The Sweetheart Rules (21 page)

The seconds ticked by. The storm lashed the house. Ellie’s smile turned into a frown. “Then what, Daddy?” “Then… uh…” He swallowed hard. The rain kept falling, the clock kept ticking seconds. Ellie slumped onto the bed and held her bear.

“Then one day,” Jenny whispered, “the princess was captured.”

“Thanks, Jenny.” He smiled at her, and she looked away, but not before he saw a ghost of a smile on her face. “The princess was captured. The king and queen of the planet were so upset, and so worried about their princess.”

“What was her name?” Ellie asked.

“Princess Leia.” Okay, so the whole story wasn’t of his own invention. But he was new at this, so he cut himself a break. “There was only one person who could rescue her. A pirate named… uh, Blackbeard.”

God, talk about dredging up the clichés. Next, he was going to have Will Smith save the day and Iron Man make a last-minute appearance.

“Cuz he had a black beard?” Ellie asked.

“Yup, and he always wore all black, to make his beard seem even bigger and scarier. Everyone thought he was a bad guy because he had really big muscles—”

“Like you, Daddy,” Ellie said with a giggle.

“Even bigger than that. But Blackbeard was a nice guy. He liked princesses. And he liked the people on that planet. So he got in his spaceship, and he set out to find Princess Leia.”

Jenny crawled onto the end of the bed. She tucked her legs underneath her and leaned against another mountain of stuffed animals that Ellie kept stacked against the footboard. Jenny sat there, as tentative as a baby bird on a branch, and he kept talking, spinning a crazy tale about the pirate and the princess. It wouldn’t have won any Pulitzer prizes, but by the time he finished, Ellie had nodded off in his arms and Jenny was hanging on every word.

Mike eased his arm out from under Ellie’s head, drew the blankets up to her chin, then leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. He turned to say good night to Jenny, but she had already scrambled off the bed and was standing by the door. “Time for bed, Jenny.”

“Can I stay up a little longer?” she asked. “With… you?”

He nodded, his heart so full he couldn’t speak. He was afraid to breathe, to do anything that might ruin the moment or make Jenny change her mind.

She followed him out of the room and down the hall. “I’m hungry. Can I get a snack? I promise to stay in the kitchen and clean up after myself.”

He thought of all those rules, those nice neat spaces he surrounded himself with.
Kids are messy,
Diana had said.
But that forces you to let down your hair once in a while. And I think that’s just as good for us stuffy adults as it is for the kids.

“You know, I’m hungry, too,” Mike said. “Let’s go grab some cookies and milk and eat them on the couch.”

Jenny arched a brow. “What about the crumbs?”

“That’s why they invented brooms, kiddo.” A few minutes later, they had big glasses of milk and towering stacks of cookies. Mike patted the space on the sofa beside him. “Come on. Let’s watch some junk TV until the bars and tone come on.”

“Bars and tone? What is that?”

“Something old people remember.” Mike chuckled. “When I was a kid, there was no such thing as twenty-four-hour television. When a station shut down for the night, they ran a screen of colored bars and this annoying sound until they were back on. I used to stay up a lot, waiting for the bars and tone to come on, and then I’d finally go to bed.”

“Didn’t your mom get mad?”

“My mom…” How did he explain this? “She went out a lot at night with my stepdad. I was scared of the dark, so I’d watch TV as long as I could.”

Jenny drew her knees up to her chest, making her nightgown billow like a yellow bell around her small frame. “Me too. I don’t like being home when Jasmine isn’t there.”

“Does she leave you home alone a lot?”

Jenny shrugged. “Kinda. She works a lot and she’s dating this guy named Lenny and he doesn’t really like kids, so they go out a lot.”

A protective instinct rose up in Mike, one that wanted to pummel this Lenny guy who didn’t like Jenny and Ellie. How could anyone not want to spend time with these girls?

Then Mike remembered. Three weeks ago,
he’d
been the guy who didn’t want to spend time with kids. He’d been the guy who had found a thousand other things to do instead of hang out with his own children.

