Читать книгу Two Much Alike - Pamela Bauer - Страница 8

JOE SMITH WAS ON HIS WAY into the hardware store when he heard a voice behind him say, “Someone’s looking for you.”

For a moment Joe felt trapped. It was an instinctive reaction caused by a fear that the identity he’d worked so hard to conceal might be exposed. It didn’t matter that during the two years he’d lived in northern Minnesota, no one had suspected that he was anyone but Joe Smith, a man looking for a quiet life along the shores of Lake Superior. He knew, however, that the past had a way of catching up with a person, especially when that past contained secrets.

Hoping today wasn’t that day, he forced himself to turn around. Standing behind him was the owner of Whispering Pines, a resort on the outskirts of the small town of Grand Marais.

“Hey, Pete. How’s it going?” Joe greeted him with a handshake.

“It’s going good. How about yourself?”

“Can’t complain.” Joe knew he needed to get right to the point. “Did you say someone’s looking for me?”

“Yup. One of the guests at the lodge,” the older man responded. “Says he wants to talk to you about a fly-in.”

The muscles in Joe’s body began to uncoil. He should have known that it would be someone wanting to go fishing, not a snoop asking questions.

“Did you tell him to contact Blue Waters?”

“Sure I did, but I suspect they told him what they tell most tourists about this time of year. If you don’t book ahead, you’re out of luck. And you know how these rich folks are. They think they can get whatever they want by flapping a few extra bills in someone’s face.”

“How big of bills?” Joe asked with a sly smile.

“Big enough to turn my head,” Pete admitted with a chuckle. “Seriously, it could be a nice little side job for you,” he said, lowering his voice and glancing around to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard. “I know you have a loyalty to Blue Waters, but you really should think about being your own boss.”

Joe looked out at Lake Superior and squinted as the sun bounced off the glistening water. “It’s a lot of work running your own business.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” the other man said with an understanding shake of his head. “But you’re a good pilot, Joe. And as for the responsibility and hard work…well, you’re practically running Blue Waters right now.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Pete, but I’m content to leave the problems behind when I go home. Blue Waters has been good to me.”

It was true. Joe had worried that with a new identity he’d have trouble finding work as a pilot. Although he’d logged a considerable number of hours in the air while in the Navy, they were hours he’d been forced to leave behind, along with his name, when he’d moved to Minnesota. Not wanting to risk being traced because of his license, he’d started over, taking flying lessons and passing all the requirements of a new pilot. If anyone at Blue Waters thought it was odd that he appeared to be a much better pilot than his experience indicated, they didn’t comment on it. He was able to work in relative anonymity, without any questions about his past, without any enquiries into his personal life.

It was the way Joe wanted it and the way he needed it to be. It would have been nice to run his own flying service, but it was a risk he couldn’t take. Running a business meant regulations and regulations meant red tape and inspectors. What he couldn’t afford was to leave a paper trail that would allow the wrong people to come looking for him. He’d made a new life for himself, deliberately choosing Smith as a surname because it was common and hard to trace. There was no point in taking a chance that someone would discover that he’d once been somebody else.

“Besides, with my dad’s health being what it is…” He let the sentence trail off, knowing perfectly well the lodge’s owner would deduce that Joe worked for someone else because he needed to take care of his father.

Which wasn’t a lie. A head injury and subsequent stroke had forever changed his father. Joe hadn’t anticipated that the strong, imposing man who had run his home with the same discipline he’d used when commanding his naval troops would ever need to lean on anyone—and especially not his son. The man who had been the epitome of authority now found himself dependent.

“I understand what you’re saying, Joe,” Pete said, his eyes as sympathetic as his tone. “How is the Admiral?”

“He’s doing all right,” he answered honestly.

Pete shook his head. “The brain’s a complicated thing, isn’t it?”

Joe nodded. “It is. He can tell you exactly what he paid for every car he ever purchased, yet he has trouble making change for a dollar.”

“How’s Letty been working out for you?”

