Читать книгу A Family Christmas - Carrie Alexander, Carrie Alexander - Страница 9

“CAN I BORROW your phone, Mom?”

“Sure.” Maxine sat at the dining table, laying out a hand of solitaire. When Rose had wiped down the table minutes before, she’d seen her mother surreptitiously stick an ashtray and book of matches on the seat of one of the chairs, hidden by the vinyl tablecloth. “Who you calling?”

“Just a friend.” Rose had put the last dish away, squeezed out the sponge, stowed the leftovers. She couldn’t stall any longer. It had been several days, and Evan was expecting her to set up a date for the drawing lesson.

“What kind of friend?”

“That’s my business.”

“My phone.” Maxine’s lips curled into a smug so-there.

Rose might have pointed out that she’d just cooked dinner and cleaned up, in addition to the rest of her daily chores. But she didn’t. She swallowed her tongue the way her mother had been forced to when Black Jack was in one of his moods.

Get me out of here, she thought, taking the cordless phone outside to the dusky backyard, as far as the range allowed. Behind her, the window near the dining table opened with a screech of the sash. Her mother must have had a burst of strength to go along with her nosiness.

Rose’s exhale was visible in the cold air. Frost tonight. She wrapped her sweater tighter and punched out Evan’s number—memorized. He’d written it on the back of a scrap of paper from his wallet and asked her to call as soon as she was certain of her work schedule. She hadn’t told him that she was in charge at the Buck Stop and could arrange any hours she liked as long as the time was covered by the store’s only other employee, a grumpy retiree aptly named Cross who worked to pick up extra income to supplement his social security.

The phone was ringing. “Hullo,” Evan said, harried but cheerful. “Grant residence.”

A match flared inside the house. Rose realized she should have called from work, but all she’d been thinking was to get it over with already.

“Hello?”

It was strange, hearing Evan’s voice on the phone. Familiar, but not. Slightly thrilling.

“Anyone there?”

“Hello,” she finally said. She cleared her throat. “It’s Rose. Robbin. Rose Robbin.”

“Rose. Good to hear from you. Lucy’s been asking about the lesson every day—she’s very excited.”

“I, uh, the store’s been busy lately.”

“I hope you’re not backing out.”

“No. I can be free any afternoon the rest of this week.”

“Well, let’s see. Lucy gets out of school at three and usually goes to her baby-sitter’s house while I have basketball practice. I could probably take time off to run her out to your place—”

“Not my place.” Rose thought frantically, struck by the notion that if she worked it right, she might be able to catch sight of a few minutes of the basketball practice. “I could come to the school, and stay with Lucy while you ran the practice. That way you won’t need the baby-sitter at all.”

The grade school and the high school were separate buildings on the same property, linked by covered walkways that led to a common structure that served both schools. The gymnasium was part of the central building, and surely that’s where they’d meet. Rose held her breath, pressing the phone so tightly to her ear that it hurt.

“I suppose I might ask for a favor and have the art room opened,” Evan said.

“Oh, don’t bother. I’d rather take Lucy outdoors. If that’s all right with you.”

“Nature sketching?”

“Yes.”

“If the weather’s bad—”

“We’ll figure something out.”

“That works for me. I’ll be sure that Lucy dresses warmly.”

“Great. Tomorrow okay?”

“Sure. You’re more eager than I expected.”

Rose felt guilty. She swallowed that, too. “Uh, yeah. I guess maybe it’ll be okay.”

Evan laughed. “There’s the Rose I know.”

He thought he knew her? He’d barely scratched the surface.

“Okay, then,” she said. “Bye.”

His startled “Bye,” came as she was pressing the Off button.

Rose stuck the phone in the pocket of her cardigan and absently rubbed her stinging ear. She supposed she’d been too abrupt. Talking on the phone with “boys” was another social skill she’d never developed properly. None of her boyfriends—if they could be called that—had ever called for her at home. She hadn’t had real dates, either. Just met them at the bridge or the beach. Sometimes she’d been picked up at the side of the road.

She kicked at a pinecone embedded in the stretch of dirt and brittle pine needles that was the backyard. God, she’d been dumb. And naive, even though she’d thought she was tough.

“Rose?” came her mother’s voice, carrying out the window. “Are you finished with the phone?”

