him sixteen years ago, when they were married. At least, she was pretty sure she had loved him, even if she wasn’t sure exactly when she’d stopped. She was clearer about why, but then she’d made promises that long-ago day—vows that had to do with other things than love.
There was honor, and sickness and health, and worldly goods, not to mention the kids. She was determined that Josh and Kelsey would not grow up the way she had, in a single-parent home. And there was loyalty. Bella prided herself on being loyal.
She opened her eyes, yawned and stretched. Her back was still turned to Gordon’s side of the king-size bed, the way it had been when she finally got to sleep. She squinted at the clock and did a double take. Eight forty-seven? Holy crap. The alarm hadn’t gone off.
The kids would be late for school. Monroe’s Hardware wouldn’t open on time. Bella groaned and sat up, registering the odd fact that Gordon wasn’t snoring beside her. In fact, he wasn’t in bed at all, which was a shocker. For the past six months, ever since the business had started going south, he’d refused to get up before ten, which meant she had to drive Kelsey and Josh to school and open the store. It was that and a dozen other irritations that had driven Bella to confront him the night before.
Attack him, actually—be honest here, Bella. The discussion had started over something basic. As long as Gordon wasn’t working at the store, Bella thought he could at least figure out something for dinner and make an attempt to have it on the table when the kids got home.
And somehow the whole thing had rapidly escalated into World War III, ending only when he made his standard retreat into stone-cold silence.
She felt a little sick, remembering it. What if Josh and Kelsey had overheard? Teenagers had enough to contend with, without hearing their parents have a meltdown.
A chill October breeze drifted in the open window. The room was freezing, the damp Vancouver air filled with the promise of rain.
Bella dragged herself out of bed, shivering as she slammed the window shut. A piece of yellow lined paper fluttered off Gordon’s pillow and landed on the floor. She leaned over and picked it up, one hand pressed against the front of her flannel nightgown in an effort to stay warm. Just for an instant, hope flickered. Gordon had never in living memory admitted he was wrong or said he was sorry. Maybe this time…
“I’m taking off,” she read. “You and the kids will be better off without me. I’m sorry about the Volvo and the money in the savings account, but I need them. In return I’ve signed the house and store over to you—power of attorney is on my desk. Tell the kids I love them. G.”
Bella read the note twice, and then a third time, slower, as if it had been written in a foreign language. When the words finally started to make sense, her heart was thudding against her ribs and she heard herself begin to moan.
Her legs buckled, and she sank to her knees on the carpet. Rocking back and forth, she crumpled the note into a ball and threw it across the room.
Betrayal, abandonment, rage—terror. The feelings of desperation poured through her.
She grabbed the neck of her nightgown with both hands and pulled as hard as she could, until the soft fabric tore all the way to the hem, then she ripped it crosswise. She wished it was Gordon’s heart she’d just dispatched, but it felt so much more like her own.
CHAPTER ONE
HANDS TREMBLING FROM too much caffeine and not enough sleep, Bella sipped yet another mug of coffee and tried to figure out how to balance a stepladder halfway up the stairs.
It was Sunday morning, ten days, two hours and seventeen minutes since she’d first read The Letter, and when the doorbell rang, relief and anticipation replaced the anxiety that generally sat like a rock in the middle of her chest.
Niki was early, bless her heart. Desperate to unload the newest details of her life into the sympathetic ears of her best friend, Bella hurried to the door and threw it open.
“Morning, Ms. Monroe.”
The man on her makeshift front steps was of medium height, of medium weight and with more than medium shoulders, and she’d seen him somewhere before. He had nice eyes, and his broken nose gave his handsome features character. He wore jeans and a denim jacket lined with sheepskin, and the fact that he wasn’t dressed in a suit like the other real-estate people she’d encountered in the past week misled Bella, but only until he began to speak.
“I’m Charlie Fredricks. We met the day you came by the real-estate office? You spoke with my brother, Rick.” He smiled and extended a large hand, which he obviously intended for her to shake.
Bella tried to swallow her fierce disappointment, and then gave up the attempt to control her temper, which, according to her mother, she’d inherited from her absentee father.
What was it with the men in her life?
“It’s Sunday. You do realize that? You people are driving me nuts. I have more work than there are hours in the day. Emotionally, I’m a wreck. I’ve explained to about 227 other real-estate idiots from your office why I can’t afford your rip-off commissions, and I’m sick to death of being hounded this way.”
Somehow forgetting the heavy mug in her hand, she swung an arm to slam the door. Hot coffee flew—some of it hitting her hand. She swore and the stoneware mug went flying, connecting with Charlie Fredricks’s forehead with surprising force.
He groaned and staggered backward. The mug fell on the step and shattered. Bella watched in horror as blood trickled down his forehead, even as the coffee stains were spreading across his chest.
“Damn it all to hell,” she muttered.
Her hand stung. Would he sue? The thought of a lawsuit on top of everything else made her want to throw herself on the rug and sob. But instead, Bella drew a breath and took hold of his denim jacket.
“Get in here—you’re bleeding.” She led him inside and closed the door. “I didn’t mean to hit you—honestly! I was just closing the door, and I forgot I had coffee in my hand!”
“Closing the door right in my face.” He rubbed the sleeve of his jacket across his forehead to staunch the blood that was dripping all over her beige carpet. “I didn’t think I’d need hazard insurance on this job.”
“Think you could try not to bleed on the rug?” She led the way into the kitchen and pointed at a stool. “Sit down and I’ll get something to put on that.” She rummaged in a kitchen drawer and came up with a clean dishcloth, which she ran under cold water and then pressed, none too gently, against his forehead.
“Now sit there while I find my first-aid stuff.” For that, she had to go upstairs, since there was nothing in the downstairs lavatory except roughed-in plumbing, thanks to her layabout poor excuse of a husband, Gordon.
“Lazy, good-for-nothing…” she muttered, stomping up the stairs.
From behind Josh’s bedroom door came the sound of his Xbox.
From behind Kelsey’s came the steady, irate hum of complaining, as she no doubt filled in a friend on the subject of her awful mother. And all Bella had done to them today was ask them to help with the painting.
She grabbed antiseptic and Band-Aids and headed back down, but when she got to the kitchen, Charlie What’s-his-name wasn’t there. She found him in the living room, holding a family photo he’d taken from the fireplace mantel. His jacket was off, and she could see that his blue T-shirt was dotted with spots of crimson.
“Good-looking youngsters. How old are they?”
“Fifteen and thirteen. Give me that.” It slipped as she set it facedown on the exposed bricks, shattering the glass, and that felt like the final straw to Bella. “Look, Charlie Fredricks, no one invited you to wander around my house and poke into my things,” she said. “You’re getting blood all over the house. I’ll have to have the carpets cleaned and I can’t afford it. Go and sit down, so I can do something about your head, and then you’re leaving.”
He said quietly, “As a first-aid person, you don’t exactly inspire confidence, you know that, Ms. Monroe?” But then he ambled back to the kitchen and sat on the stool she pointed at.
Bella doused a cotton ball with antiseptic and pressed it firmly against the cut.
He flinched, but didn’t say anything.
His hair was a dark chocolate-brown, thick, wavy and a little too long, and it fell onto his forehead and got in the way, so that she had to keep shoving it aside. His eyes were an unusual combination of gray and green, and his eyelashes were kind of nice, she thought, in spite of herself. She pressed a second helping of antiseptic onto the gash.
“Ouch. Owww. Damn it, lady, your bedside manner could stand some work. I didn’t ask you to bash me, you know.”
“And I don’t remember asking you to come to my door and harass me, either.” She opened a Band-Aid and tried to cover the gash. “This little cut is too big for a bandage. I need tape and gauze,” she muttered. “You sit right there until I get back. No nosing around my house.”
“Man, you’re tough,” he commented as she headed back up the stairs. “And I thought my ex was difficult.”
“Yeah, well, maybe she had reasons.”
