Reunion in October (The Calendar Girls Book 2) (7 page)

“Whoa! Wait! I’m gonna see you tomorrow, right?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow. Remember? Dinner? The Gull and Oar?”

Crap. I’d forgotten. “Right. I didn’t forget,” I lied. “I just haven’t had my tea yet.”

“I could fix that—”

“No.” The denial came out too strong, and I took a deep breath before continuing in a much softer tone. “Thanks, Josh. I appreciate the offer, but I can take care of myself.” I’d been taking care of myself for years. Why stop now? “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I added and hung up the phone.

Chapter 5

Emily

At five-thirty, I sat in the break room at the police station, biting into a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, tasting nothing. The well-stocked snack machine, five rows across and twelve rows down, sat directly in my line of vision on the opposite wall of the drab room. The comfort of rich chocolate, high fat, and mega calories teased me ruthlessly. Even the pretzels, a low fat snack according to the sunshine yellow package at B3, were off-limits. My blood pressure had teetered near high on my last doctor’s visit, resulting in a lecture on ways to relieve stress and demands to forego all junk food.
Sure, Doc, because nothing eases the pain of a dead pet like munching on a celery stalk
.

Disgusted, I pushed the rest of my sandwich in its aluminum foil jacket to the edge of the rectangular table and rested my head on my outstretched arm. God, I was so tired. I closed my eyes, the weight of my lids practically buckling my cheekbones.

“Em? You okay? Em?” The voice came from some long tunnel.

I wanted to open my eyes, but my heavy lids refused to budge. Even my tongue didn’t have the energy to move so I settled for a reply of, “Hmm?”

“Emily.” The voice spoke again, sterner now, and added a shake on my shoulder. “Em, wake up. Come on.”

Rather than acquiesce, I tried to identify the speaker-slash-shaker. Definitely not Roy. Not my kids, either. But who else would be in my bedroom? No, wait. Last thing I remembered, I was at work, in the break room. I forced my eyes open and looked up into my boss’s concerned face. Sam Dillon, chief of our village police force, is one of the nicest, best-looking guys on Long Island, with thick, coffee-colored hair and eyes like honey. Seriously, this man was the perfect dessert for some woman. Apparently, that lucky woman was Paige Wainwright, our town’s accountant. After months of dancing around their attraction for one another, he and Paige were now, officially, a couple.

“Hey, Sam,” I murmured through a muzzy mist. “What’s up?”

“Emily,” Sam said on a sigh of relief. “Whew. You scared me there for a minute. You okay?”

“Umm…yeah.” I sat up and wiped my mouth. Ick. I had actually drooled on my bare arm. “I must have fallen asleep.” I glanced at the utilitarian black and white clock on the wall. Six-forty-five! Oh, God. I’d slept through my lunch hour and then some. I rose on wobbly legs. “Oh, Jeez, Sam, I’m sorry.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Sit.” When I did, he flipped a chair around and sat with the chair back against his chest, catty-corner to me. “You look drained. What’s wrong?”

Sure, Sam’s my boss, but he’s also a friend. I’ve known him since I started first grade and he was assigned as my second-grade class buddy to show me around and get me acclimated. That assignment had led to a lifetime of support and friendship between us.

I clasped my hands on the table to keep him from noticing the tremors jumping through my fingers. “Freckles died last night.”

“Oh, gee, Em.” Sam cupped my hands in his palm. “I’m sorry. You must be crushed. I’d be.” He meant it. An animal lover himself, Sam had a rescued greyhound, Daisy. If Paige was the number one lady in his life, Daisy wasn’t too far below her on the list. “How are the kids taking it?”

“They’re devastated. And Roy…” I let the statement trail off. As much as I respected Sam, some things were none of his business.

To my relief, Sam didn’t pursue that line of questioning. “You wanna go home? I can call Rowena in to cover your shift.”

I shook my head. “It’s easier to be here.” Dang. I shouldn’t have said that. Despite my mini-nap, my brain hadn’t caught up to my mouth yet.

“I get it.” Sam rose and flipped the chair around again, pushing it neatly under the table. “Work keeps your mind off your troubles, right?”

