Right Next Door

Right Next Door Page 25

“Oh, brother,” Jeff said as he dashed into the yard. “Are you two at it again?”

“We’re talking,” Robin explained.

“Your mouths are too close together for talking.” He strolled past them, Blackie trotting at his side. “I don’t suppose you thought about making me anything to eat, did you, Mom?”

“I made sandwiches.”

“Great. Are there enough for Blackie to have one?”

“I think so. There’s juice and some corn chips in the kitchen, too.”

“Great,” Jeff repeated, hurrying into the house.

“Are you hungry?” Robin asked Cole.

“Yes,” he stated emphatically, “but my appetite doesn’t seem to be for food. How long will you keep me waiting to make you my wife?”

“I’ll have to call my parents and my brother so we can arrange everything. It’s important to me that we have a church wedding. It doesn’t have to be fancy, but I’d like to invite a handful of good friends and—”

“How long?”

“To make the arrangements? I’m not sure. Three, possibly four months to do it properly.”

“One month,” Cole said.

“What do you mean, one month?”

“I’m giving you exactly thirty days to arrange whatever you want, but that’s as long as I’m willing to wait.”

“Cole—”

He swept her into his arms then and his mouth claimed hers in a fury of desire. Robin found herself trembling and she clutched his shirt, her fingers bunching the material as she strove to regain her equilibrium.

“Cole…” She felt chilled and feverish at the same time. Needy, yet wealthy beyond her wildest dreams.

“One month?” he repeated.

“One month,” she agreed, pressing her face against his broad warm chest. They’d both loved, profoundly, and lost what they’d valued most. For years, in their own ways, they’d sealed themselves off from others, because no one else could understand their pain. Then they’d discovered each other, and nothing would ever be the same again. Their love was the mature love that came when one had suffered and lost and been left to rebuild a shattered life. A love that was stronger than either could have hoped for.

“Do you see what I was telling you?” Jeff muttered to Blackie, sitting on the back porch steps. “I suppose we’re going to have to put up with this for a while.”

Blackie munched on a corn chip, apparently more interested in sharing Jeff’s meal than listening to his comments.

“I can deal with it, if you can,” Jeff continued. “I suspect I’ll be getting at least one brother out of this deal, and if we’re lucky maybe two. A sister would be all right, too, I guess—” he sighed deeply “—but I’ll have to think about that. Girls can be a real headache, if you know what I mean.”

The dog wagged his tail as Jeff slipped him another corn chip. “And you know what, Blackie? It’s gonna be Father’s Day soon. My very first. And I’ve already got a card picked out. It’s got a picture of a father, a mother and a boy with a baseball cap. And there’s a dog on it that looks just like you!”

THE COURTSHIP OF CAROL SOMMARS

In loving memory of

David Adler, Doug Adler and Bill Stirwalt

Beloved Cousins

Beloved Friends

Special thanks to

Pat Kennedy and her endearing Italian mother,

and Ted Macomber and Bill Hall

for the contribution of their rap music

and all the lessons about living with teenage boys

One

Carol Sommars swore the entire house shook from her fifteen-year-old son’s sound system, which was blasting out his favorite rap song.

I’m the Wizard MC and I’m on the mike

I’m gonna tell you a story that I know you’ll like

’Cause my rhymes are kickin’, and my beats do flash

When I go to the studio, they pay me cash

“Peter!” Carol screamed from the kitchen, covering her ears. She figured a squad of dive-bombers would’ve made less of a racket.

Realizing that Peter would never be able to hear her above the din, she marched down the narrow hallway and pounded on his door.

Peter and his best friend, Jim Preston, were sitting on Peter’s bed, their heads bobbing in tempo with the music. They both looked shocked to see her.

Peter turned down the volume. “Did you want something, Mom?”

“Boys, please, that music is too loud.”

Her son and his friend exchanged a knowing glance, no doubt commenting silently on her advancing age.

“Mom, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Carol met her son’s cynical look. “The walls and floors were vibrating.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Sommars.”

“It’s okay, Jim. I just thought I’d save the stemware while I had a chance.” Not to mention warding off further hearing loss…

“Mom, can Jim stay for dinner? His dad’s got a hot date.”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” Carol said, casting her son’s friend an apologetic smile. “I’m teaching my birthing class, but Jim can stay some other evening.”

Peter nodded. Then, in an apparent effort not to be outdone by his friend, he added, “My mom goes out on hot dates almost every weekend herself.”

Carol did an admirable job of disguising her laugh behind a cough. Oh, sure! The last time she’d gone out had been…she had to think about it…two months ago. And that had been as a favor to a friend. She wasn’t interested in remarrying. Bruce had died nearly thirteen years earlier, and if she hadn’t found another man in that time, she wasn’t going to now. Besides, there was a lot to be said for the benefits of living independently.