Letty was a retired nurse Joe had hired to look after his father whenever he was gone. “She’s been great. She certainly has made my life a lot easier.”

“I knew she would.” Pete nodded toward the hardware store. “You going in or coming out?”

“In. Need to get a washer for a faucet. What about you?”

“I’m on my way to get my ears lowered,” he said, glancing in the direction of the barbershop down the street. “But I’m glad I ran into you. About this fella that’s looking for you…should I tell him to stop by?”

What Joe didn’t want was people coming to his place. His home at the lake was his sanctuary. The fewer people who visited there, the less complicated his life would be. “I’ll tell you what. How about if I give him a call when I get back to the house?” he suggested.

“Good enough.” Pete gave him the man’s name, then bid Joe goodbye, leaving him with a “You take care now.”

Joe certainly would do just that. He’d taken a lot of care from the very first day he’d arrived in northern Minnesota. He’d been careful to mind his own business, careful not to raise anyone’s curiosity about his or his father’s past, and especially careful not to give anyone a reason to believe he was anything but a concerned son who’d brought his ailing father to spend what was left of his life in the peaceful woods near the Canadian border.

No question—Joe would take very good care not to let his past catch up with him.

“I WISH I COULD GO WITH,” ten-year-old Emma said on a sigh as she watched her mother apply mascara to lashes that were already long and lush.

“You wouldn’t enjoy yourself,” Frannie Harper told her daughter.

“Yes, I would. Auntie Lois is so much fun.”

Lois was fun, Frannie thought as memories of their last night out together filtered through her mind. Latin music, salsa dancing, Corona beer, handsome men.

“Sorry, love, this is a night for grown-ups only.”

And there weren’t many of those in her life, Frannie acknowledged as she put aside the mascara and went to the closet. Being a single parent, she’d had little time for anything except work and taking care of her family. Nor did she have the money for going out with the girls—something she was reminded of when she opened her closet door.

She grimaced as she pushed aside hangers holding garments that should have been relegated to the rag bag years ago, but still constituted her wardrobe. She didn’t have a single thing that could be classified as trendy. Practical yes, trendy no. She knew the kind of places her sister frequented, and they were filled with people wearing the latest styles.

She sighed, knowing she really had only one choice: Old Faithful. It was a black sheath with a touch of glitter, a dress she figured she must have worn at least a hundred times. “Timeless” was how the clerk who’d sold it to her had described it. “Boring” was how Frannie had come to look at it. She dragged it from the hanger and went to stand in front of the full-length mirror.

“One hundred and one,” she mumbled to herself as she tugged the dress over her head.

“One hundred and one what, Mommy?” Emma asked.

“Nothing, sweetie. I was wondering if I’ve worn this dress a hundred times yet,” she said as she straightened the hemline.

“I’d wear it a million times if it were mine. It’s so pretty,” Emma said with a childlike sincerity.

Frannie sighed. “It’s old.”

“You said there’s nothing wrong with old,” Emma reminded her.

Frannie smiled.So my words come back to haunt me. “You’re right. Old is comfortable.”

When Frannie spritzed her neck with a cologne Lois had given her for her birthday, Emma said, “You never wear perfume. Are you going looking for men?”

She put her hands on her hips and clicked her tongue. “You know better than to even ask that question. I have all the men in my life that I need.”

Emma slipped her feet into Frannie’s high-heel sandals and walked over to the mirror where she pirouetted on wobbly legs. “I’m never getting married.”

As much as Frannie was tempted to say, “Smart girl,” she simply said, “Never is a long time.”

“I know, but I hate boys. They’re stupid. That’s why I’m never getting married,” Emma insisted. “I’m glad you don’t have a boyfriend. They’re too messy.”

Curious, Frannie asked, “Messy how?”

“Ever since Ashley Wilcott’s mom got a boyfriend, their life’s been messed up. They don’t get to dog-sit for the humane society anymore, Ashley can’t eat her dinner on a TV tray and if she leaves even one little sip of milk in her glass he tells her she’s wasting food and makes her do extra chores. Ashley says he’s always at her house butting into their business, too.”