“Mom?” Kelsey stood in the bedroom doorway. “Can I go to the afternoon movie with Brittany? Her dad’s going to drive us and pick us up after.”
“I thought you were supposed to help me paint.”
“Auntie Niki’s coming to help you. You don’t need me. Please, Mom?”
Josh’s door opened. “If she gets to go, so do I.” At fifteen, his voice was cracking. Most of the time, Bella found it endearing and sad—her baby was growing up. Today, she just felt exasperated.
“I keep telling you two, there’s no money for the mall or movies.”
“Nana gave us money.”
Bella might have known. Her mother doted on her grandchildren.
“How come you didn’t tell me?”
“She said it was our little secret,” Kelsey said. “She said with Dad away we needed some mad money, to do whatever we wanted. And I want to go to the matinee.”
What was the point in trying to make them work? Bella was up against Mae and a united teenage front.
“So go,” she said sharply. “Just get out of my sight. And make sure you’re back here by suppertime.” Even as she snapped at them, she knew it wasn’t fair to be so short-tempered, but anger was just about the only thing that kept the tears at bay these days. And she couldn’t afford to cry much more.
The kids must have been prepared, because they were both down the steps and out the door before Bella could make it to the first-aid drawer.
Downstairs, she cut gauze and tape and finally sorted out Charlie’s head.
“Your kids were in a real hurry to get out of here,” he noted.
She gave him a killer look.
“Not that I blame them,” he added. He pointed at the ladder in the hall. “Guess they don’t like painting, either, huh?”
“Guess not.” She rolled up the gauze and snapped the tape container back together. “That’s it, you’re mended. Heads always bleed a lot. It’s barely a scratch. You’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that myself. About heads bleeding. I suppose you’ve patched up a lot of cuts in your time, huh?”
“A fair number.” She picked up his jacket and handed it to him. “Sorry about the coffee mug.”
“You’re not a believer in western hospitality, I take it?”
The doorbell rang and Bella went to answer it.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Niki took off her vintage fur and draped it on the coat rack, then gave Bella a hug that almost cracked her ribs. Niki’s shoulder-length blond hair had a lavender streak this week and her breasts spilled beguilingly out of the low neckline of her scarlet knit dress. “No word from the scumbag, I take it?”
Bella shook her head, frowned and jerked a thumb in the direction of her battered guest.
Niki raised her eyebrows and walked into the kitchen. “Well, hello there. I thought for a second you were Bella’s soon-to-be ex, and I was about to give you a choice piece of my mind.”
“No need for that—the lady of the house and I have already gone down that road. I’m Charlie, by the way. How do you do?” He extended a hand, and Niki took it in both of hers, turning it palm up and studying it closely.
“I’m Niki, seeing as how we’re only doing first names. Wow, that’s some long life line you’ve got there.”
“Oh, yeah? Wish I’d known that when bad guys were shooting at me.”
Bella was sure he was looking down the front of Niki’s dress. She needed to get him the hell out of here.
“You a drug dealer?” Niki sounded fascinated.
“Nothing so romantic. I was a cop.”
“Was?”
Bella was trying to give Niki the signal to lay off her questions, but of course her friend wasn’t paying any attention. Niki never did, if there was an attractive man in the vicinity. Bella knew it was all just show, since Niki was devoted to her husband, Tom. But the guys her friend hit on for fun didn’t know that.
“I moved on. Now I’m in real estate.”
“So you’re going to sell Bella’s house for her?”
“No, he most emphatically is not going to,” Bella snapped. “I’m selling it myself. You remember—you were the one who told me to, Niki. You said your uncle Giovanni would have helped me figure out a price, except—”
“Except he’s got Alzheimer’s,” Niki interrupted. “I know, I know. We agreed you’d sell it yourself.”
“There you have it.” He shrugged. “You ladies for sure know your own minds.”
“Have to be on the ball when you’re a woman.” Niki pointed at the tape and gauze. “What happened to your head?”
“Ms. Monroe and I were having a few words and she chucked a mug at me.”
“Go, Bella.” Niki gave her a thumbs-up. “Repressed anger leads to illness, and you don’t want that.”
“It was an accident.” Bella scowled at Charlie. “You don’t have a concussion, and I patched you up. So you can go now.”
Niki went over to him and stroked her finger over his bandaged wound. “Did you know she got a big chunk of your hair trapped inside the tape? Here, let me fix that for you.”
“Niki, for cripes sake, lay off, would you? You can’t take him home—Tom won’t like it.”
Niki sighed dramatically. “Sometimes marriage is very limiting.” She undid the tape and tenderly freed the hair. “You married, Charlie?”
“Divorced.”
“Kids?”
“One daughter. Emma’s twenty.”
“Which makes you what, forty something? You don’t look forty something.” Niki gave him a serious look as she patted the bandage back in place. “You don’t look a day over thirty. Eight.”
“Forty-four.” He grinned, obviously pleased with his view down the front of Niki’s dress. He had a pirate’s grin, Bella thought. That is, if pirates had good dental plans. But then, real-estate salesmen were pirates, weren’t they?
He said, “To misquote a famous lady, this is what forty-four looks like.”
Niki nodded. “Good old Germaine. What’s become of her, anyway?”
“She got herself married,” Bella said. “And there went another feminist.”
“Oh, marriage is no deterrent to feminism,” Niki said. Finished with her Florence Nightingale act, she wandered over to the cupboard and took down two mugs. “What’s your daughter’s name again, Charlie?”
“Emma. She’s in her second year at the University of British Columbia and she wants to be a doctor.”
“That’s encouraging. We need more women doctors, don’t we, Bella? There are some things only a woman understands.” Niki filled the mugs with coffee and handed him one.
“He can’t stay,” Bella said, reaching for the mug a moment too late. He eluded her and took a hefty sip.
“I’m not in any hurry,” he said. “Good coffee. Got any cream?”
Niki got a box out of the fridge, adding some cream to her own coffee before she handed it to him. She got two spoons out and gave one to him. They stirred companionably.
She said, “So what kind of career move is that, going from copping to real estate?”
“Not lateral, I’ll tell you that.” For the first time, Bella could sense he was uneasy. His grin faltered. “So what do you do, Niki?”
“Hair. Nails. On really bad days, bikini waxing.” She shuddered. “Yuck. And on the other end of the scale, brows and lashes. Didn’t you like being a cop?”
Bella gave up and waited for his answer. Trying to stop Niki was like trying to stop a tank. She’d just roll on until he’d told her everything she wanted to know.
“I liked it fine. It was just time for a career move.”
Niki nodded. “Midlife crisis, huh?”
“I guess you could call it that.” He downed the rest of his coffee in one long gulp and got to his feet. “I hate to drink and run, but duty calls.” He gave Bella a wink. “I know you’re dying for me to stay, but I have other unfortunate souls to harass.”
“Important work. Don’t let us keep you.” She was on her feet in an instant.
“Interesting meeting you again, Ms. Monroe. A real pleasure, Niki.”
“Likewise.” She gave him a seductive smile. “And for God’s sake, call her Bella. Ms. Monroe smacks way too much of Marilyn, and we don’t need that much drama when we’re trying to clean up a house.”
Niki paid absolutely no attention to Bella’s glares, and fluttered her perfectly manicured hand at Charlie, who saluted and ambled toward the door.
Bella waited until it closed behind him before she got herself a fresh coffee and slumped on her stool.
“God spare me from any more real-estate vultures.”
“He said you knew him. Where from?”
“I made the colossal mistake the other day of going into Fredricks Real Estate, over on Dunbar. I thought they might give me some suggestions about selling this place myself, like what price to ask. Instead, they unleashed every salesperson in their office on me, all trying to change my mind and list with them. He’s just the latest one. And you weren’t exactly helpful. Why were you so friendly?”
Niki clucked her tongue. “Bella, Bella. You’re a single lady now and he’s a distinct maybe. He’s available, doesn’t strike me as a serial killer, doesn’t reek of liquor, has a job, good teeth and presumably other working body parts, to say nothing of a sense of humor. But you’ve got to change your attitude, honey. You catch more flies with sugar, my dear old Granny Ruthie used to say.”
