The air between them was taut with something, what was it? It wasn’t but a few minutes before the door opened but it felt like an hour.
Scott listened to John, having trouble assimilating what he was saying about Angie. She was six months along, the in-room ultrasound showed a healthy baby. The estimated due date was August twenty-fourth, just three months away. And it was a girl. He bit his lip, suppressing a groan. Of course, it was far enough along to determine the baby’s sex, but knowing that, made the baby seem far more real, than not knowing.
A girl.
He shut his eyes and breathed in deeply,
his little girl was having her own little girl.
What the hell was he supposed to do with that?
They left the clinic. He glanced at Angie, she was smiling. He blinked in surprise. Why did she look so happy?
“Did you hear Dr. Tyler? He says I’ve done a good job so far taking care of the baby. But now that I have some pre-natal care I have to do a little better. He said it’s because of me the baby is so healthy.”
Scott grasped his wayward niece in a bear hug. She was freakishly happy over any kind of approval from any authority figure. It made Scott flinch. It stemmed from Vanessa not telling Angie things she needed to hear and from her picking at Angie’s already fragile self-esteem. But still, for Angie to be so proud of how she’d hidden her pregnancy made him furious at himself and Vanessa.
“We must talk, Angie.”
Angie nodded. “I know. But Cindy asked me to meet her and Clarissa at the pizza place. I mean, that was so stressful in there. I just want to forget it for a while. Please, can’t I? We’ll talk later. After I get home.”
How could Angie go get pre-natal advice one hour, and go hang out with friends the next? It was as if the most life-altering news of having a baby in three months hadn’t just occurred. This perfectly illustrated how ill equipped a barely sixteen-year-old was to have the responsibility of a new life growing inside of her.
Scott hesitated, glancing at Sarah. What would Sarah think? Then again, what did he care what she thought? He was Angie’s guardian, not her.
“All right, tonight, with your mother.”
“Okay, okay, with Mom. I’ll see you. Thanks, Uncle Scott.”
She headed down the sidewalk and turned into the strip mall with arcades and a pizza parlor. That quick leaving him and Sarah alone, standing in front of the doctor’s clinic. They both stared after Angie. He cleared his throat and rubbed at the pain over his eye. “She just can’t quite grasp it, can she? That’s why she could so easily hide it from us, and even from herself. It all makes me need a drink.”
“Want to?” Sarah asked suddenly.
He lowered his hand and frowned. “Want to what?”
“Get a drink?”
“What? Me and you?”
“Yes. Why not? We’re here, and it’s been a stressful afternoon. Something I know I’ve never done before is escort a teenager to a prenatal appointment.”
“I guess we could.”
She smiled and turned. “Want to drive?”
“Yeah, whatever. My truck is behind the building.”
“I know. I saw it.”
Of course, she knew what he drove, and knew where he was parked, didn’t she know everything? So why did he care if she noticed he drove a beat up work truck? And of course, there was Cookie, which made him smile because she was going to hate Cookie.
Cookie was waiting with her head hanging out the window. She snapped to attention when she saw him approaching.
“So, who’s this?” Sarah asked, as she halted beside his truck. No surprise in her voice. She’d noticed Cookie before? She notices nothing at all about him, but she notices his damn dog?
“That’s Cookie,” he said, as he went to the driver side and unlocked the door, no chivalry on his part. He got into the cab and waited to see what she’d do about his tag along dog. Cookie scooted to the center of the bench seat. Sarah got in. Her black slacks with matching black blouse, purple sweater and low heels were both feminine and expensive looking. And looked so wrong in the burgundy interior of the truck cab, he almost groaned. He hadn’t expected to be shuttling Sarah Langston anywhere.
“Hi there, Cookie.”
Sarah put her manicured hand over Cookie’s head and rubbed her ears. Cookie leaned toward Sarah in ecstasy.
Traitor
. The dog nearly fell off the seat in excitement. Who knew Sarah would willingly pet a dog?
“She’s so adorable. I noticed her each evening, so patiently waiting for you. Is she a yellow Lab?”
“Yeah. She showed up one day and never left. It wasn’t long before she was sneaking into the bed of my truck to go everywhere with me.”
