Chapter 9
“I want a drink,” announced Benny.
“A drink you shall have,” Henry promised, “but you’ll have to wait till it’s really dark.”
—Gertrude Chandler Warner, The Boxcar Children
Dancy didn’t get more painting done that day, but she enjoyed her time with Watch, except for his surprising plunge into the
lake. As soon as they’d walked out on the dock, he jumped into the water. With no beach to swim to, he couldn’t get out by
himself, so she’d had to jump into the cold water after him.
“You’re full of tricks, aren’t you?” she’d said as she hauled him back onto the dock. “Who knew I had a water dog?” She’d
taken him onto the rooftop deck, where they warmed up and enjoyed both the sun and the view without getting wet again.
After Dancy took a quick shower in the gym to scrub off both the remains of the paint and the lake water, she and Watch returned to the caboose.
Clint had disappeared, but four new steps were in place, allowing Watch unassisted access to the rear platform.
Freshly brushed and wearing a clean bandage, he dozed at her feet, while she sat cross-legged on the couch with needle and thread, putting the last stiches in Rory’s pink swimsuit cover-up.
Dancy had taught herself to sew as a young teen but had stopped long ago. It wasn’t difficult, however, to turn the cover-up
into a mini-dress with an irregular hem and a tie over one shoulder, leaving the other shoulder bare. It felt good to make
something with her hands. The sixties colors weren’t her style, and the design was hardly imaginative, but fashioning the
silly dress had both cheered her up and made her yearn for her old sewing machine. Maybe she should give up her acting dream
and start a celebrity fashion line.
The idea held no appeal. She liked designing for herself, but she had no interest in making clothes for anyone else. Except,
maybe, her child.
Stop it! She forced her attention back to her newly created mini-dress. It cried out for either booties or a cute pair of sandals,
neither of which she had, so she slid her feet into her ugly, comfy slides. At least her toenail polish had fared better than
her fingernails.
She and Watch set off for the house. With her functional hair and only tinted lip balm for makeup, she looked her age and
didn’t care. She liked the freedom of a clean, stripped-down face, of wiggling her toes in shoes that weren’t stilettos, and
of wearing a dress that didn’t require shapewear. Roth would hate it.
Breathing deeply, she drew in the scent of trees and mulch, along with the pleasantly musty smell of the lake. Tonight she
didn’t need to pose for a single photograph or impress anyone. Her muscles ached agreeably from all the stretching and squatting
she’d done painting the caboose, and to her surprise, she was hungry.
Both the open patio with its firepit and hot tub and the roofed outdoor patio were deserted. A few puddles on the stone floor under the hanging pots of Boston ferns testified to having been recently watered. Since Clint said he had no regular help, he must have done it himself.
The outdoor kitchen was more luxurious than most people’s indoor ones, with a large, L-shaped counter of the same creamy,
glazed lava stone as his indoor kitchen. It was fully equipped with appliances, a built-in grill, and a combination stone
fireplace and pizza oven. Next to a long, rectangular table was a small seating group with two cushioned chairs and a couch,
all upholstered with nubby oatmeal cushions.
She’d been afraid Watch would make another dash for the lake, so she’d leashed him, but now they weren’t near the dock and
he seemed content to stay at her side. She set a pottery cup holding sprigs of wild geranium, honeysuckle, and fern on the
counter. Its simplicity pleased her in a way the extravagant floral arrangements that used to fill her home with Roth never
had.
She kicked back on the couch, Watch on the stone floor next to her, and enjoyed the long shadows from the setting sun rippling
over the lake. Freeing one of her feet, she rubbed Watch’s bony back with her toes. He gave a doggie hum of contentment.
Her problems hadn’t gone away. She’d lost her baby and her pride, she had no work lined up and no idea how to change that,
but some of the grief about her miscarriage that she’d been carrying had begun to ease. Of all the people she could have chosen
to tell, Clint was the most unlikely, and yet he’d been the best. He’d offered neither platitudes nor judgment. He’d simply
let her talk, and now the secret she’d been holding on to had begun to lose its power.