“You didn’t have a dear old granny. Ruthie was a mean old woman who used to dose us with that awful worm medicine and send us out to buy her cigarettes, remember? She never even let us keep the change. We hated her.”
“Figure of speech. That weasel in the corner store sold them to us, too. He’d never get away with that these days. What I’m trying to get across to you, sweetie, is that you’re not going to find eligible men hanging off lilac bushes, y’know. You have to be a little friendlier. Men like friendlier. And sexy. I don’t want to criticize, but that paint all over your arms and neck doesn’t do a thing for you—it’s in your hair, too. Come over and collect your birthday present, because you need a new do. And at the moment, you’re bordering on anorexic. Aren’t you eating?”
Bella put her cup down—one accident a day with coffee was enough. She leaned toward her friend. “Niki. Read my lips. Gordon left me ten days ago, I have debts you wouldn’t believe, my kids are acting out, to put it mildly and my mother is threatening to arrive at the door any minute.”
“I thought Mae was happy over there in Blue Hair Haven, or whatever it’s called.”
“She was, until I told her about Gordon. Now she doesn’t think I’m capable of raising Josh and Kelsey on my own, and figures we ought to pool resources, seeing that we’re both abandoned women. As if I need any more suggestions about decorating and single parenting, or snide remarks about how I drove Gordon away by being a short-tempered shrew.”
Niki shook her head. “You? Testy, maybe. What did she give you for your birthday?” Mae’s inappropriate gifts had always made them both laugh.
“She outdid herself.” Bella opened the catch-all drawer and pulled out a thick book. “Ta-da.”
Niki took it. The Dummy’s Guide to Living Well? She snorted, and then erupted into giggles. “She has outdone herself this time.”
Bella had to smile. “I thought so. The Dummy’s Guide to Poverty might have been a wiser choice.” She grew sober, remembering how close she was to bankruptcy. “I had no idea how much in debt we are. Gordon was an accountant, and he was supposed to be managing the money. Instead, he’d let the house mortgage lapse, the lease on the store is three months in arrears and our overdraft is maxed out. The business is in the toilet, and there’s nothing to do but shut it down. I have to somehow sell off what stock I can and get this place in good enough shape to sell. And I have to do it all fast, because I have no money.”
“You didn’t tell Charlie boy that, I hope? Because guys tend to get a wee bit nervous if you mention money right off the bat.”
“Of course I didn’t.” Actually, Bella wasn’t too sure what she’d said to him. She was pretty much nuts these days, and not responsible for what came out of her mouth. “Anyhow, there is no way I want anything to do with another man unless he’s a filthy rich plumber slash handyman slash landscape gardener, who loves to paint and has his own home.” She ran out of breath and gulped. “So no more men. Not now, and probably not ever.”
Niki wasn’t impressed. “You’ll change your mind. Your libido will kick in, and when it does you’ll remember this hunky real-estate cop and regret the way you acted.”
“Not in this lifetime. Now, are you going to help me paint and let me whine some more about my problems, or are you just going to keep lecturing me about hormones?”
“Whine away. And do you have something truly awful—like what you’re wearing—that I can change into? Because I don’t want to get paint on this dress. It’s pretty hot, and it’s going to drive Tom crazy. I just bought it at the New to You on Dunbar. This end of town is a gold mine for expensive secondhand clothes.”
“I’ll get you that purple track suit of mine.”
Niki groaned. “If I should fall off the ladder wearing it, do not let the paramedics in the door until you get me back into my dress.”
“You are so vain.”
“I know. It’s one of my strengths.”
Bella surprised herself and laughed.
Niki looked pleased. “There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Not around you, you whacko.” Bella put an arm around Niki’s shoulders and hugged her tight. “I’m so glad you’re here. The thought of painting the downstairs in eight hours or less makes me dizzy and sick.”
“It’s not the painting that’s doing that, it’s hunger. When did you last eat a whole mess of greasy, fried junk food?”
“That would have been the day before Gordon left, when we ordered pizza and chicken wings. Can’t afford order-in anymore.”
“Yeah, well, I’m ordering in right now. You want anchovies? Pineapple? Zucchini? My treat, Mrs. Angelino tipped me forty bucks for making her hair look thick. And I refuse to paint on an empty stomach.”
“No anchovies. Pineapple’s fine. How’d you manage that? The thick hair thing, I mean.”
“There’s this polymer stuff, that coats each strand and puffs it up, at least until you wash it again, but Mrs. Angelino’s from the old school. She only washes her hair once every two weeks or so, when it starts to smell, so she’s good to go for a while.”
Niki dialed and ordered two extra-large, loaded. She donned Bella’s purple track suit and set to work on the dining-room wall, first painting a four-letter word across it, so she’d have to finish it before the kids got back.
When the pizza arrived, Bella found she was actually hungry.
Chomping down on her second slice, she told Niki about the harmonica.
“I bought it for myself, for my birthday. The day before, actually. I was reading the astrology column and found out I was born on the same day as John Lennon and Jackson Browne. I probably should have returned it—it was expensive—but I’ve been blowing in it every night, so it’s too late now. I can play ‘Three Blind Mice.’ Want to hear?”
Niki shuddered. “Not if I can avoid it. What made you go for a mouth organ? My uncle Popeye used to play one, remember?”
Bella nodded. “So did my dad. He played and I’d dance.”
“You were so close to him. Weird you never heard from him after he left.”
“Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.” When Bella was fifteen, Oscar Howard had left Mae and waltzed off into the Florida sunshine with Dinah Flynn, the neighborhood widow slash home wrecker, never to be heard from again.
Long time ago, Bella, she reminded herself now. Don’t go there. Sufficient unto the moment is the pain thereof.
She and Niki ate and talked and painted for the rest of the afternoon, and when first Kelsey and then Josh arrived home, the teens were so happy to see Niki and the leftover pizza they even forgot to be rude.
If only she could bottle essence of Niki, Bella thought later that evening. She knew her friend had challenges of her own—Niki and Tom wanted a big family, but after twelve years of marriage and many consultations with experts, they still hadn’t managed to get pregnant. Niki was now thirty-nine, and time was running out. She joked about each procedure she went through, making it sound ludicrous and funny, and she never complained.
The problems she’d started out with that morning were still the same, Bella thought, sinking into a tub of scented hot water. They just seemed a lot less important after a healthy dose of her friend’s slightly outrageous humor.
Bella even chuckled, remembering the fiasco with the coffee cup and the real-estate cop. Charlie boy, Niki had called him.
At least she didn’t have to worry about Charlie boy ever coming back.
CHAPTER TWO
HE WAS GOING TO HAVE TO find a way to soften her up, Charlie decided as he’d climbed into his battered Ford truck and backed out of Bella’s driveway. He was going to get the listing for her house, even if it damn near killed him.
“It’s an FSBO, a tough one,” Rick had warned, using the acronym that meant for sale by owner. “The location’s prime, and there’s a thousand dollar bonus in it for anybody who changes her mind. Why not give it a shot, bro?”
Charlie knew that everyone else in the office had already tried to get the listing. Being low man on the totem pole, he also knew they were likely laying bets with Rick that he, the new boy, couldn’t change the lady’s mind, either.
Charlie longed to prove them wrong. It wasn’t that he had a knack for selling real estate. So far, he pretty much hated it. He was a lousy salesman and he knew it. He was far too inclined to point out water stains on the ceiling and signs of dry rot in the attic. But he had to earn a living, and the career options for an ex-cop who was also a recovering alcoholic, had alimony payments to meet and a daughter in university, weren’t good.
He needed a sale, and he needed it soon. Vancouver real estate was hot; everybody knew that. As Rick had told him far too many times, here was his chance to get out of the financial hole he’d dug for himself since he left the police force. His brother had never said it, but Charlie was all too aware that he also needed to pay back the sizable amount he’d borrowed from Rick. Becoming a licensed real-estate agent didn’t come cheap, and Rick had been generous.
