The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield (81 page)

“Look, Danny,” I started, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “We’re here to see Riley because he seems to be a little under the weather.”

“You sent that secret agent dude here earlier,” he replied with a snort. “I thought it was either the IRS or the CIA coming after me.”

I bit on the inside of my lip to keep from laughing at the reference to Gilles, which could not have been more accurate, and looked Danny directly in the eye.

“Is Riley okay?” I asked, a little more gently this time. 

Danny shrugged in a shirt that seemed a little too loose on him. “He’s got a bad cold but nothing deadly. Kid’s just been mostly sullen, not eating or talking much. Don’t know what’s gotten into him this past week.”

Maybe Layla’s sudden withdrawal after all that she’d done to integrate herself in the boy’s life. Abandoned once is bad enough. Abandoned twice is kind of a piss-off.

“Does his mother know?” Brandon asked in complete innocence.

Danny’s eyes narrowed at him. “What do you know about Riley’s mother?”

“Only that she’s a friend of mine,” I butted in, flashing the most dazzling smile I could manage, hoping it would somehow distract my husband. “And that she’s, uh, a little caught up right now with other things. That’s why we’re here! We brought food and balloons to cheer him up!”

Danny’s gaze was a bit perturbing as he searched my face with eyes that were sharper than I initially realized. Layla’s identity and relation to the boy was top-secret and we both knew it. He seemed to be debating my knowledge of it in that unnecessarily long pause he took.

“Why is Riley friends with Boston’s power couple? Charbrand or Bralotte or something like that,” he mused with a sneer laced in suspicion. “See, I’ve read all about you in the papers. I know the Maxfields—my firm had sold two large luxury properties to Martin Maxfield about ten years ago. And I know you’re that Cinderella girl who caught this younger Maxfield in her hooks.”

I gritted my teeth, barely sparing a glance at my mildly-amused husband. “First of all, we’re just Brandon and Charlotte, not some silly conjoined power couple name. Second, my name is Charlotte, not Cinderella. Third, if you’d like to see just how sharp and deadly my hooks are, I’d be happy to show you.”

Danny’s eyes widened before he grinned and glanced at Brandon. “She’s a feisty one, isn’t she? They wrote the same thing about her. Must drive you crazy lots.”

“Occasionally,” Brandon murmured his assent.

“I even get more feisty when people talk about me like I’m not in the same room,” I muttered, shooting both men a glare. “Since you’ve done your celebrity profile report on me, Danny, can we move along now? Or do you need an autograph and a picture too?”

Danny’s expression grew serious again as he focused on me. “Why are you so interested in the welfare of the boy anyway?”

I stared right back. “Because there aren’t enough people interested in the same thing?”

His eyes narrowed. “I did the best I could with the kid given my circumstances.”

“I’ll agree that you could’ve done worse,” I answered with a shrug. “Same way I’ll agree that you could’ve done better.”

“You don’t know a single thing about me,” Danny hissed, prompting Brandon to step forward and put a protective arm around me.

Undeterred, I tilted my head up at Danny’s flushed face. “Assuming you mean to qualify your actions by the context of your situation, wouldn’t you have been a better man if you’d persevered to care for someone other than yourself when there was very little incentive to it?”

“Charlotte, don’t,” Brandon breathed a low, even warning to me. 

“If you think I’m letting you into my home after you’ve insulted me, you’ve got a loose screw in your head, lady,” Danny said balefully. “Who are you to judge me?”

I actually smiled. “I’m someone who also once thought that my actions were justified because I had good enough reasons. I did worse when I could’ve done better. Fortunately for me, I got a second chance.”

“The fact that she’s been through hell and back means that I am more inclined to protect her,” Brandon said in a clipped tone as he stared down a fuming Danny, his body taut against mine with the instinct to hit back should the man even turn his nose our way. “From anyone who would dare hurt her.”

After a long stretch of silence, I wondered if Danny was just going to slam the door in our face. Or spit at us. 

He seriously looked like he was contemplating the most efficient way to dispose of me.

I wouldn’t blame him. 

Throwing someone’s shortcomings to their face wasn’t exactly the best tactic to charm your way into their home. I wasn’t really an A-plus student when it came to social etiquette. I didn’t exactly glide gracefully into people’s good side. I more like charged forward, most of the time.

