Right Back Where We Started Page 4

  Martina hummed her agreement. “I'll have you back in Chanel in no time, if you want. We'll fix your makeup and your hair. Get you right again.”

  “Maybe we could go to the Ladies’ Auxiliary meeting . . . I don't know when it is,

  but . . .”

  “We'll find out,” Martina agreed, squeezing her hand. “It would be good to go. Familiar things are good right now. They'll help you feel calm.”

  Carter stared at her, needing to connect with her, thank her, get on his knees and kiss her beautiful feet. She, on the other hand, seemed to be pointedly avoiding his gaze. The ladies chatted for a few minutes longer, then Cindy gave them a subtle nod toward the door.

  “We'll work out an official work schedule and use the pay contract we already established,” Cindy said, standing from the wing back chair. “We'll be in touch, Mr. Carpenter.”

  “Please, call me Carter. Thank you so much, Cindy. Thank you both,” he said, walking them to the door. Cindy was out the door already when he reached out to touch Martina’s elbow.

  “Don't,” she said, her voice low. Right. He felt her coldness like a slap. Apparently, all the warmth she still had for Willow didn’t extend to him. It shouldn’t have surprised him . . . but it still hurt. But he couldn’t afford to tick her off.

  “I'm sorry,” he said quickly, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. “I won't—I'm sorry.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Can we talk? Tonight, once she's in bed?”

  “I'm not coming here at night.” Martina turned back toward the car.

  “Annie's, then. Please, Tini.” She visibly straightened at the nickname, and he winced. Don’t overplay your hand, Carpenter. “I just want to clear the air before you start work. Please.”

  She sighed, her breath fogging in the October cold. “Annie's. Nine o’clock. Don't be late.”

  “I won't be late. Thank you.”

  “You're welcome, Mr. Carpenter.” She hurried down the steps like she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ANNIE'S WAS QUIET WHEN she walked in at 8:35. She'd wanted to get to pick their spot, giving him no opportunity to choose their former favorite booth. He was already there, though, but apparently he’d had the same thought, because he sat at the bar. He still looked very nervous, and she reminded herself that his emotional state was no longer her concern. That heart was off-limits. Big ol' “do not enter” sign there. Maybe she could get him to wear a t-shirt to that effect. She slid onto a stool at the bar and signaled Annie. The middle-aged white woman came over, wary.

  “This is a familiar scene . . .” she said, drying a pint glass.

  “No, it's not. A ginger ale, please.”

  “Get whatever you want, I'm buying.” Carter pulled out his wallet.

  “No.” She put her hand over his, and he stilled, not looking at her. “Let's establish some ground rules, right now.”

  He slowly put his wallet away, nodding. “Okay.” Annie smirked at her, then moved off to get her soda.

  “First of all, unless I am working at your house, I will provide my own food and drinks. This will not be a weekly or even monthly occurrence. I know there will be times when we need to discuss things about your mother's care; those meetings should occur at the house during work hours. There will be no cutsie nicknames,” she said, ticking the items off on her fingers, “there will be no incidental touching. There will be no discussion of the past unless it benefits your mother. What happened between us is ancient history.”

  Crash was spinning slightly on his stool, a power move that showed his abs off against his shirt, but his voice was small. “So I'm not allowed to call you Tini?”

  “No. You may call me Ms. Lopez at work. And I'll call you Mr. Carpenter.”

  “Can I say something?”

  She gestured for him to go ahead as she accepted her drink and took a sip.

  “I just . . . I just really appreciate you doing this for me. I should've talked to you about it before I requested you through the agency. I was just afraid you'd say no.”

  “A heads up would have been nice,” she agreed. “But having seen her in the grocery store . . . I understand.”

  “I needed you. She knows you, likes you. And I know we can both trust you completely.” He lifted his ice-blue gaze to hers, and she saw how sincere he was. It was quite the switch from the brash, bossy young man she'd known before.

  “How do you know I won't exact my revenge for our breakup?” She drew circles in the condensation on her glass with her thumb, letting it trickle down the glass.

