Reminding herself that those were all minor inconveniences easily fixed, Kenzie grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Heck, shed already relit the pilot light herself, and the worrisome smell of gas had dissipated. She sat on the brown living-room carpet, a shade probably chosen because it wouldnt show stains. That could come in handy with two kids. When the knock sounded at her door, she wasnt sure her legs would cooperate enough for her to stand, but she managed. Just barely.
Instead of the relatives shed expected, it was Mr. Carlyle, a short man of indeterminate age. His thick hair was the color of freshly fallen snow, unmitigated by gray, and he had exchanged the navy track suit hed worn this morning for an Atlanta Braves T-shirt with jeans and a tool belt.
Afternoon, Miss Green. He peered past her at the cardboard boxes stacked beyond. Her apartment looked like an elementary students homage to Stonehenge. You settling in okay?
More or less.
I wont bother you long, just came up to tell you the elevators working again.
Oh, happy day! She and Forrest would need to bring the mattresses up through the stairwell, but the elevator would make everything else easier. Thats wonderful news. Thanks, Mr. Carlyle.
Just doin my joband call me Mr. C. Everyone in the building does.
Its what JT had called the man this morning. For a moment, it was on the tip of her tongue to ask the property manager about the handsome mystery man. She assumed JT lived here, but didnt know that for sure. What was his last name? Did he ever smile? She ignored the random thoughts, telling herself they stemmed from exhaustion. Normally she was too worried about taking care of her own household to be nosy about others.
Kenzie had just finished giving Mr. C. a rundown of small repairs needed in the apartment when the elevator at the end of the hall dinged. The doors parted, and a teeming mass of cranky humanity spilled forth. Blond Leslie and dark-haired Drew led the way, bickering and power walking, each apparently determined to reach their mother first. Behind them, Anns infant daughter, Abigail, was screaming bloody murder in her car seat. As Ann approached, Kenzie saw two wet circles on the front of her sisters shirt and tried not to feel relieved that Ann looked harried for a change. With them was her husband, Forrest. At first glance, he seemed to be talking to himself, but Kenzie quickly realized that he was wearing an earpiece attached to his phone and was trying to set up a tee time.
Amidst the noiseperhaps because of it?the door directly behind Mr. C. opened, giving Kenzie a clear view of the person framed in the doorway. JT.
JT lived in the apartment across from her?
Her eyes locked with his, but calls of Mom! Mom! broke the spell. She looked toward her two kids and, in her peripheral vision, saw JT quickly shut his door. No doubt he was hiding on the other side, thinking, There goes the neighborhood.
FROM THE TWO HOPELESS expressions aimed at Kenzie as she set paper plates on the coffee table, one would think the kids were being served their last meal.
She sat cross-legged on the floor on the opposite sidetomorrow, shed get around to assembling the white pine dinette set. Guys, you know this is only temporary. Everything will get better soon.
Easy for you to say, her son said morosely. Youll meet new people at your job. How are we supposed to make friends this summer?
Kenzie knew from asking Mr. Carlyle that, of the twelve units in the building, ten were currently occupied, including hers and Mr. C.s, which was on the first floor. Hed said there were a few teenagers in the building and one toddler, but no other elementary-school-aged kids.
Drew heaved a dramatic sigh, sounding for a change just like his sister. Well practically be shut-ins until school starts!
The twins had protested that they were too old for day care. Kenzie had grudgingly said they could stay here by themselves for the duration of summer breakwith her coming home each day for lunch and Ann making habitual drop-ins to keep them on their toes. Yet even after theyd begged permission to stay alone, Drew managed to make it seem as if a form of torture was being inflicted on them.
School starts in a few weeks, Kenzie told them. It will be here before you know it!
Leslie picked at the crust on her tuna fish sandwich. I miss my friends.
After less than twenty-four hours? North Carolina isnt far. We can visit sometimes. Once we move into the house, well invite Stacy to come stay for a weekend.
What about Paul? Drew demanded from around a bite of sandwich. He never let being depressed stand in the way of his appetite. In fact, if Leslie continued to ignore her own food, hed probably ask if he could have it.
Sure, Kenzie said. We could invite Paul, too. If the two of you behave, and after were all settled.
You mean once we have furniture again? Drew asked.