“She was a stray?”
“Yeah. And I’m all hers now.”
Sarah’s gaze was hot on the side of his face. Sarah kept her hand over Cookie’s ears and petted the dog as they drove.
“Where are we going?”
“The Oyster.”
“Never been there.”
“Big surprise.”
“It’s not a surprise because I don’t go out much. I work a lot instead. So, what is it?”
“A local hangout. I go there sometimes after work, play pool, drink, probably not your kind of place.”
They pulled in to the local watering hole, not a dive, but nothing to match the classiness of Sarah. But hell, after the afternoon he’d had she could suck up her disdain of it and probably of him. Inside it was dim, the decor black and red, with low lighting, and windows curtained off. The crowd was thickening as it was now five-thirty and people were showing up after work.
He snagged a booth. Sarah was right behind him. She bumped into him when he stopped. He wondered if she’d stuck so close because she was afraid of the bar. It made him laugh. There wasn’t one thing scary about the bustling crowd that he could see other than it was mostly men who worked labor and construction, fishermen, dockworkers and boat builders. None he supposed who owned expensive dress shops.
She sat down across from him, crossing her legs in a stately pose as she settled in and picked up the menu gingerly. He expected her to bring out her hand sanitizer next.
“You hungry?” he asked.
She shrugged. Her gaze bounced around the place. Maybe it was disdain at the collection of fried food being eaten around them that had her studying it with so much interest.
“Well, I’m starving and am going to order something with my drink. Do whatever you want.” When the server came he ordered a large basket of fries and a double cheeseburger, with a beer.
“I’ll just have the side salad and a glass of wine.”
“Sure, sweetie, watching the waistline?” the waitress asked.
Sarah shrugged but color filled her cheeks. He assumed the salad was because the food wasn’t up to her standards.
She set the menu aside, and straightened the condiments haphazardly strewn on the side of the table. “So, why Cookie?”
He shifted his gaze to her face. He’d been watching her red painted nails as she deftly organized the ketchup, mustard, salt, pepper and sugar dish. Why was she doing that? “What?”
“Why did you name your dog Cookie?”
Now the red nails were scraping at the table. Was she cleaning a dried on spot off the table? Sure as shit she was, it came up and she flicked it off. He blinked. She was freaking for real. He answered her absently, “She kept stealing the cookies out of my lunch, still does.”
“Really? She sounds so sweet.”
“She is.”
“Does she go everywhere with you?”
She dipped her napkin in the water before her and scrubbed her hand off. She didn’t drop her gaze to look at what her hands were doing. “Yeah, if I take my work truck.”
“And she’ll just wait for you to come out?”
Her tone was so…almost in longing. He glanced at her face. She looked almost wistful about his dog. “She never goes anywhere. When we’re home she shadows me. Results of being a stray, I guess. She seems fine as long as she’s by the truck. She knows I’ll always come back. Otherwise, she’ll only give me about a ten foot radius from her.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
He shrugged. Like he’d tell her that dog was his best friend. Talk about a pathetic sap.
“I think I’m kind of jealous.”
“Of what? Having a dog?”
“No, having something love you so much.”
“It’s just a dog.”
She laughed and shook her head. “No, she’s not just a dog, and you know it. But I’ll let you hold onto your macho ideal that she’s just a dog.”
He didn’t want to notice how pretty her laugh was, how her mouth tilted up, and her eyes gleamed. He looked away as if perturbed by her, and not disturbed with old adolescent flashbacks of misspent youthful lust.
“What is it you do?”
“Do?” He turned back toward her.
“Yes, as in a job. Why do you act so surprised I’d ask? It’s a normal question people ask each other.”
“My experience you haven’t been curious about anyone much. Especially someone like me.”
She sighed. “That again? God, you hold a grudge until you can’t see straight, don’t you? And what is someone like you? I don’t know you so how can I know what you’re like?”
“You just seem so clueless, like you’re the transplant to this town, not your best friend Kelly. I mean you’ve never been to The Oyster? Everyone’s been here.”
“Not Kelly.”
“Sure Kelly has. Several times with Luke. I’ve seen them with my own eyes. In fact, I had dinner with them a few weeks ago.”