  “Because I know you, Ms. Lopez. You're a professional. You wouldn't do anything to hurt my mom.” Crash's easy smile was missing. She realized she hadn't heard him laugh even once since she'd seen him at his house. Where was his mile-a-minute humor, his way of elbowing into every decision, his golden boy posturing?

  “True.” She kicked a foot gently against his stool. “Do you have any conditions?”

  Was that surprise on his face? Why shouldn't this go both ways? She shouldn't be the only one who got to dictate how things would be.

  “I . . . I'm just so relieved you agreed to take the job, I don't think I deserve to put any conditions on it.”

  She lifted her hand to place it over his, then remembered her own rule: no incidental touching. Harder than it looked, really.

  “Of course you do,” she said, flipping her part to the other side of her head with the hand she’d lifted. “Come on. There must be something you want or don't want.”

  “Honestly, I . . . I don't know. I don't think so.” He was staring down into his lager, which bubbled quietly. “I'm fine with whatever.” Crash, with no opinion? Going with the flow, stammering through his sentences? This felt wrong.

  “It's been a hard few months for you, hasn't it?” Geez, they'd been together twenty minutes, and she was already plowing through the caution signs she'd set up for herself. Stop it. Stick to the plan. Stop . . . caring.

  “I can't talk about this with you.” His gaze was dead, shut down.

  “You can if it's part of your mother's care.”

  “Ms. Lopez,” he began. Oh, that name sounded awful coming from his mouth. When someone's lips have kissed you, your professional name suddenly became repulsive falling from them. “I asked for you because it would comfort my mother. I need your help, I do. And I knew you would want to help us if you could, because that's the kind of person you are. But honestly, I don't think I need to draw a lot of boundaries around our professional relationship, because I won't be around much. I'll pay you on time, through the agency. I know that the relationship we had is gone now. I don't like it, but I know it.” He took a long pull on his beer. “My therapist says it's good to accept things as they are, not as you want them to be. So I'm not trying to trick you or mislead you; I just need your help. And lucky for me, I can afford it.” He turned to her more fully. “But if this is going to make you uncomfortable, I understand if you want to turn the job down.”

  “No . . .” He'd never been a bad guy at heart, even if some of his choices were very immature; they'd just wanted different things. Different things that he hadn't bothered to clarify when she was talking about their future together . . . had he been selfish? Yes. He was still being selfish, really. Only a selfish person would ask their ex for such a personal favor. “No, it's all right. I'll take the job.” Because that’s what it was: a job, not a favor. What was the worst-case scenario? He'd make a pass at her, and she'd have every right to tell Cindy that she wanted a new assignment.

  No, her mind commented loudly, the worst case is that he makes a pass at you, and you don't stop him, because you're lonely and you're still in love with him. A new boyfriend would be essential, she'd already decided, just so she had more incentive not to get with Crash, and she already had one picked out: Greg Trout, one of the interns from the hospital. He seemed like a nice guy, and she'd never been unfaithful to a boyfriend. She wasn't going to
start now. But ending up back in a relationship with him, as her employer? Cindy had already made it clear that was not an option. So she'd find another outlet for her romantic intentions . . . just a fling. Something to keep her mind off him.

  “Here's the thing,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “I want someone with real medical knowledge; lots of people can make sure she doesn't fall in the bath and wipe her mouth. I want someone who can make medical decisions, treatment decisions. I don't want her going back to the hospital; I mean, she can go see her neurologist when needed. But people are much more likely to die from a secondary infection during a hospital stay than those who can rehabilitate at home, and I don't want her to have to be hospitalized. So your role is going to be preventative as well.”

  “Well, I do have my Master's—”

  “I know. And here's the last thing: I'm going to pay you what you're worth.”

  She sat up straighter. Her debts weren't drowning her, but she was treading water a little. Her father had paid for her undergrad, but she'd refused him for her Master's out of pride. It was a decision she was proud of, looking back. But the way he was talking now made her nervous.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means Cindy and I came up with a number, and you're not going to argue about it.”

  “But I don't have any real experience yet . . .”

