Curled on the lumpy sofa late Saturday morning, Mandi forced herself to look at the contract again before she went back to the candidate bios. She’d begun writing questions on a notepad, and already had one side of a coffee-stained page filled. Remembering Emma’s words helped Mandi wade through the documents. She was in charge. They couldn’t do it without her.
She looked at the pocket calendar she’d dredged up from Jimmy’s. The center usually scheduled in vitro on a Thursday or Friday so that the surrogate had the weekend to rest. Limited activity for the best results, the papers said. Mandi sighed. Sunday wasn’t a problem, but how the hell would she get two or three days off from Jimmy’s? With everything she had going on, maybe it was time to cut back on her hours at Jimmy’s. Or would that give her too much time? Time without Brittney or Lane . . . time alone.
Shaking her head, she rubbed her eyes. No. Not yet, anyway. She needed to stay busy. For the hundredth time, she considered calling Lane. He hadn’t called or texted, but what did that mean? That he wasn’t interested in continuing a relationship? Or was he waiting for her to make the first move?
She tossed the packet aside. Jesus, why was everything all of a sudden up to her? And why was she thinking about chasing after a man, anyway? She’d talk to him when he showed up. If he showed up. At that thought, she sucked in her breath and reached for the calendar again. She’d have to know when he was coming back to town. No way did she want to schedule the in vitro on a weekend when Lane would be there.
She fingered her phone, then gave a short yelp when it rattled against the table. Her mother.
“Hi there. What are you up to today?” her mother asked.
“Not too much,” Mandi said. She couldn’t help but wonder what her mother would think about what she was doing. “Working tonight, of course.”
“Uh-huh. Want to do some shopping this afternoon, or tomorrow?”
Mandi rolled her eyes. Shopping? Ugh. “Don’t have time, Mom. I’ve got some reading to do, and a test to take.”
“Are you coming for dinner tomorrow?”
Mandi glanced at her tiny kitchen, knowing full well there wasn’t much food in the place. She hadn’t been to her parents’ house since the night she’d found out about Brittney. That had dominated the conversation, but she doubted they’d forgotten about seeing her with Lane, and they’d bombard her with questions. They’d probably been dying for an opportunity to ask.
“Come on over. Dad and I want to talk to you.”
Uh-oh. What did that mean? Another let’s-take-stock-of-your-life session? She could hear it already. How was she coming along on classes? When was she moving out of that God-forsaken trailer park? Mandi rubbed her temples, and the soft seriousness of her mother’s voice registered in her ears. Maybe it was something else.
“Why? What’s up?” Mandi asked, sitting straighter.
“Mandi,” exasperation elevated her mother’s voice. “We want you to come for dinner so we can talk. Not over the phone. Besides, what’s wrong with a free home-cooked dinner?”
She had a point there. Mandi uncurled from the sofa and ran a hand through her hair. “Okay. What time?”
“We’ll plan to eat around seven, but you can come before then. Do you have laundry?”
A ton. But she wasn’t desperate yet, so it hadn’t made it to the top of the list. “Yeah, maybe I’ll bring a load over.”
“Good. You might as well. We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Fine. She needed a break. In the bedroom, Mandi started sorting the clothes spilling over the laundry basket in her closet, wondering what was going on with her parents. She remembered her mother’s sleeping pills, and for a moment considered whether her parents might be having marital problems. But she quickly dismissed that notion. They were happy. The consummate gentleman, her father positively doted on her mother. Not unlike Lane Whitmore.
That thought nearly knocked her on her ass. She flopped onto the bed, remembering Lane’s concern and thoughtful behavior before and after Brit’s funeral. His broad, firm shoulders offered strength and support, but at the same time, his hands came with a gentle touch. He had manners and dignity . . .
Her breath caught in her throat. Didn’t they say women usually fell for men who were like their fathers? She didn’t want Lane to be like her dad. Her dad could be so harsh, so closed-minded. Lane wasn’t like that. Mandi pushed herself up, and flung a pair of jeans into the basket. This daydreaming was pathetic.
She debated going shopping after all just to keep her mind occupied. But that would give her mom way too much time to poke and pry. She couldn’t possibly tell her parents what was going on in her life, that she was considering having a baby for another couple. That would create a monumental freak-out for sure. Probably send her dad into cardiac arrest.
