Читать книгу Mending Fences - Sherryl Woods, Sherryl Woods - Страница 5

Ten years earlier

Dinner was going to be another rushed affair. Emily Dobbs had spent two hours in a tedious, unproductive teachers’ meeting after school, then picked up her husband’s dry cleaning, run by the post office for stamps, stopped by the drugstore for her prescription for birth control pills—not that she’d needed them lately—and spent fifteen minutes at the market trying to figure out what she could fix for dinner in the twenty minutes she had left after she’d picked the kids up from the sitter’s. Spaghetti with salad and garlic bread had been the quick and easy answer. She supposed that was a step up from stopping for fast-food burgers or ordering pizza, something she’d resorted to way too many times recently.

Every week she vowed to come up with nightly menus and a shopping list, rather than improvising every meal at the last possible moment. So far, she’d failed to follow through, despite her good intentions.

Lately everything in her life felt as if she were doing it on the run. Maybe she should have waited to go back into teaching, but she’d missed being in the classroom after Josh and Dani were born. As soon as Dani had started in preschool, Emily had sought out and gotten a position teaching high school English just a few miles from home. Derek hadn’t been overjoyed when she’d told him, but he was traveling so much for business, he’d hardly been able to complain that she would be neglecting him or their marriage.

The kids, however, were another story. When it came to her son and daughter, she was assailed by guilt on a daily basis. They were growing so fast and she was missing some of it. Josh was a strong, athletic nine-year-old now with a well-developed mind of his own. Dani, with her long dark curls and her preference for dresses and tea parties, was a seven-year-old princess, ruler of the second grade.

As Emily stopped in front of Linda Wilson’s house, she watched her two precious children race outside and across the lawn. Well, Josh raced. Dani walked as sedately as if she were on a fashion runway, at least until her brother called back some taunting remark that had her sprinting the rest of the way.

“Hi, Mom,” Josh said, jumping into the front seat as Dani climbed more demurely into the back, then stuck out her tongue at her brother. Josh rolled his eyes, then directed his attention toward Emily. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“We’ve got new neighbors in back, and they’ve got kids. Mrs. Wilson told me that Evan’s the same age as me and he plays football and soccer and baseball. There’s a girl, too,” he added, as if that were of far less consequence.

“Her name’s Caitlyn,” Dani said, “but she’s just a baby.”

Josh rolled his eyes. “She’s five.”

“That’s too little to be my friend,” Dani said with a dramatic sigh of disappointment.

Emily bit back a smile. “Are you sure about that, sweetie? I bet she’d love to come to one of your tea parties,” she suggested. “You were five when we started having them, remember? Maybe she’s never even been to one and you could show her how much fun they are. In fact, since she’s just in kindergarten, there are probably lots of things you could teach her.”

Dani regarded her solemnly. “You think so?”

“You could ask,” Emily said.

Dani was silent for a long, considering moment, then nodded. “Maybe I will.”

And so it began…

The kids pestered Emily all day Saturday to let them go play with Evan and Caitlyn Carter. They both knew that there was one rigid rule in their house, that they were never to go to another child’s home unless she knew the parents, and she had yet to meet their new backdoor neighbors.

Exhausted from cleaning and grocery shopping and with a stack of English papers still to grade, she knew there would be no peace until she gave in.

“Okay, fine. Let’s take a walk and see if they’re home,” she agreed eventually.

The neighborhood in southeast Miami was shaded by pin oaks and giant banyan trees with their gnarled, twisted trunks that looked as if they belonged in a horror movie rather than in some pleasant, suburban neighborhood. Most of the well-landscaped yards were surrounded by hedges of bougainvillea in colors ranging from purple and fuchsia to red or white. The prickly vines with their profusion of brilliant flowers served as something of a security barrier without the need for fences or gates, though high wrought-iron gates had started to appear at the end of a few driveways as property values went up, along with the crime rate.