  “I don't care. Her pay scale was too low, based on my research. You have the experience I care about: a relationship with my mom that has positive associations for her. And your education makes you very valuable to me as an employee.”

  “I see. And what number is this?”

  He did smile then, just half of one, just a hint of it, really, the left side of his mouth hitching up. “You'll find out when you get paid.” He drained the rest of his drink and dropped a twenty on the bar. “Thanks, Annie,” he called, then turned to Martina. “Can I walk you to your car?”

  “No, I think I'll stay for a while.”

  Crash frowned a little, then shrugged. “Suit yourself. See you Monday.”

  “Okay.” As she watched him walk away, she couldn't help but shake her head. She'd walked in here so ready to lay down the law with him . . . and now, all that fire was gone. Dust. Cold.

  “Didn't think I'd ever see you two back here together again . . .” Annie said, her voice low under the chatter of the game on the TV.

  “Me neither.” Martina wiped her mouth. “But it wasn't a date. This is just business.”

  “Uh-huh. Is that why he paid Gray and Booker $20 to move somewhere else?”

  She sighed, letting her head fall to her arms. “This is a mistake, isn't it?” Martina was all about learning from experience, she just preferred that it be someone else's experience. Making her own mistakes wasn't her first choice, or even her fourth or fifth choice.

  “Couldn't say,” Annie mused. “Though I do see a lot of people make mistakes here. You'd think I'd be an expert by now.”

  Martina snickered. She'd take a distraction right now, and her imagination was sent spinning with that thought in mind. “What's the most romantic thing that’s ever happened here?”

  The barmaid dried her hands, her gaze thoughtful. “I don't know that romance is really happening around here. Not like you mean it, anyway.”

  “Oh, come on,” Martina pressed. “No engagements because they had their first date here? No long-lost loves finding each other again?”

  “You read too much People magazine,” Annie said, grinning. “Well, I take that

  back . . .”

  “Yes?” She pressed forward, putting her chin in her hands and her elbows on the bar like Annie was about to tell a fairy tale.

  “I'm pretty sure Darby Ferris and Shane Billingham hooked up in the back of her 4Runner a few months ago.”

  Martina stuck out her tongue. “That's old news, she delivered their baby a year ago.”

  Annie's eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really? Last I heard, we didn't know who the daddy

  was . . .”

  Martina pulled her lips to the side. Her friend Winnie had delivered the baby, which is the only way she knew Shane had been there.

  “Well, let me rephrase that: he was there when Bailey was born. I guess I don't know for sure she’s his.”

  “Seems pretty likely, though.”

  “Don't tell anybody, okay?”

  “Tell them what?” Annie asked innocently, then gave Martina a wink as she moved down to the other side of the bar where Gray was signaling her. Martina brushed away the guilt she felt about spreading gossip; it wasn't a HIPAA violation or anything, but she should know better. Sometimes the news was just too good: it was just too tempting to let secrets spill out. And even this bit of juicy gossip had her thinking . . . she didn't know Darby was still seeing Shane. Last she knew, she was trying to do the single mom thing all by her lonesome, and it wasn't going all that well. She had moved back in with her mom a few weeks ago. Darby and Shane’s relationship, if it could even be called that, was volatile at best . . . it reminded her more than a little of how she and Crash had been. Martina felt her gaze drifting to the TV.

  “Oh, come on,” she yelled in unison with half the bar as a 49ers defender took down a Browns cornerback in what was clearly a flagrant horse collar. “That's a no call? Seriously? You've got to be kidding me . . .” She wouldn’t mind if the Browns won, since it would weaken the 49ers’ record against the Seahawks in November. Then again, they were going to meet the Browns next week in Cleveland, so it wouldn’t hurt for them to be demoralized. The Seahawks historically didn’t do as well on the road.

  Right now, any distraction was welcome. Anything so that she didn’t have to think about what working for her ex was going to be like.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AT 12:58 P.M., HIS mother was scrolling through her phone in the waiting room of the hospital, seemingly unbothered by the people and noise around her. That, at least, was something to be thankful for. The rest of the situation was stressful enough as it was. Carter checked his phone again: no messages from his father, and it was two minutes until his mom’s appointment was supposed to start. Once the hospital had realized who they were (i.e. the family who’d funded most of the new pediatrics wing), they’d moved up her CT scan and MRI, and now they were ready to finally get the results, and hopefully, a diagnosis.