That didn’t make him want to pummel Lenny any less, though. He made a mental note to talk to Jasmine and be sure her boyfriend wasn’t a loser who would hurt Jenny or Ellie. And to talk to her about her unorthodox parenting. No wonder Jenny didn’t get much sleep. How many nights was Jasmine leaving the girls alone? “Well, when your mom gets back, we’ll work something out so you don’t have to stay home alone again. Okay?”

She shrugged. Still wary, still not trusting him to be the dad he was supposed to be. Jenny hugged the armrest and stayed on the end of the sofa, as far from him as she could be.

Damn. Mike gestured toward the TV. A commercial for crackers was playing on the muted screen. “Want to watch
Star Trek
with me?”

She snorted. “You watch
Star Trek
?”

“I am a true Trekkie.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I’ve seen every episode, at least three times. Of the original, not those knock-offs.”

Jenny gave him a grin and eased her grip on the armrest. “Captain Kirk and Spock and Scotty?”

He nodded. “If you ask me, they’re the only ones who should be at the helm of the
Enterprise.
”

“Of course. No one else can say ‘Stardate 2030’ like Captain Kirk.”

“Or make the Vulcan sign like Spock.” Mike held up a hand, spread his fingers and did his best impression of Leonard Nimoy.

Jenny matched his hand, then giggled. “Which episode is it?”

“‘The Trouble with Tribbles.’ Or we could watch”—he thumbed the remote and gave his daughter a teasing wink—“
Meet the Press
.”

“No way!” Jenny reached across him and snagged the remote. “We’re not watching a geezer gabfest when we could be watching Captain Kirk.” She flipped the channel back, raised the volume, and settled into the sofa. “Any true Trekkie would never pick some boring old man show over ‘The Trouble with Tribbles.’”

“You are right, Jelly Bean.” The commercials ended and the show came back on the screen. “Look, it’s the best part. The tribbles are about to hatch. And cause more trouble than two little girls on a sugar high.” He tapped a finger on her nose.

“I have no idea who you mean.” Jenny settled into the cushions, closer beside him, but still not quite touching. The show rolled on, the tribbles hatched, and Jenny laughed, and Mike thought it was the best sound he’d ever heard.

As the credits rolled, Jenny began to get sleepy. She curled against Mike’s arm, her dark hair a curtain across his chest, her small hand holding on to his bicep. When she nodded off, he scooped her into his arms, carried her down the hall, and laid her gently in her bed. He drew the covers up and pressed a light kiss to her forehead, just as he had with Ellie earlier. “I love you, Jelly Bean,” he whispered.

Her eyes fluttered open. “I love you, too, Daddy.”

Mike’s heart soared and his eyes filled, and he thought,
No,
that’s
the best sound I’ve ever heard.

The house rang with emptiness. Diana stood in that doorway a long, long time, waiting for the taillights to turn into headlights, for Jackson to come back, for her world to right itself again.

How many ways could she screw things up in one night? Sleeping with Mike again. Finding out her son was doing drugs and hanging out with kids more likely to end up in jail than in college. Realizing Mike had betrayed her, followed by her horrible reaction of hitting Mike where it hurt the most—his relationship with his daughters. Then, losing her son for who knew how long.

The ebony dark mocked her, taunted her with its black emptiness. She spun away from the door, slammed it shut, and, as she took a step down the hall, tripped over Jackson’s dog. “Get out, Mary! Get out!”

The anger burst from her like a sudden tornado, unexpected, harsh, strong. The dog scurried down the hall and ducked into Jackson’s room.

Hell, even the dog had left her.

The ache in her chest doubled, quadrupled, threatened to cut off her air supply. Her son was in trouble, and she had let him down. She’d stopped paying attention, stopped noticing. She’d been too wrapped up in her own life, her own worries, her own career, to see that Jackson was slipping away.

Her son, following the path his own mother had taken all those years ago.

That was what clawed at her the most. The very thing she had prayed to avoid had happened. She’d lectured Jackson a thousand times about drugs, but never shared her own story. And in the end, she’d been too blind to see the warning signs of history repeating itself.

She had failed. Failed at the most important job God had given her.

She stumbled into the dark kitchen. Didn’t bother with the light switch. The whispers, louder now, coming from the cabinet, strong and demanding. Thirst pooled in her mouth, pounded in her head. In minutes, she could forget all this pain, numb it until it went from a scream to a whisper.