So Charlie had screwed up his courage and knocked on the lady’s door.
He fingered the gash on his forehead and grinned. Spunky, he’d give her that. And sexy—there was something about the way she moved. Skinny. Stubborn. Intense. Challenging. He needed to figure out some angle that would break through her defenses.
That house of hers needed work. She was okay with a paintbrush, but he hadn’t noticed any carpentry tools around. She wouldn’t be painting it herself if she could afford to hire someone. And her husband had done a runner. Surely there were all sorts of possibilities. He just had to use his imagination, which was about all he had for collateral.
THE FOLLOWING THURSDAY afternoon, Bella was in the washroom at Monroe’s, splashing cold water on her face in an attempt to wake herself up enough to get through to closing time in an hour and a half. She’d started falling asleep in the afternoon, head down on the counter, dozing on the receipt forms. She still wasn’t sleeping at night, but at least she could now play three songs on the harmonica she’d bought for her birthday. “Golden Slippers” had been especially tough, but she’d conquered it.
Her body was telling her that naps were in order, but taking them at the store wasn’t exactly reassuring to the slow but steady stream of customers the closeout sale had attracted.
From the bathroom she heard the ding that told her another customer had just come in. She hastily dried her face and curled her eyelashes. At least that might make her look semiconscious.
She emerged to find Charlie Fredricks standing in front of the pyramid of paint cans she’d erected in the middle of the room.
Bella walked toward him and stopped just inside what should be his comfort zone. She knew from experience that was one sure way of making troublesome customers head for the door.
“Can I help you?” She made herself meet his gray-green eyes—arresting eyes for a guy with such dark hair, she thought again.
“I think we can help each other.”
“Oh, yeah? And just what makes you think that?”
“You’re closing out, right?” He pointed at the bright red sign in the window.
“Whatever gave you that idea?” Her sarcasm was thick as jam.
He gave her a steady look. “Do you want to discuss business or just trade insults?”
“What sort of business? Because if this has anything to do with you selling my house, I’m not interested.”
One of his eyebrows went up. “You’re not interested in selling your house?”
She put her hands on nonexistent hips. “Don’t play word games, I’m not in the mood.”
“Okay, here’s the deal. I’m the low man at my brother’s agency, and I’ve been given the listings that nobody can move. Shotgun shacks, Rick calls them, because it would mean holding a buyer at gunpoint to get an offer. There are three of them, and they all need work, to put it mildly.”
“Who owns them? Why isn’t the owner fixing them up?”
“They’re all owned by an absentee landlord. He lives elsewhere, and he’s been renting these dumps out. Now that real estate is high, he wants to unload them, and I’d like to sell them, if only to spite the ones at the office who think I’m riding on my brother’s coattails.” He moved away from her, seemingly intent on a rack of screwdrivers.
“Are you?” She boosted herself up on the counter. This was getting interesting.
He shrugged. He had good shoulders under that denim jacket, and she was relieved to see he’d gotten the bloodstains out. “At the moment, yeah, after a fashion. My brother paid for my real-estate course. See, if I move these babies, the owner will give us listings on other properties he owns, more expensive properties. Problem is, he wants top dollar for them.”
“And Rick will benefit if you make this guy happy.”
“I’ll benefit, too. I’ll earn the commissions. I’ve shown them lots of times to people who think they want a fixer-upper, but these go way beyond the basics.”
“So they’re more like tear-downers?”
He blew out a frustrated breath. “A couple of developers have looked at them with the thought of tearing them down, but the owner wants too much for them to make it feasible. So the only answer is make them look better.”
He turned and came back to where she sat, putting one hand on either side of her. Clearly, perching on the counter had been a tactical mistake. Maybe she was higher than Charlie, but he was way too close. She could see how thick his hair grew on top of his head. And he smelled very pleasantly of coffee and soap.
“I don’t have a clue about colors and decorating,” he admitted, looking straight into her eyes. “And I can’t stand painting. But I can do minor repairs, carpentry, some electrical work and plumbing.” He took his hands away and drew in a deep breath. “So this is what I thought. You need to sell your house, but it could use a bit of work, too. It looked to me as if you’re pretty good with a paintbrush—I liked what you were doing to your walls that day.” A grin came and went. “What I saw of them before you booted me out on my ass, that is. But that so-called powder room of yours should really be finished, your landscaping is nonexistent and the kitchen could stand backsplash tile and some molding.”
Gordon had wanted the house. The contractor who built it had gone bankrupt and the asking price had been well below market value, because it wasn’t finished. She wasn’t about to tell Charlie all that. Instead she tried for righteous indignation. “You nosed around quite a bit while I was upstairs.”
“What can I say?” He’d probably used that crooked grin before to get his way. “I’m a curious guy, and I’m also pretty good with landscaping. So here’s the deal, Bella. I can call you Bella, right?”
“Suit yourself.”
“If you supply the paint for my listings and do some of the scut work to help me spruce them up a bit, I’ll do what I can with your garden and also put in a toilet and shower for you. I can show you how to tile. It’s a valuable thing to learn.”
Bella didn’t answer right away. She got down from the counter and stood looking at him, wondering what his ulterior motive was. He had to have one. People didn’t just wander in off the street with offers to help her solve some of her immediate problems.
“How come you don’t just hire painters for those shotgun houses? There’s lots of painters around. I have a list as long as your arm.” She just couldn’t afford to hire them herself.
“Same reason you don’t. I don’t have a whole helluva lot of spare change at the moment.”
“How come? You were a cop—don’t you have a pension? And everyone says the real-estate market’s hot in Vancouver now. I thought all Realtors were practically millionaires.”
“Think again. Selling real estate is no easy road. Sure, I wrote my exam and passed the course, but you need contacts. You need listings. You need clients. You also need a ‘patter,’ which I seem to lack, according to my wildly successful brother.”
“Too honest?” She meant it to be sarcastic.
He squinted at her and nodded. “Could be.”
“So what about that solid pension?”
“I didn’t have pensionable service. I worked for a contractor after I left the force, doing rough laboring jobs to meet expenses. See, I have a daughter in university and an ex who isn’t working. All of which means I don’t have much of a bankroll.”
Okay. God knows Bella could understand being broke. She wondered what his reasons were for leaving the police force to work as a laborer, but she didn’t ask. Even in her present state of mind, that felt too much like prying.
She thought over what he was suggesting. “I don’t have a lot of spare time,” she finally said. “The store will close at the end of the month, which is about twelve days from now, and then I’ll be unemployed. But until then…” She gestured with an arm. “I don’t have employees. I have to be here.”
“Time is one thing I do have,” he said with a smile, flashing those good straight teeth. “So I could start working at your house during the day, while you’re here. Unless you figure I’d walk off with the silverware.”
“Huh. If I’d had any, Gordon would have taken it,” she snapped.
“Gordon being your husband?”
“My so-called husband. Soon to be ex, if I can locate him to serve him papers. And get the damn Volvo back.”
“He took your car?”
The familiar sense of outrage returned. “The brand-new car we leased together. He drove off with it, along with every last cent we had, plus a bundle he got from our charge cards.”
“So you’re stuck with the lease payments.”
“Right. And the mortgage, and the rent, and the overdue invoices, and the credit-card debt. And he knew the business was doomed.” She could hear a hint of hysteria creeping into her voice. “There’s my kids’ dental bills, groceries, school fees…”
He whistled. “Gordon sounds like someone you’re well rid of.”
“Thank you. You’re a very perceptive man.” Bella realized she was smiling at him, and quickly scowled instead. What did she know about him, really?
“I still have contacts, and I could probably help you find him if you wanted to.”
Now that was interesting. “You could? I really want to get that Volvo back. As far as Gordon goes, he can stay lost for all I care. But I think it’s a case of find him, find the car.”
“Where do you figure he is?”
