Second Thoughts Read online

  Connie wondered what they used to drain spaghetti, but she didn’t ask. Maybe they never cooked it? Even she cooked spaghetti. She bought the sauce in a little deli container in the supermarket, but she boiled the noodles all by herself.

  The light on the telephone recorder was blinking, indicating a message. Max gestured for her to attend to it.

  “Hi, Connie,” Kristy’s voice said, disappointment evident in it. “I’m so sorry we missed you. And, oh boy, are we ever missing the kids. Hawaii is as gorgeous as it was ten years ago, and the time on our own is great…and yet it’s not. We really are missing our little guys. Tell them how much we love them. And, well, we’ll see you Thursday. Love…and bye.”

  Connie’s eyes misted at the yearning in Kristy’s voice. Then she looked at Max. He gave her a matter-of-fact nod. “You’ll be back by Thursday, and we’ll be long gone.” As she continued to watch him, he frowned, then fidgeted. “What?” he asked.

  “I’m curious. A whole lot curious. What did Hayworth steal from you that’s so important you’re risking armed robbery and kidnapping to get it back?”

  His gaze left hers to light upon the cabinets, the counter, then the window. “Lawn needs mowing.”

  She didn’t allow the evasion. She leaned against the counter and folded her arms.

  “Big yard. Must be nice for the kids.” His gaze remained on the window, and hers remained on him. Finally he looked at her, took in a breath and let it out. “A comic book,” he said, and the instant he spoke, it seemed that a sizable chip planted itself on his shoulder.

  She drew her eyebrows close together. “A comic book?”

  “Yeah. A SteelMan comic book.”

  In the long silence that followed, she pushed her tongue against her lower teeth. That was a bad habit her dentist had warned her about. She bit her bottom lip instead, then said, “I’ve got to be missing something important here.”

  “It’s a collector’s item,” he said defiantly. “And it’s worth a lot of money. It was an early one, published in 1940 before the war. My dad bought it when he was just a kid and didn’t even know he still had it until he was going through things when his mom died. It was the only thing of value he had, and it was supposed to help me take care of Petey.”

  Frowning in concentration, Connie studied him. He squirmed while still standing, then sat on one of the tall stools and rested his elbows on the counter. He looked elaborately around the kitchen. “You about through in here?”

  So that was all the information she was going to get. For now.

  “Yes, I’m through with the kitchen.”

  He followed her into Christopher’s room. “I’ll pack for Chris,” she said. “Will you get Derek’s suitcase?” She pointed under the cot, then crossed the room to investigate dresser drawers.

  She left her own packing for last. In the master bedroom, Kristy had cleared a drawer for Connie and given her a section of the closet. Max waited in the doorway for her, his attention on the picture gallery of the kids hanging on the wall. The twins sounded like they were getting restless. Their jabbering was turning into complaining, and something hit the wall with a thump.

  Connie stared at her nightgowns. She’d only brought two with her and didn’t have to hold them up to know what they looked like. One didn’t even reach mid thigh. The other one was longer but so shear she needed a slip to wear under it. She left them both in the drawer.

  * * *

  Dinner that evening was another joint effort. While Derek put the casserole together, Moose worked on a salad and Max prepared garlic bread. The apprentice cooks asked about the order of ingredients, how to make homemade salad dressing, and the spreading consistency of margarine versus butter. Connie wondered if any one of the three was aware of how well they worked together.

  She tended to the hungry twins, allowing them enough dry Cheerios to sate them until the lasagna was ready, but not enough to harm their appetites. There was a trick to this that Connie hadn’t yet mastered. She thought yearningly about the ease of baby food, but both kids had turned their noses up at that stuff a long time ago.

  Petey had dug games out of his closet, and he and Christopher were sprawled on the rug in the family room, involved in an intense session of Chutes and Ladders. It’d quickly become evident that they interpreted the rules differently, however, and Connie was hoping she wasn’t going to have to referee.