Frannie felt a wave of sympathy for Ashley’s mother. She knew firsthand how difficult it was for a single mom to have any kind of personal life. When Lois had finally convinced Frannie she should start dating again, it hadn’t taken long for her to realize that whether or not the kids were with her physically, they were always with her emotionally. And the few men she had brought home had been put through an inquisition no human should have to endure. Frannie had decided a long time ago that life was complicated enough without adding romance to the picture.

Just then the doorbell rang, and Emma kicked off the shoes and exclaimed in delight, “Auntie Lois is here!”

“Tell her I’m not quite ready, but I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

As Frannie ran a brush through her blond hair, she could hear the commotion her sister’s presence generated. It had always been that way. Her kids hovered around their aunt like bees around a flower.

By the time Frannie went into the living room, however, the bees and the flower were nowhere in sight. She poked her head inside the boys’ room and, as she’d expected, saw her children gathered around Lois. She held a bright yellow piece of paper in her hands that Alex snatched away when he noticed his mother.

Normally Frannie would have asked what it was they’d been looking at, but her sister’s appearance had her mouth agape. Lois’s short hair, which normally fell in soft blond layers, was the color of a red pepper, sticking straight out from her head like porcupine quills. She had on black leather pants, a matching leather bandeau top that revealed more of her midsection than it covered and platform shoes that added three inches to her already tall figure. More than trendy, Frannie thought.

“Like my new look?” she asked Frannie with a crooked grin.

“If you open your mouth and I see metal, I’m not going anywhere with you,” Frannie warned.

Lois grinned, then stuck out her tongue. There were no rings of any sort piercing it. “You know I hate pain. The hair’s cool, isn’t it?” she asked, then stuck out her hands. “Look. My nails are the exact same color as my hair.”

“They are!” Emma exclaimed. “Cool!” She examined her aunt’s long, slender fingers carefully.

“Is it permanent?” Frannie asked, nodding toward her sister’s red head.

“Heavens, no. It washes out. I have to be in court tomorrow morning.”

“Is it a murder case?” Alex asked, his eyes widening.

“No, just someone who needs help,” Lois answered.

“I’m going to be a lawyer and help people when I grow up, too,” Emma said, gazing at her aunt with adoration.

“Me, too,” said three-year-old Luke, who often repeated everything his older sister said.

Lois ruffled her nephew’s hair affectionately. “I thought you were going to be a cowboy.”

“I think he’s going to be a demolition man. He destroys everything,” Alex said dryly.

“He’s not that bad,” Emma chastised her twin.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the baby-sitter.

After going over a list of instructions with the teenager, Frannie gave each of her kids a kiss and hug, then headed out the front door with her sister.

“Is that for us?” Frannie asked when she saw a taxi at the curb.

“Yes. I figured you wouldn’t want to take your car, and you know how much I hate driving downtown. Besides, someone wanted to do me a favor,” she said as she ushered her sister toward the cab.

“And this is the favor? A chauffeur?” she asked, as a thickset man hopped out of the taxi to get the door for them.

“Yes. This is Lenny.” She tossed a smile at the man who fussed over them as if they were celebrities.

Lenny, Frannie discovered, was the brother of a woman Lois had counseled through a domestic crisis. Relieved that the man who’d made life so miserable for his sister had been put behind bars, Lenny had insisted on showing his appreciation by giving Lois free taxi service on his night off.

“It will be nice not to have to worry about traffic and parking,” Frannie said as she settled into the back seat.

“Yes, it will,” Lois agreed. As soon as the taxi had pulled away from the curb, she said, “You didn’t tell me that Alex is trying to find Dennis.”

Frannie sighed. “You know how he feels about money. He thinks we don’t have enough and that getting Dennis’s child support payments would make our lives much easier.”

“It would,” Lois said candidly. “That’s why you were looking for him, too. Remember?”

She shook her head. “Please, don’t remind me.”

“Frannie, he should pay. He’s their father.”

