As was tradition, Peter and Jennifer sat on the floor, using the couch as a backrest. Tom stretched out in front of the fireplace.
“Did Rachel and Tiffany go for their night out?”
Peter nodded. “They left about six-thirty.” He opened the box of cookies and offered Jennifer one. She accepted. “They were going to get ice cream, Tiffany finally decided she wanted one of those two-scoop sundaes, then they were going to the show.”
“Tom, how was your day?”
Her nephew had pulled out the sports page of the newspaper and was reading intently. “It was good,” Tom replied absentmindedly.
Jennifer looked over at Peter and shared a smile. Tom was a reader. A very intense, careful reader. There was always one in the family. Jennifer had lightened up over the years, but she could also be like Tom, totally absorbed in something.
“Tom.” Peter finally got his attention. “It’s not polite to ignore your hostess.”
“Sorry, Aunt Jen,” he apologized.
“Look on page 26, there is an article about the state soccer finals,” she said, apologizing as well for interrupting him.
“Really?” Tom turned the next few pages. “Thanks.”
The show credits rolled by. Peter reached for the remote and adjusted the sound. Jennifer settled back, propped her knees against the coffee table, a cold glass of diet cola cradled in her hands, got comfortable. It was going to be a great game.
“Nice socks, Jen.”
Jennifer admired the bright rainbow of colors on her feet. “I bought them for myself last Tuesday.” Right after I bought a very expensive dress to wear to a play you still don’t know I went to see.
The sports page landed back in the basket with the rest of the paper. “There’s Grant,” Tom said, excited.
They were playing in San Diego and it was a nice night there, low seventies, no wind. Perfect game conditions.
It was a disappointing first quarter. The announcers explained away the repeated pass run, pass punt as the teams were feeling each other out. That was one way to describe it. Jennifer could think of a few others. If a receiver broke free and clear, the quarterback got sacked. If it was a good pass, the receiver dropped it. Punt returns consistently got stopped within five yards. The snacks started to disappear, but there was little excitement among the threesome watching the game.
Tom disappeared into the kitchen at the end of the quarter in search of some ice cream.
“Like a refill?” Peter gestured to the empty glass she was holding.
Jennifer handed it to him. “Thanks. Let’s hope the second quarter is not quite so dead.”
Peter smiled. “What is it they say about expectations? Low ones are the only kind that don’t lead to disappointment?” He handed back her refilled soda.
“Very true,” Jennifer admitted. Her right hand slid up the back of her neck and massaged the tight muscles, lessening the pain building inside her head.
“Here, Jennifer, give me back the glass and turn around.” Peter had seen the gesture.
Jennifer handed him the glass and turned toward the fire. Peter gently massaged her shoulders. “You’ve been working too hard again.”
“Hmm.” The massage felt great. Peter still needed a little practice before he would be as good as Jerry had been, but he wasn’t bad at all. “I completed twenty more pages today,” Jennifer said, dropping her head forward so Peter could work on her neck.
“You are still planning to end the series?”
“Yes.”
“When was the last time you saw your doctor, Jennifer? These headaches are getting more and more frequent.”
“Last month. He said to quit crying so much,” Jennifer replied, muffled.
Peter’s hand worked along the vertebrae in her neck. “Still having bad nights?” he asked, concerned.
Jennifer nodded. “Not as frequently, but yes, I’m still having bad nights,” she admitted. She gingerly rolled her head. “That’s much better, Peter. Thanks.”
“Sure.”
“Aunt Jen, do you have any of those chocolate sprinkles left?”
“Try over the sink, Tom.” She looked over at her brother. “How in the world can he eat all that stuff and never get sick?”
“I want to know how he can eat all the stuff and not gain weight,” Peter replied. “He’s a bottomless pit.”
“I’m a what?” Tom had returned.
“A bottomless pit.”
Tom grinned. “I’m a growing boy, Dad.”
Peter gave him a playful swat. “You won’t always have that hollow leg.”
