Читать книгу Twice the Chance - Darlene Gardner, Darlene Gardner - Страница 10

JAZZ MIGHT HAVE TO find another form of exercise.

Running had always helped her think more clearly, but in the week and a half since she’d looked through her mother’s yearbook she still hadn’t decided what to do about Bill Smith.

And now trouble she didn’t need was on her heels, because she was nearly convinced that the man behind her on the park’s running trail was Matt Caminetti.

She stole another glance over her shoulder. Maybe she was wrong. The man was within thirty or forty yards, far enough away that his features were indistinct but close enough to tell he had a lean build and golden-brown hair.

She’d seen dozens of men over the years while running in Ashley Greens Park who were brown-haired and in shape. Her glimpses of the mystery man had been so fleeting he could be anybody.

Besides, Matt had specified that he came to the park with the twins on Sunday mornings. It was Monday morning, a month after she’d met him and two weeks since he’d stopped by the restaurant. Fearing that she’d bump into him every time she went jogging was crazy.

Except it was Labor Day, when people didn’t necessarily stick to their schedules. Jazz would usually be at work on a Monday morning herself, but Pancake Palace was closed for the holiday.

To be on the safe side, she ran faster.

The path left the straightaway to snake through a copse of trees. With her eyes straight ahead, Jazz concentrated on pulling ahead of the man. At the quicker pace, her legs protested, her lungs burned and her breath grew short.

It didn’t make a difference. She soon heard the crunching of footsteps gaining on her.

“Hey, Jazz.” A familiar voice that didn’t even sound winded called from behind her. “I thought that might be you.”

Matt was suddenly running abreast of her, matching his pace to hers. Jazz had a notion to speed up and try to lose him but that was extreme, not to mention impossible. She slowed. He did, too.

“I didn’t…know…you were…a runner.” She could barely catch her breath to form the words.

“I’m not,” he said. “But if I’m going to scrimmage with my kids, I need to stay in shape.”

“Your kids?” She was sure the twins had said he wasn’t married. Was he divorced?

“I coach a youth soccer team of thirteen-and fourteen-year-olds pretty much year-round,” Matt said. “They love to try to get the best of me.”

In running shorts and a T-shirt that left his legs and arms bare, Matt looked like an athlete, with impressive musculature minus the bulk.

“You must really be into soccer.” A rivulet of sweat trickled down the side of her face, but now that she wasn’t running as fast it was easier to talk.

“I’ve played the game almost my whole life.” He had a smooth, even stride, and she got the impression he ran the same way he did everything else—effortlessly. Not only wasn’t he breathing hard, but he was also barely sweating.

Don’t ask about the twins, she told herself.

“Are you trying to turn your niece and nephew into soccer lifers, too?” she heard herself ask.

He laughed. “Robbie’s already got the bug. He begged me to help him, not that he had to try too hard.”

Change the subject.

“How about Brooke?” She tried not to sound too curious. “Is she into soccer, too?”

“Not like her brother but she’s a natural athlete,” Matt said. “Once she understands how good she can be, the love will follow.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Jazz asked.

“It will,” Matt said. “That’s the way it works.”

She took a sidelong glance at him to try to gauge if he found her questions about his niece and nephew suspicious. He wore a pleasant, neutral expression. He’d tell her the date of the twins’ birthday if she asked. She could forget the whole thing if it wasn’t July twenty-fourth.

But what if it was? Would her resolve be strong enough to stay away from the twins if she knew for certain they were her biological children?

“How about you?” he asked.

She’d forgotten what they were talking about. “Excuse me?”

“You ever play soccer? It’s usually the first sport parents sign up their kids for.”

Jazz’s mother hadn’t stuck around long enough to get Jazz involved in anything. The only game Jazz’s grandmother had taught her was how to beat the welfare system.

“I’m not very athletic,” she said.

“I don’t believe that.” His eyes swept over her. “You look like you’re in great shape.”

