Man With A Mission

His heart thumped against his ribs and he swerved to the side of the road, screeching to a halt. “What?” he demanded.

“Well, I’m not,” she said, tugging on her coat collar, clearly feeling guilty for having startled him, “but what if I was? Am I to go to my grave without ever holding a grandbaby in my arms?”

Hank put his left hand to his face and rested the wrist of the other atop the steering wheel. “Mom,” he said, “I’m going to drive you to your grave myself if you ever do that to me again!”

“I was trying to make a point,” she huffed.

“The point is you sometimes act like a lunatic!” He checked the side mirror and pulled out onto the road again, his pulse dribbling back to normal. “I’m trying to build a business, Mom. Relax about grandchildren, okay?”

“I’m thinking about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re alone.”

“I like it that way.”

He turned onto the short road that led to her driveway, and drove up to the house. He pulled to a stop and turned off the engine. He always walked her up the steps and saw her inside.

“I thought you came home because you realized that while you loved your work for NASA, you didn’t have a life. It was all future and no present.”

He jumped out of the van, walked around to pull out the step stool he kept for her in the back, then opened her door and placed the stool on the ground. He offered her his hand. “That’s true. And I’m enjoying my life here. I just need a little time to get all the parts of it together. Be patient, Mom.”

She stepped carefully onto the stool, then down to the driveway. After tossing the stool into the back of the van, he took her arm to walk her up the drive.

“You’re not still trying to prove something to your father with the business, are you?” she asked. “I mean, you were an engineer at NASA. You don’t have anything else to prove. You don’t have to expand Whitcomb’s Wonders until you have franchises all over the country and appear on the big board.”

He opened his mouth to deny that he was trying to prove anything, but he knew that wouldn’t be true. Every time he did anything, he could imagine his father watching him, finding fault.

“He always tried hard,” she said, squeezing his arm, “and he did well, but everything was difficult for him. Then you came along, all brains and personality, and he couldn’t help resenting that. I know I’ve told you that a million times, but I sometimes wonder if you really understand it. He loved you, he just resented that you were smarter than he was, that things would be easy for you.”

“I worked liked a dog to end up at NASA.”

“I know. But some people work hard all their lives and never get anywhere. He had dreams, too, but he never got out of that little appliance repair shop.”

Hank remembered that his father had little rapport with his customers and slaved away in the back room, taking no pleasure in his work.

“Anyway,” Adeline said, “sometimes old insecurities can come back to haunt us when we’re trying something new, or reaching for something we’re not sure we should have. You deserve to be happy, Hank. And if you won’t reach for that happiness, I’m going to keep working on it for you. So, when can you see Laural McIntyre?”

Hank drew himself out of moody thoughts about his father to the present and the urgent need to get out of meeting the visitor from New York.

“Actually, I’m meeting Jackie on Saturday,” he said, walking his mother up the porch steps.

She brightened instantly. He could see her smile in the porch light. “You are? Where?”

“Perk Avenue Tea Room.”

She looked puzzled. “Where?”

“It’s a new coffee bar, tearoom, desserty sort of place on the square.” She didn’t have to know that they’d be “meeting” because Jackie was cutting the ribbon for the grand opening, and he was helping with the wiring for the sign, which wasn’t expected to arrive until late Friday night.

His mother studied him suspiciously. “You were fighting the last time I saw you together.”

He nodded. “But you didn’t see everything. I ran into her later, we talked, and…I’m seeing her next week.” A slight rearrangement of the truth, but the truth all the same.

“Well, see now, that wasn’t so hard.” She gave him a quick hug. “Will you tell me all about it after?”

“The shop, yes,” he said. “Jackie, no.”

She shrugged, seemingly undisturbed. “I’ll just ask the girls at Sunday School. Thanks for dinner, sweetie.”

“Sure, Mom.” He ran down the steps as she closed and locked the door.

Great. Jackie’s girls were in his mother’s Sunday School class. She’d mentioned that once, but he’d forgotten.

When he’d been a kid, she’d had spies everywhere. It had been impossible to see a girl, cruise downtown, or sneak a beer without someone reporting him to his mother.

It was annoying that he was thirty-five, and nothing had changed.

CHAPTER FOUR

HE MET HIS MOTHER’S SPIES on Saturday. He’d been working at Perk Avenue for several hours when the crowd began to gather out front for the ceremony. He’d turned the sign on and it glowed brightly, a tall cup of neon mocha complete with a swirl of whipped cream standing beside a fat teapot. Underneath, the name of the shop was written in elegant neon script. The whole sign appeared to sit atop a triangle of neon lace.

