That evening, Robin arrived on his doorstep with a picnic dinner she had gotten from a very fine French restaurant. As Jake looked down at what was supposed to be lamb in a port wine glaze, he couldn't help wonder how much she had laid down for it. “Where did you get that?” he asked.
“ Pierre 's.”
He knew that name belonged to a fancy French restaurant. “What did that set you back?” he asked, a little more sharply than he would have liked.
Robin frowned. “What difference does it make?”
Jake wished for a burger.
They spent a quiet evening, Jake at his drafting table, working on a design for class. Next to him, at the dining room table, Robin's fingers were fast and furious on the calculator as she reviewed some numbers from work. She was restless, muttering under her breath and bouncing up a lot. She would stalk about the dining room, brushing past him, her hand trailing down his back, or through his hair. Jake liked this—it felt comfortable, as if they had been doing this all their lives.
He had completed a major portion of his design when Robin's arms suddenly shot up in the air. “Yes!” she exclaimed, then ran a hand through her messy curls, and smiled at him, eyes sparkling. “I got an e-mail from Girt. She said they just picked up a big seafood account that's going to pay for some box-pressing machines. Styrofoam boxes, here we come!”
“I remember when the word Styrofoam made you gag.”
“Not anymore, not since I figured out how profitable the chunky white stuff is. Come on, ask me anything. I can tell you whatever you want to know about thickness, consistency, and how to color it. Styrofoam need not just be white, you know.”
“First bubble wrap, now Styrofoam,” he said, shaking his head. “Your talents are amazing. What's next, shrink-wrap? How will anyone compete?”
“That's precisely the point, Hammerhead. Did you think Queen of Bubble Wrap was just some silly title I had given myself? Oh no!” She laughed, leaned back in her chair, and stretched her arms high. “Girt said David's still got that bug thing he had when we were there a while ago. She's really worried.”
A surprising shift in attitude about Girt, he couldn't help note. “Sounds like you guys are starting to be friends.”
Robin looked surprised. “It does?”
“Well, yeah, when you start talking about her kids and what she's doing. What would you call it?”
Robin gave a little laugh; her eyes fell to her laptop. "I don't know… it's just that we've been talking on and off
about her business, and these things sort of naturally pop up, I guess."
“That's how most friendships start,” he said with a chuckle.
Robin seemed to consider that for a moment, then firmly shook her head. “Girt and I have a lot in common, but not that much in common.”
She said it as if it were out of the question, completely impractical, and it left Jake feeling cold.
And he wasn't the only one bothered by her remark—as Robin drove home that night (after being tempted to spend another night with Jake, but afraid of… what?), she thought about the evening, how natural it had felt, the two of them just being together. It seemed so right. So natural. So what was it she was afraid of?
Love?
No way. Love didn't scare her—she had loved before! No, she was afraid of getting tied down, of letting her heart do the talking instead of her head and ending up miserable because of a foolish mistake. And ending up with Jake would eventually prove to be a foolish mistake for them both, because the expectation he would have of her would far outstrip her ability to deliver. Wouldn't it? Yes. Yes, of course it would.
So why, then, was she so head over heels for Jake if he was so wrong for her? And he was wrong, no matter how much she liked him. All the warning signs were there— baggage (Cole, his family), instability (a fledgling business), bad choices (Lindy, whom Robin had accidentally heard on Jake's machine asking how he was doing, for Chrissakes), moneyphobia (turned white as a sheet when she suggested flying to Manhattan for the weekend). Oh yeah, he was all wrong, just like Girt was the wrong sort of friend for her, no matter how much she liked the old girl.
As Robin pulled into her drive, her head was beginning to ache, her stomach in knots. Every time she tried to think her stomach knotted up. It was too hard, too confusing, so she was just not going to do it. Nope, she was going to look on the Internet for flights to Acapulco , because she had the
sudden and overwhelming urge to go somewhere.
And she might have just gone that moment, had the phone not been ringing when she came into the house.
Robin threw her bag aside and went diving for the phone. “Hello?” she asked breathlessly.
“Hi, honey.”
“Mom! Where are you?”