With a spring starting to poke through the ugly upholstery, their thrift-store couch hadnt been worth the trouble to move. At this precise moment, just about everything seemed like more trouble than it was worth. But, as shed promised the kids, it would get better. She had a few more days before she was due at work; maybe they should check the budget and spend half a day on something fun.
Theres lots of cool stuff to do around Atlanta, she stated. Stone Mountain, the aquarium downtown, the Coke Museum, a planetarium. When she received only halfhearted murmurs of agreement, she played her ace. Six Flags?
Leslie glanced up with shining blue eyes. Really? You never let me go anywhere with roller coasters!
Well, its not like we had any theme parks in Raindrop.
You promise youll take us? Leslie asked skeptically.
Yes, but Ill need to get my first paycheck before we go.
At least thats something to look forward to, Drew allowed before his face fell again. We may not have had roller coasters back home, but I could have spent the summer swimming at Pauls. What kind of apartment doesnt have a pool? I thought that was, like, standard.
Instead of a pool, there was a communal balcony area on the roof, complete with grill and a couple of lounge chairs, which spared her the arguments about the kids swimming unsupervised while she was at work, thank goodness. This place isnt so bad. And its the only three bedroom we could afford.
Small bedrooms, Leslie muttered, joining her brother for a seat on the Whiny Train.
You guys would rather I find a place where you can share a room?
The twins exchanged looks of mutual horror, quickly chorused, No, Mom, and went back to their sandwiches without further complaint.
Drew didnt speak again until he was finished. Mom, can I ask you something?
Of course, sweetheart.
Leslie darted a glance at her brother, shaking her head emphatically. Uh-oh. Whatever was coming next, the twins had clearly discussed it alreadyand disagreed. Big surprise.
What is it, you guys?
Drew steadfastly refused to look at his sister, who was attempting to bore holes in his skull with her glare. Did you let Dad know we were moving? Does he have a way of, I dunno, reaching us here?
Oh, honey. Kenzies heart constricted into a tight fist. I left a message at his last known phone number, but the person who lived there said she hadnt seen your father in weeks.
Oh, honey. Kenzies heart constricted into a tight fist. I left a message at his last known phone number, but the person who lived there said she hadnt seen your father in weeks.
Told you. Using her thumb, Leslie crushed a corn chip on her plate. If he cared about seeing us, or even hearing from us, hed make it easier to find him.
You take that back! Drews features contorted in fury, but beneath the youthful rage, he looked achingly vulnerable. Kenzie wanted to pull him into her lap for the hug she knew he wouldnt accept. Dad does care.
Leslie rolled her eyes. You really are a dummy.
Leslie Nicole! You can apologize to your brother or go to your room.
The girl stood, her posture defiant.
Les Far from sounding angry now, Drews tone was imploring. He wanted her to share his belief that their father loved and missed them and would make more time when he finally hit it big. Drew was the one who still allowed himself to hope, and Kenzie thought that was why he was always the angriest when Mick let them down.
Leslie tried to feign indifference. When the subject came up, she informed people that she didnt miss her father and that they were better off without him. But Kenzie had heard Leslie sniffling behind closed doors after these declarations. Kenzie watched her daughter go now, wondering what was the best way to handle the situation. Which was more detrimentalverbally bashing her ex and disillusioning her kids, or allowing them fruitless hope?
Dad will visit us again, Drew maintained. Eventually.
They never knew when Mick would pop back into their lives. His sporadic phone calls usually cameat an inappropriate hourfrom wherever his band was playing. Most years he managed to send small, truck-stop Christmas presents that his son treasured as if they were gold. Three times since the divorce was final hed actually sent Kenzie cash. Mick Green wasnt an evil man, but he was unreliable, inconsistent and suffered tunnel vision, keeping his eye on an unlikely prize and clinging to a fantasy of what he wanted to be when he grew up. Just as he hadnt listened when shed said the Jagger-nots might not be such a great name for his band, hed resisted her suggestions over the years that maybe it was time to find a different way to earn a living. Preferably something that generated income.
Would it be best if he stopped contacting the kids altogether? Given the way Drew was looking at her now, his heart visible in his sapphire eyes, she couldnt bring herself to ask Mick to do that.
He could visit, she finally conceded. I think its unlikely well see him soon, but you never know.