Only a few blocks from the waters of Biscayne Bay, Emily thought she could detect traces of salt in the air, along with the lingering scent of night-blooming jasmine. It was enough to remind her how much she enjoyed being outdoors at this time of year, when the Miami air had less humidity and the sky was a clear, vivid blue. She and Derek needed to get back into the habit of taking a walk after dinner the way they had when they’d first moved into their dream house. Back then, they’d pushed Dani in her stroller and Josh had ridden along beside them on his tricycle.

A few years ago, they’d also known all their neighbors in this well-established area, but as prices had soared, many of their older neighbors had sold out and moved to more manageable condos or retirement communities. Lately the turnover had been so frequent that there were only a few familiar faces left from those early years…the Wilsons down the block, the Delgados on the corner and Janice Ortiz and her elderly mother on the next street.

“Mom, hurry up!” Josh said impatiently. “Can’t you walk any faster?”

Emily grinned at him. “I can, but I’m enjoying the fresh air.”

He regarded her blankly. “Why?”

“Someday you’ll understand,” she said, ruffling his brown hair.

“It’s like stopping to smell the roses,” Dani said. “Grandma Dobbs tells Dad he needs to do that.” She wrinkled her forehead. “I’m not sure what she means, though.”

“She means your dad works too hard,” Emily told her.

“No joke,” Josh said with disgust. “He’s never around anymore to play ball with me.”

“He has an important job,” Emily reminded him, feeling the need to defend Derek, even though Josh was expressing a dissatisfaction that she often felt herself. Then, as a reminder to herself as much as to her son, she added, “We should be grateful that he’s such a hard worker. That’s why we’re able to live in such a great house and you kids get to go to wonderful schools.”

“I’d rather be able to play ball with my dad,” Josh grumbled. “Dad doesn’t even come to my games half the time anymore.”

Emily resolved to remind Derek that he needed to get some balance back into his life, that his son needed more from him than a fancy house and every hot electronic game to hit the market, all purchased out of guilt over his too-frequent absences and a string of last-second disappointments.

As they approached the sprawling, Spanish-style house with a red-tiled roof that the Carters had just moved into, she hunkered down on the sidewalk in front of the kids. “Now remember to be on your best behavior,” she instructed. “The way you are when we visit Grandma Dobbs and Grammy and Poppy, okay?”

Josh was practically bouncing with excitement. It had been a long time since there had been a boy his age living close enough for him to hang out with. “Come on,” he pleaded, then made a dash for the pretentious wrought-iron gate that was new to the property. He tried to turn the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. He regarded it with dismay. “It’s locked.”

Emily was as startled as her son, but she spotted a buzzer next to the gate. “I think we probably need to push that button,” she told her son, and watched as he gave it an eager punch.

“Yes?” The disembodied voice sounded far away.

“I’m Emily Dobbs, your new neighbor. My kids and I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

A long buzz sounded and the gate swung open automatically. Josh stared at it, then grinned. “Cool!”

Dani wasn’t as enthusiastic. She eyed the gate warily and reached for Emily’s hand. “What if we can’t get out again?” she whispered.

“I’m sure it only keeps people out,” Emily reassured her. “It’s not meant to trap anyone inside.”

“Are you sure?” Dani asked.

“I’m sure, sweetie.”

By the time they’d walked along the curving driveway, two kids were racing in their direction. They skidded to a stop.

“Wow, this is so great,” the boy said. “I didn’t think there were any kids in the whole neighborhood. I was really bummed. I’m Evan. My sister’s Caitlyn.”

“I’m Josh,” her son told him. He added grudgingly, “That’s Dani.” Focusing his attention once again on the boy, he said, “I heard you like to play ball.”

“Any kind,” Evan confirmed. “You want to throw some passes out back? Football’s my favorite. I’m gonna go pro someday and play for the Dolphins.”

He said it with such absolute confidence that Emily had to fight to hide a smile.

Josh looked up at her. “Is it okay, Mom?”

