A Grand Seduction Page 17
“Yes, but he’s been looking forward to having his father watch.”
“And I will. Videotape it, and we’ll have a movie-and-popcorn party later.”
Her patience rapidly dwindled. “You can tell the hospital no once in a while. They have other staff.”
But she heard him shift the phone away, followed by a muffled conversation on the other end. Twyla fiddled with her engagement ring, dislodging the top heavy diamond from its preferred spot between ring finger and pinkie.
Andy’s voice returned. “I’ll be right there.” Then to Twyla, “Sorry. It’s ten shades of chaos here. I just wanted to tell you it’ll be a good four more hours before I get out of here tonight. Don’t wait up.”
She was almost feeling peevish enough to mention she never did anymore. She twisted her diamond ring around her finger. “I’ll leave on the service porch light.”
“Sleep tight.”
“You too. When you get home, I mean.” She paused. “Love you.”
“Me too.”
When they hung up, Twyla’s private reverie was immediately disrupted by a shriek bearing her name down the hall.
“Mom!”
“Don’t listen to her! I didn’t do it.”
“Did so.”
Glancing at the tower of unfolded laundry, Twyla exhaled and strode out to meet two of her children in the hall. “What’s all this?”
Jenna, her oldest and only daughter, pointed at her brother. “Cody used my good skating nylons to tie up the corners of his blanket tent.”
“Did not!”
“Mom, tell him to stop going in my room.” Jenna fisted her hands on the hips of two-piece flannel Dora the Explorer pajamas, matching slippers with Dora heads completing the ensemble. Somehow, the look couldn’t detract from the girl’s grim demeanor.
Meanwhile, Cody was shaking a freckled head, a cowlick sticking up with static from pulling on a sweater bobbing to and fro. “They weren’t in your room; they were in the bathroom hamper. Besides, I didn’t take your dumb girlie-hose.”
“Did too. Now they’re stretched out and tied so tight that I can’t get them unloosed.”
“Both of you stop,” their mother said. The faint stirrings of another headache came. “Cody, into the bath and do not touch your sister’s things without permission. Jenna, let’s try to untie those tights. If not, I’ll have to cut them loose.”
The girl looked ready to faint. “Mom! You wouldn’t.”
Twyla shot her raised brows. “You’ve got a dozen pairs. If one gets sacrificed, I think your skating career will survive.” To Cody’s get-out-of-jail-free grin she said, “I’ll take it out of your brother’s allowance, of course.”
The grin faded. “No way! That’s not fair.”
“Sounds completely fair to me.”
He thumbed his chest. “I can untie them, easy. They’re not that tight.”
Twyla acted surprised, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her. She believed in letting kids think they came up with their own brilliant solutions. “Good idea”
Her daughter’s voice turned to a whimper. “Those are the ones I want to wear to the wedding Saturday.”
Cody crossed his chubby arms. “Do I have to go to that dumb wedding? I want to go over to Petie’s.”
“Of course you’re going,” his mother said. “You’re the ring bearer.” She turned to her daughter. “You and I can go shopping tomorrow for some nylons to go with your flower girl dress. Real nylons, not just tights.”
The girl sucked in a breath, eyes firing like sparklers. “Real grownup ones?”
Twyla smiled and gave a sassy nod. “Yep.”
She turned to Cody. “You’re lucky, then. I don’t need those ratty old tights.”
“Not so fast,” Twyla said. “Cody’s still on unknotting duty after his bath.”
“Okay.” He drew out the “y” with an annoyed grumble attached.
Twyla allowed herself a tight smile. Another avalanche halted mid-slide. “Sissy, help me with the dishes?”
The girl’s blue eyes widened. “Ooh, that was the other thing I was coming up to tell you. Tyler said he was going to do them. I tried to tell him he was too little.”
Her tattletale was interrupted by a distant crash. Brief silence followed, then a wail that sent Twyla’s heart straight to her throat. Her feet propelled her downstairs on autopilot, and when she made it to the kitchen, her pounding pulse skipped a beat at the sight of her youngest sprawled on the floor near the open dishwasher. A jagged mosaic of broken dishware lay in pieces around him.
Blood was everywhere. She gasped, hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, no, baby! What happened?”
Racing to him, she ignored the crunch of glass under her thin canvas deck shoes as she bent over the crumpled child. Tears squirted from his sockets with primal force as Tyler squealed. The sound stabbed at her stomach, and Twyla felt stinging tears gathering at the corners of her own eyes as well.
“My knee hurts,” he sobbed. “I fell.”
The knee in question was slashed open like a mouth, yawning open in a ghastly grin. The maw was weeping blood profusely.
“Let me see,” Jenna said, rushing forward.
“Stay back,” Twyla commanded. “There’s broken glass.”
She reached out to examine the injury, sending the boy’s wail upward into a shriek. “I just want to look, sweetie. I won’t touch it.”
“No!”
His sister edged forward. “Eew. He got blood all over the dishwasher.”
Twyla ignored the girl. “Tyler, what were you doing?”
His breath game in ragged gasps. “Helping…dishes. I fell down.”
