Authors: Rachel Ann Nunes
When she returned to the living room with the repair estimates, Belle was sitting on the piano bench, her father standing by her side. Belle played the piano with tiny fingers, not banging as Jeremy did, but softly and with feeling.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Damon said.
“Not at all. I wish my boys would try to play instead of banging on it.” Of course, since they hadn’t been able to afford lessons, they hadn’t learned much about playing real songs.
“We have a piano,” he said, “but Belle has never shown any interest in it. Tanner did for about six months when he was ten. I didn’t push it.”
Belle looked up at Mickelle. “We have a bi-i-i-g piano. A grandfather one. And it cost about a million bucks. Rebekka said so.” The little girl glanced at her father. “I think that’s why she wants to marry my dad. So she can have my mother’s piano.”
Damon’s lips twisted in a grimace—or perhaps a painful attempt at a smile. Mickelle couldn’t tell which. To avoid any further awkwardness, she sat at the piano next to Belle.
“I took lessons when I was a kid,” she said. “Listen to this.” Her fingers found the right keys quickly and surely as she played the first few bars of “The Entertainer.” She stumbled near the end, but Belle didn’t seem to notice.
“I want to learn to play that song!” the little girl exclaimed eagerly. “Will you teach me?”
Mickelle didn’t know what to say. She was a beginner herself, despite the impressive song. “It’s the only complicated one I know,” she admitted. “I have a book that has more songs, but I don’t know if I can teach you. You probably need someone better than me.”
Belle looked disappointed. “Well, if I come over, can you at least show me that song, a little at a time?”
“Sure,” Mickelle agreed readily, before she remembered that she might never see the girl again.
“Cool! So where’s the first key?”
Mickelle showed her, surprised at how fast Belle remembered. Her little fingers stretched almost impossibly to find the right notes.
“Mom!” Jeremy came in the front door, looking disgruntled.
Mickelle turned from the piano. “What?”
“Bryan’s being stupid. And I’m bored.”
That usually meant Bryan was talking about something Jeremy had no interest in—like gym class or girls. “If you’ve done your homework and your room is clean, you can play your DS for a while.”
“You have a DS?” Belle asked, interested.
Jeremy went to the side table and found his DS under an old copy of the
Ensign
. “Yeah, and I’m gonna play Pokémon. Wanna watch?”
For an answer, Belle slid off the piano bench. “Sure. I’ve got Pokémon, too—at home. I play it all the time.”
“I’m trying to find a Bulbasaur.” Jeremy spoke with enthusiasm, as though grateful for an audience.
“I got one.” Belle’s voice was matter-of-fact, not boasting.
Jeremy gaped. “Yeah? Where?”
“From Professor Oak.”
Jeremy nodded. “You must have the blue version then. On yellow, a Bulbasaur is hard to find. At least it is for me.”
“I didn’t know that. Show me.” Without a backward glance at her father, Belle followed Jeremy out onto the porch.
Damon grinned at Mickelle. “You catch any of that?”
“Some—not much,” Mickelle replied with a laugh. “I know Professor Oak is a Pokémon expert in the game. That’s all. Frankly, I just don’t get the whole video game idea. Seems like a waste of time.”
“It’s a way to relax, to get away from real life.” Damon walked to the couch and settled onto it. “Some of the games improve children’s cognitive abilities—or so I’m told. I used to play a lot when I was a kid.”
“And look where you are now.”
There was a long silence while they stared at each other. Then Mickelle shook her head and sighed, breaking their eye contact.
“What?” he asked. She could feel him looking at her intently, as though trying to read her inner thoughts.
Mickelle sat in Riley’s chair. “Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
Mickelle felt herself blush. She couldn’t tell him what she was thinking, could she? He was, after all, a stranger. “Well, it’s just that if you’re so ri—successful, why would you balk at paying a measly five hundred dollars?” The words escaped before she could stop them.
Oops.
He shifted his position on the couch, looking uncomfortable. “I guess it’s the principle of the thing. At first accounting, I really thought you were as much to blame for the accident as Tan was. And I thought you were taking advantage of my son’s age to get work done on your car.” His eyes met hers. “Now I know that’s not true, and I’m really sorry for all the trouble we put you through.”
“That’s understandable. I mean, we all want to protect our kids.”
He frowned. “Sometimes too much.”
