Читать книгу Someone Like You - Karen Rock - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

“I KNOW YOU’RE there, so pick up!”

Niall Walsh punched another line of HTML code into his computer, then glared at the answering machine vying for position with the modem, external hard drive, printer and fax machine cluttering his two desks. He pictured his determined older sister, MaryAnne, marching through his Bed-Stuy neighborhood, calling on her cell. Had she forgotten yesterday’s vow not to check in on him so often?

His phone rang again, followed by the beep. For a low-tech device, it was effective. He should have unplugged it when he’d powered off his cell. “I made your favorite, lasagna,” her voice sounded through the speaker.

His stomach grumbled. It’d been a while since he’d eaten. An empty pizza box balanced on his brownstone apartment’s radiator. It was the last thing he recalled ordering, and that’d been yesterday. Still, she’d given her word. Hunger or no, he was staying strong and not letting her in. It was better for both of them.

“Come on, little brother,” he heard her say after he let the phone ring a third time. “I’ve got to get back to The White Horse and help Aiden before my night shift. Buzz me in when I get to your building.”

He imagined the busy SoHo pub his older brother had managed since their father’s fatal heart attack. Aiden had taken charge of the six other children in the Walsh brood, and their Alzheimer’s-afflicted mother. At least he wouldn’t add to Aiden’s responsibilities. If MaryAnne would stop pestering him, he’d never bother a soul again.

He glanced down at his prosthetic lower leg. The last person who’d come to his rescue had paid the ultimate price; the guilt that he lived and his savior did not was a bitter dose he swallowed every day. If not for his actions during the classified mission, that soldier might have been home now visiting with his own sister.

“I promise not to clean your apartment.” Her voice turned pleading as she left her fourth message.

He glanced around his small, dim apartment, noticing things as MaryAnne would. Laundry spilled out of an overflowing hamper beside his bathroom door. His galley kitchen counters were covered in empty take-out containers, and his sink was full of dishes. Dust coated his coffee table, but at least he’d put his empty soda cans in the recycle bin.

Beside his shrouded windows hung a lone spider plant, its fronds green despite being watered rarely. He should just let it die, yet once in a while something about its droop made him lumber to the kitchen for a glass.

A loud buzzing sounded. She was here, not fooled at all by his phone screening. He swore under his breath and limped to the door. Some things never quit...like MaryAnne. Plus, she was his sister, and he wouldn’t ignore her. Not really. Just teach her a lesson...as in...keep your word about not coming over.

“Fine,” he called into the intercom, and then pressed the button to open the automatic front entrance. “But no cleaning,” he added as he unbolted his locks and slid back the chain.

MaryAnne brushed by him a moment later and marched into his kitchen. “This place is a pigsty!”

He inhaled the aroma of tomatoes, cheese and sausage left in her wake. His stomach grumbled again, grateful to her even if the rest of him wasn’t. When would she get the message that he didn’t want people going out of their way for him?

“What are you doing?” he asked when she shook out an apron she’d pulled from her purse and tied it around her waist. “I said no cleaning.”

His sister slid her eyes his way as she flicked on the faucet. She squeezed his dish soap bottle, got only a faint mist, then uncapped it and smacked the bottom until a dribble of clear gel oozed out.

“This isn’t cleaning. It’s excavating a toxic waste site.”

“I was getting to it as soon as I finished writing a program. I’m sending the prototype to my client this afternoon.”

She shot him a skeptical look, then shoved a clean, wet plate at him. He shouldn’t have relented, but there was no denying his demanding sister. He grabbed a cloth and began drying.

“You’re always working.” She passed him another dish. The crystal necklace he’d given her for Christmas winked under the single working bulb in his light fixture. “When are you going to leave the virtual world and start living in the real one? You’ve been home for almost two years.”

Her freckles stood out against her pale, round face, making him wonder how much she got out. She worked in the family pub, at an assisted-living facility and now, at her third job, taking care of him. He ground his teeth. He wouldn’t be a burden to her or anyone.

“It’s my life, MaryAnne, and that’s the way I want it.”

She handed him a mug, disapproval twisting her mouth.

“Staying inside all the time. Never seeing anyone. That’s not living. It’s hibernating.”

He shoved the towel inside a glass. “I’m fine.”

She arched an eyebrow. “But you’re not happy.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but the denial stuck in his throat. “Have you picked out your wedding dress yet?”

She shook the sponge at him, then got to work on his counters. “You’re not getting me off track, Niall.”

“Did you go with the princess or mermaid style?” He recalled her talking about it when she’d visited over the weekend. If lasagna was his weakness, then wedding details were hers. Two could play at this game. He sent out a silent prayer that she wouldn’t quiz him on what those various styles meant. He wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between a mermaid style or a princess style if an insurgent rebel had a semiautomatic pistol up to his head.

“Oh, it’s got a gorgeous train that’s a full five feet of lace cutouts with—” Her voice rose then trailed off. She swept boxes into a garbage bag and laughed. “You almost got me.”

When she struggled to lift the bulging sack, he grabbed it from her. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

Out in the hallway, he waved to his startled-looking neighbor—Mrs. Robertson...or was it Robinson?—and pushed the trash down the chute. She blinked at him as if he were a ghost, and he supposed, to her, he was. When was the last time they’d run into each other? Six months ago?

Back inside, MaryAnne shoved his laundry into his military bag.

“Leave it, MaryAnne. Aiden needs you.”

When she looked up, perspiration glistened on her forehead. She gestured around the room. “Not as much as you do.”

