Double Trouble Read online

  “Well, you keep it stashed away, but I’ve seen you in action. Butter wouldn’t melt and all that.”

  “Don’t make it sound so attractive.”

  “Sorry, but I’m immune to charm.” I shrugged and smiled. “Your loss, I guess.”

  I shouldn’t have said that. I should have known that it would just tempt him to prove me wrong. “You’re all talk, Maralys,” he said quietly.

  “In your dreams.”

  “How did you know about that?”

  I blinked, momentarily at a loss, but it was enough.

  James took a step closer. “I can tell just how immune you are.” His fingertip landed on my shoulder and I swallowed as I stared up at him. He probably felt me shiver because he smiled ever so slightly. That damn dimple was back.

  I realized then that the funnel neck was a mistake. It was far too easy for him to touch my cheek, then let his finger wander south as he had the other night. Goose pimples awakened at his touch and I knew, I just knew, that Mr. Keen Observation had noticed.

  “Nice sweater,” he mused, then bent and brushed his lips against my jaw. I was melting. It felt so good that I didn’t want to step away, even though I knew I should.

  “Should I be flattered that you broke out of the black?”

  “Black’s a city thing. I didn’t want to frighten the locals.”

  He flicked a glance down the sweater neckline. “Is that also for the benefit of the locals?”

  Clearly, he could see the industrial allure bra. Big trouble, Maralys. BigMistake.com was coming up in my browser. Who knew it was on my list of favorites?

  I stepped away, but fast, and nearly tripped when my stiletto snagged in the carpeting. I talked just as fast and one glance told me that James wasn’t fooled. “Look, you’ve got a chance to seriously undo a lot of the damage Marcia has done. Unless, of course, you’re chicken…”

  He watched me, having way too much fun. “Now, let me get this straight. Who’s the chicken here?”

  I flipped open another box, ready for a diversion. “Oh look, these shoes cost $469. Imagine that, for a pair of quite average looking black slingbacks. And look, they’re in pristine condition and the original packaging. Not a scratch. Isn’t that funny. I doubt Marcia even tried them on.” I waggled them under his nose. “I bet she just bought them because of how much they cost. I bet she just bought them to piss you off.”

  “A family talent, obviously.”

  “Does it work?”

  “You’re better at it than she was.”

  I was perversely delighted by this. “Is that a compliment?”

  “Don’t count on it.” James snatched up the shoe and carefully snuggled it back into its box. He fitted the lid on top and set the box against one wall. “All right, we make a pile for each store and I’ll get rid of it all this week.”

  I was aghast. “You can’t take everything back at once.”

  Now he was really exasperated. “Why not? How many rules does this have? How complicated can this be?”

  I sat on the puffy chintz chair and shook my head at him. “Think! You can’t say that you bought her five thousand dollars worth of gifts and she hates them all. They won’t believe you. They’ll think it’s hot and call in all sorts of managers. They’ll think you’re a shoplifter. A particularly well-dressed thief, perhaps, but not a very trustworthy individual.”

  James sat down, shoved a hand through his hair, and fought for strength. “This is too complicated. It can’t be worth it.” He fired a lethal glance my way and I’m not entirely sure he was talking about the returns.

  “It won’t be that bad. You just want to do this quietly, one or two items at a time.”

  “You could help me.”

  “Not on your life. Lots of department store clerks work four hour shifts, so you could make maybe three returns a day to the same department without attracting attention.”

  James looked at the bulging closet. “This will take forever.”

  I laughed, determined to give him a prod when he needed it. “You’re unemployed, sport. You’ve got nothing but time.”

  “Isn’t that a stroke of luck?” he muttered, eying the lot of it.

  “And fear not, whatever you can’t return, you can take to a consignment shop. A pal of mine runs a good one in the North End: Twice Loved.”

  James watched me for a long moment. He didn’t look angry, though I certainly deserved a snarl for that shot about being unemployed. “Does anything get to you, Maralys?” he finally asked.

  “Lots of things, but I do my damnedest not to let it show.”

  “You do a good job.” James shoved to his feet and came back to the closet. He sighed and considered the stack, before glancing quickly my way. “That’s one of the things I admire about you.”

  My heart skipped a beat and I acknowledge that what might be going on here was genuine attraction, not any kind of surrogate nookie.

  Truth was, I was becoming less adverse to the idea of a little action from James. But I’d be damn sure that he was in the clear emotionally before I stepped over the line. I’ve got enough emotional baggage of my own to lug around.

  “You’re losing your edge, Coxwell. Keep talking like that and someone might think you liked me.” James laughed, then I laughed, then we got down to work.

  * * *

  We were having a beer in the kitchen, much pleased with our efforts, when someone flung open the front door. I assumed it was the realtor, back with another happy couple, and braced myself for her chipper greeting.

  “So, when exactly were you planning to tell me?” a woman demanded imperiously, her tone so different from the realtor’s that I jumped. I turned from the table to see Beverly Coxwell sailing down the corridor.

  I’d met the grande dame of the Coxwell clan once or twice before, but only briefly. My sister never got on with her, and was certain that was because she had never fit with expectations.

