Star Dust (10 page)

She shouted to them to make sure they were awake, and when she heard the water running in the bathroom, she drained her coffee.

When she walked by the window, Kit was slouching down the street toward his house, Bucky at his heels. He looked as exhausted as she felt. He wiped his face on his shirt and for a moment she was breathless. He was a beautiful man.

She pulled the drapes closed. Doug might only be right about the one thing—but it was a big thing.

The left rear wheel of Anne-Marie’s cart squawked like the release valve on a pressure cooker, at least when it was moving, though it wasn’t doing much of that anymore. But when one arrived at the market at three minutes after four—along with everyone else in southeast Houston—one dealt with the only cart available.

She fumbled with her list, a ripped piece of an old calendar covered with notes she couldn’t half make out, and attempted to round another corner. But the cart wouldn’t budge. She had to pick up the handle and lift the thing, which was ridiculous.

She didn’t have too many items left. Maybe she could roll it just on the front wheels the whole time—

“See, I heard he left her.”

“Can you blame him?”

Standing in the middle of the aisle were Roberta—who’d spent most of the day subtly criticizing every travel arrangement Anne-Marie had the audacity to propose and the rest asking her to run errands—and Mrs. Cleary, the real estate agent her mother had used to buy the house. Based on the looks they were giving her, she was the subject of their conversation.

She set down the back end of her cart with a heavy click. “Ladies.”

“Mrs. Smith,” they said in near unison.

For a sticky moment, they all smiled placid, hateful grins at each other. Anne-Marie’s was a cork, keeping in the question she wanted to hurl at them:
Why would you take the side of a man you never met?
 

But they weren’t for Doug, exactly—they were against
her
. A wife was the only thing good girls could be. How many times had her mother said almost exactly that? Anne-Marie had more or less gone to college to learn how to keep house. And then she’d thrown it away.

Any woman who rejected the part—or said it wasn’t worth having if it meant putting up with infidelity—became an enemy when she made the rest wonder what they were doing.

Anne-Marie gripped the handle of her cart tighter. These women didn’t deserve her anger—though they had it.

She didn’t know how to say all that, however: not in any words they would understand.

All she had was, “Isn’t it gray out?”

Roberta raised a brow. Mrs. Cleary didn’t respond at all.
 

But she didn’t need to, because at that moment, Kit rounded the corner with a six-pack of beer in one hand and a box of cereal in the other. His tie was loosened and the top button on his shirt was undone. The notch in the base of his throat, a perfect little golden indent, winked at her.

He looked haggard and not even a little astronaut-ish. But when they locked eyes, an untroubled smile, a bit indolent but earnest, spread across his mouth.

“Mrs. Smith.”

When he said
Mrs. Smith
, she didn’t mind so much. Maybe because he looked in her eyes so intently it felt like
her
name, like it had nothing to do with her ex-husband. It wasn’t mocking or generic.

It was recognition.

And of course she’d been watching him like a lecher. So when she responded, “Kit,” she said it too warmly—much, much too warmly. And she probably should have gone with Commander Campbell, because he was a playboy astronaut and the formality would help her remember to keep her distance.

But she hadn’t. So Roberta’s brow arched up almost into her hairline.

Trying to cover her mistake, Anne-Marie slid into introduction mode. “Uh, this is Roberta Krol, we work in the same office, and Mrs. Cleary, who sold me my house. This is my neighbor, Christopher Campbell.”

“Commander.” Roberta turned the syllables into a symphony. A seductive prelude.

Something skittered through Anne-Marie’s stomach, but she pushed it away. He probably got this twelve times a day, or however many times he interacted with single women. Okay, and probably married ones too. From the moment she’d met him, she knew he took full advantage of all the perks of his job. Roberta’s flirtation had nothing to do with her. Nor would it have anything to do with her if he slept with Roberta.

Anne-Marie rubbed at her stomach with one hand.

Mrs. Cleary thankfully had no interest in seducing Kit. She launched into business mode. “You’re on Harbor View, right? I think Sally Meyers handled that sale. She always gets all the ASD clients.”

“Sally Meyers, yes, that’s right,” Kit said. He wasn’t being rude, but he didn’t seem particularly concerned with real estate politics. He turned back to Anne-Marie. “Where are Freddie and Lisa?”

“My mom’s got them.” She could feel herself flush. It was sweet of him to ask about the kids, but she didn’t like these women knowing that he’d asked. It tarnished the gesture somehow.

“I’d forgotten you had children.” Roberta clicked her tongue sadly. “How are they holding up?”

“They’re fine,” Anne-Marie gritted out from behind a rigid smile. “Excellent, actually.” She only wished that were true.

“They are indeed.” Kit’s smile deepened. “Particularly when they’re playing with Bucky. I’m sure he’d love for Freddie to throw the ball for him tonight.”

He said it so warmly, so genuinely, that she wasn’t sure how much he’d heard. Did he understand what Roberta was really asking? What she meant? What she thought? What she was going to think now?

He didn’t have to know, did he? He was a man. Doug probably didn’t know either, because it didn’t concern him. No one thought worse of him because of the divorce. No one thought he was a bad father—and he hadn’t seen his children in more than a month.

Which wasn’t Kit’s fault. But it was time to end this charade.

“We’ll see how much homework he has,” she said in a voice that made it clear it was too much. “I should—”

But before she could escape, or at least try to with the wheel that didn’t work, another woman flew around the corner behind Anne-Marie, boxing her in.

“Kit!” she exclaimed.

Did he know every woman in the area?

“Oh good.” The smile he gave the latest arrival was somehow different than the one he shared with her. Friendly. Untroubled. Less lazy. “Margie, I want you to meet my new neighbor. Anne-Marie Smith.”