She held a blouse to her chest, fingering the fabric. Would her mother freak out or would she get it? Would she understand Mandi’s need to give something back, to make up for the things she’d done? Not without a lot of explaining. She tossed the blouse onto the swelling pile. Best not to risk it.
**
At five o’clock the following day, Mandi loaded the basket into her car and drove the thirty minutes to her parent’s sprawling house and yard in the Cedar Lake Estates gated community. The homes were all stone or stucco and painted in various shades of warm tan or khaki. As she pulled the Civic into her parents’ driveway, Mandi wondered how often people accidentally pulled into someone else’s drive instead of their own.
“Knock-knock,” she hollered just inside the door, balancing the overstuffed basket on her hip.
“Come on in,” her mother called from the kitchen.
Mandi kicked the door shut and headed toward the kitchen and laundry room.
“Hi!” Her mother moved in for an air kiss. “Do you want to go ahead and start on that?” she asked.
“Sure.” Mandi went around the corner to the spacious laundry room situated between the kitchen and garage, larger than her bedroom in the trailer. She dumped the basket on the floor in front of the washing machine and began loading the clothes inside.
Her mother leaned against the doorframe. “Have you been using the Laundromat at the park?”
Mandi shrugged. She knew her mother thought it was unsafe. “Not too much. Where’s Dad?”
“Golfing. He should be here any minute. What do you want to drink?”
“Got any beer?” If she knew her father, he’d have a generous supply of her favorite amber ale.
Her mother pursed her lips. “I’m sure Dad has some. Are you ever going to give that up?”
Little did her mother know, Mandi’s beer-drinking days might be suspended soon. That was one of the rules she’d have to agree to – no alcohol during her pregnancy. Not a problem. She’d done it once. She could do it again. But today, she’d indulge.
“I like it.”
Her mother took one out of the refrigerator and handed it to her.
With one hand on her hip, Mandi studied her mother a minute. She seemed a little nervous. “So, what’s up, Mom? What did you want to talk about?”
“We’ll talk about it later. Now come in here and keep me company while I fix supper. Actually, you can make a salad.”
Mandi gathered vegetables out of the Sub-Zero that matched the smooth cherry cabinets.
“Are you still seeing that man we met? Lane was his name?” her mother asked.
Mandi rolled her eyes. She hadn’t even washed the first veggie. “Yes. When he’s in town.”
“Oh, so it’s still pretty casual then.”
Mandi stopped peeling the cucumber and narrowed her eyes at her mother. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I just wondered how serious it was. I mean, if it isn’t, there’s certainly no reason for you to stay here. Isn’t it about time for you to make a change? Start a new life?”
Mandi sucked in her breath, and stared at her mother. “Mom, come on. You know I’m taking some classes and thinking about going to college. I just need a little more time.”
“Time for what? What are you waiting for? What’s the point of staying in these two dead-end jobs?”
“Mother, we’ve been over this a million times. I’m saving to go to college.”
Her mother’s voice rose. “We told you we’d pay for college. You can go whenever you like.”
“But I need money to live on.” Mandi put down the knife and held up her hands. “I really do not want to go through all of this again.”
Her mother wiped her hands on a towel and turned toward the stove. When she looked back, her expression had softened. “Have they caught the guy who killed your friend? I haven’t heard anything on the news.”
With a shake of her head, Mandi stabbed hard at the tomato on the cutting board. “No. The bastard’s still out there somewhere.” And every day that went by without an arrest, the chances of them finding him went down. And so went the chances of justice for Brittney. She stared out across the living room for a moment, wishing her mother hadn’t brought it up. A weight settled in her stomach every time she thought about it. Mandi glanced around the kitchen, her eyes resting on an unfamiliar chandelier above the table.
“Is that new?” Mandi asked, pointing her knife at the light fixture.
“Yes, we’ve been sprucing things up a bit. Some of the fixtures were outdated.”
Looked like the entire front room had been painted, too. Before she could comment, the door opened, and they both turned. Mandi’s father sauntered in.
“Hello, ladies.” He kissed his wife on the cheek, then Mandi. “What’s cookin?”
“Lemon-pepper chicken with roasted potatoes and salad,” Mandi’s mother answered.