My poor husband probably felt like he needed to keep up and stay by my side in case I tripped on my own two feet or got shoved face down to the ground. 

Come on, Charlotte. Let’s try this one more time. took a deep breath and loosened the tension from my shoulders. “Listen, Danny. I understand Riley more than you’d ever know. He needs a friend as much as he needs chicken soup right now. If you can’t take care of him at this moment, at least let us.”

He hardly budged but his eyes glanced around and finally took in the food and party favors we’d set down on the floor, including the balloons on plastic sticks.  

“She’s not going to go away, is she?” Danny asked, glancing at Brandon.

My husband gave him a tight smile. “No, she’s not.”

“Alright,” Danny finally relented, begrudgingly of course, taking a step back and holding the door open. “Come on in. But I don’t want to hear another criticism about my character, a’right?”

“I suspect you give yourself one often enough that you don’t need more from me,” I replied lightly, earning another scowl.

“We appreciate your hospitality, sir,” Brandon cut in quickly, his polite interjection smoothing the man’s very easily ruffled feathers. “My wife means well.”

“Don’t we all. Doesn’t alway mean it’s worth anything,” Danny muttered under his breath. “Call me Danny. Might as well make yourselves comfortable since you’re clearly not going anywhere until you get your way.”

I beamed at him. “Thank you—and, oh! We brought lots of food. You may want to heat up some and have a few bites. I swear, they’re delicious!”

Without delay, Brandon and I gathered back up the food from the floor (and I inwardly hoped that they weren’t contaminated by anything yet) and carried them into the apartment, following Danny into the narrow galley-style kitchen.

Once the food was set down on the counter, I stood and surveyed the apartment. It was undoubtedly small and sparsely furnished but it was surprisingly clean. The sink only had one unwashed bowl in it. The breakfast bar was nearly clutter-free except for a small stack of those free local tabloids Danny must read a lot and a neat row of assorted, empty liquor bottles lined up against the wall. 

For a while, my father stashed proof of his excessive drinking in an old hamper in the broom closet but after several years, he gave up the lame attempt and started collecting them in a large plastic bin by the door. He yelled at me when I accidentally knocked it over and caused a couple bottles to roll off and shatter against the floor. He didn’t want to waste any of the money he got from recycling the bottles. He had to pay for his next drink, after all.

I pushed out the grim memories from my mind and turned to Danny. “There are cakes and cupcakes and all kinds of pastries that need to be kept cool. Can we scoot them into the fridge?”

“Feel free,” he said as he picked up a bottle of beer from the coffee table between the couch and the TV. “There’s not a lot in there to compete for space.”

I opened the fridge and scrunched up my nose. It was quite empty except for half of a six-pack of beer, a nearly empty jar of milk, a couple of eggs and a dry clump of celery sticks. 

I glanced at Danny over my shoulder and raised a brow. “Glad to know you’re eating a well-balanced diet of beer and celery.”

Brandon shot me a warning look but that jab seemed to have bounced off Danny who just shrugged.

“Grab your husband a bottle if he’d like one,” he said, lifting his bottle at Brandon. “It’s nothin’ fancy like you’re probably used to but trust me, when you’re properly soused, you really can’t tell.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Brandon said a shake of his head, making a commendable attempt at politeness. “I’m perfectly content to be sober.”

A bitter smile crossed Danny’s face as he tipped back his beer. “Knowing how well you’re doing with the big boys up there, you prob’ly have no reason to drink—except maybe to celebrate. I remember how that felt.”

“Danny used to be in real estate,” I told Brandon as I opened up the cupboards and grabbed a couple of plates. “He owned and ran his own firm, I believe. Right, Danny?”

“Damn right, I did,” Danny asserted. “Anderson Executive was the top real estate player in the state. Our clientele ranged from celebrities to top businessmen to politicians—we were the most sought-after firm for anyone with money to burn in luxury real estate.”

“Yes, I remember your company,” Brandon said with an impressed nod at the man while I busied myself unwrapping some of the leftovers and tossing them on plates. “My family had definitely done business with you before.”

Brandon was doing a good job talking up the man who was beaming like a spotlight at the attention my husband was giving him. 

