74 Seaside Avenue, page 28
She blinked rapidly in an effort to forestall the tears, not that it did any good. “Let me help you,” she begged.
He seemed reluctant to have her touch him. “Be careful.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Slipping her arm around his waist, she led him outside. At least the rain had stopped. They walked, step by unhurried step, to where she’d parked her car. “Did the doctor give you a prescription?”
“Yes, it’s in my pocket. For pain. What I need most, they told me, is rest.”
“And chicken soup,” she added. It was all she could think of. “I’ll get the prescription filled and buy you a can of soup.”
She half expected him to argue. His acceptance of her being there told her how much pain he was in.
Although he didn’t complain, the walk to the parking lot obviously left him in agony. He looked pale and drained by the time she got the passenger door open and helped him inside. Then she dashed around the front of the car and slid into the driver’s seat.
“I would’ve taken a taxi home,” he murmured.
“I’m here.” She put her key in the ignition, then glanced at him. “I should call Bobby and Teri,” she said, “but I don’t have a cell.”
“I spoke to them a few minutes ago,” James informed her. “From a pay phone near the ER.”
She nodded.
“He told me the police have already recovered the limousine. It was abandoned by the railway tracks.”
She shifted the car into gear, watching as even the slightest movement made him grimace in pain. “I’ll drive very slowly.”
Halfway back to the house, she started to cry again, the tears slipping soundlessly down her cheeks. She was shocked that seeing him like this had such an emotional impact on her. She told herself a dozen times a day that she found him a nuisance, but she knew that wasn’t how she really felt. She was falling for this guy. Falling hard.
As soon as she pulled up to the house, Bobby and Teri hurried out to see James.
“He’s badly hurt,” Christie said in a stern voice. “Keep your distance. His ribs are broken.”
“Oh, James.” Teri began to cry, too. “James, stay at our place, okay? Those stairs to your apartment are too much. We have a downstairs guest room and—”
“No,” he insisted. “No. I can manage.”
Christie knew his stoicism and his need for privacy would keep him from accepting Teri’s suggestion, and she understood that, but it was hard to watch him suffer.
“I’m going to make Vladimir pay for this,” Bobby said through gritted teeth. His fists were clenched at his sides.
Christie’s hand was on James’s arm as she turned to look at Bobby. “If you need any help with that, let me know.” She spoke fiercely and she meant every word.
“Is there anything I can do?” Teri asked.
Christie took the prescription out of her purse. “Get this filled and pick up four cans of chicken noodle soup.” She’d seen a grocery store flyer that advertised four for three dollars; having grown up poor, she automatically noticed a bargain.
“I’ll go with you,” Bobby said, following Teri.
“I’ll take you to your rooms,” Christie said, again clasping James’s elbow and gently steering him toward the outside staircase that led to his quarters above the garage.
“I’ll be fine now. Thank you,” he said when they’d reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Forget it.” Christie wasn’t taking no for an answer, and he must’ve realized that because he capitulated without an argument. Bad enough, she figured, that he’d been so stubborn, refusing to stay at Teri’s house. They took the stairs slowly and each one made him wince. When they finally got to the landing, Christie had her arm around his waist and he was leaning against her. The door was unlocked and, as she’d suspected, his quarters were immaculate. He pointed in the direction of the bedroom and she supported him as he hobbled toward it.
His bed was made with military precision and even when he sat down the blanket didn’t wrinkle.
“I’ll be fine now,” he said again, more firmly this time.
“I…” Christie was reluctant to leave.
“I don’t need your help anymore.”
“Do you mean that?” she asked, trying to disguise the pain his comment had inflicted.
He wouldn’t meet her gaze. “You said I’m a stuffed shirt.”
“So? You are.”
“You don’t want anything to do with me,” he reminded her. “You said that…the last time I drove you home…”
“I did?” She couldn’t even remember, although they’d argued about what she’d called his “hovering” and “overprotectiveness.”
“You asked—yet again—that I not drive you anymore.”
She didn’t see that as any big deal. “I’m capable of driving myself, you know.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “And I’m capable of looking after myself.”
“Fine,” she said, hands on her hips. “We’re both capable people. Now climb into bed and I’ll tuck you in.”
“Then you’ll go?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“Good.” He averted his head as he mumbled, “Please leave the room.”
Furious—and not sure why—she stomped out of the room and slammed the door. Then she stood on the other side of the door and waited. Twice, when she heard him stifle a groan, she nearly burst in, but she knew he wouldn’t appreciate the intrusion. Fine, she’d see that he was safely in bed and then she’d take off. If he didn’t want her around, she wasn’t going to make a pest of herself.
After two or three minutes of silence, she asked, “Can I come in now?”
“If you insist.”
“I do.” She turned the knob and cautiously opened the door, to find him dressed in pajamas. He’d apparently taken off the sling around his arm, then put it back on, all by himself. That must’ve hurt. So he was a stuffed shirt and a glutton for punishment.