“Duh,” the girl observed. “I told you not to. You’re too little.”
Tears ebbed away enough to be replaced with a flow of anger. “I am not. I’m big.”
Twyla pried the boy’s fingers, which were splotched with sticky redness, away from the knee. The cut was deep. Definitely needed stitches.
A wave of nausea passed over her. The sight of her children hurt was something she’d never grown used to. She didn’t have Andrew’s constitution, that was for sure. Twyla tried to keep her voice upbeat. “I think we need to see the doctor for this, baby.”
“No! No doctor.”
“But we need to, so your ouchie will get better.”
“Daddy. I want Daddy!”
“Daddy’s hospital is far away.”
“Daddy!”
The tears shot forth again, and Twyla’s heart sank. Of course the boy wanted his father. If only his father could manage to get home at a decent hour once in a while, maybe he would have been here for this.
Maybe it wouldn’t have happened at all.
She sighed, brushing off the urge to blame Andy for something that wasn’t his fault. “Okay. Let’s call Daddy.”
Andy finally came on the line after several minutes of hold music. He sounded out of breath and annoyed. “Can this wait until morning, hon? I’m in the middle of ten things.”
She fought to retain a civilized tone through gritted teeth. “No, it can’t wait. The baby’s hurt.”
“He’s almost three, Twyla. Not a baby. What happened?”
“Fell and cut his leg on some glass. He needs stitches and wants you to do it.”
A deep breath whooshed out on the other end. She could picture her husband standing in blue surgical scrubs, running a hand through tousled hair just barely damp with the exertion of helping a busy Emergency Room run smoothly.
“It’s well over an hour to John F. Kennedy.”
“Tyler wants Daddy to stitch him up.”
“You shouldn’t encourage that. He won’t want anyone else. Can someone come watch the others while you run him over to Doylestown? It’s less than half the distance.”
Anger spiked, and her careful tone broke. “So, you’re refusing to take care of your own son?”
“Christ, that’s damn unfair. You’re being a little selfish, don’t you think
?”
“I’m being selfish? Your son wants you and I mistakenly thought you’d give a damn.”
“I’m not going to do this with you, Twyla. I’m thinking of Tyler here, and you should be, too.”
“I am thinking of him, and what he wants is for you to help him.”
“It’s late, the kids should be in bed, and in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m up to my armpits in disaster here. If you insist on putting him through the long drive for me to see him, he’ll be waiting most of the night. Take him to Doylestown and you can get him cared for and back in bed a lot sooner.”
Her heart hammered as she tried to calm herself enough for the logic in his words to make sense to the part of her that emotion currently ruled. She gazed at her son, sitting small and pale on the kitchen chair. The ice pack she’d given him sat abandoned on the table.
Logic, her ass.
“Fine. I’ll take him to Doylestown.”
His voice relaxed a bit, but still held a wary edge. “Want me to talk to him and explain?”
“No, Andy. I’ll take care of it.” The way she did everything else.
“He’ll be fine. I’ll check with you in the morning before I drive in. Call me from Doylestown if anything comes up that I should know about.”
After a quick call to have a neighbor down the street watch Jenna and Cody, Twyla made the drive to Doylestown while trying to put things in perspective. That Andy no longer put her first came as no surprise. They’d been in a romantic rut since med school, and the kids coming along only complicated things. How many other couples couldn’t even manage to make love once a month? She was a grown woman and did her best to be understanding about that. But making the kids take a backseat to his work was something else altogether. That was much harder to understand—and forgive.
It was nearly daylight before she finally climbed into bed. Dominique’s words drifted back, about their cause needing more help. As she reached for the phone, a tiny corner of her mind pinged at her to stop. But Twyla was tired of being the family champion, fighting for their cause alone because Andy didn’t seem to realize there was something to fight for. Or that she was a woman, not just a wife and mother and cook and chauffeur. Maybe she could use something to shake things up and prove that to herself, too. If there was some way she could help her friends without putting everything on the line, she would do it.
Chapter Twenty
“Remember, you don’t have to go all the way,” Dominique said. “Just get enough photo evidence for it to look good. This guy will cave easy.”
“And what if he gets a bit testy when I don’t put out?”
“So what? Let him fuss and walk away. You won’t be in danger. The wife was questioned very carefully, and he’s got zero history of aggression. Quite the opposite.”
“I guess.”
“Besides, you took that self-defense class.”
Twyla’s mouth fell open. “That’s supposed to make me feel better? It’s not like I’ve ever actually used any of that stuff. I’m a soccer mom, not the Karate Kid!”
“Nothing’s going to happen. I was just trying to make you feel more secure.”
“You failed.”
“There’s another safety feature we can use, if you want.”
Twyla raised a brow. “What’s that?”
“A panic button. If things get too crazy, just push it and the cavalry will ride in.”
“What are you talking about?”
Dominique shrugged. “I’ve got a friend who’d be willing to hang around outside. Give the signal, he busts in.”
“Does he know about our little sideline?”
“Of course not. He thinks he’s like a date chaperone. Willing to help a gal out for a few extra bucks.”