He ground his teeth. MaryAnne should be picking out wedding flowers, not wasting her time on him. He coughed at the cloud of lemon-scented furniture polish she sprayed on his coffee table, and gathered up the newspapers tossed beside his couch. When his prosthetic caught on the table’s edge, he went down hard.

MaryAnne knelt by his side, but he shook off her arm and stood. “I’ve got this. Go.” He instantly regretted his harsh tone when her mouth puckered. “Sorry. Look. Pick out china patterns and stop worrying about me. I want you to be happy.”

Her eyes glistened. “I am. Do you know how lucky we are to have you home in one piece?”

He flinched at her phrase, and she turned bright scarlet. “I just mean I’ll never take you for granted. After almost losing you...” She cleared her throat and hurried to the kitchen. “I’m not giving up on you,” she added over her shoulder.

The tap turned on then off, and she returned with a glass of water for the spider plant. Light flooded the room when she raised the shades, and he blinked until his eyes adjusted. It was a beautiful day, the kind of day you’d least expect an ambush. His mind returned to the day of his accident, and he whirled from the windows. “Close the shades, MaryAnne.”

“This plant’s never going to thrive without sun.”

“Don’t you get it? Nothing thrives in here.”

She pressed her cheek against his back, her arms slipping around his waist. “Then it’s time I got you outside.”

“I’ll see you next week on the Fourth of July.”

“Uh-uh. Not soon enough. You’re going out tomorrow.”

“Why? I had groceries delivered this week.”

A familiar smile played on MaryAnne’s face as she ducked under his arm and faced him. It was the kind of expression she wore whenever she’d sneaked medicine into a spoonful of jelly for him. Whatever she had up her sleeve, it wasn’t going to be good.

“A friend needs you, Niall. I spoke with her when she visited the assisted-living facility yesterday.”

“I don’t have any friends,” he said drily. Did she think he had some secret social life? His closest relationships these days were with the pizza delivery people.

Her smile widened, and unease twisted through him. He was in real danger when she looked this disarming.

“Kayleigh Renshaw.”

The name hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. Kayleigh. His rescuer’s younger sister and the best friend he’d ever had.

They’d once been as close as family. Guilt rolled through him at the loss he’d cost her. Worse, he was under orders not to speak about the classified mission, the reason he’d avoided her since Afghanistan. How could he see her and not tell her what had happened? If she knew the truth, she wouldn’t want to see him anyway—she’d hate him.

“Tell her I’m too busy.”

“She just lost her fiancé and her job.” MaryAnne smoothed back his overgrown bangs like a mother fussing over a child. “Kayleigh needs you to cheer her up, Niall. Remember how tight you two were?”

He couldn’t forget if he tried. And he’d given it his best shot these past two years. But putting Kayleigh out of his mind was impossible. Then again, what if she really did need help? He’d already stolen so much from her.

He pictured Kayleigh’s flashbulb of a smile, her bright eyes and the giggle that’d bubbled up even at the worst of his jokes. Only, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d said, or heard, something funny. He’d come to her rescue when her parents had split and she’d needed comfort, distracting her and keeping her spirits up. But he wasn’t the hero in anyone’s story. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry. The answer’s no.” He pulled down the shade, plunging his apartment, and life, back into comforting gloom.

MaryAnne planted fists on her hips. “I promised her that you’d see her. Maybe give her some tips on jobs in the software market.”

He swept a duster over his end tables, then plugged in the vacuum cleaner. “I do contracting work from home. I don’t have those kinds of connections.”

“She looks miserable, Niall. Please. Help me keep my word to her, and I’ll promise to keep mine with you.”

He sighed.

“Which one? That you won’t call every day? Bring food twice a week, clean my apartment when it’s fine the way it is?”

MaryAnne snorted. “This is also your office, not a barn. I made a reservation for lunch tomorrow at Five Leaves.”

He rubbed his jaw stubble. “I’m not the right guy for this. Better cancel it.” A restless feeling overtook him, and he wondered, despite himself, if he wouldn’t like to see Kayleigh. Even if it was just to reassure himself that she was all right.

MaryAnne’s eyes crinkled. “What’s the harm in a meal with an old friend?”

He held in a bitter laugh. If she knew the truth... But it was a secret he had to bear alone, the weight of it dragging him to dark places. And that was without the added guilt of a woman’s friendship that he didn’t deserve.

“Out of the question.” He flicked on the vacuum, hoping its hum would convince MaryAnne to leave. He didn’t want to be rude. She meant well. But she needed to focus on herself instead of him—and now Kayleigh.

The vacuum shuddered to a stop, and he glanced up at MaryAnne. She twirled the end of the cord. “She was your friend. Meet with her. Plus, I promise I won’t come by for a week except to drop off your laundry.”

He drummed his fingers on the handle. Save him from pushy women. Fine. He’d see Kayleigh. He owed her that much. More, really, but it was all he could give.

“Two weeks and no laundry,” he countered.

MaryAnne lightly whipped his arm with the cord. “A week and a half, and that’s my final offer before I bring her here myself.”

He glanced around the cramped space, pulse thudding, and threw his hands up in defeat. “I’ll go. But I won’t be able to help her. If you see her tonight, tell her that.”

“Tell her yourself,” MaryAnne called, lugging his laundry out the door before he could stop her. “Twelve o’clock tomorrow!”

Niall stared at the spider plant. What would he say to Kayleigh after shutting her out for two years? How could he face her, knowing her brother’s death was his fault?

He didn’t have a clue.