She peeled back the sheets and plumped up the pillows and finally assisted him into bed. He lowered himself onto the mattress with his teeth clenched and eyes tightly closed. Christie bit her lip, resisting the urge to cry out.
“Is there anything else I can do?” she asked once he was settled.
“Leave me alone.”
“Okay.” But instead she leaned down and pressed her lips to his forehead. “Good night, James.” When he frowned, she whispered, “Don’t worry, I’m going now.” What she didn’t say aloud was I’ll be back. He’d discover that soon enough.
Then she left his apartment and bounced down the outside stairs. Thirty minutes later she returned from her trip to the all-night grocery. Teri came out to meet her.
“He’s sleeping.”
“Good.”
“Bobby and I got the medication and the soup. I gave him the first capsule with a glass of water but he didn’t want anything to eat.” She walked with Christie to the bottom of the stairs that led to his apartment. “Apparently he put up a real fight when those…those mobsters attacked him and Rachel.”
“And paid the price,” Christie said.
“I was wrong about him,” Teri admitted. “I assumed that if anything like this ever happened, I’d be the one defending him.”
Until this evening, Christie had shared her sister’s assessment. “He surprised me, too.”
“You’re bringing him that?” Teri asked, pointing at the object in her right hand.
“Yes—even though he doesn’t want me here.”
“You’re sure?”
“He asked me to go, so I did. I’ll just leave this upstairs.”
“Come over when you’re finished.”
Christie nodded. It was well after midnight now, but she wouldn’t be able to sleep for a long, long time.
Teri left her and Christie climbed up the stairs and, as silently as possible, let herself into James’s apartment. Guided by the moonlight and walking on the tips of her toes, she made her way into his bedroom.
Then, very carefully, she placed the long-stemmed red rose across the empty pillow beside him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Olivia’s illness affected Grace’s mood, leaving her depressed and enervated, although she tried hard to conceal that from her friend. But now that Olivia had met with the surgeon and the oncologist, she seemed more at ease with what was happening. She’d have surgery, followed by radiation and several months of chemotherapy. With her characteristic optimism and fighting spirit, Olivia had made her peace with the diagnosis and the coming treatment. Everyone knew about Olivia’s cancer now. Charlotte was badly shaken, as Grace had been. The one who remained strong and positive, the one who held the family together, was—as always—Olivia. She said she was ready for whatever the future might bring.
Like Jack, like Charlotte and Ben, like Justine and Seth, Grace was determined to stand by her side.
As for the problems with her renters, Grace had a fatalistic outlook. She’d agreed to rent the house to Darryl and Pamela Smith, and her decision had been a costly one.
The cost continued to escalate now that there were attorneys involved. That wasn’t the end of it, either. Even her former neighbors were upset with her. These were people Grace had known and been friends with for decades. Mrs. Vessey was convinced that the Smiths were selling drugs. Grace didn’t know if that was true, but she didn’t doubt it was possible.
“What am I going to do?” Grace moaned on Wednesday morning as she sat at the kitchen table prior to leaving for work. She glanced down at her coffee and toast and realized her appetite was gone. The problem had weighed on her ever since another call from Mrs. Vessey informed her that the police had been called, yet again, about an all-night party.
“You spoke to Olivia, didn’t you?” Cliff asked, joining her in the kitchen.
“Yes.” In spite of her own far more important concerns, Olivia had discussed the situation with Grace, offering advice on how to get the Smiths evicted. The legal process was emotionally, not to mention financially, draining. First, she had to obtain what was known as an Unlawful Retainer, and if the Smiths didn’t pay the outstanding rent within three days, the matter would be brought up for a court hearing. That could take two weeks, but depending on the court schedule, it might be longer.
The Smiths were pros at prolonging the process, according to what Judy had learned. They’d managed to live in their last place rent-free for eight months.
“Olivia said it could take months to evict this couple. Judy tried to warn me.” Grace sighed. “The Smiths are something else,” she said, shaking her head.
“Yeah, they’re experts at working the system.”
“That isn’t the worst of it,” she murmured. She hadn’t wanted to say anything to Cliff because he’d get upset and she was distressed enough for both of them.
Cliff poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter. “Okay, out with it. What else is going on?”
She shrugged, trying to make light of it, although she was sick about the whole mess. And sick of it. “How,” she asked Cliff, “can one snap decision cause me all this anguish?”
“Okay—tell me.”
She took a sip of her coffee, hardly noticing that it was cold. “I drove past the house, and, Cliff, it looks just terrible. I don’t think the lawn’s been mowed in months. There’s a broken-down car sitting in the front yard.” Grace bit her lip. “There’s junk everywhere, Cliff, and there’s damage to the exterior paint. If that’s how the outside looks, can you imagine what it’s like inside?”
She remembered 204 Rosewood Lane a year ago, with its pristine lawn, thriving flower garden and new paint job. The previous tenants, Ian and Cecilia Randall, had maintained the house beautifully during their brief stay. But now…
She wished she’d sold the place, regardless of her emotional attachment to it. But in its present condition, that was no longer an option. She wondered what the house would be like six months from now.
