His Best Friend’s Baby Page 2

  But no, Jesse took after his mother. He had Eva’s black eyes, dark hair and the same stubborn chin. Despite heavy drinking and hard living, his father had looked like a young man when he died, but Eva had looked every one of her fifty-six years, as if all her disappointments and heartaches had been pressed into the lines on her face.

  Jesse wondered briefly what was written across his face. What details of his past were visible?

  He and Eva were the same beasts of burden, carrying everyone’s troubles and responsibilities like stones around their necks. When everyone else had deserted they had both stayed—in that house, in this town—long after the time they should have left.

  Just do what you are supposed to do, he told himself. You’re in this little shithole for a reason.

  He pulled his cell phone out of the faded green duffel and dialed Chris’s number.

  “Inglewood Construction,” Chris answered after two rings and Jesse’s dark mood lifted at the sound of his friend’s voice.

  “Hey, Chris. It’s Jesse.”

  “Jesse, when the hell are you going to get down here? I am up to my pits in work.” A saw buzzed to life on Chris’s side of the line. “Watch the damn floors!” Chris yelled and Jesse could practically smell the sawdust; he could almost taste it. “Seriously, man,” Chris said. “I need you here, like, yesterday.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry, Chris, but it looks like I’m stuck in New Springs for a few days.”

  “Well, the sooner you get here the faster we can drink some cold beers and start making some money.”

  “Sounds good,” Jesse said. It sounded like heaven, like the furthest possible thing from the life he’d lived for the past three years. “Sounds real good.”

  “Keep me posted,” Chris said. “I gotta run. The guys are pouring the basement floor and I swear if someone doesn’t watch them, they’ll make a swimming pool out of it.”

  “See ya, Chris.” Jesse hung up and threw the phone back in his duffel.

  Wishing was for fools, something he learned the day his sister walked away from him, so he stopped wasting his own precious time. He was who he was and he had to take care of his responsibilities.

  He gave Wain a pat on the snout.

  “See what you’re getting me into?”

  Wain farted and sighed.

  Jesse jerked the wheel to the left and kicked up a lot of dust heading toward New Springs. He took the winding mountain road too fast. Wainwright put his nose in the air and howled and Jesse knew exactly how he felt.

  He drove through Old Town, past the Royal Theater and the Dairy Dream ice-cream shop. He took the left after the Vons grocery store, toward the south side. With every twist and turn through his old neighborhood, the pressure in his chest built.

  There weren’t any railroad tracks in New Springs, but Jesse never questioned which side of the proverbial tracks he was from. There had been a grit and a filth that came from this part of town and sometimes he could still feel it.

  When he was a kid, this particular street had been made up of single moms with kids they couldn’t control. Big, once-beautiful old homes—the first built in the town—had been falling to ruin or divided into apartments while people with money had chosen to live in the newer homes by the rec center on the other side of town.

  He shifted gears as the pressure in his chest started to feel like panic.

  The turning point of his life had come when Mitch and his family had moved into the neighborhood. Mitch’s mom liked old houses and apparently she’d never noticed the filth until her son had come home after school with Jesse in tow.

  Then she’d noticed.

  Since those days, however, the old neighborhood had clearly changed. The lawns were now green and nice, the tiled roofs repaired, the houses painted.

  It freaked him out. He wiped one sweaty palm on his thigh. He felt like the boy in the fancy shop who security watched—a feeling he hadn’t had since he was a kid.

  The old house must be the eyesore on this street.

  Mom had died three years ago and the house had been a nightmare then. Jesse could only imagine the damage raccoons and high-school kids looking for a place to get drunk had done since then.

  Truth be told, the idea appealed to him—the old homestead a broken-down disgrace among these refurbished houses. All the neighbors once again cursing the Filmore family over their repaired and whitewashed back fences.

  Just like the good old days.

  But at the corner of Wilson and Pine, where the ruins of his childhood home should have sat, was a house newly painted a creamy yellow color. There were red flowers in window boxes and a shiny white front porch.