“Sounds good. Smells good. Give me a few minutes to get cleaned up, and I’ll be back.”
Mandi finished the salad, avoiding her mother’s gaze, then went to check on her laundry. By the time her dad returned, her mother had set the table.
While her father regaled them with stories from the country club, Mandi sipped her beer. And bit her tongue. Thirty minutes later, her mother shooed them toward the table.
“I think we’re ready,” she said.
Mandi’s head jerked up, sure there was a false brightness to her mother’s words. Something was up.
They passed around the dishes, and Mandi filled her plate, even though she figured there was a good chance dinner conversation would bring on indigestion.
They chatted for a few minutes about the weather, Mandi’s jobs and her mother’s charitable activities. Then her dad cleared his throat.
“Well, Miranda. We’ve got some news.”
Her fork stopped mid-air, and she set it down. She glanced at her mom. “Yeah?”
Her mother’s smile seemed forced. “Honey, your dad’s retiring. We’re thinking about moving.”
Mandi stared from one to the other, taking in the announcement, her heart hammering. Back to California? She certainly didn’t want to live with her parents again, but she did want to go to California. Her heart lurched as adrenaline shot through her.
She smiled. “You’re going back to California?”
Her parents looked at each other, and her mother dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “No. Actually, we’re looking at houses in Florida, near Warren.”
Mandi’s stomach flip-flopped. Of course. The grandkids. Her brother had a two-year-old and a baby on the way. Where else would the grandparents want to be?
“When?” Mandi said, her voice strained.
“A couple of months, probably,” her mother said.
Mandi did some quick math. That might be perfect timing. Maybe she could do the whole surrogate thing without her parents ever knowing. Her thoughts veered. She couldn’t decide whether things were falling into place, or she was being abandoned. If her parents left, she’d be truly alone. The timing was uncanny.
Her father cleared his throat again and said gruffly, “We want you to come with us. Get out of that hell-hole you’re living in.”
Mandi’s mouth dropped open. Good thing she hadn’t been chewing. “Florida?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so, Dad. I’d love to go back to L.A., but I’m not interested in Florida.”
“Why not? You like warm weather.”
“I don’t think there are any schools there I’d be interested in.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” her mother chimed in. “There are all kinds of colleges in Florida. It’d be nice for us all to be together again.”
Nice? No. It wouldn’t. Visions of watching her parents dote on her brother’s children tumbled through her mind. Or worse, she thought. The idea of babysitting her brother’s children, watching them laugh and grow, left a bitter taste in her mouth. Mandi loved her brother and sister-in-law, and her little nephew, Adam, but she couldn’t do it. Wasn’t ready for it. Just thinking about being responsible for the care of someone else’s toddler caused heart palpitations.
“We really don’t want to leave you here by yourself,” her mother said.
“Especially in that trailer,” her father added, his face grim. “Let’s at least get you set up some place decent so we don’t have to worry about you all the goddamned time.”
Her mother reached over and put her hand on Mandi’s arm, her eyes appealing to her. “Promise you’ll think about it.”
Mandi looked at her plate. Could she go off and live the good life and abandon the people here? What right did she have to escape, to get off the hook? She thought of the girls at DataPlus, and Danielle and Maria, and all the people at Jimmy’s. They weren’t so close that she’d be missed. Besides, people moved on all the time. Neither one of her jobs was a career path, for sure.
And Lane? Something had developed between them. But what? Obviously there was a strong physical attraction, but she knew how quickly that could fade. They were worlds apart. And cities apart. He’d made it pretty clear that because of those circumstances, their relationship had no real future. He hadn’t called all week. So, yes, in most respects, she was free to leave any time. But not now. She hadn’t signed the contract, but she’d made a verbal commitment. Made a commitment in her own heart. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t leave in two months. By then, she hoped to be pregnant. That put her a year away from making her move.
She considered whether she could go ahead and move to California and become a surrogate there. Did it really matter where she lived? For some reason, that didn’t feel right to her, though. She’d already put the wheels in motion here. Maybe she’d ask Emma about it. But then what if she moved to L.A. and didn’t get into USC or Pomona? Or if she moved to Palo Alto and didn’t get into Stanford? She didn’t want to move twice, and admissions decisions weren’t announced until the end of March. Much as she wanted to put Texas behind her, it probably made sense to wait a little while longer.