Just one sip. It will all go away. I promise.

Diana braced her palms on either side of the cooktop until the cold, hard metal cut into her palms and made them hurt. Still she stayed there, taking one breath in, letting it out. She closed her eyes, concentrated on her breathing. Her shoulders tensed, her stomach cramped, and her legs began to shake.

Just one sip. Come on. One. You can stop after that.

She thought of Jackson’s stony face when he was leaving, the way he’d glanced back at her one last time, then turned away and got in the car. The sound of his voice when he’d said he hated her a few days ago. The way he left without a hug or a kiss or even a farewell. Just gone.

One sip.

The whisper came louder now, more insistent.
One. Sip.

Her grip on the cooktop tightened. The steel edge pressed so hard into her palm that the pain traveled up her arm, hit her shoulders.

One sip.

She thought of Mike, of the tender way he had made love to her, the way he had looked at her, and then the way he had betrayed her. Of hearing him tell her to let her child try and fail. What the hell did Mike know? She knew where failure ended up—knew it far too well.

One sip.

Before she could think about another damned thing, Diana reached into the overhead cabinet, yanked out the bottle and turned away from the stove. She crossed to the cabinet, grabbed a juice glass, then a few ice cubes, and listened to the happy, tinkling music of them tumbling into the glass. She reached for the bottle, palming the gold plastic cap and turning it, one turn, two, three, and then it was off and on the table and the sweet, dark scent of the rum was teasing at her senses.

One sip.

She tipped the bottle against the glass and watched the liquor slide smoothly down and nestle among the ice cubes, like a familiar friend. Something brushed against Diana’s leg, and she jumped, spilling a few drops of the liquor on the counter and the floor.

Mary stood beside her, tail wagging. Diana pressed a hand to her chest and let out a breath. As she reached for the glass, Mary raised her snout to Diana’s palm. She whined, batted her tail against Diana’s leg.

“You’re worried about him, too, huh?” Diana said.

The dog’s tail wagged a couple times, then went still. Mary looked up at her, big brown eyes glistening in the dark.

“Worried about me?” Diana let out a laugh. “Join the club.”

Diana glanced at the half-filled glass, waiting for her to pick it up, to take that one sip. One sip that would lead to two, three, a hundred. Need clawed at her throat, like a hungry animal desperate to be unleashed.

She knew where that animal would lead her. She’d been in that dark nightmare before and almost lost her son that time, too.

“Oh, God, what am I doing?” she whispered, to herself, to the dog. “What the hell am I doing?”

Mary whined and nosed at her again. She plopped onto the floor, so close her body hugged Diana’s leg. Diana looked down at the dog, who was watching her with those big brown eyes, eyes full of…

Understanding.

Forgiveness.

That was crazy. She was a dog, not a person. But as Diana released the glass, the dog’s tail began to wag. Diana closed her eyes, swallowed hard, then dropped to her knees. She gathered Mary to her chest. The dog pressed back against the embrace, nosing her shoulder, her ear, her head. Tears streamed down Diana’s face and puddled on Mary’s fur, marring the smooth golden coat. The dog didn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” Diana whispered. “I’m sorry.”

She said the words over and over again, until her voice grew hoarse and the bottle stopped calling her name.

 • • • 

Esther sat in the back seat of Pauline’s giant Cadillac on a hot June morning and breathed into a paper bag, making it crinkle, then release, crinkle, release. “We… we… are going to get into trouble,” she said.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Esther, we are not.” Greta said the words, but wasn’t so sure they were true. They
were
treading on the sidewalk of illegal activity. As long as they didn’t actually cross into the road, no one should end up with a mug shot. At least not today.

“I really hope that restraining order expired,” Pauline muttered.

Greta whirled around. “Did you just say restraining order? Against you?”

Pauline shrugged. “It’s nothing. A neighborly dispute.”

Greta arched a brow. “They don’t issue restraining orders because you planted azaleas on the wrong side of the property line, Pauline. What’d you do?”

Pauline waved off Greta’s question. “It’s in the past. I’m sure the Baumgartners have forgotten all about it.”