  Derek saved her when he placed the steaming casserole on the table. “Chris, it’s time to put that away and wash your hands.”

  “Okay, soon as I—”

  “Now, Chris.”

  “You, too, Petey,” Max said.

  Petey and Chris exchanged looks, but neither moved. They were similarly dressed in t-shirts and jeans. Petey’s shirt had a picture of Bart Simpson on it, and Christopher’s declared that he was the world’s greatest kid.

  Noting her nephew’s resistance, Connie felt perversely satisfied that the uncle and nephew honeymoon had come to an end. She spooned noodles and meat onto two small salad plates, cut everything into little pieces, and then spread it out so it’d cool faster. Once they smelled the food, the babies hurried over, settled themselves on opposite sides of their aunt, and complained about how slow she was.

  Derek straightened and looked toward the corner garage. “Chris,” he said in a warning tone.

  “Petey,” Max said. His tone matched Derek’s.

  Petey and Chris sighed in defeat. “Okay,” they said in unison, each voice carrying a shade of longsuffering resignation.

  Because it wasn’t possible to safely seat the twins at the table, they’d sat on the floor last night, their plates between their feet, and had eaten with their aunt’s help. Tonight, however, once the lasagna was sufficiently cooled, she found Moose already on the floor between the two babies. He’d even managed to direct their attention away from their hunger pangs.

  “You hold it like this,” he told Andy, placing a spoon in his pudgy fist. Abbie stared at hers, and then her brother’s, probably trying to decide which one was the best one.

  Connie smiled, gave the kids their plates without comment, then heaped salad and lasagna on another dish for Moose. What struck her about the scene was how natural it looked; there was nothing whatsoever ridiculous about the huge moose of a man sitting between the two babies.

  Since the men had prepared dinner, she volunteered to do dishes. “Too bad I couldn’t have packed up the dishwasher,” she muttered. Max offered to help; she washed and he dried.

  Derek and Moose found a baseball game on TV, but it was a runaway and they quickly tired of it. They joined Petey and Chris at the corner garage. The two boys must’ve decided on their own that Chutes and Ladders was too contentious.

  The twins were napping, and Moose kept peeking in on them. Because of the busy day, they’d missed their afternoon nap and they’d been wired. If they didn’t get at least an hour now, it would be murder trying to get them down later for the night. Connie halfway expected Moose to accidentally-on-purpose awaken them, but he was behaving himself.

  “Uh, about that comic book,” Max said, and Connie jerked her head toward him.

  He shrugged, probably because he’d caught her surprise. “I owe you more of an explanation than what I gave you, after what we’re putting you through. And you’re being really good sports about it, both you and your husband.”

  “Ex.”

  “Uh, yeah.” He grew quiet, his brow wrinkling. Connie thought he was one of the hardest thinkers she’d ever met. Then he said, “A couple months back…I was, well, indisposed…”

  He put down the salad bowl he was working on and stared at it. “I don’t know why I’m trying to tiptoe around this. The truth is I’m a recovering alcoholic and—”

  Connie’s gaze flicked to the wine bottle still on the table. She and Derek had drunk a glass with dinner, but she’d noticed Max and Moose had both passed on it.

  His gaze followed hers. “I don’t get drunk when other people drink,”
he explained mildly. “Only when I drink.”

  She felt silly, gave him a look that probably admitted it, and he smiled.

  She returned to the crust-caked casserole, and he returned to his story. “I fell off the wagon a couple months back and was arrested for being drunk and disorderly. While I was…indisposed, Hayworth approached Petey and offered him ten dollars for the comic book. I was a fool to ever let him know I had it. Mentioned it once when I had more booze in me than brains. Anyway, if he’d paid a decent price for it, I’d accept the loss and figure it was my own fault for, well, whatever. But he took advantage of the situation, and, worse, took advantage of Petey. And that’s not right.”

  “No, it’s not.” Indignantly, she quit scouring and gave him her complete attention. “He won’t give it back?”