“ New York . We'll be here for another couple of weeks until your dad completes his treatment. Then I think we'll be heading out to the ranch.”
Good; they'd be in Texas again, close to her. “How is he?” Robin asked.
“Cantankerous. Miserable. Testy. But I think the spiritual healing course we are doing is helping a lot.”
Robin cringed; she could just imagine what Dad thought of that.
“I've been trying to call you for a couple of days and wish you a happy Easter. Have you been out of town again?”
“No. I was with a friend.”
“What friend?”
What was that she heard, the wail of a locomotive headed right for her? “Just a guy,” she said and immediately regretted the words.
“Anyone I know?” Nosey Parker pressed.
“No, Mom. It's just… no one you know.”
Nosey said nothing, but Robin could practically hear the steam coming out of her ears. “Why the big secret?”
“Okay, exactly how old does a woman have to be before her mom stops giving her the third degree?”
“Oh, I don't know. One hundred five?” Mom shot back.
Robin couldn't help herself; she laughed. “Oh man, I've got such a long way to go! Mom, it's really not that big of a deal. He's the guy I contracted to renovate my house. But he's a really nice guy! And we have a lot in common, so it's been kind of fun, that's all.” Only a small lie. Really more of an understatement.
“What's wrong with him—is he an ax murderer?” Mom asked.
Robin snorted. “No!”
'Two heads?"
“Mom!” Robin cried, laughing.
“I'm just wondering why you sound so apologetic, that's all.”
She did sound apologetic! Robin's smile faded; she sank into a chair next to the table and stared at the wall she had busted up. “I… I don't know,” she answered truthfully.
“Well… I just wanted to check how you were doing, honey. I'll call you and let you know when we'll be at the ranch so you can come out and see your dad.”
The mention of Dad rattled Robin. She unconsciously shook her head, tried to shake Jake from the forefront. “Does… does Dad want to see me?” she asked hesitantly.
“Of course he does, silly! He wants his girls around him, and I think after this round of treatment, he'll need to see you. It's been rough on him.”
“Yes, of course. Just give me a couple of days notice, would you? Evan and I are in the middle of a couple of projects.”
“Okay, sweetie. Give my best to Evan.”
Yes, Evan. Safe, familiar Evan. Speaking of which, she needed to call him, and after hanging up with her mother, she dialed Dallas .
The thing about Evan was, when he wasn't trying to get in her pants, he was actually a decent guy, and really very smart. They talked for a while that night about the account Girt had managed to snare, and ended the conversation with Evan promising to look into a couple of questions she had about Girt's new account. “I'll call you tomorrow,” he said.
The next day, he called mid-morning and walked Robin through the numbers she needed to complete her analysis. “Remember the calculation we used to look at Peerless? This should be pretty much the same thing, but you'll want to factor in the potential increase in revenue since she has that new account in hand.”
“Right,” Robin said.
“You're doing great, Robbie,” Evan offered. “You're really starting to get the hang of this.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Yes, really. Next time I'm down, we'll have to celebrate your success in acquisitions.”
“Not just yet,” she warned him. “I haven't actually acquired anything yet.”
“But you will, I have no doubt. So it's a date—next time I'm down, we're going to celebrate the near close of this deal. All right? I'll be talking to you.”
He hung up before she could ask him to call before he came down. Oh well. With an unconscious shrug, she hung up the phone, then noticed a movement from the corner of her eye. It was Jake. “Evan,” she said, waving absently at the phone. “You know, he is really very smart. I can see why Dad likes him so much—I've learned a lot from him.”
“I'll just bet you have,” Jake said and picked up a can of primer.
His tone surprised Robin; she paused in the gathering of her papers. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means he's more interested in landing you than some new plant.”
“Jesus, how do you jump to such conclusions? You don't even know him!”
“I don't have to know him. I'm a man, he's a man, and I know exactly what he's after.”
Robin frowned darkly. “That is so ridiculous. You don't know anything—”
“Apparently, neither do you,” Jake said sharply. “Or maybe you do. Maybe you know more than I give you credit for,” he said and continued up the stairs before Robin could tell him to keep his stupid opinions to himself.