Greta searched her memory banks. Behind her, Esther kept up her crinkle, release, crinkle, release. It took Greta a few minutes of combing through years of Rescue Bay gossip, then she struck gold. “
You
were the one who broke into Sylvia Baumgartner’s garage and let her dog go?”

“I didn’t mean for it to get hit by the FedEx guy. I was just hoping it would run away. Stupid Maltese was keeping me up all night.”

“Well, my goodness, Pauline, you do surprise me.” Greta sat back and smiled. “In a good way.”

Pauline grinned. “Why, Greta Winslow, I do think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Greta pulled a hat over her white hair and glanced at the other two. “We ready?”

Pauline nodded. Esther just kept doing crinkle, release, crinkle, release, her eyes wide above the tan paper bag.

“Esther, you stay here in case we need a getaway driver. Pauline, you’re with me.” Greta climbed out of the car before Esther could stop hyperventilating long enough to protest. Pauline followed, and the two of them strolled down the driveway, as easy as you please, as if they lived here. Which they didn’t. But no one needed to know that.

“What are we looking for?”

“We’re not looking for anything. We’re… planting seeds.” Greta paused by the potted plant on the right side of the drive, then rooted in the dirt and came up with a key. “What? Don’t judge me.”

“Does Luke know you’re helping yourself to the key to his house?”

“He doesn’t need to know. Technically, he’s living next door.” She pointed at Olivia’s house. “Besides, how are we ever going to get Mike and Diana together? From what Olivia says, they’re avoiding each other like two sharks in the same pool. They had some kind of big fight the other day and neither will talk to the other. What it was about, I don’t know, and Olivia won’t say. But I stopped in the animal shelter earlier today and Diana looks like hell. Olivia says she and Diana have been talking a lot, which is good. Everything’s better when it’s out in the open.”

“Everything? Like your feelings for Harold Twohig?”

Greta gagged. “Pauline, I swear I will leave you on the side of the road for the alligators to eat if you mention that man’s name again. It’s like everyone in this town is still stuck in the seventh grade.”

Pauline laughed. “Well, you sure are, Greta, with those notes you wrote.”

“They’re not notes. They’re… nudges. The trick is giving Mike and Diana a reason to talk to each other. Which I have right here in my pocket.” She patted her housecoat.

Pauline looked right, then left, then hurried up the porch steps and ducked into the shadowed area. “Well, hurry up, Greta.”

“I am, I am.” She inserted the key, turned the lock, and opened the door. She headed inside, with Pauline hot on her heels. The whole thing felt oddly freeing. Maybe she should commit more crimes in her old age.

For a man with two little kids, Mike’s rented space was insanely neat. Not a crumb on the floor, not a pillow out of place on the sofa, not so much as a thumbprint on the windows. “My Lord, this man needs to relax,” Greta said. “Maybe I should have brought him some Maker’s Mark.”

“You’d need a barrel of it. Did you see his shoes? Lined up just so, and with the laces tucked inside. It was like looking in the window at Macy’s.”

Oh, this man needed a woman. One who added a little chaos to his life. Got him to loosen up a bit. Greta reached into her pocket and pulled out a light pink envelope.

“Why, Greta, where on earth did you get pink floral stationery?”

“I stole it from Esther. Lord knows that woman wears enough flowers on her body. She doesn’t need to be mailing them to people, too.”

Pauline laughed. “You have saved the world from an invasion of two-dimensional daisies.”

“Just doing my part.” Greta grinned, then turned around. “Now, where to put this so it looks like it just happens to be here… .”

“Put it half under the front door. Like it was slipped underneath.”

Greta did that, then headed out of the house with Pauline, locked the door, and reburied the key. “Mission One accomplished.”

“We really didn’t need to break in to do that, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” Greta turned to Pauline and grinned. “It’s just more fun that way.”

Pauline laughed and wrapped an arm around Greta’s shoulders. “Greta Winslow, you are a bad influence on me. And I’m glad.”

“Me too, Pauline.” Greta hugged her back, thinking that if she’d known retirement would be this much fun, she would have done it fifty years ago. “Me too.”