“Sure,” Emily told him, then looked back to see that Dani was eyeing a dainty little girl in orange shorts, a purple T-shirt and tiny sneakers with dismay. The outfit, with grass stains and streaks of dirt, was a stark contrast to the pastel flowered dress and patent-leather shoes that Dani had chosen for the visit.

“How come you’re all dressed up?” the child asked Dani with a puzzled look. “You been to church?”

Dani regarded her with disdain. “I like to dress up. I like to read books and I like to have tea parties, too.”

“I play ball with my brother,” Caitlyn said. “But only ’cause there’s nobody else around.” Her wistful gaze shifted to follow the direction in which the boys had disappeared. Then she sighed. “My mom just baked cookies. You want some?”

Obviously the thought of home-baked cookies was enough to overcome Dani’s reservations about Caitlyn. “Sure.” Then she glanced hesitantly toward Emily. “You’re coming, too, right?”

“Absolutely,” she said, and followed the girls up the walkway.

When she spotted Marcie Carter waiting in the doorway, Emily couldn’t help smiling at the irony. In her fashionable linen slacks, silk blouse and expensive jewelry, she looked as if she ought to be Dani’s mom, not Caitlyn’s. Her makeup was flawless, every highlighted hair on her head was in place and her French manicure didn’t have a chip in it. Emily immediately felt as disheveled as little Caitlyn, but unlike the child she found herself apologizing.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess, but the kids were so anxious to come by, I didn’t take time to change. I hope you weren’t getting ready to go out.”

“No, indeed. I’ve been baking cookies. Come in and have some. You’ll have to excuse the chaos, though. We’ve barely finished unpacking.”

Emily glanced around, looking for some evidence of chaos, but as near as she could tell this house was already a hundred times tidier than her own. There was a faint lingering scent of paint in the air, mingling with the far more appealing aromas of sugar and chocolate. The tile floor in the foyer had been replaced since she’d been here for a neighborhood cocktail party a couple of years ago. All of the carpets looked brand-new, as well. Every piece of furniture was in place, the pillows were plumped, fresh flowers filled huge, oversize vases in each room. If this was chaos, she wanted to know how to accomplish it.

“Do you mind sitting in the kitchen?” Marcie asked. “I’ll be able to keep an eye on the oven. I still have a few dozen cookies to bake for a PTA fund-raiser on Monday. The girls can take some cookies and milk onto the patio.”

“That sounds perfect,” Emily said, following her through the house. In the kitchen, she had to keep her mouth from dropping open. It looked like something out of a design magazine with its expensive cherry cabinets, black granite countertops and professional-grade stainless-steel appliances. Serious stuff must happen in this kitchen. It wasn’t meant for someone who threw a meal together at the last second, stuck frozen dinners into the microwave or baked cookies from refrigerated dough from the grocery store.

“How did you get roped into a bake sale when you’ve barely moved in?” she asked Marcie.

“I always volunteer at the kids’ school,” Marcie replied as she put chocolate-chip cookies onto a plate, poured milk into two tall plastic glasses and artfully arranged it all on a tray. “Here you go, girls. Do you need any help?”

“I can carry it,” Dani told her, reaching for the tray.

“I can take my own,” Caitlyn countered, almost tipping everything onto the floor in her eagerness to grab a glass of milk.

“Maybe I’d better get them settled,” Marcie said, taking the tray from Dani, carrying it outside, then returning. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my Caitlyn has an independent streak. She spends so much time with her older brother that she doesn’t know her own limits.” Her expression turned wistful. “I wish she was as much of a little lady as your Dani.”

“Something tells me they’ll balance each other,” Emily said. “I’m so glad Dani finally has someone close to her age nearby and Josh was over the moon when he found out you had a son his age.”

“How long have you lived in the neighborhood?” Marcie asked as she efficiently scooped up perfectly rounded balls of dough and put another huge sheet of cookies into the oversize oven.

“About seven years now. Josh was two when we bought the house and Dani was still a baby.”

“You like it here?”

“Love it,” Emily said. “And it’s a great school district.”