A sleepy boy appeared in the doorway. Jennifer saw him first. “Hi, Alexander. Come on in.”
“Hi, Aunt Jenny. I fell asleep.”
“Come sit beside me,” Jennifer offered, hiding a grin. Alexander was so adorable when he was sleepy.
“Hi, champ.” Peter gave him a hug, lifted his son over to sit between himself and Jennifer. She gently combed his hair with her fingers.
Alexander looked over the food with interest, starting to wake up. “What have I missed?”
“Nothing,” Tom replied, somewhat disgusted with the performance of his favorite team.
Jennifer offered Alexander a cookie.
“Nice socks, Aunt Jen,” Alexander said gravely.
“Thank you, Alex,” Jennifer replied with a smile. His own socks were blue with lots of little brown footballs. It was tradition between the two of them to give each other socks for Christmas; Alex was almost as opposed to shoes as Jennifer.
The second quarter of the game started. The home team actually put together a decent drive before fumbling on the twenty yard line. The phone rang.
“I’ll get it,” Peter said, motioning his sister to stay put. “It’s probably Rachel. She said she would call when they got home.” He got to his feet to get the phone in the kitchen.
He was gone only a few minutes. He came back to lean against the doorjamb. “Jennifer, it’s for you. He said his name was Scott?”
Jennifer’s eyes closed briefly. “I’ll take it in the bedroom,” Jennifer replied, knowing that statement only dug her a deeper hole, but needing the privacy. She was going to get grilled as soon as she got off the phone. She shifted Alexander so she could get her legs clear of the coffee table. She passed her brother, choosing not to meet his eyes.
In the bedroom she turned on the lamp on the end table. Took a deep breath. Pulling together her nerve, she picked up the phone. “Hi, Scott.”
“I’m sorry, Jennifer. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Jennifer cut him off. “My brother, Peter, and his boys are over. We’re just watching the Monday-night football game.”
“Who’s winning?” She could tell he was relieved.
“The San Diego Chargers. The 49ers can’t execute even a simple screen pass tonight. It’s awful.”
Scott chuckled. “I didn’t know you were a football fan.”
“Monday-night football is something of a tradition at my place,” Jennifer explained.
“I just wanted to call and say hi. I’m just leaving work.”
“Problems?”
“Just a lot of paperwork to catch up on,” Scott replied. “How’s the book coming?”
Jennifer pulled her feet up on the bed to get comfortable. “Good. I wrote twenty pages today.”
“You sound tired.”
Jennifer smiled. Perceptive man. “I am.” She propped the second pillow behind her back.
Scott, at his desk fifteen miles away, quietly tapped his pen against the pad of paper in front of him. He had been doodling her name along the edge of the pad of paper, then finally decided to call her. He swiveled his chair around to look out over the surrounding countryside. The city lights were hazy tonight.
“I’ve got a favor to ask,” he said, having finally made up his mind how to handle the dilemma he found himself in. Having canceled out on taking Twiggy to see the play in order to take Jennifer, he was now on the hook to his sis
ter.
“Name it, Scott.”
“My sister, Heather, wants to meet you. Would you be game after dinner next week to stopping by her place for coffee?”
Jennifer’s memory for certain things was very good. Scott’s comment that Heather was pregnant was still clear in her mind. Could she handle meeting her? Jennifer simply did not know. But to say no would force her to talk about some things she simply was not ready to talk about. She forced a lightness in her voice that she was far from feeling. “That would be fine, Scott.”
“We won’t stay long.” Her hesitancy had not escaped him. “Thanks, Jennifer.” He glanced at his watch, realizing he’d keep her on the phone almost twenty minutes. “I had better let you get back to the game.”
“Thanks for calling.”
He smiled. “I’ll talk to you later, Jennifer. Good night.”
“Good night.” Jennifer set down the phone quietly. It was several minutes more before she got the nerve to venture back to the living room.
Alexander had moved down to stretch out beside his brother.
