Читать книгу The Swallow's Nest - Emilie Richards - Страница 17

10

Marina hadn’t yet cooked for Blake, but on Friday night he had a cold and didn’t feel like going out. Even though her work week had seemed a hundred hours long, she had volunteered to feed him.

She wasn’t a gourmet. Her talents ran to macaroni and cheese, spaghetti, tuna fish sandwiches, anything her brothers would deign to eat when she had been in charge. She still specialized in food that arrived at her local Safeway in a box, jar or can. Tonight, for a change, she was going to prepare something more appealing. Even she could bake a potato and broil a steak, and these days salad came in a plastic bag with dressing. At the grocery store she added frozen garlic bread to her cart and half a gallon of Neapolitan ice cream. Blake’s fancy wine cooler was already well stocked.

As she unpacked and started dinner she took stock of the kitchen. The space was expansive, only separated from the living room by an island. Drawers were crowded with every possible utensil and gadget. Since Blake relied on pre-prepared meals from the supermarket freezer, she suspected his wife had been the one to revel in complex recipes. She also noted that the black granite countertops were spotless, which meant the kitchen probably hadn’t been used since his cleaning service had come on Monday. She wondered how much he missed being married.

She wondered if he wanted to be married again.

As the garlic bread warmed in the needlessly complicated oven, and the potatoes baked in a microwave with enough settings to fly a space shuttle, she poured orange juice and took it into the living room.

After work she had changed into her shortest micro-miniskirt without tights, even though she hadn’t enjoyed the modesty challenge as she slid in and out of her car. But when he’d opened the door to find her standing on the porch with groceries, Blake had enjoyed the sight of her bare legs enough for both of them.

He was enjoying them again, this time as she held out the glass. “Pretend it’s a screwdriver. You’re not taking care of yourself, are you?”

He took it and began to sip. “If you were living here, I bet you’d make sure I did.”

She smiled, although the thought of being in charge of somebody else sounded woefully familiar. “And if I was taking care of you, I would never make it to work, would I? You’re usually a pretty hands-on guy. You must be sick.”

Reluctantly he wrapped both hands around his glass. “Somebody ought to take care of you.”

“I’m a big girl.” She paused just long enough. “But I won’t be around much next week. Sales meetings, and in-service training in San Francisco. I’ll be driving back and forth since my company’s too cheap to spring for a hotel, so I’ll be getting back too late to see you.”

“You’ll be missed.”

“I’ll call and check on you. And you’ll go to the doctor if your cold gets worse, right?”

He sent her a warm smile, which must have taken some effort. “Do you like being back at work?”

Blake thought she’d been on leave to recover after minor surgery, so she couldn’t tell him the truth. No, she didn’t like being back. She didn’t like the way the other employees looked at her, the way they didn’t ask about her baby son because they knew he was no longer with her. None of her sales colleagues had been at Graham’s “celebration” party, but word traveled fast in the construction community. While she’d spawned a little sympathy as a pregnant woman alone in the world, now it had vanished. She’d had an affair with a man they had previously respected, and now she had given him their child to raise. Publicly, too. For a mother there was no greater crime.

And maybe they were right.

When she didn’t answer, he continued. “You shouldn’t have to work so hard. You need more fun.”

If that was true, clearly somebody had forgotten to tell Deedee, Graham and God. Her brief sojourn in Los Angeles had been as close to “fun” as Marina had ever experienced, too little and over too fast.

She lowered her lashes. “I imagine I’ll have fun at the sales meeting. They pull in executives from all over the world. I’ve met some great...” She paused, as if to reconsider word choice. “People. There’s always a little social time built in.”

He hadn’t missed the hesitation. “Do you work with many women?”

“Mostly men. I do try to keep work and play separate, though.”

“Do you go out of town a lot?”

“Depends on what’s in the pipeline. The job pays my bills. I can’t refuse.”

“I might be able to find you something closer to home.”

She pictured a deadly dull office job. Creating a marketing plan for the latest innovation in denture cream. Putting out a company newsletter with feel-good stories about the new water dispenser and the tenth anniversary of the underpaid cleaning service.

She chose her words carefully. “I like being out in the field. I was born to travel. I love seeing new things. So the job suits me well enough. We’ll find time to be together.”

“Have you traveled much? Real travel, I mean?”

“Not nearly enough.” In truth, not at all.

“My wife didn’t like it. I always wanted to go, and she always wanted to stay. Mostly we stayed.”

“You didn’t go anywhere?”

“Europe once. We came home two weeks early because she missed her garden and our dog. Somebody was supposed to come in, weed and water, but they didn’t do it the way she wanted, so she never went anywhere for more than a weekend again. And even then, we had to take Doolittle.”

“I guess each person is different. I haven’t been able to travel and always wanted to. She could and didn’t.” Her sigh was real. “And what about you? Now that you can, do you plan to?”

“It’s not the same without somebody you love.”

Marina thought traveling alone would be great. Nobody to answer to; nobody to take care of. Just her, doing whatever she wanted.

“Maybe we could travel together,” he said.

She squeezed his shoulder. “I would like that. So many places to see and all of them interesting. But I won’t have any time off, Blake. Not for most of the year. I had to use most of my personal days for the surgery.”

He sneezed and ended the conversation by blowing his nose.

She took that opportunity to head into the kitchen to broil the steaks and finish their dinner. When she took out the garlic bread to replace it with the steaks she saw she hadn’t, as hoped, mastered the complicated oven settings. The bread was charred. She wrapped it tight before she tossed it in the garbage, but the burned smell lingered. She was glad Blake had a cold.

When they finally sat down to eat he complimented her on the meal, but she could see he was only going through the motions. He wasn’t running a temperature—she had checked—but the first stages of a cold were often the worst. When he set down his fork, she did the same, even though she was only half finished.

