Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4) (32 page)

     Felt like the same thing was happening now. It was enough to make a person superstitious, like,
just stay in bed until the cosmic disturbance passes over
. But he knew that wasn’t true.

     Greg came back in the house and checked on Nate. Should he go back to work, or call Nicole to let her know about Nathan’s fall? Huh. If she’d been here, it probably wouldn’t have happened. The thought no sooner passed through his mind than he chided himself. He had no cause to blame her. The only person with any real responsibility was himself for leaving the ladder up—and dumping his work frustrations on his son.

     No, he’d better call Nicole now, or she’d be plenty upset if he waited.

     She came straight home, arrived in twenty minutes, and as soon as she saw Nathan on the sofa with an ice pack on his arm, she insisted they take him to the hospital. “It could be broken, Greg. There’s no way for us to tell.”

     “But kids fall down all the time.”

     “Not off ladders. What if he—”

     Greg stopped her with an upheld hand. “Emergency room visits and X-rays aren’t cheap, and we’re not covered.” He’d realized this was true for the last couple of weeks and had intended to do something about it, but . . .

     “What do you mean,
we’re not covered
? Didn’t you sign up for COBRA? It’s supposed to allow you to continue your coverage for eighteen months after you leave a job, right?”

     “Yeah, but you still have to pay, so I haven’t done it yet. Besides”—he shrugged nervously—“we might not qualify. Powersports was a pretty small company, and . . . and it went out of business. I think that makes a difference.”

     Nicole’s eyes flashed. “I don’t care! I’m taking my son to the hospital to get him checked out. You think you’re the big provider, well here’s your chance. I don’t care how long it takes you to pay off the bill, or . . . or I’ll pay it off working for Lincoln Paddock, but my son gets checked out!”

     “Now hold on a minute, and speaking of Lincoln Paddock—”

     “Oh, shut up, Greg, and carry Nate out to the car!”

* * * *

Their normal suppertime had long passed by the time they got back from the hospital. Nate checked out fine except for a badly bruised arm. The doctor said to continue intermittent ice packs for the next twenty-four hours and give him Tylenol as needed.

     But Greg and Nicole weren’t talking.

     She set out some leftovers on the counter, fixed a plate for Nathan, and took him up to his room.

     Greg and Becky ate in the breakfast nook. The atmosphere was so tense in the house, he couldn’t think of anything to say to his own daughter.

     Finally, she broke the silence. “Are you going to go back to work someday, Daddy?”

     Greg rolled his eyes. Out of the mouths of eight-year-olds. “Well, I have been working, honey. It’s just that my work is here at home now. I’m starting this new business, you know.”

     “Yeah, but you seemed a lot happier when you used to go down to the Loop. Why don’t you do that again?”

     “That’s when I worked for Powersports, honey. You know, setting up shows for those sports vehicles and boats. I took you to one, remember?”

     She vigorously nodded her head, eyes big. “That was fun.”

     “I know. I liked that job too. But that company ended, and now I’m starting my own company.”

     “But it doesn’t make you very happy, Daddy.”

     Greg’s tongue lay like a wad of cotton in his mouth. It was true, he wasn’t happy right now . . . but it was all circumstantial. If things were going better, he’d be in the money, and that would make him happy. That thought begged the question, however. Did he really like what he was doing—trying to sell an energy drink, recruiting reps to work for him, using his friendships and relationships to pressure people into helping him make money? No, he didn’t like those parts of his business. But what job didn’t have
some
unpleasant aspects?

     The problem was, except for the money—which hadn’t yet materialized—he wasn’t sure he really liked any other aspect of SlowBurn. In fact, he didn’t even drink the stuff that often. It was okay and it did give him a lift, but he’d just as soon have a Coke.

     Greg sighed. “I guess you’re kinda right, Becky. When I worked for Powersports, there were a lot of things I liked doing. I liked planning those big conventions. I liked the travel. I liked meeting people, and I sure liked the boats and the four-wheelers and the jet skis. Got to ride them sometimes too. So, yeah. That was a more fun job.”

     “Then why don’t you do it again?”

     “Because Powersports doesn’t exist anymore.”