The two matrons who owned the shop applauded their approval then wrapped their arms around him.

Hank went back inside as several people in the gathering crowd came forward to congratulate the women. He was collecting his tools when the front door burst open and a little girl in a flared red coat and matching hat ran in. Long straight blond hair fell to her shoulders. In her gray eyes was a desperate look. He recognized her as Jackie’s youngest. He studied her one brief moment, realizing that except for a slight difference in the shade of her hair, this was what Jackie had looked like as a child.

“Hi,” he said finally, coiling a length of wire. “Lost your mom?”

She shook her head, looking left, then right.

He took another guess. “Bathroom?”

She nodded.

He pointed to the little alcove directly to the right of the door.

“Thank you!” she called as she ran off in that direction.

A moment later, a child he recognized as the little one’s older sister walked in wearing a pink coat but no hat. She had thick dark hair caught at the side of her head in a ponytail. This child must take after her father. His mother had told him Jackie’s girls were Erica and Rachel. He couldn’t recall which was which.

She surveyed the room, then her dark eyes fell on him in concern. A child taught to be wary of strange men. Jackie was doing her job.

He pointed to the alcove behind her. “Your little sister’s in the rest room,” he said.

She started away, then turned to ask, “How did you know she was my sister?”

“I know your mom,” Hank explained. “And I’ve seen the two of you with her.”

“Are you her friend?”

“Ah…not exactly.”

“You don’t like her?”

Tricky question. “Actually, she doesn’t like me very much.”

“How come?”

She was beginning to remind him of her mother even if she did look like her father. She had a compulsion for detail.

How did one explain to a child about a bright love affair that had been halted abruptly by one lover’s reluctance to follow the other? You didn’t, of course.

“We had an argument a long time ago,” he replied, “that we never really fixed.”

She frowned at that. “Mom never lets me and Rachel fight without making up.”

Aha. This was Erica.

“Adults probably get madder than children,” he said. “So quarrels are harder to fix.”

The little one ran out of the bathroom, hat slightly askew. Erica straightened it for her. “This is Rachel,” she said.

He nodded. “And you’re Erica.”

She smiled and came forward to shake his hand.

“I’m Hank Whitcomb,” he said, thinking her social skills were as polished as her appearance. He wiped his hands on a cloth out of his box before taking hers.

“Our mom’s the mayor!” Rachel said with a wide smile, also offering her hand. “We’re supposed to smile and be polite!”

Erica gave her a mildly impatient look. “He knows who we are. He’s a friend of Mom’s.”

“I thought Mom just had friends who were other ladies.”

WHILE THE WIDE WHITE RIBBON for the ceremony was still being stretched across the front of the shop, Jackie ran in search of her girls. She was sure they were fine, but bathroom runs never took this long. She’d thought a quick trip inside the shop would be the quickest solution to Rachel’s second glass of milk that morning. After all, the café wasn’t really open yet and there was no one inside. Erica had followed her sister in.

But a mother’s trepidation filled her anyway as she pushed the door open, knowing that safety should never be presumed, that it only took a moment for…

Her heart lurched in her chest at the sight of her girls in conversation with a large man in jeans and a chambray shirt. His clothes were streaked with dirt, his hair…

He looked up at that moment, blue eyes noting her presence. It was Hank. Sudden awareness of him took her by surprise.

She’d never seen him at work before. The other times she’d run into him, he’d been in street clothes. Even the day he’d moved his office into the City Hall basement, he’d worn a respectable sweater.

But he was a little grubby now, work clothes well-fitting but mussed, his dark hair disturbed from its usually neat side part and falling onto his forehead. A longing that was decidedly sexual curled around inside her and embarrassed her with its intensity.

To further confuse her, she saw enjoyment in his eyes, as though her daughters delighted him. That pleased and flattered her and, along with this sudden desire completely inappropriate to a woman in her eighth month of pregnancy, threw her completely off balance.

She was about to scold the girls for speaking to a stranger when Hank interceded.

“They did nothing wrong,” he said gently, as though he understood and respected her concern. “Rachel ran in looking for the rest room and there was no one else around. I just told her where it was. Then when Erica came in, I told her where to find her sister.”

“And he’s not a stranger, Mom,” Erica said, going to her. “He’s your friend. Even though you guys never made up after the fight.”

Jackie opened her mouth to reply to that, wondering just what he’d told them about their relationship, but decided it was all too entangled.

“There’s a party here after the ribbon-cutting,” Erica said to Hank. “You can sit at our table, so you and Mom can work it out.”

Jackie turned to her in astonishment.

