Junk Love, page 15
* * *
Vicki’s kitchen had more of a Southwest vibe than Holly would have imagined. Jacob set the case of beer on the tan floor and lifted the pie to the terracotta tiled countertop.
“Quick.” He waved her to the refrigerator and opened the freezer, so she passed off the quart of vanilla ice cream. “For the pie?” His fingers were toasty compared to the frosty tub.
“You can’t have warm apple pie without ice cream,” she said, rubbing her hands on her denim-clad hips.
“Genius.”
“This is for me.”
Before tucking the pint of lactose-free ice cream in the freezer door, he scrutinized the label.
“Can I put this in the fridge?” she asked.
“What is it?” Jacob’s electric hands held hers over the foil-wrapped ramekin.
“It’s a pie alternative for Mom—for your mom.”
“I should probably test it.” He had a million reasons to smirk at her; she hoped it wasn’t at how hard she was blushing.
“She’ll need to heat it.” Holly slipped away. “It’s gross cold.”
Tucking the dish in the refrigerator, he smirked, then closed the door and faced her. “Not sure how you knew you were coming over before I did. Are you a witch? Or is ‘Dark Arts Worker’ more politically correct?”
Holly smiled, resisting the urge to sit on the countertop. “It was for our receptionist. She has diabetes too. I have to bring her something when I bring treats for the team.”
“You bring treats to work a lot?”
“When I want to bake, and I don’t have friends over to help eat it.”
“Did this coworker develop diabetes after you started working there?”
She scrunched her face at him; he held up his hands and backed away. The door to the back deck opened, and a dripping teen trotted through who smiled at them, clutching a towel, and disappeared.
Once he put the milk carton in the refrigerator, the ice chest was empty.
“Where does the beer go?”
“Outside. We should hide this first.” He took the red cooler and moved away from the kitchen, offering his other hand behind him.
Holly’s heart skipped, confessing it had wanted to hold that hand since last December when it had tried to help her off the clinic floor. She walked slowly instead of taking it, and his arm dropped as he entered a beige carpeted hallway lined with photos. A young Vicki smiled demurely in a sepia headshot.
“Your mom’s so beautiful.” Then Jacob’s senior picture stopped her in her tracks. “Who’s this with all the hair?”
He shook long imaginary locks over his shoulders.
“Between that and the Letterman’s jacket, I bet you were quite the ladies’ man.”
“You have no idea.”
In the rustic master bedroom, purses and bags littered the dressers, and a few jackets lay across the bottom edge of the king bed. While he opened the closet and stashed the ice chest, women’s voices drifted in from the hall.
A massive, framed photo graced one wall: desert orange rock cut by a shadow. A cluster of violet flowers with furry leaves peeked from a crack in the desolate surface.
“What do you think?” Jacob asked.
“It’s beautiful.” Written in tiny architect-style caps in the lower right corner was:
J. DAVIS ‘15.
“Is this your work?”
“God made the rocks. I just took their picture.”
“Damn.”
“Not bad, huh?” A woman stood in the bedroom doorway: tall and French-looking in her black-and-white striped shirt and shorts, her dark hair in a wavy bob. “Vicki wanted to call it ‘Hope,’ but the artist formerly known as Jake calls it ‘Purple Flower in Orange Rock.’”
“Holly, this is my sister-in-law, Faye. Faye, Holly.”
Holly walked to her, extending her hand. “I owe you an apology.”
“I doubt that.” Faye’s smirking blue eyes were gorgeous.
“Holly thinks she left Mark and me in an awkward spot this morning. We handled it.”
“I’m sure you did,” she said, finding a toy car in her purse. “My daughter is dying to meet you. Flag me down, okay?”
Holly nodded, trying not to read into Faye’s comment which implied they’d been talking about her. While Faye disappeared into the hallway, Jacob gazed at the backyard below.
