Reunion in October (The Calendar Girls Book 2) (4 page)

I laughed. “Yes. Definitely.”

When he finally dropped me off at home a little after midnight, all of the lights in my living room blazed in the window. I bit back a sigh. Claudia probably didn’t want me coming home to a dark house. Sweet, but she didn’t have to pay my electric bill. One light would have sufficed.

Josh walked me to the front door. On the porch, he took my keys from my hand. “Not yet.”

A thrill of anticipation raced through me as he leaned closer, and his hands caressed my shoulders. Under my porch light, his green-gold eyes glowed, flashing tiny sparks I felt in my blood. When he tilted his head, I instinctively sucked in a quick breath and closed my eyes. His lips fit perfectly against mine. For a moment, I clung to this simple connection. He opened his mouth, deepening our kiss, and I wound my arms around his shoulders. My head reeled, my toes curled into the wooden planks of the deck beneath me. I lost myself, overwhelmed with the sweetness of his mouth on mine, the spicy taste of him, the citrus scent of his cologne. At last, he pulled away.

“Wow.” He ran a finger down my cheek, and I shivered. “Even better than I’d imagined when I was ten.”

I placed my head on his shoulder and purred. “Zigga-zig-ah,” I whispered, reminding him of the lyric from an old Spice Girls song.

He chuckled, inserted the key into the lock behind me, and pushed open my front door. “Tomorrow night?”

I shook my head. “Working the graveyard shift. But I’m off Saturday.”

“Even better. Saturday. Real date stuff.” He kissed me again, my cheek this time, which was oddly touching and disappointing simultaneously. “Dinner at The Gull and Oar. Pick you up at seven?”

“Perfect.” With my rump against my door, I leaned into him for one more delicious kiss. He kindly obliged. I was practically starry-eyed when he pulled away again. “Goodnight,” I managed.

“See you Saturday.”

I closed the door, then stood by the window, watching him stroll back to his car. The Mustang’s engine started, and his headlights glowed white across my walls as he pulled out of my driveway. I remained rooted to the spot until the red glow of his tail lights faded into the night.

The silence of the house enveloped me for mere seconds before a deep voice broke into the stillness behind me. “Hello, Francesca.”

I whirled, my heart rocketing into my throat. “Michael?”

Chapter 3

Emily

After I got off work at the precinct, I waited until the kids were focused on homework before tackling the issue of Freckles with Roy. I would have liked to insist on a family dinner, where we all sat around the table together and reviewed our day, but it wasn’t fair to ask the kids to wait ‘til nine o’clock to eat, then be in bed by nine-thirty or ten. Tonight, while I toyed with the roasted chicken and red potatoes with green beans I’d tossed in the Crock Pot earlier this morning—a lifetime ago—I carefully broached the subject of our dog. “I had to take Freckles to the vet today.”

Roy, seated across the table, his hands clasped in front of him, nodded. “The kids told me. So what did Dr. Bautista say?”

“Dr. Herrera,” I corrected. “She’s Dr. Bautista’s new associate.”

“Okay, what did Dr. Herrera say?”

I picked at the green beans with my fork, my appetite quickly fading away. “Freckles might have Cushing’s disease, and it might be treatable with monthly medications.”

“Might?” He slapped the table with both palms, his dark brows knitted with worry. “Terrific.”

Years ago, I’d loved his round face and dark features. I used to tease him that he resembled a teddy bear on the edge. Nowadays, he looked plain miserable, a teddy bear on Death Row. Had I created that sadness in him?

“How much is
that
gonna cost us, Em?”

I winced. Just once, I wished Roy would consider the emotional side before the financial. I understood why he didn’t. In our relationship, he’d always taken the responsible tack—from the minute I first told him I was pregnant two weeks before his senior prom. Whereas other young men would’ve panicked or denied paternity, Roy had immediately made plans for us to get married and raise a family. He never doubted me, or our love. Seventeen years later, I don’t think he was quite so sure anymore. God knew I wasn’t. The idea terrified me, but I pushed my fears aside and returned to the subject at hand.

“The thing is…” I leaned closer to Roy and dropped my voice to be certain the kids didn’t overhear. “I think Dr. Herrera is recommending we consider putting Freckles down.”

“You think? You’re not sure?”