  It made sense. Beverly’s a classic Old Money type, used to wealth and privilege, oozing perfect manners and poise. She’s gorgeous too, even though she’s been stinko most times I’ve seen her. Marcia’s issue was that Beverly never forgot or forgave that my sister wasn’t from one of the right families. I know that Marcia bitterly resented her sense that the Coxwells didn’t think her “good enough” for their prize boy.

  On the other hand, I always got the sense that Beverly - unlike the old man - kept more of an open mind than most. I sensed that she was prepared to re-evaluate her assessment of anyone who gave her a good reason to do so. Guess Marcia never bothered.

  Maybe she just had issues with Marcia, period, not with who Marcia’s daddy was.

  “Tell you what?” James asked. His words were calmly spoken but his smile disappeared and that wariness was back in his eyes. I guessed immediately that he hadn’t told his mother either about my sister or about his job and that he wasn’t going to tell her more than he had to.

  Beverly halted on the threshold of the kitchen, doing a double take when she saw me. Then she shook her head and waved me off with a flick of her fingertips. “Oh, you’re the other one.” She looked again. “You look younger than she does.”

  “Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.” I had heard, of course, that she and the old man were getting divorced. The change seemed to suit her. I’d never seen her so perky.

  Or clean sober.

  Beverly smiled briefly at me, then glared at James. “I suppose this is Marcia’s doing?”

  James was perfectly impassive. “What?”

  “What do you mean, what? What else? That sign on the lawn! Didn’t you think I’d be interested in knowing that you were moving? And where are you going to go?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t looked yet.”

  Because whatever James got for the house would determine how much was left and thus what he could afford. From the tightness of his expression, I figured that he wasn’t figuring on much.

  How like him to solve one problem at a
time.

  Beverly dropped into another seat at the table and stared fixedly at her son, as though she would pry out his secrets and spread them out in front of us all. “What’s going on?” she asked in a quieter tone. “This isn’t like you.”

  “Who’s to say what’s like me and what’s not like me?” James stood and collected the two beer bottles, setting them neatly by the back door.

  Beverly glanced at me, maybe smelling easier prey. “What are you doing here? I’ve never seen you here.” She looked between the two of us. “What has happened?”

  James stared fixedly out the window into the backyard. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about any of it. I thought his mother had a right to know about my sister’s departure. “Marcia’s gone. She ran up a lot of debt to try to persuade James to divorce her, then booked when it didn’t work.”

  Beverly pivoted to stare at James’ back. “Surely you can still afford the house?” I found her priorities interesting - the status of the real estate, not my sister’s location, was what she wanted to confirm.

  He shook his head. “House or tuition for the boys. That’s the choice.”

  “Because you have to give her half.”

  James almost laughed. “She’s already spent more than half.”

  Beverly opened her mouth and closed it again. She looked around the kitchen as if it would supply her with comprehension, as if it would help her decide what to ask and what not to ask. The doorbell chimed and the realtor called from the foyer, as cheery as a sparrow.

  I took the last swig of my beer. “If she keeps that up,” I muttered as footsteps sounded on the stairs and her patter began for the thousandth time, “I might have to hurt her.”

  Beverly exhaled mightily. “Yes. I could use a drink.” She raised a brow at James, who didn’t move, then turned that look upon me.

  I shrugged and started to get up. Another beer wouldn’t hurt me either. “Name your poison.”

  “Sherry, please. And not in a small glass.”

  “I thought you were quitting,” James said quietly when I was halfway across the kitchen to fetch a glass.

  His mother looked a little embarrassed. “It’s not that easy.”

  Oh, complications. I stopped to watch. James turned then and watched his mother as avidly as she had watched him just moments before. His skepticism was evident, though he didn’t speak as harshly to her as he might have. He just wanted the truth. “Have you tried?”

  “I’m easing into it.” Beverly lifted her chin.

  “How many have you had today?”

  “Just two. Small ones.” She smiled a social smile at me. “But I’ve had a shock and need a restorative. Be quick about it, M-not-Marcia-girl.”

  James gave me a look that stopped me cold. He then went to sit with his mother. “You promised,” he reminded her gently.

  “People break promises all the time, James. I’m old, I’m surly, I’m getting divorced and I need encouragement.”

  “Did you go to the AA meeting?”

  “You must be joking.”

  “That’s where you’re supposed to find encouragement.”

  “From who? From average people? I don’t think so, James, I don’t think that’s appropriate at all.”

  “They’re in the same circumstance as you, but they’re trying to change.”

  She flicked her fingers impatiently at me. I pulled out a stool and sat down, a move that clearly didn’t thrill her. Her nostrils flared, but she set her sights on James, clearly identifying that he was the logjam here.

  “I don’t see any reason to change,” she informed him. “It comforts me. It hurts no one but me. It makes it easier to face the day.”

  “You’re not facing the day; you’re avoiding it.”

  Good shot. That sounded like something I would say. I was impressed.

  Beverly was not. “You’ve never spoken to me with such impertinence,” she charged. “You’ve ignored me, that’s for certain, all of you have, but you have never spoken this way to me. I think maybe it’s better to be ignored.”