“Mexico. He lived down there before we were married, and he’s fluent in Spanish.” It was one thing they’d had in common, their interest in the language. In fact, it was how they’d met, at a night-school class. He’d taught her how to swear in Spanish.
“Write down all the particulars.”
She grabbed a pad and pen and scribbled down age, weight, height and name.
“Big country. Any location come to mind?”
“West coast, I’d guess. He spent time in the Puerto Vallarta area before we were married. And we went there for our honeymoon.”
Bella handed him the paper, with Gordon’s full name and description, and the Volvo’s license plate number and color.
“I’ll need a photo.”
“Damn, I tore them all up and burned them.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Kidding. Okay, I can hunt one up.”
“A minute ago you were looking at me as if I was pulling a con.” Charlie laughed at her surprised expression. “You know, your face really is an open book.”
He pulled out his wallet. “Here’s my driver’s license, my Realtor’s ID, my social insurance number. I’ll give you my brother’s cell number, my mother’s name and my home address. You’re welcome to check me out. In fact, being a former cop, I’d recommend you do exactly that.”
Bella glanced at the pile of cards, but only for a moment.
“I don’t need these. All I have to do is call my mother and give her your name and she’ll know everything about you in ten minutes, including whether or not you dye your hair. She has an amazing network of blue-haired sleuths.”
He stuck his wallet back in his pocket. “Whatever works for you. I just want you to know I’m a man of my word.”
“Yeah? Well, it doesn’t run in the family, then.” Bella’s voice hardened. “I told your brother up front I was selling my own house, and he said no problem—he’d help me with pricing. Public service, he said. And then he sent every real-estate person in Greater Vancouver after me.”
Charlie nodded. “Rick tends to be a bit overenthusiastic about his work.”
“No kidding.” A customer had come in, but for the moment he was browsing among the nails and screws. “How did you end up working for him? I mean, wouldn’t it be less stressful with strangers?”
Charlie glanced at the customer and lowered his voice. “Probably. Unfortunately, no other person recognized my incredible potential.”
“You couldn’t get a job anywhere else.”
His smile was rueful. “You could say that. So, Bella Monroe, what’s your decision on my really excellent proposal?”
She looked at him seriously. She knew you couldn’t tell by a person’s appearance whether he was honest or not, but you could tell whether or not he might recognize the business end of a shovel and a hammer.
She liked the way Charlie met her eyes and held her gaze. His face was weathered, good-humored and lived-in, with smile lines radiating out from his mouth and bracketing his eyes. She liked the fact that he looked strong and that his nails weren’t manicured—in fact, several of them were cracked and all of them were cut short. His big hands looked as if he’d done his share of manual labor. And he didn’t have any sign of a potbelly, the soft, little kind that Gordon had been working on.
Quite emphatically not. This guy’s body tapered in quite an interesting fashion down from his significant chest, inside its checked green shirt, into narrow blue jeans worn low on his hips. Not designer jeans; these looked more like the kind you bought at the Army and Navy. Utilitarian.
She said slowly, “I guess we could give it a try. When would you start?”
He shrugged. “No time like the present. I could go over to your place right now, take some measurements in that bathroom and figure out what we’re going to need in the way of materials.” He glanced around. “You’ve probably got most of the stuff we’ll need right here. I can pick up the rest at Foster’s.”
She gave him a look. “Wash your mouth. I’d drive to Richmond for an hour in rush-hour traffic to buy a single washer rather than shop at Foster’s. They’re the reason I’m being forced out of business. A small hardware store like this can’t compete with a big-box store like that.”
He shrugged. “A guy I know says we never know what anything is for. Maybe what seems a disaster for you right now might turn out okay in the long run.”
“Oh, yeah? My mother has some of those sayings, too, such as, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Which makes me want to be sick.”
His laugh was low and deep and even gentle, and sounded as if he meant it. As if he was genuinely amused. But amused or not, there was no way she was handing over house keys to a relative stranger. She told him so.
“I can understand that—it’s wise on your part. How about I go over there and assess the landscaping issue, then? I didn’t take a close look the other day, but I did get the general impression it was sort of like an undeveloped parking lot.”
“The guy who was building it went bankrupt before he could finish. My soon-to-be ex wanted to live in a posh neighborhood, and that about sums it up.” What harm could it do to have him look around outside? “I’ll be home in—” She squinted at the clock. “Less than an hour. My kids should be there around the same time. We can make a list of supplies, then. Do you happen to have a pickup?” Monroe’s had people with trucks who would deliver orders, but using them was expensive.
“I do, lived-in but reliable. See you in an hour.”
The minute he was gone, she had second thoughts. If Charlie did what he said and she managed to sell the house, she’d be too busy finding a place to rent and getting settled to do much painting for him. And how many houses was he talking about here? Just the three he’d mentioned, or had she just made a commitment that could last the rest of her natural life?
The good thing was she hadn’t signed anything.
The bad thing; neither had he.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN SHE DROVE up to her house an hour later, a battered old blue Ford pickup was parked at the curb and a red wheelbarrow was positioned beside Charlie Fredricks, who was already digging, turning over clods of earth and putting them into the barrow.
“Hey,” he called cheerfully. He’d stripped off his green shirt and put on a ratty old, long-sleeved tee. His pants were different, too—jeans still, but old and holey in the knees. He’d changed into brown, well-worn work boots.
“What are you doing?” She eyed the growing pile of clods.
“Making a berm, first one over there and then we’ll see.” His voice was excited, eager. “You have to imagine a garden as a series of rooms. I thought we’d make this the entrance hall, raised beds of flowers, trees along here to shelter the sidewalk…Which is going to be shaped irregularly, winding slowly to the front door. It makes it interesting for guests. And it’s good feng shui.”
Entrance hall? Feng shui? She glanced at him, thinking he must be joking, but he looked as serious as he ever did—which wasn’t very. His face was so good-humored that he always seemed on the verge of a smile. Bella told herself she found that irritating. Nobody could be in a good mood all the time.
“Your youngsters are in the house. I suggested they might want to help, but they weren’t too enthusiastic.”
No kidding. Getting them to do anything remotely productive these days was almost more effort than it was worth.
“I’ll see if I can change their minds about that.” Bella decided she’d rout them out and do some digging herself before dinner. It would be good to do something out of doors, together. The day was typically overcast, but it wasn’t cold and it wasn’t raining, both of which were bonuses.
Inside the front door, she tripped over Kelsey’s book bag and then kicked aside Josh’s trainers. A trail of cookie crumbs and tortilla chips led from the kitchen to the den. Bella followed.
Josh was sprawled on the sofa, television turned up to an earsplitting level as a NASCAR race unfolded. Two empty soda cans, a flattened milk carton and discarded cookie package lay on the carpet, along with more crumbs.
Bella picked up the remote and turned off the TV.
“Hey.” Josh sat up. “Chill, Mom. I was watching that.”
“You can watch television later. Right now I’d like you to pick up this mess, put on some old clothes and come outside. We’re all going to work in the garden.”
“Says who?” His tone was verging on insolent. “The dude out there with the old truck?”
“Says me.” Determined not to lose her patience, Bella tried reason. “I have to sell this house, and in order to do that and make some money so we can move and keep on buying groceries, it has to be landscaped. I don’t know how to do anything with a garden, but Mr. Fredricks has offered to help. C’mon, it could even be fun.”
“I’ve got homework.”
“Well, you weren’t exactly working on it. You can do your homework after dinner.”
Muttering under his breath, Josh headed for the stairs. Bella looked at the mess he was leaving behind and decided one battle at a time was just about enough.
Upstairs, Kelsey’s door was closed. When there was no answer in response to her knock, Bella opened it. Piles of clothing covered the floor. Kelsey reclined against her pillows on the unmade bed, grubby shoes resting on the sheets. She was eating chocolate ice cream and was listening to her iPod. Until Bella was standing over her, she didn’t even notice her mother was there.
Kelsey slowly removed the ear buds.