“It’s hard being a single parent,” Mickelle said sympathetically. “I care deeply about my children, but sometimes it’s a big task being the only one responsible for them.”
Even Riley was some help,
she added to herself.
“That’s exactly it. And whether you fail or succeed, you have no one to share it with—at least no one who loves the kids in the same way you do.”
She’d never had that, not even with Riley. She had always cared more about the children than he had. “How long . . . have you been alone?” she asked. “Tanner told me your wife was . . . gone. I’ll bet it’s been difficult for him and Belle.”
He let out a long sigh. “My wife died of cancer two years ago. Tan did take it kind of hard at the time, but he bounced right back. It’s amazing how resilient kids are. As for Belle, she never really knew her mother. Char—Charlotte—had been sick and bedridden almost since Belle was born. Sometimes I would take both Belle and Tan with me on business trips—with the nanny—because many times Char was too ill to even have the children near her. Having to make a simple parental decision would make her gravely ill.”
“No wonder you’re so close to your children.” Again Mickelle spoke without meaning to, but when she saw Damon’s gratified expression, she was glad she had. “An honest observation,” she added.
Not like the compliments I gave Riley so he wouldn’t be angry or depressed.
Why did she have to think about Riley now? One thing was certain: it was good being able to speak her mind without fearing an angry outburst. If she angered this man, who cared? It would make no difference in her life.
Damon leaned forward. “Thank you for saying so. I’ve tried really hard with them. And that’s really why I’m here tonight. I mean, I want to help you, but more than anything, I wanted my son to take responsibility for his actions.”
“That makes sense to me.” Mickelle retrieved the repair estimates from the top of the piano and handed them to Damon.
He glanced briefly through the pages and then met her gaze, looking somewhat embarrassed. “You know, the part they fix is going to look better than the rest of the car.”
Mickelle laughed. “Don’t I know it!” She sobered. “Look, Mr.—Damon—the only thing I need is for the fender to be straightened and the door fixed so it doesn’t stick and I can open it from the outside. You needn’t pay for sanding or paint or anything; that’s pretty useless. The car will go to the junkyard as soon as I can afford something else.”
Damon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “In that case, I’m getting an idea here. What if I take your car home tonight, and I get Tan working on it? He might possibly be able to straighten it all himself. If not, I know a mechanic who can help. At the very least, Tan can order the door parts, touch-up paint, and whatever else is needed. That way, he’s actually taking responsibility for what he’s done.” His eyes never left hers as he spoke, and Mickelle felt an odd warmth permeate her body.
It’s because he wants so much to help his son,
she told herself. “That’s fine with me,” she said aloud.
“Of course, I’ll still want you to have the money the estimates are asking for—just in case you change your mind about the paint.”
Mickelle shook her head vigorously. “Oh, no. Fixing the car will be enough.”
“I insist,” Damon said. “I won’t make Tan cover it all—he’ll just pay for the parts—but you ought to be compensated for your trouble. If you don’t use it on the car, I’m sure you can find some other use for it.” His glance rested briefly on the damaged curio cabinet.
Mickelle followed his gaze. She could certainly use the funds. In fact, she needed the money more than she wanted to admit to this stranger. Though her pride begged her to reject his offer, she accepted it graciously. “Well, all right, if you feel that you must. Thank you.”
“I do.” Damon stood. “Now, there’s just the matter of getting your car back to my house.” He laughed and rubbed his chin again, an action that was quickly becoming endearing to Mickelle. “Too bad Tan doesn’t have his license—he could drive it home!”
Mickelle smiled, knowing that for a boy of Tanner’s age and economic situation, driving the Snail might be worse punishment than having to repair it. “I could drive it over,” she offered. “If you’ll bring me back home. Or I could get my sister to drive me.”
“I’ll be glad to take you home, but this job won’t be done in a day. What will you do without a car?”
She shrugged. “I don’t really need one. I’ve been shopping already.”
For all that I can afford,
she amended silently. “The boys can walk to school.”
Damon frowned. “You might have an emergency. I don’t feel good about leaving you without a car. Tanner might not be able to get it done before Saturday.”
“My sister lives nearby. I can always use her van if I need to.”
“Hmm.” His frown turned to a smile. “What if you use my car? Hey, that’s it! I’ll take your car, and you keep mine.”