“You don’t let me and Rachel stay mad,” Erica insisted. “And let’s face it, Mom. You don’t have that many friends.”

Jackie couldn’t help the gasp of indignation. “I do, too.” She ignored the childish sound of her own words. “I have lots of friends.”

“But none of them are guys.”

“I…” Jackie stopped abruptly when she noticed the amusement in Hank’s eyes. “Anyway,” she said in a more controlled tone, “Mr. Whitcomb’s working. I’m sure he can’t—”

“Bridget and Cecilia, the owners of the café, invited me,” he interrupted with a slightly smug smile. “I’ll be back after I’ve showered.”

Rachel hooked her arm in his. “You can sit next to me if Mom’s still mad at you. Are you, Mom?”

Rachel waited for an answer. Hank did, too, his smile expanding.

“I was never angry,” she said a little stiffly, forgetting that the girls were listening and focusing only on him. “I was hurt. Crushed, actually.”

His amusement vanished. She expected him to accuse her of the same, but apparently unwilling to do so in front of her children, he simply said feelingly, “I understand, believe me.”

The front door opened and one of the councilmen stuck his head in. “Ms. Mayor?” he called.

She pushed thoughts of the past aside as she’d done so often throughout her life, and pulled herself together. “Thank you for helping the girls,” she said to Hank with stiff courtesy. “We’ll see you at the party, then.”

It was the usual city function. Two councilmen spoke about the city plan to create a commercial and economic environment that would encourage new business in Maple Hill. The other two spoke about the need to preserve and maintain the area’s natural beauty while doing so. The city council was evenly divided on almost every subject.

Jackie’s speech centered around Cecilia Proctor and Bridget Malone, sisters-in-law in their early forties who enjoyed each other’s company and, now that their children were married or off to college, wanted to spend time together in a profitable endeavor. Each had been involved in community service for many years, so Jackie had the opportunity to praise them for all the time they’d devoted to the city and wish them luck in their commercial venture.

The community college’s band played a few rousing numbers, then Jackie cut the ribbon, her daughters on either side of her. There was loud applause and everyone streamed into Perk Avenue.

Bridget caught Jackie’s arm and led her to the dessert buffet set up at what would eventually be a long service counter. Jackie turned to make sure the girls were behind her, but saw that they were talking to Haley. Haley shooed Jackie on. “I’ve got them. Go.”

Bridget directed Jackie to the head of the line already reaching out the door.

“If you hadn’t fought for us,” Bridget said, giving Jackie’s shoulders a squeeze, “Brockton would have insisted on holding this spot for ‘something that would have put the location to optimum use.’” She was clearly quoting. “Like a chain store or a fast food franchise. So you get to eat first.”

John Brockton, one of the councilmen who fought Jackie’s every move, had stood at the head of the line until Bridget placed Jackie there. He was short and small and balding, with sharp dark eyes. He smiled continually, but that seemed to contribute to, rather than soften, his poisonous personality. Jackie happened to know that John’s brother’s Cha-Cha Chicken franchise deal fell through when he learned he’d have to locate it on the highway rather than on the Square, the lifeblood of Maple Hill business.

“You don’t mind, do you, Mr. Brockton?” Bridget asked with feigned innocence, aware of the animosity between them.

“Of course not,” he replied for all to hear, then added for Jackie’s ears alone when Bridget wandered off, “Ms. Mayor is a privileged person around here and gets whatever she wants.”

Jackie could have laughed aloud at that claim, but chose to ignore it instead.

“But we’re going to change that.” The threat was quietly spoken and chillingly sincere. “You wait and see.”

Then Cecilia, who was serving up sampler plates of gooey desserts, handed her one and engaged her in conversation. Jackie was forced to dismiss thoughts of John’s retribution and focus on her job as mayor and this event’s cheerleader.

Plate in hand, a glass mug of decaf mocha topped with whipped cream in the other, Jackie stepped away from the buffet and looked around for her girls in the small sea of well-wishers.

Then she spotted Rachel, head and shoulders above the crowd—literally. She knew a moment’s horror. It would be just like Rachel to stand on a table to find her. Then she realized the child stood too high to be on a table. Jackie headed straight for her.

As she drew closer, she saw that Rachel sat on Hank’s shoulders, looking very much as though she owned the world.

“Here, Mom!” she called, waving. “We’re here!”

Jackie kept moving toward them, trying to ignore the sexy appeal of the man who held her daughter. He’d changed from his work clothes into casual gray slacks and sweater. His dark hair had been shampooed and combed into order. He looked like the good-twin version of the dangerous-looking man she’d seen that morning.