She closed Peter’s bedroom door and braced her shoulder against the wall as she sighed. A jolt of deafening music brought her upright once more. It was immediately lowered to a respectable level, and she continued back to the kitchen.

At fifteen, Peter was moving into the most awkward teenage years. Jim, too. Both boys had recently obtained their learner’s permits from the Department of Motor Vehicles and were in the same fifth-period driver training class at school.

Checking the time, Carol hurried into the kitchen and turned on the oven before popping two frozen meat pies inside.

“Hey, Mom, can we drive Jim home now?”

The operative word was we, which of course, meant Peter would be doing the driving. He was constantly reminding her how much practice he needed if he was going to pass the driving part of the test when he turned sixteen. The fact was, Peter used any excuse he could to get behind the wheel.

“Sure,” she said, forcing a smile. These “practice” runs with Peter demanded nerves of steel.

Actually, his driving skill had improved considerably in the last few weeks, but the armrest on the passenger side of the car had permanent indentations. Their first times on the road together had been more hair-raising than a horror movie—another favorite pastime of her son’s.

Thanks to Peter, Carol had been spiritually renewed when he’d run the stop sign at Jackson and Bethel. As if to make up for his mistake, he’d slammed on the brakes as soon as they’d cleared the intersection, catapulting them both forward. They’d been saved from injury by their seat belts.

They all clambered into her ten-year-old Ford.

“My dad’s going to buy me a truck as soon as I get my license,” Jim said, fastening his seat belt. “A red four-by-four with flames painted along the sidewalls.”

Peter tossed Carol an accusing glare. With their budget, they’d have to share her cantankerous old sedan for a while. The increase in the car insurance premiums with an additional driver—a male teenage driver—meant frozen meat pies every third night as it was. As far as Carol was concerned, nurses were overworked, underpaid and underappreciated.

“Mom—hide!”

Her heart vaulted into her throat at the panic in her son’s voice. “What is it?”

“Melody Wohlford.”

“Who?”

“Mom, please, just scoot down a little, would you?”

Still not understanding, she slid down until her eyes were level with the dashboard.

“More,” Peter instructed from between clenched teeth. He placed his hand on her shoulder, pushing her down even farther. “I can’t let Melody see me driving with my mother!”

Carol muttered under her breath and did her best to keep her cool. She exhaled slowly, reminding herself this, too, shall pass.

Peter’s speed decreased to a mere crawl. He inadvertently poked her in the ribs as he clumsily lowered the window, then draped his left elbow outside. Carol bit her lower lip to prevent a yelp, which probably would’ve ruined everything for her son.

“Hey, Melody,” he said casually, raising his hand.

The soft feminine greeting drifted back to them. “Hello, Peter.”

“Melody,” Jim said, leaning across the backseat. He spoke in a suave voice Carol hardly recognized.

“Hi, Jimmy,” Melody called. “Where you guys off to?”

“I’m driving Jim home.”

“Yeah,” Jim added, half leaning over Carol, shoving her forward so that her head practically touched her knees. “My dad’s ordered me a truck, but it hasn’t come in yet.”

“Boys,” Carol said in a strangled voice. “I can’t breathe.”

“Just a minute, Mom,” Peter muttered under his breath, pressing down on the accelerator and hurrying ahead.

Carol struggled into an upright position, dragging in several deep gulps of oxygen. She was about to deliver a much-needed lecture when Peter pulled into his friend’s driveway. Seconds later, the front door banged open.

“James, where have you been? I told you to come directly home after school.”

Carol blinked. Since this was the boys’ first year of high school and they’d come from different middle schools, Carol had never met Jim’s father. Now, however, didn’t seem the appropriate moment to leap out and introduce herself.

Alex Preston was so angry with Jim that he barely glanced in their direction. When he did, he dismissed her and Peter without a word. His dark brows lifted derisively over gray eyes as he scowled at his son.

Carol suspected that if Jim hadn’t gotten out of the car on his own, Alex would have pulled him through the window.

Carol couldn’t help noting that Alex Preston was an imposing man; he had to be easily six-two. His forehead was high and his jaw well-defined. But his eyes were what immediately captured her attention. They held his son’s with uncompromising authority.

There was an arrogant set to his mouth that Carol found herself disliking. Normally she didn’t make snap judgments, but one look told her she wasn’t going to get along with Jim’s father, which was unfortunate since the boys had become such fast friends.

Not that it really mattered. Other than an occasional phone conversation, there’d be no reason for them to have any contact with each other.

She didn’t know much about the man, other than his marital status (single—divorced, she assumed) and the fact that he ran some sort of construction company.