     “But aren’t there other companies like that? Why don’t you work for one of them?”

     He grimaced and shook his head. “There aren’t any other ones around here, Becky. I’ve looked.”

     “But isn’t there something you’d like to do, Daddy? There’s gotta be something.”

     Greg stared at his daughter. Yeah, there ought to be something he liked, too, but he wasn’t sure he’d found it yet.

Chapter 32

Nicole dumped Nathan’s empty cereal bowl into the sink and sighed as she sank down at the breakfast nook with a second cup of coffee. Thursday morning already and she’d barely looked at the project Lincoln Paddock had given her. She had no way of estimating how long it would take to finish it, but she was sure he’d want it back soon.

     She glanced at the clock. Almost eight. Was it too early to call the Jaspers to see if Tabby could babysit today so she could get some work done? No way was she going to ask Greg. Frankly, she still didn’t want to talk to him.

     Taking a chance, she dialed the Jaspers’ number. To her relief the girl answered, even seemed eager to help out with the kids. “Might as well. Destin has to take Tavis to his basketball camp, so everybody’ll be gone anyway.”

     “Great. Uh, actually, I could probably use you tomorrow too. Do you want to check with your mom?”

     “Mom’s already gone to work, but I’m sure it’s okay. I can probably help Saturday too if you need me.”

     “I just might. Thank you so much, Tabby. Uh, just to let you know, Nate fell off the ladder and hurt his arm yesterday. I had to leave for a few hours to check on my mom, and, uh, Mr. Singer was busy, and it . . . just happened. But I don’t want to leave the kids unsupervised again. You’re a real lifesaver, Tabby. See you when you get here.”

     Nicole no sooner got off the phone with Tabby than it rang. Her mother. “How is Nathan? Is he okay?”

     “He hurt his arm, but it’s not broken. Mostly a bruise. The doctor said he’ll be fine, but this morning he’s having fun with a sling I made for him out of a dishtowel.”

     “My gracious, is it that bad?”

     “Not really. You know how kids are, enjoying the attention. How are you today, Mom?”

     “Oh, fine, fine. Much better than yesterday, thank you.”

     Her mother always said she was “fine,” so that didn’t mean much, but her voice definitely sounded better. “I’m glad, Mom. I’ve got a lot to do today, but if you need me, you call, okay?”

     As soon as she was off the phone, Nathan wandered into the kitchen. “Do I have to wear this thing all day? I can’t do anything with it on.”

     “Of course not, but I thought you wanted to wear it. You said your arm still hurt.”

     “It does . . . a little, but not that bad.”

     She helped Nate take off the dishtowel sling and examined his arm. “
Hmm
. Well, you’re getting a black and blue mark there, but it should go away in a few days.”

     With his arm free, Nathan ran out into the backyard just as Greg strolled into the kitchen. Nicole tensed. They still hadn’t made up for the spat they’d had over Nathan’s fall, and she was feeling a little defensive that Greg had been right—nothing broken. But she still blamed him for the fall, and now they were facing some big medical bills with no insurance.

     But he had the look on his face that telegraphed a challenge was coming. “I heard the phone ring, which reminds me, you got a call yesterday from Lincoln Paddock. I was busy, so it went to the answering machine.”

     Nicole glanced at the phone. “Light’s not blinking.”

     “That’s because I listened to it, but I’m telling you, he called.” He pointed at the machine. “Go ahead.” He leaned against the doorway, arms folded across his chest.

     Nicole looked at him a moment, feeling defensive before she even knew what it was about. She had to level the playing field. “You should’ve told me.” She went over and pushed the Play button.

“Nikki, how’s it goin’? Hey, I just wanted to call about the other day when you came over. After you left, I realized it must’ve seemed kinda strange to you to find a woman in my house. But it wasn’t what it looked like. Karen’s my kid sister. She’s headed to graduate school at University of Michigan and had a bunch of things to do here in Chicago. She’s been so busy lately, I hardly get to see her anymore. But I should have introduced you. Uh . . . I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea. Okay, give me a call when you can.”

     The recording ended with a beep, and Nicole saw Greg’s eyes narrow. She bobbled her head and opened her eyes extra wide. “Thanks a lot for telling me. He’s probably wondering why I haven’t called back.”

