Bed of Roses tbq-2 Read online

  “Thanks. Raise it back fifty more. I figured, what the hell am I waiting for? So I took the jump. Shell’s all about taking a look at your sister’s place. Maybe you can get me the Poker Buddy discount.”

  “Not a chance.” Del counted out chips. “But I’ll see your fifty. Seeing as it’s probably the end of poker and cigars for you.”

  “Hell, Shell’s not that way. Bet’s to you, Jack.”

  Pocket aces, probably. Rod never bluffed, or he sucked at it so wide you saw through it like a plate glass window. Pocket aces or a couple of pretty diamonds. Still . . .

  “I’ll stick. Consider it an engagement present.”

  “Appreciate it. We’re looking at next June. Shell wants the big splash. I figured, hey, we’ll just fly down to some island over the winter, get some sun, get some surf, get married. But she wants the big deal.”

  “And so it begins,” Mal said in funereal tones.

  “You’re having the big deal, right, Carter?”

  “Mac’s in the business. They do a great job. Make it really special. Personalized.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” Mal said to Rod. “You won’t have any say in it anyway. Just learn to repeat ‘sure, baby’ whenever she asks if you like something, want something, will do something.”

  “A lot you know. You’ve never been there.”

  “Nearly was. I didn’t say ‘sure, baby’ enough.” Mal examined the tip of his cigar. “Fortunately.”

  “I’m going to like being married.” Rod nudged his glasses back up his nose. “Settled in, settled down. I guess you’re heading in that direction, Jack.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve been tight with the hot florist for a while now. Off the market.”

  Del clamped his cigar in his teeth. “Are we playing poker, or should we start talking about where Rod’s going to register? Three players in for the river.”

  Del turned over the last card, but Jack was too busy staring at Rod to notice.

  “My bet. And I’m all in.”

  “That’s interesting, Rod.” Expression bland, Del puffed on his cigar. “I’ll cover it. How about it, Jack? You sticking or folding?”

  “What?”

  “Bet’s to you, brother.”

  “Right.” Off the market? What did that mean? He took a slow sip of beer, ordered himself to focus. And saw the river card was the deuce of hearts.

  “I’ll call.”

  “I got myself three bullets.”

  “And a GSW,” Del told him, flipping his cards over. “Because I’ve got two sparkling diamonds, just like the one you put on your sweetheart’s finger. King high flush.”

  “Son of a bitch. I figured you for the tens.”

  “Figured wrong. Jack?”

  “What?”

  “Jesus, Jack, show your cards or toss them in.”

  “Sorry.” He shook himself back. “Real sorry about the GSW and the sparkles. But I’ve got these two little deuces, that add up to four of a kind. I believe that’s my pot.”

  “You pulled a fourth deuce in the fucking river?” Rod shook his head. “You’re one lucky bastard.”

  “Yeah. One lucky bastard.”

  After the game, when Jack had the winner’s share of everyone’s fifty-dollar entry fee in his pocket, he lingered with Del on the back deck.

  “Since you’re having another beer, you’re figuring on flopping here?”

  “Thinking about it,” Jack said.

  “You make the coffee in the morning.”

  “I’ve got an early meeting, so the coffee’s going on about six.”

  “Fine. I’ve got a divorce deposition. Man, I hate it when a friend pressures me into handling a divorce. I hate fucking di vorce cases.”

  “What friend?”

  “You don’t know her. We dated off and on some back in high school. She ended up marrying this guy, moving to New Haven about five years ago. Two kids.”

  With a shake of his head he took a short pull of his beer. “Now they’ve decided they can’t stand the sight of each other, and she’s moved back here, staying with her parents until she figures out what the hell she wants to do. He’s pissed because she wants to live back here and it complicates visitation.” He tipped the bottle to the left. “She’s pissed because she put her career on hold to take the Mommy Track.” Then tipped it to the right. “He didn’t appreciate her enough, she didn’t understand the pressure he was under. The usual.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to handle any more divorces.”