  “Nope. Won’t. So I talked to Moose about it, and together we concocted this—”

  “Is Moose, uh…”

  “Yeah. We met at AA and have been helping each other for a couple years now. He’s the best friend I ever had.” Once he’d admitted the fact of his alcoholism, he seemed at ease with it. “So we dreamed up this scheme, robbing Hayworth’s store to get his attention, then going to him and explaining the situation. That we’d continue to harass him, drive him out of business if we had to, until he either returned the book or paid a proper price for it.”

  Absently she ran her fingertips over the dish for stubborn crusting she might’ve missed. “What’s a proper price?”

  “Well.” He hesitated. “I don’t really know, but when it first went down, I told him I’d settle for five thousand bucks. So I’ll stick to that.”

  “The police can’t help you?”

  “It’s my word against his. He’s got possession. I’ve got zilch.”

  “Have you talked to a lawyer?”

  “That’s how come I know he’s got possession and I’ve got zilch.”

  She rinsed the dish and gave it to him. “But there must be something you can do.” She upended the plastic dishpan to empty it and wrung out the dishcloth. “This is wrong. There’s got to be some kind of recourse.”

  “You find some recourse, you be sure and let me know what it is.”

  That evening, behind their closed bedroom door, Chris again sound asleep, Connie filled Derek in on Max’s problem. Her ex-husband’s reaction was much the same as hers: initial incredulity giving way to dawning understanding.

  “Yeah, that’s tough,” he said. “And I don’t know what they can do about it either. But what they’re doing is risky—too risky—and won’t work anyway. What’s to stop Hayworth from turning them in once he finds out they’re behind the robberies?”

  “The way I understand it, Petey and Max will be clearing out and could continue to harass him from a distance. And in other ways, not just at the store. And even we don’t know anything about Moose. Where he lives, works, even what his real name is.”

  Derek nodded, then looked relieved. “Yeah, that’s right. But I’ll still be surprised if the scheme works. I feel for them. Wish there was some way we could help.”

  “Well, I was wondering, if, uh…”

  He looked at her questioningly, then suspiciously. “What? You were wondering what?”

  “Well, you’re a celebrity, a television personality on a news program. People would listen to you if—”

  “Uh-uh. No way. The station would never allow it.”

  “I’m not asking you to announce it on the air. Just, uh, maybe mention it in an interview, just—”

  “I can’t do that. Think about it, Connie. I’d be opening myself up to a lawsuit, and possibly the station as well. There’s no way I could involve myself in this, at least not publicly.”

  “But—”

  “Forget it, Connie.”

  “You’re not listening, not even allowing me to finish a—” When he opened his mouth she held her hand up to shush him. “Sentence,” she finished. “What’s your problem anyway? Is it intellectually impossible for you to see more than just your side of something?”

  “I heard you,” he enunciated precisely. “Quite well. You asked me to risk my job and my career, as well as the station’s reputation. Or am I misunderstanding something here?”

  She glared at him. It seemed like old times, being at loggerheads with this stubborn and irascible individual. Except that in this case, he had a valid point. She didn’t like admitting it, but, yes, he had a point.

  “Okay,” she said, giving up but not liking it. Shaking her head, she looked at the old-fashioned brass lamp on the bedside table. “Okay, it was a long shot. I just thought that if public opinion was on Max and Petey’s side, which it would be, then Hayworth would have to give in. But I hear what you’re saying.”

  She went to Chris and gently pushed and pulled his small body until there was room on either side of him for company. She noted that as Derek watched her, he appeared wary and still ready for battle, as if not aware he’d won the argument. Ignoring him, she removed her socks and shoes and slipped into bed, still in her jeans and pink-striped knit pullover.

  He frowned. “You didn’t pack anything today to sleep in?”

  She turned onto her side, away from him, not appreciating this topic of conversation any more than the last one. Especially since she’d lost the last one. “I wasn’t expecting to share a bedroom when I left home. I only brought two nightgowns, and they weren’t…aren’t…appropriate.”