“At one time I felt that way, but not now. I don’t want his money and I certainly don’t want him back in our lives.” She hated the bitterness that always managed to creep into her voice at the mention of her ex.

“Well, Alex does, and he’s printed up a couple of hundred posters with Dennis’s picture on them. He’s going to put them all over town.”

A knot formed in Frannie’s stomach.

When she was silent, Lois asked, “You do know about the posters, don’t you?”

“I knew he was thinking about doing them. We talked about it a couple of weeks ago, but I thought I’d convinced him it wouldn’t accomplish anything.” Unsure if she needed to persuade her sister, she added, “It won’t, you know.”

To her relief, Lois said, “I didn’t say it would. If he hasn’t been found by now, I doubt anyone’s going to locate him. We know Dennis Harper’s not in the Twin Cities and chances of him being anywhere in the Midwest are next to none.”

“Which means it’s just a waste of time,” Frannie concluded.

“Not to Alex it isn’t.” She shot her sister a sideways glance. “That’s what’s really bugging you, isn’t it? The fact that Alex still thinks about his father.”

“Of course it bothers me,” Frannie admitted, knowing there was no point in denying it. “My kids have spent more time with their dentist than they have with their own father. Dennis was never a dad to them, just a man who drifted in and out of their lives when it was convenient for him. He doesn’t deserve to have any of their thoughts and he certainly isn’t worthy of a son like Alex. Believe me, if I had it in my power to make Alex forget Dennis ever existed, I would do it in a minute.”

“But he did exist. And it’s something Alex needs to deal with in his own way.”

“Why?” she cried out in frustration, although she already knew the answer. So did her sister, who chose not to say anything.

After a few moments of silence, Frannie said, “I hate knowing Alex even thinks about the man.”

“It’s normal, Frannie,” Lois said, putting a hand on her sister’s arm.

She chewed on her upper lip as she nodded. “It just seems as if every time I think I’ve managed to let go of my anger, I realize I’ll probably always be angry at Dennis. Not because of what he did to me, but because of what he continues to do to my kids.”

“Your kids are going to be just fine,” Lois insisted. “They’re bright, well-adjusted, and happy—and that’s because of you, not Dennis. So put him out of your mind. He’s not worthy of your thoughts—not even the nasty ones,” she said, grinning.

Frannie didn’t return the smile, prompting Lois to ask, “Hey, you’re not going to let this spoil our evening, are you?”

She shook her head, although the enthusiasm she’d felt earlier had waned. “I do wish Alex had shown me the poster himself.”

“I think he wanted to test the waters with me first,” Lois remarked. “And I’m glad he did. That poster has your phone number on it.”

Frannie groaned. “Tell me that doesn’t mean I’m going to have creeps calling my house in the middle of the night.”

“You won’t,” Lois stated confidently. “I suggested Alex use one of my office numbers, instead. I told him it was much safer to do that, and he said he’d have Josh redo the posters.”

“Thank you. That means that if by some strange twist of fate someone does call with information, you’ll be the first to know and you can tell me.”

“He’s not going to hear anything.”

Frannie hoped her sister was right. It had been a long, painful struggle, but she’d put her life back together after Dennis had done his best to ruin it. She’d made a good life for her children, and she wasn’t about to let him disrupt it again.

For the rest of the taxi ride, Lois talked about the place where they were meeting several of their friends. It was a new club that had become popular among singles. Frannie listened and made appropriate responses, but her thoughts weren’t on the evening ahead. She stared out the window at the passing scenery, watching trees and houses and storefronts disappear in a blur and thinking how her life with Dennis had been like a car ride.

They’d started a journey together and reached a destination, but everything in between had been of little consequence. All the places they’d been, the things they’d seen were gone, just like the passing scenery. There was nothing memorable about that journey—except for the children—and that was the part of the ride Dennis wanted to forget.

“This is it.” Lois’s announcement interrupted her musings. The taxi stopped in front of an old brick building in the warehouse district. The only indication there was a club inside was the line of people waiting to gain admission. “Come on. We need to find Shannon and Misti.”