  “What the hell…?” His mouth fell open as he peered through the open passenger window at the vision.

  His heart squeezed uncomfortably.

  Man, I wish Mom could have seen it like this.

  Jesse pulled up to the curb, and stared, stunned, at 314 Wilson.

  That was his old house all right, but it looked nothing like it once had.

  Years ago, he’d thrown a rock through the front picture window after a fight with his father. His mom had covered the hole with cardboard because they couldn’t afford a new piece of glass that size.

  Now, the cardboard was gone, the replacement window surrounded by flowers nodding in the breeze.

  The porch where his father used to sit many nights drinking Scotch and getting mean no longer sagged, threatening to fall away from the house. And the hole Jesse had used to crawl under the porch on nights when Dad kicked him out was covered over. He’d learned later that his mother had kept the back door open for him the way she had for Rachel, when his sister had been the one thrown out into the cold desert night.

  All of his surprise and regret quickly boiled down to something much more familiar. Anger.

  His mother had left him the damn place as some kind of chain, forcing him back here. Worse, Rachel had been repairing it and shining it up pretty.

  Wonderful. A gold-plated chain.

  If Rachel thought she could stop him from getting rid of it—tearing the damn thing down if he had to—she was wrong. Rachel could dress up the house all she wanted, repair it and cover up the ugly parts, but underneath it was still the violent and angry home of his youth. There was not enough paint in the world to cover that.

  “Let’s go, Wain.” Jesse climbed gingerly out of the Jeep.

  Wain barked with an enthusiasm Jesse was far from feeling and trotted ahead to sniff and urinate on a hydrangea bush.

  Jesse pulled the key from around his neck, where it hung with his dog tags.

  He bent and picked up one of the solid decorative rocks that lined the walkway. He tested its heft and then hurled it through the front window. The glass shattered and Jesse smiled.

  Now, it looks like home.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JULIA ADAMS managed to eat three bites of the cinnamon roll she had grabbed from the motel vending machine then tossed it in a garbage can outside the Vons grocery store. She took another sip of the stale coffee from the motel lobby and dumped that out as well.

  She couldn’t get food past the slick bitter taste of nerves at the back of her throat. The anxiety had gathered steam as she and Ben walked into town from the motel and now she was a kettle about ready to blow.

  “I think Momma has made a mistake, Ben,” she said to her two-year-old son, even though he was sound asleep in his stroller.

  One mistake? How do you figure just one? The voice belonged to Mitch, her dead husband, always there to count her failings.

  She hit a crack in the sidewalk and the stroller under her hands swayed, thanks to the loose screws she’d tried repair a million times—the whole thing was just about shot.

  The streetlights blinked on and the world past the street receded to shadows. Dusk arrived to the desert town with a beauty Julia had never seen. The enormous sky turned purple and blue and the temperature finally cooled to a tolerable level.

  She and Ben h
ad missed the worst of the heat, having spent most of the day inside their motel room. Ben had napped and fussed, confused by the time change, and she’d stewed—replaying Agnes’s phone call in her head, wondering if she’d gotten the invitation all wrong.

  The smell of eucalyptus filled the air and Julia, trying to calm the twisting of her stomach, pulled off one of the flat round leaves and rubbed it between her fingers. The oil soaked into her skin, but it wasn’t enough to calm the raging nerves.

  She turned left and the reality of what she was doing came down on her like a hammer.

  She was about to knock on Mitch’s parents’ door. Her in-laws, who had never liked her, and say…

  “What?” she asked herself aloud. “Surprise! Can I stay a while? Here’s your grandson. Do you mind if I take a nap?” She took a deep breath. “Remember when you asked me to come for a visit? When you said you would be here for me?”

  I’ve finally lost it. I’m talking to myself!

  “Your mother’s a lunatic,” she told her sleeping son, just to prove the point.

  With Mitch gone, Julia only had her own mother, Sergeant Beth Milhow. Julia and Ben could have gone to live with her mom and continue the life she had known forever.

  A military daughter. A military wife. A military widow.