I shook my head. “You know how doctors are. They can’t make the decision about when it’s time to say goodbye. All they can do is give us the facts and ‘strongly advise.’ Reading between the lines, though, I’d say she wouldn’t be a bit surprised if I told her tomorrow we’d decided against prolonging his life.”

Roy frowned, his clasped hands now near his drawn face, index fingers bouncing against his lips. “Is that what
we’ve
decided? Because I don’t remember getting a vote.”

“Well, no,” I replied, taken aback. My tongue tripped over excuses. “I didn’t…I wasn’t…I mean, we’re discussing it now.”

“Jeez, Emmy, you must think I’m some kind of ogre. This is
Freckles
we’re talking about. We’ve had the dog almost as long as we’ve been married. You think I just want to put him down over the cost of some pills? All because I had the nerve to ask how it would affect us financially?” He ran his fingers through his thick, chestnut hair. “One of us has to keep the bottom line in mind. And it’s always me. Never you. It must be nice to live in Fantasyland where you don’t have to worry about where the money’s coming from.”

“I don’t live in Fantasyland,” I retorted. “I know our economic circumstances as well as you do.”

My breath erupted in a long, drawn out sigh. I didn’t want this discussion to deteriorate into a fight over money and responsibility, the way most of our conversations did these days.

“I’m so tired of being the bad guy,” Roy said with another swipe across his scalp.

“No one’s making you the bad guy. Except you.” That invisible vise wrapped my chest again, but I didn’t attempt to ease the pain this time. I wouldn’t allow Roy a chance to change the subject. “How do you expect me to react when your first reply is ‘How much is
that
gonna cost?’ You had the same response when Melissa needed a math tutor, and we all know how well that episode turned out.”

His eyes narrowed, and he sucked in a breath. “That’s a low blow.”

Yeah, it was. Last year, Mellie’s math teacher informed us she was dangerously close to failing and advised us to hire a private tutor—not exactly an expense we budgeted for. Roy had decided he’d tutor her himself. Three months later, Mellie wound up attending summer school to get her grade out of the cellar. In all fairness to my husband, we had both agreed we couldn’t afford the expense, so for me to hit him with that incident now was truly heinous. I could only fall back on the excuse that I was tired.
Bone
tired. Too many days like today—filled with drama, disappointment, and dread—had drained me. In actual years, I was thirty-three, but in emotional age, I felt ninety.

The screech of Roy’s chair as he pushed away from the table shook me from my exhaustion. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” he bit between clenched teeth. “Don’t wait up.” He opened the back door, stalked outside, and slammed it closed so hard, the ornamental trivets on my dinette wall fell off their hooks and clanged to the floor.

I suppose I should have cried. I admit pinpricks stung my eyes, but no tears came. My tear ducts didn’t have the energy to eke out moisture. I simply stared at the door, the rest of my dinner untouched, and relief at his departure trickling through my body.
He’ll be back
, I told myself.
Distance right now is probably the best thing for us. We’re both so overstressed.

The pain in my chest burned, and I could barely breathe. I rubbed my fingers across the area to soothe the hurt. When my stomach bubbled, I reached for my purse on a nearby chair and rooted around for the bottle of antacid tablets I kept inside.

“Mommy?”

Hearing Gabriella, I immediately dropped my hands to the table. “Yes, pumpkin?”

“Where’d Daddy go?” She looked up at me, eyes wide, her fingers stained with blue and yellow paint from today’s art class. A splotch of the same blue paint decorated the collar of her t-shirt and the peachy skin at the bottom of her cheek.

Once again, Roy had neglected to get Gabi into a tub before I got home.

“To the store,” I said smoothly and rose to scoop her up in a mama bear hug. “As for you…” I snuggled her neck near the paint. “…it’s bath time.” With Gabriella riding my hip, I strolled into the den to check on the other three kids.

Mellie sat curled up in the recliner with her copy of a John Steinbeck novel—required reading when I was her age, which only proved how infrequently the Snug Harbor school system updated their curriculum. Corey sprawled on his belly on the floor, a workbook with algebra equations spread out in front of him. My littlest man sat in his playpen, one thumb jammed in his drooling mouth as he pushed a toy truck with his other hand.