Frannie wasn’t sure how they’d find the other two women in the crowd, but she was glad when they did; being with her women friends was exactly what she needed to push all thoughts of Dennis Harper out of her mind. They moved from club to club, each one a little bit noisier than the previous one, all of them perfect backdrops for the laughter they shared. It felt good to have fun, and when it was time to go home, not even fatigue could stop Frannie from wishing the night wasn’t over.

Their final stop was a twenty-four hour deli where they ate chocolate desserts and rehashed the encounters they’d had that evening. Frannie couldn’t remember when she’d laughed so much, and made a promise that she wasn’t going to let so much time pass before she went out with them again.

She and Lois were both grateful they had Lenny to drive them home. After saying good-night to her sister, Frannie dragged her feet up the walk to the front door. She paid the baby-sitter, then stood on the front porch until the teen was safely in the house next door.

Then she went inside the place that had been home for the past five years. A quick peek into Emma’s room assured her the little girl was asleep. Next she went to the boys’ room and poked her head in to make sure everything was all right. She was about to leave when she remembered the posters. Unable to resist, she tiptoed over to the desk and opened the top drawer.

A small night-light in the shape of a baseball was just strong enough for her to see the stack of flyers. In the near darkness, Dennis’s face stared up at her. She squeezed her eyes shut and didn’t open them again until she’d pushed the drawer shut. Angry for letting her curiosity get the better of her, she quietly left the room.

Later, as she lay in bed, all thoughts of her night out with the girls had vanished. There was only one thing on her mind: Alex’s deadbeat father.

“MOM, LUKE’S BEEN MESSING with my baseball cards again,” Alex cried out in frustration as he stormed into the kitchen, his faux-leather album spread wide so she could see the empty pockets.

“No, I didn’t,” the three-year-old denied.

“Yes, you did,” Alex said, then turned back to his mother.

“I told you to keep them out of his reach,” Frannie said absently, her attention on the negatives she held up to the light.

“They were out of reach,” Alex said in exasperation. “I had them on top of the dresser, but he’s like a monkey, climbing all over the place. You either need to put him in a cage or give me my own room.”

She clicked her tongue in reprobation. “He’s not a monkey, he’s your brother—he doesn’t belong in a cage. And you know you can’t have your own room.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Watch all my stuff get ruined?”

“They’re only dumb old trading cards,” Emma said, standing at the counter buttering her toast.

He shot her a look of disdain. “Go ahead and call them dumb. They’re gonna be worth a lot of money someday.”

Emma grunted in disbelief.

“They are! Trading cards are big business. I heard a guy got a thousand dollars for a Cal Ripken.”

Frannie raised one eyebrow. “Do you have a Cal Ripken?”

“No, but some of my cards will be worth something someday if they’re not all wrecked. Mom, you’ve got to do something. He’s always into everything…my homework, my cards…everything. Can’t I please have my own room?”

“That would mean putting Luke in with Emma,” Frannie said, telling him with her tone what a bad idea that was.

“He can’t. He’s not a girl,” Emma said.

“It’s not fair,” Alex said, slamming his album down on the table. “Luke’s a monster.” It was a comment that caused the three-year-old to chuckle with delight.

“It’s just a stage he’s in,” Frannie said consolingly. “It won’t be long before you’re the best of friends.”

Alex made a sound of disbelief.

“You should read Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, ” Emma suggested. “Peter has the same problem with his brother Fudge that you have with Luke.”

“I don’t want to read a book. I want my cards,” Alex demanded.

“Luke, did you take your brother’s baseball cards?” Frannie asked.

Luke giggled again, then ran from the room. When he returned, he clutched two trading cards in his fists. Alex grabbed them from him.

“Books are make-believe,” Alex said to Emma. “This isn’t.” He held up two dog-eared cards for their inspection. “Look! Chuck Knoblauch and Derek Jeter ruined!”