One would think that talking about the good old days of something someone had lost so desperately and miserably would turn the conversation bleak but Danny had a sparkle in his eye. 

“Has Riley eaten?” I asked.

“Nothing more than a bowl of tomato soup earlier this evening. We didn’t have any crackers,” Danny answered before turning back to Brandon. 

“Could’ve bought a few boxes of crackers with the money you’d spent on a six-pack,” I muttered under my breath. 

But Danny didn’t hear me.

While I arranged the food, nuked some of it in the microwave, and stored the rest in the fridge, the two men started talking about people they mutually knew, the industry, the economy and all kinds of highfalutin business stuff. 

I hoped that Brandon was sincere in his interest in the conversation because Danny was wearing his heart on his sleeve. He talked with a mixture of confidence and fascination, as if Brandon was a rockstar and he was his biggest fan in the world.

The fallen stars know how majestic the skies are. They can’t help but long for where they once shone bright from.

The men barely glanced at me when I placed a plate of assorted savory quiches in front of Danny before carrying another toward the bedrooms. One door was ajar and another was shut close, sporting an old Red Sox sticker that had started to curl back on the edges. 

I lightly knocked on the closed door. When there was no reply, I let myself in quietly.

“Riley?” I called out. 

The room was dim save for the pale yellow light coming from an old, brass table lamp with a flickering bulb. It was right next to a narrow bed where a lump was curled under the faded blue quilt. 

“Riley?” I murmured again, setting down the food on a small study desk. 

The room was terribly cold, as if the heating didn’t work somehow because the living room seemed warm enough.

I approached the bed and spied a blond head peeking out from under the covers. 

Slowly, I patted the still form under the sheets. 

“Riley, it’s Charlotte,” I said as I hunched down next to the bed, wincing when the ice-cold floor made contact with my knees. “I came to see how you’re doing, buddy.”

I gently patted the form again until it wiggled slowly.

Pale blue eyes stretched open as Riley shoved the covers off his face, bunching it up under his chin. 

“Charlotte?” he asked in a sleepy voice even as his eyes widened in surprise. Even saying just the two syllables of my name, he sounded clogged up.

“Hey, you.” I smiled at him and reached out to ruffle his head lightly.

His skin was quite warm to the touch but didn’t have the searing quality of a fever. His cheeks were blotched red, matching his slightly swollen nose. 

“Wha...” His voice trailed off as he cleared his throat with some difficulty. He pushed himself up on his elbows and reached for the glass of water on his nightstand. 

I picked it up and held it with a steady hand as he took a long sip.

“You okay?” I asked as I put away the glass. 

He nodded and glanced up at me again. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were sick. You remember, Gilles, my driver? I sent him here earlier to pick you up because it’s my birthday today and I had a surprise party and all,” I told him with a broad grin. “I thought maybe you’d like to come join us but he said you had a really bad cold.”

The boy answered with a sniffle and I touched the back of my hand to his forehead. “You’re warm but you don’t seem to have a fever. How are you feeling?”

“Tired and my nose keeps running,” he replied, dashing the back of his hand against his nose. “And I’m cold.”

“No surprise since it’s like a walk-in freezer in here,” I said, looking around. There was a rusty-looking radiator right under the window. “Did your heater die or something?”

“It broke two winters ago and the landlord wouldn’t fix it,” Riley said with a limp shrug. “Uncle Danny kept saying he was going to have it repaired but I don’t think he can afford it.”

I’ll need to start a list. First, stock the fridge with food that a growing boy would need. Second, fix the damned heater so he’s not growing icicles in this room. 

“I’ll send someone to come look at it tomorrow. We’ll get it fixed,” I told the boy as I yanked a towel slung on the back of the chair by his study desk. It was small but at least it was dry and added another layer of insulation as I draped it over his covers. “Along with this flickering lamp that’s giving me a headache.”

Riley’s wide, wary blue eyes peered up at me. “Uncle Danny doesn’t like charity. He always says he’s not going to be someone’s pity-project.”

My heart twisted at the boy’s hollow statement. 

At twelve, he was supposed to be too young to know what it was like to be on the receiving end of pity. Unfortunately, it was a concept you learned early when you lived on the other side of that window, peering in at those who lived a charmed life while your nose pressed up against the cold glass and your stomach grumbled to the beat of the music and laughter.