  “I see.” It sounded like he was smiling. “And out of deference to Chris, you decided you didn’t want to wear either of them.”

  She didn’t like his tone any more than the subject. She rose up onto her elbow, turned, and put as much glare in her stare as she could.

  At the look on her face, he tried to straighten his. “Okay, okay. End of subject.”

  He started to unbuckle his belt, stopped and gave her an overlong look. Then, amusement curving his mouth, he delicately reached to turn the lamp off before undressing himself.

  Connie turned back onto her side and had to press her lips together to keep her mouth shut. He was getting to her, and she guessed he knew it. But she was determined not to let him know the degree of her exasperation with him, and the lack of privacy, and especially this dinky little bed she had to share with two members of the aggravating and annoying male species.

  Chapter ThirteenConnie was vaguely aware of Christopher as he climbed over her on his way out of bed, and she took advantage of his absence to snuggle closer to Derek. He was on his side, facing away from her, and she put one arm over him and brought her knees up to slide in behind his, spoon fashion. She fit so perfectly. He stirred, then turned over, dislodging her, but she didn’t mind because his arm came over her then, too, and she liked that even better.

  His hand fell on her hip, moved to her waist, up to her breast. She wondered absently why she was wearing a bra in bed. She wriggled closer and his arms wrapped nicely around her. She hadn’t felt this sexy in a long time. She—

  Her eyes snapped open. She broke away and shot out of bed so fast her foot got caught in the sheet and she almost went sprawling.

  With her gaze locked on him, she backed away from the bed. He blinked, brow furrowing as if he had trouble focusing. His eyes looked clouded, still confused with sleep. But more than that. She saw want and need, physical and emotional. Then when he focused on her, showing her he was fully awake, his face mirrored her feelings. Not just surprise. Closer to shock. And the desire she’d seen a moment ago was replaced with memory and hurt, probably also very similar to hers.

  Her mind flew back to events leading to their divorce. Hurtful, yes, stopping just short of hateful. They’d grown so distant, so cool and indifferent to each other, that they hadn’t even engaged in sexual relations for almost that whole last month. She wondered what would’ve happened if a morning like this had occurred before that final split.

  No, don’t go there. Stop it. Now.

  Forcing her gaze from his, she padded out of the room in bare
feet.

  Coffee was made; the aroma registered at the back of her mind, and everybody else was up. For a change, Petey and Christopher were watching TV instead of playing with the corner garage. It was a program Connie recommended to parents. Adults who looked and talked like grownups spoke to kids on a kid’s level, and both boys were paying rapt attention. They were being told how to make a fort out of cardboard boxes with snippets of teamwork and courtesy woven in here and there.

  The twins were happily engaged, one on either side of Moose on the sofa as he read to them, so content they must’ve already been fed. They were dressed in day clothes: matching tan shorts, a blue t-shirt on one child, and a pink one on the other. Original way to tell them apart.

  She walked to the kitchen, found a cup and poured coffee, aware again of that hollow, empty ache in her heart she’d thought she’d finally left behind. At times, especially during that first year, it’d felt as if she’d severed off part of herself. Slowly she’d put herself back together, feeling a little bit more whole in small degrees, one day at a time. Well, surprise, surprise. Here was two years of painstakingly deliberate work wiped out in an instant as if it’d never been.

  When she looked up, she realized her feelings must show. Moose gave her a sidelong look, and Max’s eyebrows drew together as he watched her over the top of his newspaper.

  Working on clearing her face, she rested her elbows on the counter, leaned into it and sipped coffee, and kept her gaze on the two babies who were so enthralled with Moose and their storybook. They pointed at pictures, and in their own language were reading along with Moose.

  Before Derek’s arrival—how many days ago was it? Only four?—she’d noted that all three kids were missing their parents, and she’d felt grossly inadequate. With the adventure and distraction of the last few days, especially Moose’s attention to the twins and the instant bonding between Chris and Petey, the kids’ pining for their parents hadn’t been as noticeable.