My gaze scanned the stained and shabby carpet with a sigh. Half a dozen dirty gym socks created a road map to backpacks, jackets, and primary-colored building blocks. A fine film of dust covered the tabletops. I hadn’t used the vacuum in over a week. Laundry hampers, filled with clean clothes yet to be folded and put away, sat lined up against the back of the couch. Too much to do, too few hours in the day.

“Guys? Can you keep an eye on your brother while I get Gabriella’s bath ready?”

“Uh-huh,” Mellie replied without looking up.

I knew better than to accept that as an answer. “Melissa? Corey? Do you hear me?”

At the mention of their names, my two older children jerked up their heads. “Yeeeesssss,” they whined in unison.

“Thank you.” I put Gabriella down and let her scamper upstairs while I followed at a much slower pace.

The second floor reflected the same disorder and neglect as the den. As I made my way to the bathroom, I shoved a naked Barbie doll against the wall with the toe of my shoe. I slipped on a double-A battery that rolled under my foot, but I managed to right myself and palm the offending item for disposal before someone broke their neck.

Vibrations tickled my hip, causing me to start. My cell phone was ringing. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and checked the Caller ID. The name, “Vet” blared on the screen. This could not be good news. While dread chilled me from skin to bone, I clicked the connect button. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Handler? It’s Dr. Herrera.”

A naked Gabriella popped out of the bathroom and stood in the hallway, hands fisted on her skinny hips. “Mommmeee…come on!”

I held up a finger to let her know I needed a minute, then pointed to the phone. “Yes, of course,” I said into the receiver. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m afraid so. I’m sorry to tell you this, but Freckles passed away about thirty minutes ago.” A roar built up in my ears, drowning out all but the simplest phrases from the vet’s part of the conversation. “Very sorry…sudden but painless…never woke up…dispose of the remains…”

My back to the wall, I slid until I sat on the floor. Roy. I needed Roy. Too bad he’d disappeared.

“Mommy?” Gabriella prompted.

“Mrs. Handler?” the vet chimed in.

I couldn’t reply to either of them. Words stuck in my throat, blocked by a wedge of tumultuous emotion. Memories flew by, a slideshow for me alone: Freckles as a pup when Roy and I were still kids ourselves, his pudgy body stumbling after an equally unsteady Melissa the toddler, Christmas photos where first Corey, then Gabriella held the poor beagle in a near-death grip in front of the decorated tree, and of course, how he’d looked this morning curled up in the hallway, motionless. Gone. Freckles was gone. The tears, held in check too long, broke free and streamed down my cheeks.

“Mrs. Handler?” the vet repeated. “Are you there?”

I managed to croak, “Yes. I’ll…call you back. Thanks.” I put the phone down on the floor near my hip and dropped my head to my knees.

“Mommy?” A tiny finger danced over my hair. “Whatsamatter?”

Oh, God, the kids. How would I tell them?

Roy first. I needed to tell Roy so he could help me break the news to everyone else. But when I tried his cell, my call went straight to voicemail. Of course. Without leaving a message, I hung up, pulled my daughter into another hug, and clung to her as if she was the mother and I was the child.

Please, Roy, please come home soon
.
I need you.

****

Francesca

I froze, my back against the door, hand clutched on the knob behind me. While I faced my former fiancé, questions tumbled in my head. Why was he here? Had Claudia let him in? Why? And why hadn’t she warned me? A simple text would have sufficed. Something along the lines of
Heads up. What’s-his-face is here
.

Regardless of why and how, there he stood, in the arched doorway between my front door and the living room. Michael Delaney was back. In my life and in my house.

He looked the same, only older. No paunch or male pattern baldness had diminished his polished exterior. Silver scraped the edges of his thick, black hair, highlighting blue eyes framed with lush lashes. Dressed in a dark blue polo shirt and pleated gray trousers, he strode toward me with confidence and enveloped me in a tight hug.

“It’s great to see you,” he crooned in my ear. “You look terrific, by the way.”

“Thank you.” I remained stiff, my arms at my sides. “What are you doing here? How’d you get into my house?”

“I still have this.” He pulled away to dangle a house key from a sterling ring, a smug grin stretching his lips. “You never changed the locks.”

A mistake I planned to rectify tomorrow. I maneuvered around him to the closet where I hung up my jacket and temporarily stowed my purse. “I never anticipated you’d come back so I didn’t feel the need to go through the hassle of calling a locksmith,” I said. “What happened? Didn’t the job work out?”