“I can tell that already,” Marcie said. “I made it a point to meet Josh and Caitlyn’s teachers before we made the final decision to move. I wish the class sizes were a little smaller, but unfortunately unless you send the kids to private schools, you won’t find that anywhere anymore. That’s one of the reasons I like to volunteer. I figure the teachers can always use some extra help.”

“I can vouch for that, though most of the parents at the high school where I work are too busy with their jobs to get involved,” Emily lamented. “I have to struggle just to get them to take time off to come in for parent-teacher meetings.”

Marcie seemed surprised. “You teach at the high school?”

“Yes. I teach English,” Emily confirmed. “I was teaching when I got married and I went back to it once both of my kids were in school. Do you work?”

“Ken—he’s my husband—and I think being a mom is a full-time job,” she said, a faintly defensive note in her voice.

Emily wasn’t about to quibble with her choice. “It’s great that you’re able to do that, if it’s what you enjoy,” she said sincerely. “I almost went stir-crazy during the years I was home with the kids. I need that added stimulation of working and I enjoy teaching. It’s hard, though. I have to admit there are days when I feel as if the kids aren’t getting nearly enough of my attention, especially with their dad out of town on business so much.”

“Your husband doesn’t object to you working?”

“To be honest, he wasn’t overjoyed when I went back to work, but mostly because he was afraid it would be a reflection on him. He thought maybe people would get the idea that he wasn’t a good enough provider. Derek had a tough childhood, so image is important to him. He’s a real workaholic.”

“Now that I get,” Marcie commiserated. “Ken’s just as bad. He’d work twenty-four hours a day if he didn’t require at least some sleep.”

She retrieved the baking sheet of cookies from the oven and slid another tray in. “There, that’s the last of them. Now maybe you and I can relax and you can tell me the scoop on everyone in the neighborhood. Any good dirt?”

Emily laughed. “I’m afraid there are no desperate housewives around here, though I think Adelia Crockett might have a crush on one of the deliverymen…or maybe she really is addicted to QVC and that’s why there are so many packages coming to her house all the time.”

“Adelia Crockett? I don’t think I’ve met her yet.”

“Three doors down from you. She drives a bright red convertible. She moved in about a year ago. I met her once at a neighborhood barbecue, but mostly she keeps to herself. She’s in her forties, I’d say. Doesn’t work, so either she divorced well or she has money of her own.”

“Is she going to show up on my doorstep needing help with a leaky faucet one of these nights?” Marcie asked wryly.

Emily grinned. “Last I heard, she was more likely to show up with a toolbox and offer to help with your leaky faucet. She seems pretty self-sufficient, but like I said, I don’t know her that well.”

“Any other gossip? Is there a neighborhood borrower who never brings anything back? Someone who throws outrageously noisy parties? A complainer who calls the cops about everything?”

Emily stared at her. “Where on earth have you been living?”

Marcie chuckled. “Actually it was fine and the neighbors were all really nice, but you never know what you’re getting into when you move. The real estate brokers might warn you about an anticipated bump in real estate taxes, but they won’t say a word about the neighbors who cause everyone grief.”

“Well, rest assured, everyone around here is pretty quiet and friendly. You’re going to like it, unless you were hoping for a little excitement. About the wildest thing that happens is Eddie Delgado doing karaoke at the summer barbecue. The man has the voice of a frog with laryngitis.”

For an instant Marcie looked taken aback, but then she put a hand over her mouth and giggled. “I’m sorry. I met Eddie the other day. I can’t even imagine…” Her voice trailed off and she giggled again. “I like you, Emily Dobbs. I think we’re going to be good friends.”

“Even though I don’t even know what half the appliances in this kitchen are for?” Emily said, surveying the array of intimidating stainless steel. It appeared Marcie owned every cooking aid showcased in the Williams-Sonoma catalog.

Marcie patted her hand. “I know, and that’s all that matters. You make sure our kids get out of school with a basic knowledge of grammar and literature and I’ll make sure we’re all well fed.”