“Oh, Grace,” Cliff said. Walking over to her, he put his hands on her shoulders. “Surely there’s something that can be done.”
“If so, I don’t know what it is.” She forced a smile.
“Did that phone call Sunday morning have anything to do with your drive-by?”
Grace nodded. “Mrs. Vessey said everyone in the neighborhood’s angry. The police were by on Saturday night about a noise complaint. Plus Mr. and Mrs. Wicks are building a new house and they have to sell their current one. They’re afraid their property value will be affected. I can’t blame them for being worried, can you?”
“No.” Cliff pinched his lips together. “You’re already doing everything you can. No point in worrying about it.”
“I don’t see how it can’t worry me, and the thing is, Cliff, if they find out I’m trying to get them evicted, they might do even more damage.”
“Will you let me help you?” he asked.
“How?” What could Cliff possibly do? The law was the law, and as far as Grace could see, they had no alternative but to play this out.
“I’ll think about it.” He kissed her cheek and headed out to the barn, while Grace went into the bedroom to finish getting ready for work. Her aerobics class was that evening and Olivia still insisted on attending.
The day was, fortunately, a busy one, and Grace had little opportunity to brood on her own problems. She had two kindergarten classes in for story hour, probably her all-time favorite activity. Reading a Beverly Cleary book entertained her as much as it did the kids. She also had a training session with a new assistant, a couple of meetings, publishers’ catalogs to study….
Only at lunchtime did she think about the house. As soon as the mess with these renters was cleared up, she’d take care of the necessary repairs and put it on the market. Being a landlord was more trouble than it was worth.
The workout that evening exhausted her, although Olivia seemed energized and ready to take on the world. Breathing hard, Grace muttered, “I’m getting too old for this.”
“Nonsense!”
“I’m not joking.” She bent forward, hands on her knees as she drew in deep breaths. “I’m sure it’s not supposed to hurt this much.”
“No pain, no gain,” her friend said with a laugh.
If Grace had been a different kind of person, she might have envied Olivia’s svelte figure and the effortless way she danced through the aerobic exercises.
“It might help if I lost weight,” Grace mumbled. In her own opinion, she could easily stand to take off fifteen pounds. However, as Olivia had pointed out, this was what she’d weighed for years. Her body was obviously comfortable at her present weight and whenever she made an effort to diet, she struggled to pry off every single ounce. It was a losing battle, and unfortunately the losing part didn’t apply to her weight.
“I’m telling you right now,” Olivia said. “I’m not giving up my coconut cream pie.” For an instant, her face grew solemn. “Unless I have to.”
Grace touched her arm. “Being the good friend I am, I’ll eat it for you.”
Olivia laughed and jabbed her in the ribs. Soon afterward they were on their way to the Pancake Palace where Goldie, as usual, awaited their arrival. She had the coffee poured and the pie dished up even before they were inside.
Grace had taken the first creamy, luscious forkful when she saw Cliff pull into the parking lot. “Cliff’s here,” she said in surprise. If there was a problem at home—or with the house on Rosewood—he could reach her on her cell.
Cliff didn’t walk into the Pancake Palace alone. Jack Griffin was with him.
“Jack,” Olivia exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, we just thought we’d drop in on our wives.”
“Yeah. Hey, Jack,” Cliff said with a grin, “I don’t think they want us here.” He slid into the booth next to Grace, and Jack joined his wife.
“You going to share that?” Cliff asked, nodding at her pie.
“Get your own.” She lifted the plate and turned so Cliff couldn’t steal a bite.
Cliff took her at her word and waved his arm to get Goldie’s attention. She lit up like a starburst when she saw the two men.
Bringing the coffeepot, Goldie bustled over. “So, gentlemen, to what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, filling the beige mugs.
“We’re pie inspectors,” Cliff announced. “We’re here to see if your product passes our quality test.”
“Hmmph.” Goldie’s frown was as transparent as her gruff manner. “I’ll bring you anything but coconut cream,” she said, eyeing Olivia and Grace. “I can’t get either of them to order anything else. We have the best apple-raisin pie in the county and you’d think they could at least give it a try.”
“You can bring me a piece of that,” Cliff said. “What about you, Jack? I’m buying.”
“I’ll take a slice of pear pie if you have it.”
“We do,” Goldie said, beaming with approval. She left and returned a couple of minutes later with two extra-big slices, which she set on the table.
“Well,” Cliff said, after cutting into his apple-raisin pie. “Want to know why we’re here?”
“You mean it wasn’t for the pie?” Grace teased.
“As a matter of fact, no, excellent though it is.”
The two men seemed very pleased with themselves, and Grace figured they’d explain this unexpected visit soon enough.
Five minutes later, they did—but not until every crumb of pie was gone.
Leaning back, Cliff gave her a satisfied grin. “You might be interested to know that at this very minute, the renters on Rosewood Lane are in the process of moving.”
