"Mr. Vane, he said you should give him a call if there was any trouble with this. You want us to get started, or you want us to wait?"
"No. No, go ahead and get started. Thank you."
She walked back inside, rubbing the back of her neck as she watched Dana and Malory set another section in place. "The replacement windows are here."
"That's great. Maybe we should angle this," Dana suggested.
"There's a crew here to install them," Zoe continued. "Bradley—HomeMakers—included installation."
"Brad's such a sweetie," Malory commented.
"Pays to know the owner." Dana stepped back, shook her head. "No, let's keep this one flush."
Unsettled, Zoe nudged a sheet of cardboard with her toe. "Don't you think we should pay for it?"
"Gift horse, Zoe." Huffing a bit, Dana muscled the shelf into position. "I'd rather kiss it on the lips than look it in the mouth." She glanced back, added a quick leer. "Of course, this particular horse would rather you be the one giving out the smoochies."
"He's coming to dinner tonight."
"Good. Give him a big, wet one."
"I'm afraid."
Malory set the box cutter aside. "Of Brad?"
"Yes. Of him, of me." She rubbed a fist between her breasts as if something inside ached a little. "Of what's going to happen."
"Oh, honey."
"I don't know what to do, or what to think. It's one thing if it's just for the fun, the excitement. But I'm not looking for fun and excitement. Not this kind."
"You think he is?" "I don't know. Well, I mean, sure he is. He's a guy. I don't hold that against him. And I think maybe he's caught up in the romance of the whole thing. How we're supposed to link up and slay the dragon. But see, I have to think about what happens after that."
"He isn't careless with people, if that's what you're worried about." Serious now, Dana shook her head. "I've known him most of my life. He's a good man, Zoe."
"I think he is. I can see that he is. But he's not my man, and he's not likely to be. Still, if he keeps on the way he is, he's going to wear me down. I'm afraid, if that happens, I'm going to start wishing for something I can't have."
"I don't think there is anything you can't have," Malory told her. "We wouldn't have this place if it wasn't for you."
"That's silly. Just because I found the house—"
"Not just the house, Zoe. The idea, the vision, the faith."
Impatient, Malory laid a hand on Zoe's shoulder, gave it a little shake. "You started this. So I think when you figure out what you really want, you'll figure out the way to get it."
To keep her hands busy, Zoe picked up the box cutter and started on the next carton. "Were you ever in love, really in love, before Flynn?"
"No. I've been in lust, experienced infatuation, had some very heavy like. But I've never loved anyone the way I love Flynn."
Zoe nodded. "And it was always Jordan for you, Dana."
"Whether I wanted it to be or not, yeah."
"I've been in love." She spoke quietly as she worked. "I loved Simon's father. I loved him with everything I had. Maybe some people think you don't have a whole lot when you're sixteen, but I had so much love to give. I gave him all of it. I didn't think, I didn't hesitate, I just gave it."
She pulled the cardboard away, let it drop to the floor. "I've known men since. Some good men, some who didn't turn out to be so good. But none of them ever came close to touching me the way that boy did when I was sixteen. I wanted him, Mal, almost more than I wanted to live."
"He didn't stick by you," she replied.
"No, he didn't. He did love me, I believe that, but not enough to stick by me. Not enough to make the choice to be with me, or even to acknowledge what we'd made between us. He just walked away and went back to living his life, while mine was torn to pieces."
To vent some of that old, old anger, she sent the knife whizzing through the carton. "He got engaged just a few months ago. My sister sent me the clipping from the newspaper. Got a big wedding planned in the spring. I got mad when I read that. I got mad because he's planning a big, fancy wedding in the spring, and he's never once laid eyes on his son."
"His loss," Malory said.
"Yes, that's true. It is his loss. But still, I loved him, and I wanted him. I couldn't have him, and that almost broke me." With a sigh, she rested her head on the side of the unit. "I'm not going to want what I can't have again. So I'm afraid of Bradley because he's the only one who's come along in ten years who makes me remember, just a little, what it was like to be sixteen."
Chapter Five
The important thing to keep in mind was that she was a grown woman, and grown women often had men over for a meal without falling apart, or falling in love.
It was just a little twist to her Monday routine.
It meant she picked up some fancy bread and fresh makings for a salad on the way home. And made extra sauce. She had to get Simon started on his homework earlier than usual. And that was a battle, even with the bribe of his good pal Brad coming over for dinner.
She had to clean herself up, change her outfit twice and retouch her makeup. Then she had to clean Simon up, which caused another battle, then light fragrance candles so everything looked pretty and the air wasn't tinged with Eau de Moe.
There was the salad to make, the table to set, arithmetic and spelling to check and a dog to feed.
All this had to be done between three-thirty-five and six-thirty.
He probably wasn't used to going out to dinner so early, she thought as she stirred sauce. The richer people were, the later they ate. But Simon had to be in bed by nine o'clock on a school night. That was the law around here, so Bradley Vane would just have to adjust, or he could go eat his spaghetti somewhere else.
She hissed out a breath. Stop it! He hadn't complained, had he? She was the one making all the trouble.
"Simon, you really need to finish that up."
"I hate fractions." He bumped his heels against the leg of his chair and scowled down at the math assignment. "Fractions blow chunks."
"Some things don't come in wholes. You need to know the pieces that make them up." "Why?"
She took out the cloth napkins she'd run up on her sewing machine. "So you can put things together, take them apart, understand how it all works."
"Why?"
She folded the napkins into triangles. "Are you trying to irritate me, or is it a natural gift?"
"I don't know. How come you're using those things?"
"Because we're having company."
"It's just Brad."
"I know who it is. Simon, you've only got three more problems there. Get them done so I can finish setting the table."
"How come I can't do it after dinner? How come I always have to do homework? How come I can't take Moe outside and fool around?"
"Because I want you to do it now. Because that's your job. Because I said so."
They sent each other mutual looks of heat and annoyance. "It's not fair."
"Bulletin for Simon: Life isn't always fair. Now get the rest of that done, or you'll lose your hour TV-and-video privilege tonight. And stop kicking that chair," she snapped. She hauled out her cutting board and began chopping vegetables for the salad. "You keep making those faces at my back," she said, coolly now, "and you'll lose those privileges for the whole week."
He didn't know how she knew what he was doing behind her, but she always did. In a small rebellion, he took three times as long to solve the next problem as he needed. Homework sucked . He glanced up quickly just in case his mother could hear what he was thinking. But she kept on cutting junk for the stupid salad.
He didn't mind school. Sometimes he even liked it. But he didn't see why it had to follow him home every single night. He thought about kicking the chair again, just to test her. But Moe bounced into the room and distracted him. "Hey, Moe. Hey, boy, whatcha got there?" Zoe looked around, and dropped the knife. "Oh, my God." Moe stood, tail thumping, whole body wagging, and what was left of a roll of toilet paper clamped in his teeth. When she leaped toward him, it was a signal in Moe's mind for the game to begin. He charged left, zipped around the table, then bolted back through the kitchen doorway. "Stop! Damn it. Simon, help me get that dog." He'd already done his work. Shredded bits of paper, streams of mangled paper, were sprinkled and spread all over her floors like snow. She chased him into the living room while he growled playfully around the crushed tube. Giggling in delight, Simon streaked past her and dived. Boy and dog rolled over the rug. "Simon, it's not a game." She waded in, managed to get a hand on the wet roll. But the harder she tugged, the brighter Moe's eyes became.