As Jackie approached, he lifted Rachel off his shoulders and set her down on her feet in the U-shaped booth he’d reserved for them. Rachel nimbly scooted into the middle of the booth, patting the place beside her. “Come on, Mom.”

Hank held Jackie’s plate for her while she put her mocha down, then he stood aside to let her slide in. He sat at the end of the booth beside Jackie. “Erica’s with Haley,” he reported. “They told us to hold the booth, that they’ll get our plates. But Rachel and I are beginning to wonder if that was wise. Who can be trusted with all this delicious stuff?” He pointed to her plate.

“I can,” she said, pretending an ease she didn’t feel at all. She offered her plate to Rachel, who chose a little square of cake with lots of cream.

“Yum!” Rachel anticipated her first bite with a gleam in her eye.

“Hank?” Jackie offered him the plate.

After a moment of surprise, he selected a plain tube of a cookie with chocolate inside. “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome.”

They studied each other warily for an instant, then seemed to reach the mutual decision that this moment was meant for peaceful celebration.

He snapped the cookie in half with his teeth and made a sound of approval, then popped the other half into his mouth.

Jackie dipped a plastic fork into a brownie-like concoction covered with a white chocolate mousse and took a bite.

“This is to die for,” she said, putting the fork into it again and offering it to Rachel.

It earned another “Yum!”

She scooped up a bit of the mousse, determined to appear unaffected by his nearness. Intending to hand him the handle of the fork, she turned his way. “Bite?” she asked.

His closeness stole her breath. He simply sat beside her, but his large body seemed to block out everything behind him, his arm along the back of the booth hemming her in, tightening her space.

Curiously, it was not an altogether unpleasant sensation.

“Please,” he replied without making a move to take the fork. His eyes told her he didn’t believe she had the courage to feed him the bite.

Flustered and challenged, she did it before she could think twice.

His strong teeth closed around the little fork as he slipped the morsel off, watching her with mingled surprise and reevaluation.

“Here we are!” Haley appeared with Erica, then stopped in the act of placing their plates on the table, her attention snagged by Jackie, still holding the empty fork to the edge of Hank’s lips. She looked from one to the other, obviously confused.

Jackie lowered the fork and turned back to her plate. “All right, you two,” she said to Rachel and Hank as though they’d wrested samples from her. “The rest is mine.” She dropped the fork on her plate and lowered her hand to her knee, hoping to hide its trembling.

Haley finally distributed plates and slipped into the booth beside Rachel, Erica sitting on the end.

Bridget arrived with a tray bearing a large pot of tea and several cups. “Here we are,” she said, handing out cups and a big-handled mug for Hank. She hesitated over Hank’s mug as she poured. “Is this going to be all right for you, Hank, or would you prefer something else to drink?”

The aroma of orange and cloves wafted around them from the steaming tea.

“This is fine,” he said. “Thank you, Bridget.”

“Good. I’ll bring tiramisu as soon as it comes out of the kitchen.” She picked up her tray, returned a wave to Cecilia across the room and left.

“What is that?” Rachel asked.

Jackie was beginning to feel more like herself, in control again and steady. “It’s a cake soaked in Kah-lúa, I think, and topped with whipped cream.”

“What’s Clua?”

She should have guessed that was coming.

“It’s Kah-lú-a,” she enunciated. “That’s a coffee-flavored liqueur. It’s alcohol. Sometimes people put it in their coffee or make other drinks with it.”

Jackie was not surprised to learn she hadn’t answered all her questions.

“If it tastes like coffee,” Rachel asked, “why do they put it in coffee? Isn’t that a lot of coffee?”

“It doesn’t seem to be,” she replied. “It tastes wonderful.” Before Rachel could ask another question, Jackie forestalled her by pointing to a round cookie covered in powdered sugar. “Try that one next,” she encouraged. “You’ll love it.”

Distracted, Rachel was mercifully silent as she ate.

“I love it here, Mom!” Erica held up a macaroon drizzled with chocolate. “Is this one of those coconut cookies?”

At Jackie’s nod, she took a careful bite, then apparently finding its taste satisfactory, took a bigger bite. She wriggled in her seat while she chewed, her eyes focused on her mother, obviously about to make a statement.

After finally swallowing, she said eagerly, “When it’s my birthday, can we have my party here instead of at the pizza place? My friends and I can all dress up and have pots of tea. I’m going to be eleven, after all.”

“That’s coming up, isn’t it?” Haley asked. “March something?”

“Twentieth,” Erica said. “And instead of seeing a movie we could do something more grown-up.”

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