  He hated that his father had thrown his weight around to make that happen, but progress was progress. He wondered obliquely what this process was like for people who didn’t have his family’s influence. 12:59. Carter wanted to pace or bang his head against the wall, but it wouldn’t do any good. His father showed up when he wanted to. He pulled out his phone to text his assistant.

  Carter: Is he on his way?

  Mrs. B: As far as I know. I canceled the appointments that overlapped.

  Carter: Okay, thanks. Sorry to bother you.

  Mrs. B: Oh, were you bothering me? I didn’t think so.

  Mrs. B: I’ll make a note for future interactions: inquiries into his father’s whereabouts when he’s due at important appointments are bothersome.

  Carter smiled in spite of himself; he liked Nancy.

  “Willow Carpenter?” The nurse, a thin black woman with braids, stood at the doorway smiling. Carter nudged his mom, who stood up and followed him back into the offices. He couldn’t help but look over his shoulder, in case his dad showed up. But when they got to the office door, his anxiety melted away as he heard his father’s laugh through the door. Melted and re-formed into anger as it hardened. He didn’t have ten seconds to shoot him a text and let him know he was already here?

  The nurse gave a cursory knock, then opened the door for Carter and his mom.

  “Ah, here they are,” Dr. Rose said, as if they were late. “We were wondering.”

  His mom gave a gracious smile, the kind that told him she didn’t know what she was doing here. Carter guided her to the chair next to Harrison, and then leaned against the wall, since all the chairs were ta
ken.

  “Carter, you can grab a chair from the nursing station if you’d like . . .” Dr. Rose said.

  “No, no. I’m fine. Please, go ahead. I don’t want to put you behind schedule.”

  The doctor sighed. “Well, Mrs. Carpenter, as far as I can tell, we’re looking at early-onset Alzheimer’s as the source of your memory issues.”

  “I’m dying?” she asked, her voice shaking, and Carter leaned forward to offer her his hand, which she took immediately.

  “Well, no. Not any time soon. This condition can go on for years, but it does deteriorate a person’s mental capacity as well as their muscle tone. But there are some wonderful new drugs out there, and we’re going to find the ones that are right for you. Your new medical staff member has been in contact with me, and she and I will discuss some possibilities, but for now, just know that you’re in good hands.”

  Willow sat silently, just staring at the desk. Harrison reached out to touch her shoulder. She jerked away, leaning closer to Carter, and he watched his father’s expression harden.

  “I want to go home,” she whispered to Carter.

  He knelt next to her chair. “Can we stay just a few more minutes? I have some questions for Dr. Rose . . .”

  “I’ll wrap up for us,” his father broke in. “You two go ahead.”

  But you don’t know what my questions are . . . He nodded anyway, giving both men a smile as he led his mom back out into the hall. Maybe Martina could help him understand more about the condition, now that they had an official diagnosis. He’d been surprised to hear that she’d already been in touch with Dr. Rose . . . but then again, she was good. He should’ve figured she’d be on top of things.

  THAT NIGHT, AT ELEVEN o’clock, Carter woke to the sound of a piano. He stumbled out of bed and down the hall, not bothering to put a shirt on. Willow sat at the big black Steinway, eyes closed, playing a slow, mournful song he didn’t recognize. He leaned against the doorway, listening, watching her. He’d never known his biological mom; Harrison didn’t talk about her or have any pictures. From what he knew, Harrison had cheated on her, paid her a big old settlement to leave quietly, and then hired Willow to care for the three boys. Since Willow and Harrison eventually married, and Willow and the boys looked so alike, people assumed she was their mother. And more than that, she’d always been his protector from his father, as much as she could. She’d pled his case on more issues than he could count, and he knew it was the same for his brothers. But now it was his turn to protect her, to try to take care of her, if he could.