Black Ties and Lullabies, page 5
Eleanor Hogan had definitely found her calling as head of the altar guild at the Sunnyside Baptist Church. It was all weddings, all the time. According to her mother, everything about them was lovely, from the cakes to the dresses to the flowers to the nut cups to the blissful expressions on the brides’ faces as they pledged undying love to their grooms. Statistically speaking, within a few years, half those brides would be hurling china at their grooms’ heads on their way out the door to hire a divorce lawyer, but Bernie refrained from pointing that out.
To stem the tide of wedding talk that was sure to begin, she grabbed the book she’d brought home. “Mom, look. You know that guy you watch on the Food Network? The chef who does all that international cuisine stuff? This is his cookbook. I had him sign it for you.”
Her mother took it reverently, her eyes wide with awe. “You got Chef Allen’s autograph? The Chef Allen?”
“Yeah. He was in Dallas doing some book signings. I was on his security detail.”
Eleanor frowned, her brows pulling together again. “Security detail? For Chef Allen? Was there any… trouble?”
“Yeah. Those ladies who showed up for his signings were really pushy. I think one of them stepped on his toe.”
“Don’t joke,” Eleanor snapped. “Your job worries me to death.”
“No need to worry. About 99 percent of the time, it’s a real bore.”
“It’s the other one percent that concerns me.”
Bernie was tired of rehashing this. Yes, she knew her mother worried, but in the end, her biggest objection had to do not with what her daughter was, but with what she wasn’t: a secretary, schoolteacher, librarian, or stay-at-home mom with six kids and a minivan. On her mother’s side of the family, women were shuttled onto a bullet train that sped straight into a blackened tunnel of Kool-Aid spills, diaper changes, and perfunctory sex with the lights out. And when they emerged on the other side, what was waiting for them? Social Security, TV remotes, and ungrateful children who never came to visit.
Bernie remembered when she was fourteen and her mother made an appointment so they could have a spa day together. A spa day. God, was there anything worse than that? Evidently Eleanor thought if she shoved that pendulum really hard in the other direction, her daughter would end up somewhere in the middle. Bernie would have licked the spout of every drinking fountain in town if it meant she’d pick up the flu and be forced to stay home. Unfortunately, the hundred different strains floating around that season had bypassed her, so she’d been stuck enduring an afternoon of people’s hands on her from her hair to her toenails, buffing, polishing, massaging, and scrubbing until Bernie had lost an entire layer of skin and any semblance of privacy. And through it all, her mother had said, Now, isn’t that nice? That’s a lovely shade of pink nail polish, isn’t it? And I don’t think your complexion has ever looked prettier. And Bernie had come home reeking of jasmine and vanilla and hating every minute of it.
“Billy said he was going to call you,” her mother asked tentatively. “Did you hear from him?”
Bernie closed her eyes. “Yeah, Mom. He left me a message.”
“I hope you’ll help him out. The job sounds very promising.”
“A reference from a blood relative doesn’t count for much.”
“But you present yourself so well. Anything you say will help.”
“He stole from his last employer.”
“He says that was just a misunderstanding.”
“Yeah. He misunderstood that he wasn’t supposed to steal things.”
“But it’s been so hard for him,” Eleanor said sadly. “Growing up without a mother.”
Oh, God. Here it comes. “Mom, your sister died when Billy was eight years old. He’s twenty-nine now. Don’t you think it’s time he stood on his own two feet?”
“Bernadette. If I were the one who had died, I would have wanted Rose to help you.”
Ignoring, of course, the fact that Bernie hadn’t needed any help from anyone in approximately thirty years. But that was logical, and her mother had never run on logic.
“Okay, Mom,” Bernie said on a heavy sigh. “I’ll give him a reference.”
“I’m sure you can think of something nice to say.”
Yeah. She could say he had good manual dexterity and superior powers of persuasion. As long as they didn’t realize she was talking about him punching a TV remote and begging for a loan, maybe she wouldn’t be struck dead for lying.