  “A woman whose breasts you’ve once fondled comes into your office asking for help, it’s tough to say no.”

  “That’s true. It doesn’t happen often in my line of work, but it’s true.”

  Del shot him a smirk over another sip of beer. “Maybe I’ve just fondled more breasts than you have.”

  “We could have a contest.”

  “If you can remember all the breasts you’ve had in your hands, you haven’t had enough of them.”

  Jack laughed, tipped back in his chair. “We should go to Vegas.”

  “For the breasts?”

  “For . . . Vegas. A couple of days at the casinos, followed by a titty bar. So, yes, breasts would be involved. Just hang out for a couple days.”

  “You hate Vegas.”

  “

  Hate’s a strong word. No, better, we could go to St. Martin or St. Barts. Something. Play the tables, scope the beach. Go deep-sea fishing.”

  Del’s eyebrows rose. “You want to fish? To my knowledge you’ve never so much as held a fishing rod.”

  “There’s always a first time.”

  “Itchy feet?”

  “Just thinking about getting away for a few days. Summer’s coming. I got locked in last winter with work, and had to cut the week at Vail down to three days. So we can make up for it.”

  “I could probably stretch a long weekend.”

  “Good. We’ll do that.” Satisfied, Jack took another pull on his beer. “Weird about Rod.”

  “What?”

  “Getting engaged. It came out of the blue.”

  “He’s been with Shelly a couple of years. Not so blue.”

  “He’s never made any marriage noises,” Jack insisted. “I didn’t figure him for it. I mean, a guy like Carter, yeah. He’s the type. Come home from work every night, put on the slippers.”

  “Slippers?”

  “You know what I mean. Come home, make a little dinner, pet the three-legged cat, watch some tube, maybe bang Mac if the mood’s right.”

  “You know I try not to think about Mac and banging in the same sentence.”

  “Get up the next day, do it again,” Jack continued in a tone that edged toward a rant. “Add a couple of kids along the way, maybe a one-eyed dog to go with the three-legged cat. Bang less because now you’ve got kids running around. Deep-sea fishing and titty bars are a thing of the past because now you’ve got nightmare trips to the mall and daycare and a freaking minivan and college funds. And Christ!” He threw up both hands. “Christ, now you’re forty and coaching Little League and you’ve probably got a gut because who the hell has time to go to the gym when you’ve got to stop by the market and pick up bread and milk. Then you blink and you’re fucking fifty and falling asleep in the Barcalounger watching reruns of Law and Order.”

  Del said nothing for a minute, just continued to study Jack’s face. “That’s an interesting roundup of the next twenty years of Carter’s life. I hope they named one of the kids after me.”

  “That’s the way it goes, isn’t it?” What was this panic, this spurt of it rising up in his chest? He didn’t want to think about it. “The good part is Mac won’t be coming to you to file for divorce because it’ll probably work for them. And she’s not the type to freak out because he’s heading out to Poker Night or hit him with the ‘you never take me anywhere’ routine.”

  “And Emma is?”

  “What? No. I’m not talking about Emma.”

  “No
?”

  “No.” Jack took a deliberate breath, found himself mildly shocked by his own babble. “Things with Emma are fine. They’re good. I’m just talking in general.”

  “And in general, marriage is Barcaloungers and minivans, and the end of life as we know it?”

  “Could be a La-Z-Boy and a station wagon. I think they’re going to make a comeback. The point is, Mac and Carter will do okay with that. So . . . good for them. Not everybody can make it work.”

  “Depends on the dynamic, for one thing.”

  “Dynamics change. That’s why you’re doing a deposition tomorrow.” Calmer now, he shrugged. “People change, and the elements, circumstances, situation all evolve.”

  “Yeah, they do. And the ones who want it enough keep working at it through the evolutions.”

  Puzzled, and unaccountably annoyed, he scowled at Del. “Suddenly you’re a fan of marriage?”