Sure. If that’s what he wanted to think, that option was way better than the truth. To be honest, I preferred to stay at work because, lately, my home life sucked dust bunnies. “Yeah.” I got to my feet again, still unsteady but a little stronger. I raked my shaky fingers through my hair. “I can’t believe I fell asleep here.”

“Forget it. As long as you’re okay. I’m headed home.” He turned to leave, then paused to look at me again. “If you change your mind and want to leave, call Rowena, okay?”

I nodded. “Thanks, Sam.”

“No sweat.” He cocked his head, eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Uh-huh.” When he didn’t move, I flicked my fingers at him. “Go. I’m sure you’d rather be with Paige right now.”

A wide grin split his cheeks, and his face lit up, neon-bright. “Now that you mention it…”

“Wow. You really are crazy about her, aren’t you?”

“Since I was seventeen,” he admitted. “I guess you know how that is, huh?”

I knew what he meant, since Roy and I had been together since my first day of ninth grade. There was a time Roy’s face wore that same blissful expression whenever he saw me. When had he stopped? When did I stop noticing? “Yeah,” I said, forcing a dreamy smile. “Aren’t we the lucky ones?”

He opened the door leading out to the main floor and shot his index finger at me. “I knew you’d understand.”

I shuffled past him. Once, years ago, I understood perfectly. These days, I didn’t know how I managed to keep breathing when each inhale and exhale stabbed my heart.

****

Francesca

The phone call to my mother would have to wait. Between my conversations with Claudia and Josh, I’d used up my patience quota for the day. The last thing I wanted was to go on the offensive the minute Mom answered the phone. She and I had a pretty good mother/daughter relationship, except for one blight: my refusal to marry Michael, even if it meant leaving my job and moving across the country. I understood Mom grew up in a different era, when the man was “king of the castle.”

She refused to understand why my career meant just as much as my marriage. “After all, your focus will change once the babies come.”

Yes and no. Sure, Michael and I had talked about a family. I had five brothers and sisters; he was an only child who’d always wanted a sibling. We both loved kids and hoped to eventually have a few of our own. The key word in that statement:
eventually
. What we had never discussed was moving away from Long Island. And I definitely didn’t appreciate the decision made without my input. All the time I fussed with gown fittings and choosing wedding favors, he interviewed for engineering positions on the other side of the country. In my eyes, that kind of sneakiness didn’t bode well for our marriage. I mean, if he couldn’t keep me in the loop about where he planned for us to live, how could I trust him with my heart? With our future children?

I wish I could say Michael’s secret contact with my mother surprised me, but after Oregon? The man had lost my trust, my respect, and my affection. Mom’s subterfuge, on the other hand, didn’t exactly thrill me. After my aborted wedding, when time passed and I didn’t begin dating anyone else, she interpreted my reluctance as proof I still loved Michael. I had no doubt his return to Snug Harbor had rejuvenated Mom’s hopes for a wedding between us. If I planned to obliterate that dream, I had to be at my sharpest. Not numb, like I was today. Rather than fight my mother, I opted to take care of my other pressing concern.

I hired a locksmith and, by three in the afternoon, had new locks on my front, back, and garage doors. The cost, as Josh had warned, was steep, but what price should I put on my peace of mind? And not a moment too soon because that night at work, I was called to the nurse’s station to take a phone call. Didn’t anyone have anything better to do than call me? If he weren’t already long dead, Alexander Graham Bell would top my hit list right now.

“Hello?”

“You really did it?” Michael asked. “You really changed the locks because I have a key?”

He couldn’t have caught me at a worse time. Between the ten-year-old I’d just sent up to ICU after a multi-car accident and the drunk who’d just vomited his rum and cokes all over my shoes, I was in no mood.

“Since you know that I changed the locks, I can only assume you tried to use the old key—a key I took from you. Which means you must have made at least one copy. Thanks for confirming my worst fears.”

“Aw, come on, Francesca. I just wanted to pop in and see if you were okay. I know I surprised you yesterday.”

“So you thought you’d surprise me today to see if I’d recovered from yesterday’s surprise?”
Of all the idiotic stunts…
“I’ve got patients to see. Don’t call me at work again.”

“I only called you at work because I don’t have your home or cell number. You changed those, too.”

“Lucky me.” I hung up and passed the phone back over the desk to Danielle, who sat at the nurse’s station, her jaw open. “If he calls again, tell him I’m unavailable.”