“I think you need a shower and bed, my boy.” She got up and removed his plate. “I’ll tuck you in, but I think you’ve got a long night of sneezing and coughing ahead of you.”

He was as docile as a lamb, getting up as ordered to head into the master bedroom. In a few minutes she heard the shower running. As she cleaned the kitchen she ate the rest of her own dinner standing up. Then she tucked both plates and the serving dishes into the dishwasher and got it going, did one final swipe of the counters and prepared to leave.

As she gathered her purse and the jacket that dangled lower than the hemline of her skirt, the doorbell rang. The shower wasn’t running, but Blake was still in the bedroom. Shrugging, she set down her things and went to peer through the peephole. This was a gated community, and two men about her own age in jeans and sport shirts had made it through security and now stood on the porch. She opened the door a crack.

“Can I help you?”

The taller of the two, a man with perfectly normal features that were one size too large for his face, wrinkled his oversized nose. “Who are you?”

“Since I’m on this side of the door, I think I’m supposed to ask that question.”

He glared at her. “I’m Wayne Wendell, and my father lives here.”

She saw the resemblance now, although Blake, at his son’s age, would have been much better-looking.

She opened the door all the way and held out her hand. For the first time that day she was sorry she’d chosen her shortest skirt. “Marina Tate. I’m a friend of your father’s.”

Wayne hesitated a moment before he took her hand, then he inclined his head toward the man beside him. “My brother, Paul.”

Paul Wendell looked nothing like Blake. He was at least four inches shorter than Wayne, with a belly that hung over his belt and close-set eyes that were even closer now because he was scowling. Marina shook his hand, too, then gestured for both to come inside.

“Your dad’s not feeling well. I’m almost sure it’s just the start of a cold, but I came over to make him dinner. He’s on his way to bed now. He needs to sleep.”

“How well do you know my father?” Paul asked.

She pretended not to understand. “I’m sorry?”

“I said, how well do you know my father? I don’t think he’s mentioned you.”

“I’ve known him a while.”

“In what capacity?” Wayne’s eyes traveled down her legs.

For a moment she didn’t understand. When she did she stepped back and stared at him. “You think he pays me for something?”

He sniffed the air, where the smell of burned bread still lingered. “Not for your cooking.”

She could feel heat rising in her cheeks. Blake took that moment to come out of the bedroom wearing a robe and slippers. His hair was damp, and clearly he had been in the shower.

The moment he saw his sons, he frowned. “Is everything all right?”

“You said you weren’t feeling well. We were checking on you.” Wayne gestured to Marina. “And look who we found.”

Blake didn’t respond immediately. Instead he lifted one eyebrow before he went to Marina and put his arm around her. “Marina made me dinner. Not that I need to explain.”

“I think I’d better go.” Marina kissed Blake’s cheek, then pulled away. “You need your rest. I’ll call tomorrow from San Francisco if I get a break. But drink plenty of juice. I bought extra, and there are cold meds on the counter. Please, call the doctor if you start feeling worse.”

“We can take care of our father.” Paul stepped aside, leaving a clear path to the door.

“I’m so glad you can.” She smiled at him. Then, just because she could, she winked. “But not in all the ways that I can.”

Blake laughed.

If the gloves had still been on, now they were off. Wayne stepped forward. “Dad, what are you doing? This woman is probably younger than I am.”

“But with much better manners.” Marina cocked her head. “I, for instance, would never jump to conclusions.”

Wayne acted as if he hadn’t heard. “I would appreciate it if you would leave so we can talk to our father.”

“You’re the one who’s leaving,” Blake told him. “You and your brother. Right now. This is my house, and you’re not welcome if you can’t treat Marina with respect.”

Marina stepped between them and touched Blake’s cheek. “Look, you’re not feeling well, and you don’t need a fight. We’ll all part friends and leave you alone to recover. Okay?”

Paul’s voice rattled with anger. “We don’t need your help. And my father doesn’t need your attentions.”

“That’s it!” Blake walked to the door and held it open. “Out!”

The two younger men stalked to the open door. More words were exchanged, but Marina, too angry to trust herself, stayed out of the fight. When it was over, and the door had closed behind them, she shook her head.

“Just what you didn’t need, huh? I’m sorry, Blake. If being your friend upsets your family, maybe I ought to stay away.”

“It’s my own fault. I had to be away a lot when they were growing up, and they still resent me. I let them take over the business when their mother was sick and I needed to be with her. And after that I got tired of working so much and let them take over even more. Now they want to take over my life.”

She was still furious, but fury had never worked in her favor. She didn’t let it show. “I’m sorry.”

He ran his hand over his wet hair, leaving tracks where his fingers plowed through it. “You’re the first good thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”

“I like being your good thing.”

“Don’t you dare stay away.”

She thought about how not staying away would make his overbearing sons feel, and she had to work hard not to smile. “Then I won’t. I definitely won’t.”

“I was thinking in the shower. Can you take at least one day off so we can go somewhere for a long weekend? We could get a flight to Las Vegas, see a show, have some great meals?”

She had been to Las Vegas—hadn’t everybody? But she’d gone for one night on a budget, eaten at cheap buffets and played the penny slots.

She didn’t have to think. This was her chance to do everything differently. “I’ll see what I can do. I might be able to take a day without pay.”

“That job of yours is going to be a hurdle.”

“Maybe I’ll quit someday.” She hugged him hard, but her mind was on other things. Like how she could use his sons’ anger against them. Like how her life could change for the better and quickly.

Then she thought of Toby. If she had kept him, she wouldn’t have this chance. She had traded her son at least partly for Blake, but maybe it was going to work out best for everybody.

“Stranger things have happened,” she said. “Someday I just might quit. Who knows?”