“Yes, Mother?” She took another spoonful of ice cream and raised one eyebrow.
A scant year ago, when she was twelve, Kelsey had still hugged Bella at bedtime and even kissed her goodbye before leaving for school. At thirteen, she’d become something of a changeling, who made no secret of the fact that she had no desire to be in the same room with her mother. The best Bella could expect these days was strained politeness.
“This room is a pigsty.” She hadn’t intended to say that, but the handmade, black velvet quilt Kelsey had begged for last Christmas was tossed into a corner, and the closet door was open, revealing a nest of tumbled clothing, shoes and damp bath towels. And was that Bella’s pink cashmere sweater rolled in a ball on the dresser? She walked over to reclaim it, and saw it had a huge stain across the front, something that looked like ink.
“This is my best sweater. What did you do to this, Kelsey, use it as a blotter?”
Her daughter shrugged. “So, did you come in here just to rail at me?”
“No, I did not.” Bella tried for a calming breath. “Get up and put some old clothes on. We’re going to dig up the front yard and plant a garden.”
“Garden? No, thanks.” Kelsey screwed her face into an expression of disgust. “Besides, nobody does their own gardening, Mother.”
“You’re wrong there. Lots of our neighbors on Maple Street used to grow gardens.” Bella felt homesick for their old neighborhood. She felt homesick for their old life. “I’ll bet lots of people here do, too. You just can’t see them behind those huge hedges. Prince Charles is a gardener, for heaven’s sake.”
“Yeah, right. I’ll bet Prince William doesn’t have a thing for shovels and stuff.”
“Well, unfortunately for you, you’re not Prince William. So put that ice cream carton in the garbage before it does any more damage, and from now on, do not lie on that bed with your shoes on. I’ll expect you outside in ten minutes.”
Bella got out before she lost it. Barely.
But her own bedroom wasn’t that much of an improvement over Kelsey’s, she noted. Empty coffee cups littered the floor beside the bed and a bottle of melatonin lay on its side on the bedside table.
She took off her work clothes—cords and a sweater—and put on older cords and a tee, topping it off with the purple, long-sleeved sweatshirt Niki had complained about last Sunday. It had paint splotches, but what the heck? It was fine for digging dirt.
Kelsey and Josh were waiting in the front hall. They might have looked slightly more cheerful if they were going to prison. Bella felt sorry for them. Their lives had changed almost as much as hers had. But they were all just going to have to get used to it.
She led the way out the door and down the steps. Charlie was still effortlessly moving piles of dirt from one area to another. He waved cheerfully, and Bella introduced her kids.
“Josh, Kelsey, this is Mr. Fredricks.”
“Call me Charlie. Pleased to meet you,” he said.
Josh and Kelsey didn’t reply.
Bella was about to call them on their lack of manners when Charlie said, “There’s shovels in the truck. You can start digging out the base for the sidewalk, marked out with that yellow cord. It needs to be six inches deep and relatively even. When we get it dug, I’ll put in forms for the concrete.”
Sure enough, two parallel yellow cords stretched in a gently curving line from the edge of the property to the front door.
Josh muttered, “A sidewalk? Is this guy nuts?”
Kelsey huffed, “Daddy would never make me do this.”
Too true. Daddy never did anything himself.
Bella led the way to the truck and lifted three long-handled spades from the bed. She distributed them and tried to inject enthusiasm into her tone. “Come on, let’s get started. How hard can it be?”
Within minutes, she found out. Charlie came over and showed them how to sink the spade into the ground by holding the handle tight and jumping on the blade. He made it look simple.
“Make your cuts on a slight angle, and try to make the clumps of sod a uniform shape,” he instructed, handing the shovel back to Bella. “You try it. You might want to find some work gloves first, though.”
“I don’t think I have any.”
He walked over to the truck, rummaged under the front seat and then handed her a filthy pair of gloves. Grimacing, she slipped them on.
The first time she tried to cut the sod, she slipped off the side of the shovel and gouged her ankle. It hurt, but, determined to set a good example, she ignored the pain and tried again. This time, the shovel penetrated the earth three inches, and she felt the reverberation all the way up to her skull.
“Why don’t you give it a go, son?” Charlie gestured at Josh, who slowly let go of his shovel. It fell to the ground, narrowly missing Charlie’s foot.
“Last time I checked, you weren’t my father,” Josh said.
Charlie stared at him briefly, then nodded. “You’re right, that was patronizing. I apologize.”
After a tense moment, Bella said sharply, “Josh. I didn’t raise you to be rude.”
With obvious reluctance, he shook Charlie’s outstretched hand, and then everyone breathed again.
“Okay, let’s start over,” Charlie said. “How about taking a stab at digging out this sidewalk, Josh?” He reached down, picked up the shovel and held it out.
Josh accepted the shovel, positioned it and stepped down hard. A clump of earth came free, and he lobbed it into the wheelbarrow with energy probably generated by rage.
Charlie ignored Josh’s temper. He turned back to what he’d been doing, and Bella went back to trying to get her shovel to sink more than an inch into the ground. Kelsey made her own halfhearted effort, and when it didn’t work, she started back toward the house.
“Kelsey, you can come over here and start piling these blocks up in a berm if you want,” Charlie called to her.
“I don’t want to, and I have no idea what he’s talking about,” she said in an undertone.
“Go, and be polite,” Bella ordered. “He’ll explain.”
With the speed of a caterpillar, the girl made her way across the yard. Charlie began talking to her, and soon Kelsey was gingerly lifting clods of earth and building them into a long, irregularly shaped hillock.
For the next hour, Bella did her best to establish a work ethic for her children. Her arms ached, her foot still hurt from the shovel and her back was sore from heaving clods of earth into the wheelbarrow, but she persevered until exhaustion got the best of her.
“I think that’s enough for today,” she finally gasped, glancing at her watch and trying to pretend she wasn’t on the verge of a heart attack. “I’ll just…I’ll go in and make some dinner.” Hoping he’d refuse, she added without enthusiasm, “Will you join us, Charlie?” After the work he’d accomplished in spite of their help, she really had no choice except to invite him.
“Thanks, that would be great.”
“Mom, can I come in with you?” Kelsey, as dirty as Bella had ever seen her, gave her a beseeching glance. “Please, Mom?”
“Sure.” Bella glanced over at Josh. He still looked grim, but he was methodically driving the shovel into the ground and digging out clumps. Sweat was running down his forehead.
“Okay, dinner in about an hour, men.” She was trying to figure out just what dinner might consist of, and she was failing miserably.
“C’mon, Kelsey.” As they made their way into the house, Bella thought it was probably the first time in months her daughter had looked eager to go anywhere with her.
Bella muttered under her breath, “Now what am I going to make?” The cupboards were close to bare and she had no money to order pizza.
“There’s hamburger in the freezer,” Kelsey said. “We could make that stuff with macaroni and tomatoes and cheese that you used to cook sometimes when we were little.”
Bella thought she’d pass out from shock. Kelsey, noticing frozen hamburger? Suggesting a dinner menu?
“I just happened to see the package when I was getting ice cream,” she said in a defensive tone.
“I’m glad you did,” Bella told her. “Shipwreck, that stuff was called.” Perfect for their current situation. And it was one of the very few things she actually knew how to make without a cookbook. “That’s a great idea. Let’s wash up and get started.”
“I can’t, Mom.” The whine was back. “I have homework. And I’m writing Daddy a letter, for when we know his new address.”
“Right. Well, you can finish all that the minute we’re done eating, and I’ll get Josh to help me with dishes. You did volunteer to help make dinner, Kelsey, and I’m holding you to it. You can chop onions and start browning them, while I thaw the meat and cook macaroni.”
Kelsey pulled a face and held out her soil-stained hands. “After I have a shower, right?”
“That’s not a bad idea. I’m filthy myself.”
By the time Charlie and Josh came in to wash up, Bella had pulled together a meal with Kelsey’s help. They’d set out the food on the island in the kitchen, and had actually had a peaceful, productive conversation about how best to chop onions and brown hamburger.