Dani didn’t blink. “You got it, Doctor.”

Turning on my heel, I headed to Exam Room Six where another patient from the auto accident—this one with superficial injuries—waited for treatment.

Hours later, I pulled into my driveway and limped to my front door with nothing on my mind except the comfort of my bed. After yesterday’s rain, this morning welcomed a pale sun with the nip of autumn in the air. I wouldn’t have cared if Hershey’s Kisses fell from the sky. All I wanted was sleep. Glorious, uninterrupted sleep for about ten hours.

From the back of my house, a circular saw screeched, shooting stars of pain into my skull. Great. Saturday morning construction at my neighbor’s house would totally throw off my plans for peace and quiet. Unfortunately, he had every right to work on his house and yard at a reasonable hour and, for most people, after nine a.m. was pretty reasonable. In the suburbs, only cops, nurses, and vampires dreaded sunny weekend mornings. The blast of nail guns and heavy metal music joined the power tool symphony, and men shouted instructions to each other over the cacophony. There went any hope of sleep.

On the upside, I now had the perfect excuse to back out of tonight’s date with Josh. I’ll admit to a twinge of disappointment—I liked Josh a lot—but Michael’s reappearance had complicated an already unusual situation. Maybe other women fantasized about two men fighting over them, but this gal dealt with enough drama on a day-to-day basis at work. In my private life, I craved serenity. Serenity and solitude. Josh Candolero was the antithesis of serenity and solitude.

Whirrrrrr! Screeeeech!

Ah, no place like home. On a sigh, I pushed myself into my house and headed for the kitchen. Maybe a nice cup of flavored herbal tea would lull me to sleep, despite the ruckus behind me. In my kitchen, I picked up my tea kettle and flipped the tap on my faucet. As I filled the kettle with water, I glanced up and out the window.

What exactly were the McNeills doing to their house now? The roof was ripped off, and bare wooden beams pierced the sky. A dormer. Of course. Decades ago, Snug Harbor had been a summer haven, and most of those original homes were built as bungalows or Cape Cod-style. Whenever families moved into these teeny houses, they blew them up and out with expanded second stories, additions, or converted garages. Sometimes all three.

At the McNeills’ house, a dozen men strode across the skeleton that would eventually become the family’s second floor. The tool belts dangling from their hips, hard hats perched on their heads, and sweat-soaked muscle shirts reminded me of Josh.

As if my crazy thoughts had conjured him from thin air, he suddenly appeared on the roof. He must have sensed I watched him because he shielded his face from the morning sun with the back of his hand and flashed a dazzling smile in my direction.

The tea kettle fell from my hand and clattered against the sink’s edge. I dropped my gaze from the window, picked up the kettle and found a new chip in the taupe porcelain of the basin. “Dammit!” I slammed the kettle onto the stovetop and flipped the burner to high.

Seconds later, my cell phone jingled from my purse in the living room. Crap on a cracker, when would it end? Leaving the water to boil at its own pace, I strode to the couch to dig out my phone. I was so frazzled, I didn’t even bother to look at the Caller I.D., just hit the connect button and slammed the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Rough night?”

I tiptoed back toward my kitchen and peeked out the window. Sure enough, Josh stood on the McNeills’ roof, one hand holding a cell phone cupped to his ear. Frustration seeped away, and a smile twitched my lips. “You could say that. And then to top it off, I came home to a big construction project going on at the house behind me.”

“The nerve of some people,” he exclaimed in mock horror. “Get some sleep, Frannie. I’ve got big plans for you tonight.”

A rush of heat washed over me. Plans? What kind of plans? A hard, dry lump rose in my throat. “I…” I couldn’t speak.

“I could come over and tuck you in, if you think it’ll help.”

Now
there
was a visual I could have done without. The image of Josh in my bedroom, leaning over me, swept through my psyche, and my knees weakened to globs of jelly. This man-boy could mean serious trouble to my carefully constructed façade. Like living on nothing but ice cream sundaes, the idea of Josh and me as a couple seemed fun—a laugh a minute. In reality, though, a constant diet of ice cream sundaes wasn’t fun or good for me. Josh: cute, fun-loving, laugh-a-minute Josh was my never-ending ice cream sundae.