“Sorry to be abrupt,” Bernie said, “but I have plans this evening. I need to take a shower.”
“Dinner with friends?”
“No.”
She blinked hopefully. “A… date?”
As if she could speak it into existence. “No.”
Her mother frowned. “You’re playing poker again, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, Mom. I’m playing poker. I like poker.”
“It’s gambling.”
“Given the guys I play with, there’s really not much gambling involved.”
Eleanor let out a weary sigh. “You do take after your father.”
Yes. She did. And if only her mother would accept that someday, Bernie would be the happiest woman alive.
Her father had been a cop, shot in the line of duty when she was only sixteen. She didn’t know if she’d been a tomboy from birth, or she’d just loved her father so much that she wanted to be just like him. He took her fishing. To baseball games. Taught her how to play basketball. The first time he took her to the shooting range, she’d hit a bull’s-eye. He told everybody within range of his voice that his baby girl was a hell of a shot. It had been a losing battle for her poor mother to get her to wear perfume when her favorite scent was gunpowder. To this day, every time Bernie smelled it, it was as if her father was smiling down at her from heaven.
“Can’t I make you dinner before I go?” Eleanor said. “Maybe some chicken soup to help you feel better?”
“No, thanks.”
“You still don’t look well. Promise me you’ll get home early and get some rest.”
“I will.”
Eleanor grabbed her purse and walked to the door.
“Wait,” Bernie said, picking up the white box her mother had left there earlier. “You forgot this.”
Eleanor turned back. She froze, looking at the box, then tilted her head. “Is that mine?”
Bernie felt a tremor of apprehension slither between her shoulders. “Yeah, Mom. It’s yours. You brought it here.”
Her mother swallowed hard, her hand slinking to her throat, her eyes blinking anxiously.
“Did it come from the church?” Bernie asked. “The wedding?”
“Oh!” Eleanor said, exhaling, her eyes falling closed, then opening again. “Cake. It’s cake. From Katherine’s daughter’s wedding. I just forgot for a moment. Such a busy day.” Her mouth turned up in a shaky smile. “It’s why I dropped by. To bring you the cake. It’s delicious. White buttercream frosting on the outside, but the cake itself is chocolate. Not exactly traditional, but what woman ever complained about chocolate? And such pretty yellow roses on top. With a vase of yellow roses beside it, it made such a beautiful cake table.”
Bernie winced at the information overload. See, I remember all the details. Every one. So there’s no problem. No problem at all.
“Well, I’d better be going,” Eleanor said breezily. “You have things to do. Enjoy the cake. And thank you for the book. If you’ll come for dinner sometime soon, I’ll try one of the recipes.”
“I will.” Bernie followed her to the door. “Mom?”
Eleanor turned back. “Yes?”
“Have you been feeling okay?”
“Me? Of course I have.”
“Are you sure?”
“Bernadette,” she said, her voice laced with nervous laughter. “It’s nothing. I’m sixty-eight years old. Sometimes it’s just… just normal forgetting. You know.”
Don’t panic. It was just a momentary lapse. Things are still okay for now. “Yeah. I know.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. See how you’re feeling.”
Bernie started to say that it wasn’t necessary, but she stopped herself. She could see now that she couldn’t let a day go by without talking to her mother, without judging each day’s experience in light of the one before. Sometime soon there would be a tipping point, and Bernie needed to recognize it when it happened. She had the terrible feeling that day was coming sooner than she expected.
“Yeah, that’d be good,” Bernie said. “Give me a call in the morning.”
Her mother nodded and slipped out the door, and Bernie closed it behind her. She turned and leaned against it for a moment, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Damn it. Damn it. She hated that life had thrown her this curveball. And she hated that she hated it. A good daughter would remain calm and sympathetic instead of feeling the undertow of responsibility dragging down until she could barely breathe.