“Now there’s a plan I can get behind, but let me be the one to welcome you with a barbecue. I’ll invite all of the neighbors over next Saturday. Derek has figured out how to use the mammoth grill he insisted we needed and I’m capable of making a salad and a few side dishes.”

“Only if you let me bring dessert,” Marcie said. “There’s a chocolate cake with fresh raspberries I’ve been dying to try. If I make two, will that be enough?”

“That depends on whether one of those is meant just for me,” Emily told her, not entirely in jest.

Marcie grinned. “I’ll bake three. We’ll share the third one over coffee when we get together afterward to dissect the party.”

“Let me retrieve my kids and I’ll get out of your hair,” Emily told her.

“Oh, let them stay, please,” Marcie said. “I’ll walk them home later, say around four.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Grateful to have a reprieve so she could grade papers in total silence, she seized the offer. “If they give you any trouble at all, just call me or bring them home.” She jotted down her phone number and address for Marcie, who immediately stuck the paper onto a bulletin board by her phone.

“They’ll be fine,” Marcie assured her.

“Then I’ll say a quick goodbye and remind them to be on their best behavior.” When she returned from speaking to Dani and Josh, she impulsively gave Marcie a hug. “I’ll have peace and quiet to grade papers. I can get it done in half the time it usually takes. You have no idea what a miracle that is! I’ll call you with the details about next Saturday.”

“Don’t be a stranger, okay? Promise me.”

“You bake. You offer to watch my kids,” Emily said. “Are you kidding? I’m ready to adopt you.”

The Saturday-night barbecue to introduce the Carters to their neighbors was the first of many occasions the two families shared during that winter and spring. For the first time in her marriage, Marcie actually felt as if she were a part of the community around her. She liked knowing everyone on her block and the next, being able to exchange greetings with people and ask about their families and jobs, rather than living in isolation the way they had in their old neighborhood.

She’d never told anyone, not even Emily who would surely understand, about the early financial struggles she and Ken had had in their marriage. She felt as if it would be a betrayal of her husband. Ken had worked hard to rise above their past. They’d scraped by and saved until they could afford an impressive house in a well-to-do area, but even before they’d moved, he’d insisted they strive for a certain image. Sometimes he worried more about the image than the substance of their lives, but Marcie understood. She knew he wanted only the best for her and their kids. He was single-minded about it. If he was impatient with her when she tried to get him to slow down or questioned his priorities, well, he’d earned the right to have things his way. She’d long since reconciled herself to that.

Oddly, though she and Emily had become extremely close, Derek and Ken didn’t get along all that well. She didn’t understand it. Derek was a great guy. He was warm and funny, the kind of dad who showed a real interest in all of the kids and actually listened when they spoke to him. He and Ken should have had a thousand things in common, but there was a wariness between them that sometimes cast a pall over their get-togethers. If they’d been a couple of kids, she would have described it as some kind of rivalry, but they were both mature adults.

Still, it was plain that Ken was always trying too hard to impress Derek and Derek knew it. It was happening again tonight as they ate by the pool at her house.

“You should have seen it,” Ken boasted. “I had those guys eating out of the palm of my hand. The best wine. Steaks so tender you could cut ’em with a butter knife. Then Marcie here has to go and ruin it all by bringing in these little cups of pudding.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what she was thinking.”

“It was chocolate mousse with shaved white chocolate on top, not pudding,” she said defensively. “And in case you didn’t notice, they ate every bite and asked for seconds, so I’d have to say it was a hit.”

“They ate it to be polite,” Ken scoffed.

“I’m sure it was delicious,” Emily said loyally. “Marcie knows more about entertaining than most people will ever know.”

“Thank you,” Marcie said, feeling her cheeks flushing at the praise. Or maybe it was from embarrassment that her husband was demeaning her in front of their friends.

“I don’t suppose you have any of that mousse left,” Derek asked wistfully. “It’s one of my favorites. Needless to say, Emily never makes it.”