Lucy arrived one afternoon a few days later with a thick file stashed under her arm.
“Dude,” Zaney said as she sauntered inside. “Looking gooood!”
Lucy shot him a frown. “I'm not a dude, Zaney.”
“I'll say!”
Lucy actually smiled a little at that before plopping the file down in front of Robin. “Evan said to bring you this.”
“What is it?”
“Some stuff about Wirt. He said you should look into the age of the equipment.”
“I already did that,” she said and pulled the file closer,
flipped it open. On the top was a chart showing the list of equipment in each shop, the approximate age, and the approximate cost of replacement.
Lucy fell into a chair across from her. “I am so ready to get out of that freight yard!” she exclaimed as she casually examined a nail. “You know Albert? He's about to get a swift kick in the balls if he doesn't keep his hands to himself. And it's so friggin' hot out there! They leave those bay doors open all the time, and it's like standing in an oven!”
Robin scarcely heard her—the file Evan had sent over had several documents, covering both Peerless and Wirt. What she found a little puzzling about it was that it looked as if Evan had done much of the same work she had done, running through the same calculations. In short, duplicating everything she had done.
She was startled by the sound of a dropped hammer. Zaney had dropped it by Lucy's foot—well, kicked it, actually—and hurried over to retrieve it. He bent over, grabbed the hammer, then smiled up at Lucy. “Girl, you're a hottie, you know it?”
“Yes. I know,” she sighed, barely sparing him a glance.
“You must be like, you know, a speeding ticket or something, 'cuz you got fine written all over you.”
“Oh my God, is that the best you can do?” Lucy asked, smiling at her nail, her foot swinging carelessly.
“Well…” He paused to think about it, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, that's about it.”
Why would Evan have gone to the trouble to duplicate her work? Robin had told him what she was doing at each step, had discussed it with him. She would have thought nothing of it, but this was several documents, several different cuts at the same problem, just as she had done.
“So anyway, I'm going back to the yard,” Lucy announced, nudging the file Robin was poring over. “Evan's around today and tomorrow, and he said to tell you he'd probably stop by. Okay, call me!” she said and popped up out of her chair, strutting past Zaney with a very self-satisfied smile as he gave her his best wolf whistle. Which really sounded more like a wheeze.
Robin put Evan's file aside, returned to the work she was doing on Wirt, but she couldn't concentrate. The more she thought of the papers in that file, the more it bothered her. Did he not trust her? What about all the encouragement he was giving her? Just lip service? It sort of felt that way, and Robin was trying very hard to give him the benefit of the doubt. She really had no reason to distrust him… did she?
Even if she had wanted to think about it, she couldn't when Grandma and Grandpa showed up. Grandma had made sandwiches for the work crews—“My famous egg salad,” she announced proudly—and Grandpa had on his overalls. “Jake and me are gonna take down the last part of that wall,” he informed her as he went zipping by in his Easy Spirits.
Grandpa and Jake did indeed try and take down a wall, making such a racket that Robin could hardly hear herself think. She finally gave up and joined Grandma on the terrace, Where they sipped iced tea and watched Raymond cut the lawn by making lazy circles with his riding mower.
They discussed Dad and his last round of chemo for a while, and when they had exhausted that subject, Grandma casually said, “That Jake's a nice boy, isn't he?”
Robin stole a look at her from the corner of her eye; Grandma adjusted her cola-bottle glasses. “He's all right,” she said slowly.
“I think he's a dish. When I was a girl, he was exactly the kind of man we all dreamed about. Handsome, strong— clever enough to work with his hands and know how to build or fix things—and smart, too. I guess I should consider myself lucky that your grandpa had at least two of the three,” she said, sighing.
Robin didn't dare ask which two.
"I stopped at the grocery store this morning to get some peas for my pea salad. You know that pea salad I make? With the eggs and celery? Elmer loves that pea salad and he's been after me to make it again. I swear, he could eat his weight in it. Anyway, the last time I made pea salad was the day before your office burned down, and it got me to
thinking how far you've come since your… you know, getting arrested and all that—"