  But she couldn’t do it anymore. She wanted a family. Friends who had more in common with her than what their husbands did for a living. She wanted more than duty and loneliness so sharp it sliced at her. She had to try and find a better way, which was why she’d come to New Springs.

  What she really wished, if she were completely honest with herself, was that Jesse Filmore would be here. Last she had heard he was in the hospital in San Diego, which was close enough that he might head home if he still had family in the area. She’d settle for any kind of anchor that would pull him back to New Springs.

  This was her new life—a fresh start, and she wanted desperately to have Jesse in it.

  She was being foolish. She had enough on her plate dealing with her in-laws. The very last thing she needed to do was cloud up her head with romantic illusions…or delusions. Particularly about her dead husband’s best friend.

  But if she closed her eyes, she could still see Jesse’s dark eyes burning bright through the shadowy dawn.

  She pulled the envelope from Agnes and Ron’s last Christmas card out of her jeans pocket and checked it against the numbers on the houses. She turned at the corner at Wilson and Hemlock, walked down half a block until she found 12 Hemlock Street, a two-story brick house that was triple the size of the small army house she and Ben had called home in Germany for the past two years.

  She swiped at the sweat that beaded up on her forehead. Oh, God, why didn’t I call? What if Agnes changed her mind?

  She turned up the beautiful slate path toward the house. Her heart clogged her throat and with every heartbeat she saw spots in the corners of her eyes.

  The last thing she needed was to faint on the Adams’ doorstep. She tried to focus on the concrete reality: the flowering vines clinging to the red brick, the overgrown garden filled with jade plants and gorgeous lupine that were nearly choked out with weeds.

  Losing a son must put you off lawn work for a while.

  She clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the hysterical giggle that was nearly a sob. She was coming unglued. She stopped at the door—a wooden one, simple and solid with a small window at the top.

  She tried to smooth her short, dishwater-blond hair to get the worst of the haywire strands to settle down. Julia never bothered with makeup, and now she wished she had at least put on a little blush.

  Yeah, she laughed at herself, because your hair and makeup are really going to make her love you.

  She leaned down and looked at sleeping Ben. He’d woken up a few hours ago but his internal clock was screwy from jet lag.

  Julia tried to see her son with unbiased eyes, to find imperfections, but she couldn’t detect any. Even dead to the world he was still the cutest kid she’d ever seen. He had Mitch’s thick, white-gold hair with just a little curl. His eyes, when they were open, mirrored her own big blue ones. And, thanks to a genetic hiccup, he had a dimple in his chin.

  “Grandma Agnes is going to love you, Ben,” Julia whispered. “Even if she can’t stand me.”

  She didn’t give herself time to think, or change her mind or even imagine the worst possible outcome. She charged ahead and rang the doorbell.

  The seconds between pressing the small illuminated button and hearing someone on the other side of the door stretched unbearably. Slowly, the door swung open and an older, sadder version of Mitch wearing a faded plaid shirt stood there. He peered over the top of a pair of thin gold glasses. “Hello?”

  “Hi, um, Ron.”

  He flipped on the light over the door and Julia blinked, jerking back from the brightness. Ben woke up with a cry and clapped his hands over his eyes.

  “Oh, my,” Ron whispered.

  “Ron? Who is it?” a woman’s voice called from inside.

  Ron smiled and Julia felt every bit of tension and worry slide right out of her.

  “It’s Julia and Ben,” Ron replied, his smile growing until he started to laugh.

  “That’s not funny, Ron.”

  “I’m not kidding, Agnes.”

  Silence. And then the clatter of a pan hitting the sink and Agnes—a short, round woman with a curly nimbus of gray hair and a tea towel trailing like a silk scarf behind her—was running down the hallway toward them.

  “Oh, oh!” she cried, barreling past her husband to wrap her arms around Julia. Julia was awash in the scent of garlic and roses. Agnes’s strong wet hands gripped Julia’s back and she felt all the air rush from her body. Agnes dropped her arms and knelt in front of Ben.

