Legacy, page 19
“You want to build a youth center.”
“Maybe we’d have some classes. Like learning music or art. Activities, some structure.” He smiled down at her. “Healthy snacks.”
“Now you’re pandering.”
“Just a little. After-school care, some exercise classes.”
“More pandering,” she said, but put her arm around his waist.
“Sophia and I talked about this place more than once. But we didn’t have a way to get our hands on it, until now. It may be out of reach still, but—”
“Nothing’s out of reach if you keep trying for it. It’s a little terrifying, I’m not going to lie. But if I squint, and toss away all my common sense, I can almost see it.”
And he wanted it. Nothing else mattered.
She stepped back, held out a hand. “Let’s go for it, partner.”
He took her hand, squeezed it. “Gioia mia. You make me proud.”
There was little Dom loved more than cooking for a crowd, unless it was having the sound and motion of kids in his house.
With Adrian’s friends, he got both.
He marinated pounds of fat pork ribs in a tangy sauce he made himself, roasted summer vegetables from his own garden, made a cold pasta, colorful as a carnival with fat olives, grape tomatoes, and thin strips of zucchini. Baked focaccia bread.
He polished it off with a cake filled with rich cream and strawberries.
The groans of the well-fed, the chatter of children, the sheer mess generated by a complicated meal perfectly prepared brought him profound joy.
He loved seeing Adrian with friends she’d made in high school. And seeing Harry, who’d almost been a father to his girl, with the family he’d made.
Generations at the table made a family, made a home.
Over cappuccino and cake, he appealed to Hunter, Harry’s oldest. “Tell me what you want, especially, in a youth center.”
“Swimming pool.” Hunter, with his dark gypsy eyes, shoveled in cake. “The dads say …” He held his thumb up, then turned it down.
“Horseback riding and a stable.” Hunter’s younger sister, Cybill, dug out more cream filling.
“And how about you, Phineas?”
“A planetarium.”
Dom nodded soberly, then looked at Adrian. “We’re going to need a bigger building.”
“I’ll say. How about games? Table games, video games, a basketball court. Arts and crafts, music lessons—I’m looking at you there, Monroe.”
Hunter wagged his fork at him. “Can you play the guitar?”
“I can. You like the guitar?”
“Yeah, so if I get one for Christmas, can you show me stuff when we visit?”
“Sure. Maybe you can come by my house tomorrow for a while, and I’ll show you some stuff.”
“For real? Cool!”
“Your Harry dad has to work here tomorrow.” Phineas eyed Harry as he might an experiment. “So your Marshall dad can bring you. You can come, too,” he said graciously to Cybill. “I’m getting a telescope for Christmas.”
“Are you?” Monroe asked over his cappuccino.
“Yeah, because I’m going to be an astronomer/astronaut and discover life on another planet. ’Cause it’s there.”
“He doesn’t get that from me,” Monroe told his wife. “He just doesn’t.”
“Well, mathematically and logically, he’s right. It’s there.”
Now Monroe wagged his fork at Teesha. “See? Dom, Adrian, this was an incredible meal. I’m volunteering the rest of us for KP.”
“I’ll sign up for that. In fact, if I don’t move, I may root to this chair.” Hector, with his horn-rims and stubby ponytail, rose. “I always think Sylvie and I are halfway decent cooks until I have a meal here. We don’t come close.”
“Sorry she couldn’t make it.” Loren levered himself up to help gather plates. He’d tamed his fiery hair into a brush cut and—to Adrian’s mind—managed to look like a lawyer even in jeans and a T-shirt.
“So’s she, but she’s pretty busy packing up, since we’re moving to New York.”
Despite the baby bump, Teesha came straight up out of her chair. “What?”
“Yeah, I thought I’d save that one.” He grinned, shrugged. “She got a great offer, so I put out some feelers of my own. It’s back to New York, which makes my dad pretty happy. Especially since I asked Sylvie to marry me.”
Loren punched him in the arm. “And you don’t tell us?”
“Telling you. I figured I’d catch a ride with you to look at a couple places, fly back from there.”
“Road trip!”
Adrian rose to hug him. “This is great news. We need to break out the champagne.”
“Dishes first, for sure.”
Harry waited until they’d finished the dishes and while his kids ran off the cake with Marshall supervising.
He grabbed Adrian’s hand. “How about we take a walk?”
“Sure. I was just going to go down and check on the setup for tomorrow.”
“Hector’s got that.” He tugged her toward the front of the house.
“Is something wrong? Is everything all right with you, with Mom?”
“I’m fine, she’s fine. She’ll head back to New York in a couple of days. And she’ll want to talk to you about another mother/daughter production. Probably over the winter.”
“It’ll have to be here. I don’t want to leave Popi. Plus, she should come see him.”
He stepped out with her onto the front porch. “Hell of a view. Even this confirmed urbanite can appreciate it. Dom’s revved about this youth center project.”
“Boy, is he. We’ll jump into that once this production’s underway. We signed the contract—after Teesha pushed the seller down another twelve thousand.”
“She’s a wonder.”