“Shut the window, Mom. I’ll be there in a minute.”

She went over to the small garden she’d put in that spring. Nothing much to speak of, just a few rows of carrots, squash, cucumbers and lettuce. Several old rusty barrels contained the tomato plants and she bent over them, searching through the cold leaves for the remaining green fruits. More of the tomatoes remained on the vines than she’d expected and she cradled the pile of hard globes in her sweater, her fingertips gone numb with cold.

The wind was sharp and brisk. Beyond the darkness, the river rushed and gurgled, a sound so familiar it had taken moving away for her to miss the soothing constant.

For a long time, she’d believed she hated this place.

Now…maybe not. The memories had faded, even the worst of them. At least to a livable degree.

She’d learned not to expect more than adequacy from her life.

Rose straightened, folding the edge of her sweater over and holding the awkward bundle to her abdomen. She walked to the back door, feeling nearly as unwieldy as a pregnant lady.

Unexpectedly, the comparison made her smile. She’d pushed the pregnancy to the back of her mind for many years, but returning to her hometown had brought it all up again. There were times she had to consciously work to keep her feelings to herself. Aside from a small circle of people—her nonsupportive family, the despicable Lindstroms, Pastor Mike—it was still a secret to Alouette that she’d once been pregnant.

She didn’t suppose that the townspeople would be too surprised to learn the truth. They’d always believed the worst of Wild Rose.

AFTER AN HOUR OUTDOORS in the quiet, shaded woods, stepping into the school gym was an assault on the senses. The intense illumination from the banks of overhead lights bounced off the varnished floor and white cement-block walls. The sight, sound and fury of the basketball players was overwhelming—running, flying, crashing bodies, shouts and animal grunts, the constant tattoo of the basketball on the floor and the backboard. Evan’s shouts and the shrill pierce of his whistle added to the cacophony.

Although Lucy should have been somewhat accustomed to the raucous scene, Rose wasn’t surprised that the girl remained by the door, staring at the scrimmage in progress with wide eyes. Rose took Lucy’s hand and they walked into the gym, past the rows of blue metal bleachers.

Evan saw them and waved. He said something to his team and then ran across the floor, all bouncy energy and squeaking sneakers. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt with sweatpants, his face and arms glistening with perspiration. “Hey! Lesson over?”

Rose stepped back, her nostrils flared. So much testosterone. Muscles. Male. “We came inside to warm up.” Her tongue was thick in her mouth. “Is that okay?”

“Sure it is. Go ahead and take a seat.” Evan glanced at his watch. “I’ve got another twenty minutes of practice. You’re welcome to stay, but if you’d rather leave…”

“I’ll stay.” Rose was trying not to stare at the boys, but only one thought was running through her head: Danny’s there, Danny’s there.

“Great.” Evan jogged away, turning on nimble feet to continue backward as he added, “There are vending machines in—”

Rose waved him on. “We’re set.” She’d stuck a Thermos of hot chocolate and a few cookies in her backpack.

He saluted and returned to the practice.

She squeezed Lucy’s gloved hand. “Come on. Let’s sit in the bleachers.”

“Can we go all the way to the top?”

“I guess so.” Rose would have liked the close-up view from a courtside seat, but it was probably better if she didn’t draw attention to herself. At Rose’s request, Danny’s adoptive parents had never told him his birth mother’s identity.

Also by Rose’s choice, the contact between her and Ken and Alana Swanson had been kept to a minimum. They were childless and in their forties at the time of the adoption, which would put them in their mid-fifties now. She’d kept her eyes and ears open since returning to Alouette, and by all accounts the Swansons lived a quiet, respectable life. Fifteen years ago, they had offered to share information with Rose, to keep her up-to-date on Danny’s life, even arrange face-to-face visits. She’d thought that knowing him would make her feel worse, so the contact had been limited to photos and cards that were her greatest treasures.

Since her return, she’d daydreamed about what would happen if she changed her mind and asked to be included in their daily life. Not that she’d actually follow through. The last thing she wanted to do was cause trouble for the Swansons, who’d given Danny an exemplary home.

Rose threw glances at the court as she and Lucy climbed to the top row of the bleachers. Danny was a good player, a sophomore who was expected to be a starting guard this year.