She’d never exercised regularly until prison, where she’d done legions of sit-ups and push-ups in her cell. During the hour inmates were let outside twice a day, she’d trampled the grass walking laps around the prison yard. Running had only been allowed on the basketball court.

Jazz didn’t need a psychologist to tell her that was why she’d taken up jogging. She often hit the trails even after standing on her feet all day. It struck her that Bill Smith’s list of high school activities had included track. Could a love of running be hereditary? She shoved the question out of her mind, determined to deal with one problem at a time.

“Thank you,” she said, her chance to ask about the twins’ birthday gone.

They ran side by side in silence with Jazz watching Matt in her peripheral vision. His skin had a healthy glow, as though he spent a lot of time outdoors. His nose went a little wayward in profile and she guessed it had been broken. The imperfection somehow made him more attractive.

She needed to get a grip. It made not one whit of difference if she found him appealing. She needed to operate on the assumption that the twins were the children she’d given up. She’d be a lot less likely to run into them if she didn’t hang around their uncle.

“I need to walk awhile.” The perfect excuse to cut their conversation short.

He stopped running, too.

“Is your shoulder bothering you?” He sounded concerned, the way he had at the restaurant. She couldn’t say for sure why that touched her.

“My shoulder’s fine, thanks.” She’d religiously done the exercises he’d given her, a much cheaper alternative than seeking medical attention. She had health care but could barely afford the co-payment for a doctor’s visit. “I’m just a little winded.”

“Mind if I walk with you?” he asked.

She shrugged instead of stating she’d rather he go ahead without her. What was the matter with her?

“I’ve got a family picnic later,” he said, and she instantly pictured Brooke and Robbie. “How about you? Got any plans?”

“Yes.” She swallowed the ache of loneliness in her throat, wondering where it had come from. Her plans involved finding a quiet spot on nearby Folly Beach where she could gaze at the ocean and read a book. “It’s nice to have an evening off.”

“Don’t you work the day shift?”

“I have a second job.” Now, why had she told him something even her restaurant coworkers didn’t know?

“Does it involve cooking, too?” he asked.

“Telemarketing. I’d love to work for a caterer, but those jobs are hard to come by.” She couldn’t seem to stop confiding in him. At least she hadn’t told him why a caterer would be reluctant to hire her. Or that without two jobs she wouldn’t be able to afford her apartment.

He didn’t say anything for long moments. “What if I offered you a catering job?”

“What?”

“A friend of mine is moving out of state. I’m inviting people to drop by my house Saturday afternoon to say goodbye. I don’t know what to feed them.”

“How about burgers and hot dogs?”

“The party’s in the afternoon and they won’t all be coming at the same time. Some of them will be hungry, some won’t.”

“You could go with finger foods.” As the idea took hold, she elaborated. “Mini quiches, stuffed mushrooms, cocktail meatballs. That kind of thing.”

“Sounds great,” he said. “Then you’ll do it?”

She hesitated, and he named a figure double what she earned on any given night at her telemarketing job. “I’ll pay for the groceries, of course.”

The offer was tantamount to dangling a Godiva in front of a chocoholic. Just the thought of having the freedom to cook something not on the Pancake Palace menu sent her heart beating faster.

Because she wanted to immediately accept, she didn’t. She’d learned in prison that opportunities like this one were seldom as good as they seemed. “I hardly know anything about you.”

“My players will vouch for me.” He slid her a grin. “I don’t only coach youth soccer, I coach the Faircrest High boys’ team, too.”

She hadn’t pegged him for a full-time coach. She would have guessed doctor, lawyer or any of the other professions associated with ambition.

“Is that where Brooke and Robbie will go to high school?” She couldn’t seem to stop digging for more information about them.

“Terry—that’s my sister—sends them to private school. They don’t live in my district, anyway. My brother-in-law inherited a place south of Broad.” He named the most prestigious part of peninsular Charleston, an area so rich in history and beauty that it resembled a living museum.