  “I’ve never been an opponent. I come from a long line of married couples. I figure it takes a lot of guts or blind faith to go into it, and a lot of work and considerable flexibility to stay in it. Considering Mac and Carter, and their backgrounds, I’d say she’s the guts, he’s the blind faith. It’s a good combination.”

  Del paused, considered his beer. “Are you in love with Emma?”

  Panic spurted again. He washed it back with beer. “I said this wasn’t about her. Us. Any of that.”

  “And that’s bullshit, Jack. We’re sitting here having a last beer after a night where you came out on top and I hit near the bottom. Instead of ragging me, you’re talking about marriage, and deep-sea fishing. Neither of which have ever been of particular interest to you.”

  “We’re dropping like flies. You said it yourself.”

  “Sure I did. And we are. Tony’s coming up on three, maybe it’s four years now. Frank took the plunge last year, Rod’s engaged. Add in Carter. I’m not involved with anyone in particular right now, and neither’s Mal as far as I know. That leaves you, and Emma. Given that, it’d be surprising if Rod’s little announcement didn’t get your gears turning.”

  “Maybe I’m starting to wonder about her expectations, that’s all. She’s in the marriage business.”

  “No, she’s in the wedding business.”

  “Okay, good point. She’s from a big family. A big, tight, apparently happy family. And while weddings and marriages are different things, one leads to the other. One of her best friends since childhood is getting married. You know how those four are, Del. They’re like a fist. The fingers may wiggle individually, but they come out of the same hand. Just like you said you and Mal are in the field, from what I can tell so are Laurel and Parker. But Mac? That shifts things. Now one of my poker buddies is going to be talking wedding plans with them.

  That shifts things.”

  He gestured with his beer. “If I’m thinking about it, it’s a sure bet she is.”

  “You could do something radical and have an actual conversation with her about it.”

  “If you have a conversation about it, it takes you a step closer.”

  “Or it takes you a step back. Which way do you want to head, Jack?”

  “See, you’re asking me.” To emphasize the point, Jack shot a finger at Del. “She sure as hell will. What am I supposed to say?”

  “Again, radical. How about the truth?”

  “I don’t know the truth.” Okay, he thought, that’s the source of the panic. “Why do you think I’m freaked out?”

  “I guess you have to figure it out. You never answered the lead question. Are you in love with her?”

  “How the hell does anybody know that? More, how do they know they’re going to stay that way?”

  “Guts, blind faith. You’ve got it or you don’t. But from where I’m sitting, brother, the only person putting pressure on you is you.” Crossing his ankles, Del polished off his beer. “Something to think about.”

  “I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to let her down.”

  Listen to yourself, Del thought. You’re already sunk and don’t know it. “I don’t want to see that happen either,” he said casually. “Because I’d hate having to kick your ass.”

  “What you’d hate is for me to kick yours if you tried.”

  There followed the more comfortable interlude of insults over the last beer.

  Because he wanted to keep a close eye on Mac’s addition, Jack tried to swing by the job site every day. It gave him a spectator seat to The Life of Mac and Carter.

  Every morning he’d catch sight of them in the kitchen—one of them feeding the cat, the other pouring coffee. At some point, Carter would clear out with his laptop case, and Mac would get to work in the studio.

  If his swing-by came in the afternoon, he might see Carter walking back from the main house—but never, he noted, when Mac was with a client. The guy must have radar, Jack concluded.

  Occasionally one or both of them came out to check the progress, ask questions, offer him coffee or a cold drink, depending on the time of day he dropped by.

  The rhythm fascinated him enough that he stopped Carter one morning.

  “School’s out, right?”

  “The summer of fun has begun.”

  “So I notice you head over to the big house most days.”

  “It’s a little crowded in the studio right now. And noisy.” Carter glanced back toward the buzz of saws, the thwack of nail guns. “I teach teenagers, so I have a high tolerance for confusion, and still I don’t know how she works with the noise. It doesn’t seem to bother her.”

  “What the hell are you doing all day? Plotting pop quizzes for next fall?”

