Eric and Marcy lay in bed Thursday evening, naked and sated, talking lazily. “Is it easy or hard for you,” he asked, “living in a different house all the time?”
“I don’t take on a brand-new client very often anymore, so there’s a certain familiarity with almost every house for me. First times are more problematic. I do like houses with alarms. I sleep better. But the houses I watch are mostly in very good neighborhoods.”
She was on her side, one leg draped over his, her hand resting against his chest. Her voice was low and relaxed, as if she could drop off to sleep anytime, even though it was only eight-thirty. He felt her breath, warm and steady, on his neck as she spoke.
“What was your most interesting assignment?”
She laughed softly. “A two-week job for Elmer Wainwright.”
“The software mogul? He lives in Sacramento?”
“San Francisco. He got my name from a friend of a friend. The man never slows down, never sits down. I don’t think he sleeps, even. And his whole house is run electronically. There’s a three-inch binder with instructions. I locked myself in and couldn’t get out.”
He laughed. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not funny, but—”
“Oh, it’s hysterical. Now. A different kind of hysterical then. It took me two days to figure out how to open the front door.”
“Why didn’t you call him?”
“I didn’t want him to think I was an idiot.”
Eric smiled at the ceiling. He threaded her hair with his fingers. It was the most relaxed they’d been with each other. Not that the sex hadn’t been powerful and satisfying, but the aftermath was different this time.
“You said you were offered your job back as a flight attendant, but you didn’t want to move back east. Why?”
“My friend Lori needed me. Her husband walked out when their boys were four and two. He emptied the bank accounts and left her without anything. We’ve been best friends since we were kids. I couldn’t abandon her.”
“Do you help support her?”
After a slight hesitation, she nodded. “She would’ve done the same for me.”
“So, the money you save by not having a place to live goes to her?”
“Some of it. In return I always—almost always—have a place to stay.”
He could tell she didn’t really want to talk about it, but they’d become very open with each other, asking questions that might normally seem too personal this early in a relationship.
“Do you have a best friend?” she asked.
“I guess my brothers fit that title, Sam most of all. He’s two years younger. Trent and Jeff are close, as well.”
“Where does Becca fit in?”
“We share her.” He smiled at the thought. “She’s the youngest. We all worried about her, protected her, even though she balked at our care, and pretty much did what she wanted, anyway. She chose well with Gavin. They make a good team.”
“Do you think marriage should be teamwork?” she asked.
“In the sense that you’re striving toward the same goals, yes. And that you work together to achieve them.”
She rested her chin on his chest and smiled at him. “Did you play football?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll bet you were the quarterback.”
“You’d win that bet.” He ran a hand down her spine, pressing lightly, drawing moans. “Roll onto your stomach.”
She did, and he straddled her to give her a massage, taking his time, eventually turning it into a sensual experience, arousing her, not letting her find satisfaction until he was ready to let her.
“My turn,” she said, shoving him onto his stomach. She’d just begun running her fingernails down his back when his cell phone rang. “It’s Dylan,” she said when she passed the phone to him.
“What’s up, Dylan?” Eric asked.
“My dad’s here.”
“What?”
“He’s in your living room. Can you come home?”
“I’m on my way.” He ended the call. “His dad tracked him down. He’s at the house.”
“I want to go, too,” Marcy said as he grabbed his jeans.
He laid a hand on her arm. “You can’t. You know that. Dylan would realize we’ve been together.”
She frowned, and then pulled on her robe instead of her clothes. “So much for teamwork.”
He finished dressing then went up to her. “This is probably going to sound cold, but we’ve been honest with each other all along, and we need to stay honest.” He took her hands in his. “I know you have a vested interest in Dylan, but he’s my responsibility. We’re not married, Marcy. There’s no teamwork involved here.”
She tossed her head a little. “I know that. You’ll call me, though, right?”
“Yes.” He kissed her. “I’m sorry our evening was cut short.”
She took his face in her hands and turned the kiss into something beyond a quick good-night. “Don’t forget I owe you one.”
His laugh came out in an appreciative burst. “Like I’d forget that.”
On the drive home, Eric stopped thinking about Marcy and thought ahead to Dylan. He sounded scared. Or maybe just panicked. If he’d been scared he probably wouldn’t have let his dad in the house.
Eric didn’t bother parking in the driveway, but pulled up behind an older-model sedan. Dylan opened the front door when Eric reached it.
“Are you okay?” he asked the boy, who nodded.
A man stood. Dylan had said his father was sixty-five, but he looked older. He was small and wiry, a little stooped. He clenched a Sacramento River Cats ball cap in his hands. He held out a hand to Eric. “I’m John Dunning. Dylan’s my boy.”
“Eric Sheridan,” he said. “Please, have a seat. Have you been talking?” he asked Dylan.
“I’ve been trying to,” John said. “Dylan’s not of a mind to converse with me, I guess.”
“How did you locate him?”