A framed photo stood propped on a smaller dresser—a group shot in front of a wide Christmas tree. Vicki stood dwarfed beside a man with Jacob’s eyebrows. A young woman wearing thick-rimmed glasses smiled on their left. In front crouched a beardless Mark and Faye with long hair, holding a little girl between them whose eager smile was more of a tooth display. On the right, Jacob had receding hair, a goatee, and an attractive woman under his arm with wavy light brown spirals of hair and a tremendous grin. She looked a little young for him, but it was probably his hairline making him look older.
“Holly!” As Vicki entered her bedroom, her salmon-colored blouse billowed from her open arms.
“Hi! You have a beautiful home.”
“I’m so glad you could join us!” She was a good hugger.
“Jacob said you’re doing better off your metformin?”
“Thanks to you.” Vicki patted her shoulders. “You’re a better doctor than my doctor. But no shop talk. We have next week for that. Thank you for bringing the groceries. How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing. I’m glad I could contribute.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. Before I forget, we put a dessert for you in the fridge—it’s better warmed in the oven, but you can microwave it in a pinch.”
“You’re so thoughtful!”
Jacob stepped up. “You should see the pie she made, Mom. Don’t let anyone cut into it ‘til I get a picture.” He held his arm toward the door. “Let’s get you something to drink.”
“Are you hungry?”
* * *
Holly’s paper plate had become an open casket with the bones of a barbecued chicken breast. She tried to stay alert for Faye’s story, but the nap-inducing late-afternoon sun and Grace’s delicate fingers moving through her hair weren’t helping. Sleepy bliss set in as she inhaled the smoky meat grilling and currents of coconut sunscreen.
“We’re just glad Grace didn’t need surgery.”
“Looking good, Grace.” It was a man’s voice.
“Thank you.” Grace was so sure of herself. Her attention to detail reminded Holly of Keith’s daughter Keira, which had made her sad at first. She was also kind and confident like Owen and mature for an 8-year-old.
The man pulled out the chair to Holly’s left. “I don’t appreciate you trying to put me out of business.”
Holly didn’t appreciate this guy taking Jacob’s seat. Trying not to mess up the second Dutch braid, she peeked out of the corner of her eye. “You braid hair?”
“Not Grace. You.”
“Unless you’re Ronald McDonald or the infamous Burger King, I have no beef with you. No pun intended.”
“Just like a superhero to feign humility in the face of a nemesis.” It was the slick guy she’d seen with Mark and Vicki earlier, dressed in an expensive-looking linen shirt and khakis.
“Hold still.” Grace grabbed her head, twisting it to face forward.
“Sorry.” To him, she said, “You realize you’re casting yourself as the villain in your scenario.”
“Captains of industry rarely have clean hands.”
Faye laughed. “Holly, this is Chip, the family’s favorite drug dealer.”
“Pharmaceutical representative.”
“Pleased to meet you, Captain Pharma.” She held her hand over her torso. “I’m Holly.”
“I know.” His hand was baby smooth.
A tallish kid took a golf swing to a croquet ball across the yard. Thwack. Vicki stood from another table, put her hand on a woman’s shoulder, and picked up plates, heading to the back deck where Jacob was manning the grill with his dad.
“And friend of the family. I still am, right?”
“Yes, Chip,” Faye chuckled. “Our love for you is thicker than politics.”
“Mark is thick-headed…”
“That’s a good thing,” she added, gazing into the sun-kissed grass, “having a solid skull. If you’re too open-minded, your brains fall out.”
Holly snickered.
“Women are so cutting,” he sighed. “So, Holly…”
It was only a pause, and not a very long one, but even without seeing his expression, she recognized his type. Ego the size of Kansas.
“Where do you stand in our current political morass?”
“About ankle deep.” She hated to ask since it would lead to more of him talking. “You?”
“I’m one of the few progressive minds here.”
“A bit insulting to our hosts, don’t you think?”