“This is great,” Charlie enthused, reaching for another of the baking powder biscuits Kelsey had whipped up at the last minute. Bella had watched her in amazement, wondering where this self-confident young cook had sprung from.
“We learned to make them in school,” Kelsey explained. “They’re, like, soooo easy.”
“I pretty much live on takeout or frozen dinners, so having a home-cooked meal is a real treat,” Charlie remarked, slathering butter on a biscuit.
“I don’t really do much cooking myself,” Bella had to confess.
“No kidding, Mom,” Josh agreed. “You haven’t made this stuff in a long time.”
“Glad you like it.” She hadn’t made anything from scratch in ages. Bella, too, had been relying heavily on takeout and frozen dinners.
Being Mae’s daughter, she’d never really learned to cook, apart from a limited number of dishes along the lines of shipwreck. Her mom had alternately nagged Bella about being too skinny and then produced dishes that were all but inedible.
And lately, Bella had felt too stressed and overworked and angry with Gordon to concoct even one of her simplest standbys. Which was ironic, because now, when she was really stressed and overworked, making a meal from inexpensive ingredients was a financial necessity.
“Josh,” Charlie said when they were done eating, “where’s that list we made of materials? I forgot to add bonemeal and we’ll need that to give the new trees and bushes a head start when we put them in the ground.”
Josh pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and scribbled in it, then handed it to Charlie.
“I have a meeting tomorrow morning, but maybe you want to come with me after school to pick this stuff up?”
Josh shook his head. “Can’t. Basketball practice,” he said.
“What position do you play?”
“Center.”
“Your team win any games?”
“About half. We’ve got a good coach, but a lot of the guys don’t play very hard.” Josh suddenly remembered to be bored. “I’m only doing it because we get extra credits for sports. It’s basically a dumb game.”
“It can be rough, that’s for sure. That’s how I got my nose broken the first time. What sports do you really enjoy?”
“Squash. But we don’t have any squash courts at school.”
Bella knew Josh hadn’t played squash more than a half-dozen times. He was only mentioning it because Gordon had repeatedly said how good he’d been at the game. Not that Gordon had played more than a dozen times, either, as far as Bella could remember. And never with Josh.
Charlie said, “Rick belongs to the Point Grey Athletic Club, and they have courts there. Maybe you’d like to have a game sometime?”
The teen shrugged, concentrating on his empty plate. “Yeah. I guess. Maybe. Sometime. Can I be excused, Mom?”
“Yes, and please load the dishes in the dishwasher for me. And could you wash the pots by hand? Kelsey helped make the meal, and I told her you’d do cleanup.”
“Ahh, mom. I’ve got homework.”
Bella raised her eyebrows. “Strange, how whenever I have a job for you to do, you remember your homework.”
“Yeah, well, you’re always on me to get good grades, right?”
Charlie stood up and began stacking dishes. “How about I give you a hand? That way it won’t take long.”
“I can do it,” Josh muttered.
“No problem. Where are the garbage bags?”
It was obvious Josh didn’t want Charlie helping, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Sullenly, he banged pots into the sink as Charlie scraped and rinsed plates for the dishwasher. Kelsey beat a fast retreat up the stairs.
Way too tired to get involved in any more domestic skirmishes, Bella poured herself a cup of coffee and slunk into the living room.
“I’ll come and join you as soon as we’re done,” Charlie promised.
That wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind. She’d been hoping he’d leave right after dinner, but just like with Josh, there wasn’t a lot she could do about it. She sank into an armchair and propped her feet on a stool.
She was beginning to ache in places she’d never noticed before, when Charlie came in and made himself comfortable on the sofa. He’d changed his work clothes for his clean jeans and shirt before dinner, and he’d used a wet comb on his hair; the track marks still showed.
Now, if she were Niki, she’d label him hot. Lucky she wasn’t the least bit interested.
“I drew up a master plan for your garden,” he said, pulling a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. “Come over and have a look, and see what you think.” He patted the sofa.
Bella got up and sat beside him, a reasonable distance away.
“I thought we’d make it as low-maintenance as possible, since that’s always a good selling point. These days, people don’t have time to devote to a garden that requires a lot of upkeep. So we’ll use trees and bushes that are indigenous to the coast, we’ll put down bark mulch and install underground sprinklers. No lawn, no mowing, and not even many weeds. What do you think?”
Bella peered at the paper in his hands. She could smell him—a mélange of soap, some residual sweat and essence of Charlie.
Pheromones. Niki had told her all about them. The little buggers were working overtime right now.
Bella said, “A sprinkler system sounds expensive.”
“I know a guy who’ll put it in for a reasonable price.”
“Even reasonable is going to be way beyond my budget.”
“Well, maybe we can work some sort of a trade with him.”
“As in…?” She was so worn out, she found herself thinking of making a joke about sexual favors. As if anyone would consider her current body highly desirable. Always on the skinny side, she’d lost seven or eight pounds over the last few weeks. And what was left of her chest struck her as rather sad.
Yet, the thought of what a man would be doing messing with her chest or pelvic bones still sent warmth rushing to her nether regions. And not just any man. It was ridiculous to be so aware of Charlie. They were simply sitting on a sofa, his right leg a good foot away from her left leg. It went to prove that basic sexual instincts were hot-wired in.
Fortunately, Charlie was oblivious to her X-rated thinking. “I’d have to talk to him, figure out what he needs that we might be able to supply,” he mused. “You’ve probably got plastic pipe and other stuff at the hardware store he could use.”
“I do have plastic pipe for irrigation, and some of the valves, as well.”
“Great. But we’ll need to buy plants and flowers and trees, although I’ll get what I can for free. I know a gardener who often has stuff he’s discarding. Plus, we’ll need ready mix for the sidewalk.”
“How much will that come to?”
“Maybe three, four thousand, for both cement and plantings. But the difference it will make in the selling price of your house will be in the tens of thousands.”
Bella gulped. There were always going to be expenses she couldn’t avoid. Somehow, she’d have to find the money to cover them. She was too weary to even worry about all that right now. She yawned, politely covering her mouth with her fingers, and then yawned again, not so politely. Her eyes watered and her jaw cracked.
“You’re beat.” He smiled at her.
“Sorry. I’m not used to digging, I guess.”
“I’ll go now, so you can get some rest, but I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. The sooner we get the work done, the sooner you can put out the FSBO.”
“FSBO?” She vaguely remembered Mae using the term, when Bella had told her she was selling the house herself. Her mother had been against it. Big surprise there. Mae was against almost every decision Bella had ever made—except the decision to marry Gordon. Mae had liked Gordon. Now why hadn’t that rung any warning bells?
“FSBO. It’s what we smart-alecky real-estate types call ‘for sale by owner.’”
“Aren’t you going to try and talk me out of that?”
“Nope. Of course, I’ll have to commit bodily harm if you ever breathe a word of this to my brother. But I think people have every right to sell their houses themselves.”
“Yikes. And after the campaign you waged, who knew? Well, thank you.” Bella actually beamed. And then she yawned a third time. “Sorry. I’m not very good company.”
He gave her a long, assessing look. “I wouldn’t say that. You’re honest and you’re entertaining. And you make great shipwreck.”
“So are puppies and little kids. Honest and entertaining, that is. And I can’t cook more than three basic things.” She felt absurdly disappointed that he hadn’t lied and said she was sexy, or attractive or even cute. Which was ridiculous, because she absolutely didn’t care what he thought of her.
“Don’t get up—I’ll see myself out. Good night, Bella. See you tomorrow.”
She took him at his word, because the thought of getting up was close to overwhelming. When she finally made it as far as the kitchen, she found it gleaming.
For the first night since Gordon had left, she slept all the way through until the alarm rang in the morning, and she woke up feeling rested and hungry. She ate cereal and toast and yogurt, and realized she was actually looking forward to the day ahead.