Kenzie had never found time for another man in her lifenot that thered been a huge selection of age-appropriate bachelors in Raindrop. If she ever dated again, it would be a steady, predictable man with no creative aspirations. Someone she could depend on.
In the meantime, shed just keep depending on herself.
Chapter Three
Though JT routinely lost track of time, his stomach always growled right on schedule at six on Friday. Enchilada night, or possibly taco casserole. His doorbell buzzed at exactly the expected houryou could set a clock by Mrs. Sanchezand he crumpled the drawing hed been working on, tossing it in the general vicinity of an overflowing wastebasket. I should empty that. Mrs. Sanchez would bust his chops about the mess.
He opened the door of the apartment. Roberta Sanchez, whod raised four children and was approaching double that in grandkids, lived below him with her husband, a MARTA bus driver. When shed first heard that a widower had moved into Peachy Acres, shed shown up with a covered pot of chicken tortilla soup. Food had followed every Friday since, with flan on his birthday.
Buenas noches, Jonathan. She marched toward his kitchen with a foil-wrapped glass pan.
Nobody calls me that, he reminded her.
Over her shoulder, she hitched a dark eyebrow. Are you calling me a nobody?
Of course not.
Then shut up. Now be a good boy and find me a clean spoon, if such a thing exists here. No wonder you are uninspired to create beauty, living in such disorganization! Have you painted at all this week?
He rummaged through a drawer. You sound like Sean.
I sound nothing like that degenerate! She sniffed. You should have heard him flirting with my daughter Rosa in the elevator. Its inappropriate, the things he says to a married woman.
JT grinned inwardly, knowing full well that Mrs. Sanchez adored Sean, a feeling that was mutual even though Sean called her the Battle Ax.
She paused. Youre not expecting him, are you? Maybe I should have brought more.
He eyed the pan. That would feed an entire dinner party. Is Enrique working the night shift? You could join me.
If you want me to join you, you should clean up this pit first. Despite her words, she pulled two plates down from the cabinet. Ill stay. The good Lord knows my company is as close as youll get to a dinner party. You dont want to be a hermit, Jonathan.
Im doing my part to uphold the reclusive artist stereotype.
To qualify as an artist, shouldnt you produce art of some kind?
Touché. Nag, nag, nag. Its a wonder your children havent moved farther away.
She sniffed again, not dignifying his jibe with a response.
The Sanchez family was the kind of close-knit group neither JT nor Holly had ever possessed. Holly would have loved Mrs. Sanchez; initially, that had been why hed put up with the older womans intrusions. But shed won him over with her drill-sergeant tone and twinkling dark eyes. She seemed to understand his loss without ever expressing the cloying pity that made him want to withdraw more. Plus her cooking was a little piece of pepper-laced heaven.
JT didnt have a kitchen table, merely three padded, high-backed stools pushed up to the counter. He cleared away a pile of junk mail and an empty pizza box to make room for them to eat. Mrs. Sanchez pulled a carton of milk out of the refrigerator, opened it and immediately grimaced.
Jonathan, this milk is older than some of my grandchildren.
An unfair comparison. You have grandkids born every ten minutes! He said it lightly, but it was the Sanchez babies that had made him leave the rooftop Fourth of July picnic last month.
Roberta had browbeaten him into attending, but he hadnt been able to bear it for long. Just as he hadnt been able to bear the empty nursery in the house hed shared with Holly. After all the work shed put into it, wanting it to be perfect for their child, he couldnt bring himself to paint over a single duck or bunny. The crib hed assembled sat obscenely empty, and a month after hed lost his cherished wife and the daughter hed never had a chance to know, hed bent over the railing and finally cried, ugly hoarse sobs that felt as if they were splitting him in half. From the moment the doctors had given him the news at the hospital, throughout the memorial service, hed been too shocked and disbelieving to truly cry. Once he had, instead of feeling better for having poured out some of the pain, hed been pissed off at the senseless loss.
Hed locked himself in his studio, barely eating or sleeping, trying to purge his enraged grief with painting. When hed finished the series, hed been like a man coming out of a coma, disoriented and unsure of how much time had passed. Hed wandered through his own house like a ghost, stopping in the nurserythat bright, cheerful room where hed wept until he wished hed died with them. Then hed walked straight to the phone and arranged to put the house on the market, not caring where he lived as long as it was elsewhere.