“No offense. Faye can back me up on this. Mark and I have frequent friendly debates.”
“I need that hair band.” Grace pointed to the center of the table, so Holly retrieved the elastic and held it over her shoulder.
“I’d prefer more friendly and less frequent,” Faye said. “Or save it for your fishing trips so I don’t have to suffer.”
At the barbecue, Jacob’s dad spoke with Vicki instead of Jacob, now absent from the deck.
“Done!” Grace sat in the empty chair between the two women, adorable in her red-and-white starred sundress.
“Thank you, Grace!” Holly patted down her head. “I feel so festive now.” When she pulled the braids forward, blue and red ribbons trailed to her elbows.
“You’re welcome.” Her pert frown surveyed her handiwork around Holly’s face before she smiled, nodded, turned to the pile of ribbons on the table, and then ran off.
“Mom, can you open this?” A boy of about five handed Faye a bottle of hard lemonade.
“For you?”
He nodded.
“Let’s find you something better.” Smiling at Holly, she asked, “Have you met Franco?”
She shook her head and waved. “Hi Franco. I’m Holly.”
“Hi.”
Dang, they make cute kids.
“Excuse us.” Faye took her son’s hand and the forbidden lemonade, leaving Holly alone with Chip.
Holly tipped up her beer bottle. Everyone else she had met had been lovely. This guy reminded her of Douchebag Dave, a title bestowed by Paige after he’d cheated on Holly.
“Come clean.” Chip leaned in. “You’re a fellow Democrat, right?” Before she could answer, he whispered, “I knew it,” and held her arm. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
Holly moved her arm, clasping the bottle in her lap. “I’m not.” Not worried. She was a Democrat, but he could think whatever he wanted. The gazebo in the lawn looked like a great escape. Or she could make an excuse about Grace needing her help, doing whatever she was doing, scouting around a tree.
“Do you often party with your clients? Vicki was bragging about you.”
“Vicki’s sweet. Jacob invited me.”
“Oh.”
Grace galloped back holding a stick.
“You’re back!” Holly smiled. “What’s that for?”
“I’m making a toy.”
“Cool.”
After tying a white ribbon to the forked end, Grace called, “Uncle Jake!”
Behind them, a cluster of older men stood beside a table with their arms around each other. Jacob was squatting, pointing his camera at the group.
“Hang on.” Holly touched her arm. “He looks busy.”
“Pardon me, girls.” Chip rose and rattled his plastic cup. “I need more ice.”
Jacob was with Holly and Grace in a couple of minutes. “What’s up, Bug?” He put a hand on Grace’s shoulder.
“Do you think girlfriend will like this?”
Holly stiffened. He didn’t have a girlfriend, did he?
He set down his camera and sat by Holly. “I’m sure she’ll love it.” The twinkle in his eye hinted at a secret joke.
“Is it too many ribbons?” Grace asked. “Do you have something to put on the end? Like a little mouse…?”
It’s a cat toy.
“Let’s try it this way. Do you want to give it to her?”
“I’m not sure I’m done,” she said, studying her creation.
Holly eyed him. “You have a cat.”
He nodded.
“Named Girlfriend.”
“It’s come in handy. When I’m at a bar, and strange women are falling all over me, I can say ‘Sorry, ladies, I have to get home to my Girlfriend.’”
“You don’t go to bars,” Grace scoffed.
“Sometimes.”
But she crossed her arms.
Jacob chuckled, “Even my niece knows I don’t have game.”
After a gasp and “A pinecone!” Grace was gone.
“Nice hair.”
“Thank you.” She touched the tips.
“Having fun?”
“So much fun.” Her heart was so full it almost ached. Did John Smith feel this way with Pocahontas, chilling with her tribe? A welcomed foreigner, possibly dangerous and inclined to defect? “I’m not sure it’s an eight or above, though.”
“Ouch.”
“Solid 7.5.”
“Have you seen the creek yet?”