“You did? Kelly knows you?”
“Kelly knows me. Luke is Angie’s geometry teacher. I’ve had conferences with him, along with knowing him for years. I just don’t get how you have never heard of my name. I’ve heard of you in round about ways, off and on, for years.”
“Oh.” She shrugged as she dropped her hands off the table into her lap. No more fidgeting, no more organizing. She sat up straight, her back barely resting on the booth. “You don’t believe me, but I work a lot. I know the women of town because that’s who I deal with eight hours a day, six days a week, selling them clothes and knick-knacks. I don’t see a lot of men. It really isn’t anything personal, you know.”
“And you live in a box too?”
“Yes, kind of. I live above the shop and I don’t have a lot of spare time to go out.”
“What about all your friends from high school? You had half a school following your every whim and word.”
She shook her head with a small smile. “That was ten years ago, Scott. Most anyone I knew left for college and never looked back. That was high school. People move on, grow up, and hopefully are not who they were in high school. Which I’ve spent the last three years making sure I wasn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because of my very public break up with John Tyler. I realized I didn’t like me very much. Why would anyone else? I’ve changed, and grown up. Leaving me with not a lot of friends. I’m sorry if I didn’t know who you were. So you’ll have to fill me in. What is it you do?”
Why was he so reluctant to tell her what he did? Like it mattered in the least. Finally, he answered shortly, “I work on boats.”
“What does that mean? You fish? Where? For what?”
“No, I don’t fish. I work at Stillers Boat Works.”
“Stillers? Of course, everyone’s heard of that place, even me. What do you do there?”
“I work back in Service.” His tone was borderline rude. It’s not like he was in a hurry to explain he wasn’t management or sales, but the physical labor of the operation. Each time she saw him he was coming from Stillers, his clothes reeking with the oil and fumes of the work he did.
He glanced up when she didn’t answer. Her head was tilted as she studied him. “What?” he grunted.
“Why are you so reluctant to talk about it with me?” She shook her head and answered herself. “Oh, I get it. You think I’ll judge you for it or something, right? That I, being the former prom queen you once knew of, must have an issue with what people do for a living.”
“Don’t you?”
“I must, you decided I do.”
“Well, you’re like an expensive bottle of wine and I’m a can of cheap beer. We don’t mix.”
She let out a breath and shook her head back and forth. The ends of her hair brushed over her shoulders. “Wow. You really have a complex. You do realize I had some idea what you did.”
“Yeah, my clothes.”
“Yes, your clothes. Why is it you think I’d find it so distasteful? You judge me on my clothes, don’t you?”
“I don’t give a shit about your clothes.”
“No, but you judge me on them. You give a shit in that you think they’re expensive and that I only care about them. That’s all you do is look me up one side and down the other with complete disdain over what you think of as my shallow, waste-of-time profession and wardrobe. You’re the judgmental one, not me.”
He did look her up and down. But it wasn’t for her clothing. They only registered to him in some vague idea if she was wearing pants or a skirt, and some notion of what color. Other than that he couldn’t care less what a woman wore. Style and name brands were like telling him what soap operas were on TV. He hated to know, and looked even less. But her body in those clothes, yeah, he noticed that.
“I’m probably a lot of things, but I’m not a snob.”
He was saved from confirming or denying when the waitress came with their drinks and food. He was starving and dug into the hamburger. She picked at her rabbit plate. And only after several bites did he realize she was watching him, no, not him, staring at his food. It wasn’t disdain on her face at his food, but longing. Why the hell didn’t she order some dinner? Shyness? Somehow, Sarah as shy was a stretch of the imagination.
He slid the basket to the center of the table. “Have some.”
She glanced at him startled, and then back at the fries as if he’d just offered her a wedding ring and she didn’t know what to say. She grabbed one and bit into it with a reverence that seemed a stretch for the greasy, limp fries served at The Oyster. It occurred to him what her problem was.
“You don’t eat, do you?”
“What?”
“You look like that because you don’t eat.”
She bristled. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you act as if those fries are gold encrusted. You’ve never had an extra pound in your life, why would you be so concerned about it?”