Why on earth had her mother let her health insurance lapse?
If Bernie could count on help from the rest of the family, it might be different. But all she had was a grandmother who was too old and too eccentric to take care of anyone. Billy, who was allergic to work and sponged off anybody he could. There were others who were less of a pain but loony in their own right, or they weren’t local, so how much help could they be? If only her father were still alive to run interference and take care of her mother, Bernie would be free to live her own life. But now it fell on her to be the sane one, the voice of reason, the one strong thread that kept the ragged fabric of her family from falling apart at the seams. To make sure her mother was protected, now until the end.
She thought about what had happened with Jeremy. About the money she wasn’t making now. For all her complaints about him, she never would have quit that job unless she’d done something so stupid that quitting had been her only option. It wasn’t until now, almost two months later, that the sting of that experience had even begun to fade. She’d just been so damned angry, and then she’d tossed down those shots, and then Jeremy had taunted her, then kissed her…
No. There was no excuse for what she’d done. None at all. She’d never been one to blame anyone else for her own actions. It was the only time in her adult life she’d behaved in a way that made her ashamed to think back on it, and now she had to live with the memory of it forever. And in the coming months and years, she’d just have to find a way to keep things afloat that didn’t involve a great big paycheck from a womanizing millionaire.
She drained the Gatorade bottle and headed to her bathroom to take a shower, then head to Bill’s house for poker. Just for tonight, she was going to lose herself in Texas Hold ’Em and a few longnecks and pretend everything was A-OK.
Chapter 6
A couple of hours later, Bernie sat at Bill Ramsey’s dining room table, playing poker with some of the other security specialists from Delgado & Associates. Only a few faces were missing—those who had an evening assignment or were on a job out of state. Bernie had already won a couple of hands, which was a good thing. These days, every penny counted.
She took a break and went into the kitchen. Gabe followed. She grabbed two beers from the fridge and handed one to him.
“Got a call from Bridges today,” he said, taking the bottle. “That’s the third time in the past few weeks. He wants you back.”
Bernie froze for a second, then opened her bottle. “You know I’m not interested.”
“You don’t even want to know what he’s offering now?”
“Nope.”
“Seriously, Bernie. You might want to consider—”
“He only wants me because he can’t have me. He’ll throw all kinds of money around just to get his way.”
“That’s the key. He wants you.”
“Fine. But I don’t want him.”
“You never did tell me why you requested reassignment.”
“You never asked. And I appreciate that.”
“I assumed you had your reasons.”
“I do.”
“But I’m asking now. Does this have anything to do with the robbery attempt at Bridges’s house the night before you quit?”
Bernie turned away. “That was nothing.”
“I know the robbery wasn’t. The police made an arrest later that night. But did something else happen?”
Bernie took a sip of her beer, wishing this topic had never come up. “Could my answer jeopardize my job?”
“Hell, no.”
“Then my answer is that I’d rather not answer.”
Gabe stared at her a moment longer. Finally he nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell Bridges he’ll have to keep putting up with Max.”
And Bernie would bet her last dollar that Max drove Jeremy crazy. Max was six-five, big as a house, and could be scary as King Kong if he set his mind to it. But Jeremy wouldn’t have a problem with those things. What he would hate was that Max never spoke unless it was absolutely necessary. Jeremy wasn’t one to tolerate silence for long without filling it with some random comment or smart-ass remark, but with Max, it would become obvious very quickly to Jeremy that he was talking to himself.
“I know it’s more money for both of us,” Bernie told Gabe. “But I just can’t consider it right now.”
“Forget the money,” Gabe said. “You’re one of my best. I’m not putting you anywhere you don’t want to go.”
Bernie nodded, truly appreciating that about her boss. Gabe Delgado was an ex-cop in his midforties who was too rugged to be handsome and too rigid and unsmiling to be approachable by the average woman. Whether by choice or by fate, marriage didn’t seem to be in the cards for him, but some woman’s loss was his employees’ gain. Fiercely dedicated to his business, Gabe was a fair man who ran a tight ship, which meant Bernie had a boss she could respect.