He grabbed his album and was about to stamp out of the kitchen, when Frannie said, “Alex, I’d like to talk to you after you’ve had breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well, when you are hungry, let me know. I’ll make you some pancakes and you and I will have a heart-to-heart.”

Alex grunted, then slipped out of the kitchen. As he left, Emma called out, “If you want my Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, I’ll loan it to you.”

Frannie didn’t think Alex wanted anything but to be left alone. When Luke would have followed him, she grabbed him by the waist and set him on a chair. “Time to eat.”

“He’s mad, you know,” Emma commented.

“He just needs some time alone,” she told her daughter, but she knew that as soon as she’d fed Luke, she’d see if there wasn’t something else she could do for Alex.

ALEX HEARD HIS SISTER’S VOICE echo through the hallway as he headed for his room. He didn’t care if Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing was the best book in the whole wide world. He didn’t want to read about some kid named Peter who had a little brother who messed with his things.

It was bad enough that he had a little brother who messed with his things. And the title of his sister’s favorite book was enough to make him want to bury it at the bottom of his closet. Why would anyone want to read about a kid who thought he was a nothing?

If the title was Tales of a Fourth Grade Somebody, he might read the book, but a fourth grade nothing? No way. He already felt like a big fat nothing when he thought about his dad.

There was knock on his door, and then Alex heard his mother’s voice: “Can I come in?”

He knew she wouldn’t go away until he said yes. Mothers never did. “All right,” he mumbled.

She came in and closed the door behind her, then sat down next to him on the bed. “I’m sorry Luke ruined your cards. Can I buy you new ones?”

He shrugged. “If you can find them.”

“I saw in the paper there’s a trading card show next weekend at the junior high. Would you like to go?”

“You’ll take me?”

“If you want. And you could bring Josh, too.”

“All right.”

“Alex, there’s something else I want to talk about with you.” He could tell by the look on her face that it was serious. “Lois told me you’ve made up the posters you hope will help you find your father.”

He’d figured his aunt would tell her, so he went over to his desk and pulled open a drawer. He removed a single sheet of paper and showed it to her. “Are you mad?”

He thought it was probably a dumb question. She’d already told him a while back that she didn’t think the poster was a good idea.

“You call him a deadbeat.” Her voice was quiet, not angry.

“Because he is. You don’t need to pretend with me, Mom. I heard you and Auntie Lois talking. I know he’s a deadbeat.”

“Then, why look for him?”

“To make him pay. He owes you money. It’s not right that you have to work so much just to pay the bills he should be looking after.”

She slid her arm around his shoulder and squeezed him. “It’s sweet of you to worry about me, but I can take care of the four of us just fine. Are you sure there isn’t another reason why you want to find him?”

“Like what?”

“Maybe you think there’s a possibility that when you find him, things will be different. That your father will want to be a father again.”

“No! That’s not it. I’m not doing this for me, Mom. I told you that. It’s for you and Emma and Luke.”

She gave him another squeeze and said, “Oh, Alex. You really are a very special boy.”

He wanted to believe her. And most of the time he did, but there were those times when he had his doubts. “If I’m so special, why did dad leave?”

As soon as he’d asked the question, he wished he hadn’t, because his mom’s eyes got all watery.

Then she pulled him even closer to her, resting her chin on his head as she said, “It’s nothing you or Emma or Luke did. Your father left because he was missing something inside himself. And it was a big something. It was what tells us that the greatest treasure anyone can ever have is a family to love. So don’t ever think you aren’t special. You were just unfortunate to have a father who wasn’t smart enough to recognize what special is.”

This time she didn’t just give him a hug, but a kiss, too. Right on his forehead. Then she said, “Now how about coming out and letting me make you some pancakes?”

He was hungry. “Oh, all right.” He tried to make it sound as if he really didn’t care about breakfast.

Before they could cross the living room into the kitchen, the doorbell rang. Emma raced to the front window to push aside the curtains so she could see who was standing on the step.

With a screech she cried out, “Oh, my gosh! It’s Gramma!”