“Still feeling cold?” she asked Lucy, who nodded and shivered. Rose slung her backpack around and set it on the bleacher in front of them. “I brought hot chocolate and cookies. Do you like Chips Ahoy?”

Lucy nodded again.

Rose took out the sketchbooks, then dug in the bottom of the pack for the Thermos. Her gaze remained on the court, watching the players race up and down the floor. Danny wasn’t the tallest, but he stood out, at least to her. He had gleaming black hair and a quick smile. He was skinny but not gangly, more the wiry, compact, athletic type. Like Rose, though she’d gained a little weight over the years and had become sturdy instead of lithe.

Lucy piped up. “Rose?”

“Oh. Right.” She gave herself a mental shake. Don’t stare so hard. You’ll look like a stalker.

“Hot chocolate and cookies, coming right up,” she said, pouring out a cup for Lucy. She reached into the backpack for the packet of cookies. “These may be sort of crushed. But you can pick out the biggest pieces.”

Lucy seemed satisfied by the inelegant refreshments. She had peeled off her gloves and unzipped her jacket. Her pale face was dotted with rosy color—even the tip of her nose. She sat back on the far edge of the bleacher, alternating between sipping and munching, mindlessly swinging her feet so her heels and toes tapped the metal seat with a rattling rhythmic beat.

“You’ve probably been to practice before,” Rose said. Danny was dribbling the ball, so capable and grown-up her heart ached at the visual reminder of the years she’d missed.

“Sometimes,” Lucy said.

“Do you know the players?”

“Uh-huh.” The girl pointed her cookie. “That one’s Steve, that one’s Brad, and that big one’s Jeremy. I call him Germy ’cause he teases me.”

Rose managed to get a chuckle past the lump in her throat.

“The boy with red hair is Corey….”

“And that one, with the basketball?” Senseless, Rose knew, but she wanted to hear her son’s name. To talk about him, even if it was only to a five-year-old.

“Danny. He’s nice.” Lucy bit into the cookie.

“He’s a good player.”

Lucy shrugged.

“What does your dad say?”

“’Bout what?”

Does he like Danny? Is Danny his favorite? Is Danny happy? Does he get good grades, does he have a girlfriend? Does he ever wonder who his birth mother is?

Rose gritted her teeth to keep all that back. “Does your dad think he has a good team this year?”

“I dunno. If he yells at them a lot and blows the whistle too much, that means they are being bad.” Lucy giggled. “My dad says he wishes he had a whistle to stop me when I’m being bad.”

Rose pretended to be shocked. “Don’t tell me you’re ever bad?”

The girl quickly shook her head, her eyes gone wide as if she expected a scolding. “Not very much.”

“That’s okay if you are, you know. I mean—” Rose held up two fingers “—just a smidgen.”

Lucy still looked doubtful. “What’s a smidgen?”

Rose smiled, bringing her fingers within an inch of each other. “About this much.”

Lucy brushed her fingers off on her jeans and replicated the gesture with a look of dawning shrewdness. Rose hoped she hadn’t stepped out of bounds, giving allowances where she had no business. During their art lesson outdoors, she’d been struck again by Lucy’s timid obedience. It hadn’t seemed like a good thing, although some parents might beg to differ. Not Evan, judging by what he’d said the other day. He’d welcome a more emboldened Lucy.

Out on the court, the scrimmage had ended. Evan gave the players a breather, then lined up a row of basketballs along the center line and had the boys perform a drill in which they ran a complicated pattern, picking up balls as they went.

Light and quick on his feet, Danny finished first and ran off for the dressing room. Rose’s eyes followed him hungrily, even though Evan was climbing the bleachers toward her and Lucy and might notice her preoccupation. At the moment, that didn’t matter. She literally couldn’t tear her gaze away.

Evan paused several steps below them, one foot propped on a bleacher seat. “How’s everything up here?”

“Rose bringed Chips Ahoy,” Lucy said as she picked through the remaining crumbs.

The locker room door swung back and forth as the other players entered. A few stragglers took their time, but soon the gym had emptied. Rose focused on Evan’s face and saw he was watching her. Damn. “Is that okay? I didn’t mean to ruin her supper.”

“It’s fine. She usually has a snack after school.”

“MaryAnn makes me eat icky food.” Lucy screwed up her face. “Like wrinkly fruit and crab cake.”