“The 49ers scored just before the half ended. They are ahead seven to three,” Tom informed her, his gaze never leaving the display of stats being shown during the halftime break.
Jennifer smiled. “Great. Let’s hope they walk all over the Chargers in the second half.” She took her seat again on the floor beside Peter. Peter handed her back her drink.
“Who is he?” Peter asked quietly.
Jennifer knew there was no way to duck the questions. Frankly, it was nice to know Peter was still there to run interference. Even if it was not needed in this case. “A friend. We went out to dinner and a play last Saturday night.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Scott Williams. He runs an electronics company.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“On the beach when I was taking a walk.” In for a penny, in for a pound. “He fixed me breakfast last time.” It was clear she had thrown him a hard curveball. Jennifer reached over to put her hand on his arm. “Relax, Peter. You would like him. He’s active in his church, single. He’s a nice man. He’s read all the Thomas Bradford books now. We’re friends.”
“You like him a lot?”
Jennifer nodded, surprised with how true the answer was. “Very much.”
“Does he know about Jerry and Colleen?”
Jennifer looked away. “He knows about Jerry,” she replied.
Peter’s hand touched her arm. He offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I’m prying, Jennifer.”
“That’s okay. I’ve been kind of ducking telling you about him.”
“I notice,” Peter replied dryly. “That’s why you couldn’t stay for dinner Saturday?”
She nodded.
Peter gestured toward the other room. “Did he ask you out again?”
Jennifer chuckled. “We already have a date arranged, brother, dear, that was a hi-how-are-you call.”
“It takes half an hour to say hi? You who can’t stand talking on the phone?”
Jennifer thumped him with a pillow pulled off the couch. “Yes. Now lay off,” she ordered with a grin.
“I can’t wait to tell Rachel.”
Jennifer groaned. “Don’t you dare elaborate, Peter. She already suspects something.”
“Have you told Beth yet?”
“Are you kidding? She’d be buying a maid of honor dress within the hour.”
“Face it, Jennifer. You’re surrounded by serious matchmakers.”
“Just don’t you join their numbers,” Jennifer warned.
Peter laughed. “When do I get to meet him?”
“Never,” Jennifer muttered beneath her breath.
“What?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. The second half of the game began, buying her a reprieve. The 49ers finally won the game but it took them until the final few seconds, a field goal giving them a two-point lead.
Alexander was asleep again. Even Tom was nodding off. The caramel popcorn was three-quarters gone, Jennifer and Peter having both begun to work seriously on it during the fourth quarter of the game. Peter got slowly to his feet as the commentators gave the game wrap-up. Jennifer began packing up the remains of the chips and dip and the snack crackers. If they left it with her she would eat it. While her doctor would definitely like her to gain ten pounds, she didn’t think this was what he had in mind. Tom held the sack for her. “Thanks, Tom.”
“Alex, it’s time to go home, son.” Peter gently woke the boy. Alex reluctantly got to his feet. “Who won?”
“The 49ers,” Peter replied. Alex could not keep his eyes open. Peter picked him up. “I’ll be back in a minute, Jennifer. Let me get this one settled in the car.”
Jennifer nodded. “Tom, can you reach the porch light for your father?”
The glasses back on the tray, it took only a couple minutes to put the room back in order. Jennifer carried the tray into the kitchen.
“Thanks for having us, Jennifer.”
She smiled at her brother. “Same time next week?”
He smiled. “Deal. I’ll get Tom to help me make some homemade ice cream.”
Jennifer groaned. “I am so full that doesn’t even sound good.”
Peter looked at the bowl of caramel popcorn. “We did a pretty good job on that,” he agreed. He smiled. “Let me know when you hear from Scott again.”
She pushed him toward the door. “Go home, Peter.”
The phone rang as she was getting ready for bed.
“What’s this I hear about you having a date?”
Jennifer sat down on the bed. “And hello to you too, Rachel.”
Rachel laughed. “Sorry. Who is he, Jennifer?”