  James didn’t even blink. “Maybe it’s time someone did talk to you this way. Maybe it’s time someone showed you the truth.”

  “You want some truth?” Beverly sat up straighter and her eyes snapped. “I’m not surprised that Marcia left you. I didn’t like the girl, she had no class, but you didn’t do her any favors. You lived your life in a perfect echo of your father’s life -”

  “He isn’t my father.”

  “But he was your model all the same. He might as well have been your father - you two are two peas in a pod and always have been. If I’d ever had any gumption, I would have left him. I would have left all of you, all of you men who could never look me in the eye, all of you men who pretended I wasn’t even there. If I’d been a stronger person, I would have walked out that door and never looked back.”

  If she’d thought to shock him, she gambled against the odds.

  James returned her challenging glare impassively. “So, the sherry is a crutch then,” he said quietly. “It’s a way to face the bitter reality of your being ignored by your family.”

  “Don’t you mock me, James Edward Coxwell.”

  “I’m not mocking you.” He hauled out a chair and sat down beside her, his expression intent. “Let’s toss some truth around, since everyone seems to be in the mood for it. I don’t know why the others ignored you then, but I know why I did.”

  “Because you were ashamed of me.” Beverly blinked rapidly, as though clearing tears from her vision. “Obviously.”

  “No. Because I didn’t know you.”

  She bristled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  James shook his head, and took her hand in his. He spoke quietly, as if chiding her. “You’re forgetting that I’m the oldest.”

  “I’m not forgetting anything of the kind. I’m not that much of a lush that I forget the order of my children’s births! Don’t you dare say that I’m losing my memory because of the sherry…”

  “You’re forgetting that I’m the only one who remembers you not drinking.”

  Beverly opened her mouth, then shut it again. She stared at him, shocked to silence.

  James’ words were low and soft when he continued and I was amazed at the tenderness in the way he held her hand. “You’re forgetting that I remember having a sober mom. The others probably don’t.”

  Beverly blinked. “So, what?”

  “So, I remember you reading to me. I remember you teaching me the names of things, of boats and plants and vegetables. I remember you introducing me to new tastes and new wonders, teaching me new skills, helping me get up that first stair. I remember venturing out in the world, which was a big and frightening place, but knowing that everything would be fine because my Mom was holding my hand.” He squeezed her fingertips and Beverly looked away. “I remember all the things you did, and all the ways you loved me. Those memories are helping me learn how to be good parent.”

  “But, but…”

  “I remember how much it hurt to see you change,” James continued, his voice husky and urgent. Beverly stared at him, one tear easing down her cheek. “I couldn’t look at you then because it hurt too much. It wasn’t just seeing you that way - it was knowing that I couldn’t help you. It was fearing that some part of what happened to you every day might be my fault.”

  “Never! It was never your fault, nor that of your brothers and sister.”

  “But I was the only one you had mothered that way. How could I not imagine that something I had done sometime somewhere, something I didn’t even remember, had made you not want to be that kind of mom any more?”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I know that now, but I didn’t know that then. I was just a kid, just a kid missing his mom.”

  I thought of Johnny, worrying about Marcia finding them if they moved, and the parallel was pretty evident. Guess Johnny didn’t get his sensitivity from his mom.

  Beverly was crying
openly now, though she didn’t seem to care. She leaned forward and kissed James’ cheek, then wiped away the residue of her lipstick with a fingertip. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I know I cheated all of you, but you’re grown up now.”

  “People don’t grow out of needing a mom.”

  “Well, they do, in many ways.”

  “Not the most important ones.” James squeezed her hand and obviously tried to coax her smile. “Come on back to us. We’ll make it worth your while.”

  Beverly took a deep breath and her tears welled again. “But it’s so hard.” Her voice broke and she looked away, then shook her head. It was amazing - now she was going to try to make him smile. “You know, these AA people, they actually expect you to quit drinking. Totally.”

  Her attempt at a joke fell completely flat. James said nothing, just held fast to her hand, and Beverly rummaged in her purse for a tissue with her free hand.

  The realtor bounced into the kitchen, a grim couple in tow. “Now you see the wonderful light in this room. It needs to be completely gutted and renovated, of course, but you could live with it like this for the short term. Imagine, French doors there to a patio, marble counters, new cabinets. The flow into the family room is just fabulous and if you moved this wall…”

  It was startlingly offensive to have her talking about the inadequacies of the house that James and Marcia had obviously thought more than adequate. She and her prey continued on to the family room as Beverly sniffled.

  “I’ll go with you,” James said with sudden intensity.

  His mother seemed as startled as I was by this offer. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll go with you to the AA meetings. I know it won’t be easy for you, so I’ll go along.” He gave her hand a little shake. “Remember when you used to say that I was your pillar of strength?”

  She smiled through her tears. “You were four!” She turned to me, anxious to let me in on the story, probably because it would give her a chance to think about what he was saying. “Whenever we did something daunting, like crossing the street for the first time, I pretended that I was afraid and told James that he had to be my pillar of strength. He took the responsibility very seriously, that was my boy.” She smiled at him with undisguised pride. “How can you remember that?”