“There’s nothing wrong with giving or receiving charity,” I said gently. “As long as you’re doing it for the right reasons. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to your uncle.”

The boy nodded before chewing on his bottom lip, clearly hedging about what he was going to say next.

“Have you...” he started, pausing awkwardly before shaking his head in resolve. “Have you seen or talked to Layla?” 

I noted that the boy didn’t call her Auntie to go with her cover story but I had a feeling Riley knew well enough that she wasn’t his aunt. He didn’t know enough of the truth though to dare call her what she really was to him.

“Not really,” I admitted with a sigh. “She’d replied to one email and that’s about it. Hasn’t she been by to see you?”

The silence and the quick shake of Riley’s head were answers enough.

My heart clenched with the need to do something—anything—to lift the dark clouds that hung low and heavy on the kid’s head but I was in a precarious position of being an intruder.

It’s a fight you can have with Layla in another time. For now, feed the kid.

“Anyway, since you missed my party, I thought I’d bring some of it to you,” I said brightly, ignoring my not-so-smooth steering of the conversation to a less-gloomy subject. “I brought you a plate but if you’re up for it, I think we should move you out to the living room and you can sleep on the couch instead. It’s warmer out there. At least until we get your radiator fixed.”

I watched as Riley’s eyes scanned the room and fell on the plate piled high with food. His eyes widened and he swallowed visibly. 

“I can stay in the living room,” he said as he pushed down his covers. He was in an old pair of dark blue pajamas and a threadbare white shirt. “I don’t want you to be cold in here.”

“I don’t either so grab your pillow and I’ll grab the comforter and the plate,” I instructed as I tucked the flimsy duvet under one arm and waited for him to slip down the bed and pick up his pillow.

I followed behind his slow trudging, swiping the plate as I passed it before we stepped out to the living room.

Riley made it a few steps into the living room when he stopped abruptly, causing me to nearly run right into him if I hadn’t caught myself.

“Who is he?” he asked, darting a wary look at Brandon who had turned our way.

I set the plate down on the coffee table and went to pick up some random clutter from the couch before depositing Riley’s comforter in it. “That’s my husband, Brandon.”

Riley’s head swung back to me, his eyes large and anxious. His voice though came out a raspy whisper. “Your h-husband? Is he like... him?”

It instantly dawned on me why the kid looked frightened. 

Trust Don LeClaire to ruin the ideals of a young boy about what husbands should be.

“No, no!” I said with a laugh, shaking my head, earning a questioning frown from Brandon who hadn’t heard what Riley said. 

I took the pillow from him and patted it nicely on one end of the couch. “Brandon’s very nice—a little stuffy on occasion—but very nice. He’s smart and he’s very kind—a little too kind, if you ask me. But he’s a cool guy. Funny too, and he doesn’t even know it sometimes.”

Riley didn’t say anything as he glanced back at Brandon who gave him a crooked smile and a little wave. “Hello, Riley. Nice to meet you. Hope you’re feeling better.”

The boy’s eyes darted between Brandon and Danny who was still cradling his beer with one hand and cramming his mouth full of food with another. 

This kid has a long way to go when it comes to trust. Can’t say I blame him.

“Riley’s room was a little chilly so I thought I’d move him out of here until we can have the radiator looked at,” I said, looking directly at Danny. “Hope you don’t mind if he’s taking up room in front of the TV.”

“Not much showing on it anyway since we’ve got no cable,” Danny answered with a half-shrug. “I’ll have a buddy of mine look at the radiator tomorrow. Been meaning to do that but I’ve been busy.”

“It’s all good,” I said as I motioned Riley over to the couch and set the food in front of him. “I have a buddy too who owes me a couple of favors. I can have him drop by and look at it. He’s fixed up the heating in my house before.”

Danny’s eyes narrowed at me and I held his gaze steadily. 

He knew what I was about—I didn’t really have a buddy and it cost me a couple hundred bucks when the heating in my house died just right around spring—but I wasn’t going to back down for Riley’s sake and I hoped Danny knew it.

After a long pause, Danny nodded. "Sure. Send him over."

"Thanks, Danny." I beamed at him, happy with my small victory.

I took a seat next to Riley as the boy started to eat. 