A tempered-glass door opened from the back of the house.
As Clint emerged carrying a loaded tray, Watch raced over to greet him.
Clint set the tray on the countertop and scratched behind his ears before he turned on the grill and disappeared back into the house.
He emerged twice more with trays, Watch joyously meeting him each time.
“I’d offer to help,” she called out from the couch, “but going inside your noble house would surely bring a curse upon your
head.”
He shot her the stink eye. As Watch resettled at her feet, Clint began removing the dishes from the trays, setting them down
harder than he needed to on the counter. One platter held half a dozen kabobs on skewers, another corn on the cob still in
its husks. She spotted a bag of potato chips, some strawberries, and an ominous assortment of sparkling water.
“No wine before dinner?” she asked.
He hesitated. “Do you want some?”
This time last year she could have drunk a glass or two and not wanted more, but now she didn’t trust herself. “No thanks.
What I’d really love is a delicious glass of sparkling water.” She hated sparking water. Except for champagne, she didn’t
like much of anything that was carbonated. “But feel free to indulge.”
“I had a beer while I was getting dinner ready. I’m good.”
“That goes without saying. You being good, I mean.”
Instead of getting salty with her, he began putting the corn on the grill. The ears dripped water as he picked them up, so
he must have soaked them. “Nice flowers,” he said with a nod at her wildflower arrangement.
“I’d have brought an hors d’oeuvre, but I lack the raw materials. And the motivation.”
He took a pair of tumblers from an undercounter cupboard, added ice from the bin she’d seen him working on four days earlier, and reached for the cans of sparkling water. “Black cherry, pink grapefruit, or coconut lime?”
“Anything except black cherry or coconut lime. You choose.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her, filled two glasses, and brought one over. The glasses were heavy-duty plastic, perfect for outdoor
entertaining. He sat on the couch, a cushion between them. Watch nosed Clint’s shoe while she continued with her foot rub.
“Watch turns out to be a water dog. I had to pull him out of the lake.”
Clint grunted. It was going to be a long night.
Her refashioned mini-dress slipped a little higher up her leg. Clint didn’t notice. They gazed at the darkening lake for a
while until Clint broke the silence in the most unexpected way. “What did you think when you heard I’d been arrested for Ashley
Hart’s murder?”
His question took her by surprise. Maybe talking to him about her miscarriage had freed him to open up, too. “I’m sorry to
say that I laughed when the news bulletin popped up on my phone. Not about her death. That was awful. But the idea that you’d
been arrested for it was ludicrous. Once I realized it was true, though, I stopped laughing and tried to call your mother.
She didn’t pick up, but I’m sure she was distraught.”
“So was Rory.” He gazed into the distance. “Neither of them believed I’d done it for a moment.”
She tugged her dress lower over her thighs. “How could anyone who knows you believe it?”
“You’d be surprised.”
Watch rolled to his back so she could rub his belly with her toes. “I won’t pretend not to be interested in what the newspapers didn’t report,” she said. “Cone of silence, I promise, if you tell me the whole story.”
He rose to check the corn he’d just put on the grill, filled a small bowl with water, and set it on the floor for Watch. “Rory
introduced me to Ashley,” he finally said. “Ashley was beautiful. Red hair, great eyes, incredible body. But it was the way
she looked at me that made me fall for her. As if she saw the real person, not just a famous athlete.” He sank back onto the
couch, stretching out his legs and gazing toward the fireplace. “Eventually, I found out that she looked at anyone she wanted
something from that way, but by then it was too late.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t pick up on it.”
“You’d think I would have, but she had a way of flattering me that sucked me right in. She made me feel like I was more than
a football player, telling me how discerning I was, how insightful.” He gave a scornful, unmerry laugh. “She even praised
that bougie house I lived in back then. So naturally, I fell in love with her.”