“Look, I understand why you want to go to Florida,” Mandi said. “It makes perfect sense. But I don’t want to move to Florida. You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
“What about a new apartment?”
“I’d like to stay close to work, Dad.”
Her father glared at her. “You are so stubborn,” he said. “It’s selfish.”
Tears burned Mandi’s eyes, and she flung her napkin on the table. “I had a friend who lived in a nicer apartment, Dad, and she was raped and killed. Being in that apartment didn’t matter one bit.”
Her mother let out a sharp gasp. “Oh, Mandi. Why would you remind us of that? How can we even sleep at night knowing you’re here all by yourself and things like that could happen?”
Mandi leaned her elbows on the table, shaking her head. All of the statistics they’d heard during the class at DataPlus on Friday flooded her brain. There were victims of every shape and size, every socio- economic level, every age, all over the country. “They can happen anywhere, Mom. Even in Florida.”
They finished dinner in stony silence. Indigestion was the least of the troubles. Her mother’s pursed lips and constant dabbing with her napkin made it clear she was on the verge of tears, and her dad’s hard jaw wasn’t difficult to read. He was flat-out pissed. Mandi pushed back her chair and began clearing her dishes. A few minutes later, her mother helped with the cleaning, and her father disappeared.
Mandi moved her clothes into the dryer and turned the knob over to high, willing them to dry quickly so she could make her escape. She resisted grabbing another beer, and instead poured herself a glass of iced tea and attempted to start a conversation with her mother at the kitchen table. “Have you found a house you like?”
“A few,” her mother answered, her words clipped.
“How close to Warren and Jessica?”
“Ten to fifteen minutes.” Her mother sent her a cool glare. “They’re excited about having us so close.”
I bet, Mandi thought. Having the grandparents around made a big difference when you had little kids. Built-in babysitters. “Yeah. That’ll be great for them.”
“We’ll be able to help out with the kids just like we did with Paige.”
She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “I know, Mom. I get it.”
Mandi got up and took a few of her nicer blouses out of the dryer early. As she folded them, she mulled over the situation. Everyone had such an issue with the trailer, maybe she should go ahead and move out now. That would make her parents happy, and Lane. She slumped against the dryer. But what a waste of money. Besides, it was only for one more year.
**
Lane tapped his phone against the table. Sunday was her only night off. He glanced at the phone. Nine o’clock. Would she turn in early to get some extra sleep? Not want to be disturbed? He could text first, and if she responded, then call. For all he knew she could be irritated that he hadn’t called during the week. He’d come close a dozen times, and couldn’t really explain why he hadn’t. Waiting for a cue from her, he supposed. Or waiting to see if she diminished in his consciousness over the week. She hadn’t. Memories of their last night kept him awake. Could still make him hard.
He ran a hand through his hair, thinking about calling Dan instead. He wouldn’t mind getting drunk. But he knew Dan’s first question would be whether he was getting any, seeing anyone. Couldn’t go there. He switched off the television and began typing.
Hi there. Thought about calling you. Want to talk?
He slipped the phone into the pocket of his shorts and wandered into the kitchen. Hound lifted his head then loped over to where Lane was fixing a single serving of coffee. He knelt down and rubbed the old dog behind the ears. And thought of Mandi. Maybe if she spent some time around a calm, gentle dog like Hound, she could get over her fear.
Something squeezed Lane’s heart. He knew that was a long shot. She’d never have extra days off from work. And, he admitted, he’d never bring her to meet his parents. He could imagine his parents’ shock if he introduced them to a girl from Northtown who was only high-school educated, divorced, waited tables, and lived in a trailer park. Even if they liked her, they’d have a hard time accepting her. Guilt jabbed at him, but he shrugged it off. She wasn’t looking for a commitment from him.
He started when his phone vibrated inside his pocket. Straightening, he opened the text from Mandi.
Hi. Would love to talk.
Lane couldn’t wipe the smile from his face as he removed the cup of coffee from the machine. Didn’t think he’d ever hear those words out of her. He headed to the living room and settled on the couch, then punched in her number.
“Hi,” came her soft voice. “How are you?”
Lane was sure he heard a smile in her words. “Doing okay. How was your day off?”
She let out a sigh. “All right. I got my chapter and test done then went over to my parents’ house for laundry and dinner.”
