The Next Thing on My List (22 page)

‘ Thanks, but you don’ t have to do that. I don’ t want to slow you down or-’

‘ I injured your trainer. It’ s only fair.’

With that, the gun sounded and we were off. Instantly, it was as if everyone were running through a sieve. The fast ones slipped through to the front, and the rest of us found our places slogging along at our own paces.

We started along the Strand, the boardwalk that runs adjacent to the sand, with the ocean to our left and multimillion-dollar homes to our right. A light breeze blew off the water, and my body kicked effortlessly into gear. My training was paying off. I tried to make conversation with Flash, but he put a stop to that, saying, ‘ Lady, if you can talk, you’ re not running hard enough.’

I’ ll be darned-he was a mini Martucci.

A mile later, we turned up a street to run past shops and restaurants and-yum! I smelled pancakes! One more turn and, ‘ Oh no, look at that hill-it’ s a wall!’

‘ You can do it,’  Flash assured me. ‘ Go like this-’  He showed me how to lean forward a bit. ‘ And then follow my pace.’

‘ Isn’ t there supposed to be special equipment for mountain climbing?’  I huffed irritably. Ow. Ugh. Arrrrgh. Errrrgh. ‘ Don’ t you get-’

‘ Don’ t talk,’  he admonished. ‘ Run.’

Muscles arguing and protesting all the way, I made it to the top. Flash high-fived me without breaking stride. ‘ I knew you had it in you!’

That was the steepest hill, and after that the run was cake. The route wound us around so we ended not far from where we began. Yards from the finish line, I heard my name being screamed, along with catcalls and various inspirations such as ‘ Work it, honey!’  and ‘ You go, girl!’  I gave a victory wave to my pep squad and then, heart pumping, crossed the finish line. Twenty-nine minutes. Not bad, considering the hills.

There were plenty of runners doing their postrun stretch-for all I knew, a few were already home eating bon-bons. But I’ d made it, and not even in last place. Not even close to last. It was especially sweet since I’ d never successfully done anything athletic before in my life. My sports history was tragic. Like in fourth grade when my brother talked me into signing up for softball, where it turned out that the only skill I learned was the art of the deal. I’ d negotiate with the pitcher, the shortstop, and the third baseman as I ran out to left field, briefing them on the ways they were to cover for me should the ball come my way. But nobody had to cover for me today. I was officially a jock.

My cheering squad came over as I ruffled Flash’ s hair. ‘ Thanks for the help, Coach. I couldn’ t have done it without you.’

‘ Yes, you could,’  he said, his freckled face serious. ‘ You can do anything. I believe in you. Remember that.’

‘ Okay, then,’  I said, not knowing quite what to make of him. I had to marvel as I watched him jog back to his dad. How did these children come into my life all of a sudden? Where had they been? Were they always there and just hiding?

A towel hit me in the head. ‘ Nice job, champ,’  Martucci said.

‘ Why, thank you.’

After that, Susan, Chase, and the twins, Martucci, Kip, Sebastian, Deedee, and I all went to breakfast at Uncle Bill’ s, the pancake house I’ d passed during the race. Sitting at the table, I couldn’ t help but smile at the ragtag crew I’ d assembled over the past few months. C.J. spilled the syrup onto Joey’ s lap. Kip kept eating off Sebastian’ s plate. Susan started absently cutting her husband’ s pancakes before Martucci pointed out what she was doing, and we spent the next ten minutes making fun of her.

But it was Deedee who brought down the house when she blurted, ‘ Shhh, hold on,’  and then grabbed my hand to place it on her belly.

And there it was. The baby kicking.

It was as if the room and its noises and people disappeared and the only thing that I could see or hear or smell or taste buzzed up through my fingertips.

This wasn’ t a business deal anymore.

This was a child.

And I’ d never before been so close to holding her.

Chapter 18

Y ou sound like a jealous wife,’  Phyllis teased. ‘ Are you going to start checking his collars for lipstick?’

I’ d spotted Lou Bigwood getting into the elevator with a woman. A beautiful woman. She was the third I’ d seen him with that week. Naturally, I sprinted to Phyllis’ s office to get the story. Why I bothered I didn’ t know. All she’ d tell me was the woman’ s name and company. I could’ ve gotten that reading the sign-in sheet at the reception desk-which I’ d already done.

‘ Is he interviewing people for Lizbeth’ s job?’  I asked.

‘ No.’