They went back to the table and sat down again. Lucky dealt the next hand. Bill picked up his hand, looked at the flop, and his mouth twisted with irritation. After three beers, his poker face had deserted him, if he’d ever had one in the first place. He was a family man through and through, with two kids and a great big mortgage. He kept mostly to local short-term assignments, which usually meant odd hours, but at least he was home most evenings. His wife, Teresa, was one of those perfect moms who made motherhood look easy. Their house always looked beautiful, the children were well-behaved, and Teresa looked as if she hadn’t broken a sweat.
“So how’s the gig with Bridges going?” Bill asked Max.
“It’s a job,” Max said.
An image of Jeremy flashed through Bernie’s mind—his hands, his mouth, the sound of his voice—and a heavy flush of heat went to her cheeks. Fever, she thought. It’s just fever. Fever that goes along with whatever this thing is you have.
Bill turned to Bernie. “Still don’t know why you backed out of that assignment. Bridges was paying you through the nose.”
“That’s my business,” Bernie said.
“Was it some woman thing?” Lucky said. “Did he offend your feminist sensibilities?”
“No, Lucky,” Bernie said, “you offend my feminist sensibilities.”
Lucky grinned. “Every chance I get.”
“Like that time you told her she had a nice ass,” Max said. “You’re lucky she didn’t split your ribs and rip your heart out.”
Lucky shook his head sadly. “A guy just can’t give a woman a compliment anymore.”
Lucky’s taunting rarely bothered Bernie, but right now, she didn’t feel up to dealing with it. He was good at his job, with a resume that was nearly as sterling as her own, so Bernie couldn’t fault him there. But when it came to chasing women, he was second in line only to Bridges. But while Bridges rationed his glowing smiles, using them only when they suited his purposes, Lucky was as quick to laugh as he was to move in on any woman within range of his voice. He’d probably banged two girls on the way there tonight and had one waiting for him when he got home.
Bernie tossed in her bet for the round, only to have it hit her again. The nausea. She took a deep breath, which did nothing to ease the pain.
“Wow, Bernie,” Bill said. “You don’t look so good. What’s up?”
“He’s right,” Gabe said. “You do look a little green.”
She felt green. A nice shade of bile, to be exact.
“You got the flu or something?” Bill asked.
“Bernie can’t have the flu,” Lucky said. “She’s too mean for the germs to survive.”
“I’m fine,” Bernie said, even though she was beginning to believe she wasn’t.
And then she felt it again. An even bigger wave of nausea, undulating like a riptide dragging her out to sea. She did her best to keep her face impassive, but it was a hard-won battle.
Bill stared at her, his eyes narrowing. “You know, Teresa looked like that once for three solid months.”
“Teresa had the flu for three months?” Gabe said.
“No. She had morning sickness for three months.”
In unison, the other three heads swiveled around and looked at Bernie expectantly. Until that very moment, the possibility hadn’t even crossed her mind. But now…
No. No way. She’d seen Bridges put on a condom. She was sure of it. Pregnant? That was ridiculous.
But just as she was blowing off the possibility, another wave of nausea hit. She gritted her teeth against it, sliding her hand against her stomach.
“There!” Bill said, pointing. “That’s it! The look! White as a ghost, weaving back and forth, hand on stomach—”
She jerked her hand away and sat up straight. “I told you already. It’s nothing.”
“So you’re telling me you couldn’t possibly be pregnant?”
“For God’s sake, Bill!” Teresa called from the kitchen.
Bill leaned in. “When’s the last time you got laid?”
“Bill!” Teresa shouted. “Will you stop?”
“Well,” Lucky said, “if she was with a guy, he’s a goner now. Don’t black widows eat their mates?”