“She is.” She studied him as they walked. Slim and trim and handsome as ever. Maybe more so with the hint of silver threading through his hair.
“What’s this really about, Harry?”
“It’s about me wondering why you haven’t told Dom, and the others, about the latest poem.”
“Who says I haven’t?”
“I do, Ads, because I know you. We’ll walk and appreciate the last of this long summer day while you tell me why.”
“I didn’t see the point, Harry, and I still don’t. Especially with Popi. It’s like you said, he’s revved right now. Why would I tell him something upsetting he can’t do a thing about? He’s ninety-four, Harry.”
“And the others?”
She hissed out one long impatient breath. “I’m lucky to see Hector and Loren in person twice a year, and what could they do about it? Teesha’s pregnant, so again, why? It’s been going on for years.”
“It’s escalating. You and I know that.”
“And I dutifully file the reports. Yes, it’s escalating, and that worries me. It’s upsetting and nerve-racking—which must be what this person wants. But there haven’t been any strange phone calls, no vandalism or attempted break-ins. Nothing more personal than nasty poetry.”
“Already three this year. I know you’ve got an alarm system, and you’ve got an enormous dog, but you’re still pretty isolated here, Adrian. I think it may be time for you to consider personal protection.”
Truly stunned, she stopped short. “You want me to get a gun?”
Equally stunned, he stopped short right along with her. “No! God, no. Too much to go way, way wrong there. But you could get a bodyguard.”
She laughed. “Come on, Harry.”
“I’m serious. Lina has security at her events, and she hasn’t had this kind of continual threat. It’s common sense.”
“I’m not doing outside events,” she reminded him, “because, as I said, Popi’s ninety-four. And since I made that decision, I’ve learned how much I like working from home, how much I can get done, how many people I can reach.”
“Understood, but security here—human security, experienced security—would add another layer.”
“And skew my privacy, and Popi’s. The police are like five minutes away. Whoever’s doing this has had years to do something more threatening or violent. It’s emotional stalking.”
“And stalkers often act on their obsession.”
He sure as hell wasn’t making her feel any better, she thought.
Then again, he didn’t want to.
“I’m not dismissing any of that. I can’t. But if we consider worst-case—someone tries to hurt me—I’m strong, I’m agile, I’m fast. I’m not helpless, Harry.”
“You never have been.”
“I hate that you’re so worried, but the fact you are just cements my decision not to say anything to Popi. I’ll take a self-defense course.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Where?”
“Online. You can learn anything online if you’re committed. I’ll commit. It’s another layer.”
“All right, okay. I knew this wouldn’t fly, but I had to give it a shot.”
“I love you for it, but then, I love you anyway. I’ll research the classes, pick one next week. And, being the goal-oriented competitor I am, I’ll graduate at the top of the class.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“And you know what? When I learn enough, it might make a good video for the blog, or even a segment.”
“And there,” he said as they walked back toward the house, “is where you take after Lina.”
Though it irritated her, she shrugged. “Maybe. A little.”
“She’s a self-made woman, Adrian, and so are you. One of the reasons is when either of you see an obstacle, you figure out the way not to shove it away so much as work it to your advantage.”
“Sometimes I wonder if that’s what I was. An obstacle.”
“No.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “You were never that to her, believe me. You were a choice.”
Maybe, she thought again. But she’d never figured out why her mother had made that choice.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
She actually sent him a personalized fitness video. Raylan found it short, surprising, and not-so-sweet.
He supposed he should feel … what, exactly, that she’d taken the time to put together a month-long regimen? Seven days a week—really?—for four weeks.
Warm-ups and cooldowns required. Every damn day.
He watched the first segment on his laptop, standing in his kitchen while the frozen chicken fingers and Tater Tots baked (he’d had a long day; plus, he’d steam some broccoli to make up for it) and the kids ran around the backyard with the dog—maniacs all.
Cardio, day one. She demonstrated a high knee jog in place, instructed him to do that for thirty seconds before moving straight into jumping jacks, front lunges, back lunges, squats, burpees, and so on. Then she, without even breathing hard, told him to repeat all that twice before a thirty-second water break, then moving on to football shuffles, standing mountain climbers, and other tortures. For a thirty-minute sweat fest.
Repeat once a week, where she assured him he’d progress to forty-second intervals by the end of the fourth.
He also had the option—highly recommended—to add in the ten-minute core routine every day.
“Sure, why not? I’ve got nothing but time.”
He let it play while he got out the broccoli, and she moved into strength training, day two. Amazing to him, he thought as he chopped, how soothing her voice sounded while she pushed the innocent into biceps curls, hammer curls with shoulder presses, chest flys, rows, something called skull crushers.
Maybe he found it fascinating to watch her muscles work—and he’d use that for his art—but he didn’t have any dumbbells.
He’d been busy.
Day three equaled core, and that just looked painful.
Despite the soothing voice, the fascinating muscles, he shut her off.
He put the broccoli on to steam, got out plates. Belatedly remembered the laundry he’d tossed in that morning before they’d left for the last of the marathon back-to-school shopping.