“Is that where you live, too?” Jazz asked.

“My town house is near Magnolia Plantation,” he said, referring to a popular tourist attraction nestled along the western banks of the Ashley River. “I bought it because it backs up to green space.”

Jazz also lived west of the river but on the less desirable side of Ashley Greens Park, where multi-family housing and strip shopping centers were more common than trendy neighborhoods. Her apartment abutted another apartment.

“Any more questions?” he asked.

Are your niece and nephew my children?

“No,” she said.

“You sure? I want you to feel comfortable when you come over,” he said. “I swear you can trust me.”

She didn’t trust anyone.

“Then give me the run of the kitchen and treat me like an employee.” She hadn’t consciously decided to accept the job until that second.

He saluted her. “Aye aye, captain.”

She felt a grin teasing the corners of her mouth. “How do I get in touch with you?”

“Give me your cell number and I’ll call you,” he said.

“But you don’t have your phone with you, do you?”

“Believe me, I’ll remember the number.” His inflection was jaunty enough that she wouldn’t have been surprised had he winked.

She recited her phone number, and he repeated it just as they reached the offshoot of the path that led to her apartment. She pointed. “Home is that way.”

“I’ll call you,” he said before he resumed his run.

She headed home, sure she was making a mistake but equally certain she’d follow through with the job.

“CAN YOU BELIEVE Matt’s having a goodbye party for Carter? What, if anything, is he thinking?”

Matt paused at the entrance to the teachers’ lounge at Faircrest High School a few days later. The door was ajar, something that volleyball coach and psychology teacher Donna Lee must not have realized, considering the volume of her voice.

Donna sat at the only occupied table, her back to the door. She was flanked by school librarian Fran Van Houten and Tom Dougherty, who’d taught PE and coached football at Faircrest for almost twenty-five years. Fran’s body was angled forward, her mouth slightly agape as she focused on Donna. Tom leaned back in his chair, cradling a cup of coffee in his large hands. He met Matt’s eyes and rolled his.

“If Carter hadn’t given notice,” Donna continued, “the school board would be investigating him as we speak.”

Carter Prioleau was leaving Faircrest after eleven successful years as the athletic director. He’d been instrumental in improving the school’s athletic facilities and helping to build a stable of winning coaches.

Tom cleared his throat and nodded to where Matt stood. Donna kept talking.

“It makes you wonder if Matt’s qualified to run the athletic department,” Donna said. “He should be distancing himself from the whole mess.”

Tom drew a circle in the air with his finger and pointed at Matt. Donna finally turned, her sleek dark hair swinging with the movement. Her face lost color until it was nearly the shade of the white Formica on the tabletop.

“Good morning, Donna.” Matt advanced so he was standing just steps from her. “Am I interrupting?”

She shook her head mutely.

“I thought I heard my name,” Matt said.

Donna mumbled something unintelligible, then rose. “I’ve got to get to class.”

“Me, too.” Fran got up so fast she bumped her knee on the underside of the table. “Except I’m going to the library. That’s where I’ve got to get to.”

The two women hurried off, their heels clicking on the linoleum, leaving Matt alone in the lounge with Tom. The other man was dressed in shorts and a maroon Faircrest High T-shirt, his standard work clothes. At over fifty, with muscle packed onto his short frame, Tom was a walking advertisement for the weight room.

“What was that all about?” Matt asked.

“If you’ve got a couple minutes, I’ll tell you,” Tom said.

Matt mentally went over his schedule and determined there was nothing that couldn’t wait. He started to pull out a chair and sit down.

“Not here.” Tom drained the rest of his coffee. “Somewhere we won’t be interrupted.”

“That leaves out the athletic office,” Matt said. “It’s a beautiful morning. Let’s go outside.”