We both looked up when a shadow fell over us, finding Brandon standing next to the couch. He set down a fresh glass of water on the table and tucked a couple of the balloons in a corner crevice of the couch. 

Brandon smiled down at the boy and knocked the balloons gently with the back of his hand. "Sorry, they're kind of girly. It was her birthday party, after all."

I snorted. "They're blue, yellow and purple. I made sure not to take the pink, flower-shaped ones."

A small, amused smile crooked on Riley's mouth. "You didn't have to bring me balloons. I'm not six, you know?"

I wiggled my brows in feigned fascination. "Oh, right. Twelve is so grown up."

Riley chortled and glanced at Brandon. "She's a funny lady."

Brandon grinned and nodded. "I think so too."

I glanced over my shoulder at Danny who was still in the kitchen, sipping his beer and watching us. 

My initial hostility to the man had somewhat ebbed, to my own surprise.

Oh, I still wasn't a big fan of his coping mechanisms.

But in a way, I realized that even though Danny Anderson was looking for the way back to a happier life at the bottom of a bottle, he wasn’t as completely drowned in it as my father had been. 

He was still sipping the same beer he had been halfway through when he opened the door to us earlier, and he practically forgot about it while he was joined in on an animated conversation with my husband about matters that he was still clearly passionate about.

Clearly, the bottle substitutes what he’s sorely lacking right now—a purpose.

My father drank because after over a decade, what had started as a distraction became an addiction, and I wasn’t old or bold enough then to make him do something else with himself. I’d just tried to stay out of his way. 

Maybe if someone had pried the bottle off his hands and instead shoved him my lunch box so he could pack it up for me to take to school, he might have remembered that he was something else other than a miserable drunk. He might have remembered he was a father and that the little girl flitting in and out of his house wasn’t a phantom but his own flesh and blood.

It was too late for my father.

He’d let the alcohol eat away at the last bit of his heart and humanity until he was ultimately just a shell of a man.

Danny might just have a chance—and for Riley’s sake, someone had to give it to him.

"Don't just stand there, Danny," I told him with a smile. "Grab your plate and join us."

His hesitation was obvious but he shrugged and swiped his plate on his way toward us.

Just because they’re called second chances, doesn’t mean they can’t take more than a few tries.

We’d stayed about a little over an hour at the Anderson residence, eating and talking with both uncle and nephew, before we went on our way.

Riley had drifted off in the couch, after a hearty meal, and Brandon and I thought he’d fallen asleep so we got up on our feet.

The boy’s eyes fluttered open though and when he realized we were leaving, he dashed back to his bedroom, leaving Brandon, Danny and I staring at each other, puzzled.

He came out a minute later, clutching a thin hardbound with a slightly worn book jacket over it.

He handed it to me and said, “Happy birthday, Charlotte. It’s not new but it’s a really nice book.”

I glanced down at the poor old thing as it dawned on me that Riley had just given me a gift. “It’s a book of constellations.”

“When you look at the stars and they don’t make sense, this book will help you,” Riley said and I looked back up at him to see him smiling sheepishly, wringing his hands together. 

Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes and I bit my bottom lip to keep it from quivering. “Thank you, Riley, but wouldn’t you like to keep it though?”

The boy shook his head. “I know all the constellations already.”

I caught Brandon and Danny looking at us, the first wearing a tender smile and the second sporting a surprised expression, but it was Riley’s earnest blue eyes as he waited for my answer that knocked my heart around inside of me.

Here was a boy with very little in life, gifting me with one of his few prized possessions.

I pressed the book close to me as I bent down to wrap Riley in a tight hug. “Thanks, buddy. I’m sure I’d love it.”

“Thanks for coming to see us,” Riley murmured back before pulling away slightly to smile at me broadly. “And for the nice meal.”

I could tell there was a thank-you lodged somewhere in Danny’s throat when he nodded at us in a wordless gesture but I didn’t press it.

“I fear that whatever I got you for your birthday present is never going to surpass that book the kid gave you,” Brandon said with a rueful smile as we drove back throughout the city, with him manning the wheel this time.

I grinned at him and reached out to hold his hand resting by the gear shift. “I’m sure you have nothing to really worry about. I’d love anything you give me. That was just different.”