  “The beauty of the pop quiz is that it can be repeated endlessly through the years. I have files.”

  “Yeah, I bet. So?”

  “Actually, I’m using one of the guest rooms as a temporary study. It’s quiet, and Mrs. Grady feeds me.”

  “You’re studying?”

  Carter shifted his feet, a tell Jack recognized as mild to middling embarrassment. “I’m sort of working on a book.”

  “No shit?”

  “It may be shit. Parts of it probably are. But I thought I’d take the summer to find out.”

  “That’s great. How do you know when she’s cleared out—the clients? Does she call over, tell you it’s safe to come home?”

  “She’s trying to schedule clients in the morning, whenever she’s doing a shoot here, and shifting most consults over to the main house while the construction’s going on. I just check her book for the day, so I don’t come back during a shoot, break the mood or her concentration. It’s a pretty simple system.”

  “It seems to be working for you.”

  “Speaking of work, I didn’t expect all this to move so fast.” Carter gestured toward the studio. “Every day there’s something new.”

  “Weather holds and the inspections pass, it’ll keep moving. It’s a good crew. They should—Sorry,” he said when his phone rang.

  “Go ahead. I’d better get started.”

  He pulled out his phone as Carter walked off. “Cooke. Yeah, I’m on the Brown site.” As he spoke, Jack moved away from the noise. “No, we can’t just . . . If that’s what they want we’ll need to draw up the changes and get a revised permit.”

  He listened, continued to walk.

  His job visits also gave him a clear idea of Emma’s basic routine. Clients came and went like clockwork in the beginning of the week. Midweek, she’d take deliveries. Boxes and boxes of flowers. She’d be working with them now, he thought. Early start, on her own. Tink or one of the others would probably come in later, do whatever they did.

  In the middle of the day, if she could manage it, she’d take a break and sit out on her patio. If he was on-site, he’d squeeze in the time to sit out with her awhile.

  How could a man resist Emma sitting in the sunlight?

  And there she was now, he realized. Not on the patio, but kneeling on the ground, her hair bundled under a hat while
she turned dirt with a garden spade.

  “Tell them two to three weeks,” he said, and she turned, tipped up the brim of her hat and smiled at him. “I’m heading out from here in a few minutes. I’ll talk it over with the job boss. I’ll be in the office in a couple hours. No problem.”

  He flipped the phone closed, scanned the flats of plants. “Don’t you have enough flowers?”

  “Never. I wanted to plug in some more annuals here in front. It makes a nice show from the event areas.”

  He crouched, kissed her. “You make a nice show. I figured you’d be working inside.”

  “I couldn’t resist, and this won’t take long. I’ll put in an extra hour at the end of the day if I need to.”

  “Busy after the end of the day?”

  She cocked her head, slanted him a killer look from under the brim of her hat. “That depends on the offer.”

  “How about we go into New York for dinner? Someplace where the waiters are snobs, the food’s overpriced, and you look so beautiful I don’t notice either.”

  “I’m definitely not busy at the end of the day.”

  “Good. I’ll pick you up about seven.”

  “I’ll be ready. And since you’re here.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and took his mouth in a deep, dreamy kiss. “That should hold you,” she murmured.

  “Pack a bag.”

  “What?”

  “Pack what you need for overnight and we’ll get a hotel suite in New York. Make a night of it.”

  “Really?” She did a quick dance in place. “Give me ten seconds and I’ll pack right now.”

  “Then we’re on.”

  “I have to be back early, but—”

  “So do I.” This time he kissed her, catching her face with his hands, drawing it out. “That should hold you. Seven,” he said, and rose.

  Pleased with his idea and her reaction, he drew his phone out as he walked to his truck, and got his assistant busy making reservations.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I told him i could pack in ten seconds. I’m such a liar.” With the workday scrubbed off and every inch of her creamed and scented, Emma folded a shirt into her overnight case. “Obviously the coming home clothes aren’t a real issue, but . . .”