  “Hello, hello, little boy,” she cried, tears running down her round cheeks.

  Julia shut her gaping mouth. This welcome was simply more than she could have hoped for. More than she’d ever dreamed.

  Careful, Mitch’s snide voice whispered. You always believe the things that are too good to be true.

  Julia, exhausted and emotional, ignored her dead husband’s voice. If this was too good to be true she would figure it out later, as she always did. Right now, she was swept up in the tide of the moment, helpless to stop this strange homecoming.

  “He looks just like Mitch, doesn’t he, Ron?”

  “Yes, he does,” Ron agreed, lifting his glasses to wipe his eyes. “Let’s get them in the door, Agnes.”

  “Of course.” Agnes started to get up and Julia held out a hand to assist and found herself back in her mother-in-law’s arms.

  “We’re so glad you’re here,” Agnes murmured. “Thank you for coming to us.”

  The icy silences between Julia and Agnes had seemingly melted away after Mitch had died in the helicopter crash. Julia had gotten a call from an inconsolable Agnes, who’d begged Julia to come to California, to bring Ben so they could get to know him—the only thing left of their precious son.

  Come, she’d said, we will be here for you.

  It had been a spell, an enchantment, we will be here for you. Words so foreign to Julia they might have been a different language.

  A million things rushed to Julia’s throat but all she could manage to say was a tight, “Thanks for having us.”

  “Are you hungry? Did you just get in? Do you have a place to stay? You have to stay here. We insist, don’t we, Ron?” They stepped through the foyer into a small dining room that opened into a large living room with a fireplace and bookshelves crammed with books.

  The dining-room table was freshly wiped down, the streaks still damp on the oak finish, and the smell of garlic and potatoes filled the air.

  Julia’s stomach roared to life.

  “I guess she’s hungry,” Ron said.

  Julia pressed a fist to her stomach. “You know, airline food,” she said with dumb chuckle. The truth was the rubbery airline sandwich was probably the best m
eal she’d had in weeks.

  Ron crouched, his knees cracking, to get a better look at Ben, who blinked owlishly at the old man. “Hello,” Ron said in a soft voice and everyone seemed to hold their breath, as if this were a test that they could all fail.

  After a moment, Ben reached out a curled fist and dropped a handful of raisins in Ron’s hand and smiled his heartbreaker smile.

  Ron and Agnes sighed in adoration.

  Nice one, Ben. Julia ruffled her son’s blond hair. They’re goners for sure.

  “We got in this morning.” Julia unhooked her son from the stroller and he pitched himself from the seat with his usual enthusiasm. “We’re over at the Motel Six on the highway.”

  “Oh, no,” Agnes gasped as if Julia had said, “We are living in trees.”

  “You have to stay here, we can’t have Mitch’s bab—”

  “You are welcome to stay here,” Ron interrupted. “We could go pick up your stuff and bring it back.”

  Julia and her overextended bank account heaved a sigh of relief. She had hoped they would offer, but the motel had been a necessary plan B. “That would be nice, thank you.”

  “We have so many questions.” Agnes took a deep breath and seemed about to launch into all of them and Julia braced herself with the limited reserves of energy she had left.

  “Agnes, the girl is asleep on her feet. Let’s get her some food and let her rest for a minute,” Ron cut in reasonably and Julia’s affection for the man leaped off the charts.

  Ben put his hand in Ron’s and pulled him toward the other room as though he wanted a guided tour.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just so excited.”

  Julia smiled. She didn’t have the energy to do more.

  “I’ve got roasted chicken and some potatoes,” Agnes offered. “It’s not very fancy but—”

  “That would be wonderful, thank you,” Julia whispered. Tears of relief and gratitude filled her eyes. Agnes ran off into the kitchen. Ben toddled toward the shelves and all of the books and magazines he, no doubt, could not wait to rip to pieces. Ron followed, his eyes glued to Mitch’s son.

  Suddenly alone in the room, Julia collapsed into a chair. All of the fear and hunger and worry that had been keeping her upright since getting the call that Mitch was dead disappeared.