I narrowed my eyes at her suspiciously. That had been too easy. ‘ Now let me put it another way: Could one of these women possibly be given Lizbeth’ s job?’

‘ Yes.’

I flailed my arms. ‘ So he is interviewing, then!’

‘ No. Lou doesn’ t interview.’

Talking to Phyllis was like going down the rabbit hole. Nothing quite made sense, yet everything was clear. I needed to make my move soon.

Whatever it might be. I still hadn’ t a clue what might impress the boss into giving me the promotion I so richly deserved. ‘ How long do you figure I have?’  I asked, bracing myself for another of Phyllis’ s noncommittal answers.

‘ Hard to say.’

‘ Suppose there’ s a gun to your head. Then what would you guess?’

‘ Three weeks.’

‘ Really? That fast?’

‘ No, but there’ s a gun to my head. I’ ll say anything.’

I had Phyllis schedule me for a meeting with Bigwood a few weeks away-a Friday afternoon before he was due to go out of town for a conference. It was vital that I get to him before he left. He’ d met Lizbeth at a conference. I couldn’ t risk a repeat performance. Even though I had plenty on my plate already, I’ d never forgive myself if I let him hire another little lovely-someone with that mix of aggression and beauty that seemed to draw him-while I sat by and did nothing.

My phone was ringing when I got back to my cubicle. I picked it up, and it was Troy. As soon as I heard him say hello, I felt my lips turn up and my IQ involuntarily drop. Yes, the crush was in full effect. Getting worse, in fact. Troy had been acting as go-between to help me work out a plan for Vegas with his mom and grandma. We’ d exchanged brief, polite phone messages rather than actual calls so far, but they were enough to send my blood pulsing.

The trip to Las Vegas was set for the last weekend in June, and he’ d said his mom and grandma were looking forward to it. In fact, everything seemed so tied together, I was surprised to hear from him now.

Unless something was wrong. Maybe they’ d changed their minds.

I gnawed on a fingernail. ‘ What’ s up?’

‘ Oh, it’ s you,’  he said, sounding surprised. ‘ I expected your voice mail.’

‘ I can take a message for me if you’ d prefer.’

‘ The real thing’ s much better.’  We exchanged the usual how are yous; then he said, ‘ I’ m calling to offer my services if you think you might need me in Vegas.’

Services? ‘ What-escort?’

‘ Actually, yes. If you need help with Mom and Gran, I’ d be glad to do what I can.’  Then he added hurriedly, ‘ Of course, I’ d get myself up there& book my own room.’

I found myself saying, Of course, come on up. The more the merrier. But concerned by what might be underlying his offer, I added, ‘ Are you sure your mom and grandma are comfortable with this trip? Because it’ s not worth doing it for the list if it’ s going to make them-’

‘ They’ re excited, I promise, although I’ d be lying if I said there won’ t be sad moments for them. That’ s why I thought it might be good if I was there. Just in case.’

In case what? Susan’ s comment about how losing a child was the worst possible thing she could imagine floated back to me. Was this too much to ask of a grieving mom? I had no way of knowing if he was being honest about their being up for the trip, but I decided to trust him. ‘ Okay,’  I said. ‘ But you don’ t have to go up on your own. You can ride with us. We’ re leaving Friday at three.’

‘ I appreciate the offer, but I’ ve got a meeting that afternoon,’  he said. ‘ I’ ll ride the bike up, so I’ ll probably get there before you anyway.’

‘ Yeah? You believe that your motorcycle can take our Rideshare Mobile?’

‘ You don’ t really call it that, do you?’

‘ Sure do. It’ s a thirty-foot motor home with the words painted on the side in giant letters. I hope your mom and grandma have a high tolerance for embarrassment.’

‘ They’ re Wayne Newton fans-of course they do. And yes, I can beat you there. I’ ll get to ride around traffic. You’ ll be stuck in it.’

‘ Ah, but you’ re forgetting that we can use the carpool lane.’

As soon as I said it, it struck me. I must have gasped because he said, ‘ Everything okay?’

‘ You’ re a genius.’

‘ Thank you for noticing. Any reason in particular you’ re telling me now?’

‘ You gave me a great idea for work.’

‘ Just now?’

‘ Yeah, and it might get good media. There’ s even a chance this one won’ t cause rioting in the streets.’

‘ That’ s too bad,’  he said. ‘ I’ ve come to expect exciting things to happen when you’ re around.’