He made the transfer from washer to dryer and wondered why he hadn’t just ordered pizza. Then remembered he’d done just that the night before after that leg of the marathon.
But the kids had their new shoes and fall clothes, their new backpacks and lunch sacks, their binders and folders and new pencils with their pristine erasers.
Their every-damn-thing and more.
And with the enthusiasm of new, of fresh starts, they helped him organize everything. So now those backpacks, sans the lunch sacks he’d fill in the morning, hung on the hooks in the mudroom.
Just in time, he thought, as the big yellow bus would arrive at 7:20 a.m. for the first day of school.
Was he a crap father for harboring relief and joy over that moment? No, he was not, he assured himself. He was realistic. The idea of hours of empty house, of quiet without interruptions?
Bliss. Single-tear-sliding-down-the-face bliss.
He checked on dinner, judged it about five minutes out, so went to the door to call the kids.
Then just stood, watching them.
Mariah used her dance moves against Bradley’s ninja warrior while Jasper raced around with a yellow tennis ball in his mouth.
Grass stains streaked the seat of Mariah’s petal-pink shorts. The laces of Bradley’s old Converse Chucks fell loose again, and showed gray with grime.
He loved them so much it hurt.
He opened the door to the smothering heat and humidity that had both his kids glossy with sweat.
He started to call them in, like the civilized, then went with impulse.
He got the backyard hose, turned the spray on full, and soaked them.
They squealed, danced, ran away and back again.
“Dad!” Mariah screeched it as she tried to outrun the stream, but her face, like Bradley’s shined with delight.
“Down with all backyard invaders. My powerful hose defeats you!”
“Never!” Bradley charged, made exaggerated swimming motions as the stream hit him in the gut.
Appreciating the creativity, and when Mariah joined him in the attack, the teamwork, Raylan let them take him down.
The hose plopped in the grass with Jasper happily lapping up the spurting water as he wrestled with his kids.
As soaked as they, he flopped on his back, a child caught in each arm. Because he’d left the back door open, he heard the oven timer beep.
“Dinner’s ready.”
In the morning, he took pictures of them with their shiny faces, new shoes, and backpacks. And he watched that yellow school bus swallow them up, felt a twinge in his heart.
It didn’t last, but he felt it before he turned to the dog. “It’s just you and me, pal. How about you do the breakfast dishes while I get to work? No? It doesn’t work that way?”
He dealt with the kitchen, listened to the quiet. Yeah, some bliss there, but he thought about them both. The new kids in school. They’d made local friends over the summer, but still, they’d be the new kids.
When they got home, they’d be full of stories—and loaded with forms for him to fill out. So he’d better take advantage of the quiet while it lasted.
In his office, he sat at his drawing board while behind him Jasper sneakily crawled up on what Raylan thought of as his thinking couch.
He’d finished his script, edited it, fiddled, polished. It could and likely would change here and there along the way, but he felt it hit solid.
He’d gotten a good start on his rough panels, and now studied the full spread—two pages—on his board. He had his thought and dialogue bubbles in place, any additional text lettered in. Now, taking up a blue pencil, he filled in more details on the characters, the background. With other colors he highlighted certain details, added shadowing and light.
Now and then he checked the sketches pinned to his board for profiles, facial features, body types.
His villain had a slim build, almost slight, and an artistic, romantic, poetic face with gilded hair waving to his shoulders.
All a thin coating over monstrous evil.
Raylan gave his eyes a slight slant—nearly fairylike. They’d be crystalline blue, until he fed. Then the bloodred of the demon would rise.
Satisfied, he moved to the next spread, the next panels, consulting his script, his template for his layout. By the time he’d measured and marked the panels, Jasper slid off the couch, wagged to go out.
Raylan let him out, then got a Coke for himself.
He started, as always, with the bubbles. No point drawing something they’d cover. More text than dialogue on this spread, he thought, as Adrianna wandered her house, struggling to resist Grievous’s call, then the full-page panel of her surrendering to it to become Cobalt Flame, spear in her hand, grief in her eyes.
Yeah, he had to admit it. She was hot.
As his blues took shape, he built her house, again referring to sketches, to his previous panels for details.
The tower, with her in its long window, looking out at the night. Lonely, he thought. Conflicted. Haunted. Tormented.
Who didn’t love a hero who hit those marks?
Strong cheekbones—not diamond sharp like her master, but strong and defined. He’d have to experiment with his paints to get the right shade of golden, greeny brown. But for now, shape, expression, composition.
He’d just begun the long panel, her transformation, when he heard Jasper howling like the damned and demented.
Dropping everything, he raced to the back door. When he didn’t see Jasper, his heart tripped, but the howls came again.
Following them, he saw his dog, front paws planted on the top of the fence, tail wagging madly, head thrown back in a fresh howl.
He hadn’t heard the car pull up, but he saw it now with Adrian pulling a gym bag and what looked suspiciously like a yoga bag out of her car while Sadie sat patiently.
She swung the strap of each bag on a shoulder before she spotted Raylan.
“Sorry about the noise. I can let her back with him for a couple minutes if that’s okay.”