     “And why would that be?”

     “Didn’t you hear? He said,
Give me a call when you can
. He probably wants to know when my project’s gonna be done. But with everything going on around here, I’ve barely begun.”

     “Yeah.” Sarcasm bathed Greg’s tone. “And that explains why he needed to reassure you about the woman in his house. What’s going on, Nicole?”

     “What do you mean? Nothing’s going on. The man gave me some work to do. At home. Like you wanted. Good grief! Get a grip, Greg!” She spun around and busied herself at the sink.

     “What I mean is . . .” His voice lowered and became husky. “Are you having an affair with that man?”

     “A
what
?” Her response came out loud and panicky, but she resisted turning back to look at him. Of course she wasn’t having an affair, but would her eyes betray her fantasies? She gritted her teeth. What if her eyes did betray her? Nothing had happened, and besides, what did Greg expect after acting like such a jerk lately. Oh, yeah, her husband was still a hunk, and anyone would think she’d made a good catch. But after more than ten years of marriage, she knew romance took more than looks. Now Lincoln had good looks
and
he was attentive, considerate, and not preoccupied with starting an impossible business.

     She turned around, leaned her back against the sink, and glared at her husband. “No, Greg, I am not having an affair, but if I was, you wouldn’t notice unless you got a phone call telling you so. You’re so preoccupied with . . . with your SlowBurn fixation. So just chill out. Okay?”

     He pushed himself away from the doorframe and stood up straight, a threatening glint in his eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

     “You figure it out.”

     They stared at each other a few moments, then he
humphed
, turned away, and left.

* * * *

Greg returned to his desk, blood pounding in his ears. How did she manage to enrage him so? He had to let it go or he was going to give himself a stroke. Yeah, a stroke at age thirty-six! How would that be? Trying to shake off his foul mood, he checked his email then clicked on the CNN news feed: a 5.4-magnitude earthquake in California, two people still missing from the tourist boat that overturned in the Delaware River, and a Texas woman who’d won the million-dollar lottery—for the fourth time.

     Man! Why couldn’t he have a little luck like that? Maybe he oughta play the lottery—

    
No!
If God was going to bless him, it’d be through his business. But the tension in his house was so high he couldn’t concentrate. “God, you gotta help me break out of this mess!” he hissed through gritted teeth.

     Pushing back his chair, Greg got up and strode through the kitchen and out the back door without acknowledging Nicole. He needed to bleed off some of his steam.

     As he descended the steps, his son came trotting across the yard. “Hey, Dad, where you goin’?”

     Greg sighed. “Nowhere. I was just . . .” He put out his hand like a traffic cop. “Sorry. Can’t play right now, buddy.” He turned toward the side of the house.

     “But Dad—”

     “Not this time, son,” he called over his shoulder, heading up the walk. “I’ll catch you later.”

     Emerging in front of the house, he stopped. Instead of going for a walk as he’d intended, he sank down on the front steps. Elbows on knees, head in hands. What was he going to do? For five minutes, maybe ten, he just sat there until he heard someone call his name.

     “Hey, Singer!”

     Greg looked up. Harry Bentley was coming across the street toward him, his black dog trotting at his side.

     “Ah, man. Am I glad to see you.” The older man took out a big handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his face. “You got a few minutes? I don’t know what happened, but for some reason the fans in Corky’s transport kennel were running all night, and it wore down the battery in my SUV. Can’t get the engine started, and I’ve gotta get to work. Need to catch the Texas Eagle down to St. Louis at one-forty-five. Could you give me a jump?”

     Greg pushed himself up and came down the steps. “Sure, no problem.” It was a relief to have something to do that he could actually
do
.

     “If Estelle was home, I could jump it off our RAV-4, but she’s at Manna House.”

     “Let me get the Cherokee. Where’re you parked?”

     “Around back, in my garage. I’ll open the alley door. Just pull in. Should be able to get close enough.”

     Ten minutes later, Harry’s car was running and they were rolling up the jumper cables and closing the engine hoods. “Thanks so much, man. You’re a real Godsend.”