“He called an old friend, who called me. I’ve been looking for him for months. The friend knew I was worried.” He looked at Dylan. “I know it was wrong to throw you out, son. I was hurtin’. That’s all I can say about that. You weren’t being exactly easy to have around, either.”
“Because I was hurting.” Dylan thumped his chest. “I lost someone special, too.”
“I’m sorry. I really am.”
For a moment neither of them spoke again.
“What did you come here to say to Dylan?” Eric asked.
John twisted his cap in his hands. “That he’s welcome to come home.”
For all that Eric had been guiding Dylan toward independence, Eric realized with sudden clarity that he didn’t want the boy to go. Eric could give him chances his dad couldn’t.
It wasn’t his decision, however.
After a long silence, Dylan looked at Eric. “Do I have to make up mind right now?”
“No.” Eric faced John. “I figure you want what’s best for him, so he should take his time deciding, right?”
The man nodded. “Your mom’s been haunting me,” he said to Dylan. “I did wrong by you. But you seem to have done okay. I worried for nothing.”
“Nothing?” Dylan exploded, jumping up, shoving his hands through his hair, then stretching his arms open wide. “I was living on the streets for three months. I didn’t know where my next meal would come from or where I would sleep. I endured…horrible things. Threats. Violence. The pain of knowing you didn’t love me even after twelve years of living with you, being like your son, even though you never adopted me. I can’t forgive you.”
He raced up the stairs, slammed his bedroom door behind him. The ensuing quiet hung heavy.
“I didn’t know,” John said, shock and confusion in his eyes.
“You should have.” It was a harsh thing to say, but it needed saying, Eric decided. “Maybe he will forgive you someday, but don’t think he’ll forget soon. It changed him. I think you’ll find him a different young man now.”
“How did you get involved?”
“I had just moved in here, and he came looking for work.” Eric figured Marcy would be proud of him for the lie. Dylan could choose to tell his dad the truth if he wanted. “When I found out he was homeless, I gave him a room. He’s worked hard, and he’s thrived.”
John nodded then stood. “Well, he knows my number.”
“May I have it, as well?”
They exchanged phone numbers then Eric walked him to his car. “Give him time. He has deep roots with you and his mom.”
“Thank you.” He stuck out his hand. “For everything you’ve done.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Eric watched him drive off, and then he parked his car in the garage. By the time he’d gotten inside, Dylan was sitting in a chair in the living room.
“I’m sorry I had to call,” he said.
“It’s fine.” Eric sat down opposite him. “Are you okay?”
He shrugged. “Kinda caught me off guard, him just showing up.”
“What do you want to do?”
He looked around, at nothing, at everything, then he blew out a long breath. “Is it so wrong that I want to stay with you?”
He knew that Dylan saw Eric as his rescuer, that his attachment was strong. “I understand why you feel that way. You also have a twelve-year history with your dad.”
“But—”
Eric leaned forward. “But the goal all along has been for you to be independent. That hasn’t changed. Don’t try to figure it out tonight. Give it at least until we’re done with the kitchen renovation. Maybe give your dad a call now and then and see what comes of it.”
“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He shifted in his chair a little. “So, I guess Marcy wasn’t too happy that you wouldn’t let her come with you, huh?”
Eric said nothing.
“Come on, dude. You think I don’t know? You’re nuts about each other. So, she was mad, wasn’t she?”
“Irritated,” Eric said, giving in. “She’s your biggest fan.”
“My mom would’ve loved her. They’re not alike except that they’re good mother types. Television-mother types.”
Eric smiled. He agreed. “Are you ready to start building a kitchen tomorrow?” Eric asked, changing the subject. “Ready.”
“Me, too.” Eric needed the physical labor, anything to clear his mind, or more precisely, it would be a way for Marcy not to be taking up so much space there. Things were starting to get more serious between them, and they both knew they weren’t destined for the long term. They were too different, had vastly different goals. Were in different stages in their lives, as Marcy constantly reminded him.
“I’m going to bed,” Dylan said. He stood and headed to the stairs. “When you call Marcy, tell her I said hi.”
Eric just gave him the look, and he laughed.
Marcy answered on the first ring. “What happened?”
“First of all, Dylan says to say hi.”
“Tell him hi back. What happened?”
He filled her in, could sense her tension lessening as he laid it out for her.
“He can’t force Dylan to go home, can he?” she said. “He’s eighteen.”
“No, he can’t force him, but I think his dad might be prepared to help him with his education, whether it’s college or a training school to become a mechanic. We need to stay out of his decision, Marcy.”
“I know you’re right. It’s just hard. I’ve already come to love him like a little brother.”
Eric knew that feeling very well. “Yes.”
They talked a little longer then said good-night. He probably wouldn’t see her until a week from Sunday, when the kitchen should be done and she would help set it up. Nine days.
At the moment, it seemed an eternity, especially because he’d left with her promise of owing him one.
Maybe he could find a couple of hours during the week, after all.
He smiled, liking the goal, even though he knew it would be just about impossible to achieve.