FRIDAY NIGHT, I sat in my apartment, reeling with frustration. I’ d spent hours rummaging through photo albums and yearbooks, only to come up empty-handed. The next day was my parents’  party, where I’ d give my brother the letter showing him how grateful I was for him. I ought to be able to come up with one tender moment to reminisce about, but I couldn’ t.

Dear Bob:

I’ m writing to express my gratitude for the time that you and your friends decided it would be ‘ funny’  to pin my junior year homecoming date against the wall and ask him what his intentions were with me. Hilarious!

Love,

June

P.S. It was especially amusing because, although he and I only went to the dance as friends, I believe he may have wet himself.

Dear Bob:

I can’ t thank you enough for keeping a photo of me wearing my eye patch in your wallet and showing it around as often as possible. How many girls have a brother who carries a photo of them? I’ m flattered and, it goes without saying, grateful.

Shiver me timbers,

June

Dear Bob:

Please accept my most humble gratitude for the people you brought into my life-especially all the girls who pretended to be my friends, only to spend the entire time fawning over you once they got to the house. Your popularity and magnetism remain an inspiration.

Yours in family and friendship,

June

Dear Bob:

Words cannot express my appreciation for my recent weekend visit to your home, during which you took off for a golf outing the second I arrived. It was a great chance for Charlotte and me to bond. She cooked delicious meals, and we went shopping and watched movies together and did girl stuff, even though, at least according to birth records, you are my actual relative.

Warmest regards from your sister,

June

Dear Bob:

How on earth did you ever get Charlotte to marry you? She’ s so genuine and warm, and I like her a lot. Did you blackmail her?

June

‘ HELLO?’  My mom sounded wary when she answered the phone.

‘ What’ s wrong?’  I asked. ‘ Did I catch you at a bad time?’

‘ Oh, it’ s you, honey. No, it’ s fine. I thought you were somebody calling to cancel. This is always the point when guests start pooping out. The Kolesars just called to say they’ re going up north. Your father and I have been holding this party the exact same weekend for ten years, and they RSVPed a month ago.’

‘ I’ ll be there,’  I assured her.

‘ Well, then that’ s one for certain. Hope you’ re hungry.’

The party was the annual fund-raiser for a scholarship my dad helped start in memory of his best friend, George Ku, a teacher who died of cancer. It’ s fifty bucks a head and all the food and drinks you can stuff down. It usually draws a crowd of a hundred or so. I was feeling guilty because normally I’ d help out with the chopping and dicing and whatnot-I’ m not much of a cook, but I make a fine scullery maid. But I’ d been avoiding my parents as of late, tempted to blurt that I was going to adopt Deedee’ s baby but not wanting to say anything until it was certain.

‘ I know you’ re busy,’  I said, ‘ but can I run something by you?’

‘ Sure. I’ m spinning the lettuce. I can do that and talk at the same time.’

‘ I’ m working on the letter for Bob that I told you about. And I’ m having trouble coming up with memories to share.’

‘ Tell me what you have so far.’

‘ ‘ Dear Bob.’ ‘

Silence.

‘ That’ s it?’

‘ I was hoping you could fill in the blanks.’

She sighed. ‘ Was I such a horrible mother? How could you not have a single happy memory from your childhood?’

‘ I have plenty of happy memories. Remember that time we went to New York and realized that we’ d accidentally left Bob home alone? And then we& Oh, wait& that was a movie.’

‘ You love your brother!’  she insisted.

‘ Sure I love him. He’ s my brother. Only there are times I don’ t particularly like him.’

‘ Bob was a wonderful brother to you.’

My hands were poised at my computer keyboard. ‘ In what way,’  I asked cagily, ‘ would you say he was a wonderful brother? And try to speak in complete sentences.’

‘ Oh, for Pete’ s sake. Okay. How about when he signed you up for softball?’

‘ That was one of the worst experiences in my life!’

‘ I thought it was sweet how he went to all your games.’

‘ He went to my games?’

‘ Didn’ t miss a one. It wasn’ t his fault you were terrible. No offense. I’ m only going by what you told me.’

My fingers typed away: Bob, I’ ll never forget seeing your face there in the stands, cheering me on.& ‘ What else you got?’

‘ Oh, hold on.’  She shouted away from the phone. ‘ Martin! The water’ s boiling!’  Then back: ‘ Let’ s see& there were so many things. You always put on those cute plays for us& charged a dollar admission. And how about that time we saw the movie The Birds? He walked you home from school every day for a week because you had this crazy idea that you were going to get attacked.’