“Of course you did. As soon as I left town.”
A low groan came over the line. “Believe me, you wouldn’t have enjoyed it. Family angst.”
“Yeah? What’s up?”
“They’re moving to Florida.”
“What? Why?”
“Because that’s where my brother and their grandchildren live.”
“Ah. Wow. So they’re leaving you there by yourself?”
“They asked me to go with them.”
Lane’s heart stopped. “Are you going?”
“No.”
He smiled. And made up his mind.
“Listen, I think I’ll come back up next week . . . weekend. If–” he stood and paced the floor. “If you’re going to be around.” He wished he could see her face, her reaction.
There was a short silence, then she said, “I’ll be here.”
“Don’t suppose you could get a night off.”
“You know, I’ve been thinking about cutting back my hours at Jimmy’s, maybe taking a Friday or Saturday every weekend.”
Did he have anything to do with that, Lane wondered. “You should,” he said. “You’ve been under a lot of stress the last few weeks. Take a break, babe. California’s not going anywhere.”
It occurred to him how naturally he called her babe or sweetheart. Was it presumptuous? She didn’t seem to mind. If it bothered her, he had a feeling she’d let him know.
“We’ll see,” she said.
“What are you doing right now?” Lane asked.
A soft chuckle warmed her voice. “You really want to know?”
His pulse spiked. “Yeah.”
“I’m taking off my blouse. Getting ready to put on my pajamas.”
The blood pounded in his head. “Sorry I’m not there to help. With the blouse, I mean.” She laughed then, and his chest tightened.
“Me, too,” she said.
“Jesus, it’s a good thing I don’t talk to you every night.” The visual played in his head, and his fingers itched to fling the blouse on the floor and graze across her soft skin, wind through her hair.
“Oh, really?” she asked, her voice full of play innocence.
Lane went back to the kitchen for a glass of ice water. He took a few gulps, trying to ignore the blast of heat that had engulfed him. With effort, he redirected the conversation. “So, tell me about your week. How’d the self-defense class go?”
“Oh, my gosh. It was great. Everybody showed up, even some of the managers. The guy giving the demonstrations was awesome. You should’ve seen a couple of the girls knock him on his butt.”
Again, Lane heard her excitement and wished he could see her face. He thought about suggesting Skype, but decided that might actually be worse. “That’s great, babe. Glad it was a success. I hope your boss appreciated it.”
“I think he was pleased. I heard a lot of positive comments, and I think everyone left feeling more confident. That was my goal. His, of course, was to get everybody over the jitters and back on track. The guy who gave the class had some fliers printed up with reminders and tips, and called it Fight Back for Brit. And he used her picture so that made it more like a tribute to Brittney. It was nice.”
“Good. Have they hired someone to take her place?”
“Not yet, but I’m expecting someone to show up this week. I wish he’d hire a guy, or an old lady. That’d make it a little easier.”
“You should do something for yourself the day that happens. Go out with a friend, or have one of those foam baths you like.”
Mandi’s breath caught. She’d love one of those baths . . . like the last one she had. She remembered tumbling into his arms when she stepped out of the tub. She bit her lip. Lane had probably managed to ruin the whole aroma-therapy bath experience for her. Wouldn’t be the same without him.
When her eyelids dropped, Mandi looked at her watch and realized they’d been on the phone for nearly an hour. No wonder her eyes kept wanting to close.
“Hey, Lane?”
“Hmm?”
“I probably better get to bed. I’m glad you called.”
“Same.”
“When will you be here?”
“Not sure. Thursday or Friday. I’ll let you know.”
“Don’t you have appointments?”
“Huh-uh.”
Her heart fluttered. He was coming back to see her. She took a deep breath. “You don’t have to get a hotel room, unless you’d rather.”
Her statement hung in the air, and she knew he was debating between spending the money and offending her.
“Tell you what, I’ll plan on staying at your place at least one night, and then I’d like to treat you to a nicer hotel for a night.” His voice lowered, sending chills up her arms. “I’m thinking someplace with a big bed, lots of pillows, room service . . .”
Heat washed over her.
“How’s that sound?” he asked.
Wonderful, of course. “It sounds great, but Lane? Nothing way over the top, okay?”
“Deal.”