“Great. I’m looking forward to it.”
When she’d said goodbye and replaced the wall phone’s receiver, Lindsay stared bleakly into space, her surroundings blurring. Ike was ruining her life. Last week, she’d enjoyed John’s company. He was a charming man, an interesting conversationalist, and seemed well versed on a variety of subjects.
But this week he felt like an obligation.
Chapter 3
Lindsay rose to clear away their dinner plates, biting her tongue for what seemed like the hundredth time. Since her dining room still wasn’t usable, she’d cut fresh French and white lilacs from the bushes out back, then arranged them in a glass vase with some trailing ivies and centered them on her kitchen table. Combined with a lacy white tablecloth and the white china she rarely used, they lent a pretty touch of grace to her remodeled oak, peach and mint kitchen.
She’d also popped in an instrumental CD her mom liked, and prepared orange-glazed chicken, baked potatoes and steamed broccoli with her mother’s health and preferences in mind. Unfortunately, at the moment none of it seemed to impress Arlene Hollis. The temperature in Lindsay’s kitchen had dropped ten degrees the instant she’d mentioned Ike’s name.
“Unbelievable,” Arlene continued angrily. “He’s in town less than twenty-four hours, and suddenly the clock’s turned back and you’re giving him whatever he wants, no matter how I feel about it.”
“Mother,” Lindsay replied calmly, “I’m not giving him anything, and I do care how you feel. He’s concerned that there might be a connection, and he simply asked me to speak to you about—”
“—desecrating your brother’s room and his memory. I heard you the first time. And the reason that man is concerned is he’s looking for someone else to shoulder his guilt.”
Arlene tore the napkin from her lap, dropped it beside her teacup and pushed to her feet. “Ricky told him that something bad would happen if he didn’t get out of town. And what did Ike do? He ignored your brother. He was more interested in his recovery fee than the pleas of a young boy who’d made an unfortunate mista—”
Tears choked off the rest of her sentence, and jumping up, Lindsay went to her petite mother’s side. There was no point in repeating that Ike hadn’t wanted a fee, or reminding her pretty blond mom that for most of his life, Ricky had cried wolf and blown his troubles and needs enormously out of proportion. Her mother was in no mood to listen.
Smoothing a hand over the shoulder of her mother’s pale pink sweater, Lindsay looked down into her hazel eyes. Eyes like Ricky’s. “Mom, please,” she said quietly, sincerely. “Calm down. It was a request, not a demand. If you feel that strongly about it, I’ll tell Ike that it’s not going to happen.”
Arlene blinked back her tears. “But you think it’s necessary.”
“Yes, I do. If someone deliberately—”
“The answer is no,” Arlene said more forcefully. “I don’t want that man in my home—not ever again. And mark my words, Lindsay, if you let him back in your life, he’ll destroy you all over again.”
Lindsay sighed at the ceiling, unable to hold back her frustration any longer. “Mom, neither of us wants to get involved again. We have separate lives now. It’s over. We’ve both moved on. In fact, we wouldn’t even be speaking if it wasn’t for yesterday’s shooting.”
Arlene’s tight expression never changed. She glanced at her wristwatch. “It’s getting late. I should be leaving.”
“It’s only seven o’clock. Stay for dessert. I made a nice fruit salad, and I picked up a quart of frozen peach yogurt.”
“I can’t,” she said, pushing away then moving into the living room where she’d left her purse and keys. “I told you earlier that your aunt Cheryl would be calling, and I don’t want to keep her waiting. It’s long distance to Bangor.”
Which made no sense at all, but Lindsay wouldn’t point that out or press for a better excuse. Her mother was obviously determined to leave and she wouldn’t stop her.
“Are you all right?” she asked when she’d walked her to the driveway where Arlene’s blue Toyota was parked.
“I’m fine,” she replied stiffly. “Rather, I will be as soon as that man goes back to Portland and leaves us alone.” After hugging Lindsay without warmth, she slid behind the wheel and smoothed her short salon cut before starting her car.
Then, abruptly, she turned off the ignition and got back out, tears rimming her hazel eyes again and a wealth of love in her voice. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” she murmured, embracing Lindsay again. “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset, especially after you made such a lovely dinner. Maybe we can have some of that peach yogurt another time soon.”
“Of course we can,” Lindsay replied, returning her hug.
Easing back, Arlene looked into Lindsay’s eyes again, her gaze troubled. “In my defense, I… Well, you know how much I miss your dad and brother. I—I just don’t want to lose you, too. Not again. And I’m afraid that could happen if you let him back into your life. He’s not good for you, sweetheart.”
Lindsay felt a guilty pang, even though she recognized her mother’s maneuverings. There’d been a tug-of-war for her affections after Ricky’s death, and for a while, her emotional mother had believed she was on the losing side. She’d never understood that they’d all lost in the terrible days that followed her brother’s passing.
“You’re not going to lose me,” Lindsay said gently. “We’re family, and I love you. But will you do something for me?”
“Anything, honey.”
“Think about what we discussed. Mom, this could be so important.”
For an instant, her mother’s gaze hardened again. Then she nodded, gave Lindsay another warm hug and drove off.
Sighing, Lindsay reentered her home and headed for the telephone on her computer hutch. Ike would be disappointed, just as she was. But that’s the way it had to be—for now, at least. They just had to hope that after her mother had given the search some thought, she’d see the need for justice and change her mind.
Taking his business card from the top of the hutch, Lindsay dialed Ike’s cell phone, feeling that emptiness in her chest again. It occurred to her that if she’d told her mom how totally disinterested Ike had been when she’d mentioned dating John Fielding, her mother wouldn’t have wasted a second worrying.
In a moment, his deep, recorded baritone came on. “This is Ike. Apparently, I’m out of range right now because this thing’s always turned on. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
“Hi, it’s me,” she replied soberly. “I’m just calling to tell you that it didn’t go well with my mother. I’ll talk to her again tomorrow—Saturday—after she’s had some time to think about it, then I’ll contact you again. No need to return my call. Have a good evening.”
But as Lindsay finished clearing the table and returning her pretty cut-glass dessert cups to the cupboard, she had to admit that she didn’t want him to have a good