Jennifer settled back against the headrest, using the pillows to get comfortable. It did feel nice to be able to talk to someone who she knew would adore the entire the story. “Do you want the short story or full tale?”
“Peter is putting the boys to bed. Give me the entire story.”
“I was walking on the beach. He said hello. Scared the daylights out of me because I didn’t realize he was there. You know how jumpy I am when I’m tired. This was the morning after I’d given myself that great shiner. He jumped to the conclusion that I was a battered wife or something, because he apparently tried to track me down afterward.”
“Jennifer, you didn’t explain?”
“I didn’t think it was any of his business. I had just met the guy.” She smiled. “The story gets better.”
“He found out I was an author and somehow got in touch with Ann because I got this message from her saying that some guy was trying to get in touch with me. She relayed the message he had left and I about died. His message said ‘Come stay with me.’”
“Oh, my.”
Jennifer laughed. “I went back to the beach, figuring he probably walked there every morning about the same time. Sure enough, I met him again. After I explained the real circumstances, we ended up having breakfast together, and he invited me out to dinner and a play. I had a good time.”
Rachel cut her off. “Hold it, Jennifer, I’m still trying to get beyond you had breakfast with him.”
Jennifer chuckled. “I like this guy.”
“I can tell. What’s he look like?”
“Six foot two. Brown hair. Blue eyes. He’s thirty-eight. Athletic. He has very expressive eyes.”
“Are you going to see him again?”
“Dinner a week from Thursday,” Jennifer replied.
“Well I’m glad you’re dating again.”
“We are becoming good friends, but that is as far as this will ever go, Rachel. Jerry and Colleen are still too big a part of my life to seriously make room for someone else right now. In a couple of years it will be different. Right now is just bad timing.”
“Are you sure Jennifer? He sounds perfect.”
Jennifer chuckled. “Nobody is perfect. Not even Jerry,” she admitted.
“Peter i
s telling me to get off the phone.”
Jennifer laughed. “I told him not to tell you.”
“As if your brother could ever keep a secret,” Rachel replied. “Besides, I twisted his arm. He had orders to find out where you were Saturday night. I tried to call and you weren’t home.”
Jennifer laughed. “Thanks, friend. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Sweet dreams, Jennifer.”
Jennifer leaned over to hang up the phone, still smiling.
Ann really was going to kill her. Jennifer dropped the three-ring binder onto the bed beside her and rolled onto her back, groaning as she rubbed bleary eyes. It was after 2:00 a.m. She had taken the printout of the story to bed with her so she could read the entire story and see what sections still needed work. The story was great, and Thomas Bradford was unmistakably dead. She had to warn Ann what was coming. Her publisher was already projecting that two more books would put the series on the bestseller list, and when that happened, demand for all of the books in the series would shoot through the roof. They were not going to be pleased when they got a book that ended the series.
They might not publish it.
It was a possibility she had to consider. But the books were getting strong sell-through numbers and even now they made a decent amount of money. If her publisher declined their contractual option and turned down the book, Jennifer knew Ann would have no trouble placing the book with another publisher. Money was money.
The ironic thing was, this book was by far the best in the series.
Jerry, why did you have to die? Our ten-year plan would have actually worked. Now, I’m going to be starting all over. I miss you, Jerry.
Chapter Four
Where was page 325? It was almost seven o’clock in the evening on Friday night. Jennifer had been editing the book since seven that morning. Her eyes burned, her throat hurt, she had been reading the pages aloud, and she was hungry. She was not in the mood to be looking for a missing page. She looked through the next dozen pages in the three-ring binder. Pages 326 on, no page 325. The top of her desk wasn’t visible, but she’d been working there earlier in the morning. She lowered the leg rest of the recliner and went to search the desk. The phone rang, startling her, and she cracked her knee against the open desk drawer. Muttering under her breath, rubbing the throbbing bruise, she grabbed the phone. “Hello?” A thick binder threatened to slide off the back of the desk and she lunged for it.