“Yes, needless to say,” Emily said, shooting him a grateful look. “I did make instant pudding a couple of weeks ago.”

Ken frowned at both of them and their attempt to elevate Marcie’s efforts.

“I still think some fancy soufflé would have impressed them more,” Ken grumbled, then brightened. “The bottom line, though, is that the next day they signed on the dotted line. Biggest account I’ve reeled in yet. I’m telling you that vice presidency is mine.”

“You’ve worked hard enough for it,” Marcie said, relieved that he’d dropped the topic of her cooking. “You certainly deserve it.”

“Damn straight,” Ken said. He looked at Derek, and for an instant there was none of the usual bluster in his voice, when he said, “Maybe you can give me some pointers on how to handle the boss to make sure I get the job. You’ve been a vice president at Jankovich and Davis for a while now, right?”

“A couple of years,” Derek said. “Only thing I can tell you is to work hard and do your job. Go above and beyond whenever the opportunity presents itself. In the end that’s the kind of thing that gets their attention.”

Ken looked flustered. “You didn’t spend a lot of time schmoozing with ’em, telling ’em you were the right guy for the job?”

“Not really,” Derek said, then added diplomatically, “but they’re two different companies, Ken. I’m dealing with international sales. You’re dealing with public relations. You know how things work with the people in charge where you are. You have to use the tactics that work under those conditions.”

Ken nodded. “Flash and dazzle, that’s what works with my boss,” he said confidently. “In PR, it’s all about the sizzle, you know what I mean?”

Derek grinned. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Marcie sat back and relaxed for the first time since the discussion had started. For once it seemed the two men were on the same wavelength. With any luck that would last through dessert.

And tonight she’d been smart enough to bake Ken’s favorite cake with caramel frosting. It had taken forever to get the caramel just right, but it would be worth it if he ended the evening with a smile on his face.

Sometimes it seemed she spent as many hours of her day trying to please her husband as Ken spent trying to win the praise of his bosses. In that regard, they both had tough jobs.

There wasn’t a chance in hell she’d ever admit it, but sometimes she envied Emily, whose identity clearly wasn’t all tied up in gaining her husband’s approval. There’d been a time when Marcie had actually known exactly who she was—a pretty girl from a modest background who was smart, but far from brilliant, and more interested in cooking and baking than the corporate world. She’d also known what she’d wanted out of life. She wanted to marry an ambitious man with potential, have a family and enough money to buy not only the things they needed, but the things they wanted. She’d thought she’d won the lottery when she married Ken, but lately she wondered if she hadn’t given up more than she’d gotten.

She glanced over at Ken and wondered what had happened to the handsome guy who’d pursued her with the same single-minded determination he now used to chase down new accounts at work. He was still good-looking, still driven, but increasingly it seemed he was taking her for granted. Maybe that’s what happened after ten years of marriage, but sometimes she longed for the days when he couldn’t keep his hands off her, when he used his charm on her, not on everyone except her.

She sighed and focused her attention on the conversation, which had returned to football as Derek and Ken debated the Dolphins’ chances for making the Super Bowl and lamented bygone days under Coach Don Shula. She glanced across the table and saw that Emily was just as bored as she was.

“Time for dessert?” she inquired brightly. “It’s chocolate cake with caramel frosting.”

“From some can?” Ken asked in a scathing tone.

She gave him a chiding look. “Have you ever known me not to make it from scratch?”

His expression brightened. “Okay, then. I’ll take a piece. A big one.”

“Me, too,” Derek said just as eagerly. “Nobody bakes the way you do, Marcie.”

“Certainly not in our house,” Emily agreed unapologetically.

Marcie marveled at the exchange. Derek’s tone hadn’t held even a hint of implied criticism of his wife and Emily’s response had been just as easygoing. Why couldn’t Ken speak to her or about her the same way? And why couldn’t she make herself speak up if his attitude bothered her so much?

Knowing she wouldn’t find an answer to that tonight, she pushed the topic aside and went inside with Emily to cut the cake. At least she’d gotten that right.