Twyla sighed in a combination of relieved frustration. “Since I’m supposed to get friendly with this guy, where the heck am I supposed to hide a panic button?”
Dominique smiled. “My dear, you juggle a husband, your house, three kids, and a carpool. I’m confident you’ll think of something.”
*
Twyla stood at the side of the road, tapping a fingernail against the glossy paint of her SUV as she held the phone to her ear. The whole thing was her fault, really. She’d been dumb enough to ask herself what else could go wrong today, and bam. Andy called, deflating her plans for the evening just like the tire the tow truck driver was in the process of wedging off of her car.
“Mom says they’ll be over for dinner at seven,” he was saying.
She had to work to keep her voice even, especially over the din of passing traffic. “I thought you were working late tonight?”
“I decided to come home early.”
She rolled her eyes. Of course he would, for good old Mom.
“Is that a problem?” His voice held a hint of challenge. “I mean, it’s not like you had other plans or anything, did you?”
“The kids won’t be there,” she pressed. “They’re spending the night with friends.”
“They can cancel. Or we can make it a grownup night.”
Twyla sighed. Figures his idea of a grownup night would involve his parents. Still, there was little she could do about the surprise dinner visit that wouldn’t come off sounding suspicious.
“Okay,” she said. “Steak kabobs and salad?”
“No onions, remember? They react badly with Dad’s new medication.”
“Right. Sorry, doctor.”
“Funny. See you tonight.”
He hung up without even saying the usual rote “Love you”.
“All set.”
A clipboard thrust out at her. She signed for her roadside assistance, then climbed into the cab with her cell phone still in hand.
An emergency meeting with Tyler’s teacher, two bounced checks to straighten out with the bank, a flat tire, and now Andy’s parents were coming for dinner. If the universe was trying to tell her not to go through with tonight, it succeeded. There was no way she’d make her clandestine meeting on schedule, anyway. Maybe she’d been kidding herself in thinking she could do it.
She was nearly out to the Turnpike, and now she’d have to beat an hour-plus retreat home and hope Andy didn’t get there first and hear from the babysitter that his wife had planned to be gone all evening. She flipped open the cell to call her and smooth the way.
Twyla sighed and pressed a few buttons on her cell as she twisted the ignition key. She had another call to make, one Dominique was not going to like.
*
“What do you mean, you can’t make it?”
Dominique frowned, squinting against the onslaught of late afternoon sun through her windshield. If there was one thing that made a cell phone conversation harder to hear than being on the road, it was when your caller was driving, too. She pressed the silver rectangle tighter against the wispy scarf covering her head, scowling into the rearview as much to try and hear Twyla’s frantic tale as to will the idiot in a silver sedan to back off the ass crack of her car.
“Andy decided on a family dinner tonight.”
“Can’t you make up an excuse?”
“It’d be too suspicious. I mean, the man thinks my electrons spin around his atomic center. I’m not supposed to have a life apart from that.”
Whipping around a slug in a station wagon, Dominique sighed. She really shouldn’t be surprised Twyla was backing out. Despite her talk of wanting a taste of excitement, she obviously wasn’t ready to deal with it. A hangnail could have thrown a wrench in these works.
“I’m sorry,” Twyla told her, and that part sounded earnest enough. “He never takes off early from work. I think the gods are conspiring against me.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll go.”
“You? I thought he liked blondes?”
“When have I ever given you reason to doubt my feminine charms?”
The other woman snorted. “Never. And thanks. I’d wish you luck, but I doubt you’ll need it.”
“Much better.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“No fucking way.” Ridelle flipped brown locks aside as she stared out the front window of Twyla’s no-nonsense SUV, the sun visor barely shielding her from the late afternoon sun peering in the side window.
“Exactly. That’s the problem.”
“I still don’t believe it. Dominique Devereaux turned down by a man?”
Twyla shrugged as she looked over a shoulder and changed lanes. “I’ll admit, it does shake ones’ belief in humanity.”
Traffic was pressed, but steady as they braved the 495 near Queens in the Bratmobile, as Ridelle fondly and privately referred to it. She liked kids, but Twyla’s brood was a bit high-spirited for her tastes. Last time she’d ridden with the lot, she emerged with a blow pop stuck to the back of her hair.
“How’s Dom taking it?” Ridelle asked.
“She’s not, but trying to hide the fact. “I’ll bet admitting she couldn’t get Chester Harrison to give her the time of day was one of the hardest things she’s ever had to do.”
“Well, the guy prefers blondes. That’s why you were supposed to do it.”
Twyla flinched. “It wasn’t my fault!”
“I don’t mean that. Just that Dom shouldn’t take it personally that she wasn’t his target demographic.”
“Dom believed she was above that sort of thing. I think this really shook her confidence.”
“It was just one guy. She’s Dominique. She’ll bounce back.”
“I don’t know,” Twyla said with a shake of her head. “She’s been acting so weird since it happened. She’s never around and doesn’t return half her messages. Missed two lunches in a row. When you do talk to her, her brain’s a zip code away.”
“Between you and me, I’m betting she’s been out trolling the singles’ bars, looking for vindication to prove the whole thing’s a fluke.”