The Unknown Malone. Anne Eames
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retreating and forced himself not to look over his shoulder, not to notice again the gentle sway of her hips, the just-right curve of her small backside. He blew out a loud breath. It was good she’d be gone all day. He had work to do.
Yes, he lectured himself, downing more coffee. He’d put Nicole out of his mind and get down to business.
He grabbed a handful of nails and dropped them into his tool belt, a little voice at the back of his head reminding him of a more immediate problem—one he’d been avoiding. It was time he sorted things out regarding the Malones. In Michigan it had been easy to think he could deal with the complications of their intertwined families. Here, faceto-face with people he barely knew, it was quite a different matter.
Michael gave up any pretext of working and sat cross-legged on the floor. The subject needed more than a cursory glance, and there was no point putting it off any longer. If he planned to live in Joeville, he’d have to see them sooner or later and make peace. Not that they had ever been at war, he reminded himself. Actually, in the brief time he had met them seven years ago, he liked the whole family.
Even Max. He let out a long sigh, wishing he could sweep away the truth as easily as he did sawdust.
Max.
His father.
How strange that simple thought.
He wasn’t the dad that John had been, the man Michael had lived with and worshipped. But nonetheless, Max was his father—a fact he hadn’t learned until after his return to Michigan—a fact he had denied, or at least refused to dwell on, for all the intervening years.
As long as the good man who raised him was alive, he’d wanted no other father. Even now that his dad was gone, Michael still had trouble thinking of Max in those terms. For all practical purposes, they were strangers. Sure, there would be family gatherings that would force them to be in the same room from time to time, but the family was large and they could get lost in the crowd. They could be civil with each other without the need to go further.
He closed his eyes and pictured his dad working alongside him. All their years together—he’d taken them for granted as if there was no end. Now Michael would give anything to have him here He would have loved this old place, taken pride in its rebirth. Two peas in a pod, his mom had always said.
The ache in his chest returned as it always did when he thought of his mother. He had always put her right up on that pedestal with his dad. If only she were still alive to answer his questions. Why had she been unfaithful? And why had she deceived them both, taking her lies to the grave with her? He had loved her and trusted her with all of his heart.
Why, why, why?
Frustrated, he stood and picked up his hammer, feeling all the old anger welling up inside him—anger at his mother, anger at Max, anger at Roxanne, the next woman Michael had so unwisely chosen to love, and mostly, anger at himself for his inability to control any of it.
He stalked to the window and gazed down. There, looming at the end of the brick walk, was Nicole’s rusted Chevy. He planted his hands on his hips and spoke to it as though it were the woman herself.
“And what am I going to do about you?” He said aloud. Another woman. Another problem. Yet he couldn’t just send her packing. She needed work and money first. He remembered Taylor had hinted at a remedy for that, but her solution meant having Nicole stay.
“I’ll be damned if I allow that!” He turned and strode back to his work, knowing his words were as hollow as the wind whistling through the open window behind him. He had about as much control over Nicole as everything else. He pushed the tool belt lower on his hips, thoughts of her not wanting to retreat.
Even if—he repeated the word if stronger in his head—even if she went to work for Taylor, he didn’t have to let his guard down with her. She may look fragile and harmless, but underneath, he’d bet anything she was cunning and deceptive.
Ignore the perfume and pretty face, he lectured himself, driving in a nail. Ignore the aroma of the homemade soup wafting up the stairs. He pounded another nail. Ignore the image of her playing sweetly with the children. He drove in two more nails and then threw the hammer on the floor.
As soon as the van was out of sight of the Palace, Nicole pulled off to the side of the road. She opened her oversize denim shoulder bag that sat on the bench beside her. Carefully she extracted the plastic container of hot soup and set it on the floor where it wouldn’t spill. Next to it she placed one of the loaves of bread she’d made this morning. Then she opened the newspaper to the pages of coupons and started circling the ones she could use. When she was done, she added the values of each and came to the grand total of just over twelve dollars.
Finally she drove on, her plan nrmly in place. First the post office to mail her letters requesting references, then a grocery store where she’d spend as close to twelve dollars as possible.
For once she took advantage of the no-speed-limit law, feeling more confident in Michael’s sturdy van. In spite of this, by the time she came to the third and most important part of her day, she had used nearly three hours of the seven she’d allotted herself.
Her heart raced as she wound her way down the narrow dirt road, sending a cloud of dust billowing out behind her. Then she saw it—the hand-carved “Williams” on a wooden sign swinging gently in the wind below a homemade mailbox. She slowed and pulled up the dirt drive alongside the squat log cabin, hoping someone would see her and come rushing out. When no one did, she ran to the front door, knocked once and let herself in. Sprawled out on the floor on his stomach amidst a jungle of logs was her reason for living. He looked over his shoulder at the sound of the door and then scrambled to his feet.
“Mama!”
Nicole scooped the freckled-faced boy into her arms and held him close, inhaling deeply the fresh scent of his tousled hair. “Cody, Cody. I missed you last night.”
His little arms tightened around her neck, and she wondered how she could ever say goodbye again, how she could do what she knew she had to do if they were to be safe and together soon.
“I missed you, too, Mama,” Cody said as Nicole set him down.
“Pretty soon I won’t be able to pick you up. You’re getting so heavy, big guy.”
He beamed up at her. “That’s because I’m seven and a half years old,” he said proudly.
Nicole ruffled his sandy hair as Mabel waddled in from the kitchen, her wrinkled face creasing into a big smile at the sight of Nicole. Nicole went to her and kissed her on the cheek. “How’s my favorite grandma today?” Mabel’s eyes brightened at the compliment. She wasn’t really Cody’s grandma, but she was the next best thing and the only one he had ever known.
Mabel took Nicole’s other hand and led her to the worn sofa, where they sat side by side, Cody snuggling on the other side of his mother. “Tell me what you’ve been up to, dear. I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
“Neither did I.” She pulled Cody closer and smiled. “I found a job.” It was a stretch, but she knew if Michael didn’t hire her, Taylor would. With luck her references would arrive soon.
Mabel covered her mouth, and her eyes grew brighter. She sniffed once and tried to straighten her hunched shoulders. “My prayers have been answered...and so soon! Wait till I tell Walter. He’s been so worried about you.”
Nicole looked out the windows. “Where is Walter?”
“Deep in the woods, I’m afraid. Berry pickin’ or some such. Ya know how he loves his long walks and his critters. Can you stay till he gets back?”
Nicole looked down at Cody under her arm, his eyes pleading with her to say yes, and she thought her heart would break. If only she could take him with her. But she couldn’t risk them being spotted together. She’d just have to wait until she’d saved enough money to move on, far away.
“I can stay for a while, but