Rose raised her brows. “Crab cake?”

“Carob cake,” Evan said with a smile. “Lucy’s baby-sitter is a health-food nut. I mean a health-food enthusiast.”

“I should have checked with you.” Rose winced. What a lousy caregiver she’d make. Might as well have poured raw sucrose down Lucy’s throat. No wonder the girl seemed so happy—know-nothing Rose had doped her up on sugar.

“Doesn’t matter. She’ll live. It’s better than the burnt charcoal I give her at home.”

“Huh?”

“I’m a lousy cook.” Evan leaned closer to Lucy, propping his elbows on his upraised knee. “I can see that you two had a good time.” He smoothed his daughter’s hair. “Right, Luce?”

She nodded happily. “Yeah, Dad.”

His eyes went to Rose. “Thanks.” He straightened. “Are you willing to wait a few more minutes? I have to run into the locker room to check on the boys and get my wallet. I’ll be right back.”

Rose nodded, filling with renewed anticipation. She might see Danny again when he came back out after showering. Maybe up close this time, if she hustled Lucy out of the bleachers.

Evan’s low voice cut through her inner turmoil. “What is it? You’re radiant.”

Radiant? She was unaccustomed to compliments. She drew back, feeling so shy it was as if he’d touched her with the same gentle care he’d shown Lucy. Or not the same. Maybe…more.

He’d asked a question. What is it? She couldn’t answer that—no way.

Instead she cleared her throat, prepared to prevaricate. “Must’ve been the cold air.”

“Yes. It put roses in your cheeks.”

Lucy had twisted around to stare. Softly, she singsonged, “Roses in Rose’s cheeks.”

“Yeah, and yours, too, ladybug.” Though Evan spoke to Lucy while he backed down a few rows, he continued looking up at Rose.

Her face wasn’t cold. It was flaming. If not for the second chance at Danny, Evan’s admiring appraisal would have sent her scurrying out the door. No man had looked at her like that since…since…

She couldn’t remember. Maybe never.

And he probably thought nothing of it. He was only being nice.

Rose bit her lip, closed her eyes. She was not a normal woman. Couldn’t even respond to a guy’s offhand compliment without making it a big freakin’ deal.

“Five minutes,” Evan said, and descended the remaining bleachers in big strides that made them rattle and clang.

Rose rubbed her forearms, where goose bumps had risen despite the warm layers of her sweater and jacket. “Okay, Lucy. Let’s pack up.” She screwed the cap onto the Thermos.

“You forgot the cup.”

“Run down to the water fountain and rinse it out for me, okay?”

“Okay.” Lucy carefully made her way down the bleachers on her bottom. By the time she reached the gym floor, Rose had repacked and zipped up, leaving out Lucy’s sketchbook. She grabbed it and trailed the girl to the water fountain, set into a niche in the wall between the doors that led to the boys’ and girls’ locker rooms.

Lucy rinsed the cup, the tip of her tongue protruding between her lips as she concentrated. “Okay?” she said, shaking it dry.

Rose exchanged the cup for the sketchbook. “You can take this home and show your dad what you drew today.” She wanted Evan to see that she’d given him good value, even though she wasn’t a trained artist or teacher. Lucy had been an eager and talented student, forgetting her inhibitions as she became absorbed in capturing various items and scenes. Before the cold October air had driven them inside, they’d drawn leaves, pine cones, ferns, and turned twig tracings into animal shapes.

Lucy clasped the sketchbook. “What will we draw next time, Rose?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see if your father wants you to have another lesson.”

Lucy nodded with some confidence. “If I say so.”

“Oh? Are you the boss?”

The girl nodded, pursing her lips into a mischievous smile. “Daddy says I’m getting spoiled.”

“Spoiled, huh?” Rose put on a show of looking Lucy over, squeezing her arms and legs to make her double over in giggles. “I hope he doesn’t have to throw you in the trash like a mushy banana.”

Rose heard the door to the locker room open behind her. “What’s going on here?” Evan said.

She straightened with a snap.

A limp Lucy dropped to the floor. “I’m a banana-nana, Daddy. I’m covered in squishy black spots.”

Evan approached, holding his wallet. He opened it and withdrew several bills, handing the money to Rose. “What did the ape say to the banana?”