To get there they needed to navigate a sea of teenagers, most of whom greeted them. When they finally walked through the double doors into the crisp morning air, yellow buses were lining up at the curb. Tom veered around the side of the school building toward a four-hundred-meter running track that Carter had successfully lobbied to have resurfaced.

“It’s quiet out here in the morning,” Tom said as they stepped onto the springy surface of the deserted track. Beyond it was a thicket of woods that separated the school property from a surrounding neighborhood. “Nobody will overhear us.”

“I appreciate that you’ve got my back, T.D.” Matt used the nickname Tom had gotten long ago when his teams started racking up touchdowns. “But I can handle the Donnas of the world.”

“That woman’s got a bigger mouth than a hippopotamus,” Tom said. “But it’s not just her. Everybody’s talking about Carter and that summer school teacher.”

“Carter told me she accused him of sexual harassment.” Matt had worked closely with the A.D. since being hired as his assistant. “He said it was blown way out of proportion.”

“Not according to the gossips,” Tom said. “Donna says it’s why Carter resigned before the school year started.”

“No way!” Matt’s exclamation startled into flight some sparrows foraging for insects in the infield grass.

Tom put up a hand. “Just telling you what I heard.”

“But that’s bull,” Matt said. “Carter had a tough summer, with his marriage breaking up like it did. He’s leaving town because he needs a change of scenery.”

“You can figure out why people think he’s getting a divorce,” Tom said.

It didn’t take much brain power. If the gossips believed Carter was guilty of sexual harassment, it followed they’d think he cheated on his wife.

“School started two weeks ago,” Matt said. “Why didn’t these stories come out then?”

“They did,” Tom said. “Everybody’s talking about it. Teachers. Parents. Students.”

“I haven’t heard much about it,” Matt said.

“That’s because everybody knows Carter recommended you to take over his job,” Tom said.

“Then why did you tell me?”

“Because your dad and me, we go way back. And because I like you.” Tom cleared his throat. “You’ve got to be smart, Matt.”

“What do you mean?”

“That party you’re throwing for Carter, you should think about canceling.”

“I’m not turning my back on Carter because of gossip,” Matt said. Not to mention he’d lose his excuse to see Jazz again, although he could come up with another reason. He’d been working on a plan when he’d had the good luck of running into her at the park on Labor Day.

“Fair enough,” Tom said.

They walked without speaking until they reached the point on the track where they’d started. “You’re coming to the party, right?” Matt asked.

“Can’t. The wife’s got me booked all day.” Tom avoided Matt’s eyes, telling Matt everything he needed to know.

Tom hadn’t only relayed the gossip. He believed it.

JAZZ WHEELED HER grocery cart into a line that was three-deep on Friday afternoon, relieved that for once she didn’t have to mentally add the prices of her items.

Crab. Artichoke. Fruit. Ground beef. Sausage. Spinach. Mushrooms. Eggs.

If Matt hadn’t dropped off an envelope of cash by Pancake Palace, she wouldn’t have had enough money in her checking account to cover the bill.

“Buy whatever you want,” he’d told her when he filled her in on the specifics. Guests were dropping by between two and six o’clock on Saturday, so they wouldn’t expect a full meal. He was anticipating as few as a dozen people and as many as twenty-five. She should err on the side of too much food rather than too little.

The envelope had contained two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, which seemed excessive. She wondered why Matt hadn’t bought some party trays from the super-market’s deli department. He could have added precut fruit and veggies and been all set for much less than he was paying her.

“Hey, Jazz!” Sadie came up behind her, still wearing the Pancake Palace waitress uniform that was a size too tight. “Looks like we had the same idea.”

The grocery store was two doors down from the restaurant, making it a convenient after-work stop.

Sadie held up a green plastic basket filled with groceries. “Benjy wants sloppy joes for dinner.”

Benjy was Sadie’s six-year-old son and the reason the waitress didn’t work nights. The boy already had a deadbeat dad. Sadie refused to saddle him with an absentee mom even if it meant sharing an apartment and child-care duties with another single mother.