Clint had always been more than a football player, and it dismayed her that he needed someone else to affirm that.
Once again he checked the corn he’d looked at moments before. “Rory tried to warn me that Ashley only wanted my money, but
I’m a leader, right? I pride myself on my ability to judge people. How’s that for arrogance.” He closed the grill lid harder
than he needed to.
Dancy wanted to say something comforting. We’re all human. Everyone makes mistakes. But he hadn’t said anything like that to her, and she wouldn’t do it to him.
He returned to the couch. “The next part is Rory’s story to tell, but as a consequence, Ashley dumped me.
” He bounced his leg as if he wanted to jump up again.
“I’d never been more miserable. I took off by myself, but while I was gone, Ashley figured out that Rory had fed her a lie.
She wanted to get me back and went to my old house looking for me.
” Again, that bitter note in his voice. “She didn’t come out alive. ”
Dancy shuddered. “That’s horrible.”
He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs, gazing at the stone floor. “I was arrested soon after. The way the
cops saw it, I had motive and no alibi.”
“Your character should have counted for something!” Dancy said indignantly.
“That’s not the way the system works.” He shrugged and rose again. “Whatever. I’m over it.”
“Are you?” She came to her feet. “This is me you’re talking to.” He finally looked at her. Dancy tilted her head, speaking
more quietly. “Do you still love her?”
He gave a dry laugh and returned to the grill. “Hardly. I did learn, however, that I’m not the great judge of character I
thought I was.”
She picked up her untouched glass of sparkling water and crossed the patio to the counter. “I’m going to take a wild stab
here and guess your current habit of dating les enfants makes you feel safe because you know you won’t get serious about any of them.”
He regarded her with exasperation. “Is that all you’ve gotten from this story? The age thing?”
“Having been replaced myself by a child, it’s a tender subject.” She propped herself on a barstool. The dress scooted up her
thighs, but he couldn’t see that, not that he’d care. She peered at the tray of kabobs waiting for the grill. “I thought you
were making burgers.”
“I wasn’t in the mood.”
The vegetable skewers held red peppers, mushrooms, yellow squash, onion, and— “Is that tofu?”
“You got a problem with tofu?”
“Manly men don’t eat tofu.”
“I don’t worry too much about my masculinity.”
As well he shouldn’t.
They sat at one end of the long table, Clint on the side closest to the grill and her across from him. The meal was delicious.
The corn on the cob was both sweet and smoky, and the marinade he’d used on the kabobs held the perfect balance of salt, lime
juice, and olive oil. She finished everything on her plate and went back for seconds. As they ate, he told her about building
the lake house, and she told him about her small home in LA’s Silver Lake. They reminisced about old high school acquaintances
and the music they’d listened to. They talked food and hikes they’d taken. For dessert, Clint grilled fat red strawberries
glazed with balsamic vinegar and dusted with powdered sugar. She wiped the juice dribbling down her chin. “These shouldn’t
be so good. Who grills strawberries?”
“I like to experiment.”
Darkness fell across the lake and the moon rose. Instead of kicking her out, Clint lit the firepit and they moved to couches
on the open patio. Dancy kicked off her slides and tucked her legs under her. Over mugs of decaf, they pondered the state
of modern politics and the fast pace of technology. “That video of me— ” she said eventually, “I’m sure it’s entertaining
people all over the world right now. I can see nomads in their desert tents watching me for laughs.”
He didn’t deny that he’d seen it. “People have short memories.”
“It’s humiliating.” She was afraid she’d made herself sound like a victim. “I will, however, survive.”
“It’s surprising what you can survive. I never thought—” He broke off at the sound of footsteps coming around the side of
the house.
A figure emerged from the darkness. A man.
“You’re a tough person to track down, Dancy.” He walked toward the lighted patio, arm extended, heading for Clint. “Hi. I’m
Roth Hardy.”