Читать книгу Four Little Problems - Carrie Weaver - Страница 10

“YOU’RE SURE I shouldn’t follow you to the Bigelows’ house?” Emily asked Patrick when they met later that evening. She’d parked under a light in the coffee house parking lot.

Patrick leaned against a Lexus SUV. “Better if we arrive together—a united front. It’ll seem more natural, like we’re working closely on the project. I’ll drive, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” Might as well use his gas.

He walked around to the other side of the SUV and opened the passenger door for her.

More unexpected gallantry.

Bemused, Emily sank into the cushy leather passenger seat as Patrick settled himself in the driver’s seat.

“Nice,” she said.

“It’s from my other life. Before teaching, when I made a living wage.”

Glancing around the luxurious interior, Emily said, “I have the feeling you and I have very different ideas of what a living wage is.”

He laughed, backing the car out of the space. “It was nice while it lasted. The money, that is.”

“What did you do?”

“I was a chemist with Porter Chemical.”

“I imagine that was interesting.”

“No, you don’t.”

Emily was taken aback for a second. Then she chuckled. “You’re right. It sounds pretty boring to me. But I imagine it’s interesting to the serious, scientific types.”

“Is that how I strike you?” He sounded pleased.

“Yes.”

“There are worse things than being serious.”

“But there’s such a thing as being too serious.”

He glanced at her before pulling out onto Cedar. “It’s a balance I guess I haven’t achieved.”

“Why’d you decide to stay on at the school permanently?”

He shrugged. “It fit. You ever have an experience like that, where things just seemed right?”

“Yeah, both of my marriages.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

“You’ve been married twice?”

Nodding, she said, “And each time I thought it was forever.”

A few minutes later, Patrick parked the SUV in front of a ranch-style home with an immaculate front yard. He let the motor idle.

Turning to her, his gaze was solemn. “You’re very real, Emily. You don’t play games. I admire that in a person.”

This side of him rattled her. He’d said he admired her, loudmouthed Emily, mother of Jason-who-sets-mouse-traps-in-teachers’-desks.

Thanking him seemed over the top, so she opted for a smile of gratitude.

“Let’s go.” He reached into the backseat to retrieve his backpack, which brought him entirely too close.

Emily opened the door and stepped out before he got the idea he needed to open the door for her. Or an even weirder idea, like kissing her.

And, yet, she was disappointed when she was no longer cocooned in the car with him. It was as if they’d been in an alternate reality, where they could talk like any other two people.

He cupped her elbow as they walked to the front door. “You mind doing the talking?”

“Since I’m the trustworthy one, I guess I’d better.”

He chuckled, the sound coming entirely too close for comfort in the dark. “See, you say what you’re thinking.”

“That’s not always a good thing.”

“Probably not. But at least a guy knows where he stands with you.”

Emily opened her mouth to respond, but closed it. Instead, she knocked on the Bigelows’ door.

A blond girl who looked to be about nine opened the door.

“Hi, honey, is your father home?” Emily asked.

The girl nodded and disappeared, leaving the door ajar.

At Emily’s house, one of her kids would have simply bellowed her name from the doorway. She wondered if this was how well-mannered children answered the door.

A man came to the door. Tall, blond and muscular, he looked just like Emily expected—high school home-coming court royalty, only aged fifteen years.

“May I help you?”

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Mr. Bigelow. I’m Emily Patterson and I’ve taken over as PTO president at Elmwood. And this is Patrick Stevens, PTO adviser.” It wasn’t a lie, really. He’d given her quite a bit of advice in the past couple days. “Please accept our condolences on your loss.”

“Thank you.”

When they didn’t move to leave, Mr. Bigelow frowned. “What can I do for you? I already gave Tiffany’s files to Mrs. Ross.”

“I know and I’m so sorry to intrude at a time like this. But I need to look at the PTO notes Tiffany kept on her PC. They’re probably more complete than the file I was given.”

“Now’s not a good time. My daughters and I were on our way out.”

Patrick stepped forward. “We can copy the files onto a disk. It’ll only take a moment.”

“Come to think of it, Tiffany might have it on disk already. Let me check.” He didn’t invite them in, simply shut the door with the promise of returning in a minute.

Emily looked at Patrick.

He shrugged.

They waited what seemed more like five hours, but was probably about five minutes.

“Yep, here it is.” Bigelow leaned out the door and handed Emily a floppy disk. “Marked PTO. You can have it. Hope it helps. Bye.”

“Thank you. And I’m very sorry—”

The door shut in her face before Emily could apologize again for disturbing him.

“Come on.” Patrick nodded toward the car.