Jazz knew all this because Sadie hung out in the kitchen with her and Carl when business was slow, never seeming bothered that Sadie did almost all the talking.

“What are you making for dinner tonight?” Sadie peered into her buggy before Jazz could block the view. “Ooo. Are you having company?”

“No,” Jazz said.

“Then what’s the occasion?” Sadie was smiling, making it impossible for Jazz to take offense at her prying.

“A catering job,” Jazz said.

“That’s great! I didn’t know you did that sort of thing! How long have you been at it?”

Jazz swallowed the urge to tell Sadie it wasn’t any of her business. The other woman was just trying to be friendly, the same as always. “Actually, this is my first time.”

“How exciting! What kind of job? At a country club? A private party? What?”

“The, um, client is throwing a goodbye party for one of his friends.”

“His?” Sadie picked up on the pronoun. “You’re dealing with the guy and not his wife?”

“The client’s not married,” Jazz said.

Sadie placed one hand on her curvy hip. “Then why didn’t he just buy a deli tray and some beer?”

Jazz’s thoughts exactly. Her doubts resurfaced. “I don’t know.”

“He probably wants something real nice.” Sadie laid a hand on Jazz’s upper arm, the deep pink of her fingernails in sharp contrast to Jazz’s tan shirt. “I think it’s great that he hired you.”

A doorbell sounded, loud and urgent. The people in line in front of them looked around to see where the noise was coming from. Sadie giggled, dug in her voluminous purse and pulled out a cell phone. “It’s my text message tone. Isn’t it funny?”

She pressed a button and read the lines of type. Her face crumbled, all the happiness disappearing. Jazz clamped her mouth shut, reminding herself of her long-term policy not to get involved in problems that weren’t hers.

Sadie’s eyes teared up. Oh, damn.

“Are you okay, Sadie?” Jazz asked.

“No. It’s from Ace.” Sadie thrust her cell phone at Jazz so the text was visible. Ace was the guy Sadie had been dating for the past few weeks.

Sorry, babe. Not feeling it anymore. Later.

Sadie sniffed loudly. “I can’t believe he broke up with me by text. What kind of guy does that?”

A guy who isn’t worth crying over.

“I’m sorry.” Jazz thought of how excited Sadie had been whenever she and Ace had a date planned. “Seems like you really cared about him.”

“That’s just it. I didn’t!” Sadie said. “Ace is a jerk. I mean, he nicknamed himself! And he didn’t want to meet Benjy.”

“Then why are you crying?”

Sadie dashed away the tears from under her eyes. “Because everybody I date turns out to be a jerk. I wouldn’t know a nice guy if he fell from the sky and landed in front of me. I’m a loser magnet!”

“We all make mistakes,” Jazz said.

“Have you?” Sadie peered at her through watery blue eyes.

Luke Bennett’s face flashed in Jazz’s mind. One of his eyebrows was cocked and his grin was coaxing, the way he’d looked when he offered to show Jazz a good time on her eighteenth birthday.

She’d been nervous about becoming a legal adult because her foster parents would only house her until the end of the school year. Luke made the landmark seem like an adventure.

“No more kid stuff,” he’d said.

That statement turned out to be prophetic. Since she was eighteen when the crime was committed, she was charged as an adult.

“Oh, yeah,” Jazz said. “I made a whopper.”

Sadie’s tears stopped. “Is that why you wouldn’t go out with that Matt guy?”

“How do you know I wouldn’t go out with him?” Jazz hadn’t shared any information about Matt. After a while, Sadie had given up asking about him.

“You’d be smiling way more if you were dating someone that hot,” Sadie said.

Jazz did smile then. She liked Sadie. The waitress made it impossible not to.

“I’m not looking to date anyone right now,” Jazz said.

“Why not?”

Should Jazz tell her? What would it hurt? “I don’t trust my instincts.”

“You and me both, sister,” Sadie exclaimed. “You and me both.”