CHAPTER FOUR
BELLA’S SENSE OF well-being lasted until nine-twenty that morning, when the call came from Mr. Nordwick, the principal of Crofton.
After the move from the old neighborhood, Gordon had insisted Josh and Kelsey be enrolled in Crofton House, a private school. Against her better judgment, Bella had agreed. After all, she wanted her kids to have the best education available. She just hadn’t been convinced public school wasn’t providing it, and she still wasn’t certain about Crofton House. The endless stream of BMWs and high-end SUVs dropping off students every morning intimidated her. And Mr. Nordwick had way too much starch in his shorts, she decided now. His tone of voice was both annoyed and condescending.
“Ms. Monroe. As you know, Josh has already been absent once this past week.”
Absent? That was news to Bella. Nordwick went on, “And although you wrote a note explaining his absence, I wanted to speak with you.”
She hadn’t written any note. She opened her mouth to say so, but Nordwick was forging ahead. “He’s falling behind and hanging out with boys I consider troublemakers. He’ll have to do a lot of extra homework to make certain he stays abreast of his classes. Coincidentally, two of these other young men are also absent today.”
Stunned, Bella stammered, “Josh? He—he’s not at school? Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Bella said, “I didn’t know he was missing school. I had no idea.”
Mr. Nordwick’s voice changed. “You didn’t write a note saying he had to help with the final sale at your store?”
“No, I certainly didn’t. I’d never keep him out of school to work at the store. But I know he’s at school today, because I dropped him off there an hour ago.”
“Well, he must have left again, because he isn’t here. That’s why I’m calling you. Ms. Monroe, I have an automatic policy that after two absences within a short period of time, a parent is asked to come in and discuss the situation, so if you could come down…”
“I’ll do that, Mr. Nordwick, but first I have to find Josh.” Bella hung up without saying goodbye. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath, and her heart was pounding frantically. There were three customers in the store, and the moment she rang up their purchases and hurried them out, she locked the door and raced to the car.
Where could Josh be? Where would a fifteen-year-old boy go? The city was huge. Where would she begin to look?
Oh, God. What was he up to?
Frightening thoughts of drugs and violence and gangs brought a feeling of panic. Hands trembling on the wheel, Bella drove to the mall where her kids liked to hang out. After three frustrating trips around the lot, she finally found a parking spot and headed inside. Crowds filled the place, and she realized that finding Josh in here was going to be next to impossible.
After forty-five futile minutes, she gave up and went back to her car.
Cursing the traffic, she drove downtown, cruising along the major streets, eyeing the theatre lineups. If he’d already gone into a movie, there was no chance she’d find him. She drove slowly toward the harbor, trying not to imagine him hanging out with street kids, dope dealers, the sad little girls and boys out there selling themselves for money and drugs.
She knew her son was upset over his father’s desertion. Who knew how a teenager with raging hormones would handle such a traumatic event? She hated Gordon, truly hated him, for abandoning his children. Surely Josh wouldn’t be doing this if his dad hadn’t left.
Reason finally penetrated and she turned toward home, still frightened out of her wits. Who could she call? Who would help her find her son? The police? Maybe she should phone the cops. That’s what she’d do, she decided, pulling the car into the driveway.
A tiny part of her mind registered that the front of the house looked even worse than before, with fresh sod in clumps and an uneven trench where the sidewalk would be. She couldn’t think about that now. She walked past it all, unlocked the front door—and saw Josh’s trainers and book bag, dumped on the floor beside the coat closet.
He wasn’t in the den. Bella took the stairs two at a time, threw open his bedroom door and choked on a cloud of cigarette smoke. Rap music bombarded her.
Josh and a redheaded boy she didn’t recognize were sprawled across his unmade bed. Another boy she’d never seen before was reclining on the carpet. All of them held cigarettes and glasses of what Bella’s nose told her was brandy—her brandy. Sure enough, the empty bottle sat on the dresser. It had been close to full the last time she had noticed it.
“Josh Monroe, exactly what do you think you’re doing?” Bella’s voice could be clearly heard, even over the so-called music.
They all leaped to their feet. None of them was too steady. They looked dazed and loose-limbed and foolish.
Josh sported a silly half grin, and his face was flushed. He called over the music, “Hey, Ma, chill, okay? I can explain.”
“Turn. That. Noise. Off!”
Josh staggered over to the boom box, punched a button, and silence reigned. One of the boys edged past Bella and hurried down the stairs. The second, the one with red hair, began to gag, and made a headlong dash toward the bathroom. Bella heard the downstairs door slam. Rats and a sinking ship.
A cigarette someone had dropped smoldered on the carpet, and Bella hurried to retrieve it. “Have you taken total leave of your senses, Josh? Look at this carpet, it’s got a big burn mark, and it’s a miracle you didn’t burn the whole house down. And you lied to me, pretending you were at school, when all the time you…you…were playing hooky. It’s not the first time, either, is it?”
Words failed her. Realizing she was in serious danger of smacking her son across the ear, she backed away from him.
“Open that window. Clean up this mess. Get that boy in the bathroom out of here! And then I want to talk to you, young man.”
Feeling sick with both anger and worry, Bella went to the kitchen. She boiled water and made a cup of herbal tea, which was supposed to be calming, but didn’t help. In a short while, the red-haired boy came creeping down the stairs, took one hasty look at her and headed out the door.
At last Josh appeared. His face was pale and there was a distinct greenish cast to his skin. He slunk into the kitchen and dropped onto a stool. He kept his head down, not making eye contact.
“How could you, Josh?” Bella’s voice was trembling. “I’m having a rough time struggling to keep you in that school, and you’re not even attending it. Not only that, you brought strangers into this house, stole my liquor, smoked…Where did you get the cigarettes?”
Josh heaved a beleaguered sigh. “Aww, Ma, stop it. So we skipped out—school’s a big yawn, anyway. The cigarettes weren’t mine. The guys brought them. And that brandy’s been in the cupboard for at least a couple years. It’s not as if you were planning to use it anytime soon.”
Bella was speechless for a long moment. Then she said, “You get in the car. Now.”
He shook his head. “I’m gonna crash for a while. I don’t feel so hot.”
“Either you get in the car or I’ll have Mr. Nordwick drive over here. You’re going to tell him exactly what you and your so-called friends were doing.”
Josh was looking at her now, his hazel eyes filled with alarm. “Why would I tell old man Nordwick anything? He’s a mean old hard-ass. And I’m not squealing on my friends, so forget that.”
“You won’t have to. He knows exactly who you were with. And I’m sure he’ll give me their names and phone numbers, because I’m calling their parents and telling them exactly what went on here today. On the way to school, you can decide how best to apologize for your actions. There are going to be serious consequences. And there’ll be no more foul language around here, either.”
“What the hell? I don’t care what you do to me,” Josh said. “Why don’t you just send me to live with Dad? I don’t want to be around you, anyway. All you ever talk about is how short we are of money, and how much work there is to do in that damn yard. And if I stick around here, I’ll be changing schools all over again next semester—you told me and Kelse you can’t afford the fees at Crofton, remember? So what’s the difference if I skip out?”
“Go and get in the car.” Bella could hear the pain behind his accusations, but this wasn’t the time to address it. She had to carry through on her immediate plan.
He slammed the front door behind him, and Bella hurried to the window, afraid he’d bolt. But he was slumped in the car’s front seat when she went out. The drive to school was tense.
“I can smell the brandy on you,” she told him.
“Yeah, well, I feel like I’m going to barf. And my head hurts.”
“That’s called a hangover, Josh. And don’t even think of being sick in my car.”
She had to pull over to the curb after six blocks, while Josh vomited into a storm drain. Everyone on the street gave him a wide berth and stared at Bella.
At the school, Mr. Nordwick was in his office, and the secretary showed them in right away.
Bella explained what had happened, describing the other boys and asking for their names and phone numbers. “I feel their parents should be aware of what they’re up to, when they’re supposed to be in school.”
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