Mickelle glanced out the window at the dark blue car that looked brand-new. “I don’t think so. What if I damage it?”
“It’s easy to drive.”
“Yes, but another boy without insurance might run into me.”
He laughed as though she had told him the best joke he’d ever heard. A laugh that seeped right through her bones and made her heart ache with longing for the life she’d lost. “It’s fully insured, no matter what,” he said. “So what do you say?”
He was earnest, and so nice! Besides, she’d love to drive a decent car, if only for a few days. “What will you drive to work?” her conscience made her ask.
“Oh, I’ve got a dealer friend who’s been wanting me to try out a new car for a few days. He says I’ll like it better than the Mercedes. I wasn’t going to do it, but who knows? Maybe I really will like it better and decide to trade up.” He smiled and held out his hand. “I’ll need your keys.”
Feeling stunned, Mickelle went to the kitchen where she kept the car keys. When she returned to the living room, Damon was already outside with all the children. He had obviously told them his idea, because Bryan and Jeremy were nearly bursting with excitement.
“Mom!” yelled Jeremy. “We’re keeping their car!”
“Just till they fix ours,” Bryan corrected.
Belle skipped down the sidewalk toward the station wagon. “Does it have seat belts?”
Tanner didn’t seem as upset at driving in the Snail as Mickelle had envisioned. He smiled confidently at her. “I’ll fix her up as good as new,” he told her. “Well, as good as she was before, anyway. Don’t worry about it at all.”
“Yeah, he’s grounded from his friends anyway,” Bryan added. There was a note of admiration in his voice. Mickelle hoped the admiration was for Tanner’s ability to fix the car, not the fact that he’d done something to deserve a punishment.
Tanner shrugged with embarrassment. “I’d do it even if I wasn’t.”
“Of course you would.” Mickelle walked with the family to the Snail, hardly daring to look at Damon. It was difficult to believe that a multimillionaire was going to drive off in her battered station wagon. He wasn’t sending a mechanic, he wasn’t making her drive it over, he was taking it home himself. It was beyond belief.
Belle bounced into the backseat of the Snail, finding the safety belt with Jeremy’s help. “I’ll be back,” she said to Mickelle. “Then we can play the piano.”
Damon removed a few keys from a set in his pocket and tossed the rest to her, which she was almost too stunned to catch. “I’ll give you a call when I know what’s going on. Oh, and here’s my card with my work and cell numbers if you need to contact me.”
She nodded dumbly and watched him climb into the Snail—from the passenger side, of course. As crotchety as ever, the old car wouldn’t start until the third try. Damon gave her a jaunty smile and waved. Mickelle lifted her own hand in reply, continuing to stare after the car until it disappeared from sight.
Bryan and Jeremy whooped and hollered. “Come on, Mom!” Jeremy said. “Let’s take his car for a spin! I’ll bet it goes fast—like that rabbit in the race against the turtle.” He smirked. “I mean against the Snail.”
“Can you take me to school tomorrow?” Bryan asked.
“Me, too!” shouted Jeremy.
“We’ll see,” Mickelle said. “But we’re not driving it now. It’s time for bed.”
Jeremy’s face fell. “Aw, Mom! It’s not even dark yet. Come on! Damon said you could drive it whenever you wanted—even tonight. I asked him.” It sounded like something Jeremy would do.
Bryan nodded—whether in agreement or encouragement, she couldn’t tell. Both boys looked so hopeful. “All right,” she said finally. “Just around the block.”
The boys ran to the car, arguing over who would get the front seat. In a magnanimous gesture, Bryan let Jeremy sit in front. “I’ll ride there in the morning on the way to school.” Then he added, “I hope my friends see the car tomorrow,” which explained the generosity.
Mickelle was too excited and nervous to call him on it. Besides, Jeremy was content with the arrangement. She started the car hesitantly and pulled out from the curb. As Damon had promised, the Mercedes was easy to drive, and a pure luxury after the Snail.
“It’s much better than a rabbit,” Jeremy announced.
Mickelle couldn’t have put it better. She took in a deep breath through her nose, noticing a strange but pleasant aroma emanating from the interior of the car. It wasn’t only the rich leather seats, but a mix of decidedly masculine scents she identified as belonging to the owner. The fragrance gave her a warm, secure feeling. How would it feel to have a man like him take care of her?