The introduction was, at least from her perspective, unnecessary. Margie Dunsford was famous. She’d been in the
Life
article too, along with the six children she shared with another Perseid Six astronaut. She was pretty, with neat russet curls and a gorgeous tartan dress. The grocery list in her hand was organized into subcategories. She probably never got stuck with the cart that wouldn’t work. She probably carried spare wheels in her pocketbook just in case.

Margie Dunsford turned toward her and considered. “We met at the school last week, didn’t we? I think your boy’s in Billie’s class.”

Anne-Marie tried to smile. “Yes.”

“And you have a daughter too, don’t you? She’s in Mrs. Green’s class, I think.”

Anne-Marie swallowed hard and made an affirmative noise. She didn’t have Lisa’s teacher’s name down yet.

“Mrs. Green is new this year,” Margie said. She wasn’t looking at Anne-Marie, but past her at something only Margie could see—probably a chart of all teachers in the area with notes about their efficacy that she kept in her head. “I haven’t heard much about her yet. So you’ll let me know, won’t you?” With that, Margie turned back to Kit. “You haven’t sent me an RSVP about tomorrow.”

Kit laughed. “Dunsford didn’t tell me I needed to. He made it sound more… casual.”

Margie rolled her eyes. “I know that you’re a bachelor, Kit, but let me explain to you how it works when you throw a party for twenty-five people that includes a sit-down dinner. I ordered the meat from the butcher a week ago because I don’t like the beef here. Mitch bought the drinks over the weekend. Now I’m finishing up with the sides. Do I need to have enough for twenty-four or twenty-five? And men are different than families. I have to calculate different amounts. It affects the cooking, the shopping, the set-up. So if you’re invited to a party, you telephone the hostess and tell her if you’re going to come.” She looked at Anne-Marie and gestured. “Right?”

“Um, yes?” It was right, Margie Dunsford was right—though forty seconds into their acquaintance, Anne-Marie suspected that she was rarely wrong—but something about the other woman’s tone put her on edge. Had she passed?

“See? She understands. Wait a second! What are you doing tomorrow?”

It took a minute for Anne-Marie to realize the question was directed at her. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night? Are you and the kids free? Because the Perrys just canceled, which would leave my kids the only young kids, which they’ll hate. But yours are the same age, and you’re new and, well, I have extra beef—as we just established. Are you free?”

Anne-Marie looked at Roberta and Mrs. Cleary, who’d watched the entire exchange in petrified silence and fascination.

This was bad. Anne-Marie was already the subject of gossip and speculation. And with Kit… well, it was going to get worse.

But the kids. They’d love to go. She was sure of it. At the very least, there would be astronauts, and Freddie and Lisa couldn’t get enough of astronauts. And Margie Dunsford as an ally?

Anne-Marie looked back at Margie. When they’d met at the school, Anne-Marie had been defensive. She’d taken Margie’s tone to be prying. But now that she’d seen her in action, she knew that wasn’t it at all. If Margie Dunsford had been born a man, she’d be a general. A good one. She was an organizer. And she wanted to manage Anne-Marie.

Well, at the moment, Anne-Marie could use a little managing—at least if it would ease tension around the market.

“We’re free. I’m sure the kids would love to come.”

“Great! Kit’ll give you the details.” And with that, the astronaut’s wife flew down the aisle, probably to plan parties, dispense advice, and solve US-Soviet relations.

Roberta and Mrs. Cleary exchanged a look.

“Well, I’d better—” Anne-Marie said, but before she could get the entire thing out, Roberta interrupted, “Have a good night, Mrs. Smith.”

She and Mrs. Cleary flowed around her stranded cart, doubtless to discuss the entire incident at length next to the cabbages.

Their departure left her and Kit alone.

“So,” he said with another one of those patented smiles.

“So,” she responded, trying not to let it warm her.

“That’s Margie. She’s… quite something.”

“She is.” That seemed the simplest response. “It was nice of her to invite us.”

“She always needs a project. Not that you’re… I mean, she might complain about me not sending an engraved response, but she lives for this.”

Anne-Marie could tell that was true, so she tried to ignore the part where he’d implied she was a problem in need of fixing, even though she knew it was true. “I need to finish here and get home to cook.”

“Oh, sure. I didn’t mean to keep you.”

She didn’t move. He didn’t either. She glanced at the notch in his throat, and her skin burned with mortification. Work and stress and gossip made her stupid. She needed to get home.

But when she tried to get away, her cart squawked, and he laughed.

“Hold these.” He shoved the beer and cereal at her, and then knelt. He fussed with the troublesome wheel, advancing it with a finger. He dug in the bracket, eventually producing a wadded-up ball of paper.

He pushed the cart, and it rolled down the aisle without a sound.

In spite of herself, she looked down at him, still on his knees, and smiled. “You’re wonderful.”

The moment she’d said the words, she wanted them back. He wasn’t… That was, she hadn’t thought to look for the source of the problem there. She’d seen it as intractable. But if she’d looked, she could have fixed it. There was nothing special about him.

What she should have said was,
You’re pragmatic. Thank you for fixing my problem, even though I could have handled it.
Yes, that would have been better than wonderful. And more accurate, too.

But her body didn’t seem to know that. Other than when he’d lit her cigarettes, they’d never been this close. She could feel him, actually feel the heat from his body. He could reach up and hold her.

Not that he would. But his eyes were bright and focused on her, and his breathing was shallow—as if he were thinking the same thing she was.

This was not aiding her plan to ignore him.

She thrust his groceries at him. “Thank you.”

Ignoring the last items on her list, she dashed for the register and from there to her car. She was only shopping in the morning from now on.