When they’d walked several yards, Emily mused, “Did it seem as if he wanted to get rid of us?”

“He was in a hurry. We caught him on his way out the door.”

“Yes…but, still, he seemed a little odd.”

Patrick stopped walking. “Grief will do that to a person.” His voice was low.

Somehow, Emily got the impression he was speaking from experience. “Yes, it will.”

He started walking again.

She resisted the urge to ask him who he grieved for. “I’ll let you know if there’s anything interesting on the disk.”

He was silent for a moment, until they reached the SUV, where he again opened the passenger door for her. “How about if I let you know if there’s anything interesting on the disk?”

“Absolutely not. I didn’t pester that poor man only to get secondhand information from you.”

“I’m not letting that disk out of my sight. At least not until I make a copy. My place isn’t too far from here. We can stop, make a copy and I’ll drop you off at your car.”

Emily glanced at her watch and groaned. “It’s almost nine o’clock and Jason probably didn’t put the kids to bed on time. How about if I make a copy and drop it off at school tomorrow?”

“No way.”

“You’re the one who said I was trustworthy.” She raised her chin.

“I said you seemed trustworthy.”

“Thanks a bunch.”

He stepped closer. “Look, I’ve got a lot riding on this Sea World trip.”

His proximity flustered her. Emily would have agreed to nearly anything to get him to back off. “Fine. Why don’t you drop me off at my van, then follow me to my house. I’ll make you a copy of the disk.”

The dome light cast a weak yellow glow over her shoulder, revealing only his profile. But there was enough light for Emily to see him wince, as if he’d rather do anything than be in her home. Maybe it should have struck her as funny, but instead, it made her sad.

“Or the offer’s still open—I can drop off a copy at school first thing tomorrow morning. Those are your choices.”

Shaking his head, he went around to the driver’s side and got in. “I’ll follow you home.” His voice was resigned, as if he faced impending death.

“Patrick, I promise Jason will be on his very best behavior.”

He mumbled something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

EMILY PARKED and waited for Patrick to set the SUV alarm.

She prayed, silently, that the house would be somewhat presentable.

Patrick approached, eyeing the front of her home. “Nice. With all those planting beds, you must be quite a gardener.”

Shrugging, Emily said, “I should have tulips coming up soon if the weather holds. And I’ll add a few annuals, but nothing fancy, I’m afraid.” She fit the key in the lock, her mouth dry. She felt very, very vulnerable inviting Patrick Stevens into her home.

The sight that greeted her made her want to turn tail and run. To Patrick Stevens, it would seem like the inmates were running the asylum. And a chaotic asylum at that.

“Come in.” Her voice was weak.

Of course, it could have been because she was drowned out by the cacophony of blaring TV, a barking dog, yowling cats and screaming children.

Emily wished the ground would swallow her whole.

When it didn’t, she squared her shoulders and entered the fray. She caught Mark by the arm as he raced past her. “Whoa.” Then she snagged Ryan by the neck of his superhero pajamas. “What’s going on here. Where’s Jason?”

Both boys laughed uproariously, as if she’d entered the comedy hall of fame. Their red fruit-drink mustaches made them look like slightly insane clowns.

She gripped Mark’s arm a little tighter. “I said, where is Jason?” she asked between clenched teeth.

The boys apparently scented danger through their sugar-induced high and settled down immediately.

Ryan pointed toward the family room. “Watchin’ TV.”

Emily frowned. She’d blocked the Playboy Channel, so she was pretty sure it wasn’t a porn problem. Marching around the corner, she realized maybe the porn channel would have been the lesser of two evils.

“Ja-son.” It came out high-pitched.

But Jason didn’t seem to hear. Neither did his girlfriend, Cassie.

Truth be told, Emily couldn’t tell where Jason left off and Cassie began, they were so intertwined. Fortunately, both seemed to be fully clothed. And there were two feet touching the floor. Cassie’s by the looks of them.

“Cassie.” It was whispered, almost a hiss. And perfectly pitched to get through the haze of lust hanging in the room.

Cassie shot to a sitting position, adjusting her clothes. “Um, Mrs. Patterson, hi.”

“Time for you to go, Cass.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She threw a geometry book in her backpack and scrambled for the door.

“Jason, I’ve been very clear that friends aren’t allowed over when I’m not home. I would suggest you go up to your room and we’ll discuss this later.” Certain death was promised in her tone, and Jason for once heeded the warning.

His eyes widened when he glanced past her and saw his nemesis, Patrick Stevens, standing in their living room.

Jason vaulted the coffee table and took the stairs two at a time.