“There’s a creek?”
“C’mon.”
She followed him past the deserted slip-and-slide and croquet hoops. Music got louder as they approached the gazebo, which had a white railing draped with red and blue crepe paper like Holly’s braids. Rihanna singing about lightning sounded less about hookups and more about sparks—or string lights, like the ones inside, flowering out from the ceiling’s center point.
Jacob waited a few steps ahead until Holly joined him.
“I’m a sucker for string lights.”
“Want to go in? There should be dancing later.” His smile suggested he might want to, but it wasn’t lechy.
She shrugged. “Do you think your parents would take a renter?”
“There is electricity. But no plumbing. And no kitchen.”
“Worth it.”
While they strolled toward a row of evergreen shrubs with thick trees behind them, the drifting music gave way to water tumbling over rocks. The blast of brisk air had the opposite effect of a cold shower as Holly tramped down the bank, her hand dangling close to Jacob’s. The massive rhododendrons and the drop in elevation made it private. The burbling water beckoned to Holly’s hot feet, so she plopped down and started unbuckling her sandals.
But above the creek bed came another noise: lusty moaning.
Jacob found the source before she did. “Noah Papanikolas!”
Two sets of bare legs lay beneath the leggy rhododendrons. Hands reached back for crumpled pants, covering the disappearing top pair. The shaved legs kicked at the dirt and scuttled under the bushes.
“Excuse me for a second.” Tromping away through shallow edge water, he called, “Not gonna run, are you, Noah?”
A gangly curly-haired teen emerged from the space between the rhododendrons and stood, sullen.
“Good man. That’s Trinity under there? Hi Trinity.”
“Hello,” the girl’s high voice bleated, horrified.
“Noah, take Trinity back to the party and stay in sight.” Jacob checked his watch. “I’ll chat with your dad in 15 minutes. You should talk to him before I do.”
“We weren’t having sex.” His indignant voice probably worked well when he tried to buy beer.
Holly smirked and fiddled with her sandal buckle, even more turned on by Jacob playing protective dad. Did he disapprove of premarital sex like Danielle and Meena, or was it only because they were too young?
“Really.” Jacob clasped his hands behind his back. “What were you doing?”
“Just kissing.”
He held a hand to his ear. “Pissing?”
“Kissing.” Noah rolled his eyes.
“I thought you said ‘pissing.’ You can kiss fine in pants.”
A giggle spewed out of Holly before she could cover her mouth.
“We weren’t having sex.”
Jacob stood firm.
Trinity crawled out the other side of the rhododendrons. She inched down her short cotton skirt, then scurried into the green expanse, veering toward the lawn’s edge; Noah huffed as he walked past Holly. She offered a finger wave, but he avoided eye contact.
Splashing back to her, Jacob stopped beside her extended bare foot.
She grinned up at him. “His fun points just went way down.”
“Nobody likes a cock blocker,” he said, staring out at the yard.
I do. Her Jack-and-the-Beanstalk giant was back, looking bigger than ever above her. She was happy to have a chance to study him while he watched the strays return to the flock. “We need more cockblockers in the world.”
He smiled and took a seat on the bank beside her.
“Were you channeling your dad there, or was that the Jacob Davis dad voice?”
“A little of Column A, a little of Column B.”
“Do you have kids?”
He shook his head. “Never too soon to practice.”
Holly wanted to practice making them. “Have you been married?”
“Engaged.” Leaning back on his hands, he stretched his legs toward the creek. “You?”
“Not even close.” She shifted to face him. “Help me with a theory?”
“Shoot.”
“Do I emit some negative energy that only men can perceive?”
Jacob’s smile was a Danielle smile, the kind she would give Owen after he said something adorable and ridiculous.
“You know how poisonous dart frogs are brightly colored to warn predators not to eat them?”
“Is that what these are for?” His hand touched her shoulder, clasping the red ribbon entwined in her hair.