“I haven’t seen him move that fast in months.” Emily released a shaky breath.

“Last time I saw him move that fast was after there was a small explosion in the boys’ restroom.” Patrick’s tone was dry. He shook his head mournfully, as if to say, “What did I expect?”

Emily wanted to sit down in the middle of the floor and cry.

But there was still one child left unaccounted for.

“Where’s Jeremy?”

“Upstairs. Reading.”

Jeremy, the good child. At least she’d been blessed with one kid who seemed to have both feet on the ground. Literally, and figuratively speaking.

“What’s Clifford barking about?” she asked.

Both boys shrugged.

“He was howlin’ earlier,” Mark offered.

Oh, no. “What did you feed him? He only howls when he’s about to—”

Emily slapped a hand over her mouth. She advanced on the black Lab, grasping him by the collar and marching him out the door.

That left only the two cats barreling through the house as if possessed.

“Catnip?” She didn’t really need to ask.

The boys nodded and giggled.

“You two say good-night to Mr. Stevens, go brush your teeth and get to bed. And I better see clean teeth, not just wet toothbrushes. I’m on to that trick.”

The boys stepped in front of Patrick, gazing upward with awe. “G’night, Mr. Stevens.”

“Good night, boys,” came his strangled reply.

Emily wouldn’t have been surprised if Patrick had run from the house screaming.

But instead, his eyes sparkled, as if he were having a hard time containing laughter.

And for some reason that made Emily mad.

“Mark, Ryan, bed. Now.”

They trotted up the stairs, the picture of obedience.

Then Emily turned her attention to Patrick, who grinned.

“You think it’s funny? You think you could do better? I might just leave right now. As the only adult, you’re honor bound to watch them until I get back.” She’d made up the rule, but it sounded good.

And evidently Patrick took her at her word, because he became very serious. The Patrick she was accustomed to.

“Yes, ma’am.”

If he saluted, she’d have to kill him.

Fortunately, he didn’t.

PATRICK WAS VERY AWARE of Emily’s presence as she peered over his shoulder at the computer screen.

“Nothing there,” she said. “Next page?”

“You’re sure you read that?”

“I can speed read.”

Evidently, he must’ve allowed his shock to show.

“What? Lots of people speed read.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”

“Or are you just surprised I know how to read the words with more than one syllable?”

Patrick winced. She was dead on.

“Why is it that men assume I must be stupid? Just because I’m, um, full-figured and tell a joke here and there.”

He eyed her cautiously over his shoulder. She made him nervous, standing so close, her breath warm on his ear. If he turned a fraction more, he’d have a tantalizing view of the lace playing hide-and-seek with her cleavage.

“Voluptuous and irreverent.”

“What?”

“That’s how I think of you.”

“Oh.”

Emily remained silent after that.

He hoped she knew he meant it as a compliment. And hoped she didn’t realize how totally distracting the combination was.

Closing his eyes, he tried to summon the image of Ari and Kat, laughing at the antics of dolphins.

It worked. Emily’s curves were no longer an issue. Patrick was a man with a mission.

The documents flew by, a journal-like testimonial to how overscheduled Tiffany Bigelow had been.

Along about page four, Patrick started to sweat. Tiffany had apparently been unwilling or unable to refuse a single request for funds. A little mental math told him she’d promised more money than the PTO was likely to raise in four years, let alone four months.

His heart sank. He no longer wanted to think about Ari and Kat at Sea World. Because, instead, all he saw was the sad acceptance in their dark eyes. And the I-knew-it-was-too-good-to-be-true slump to Kat’s shoulders. Worse would be Ari’s devastation, because he’d believed Patrick’s promises with his whole being.

Emily’s home, a place that had initially seemed chaotic yet warm, now started to close in on him. He needed to escape, to think. To figure out some way to make this work.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “A blank disk?”

Emily didn’t respond.

When he turned, he realized she’d been too shocked to speak. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, her lips trembled.

“I said, do you have a blank disk?” His voice came out harsher than he intended.

She leaned over his shoulder to open the cabinet door.

He barely noticed how close those voluptuous curves were. All he could comprehend was that he was royally screwed.

Emily handed him a floppy disk.

She was silent as he copied the disk, then accepted her copy with a murmured thank-you. She walked him to the door, saying a quiet goodbye.

And when he stopped in the doorway and turned, she didn’t try to conceal the sadness in her deep brown eyes. “I’m sorry, Patrick. It looks like there are going to be a lot of disappointed people. It’ll be a free-for-all for any funds we locate.”

“Yeah, well, you do what you have to do.” He raised his hand in a silent goodbye.