Chapter 13
Peyton
In the morning, I woke to noises outside my door. Yesterday I’d stayed in bed on purpose to avoid having it look like I was stalking March. But I’d made my point, so today I wanted to be up ahead of him to even things out and help like a house guest should.
Last night, I’d found a bathrobe in the bathroom. I threw it on now and marched out. Actually, there had been three bathrobes on hooks. I’d chosen the lightest pink one. Why were they all pink?
Starting down the hall, a question popped into my head. What kind of guy stocked his guest bathroom with three pink robes? He must have a lot of women over. Did three bathrobes mean he had trios of girls here at the same time? I’d heard of threesomes, but that would make a foursome.
How did that work? Why should I care? He could have as many girls over at a time as he wanted. It was a free country, after all. I didn’t need to be a freaking Judy McJudgy. He wasn’t my man. I didn’t want a man. I didn’t have a man. That was a good thing, a safe thing. No men.
I ventured into the kitchen and turned the corner, ready to issue a hearty good morning to Mr. March, the king of the pink bathrobes, but I stopped in my tracks.
It wasn’t March at the stove. It was his mother, Karla. She turned. “Good morning. I hope you like pancakes.” She also had on a pink bathrobe.
“Who doesn’t? What can I do to help?” See, I could be a responsible house guest for a day.
She waved at the cabinets. “Plates and glasses are up there.” She was more than an occasional visitor here it seemed. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like a rock.” March’s assurance that I would be safe because he was here had done the trick.
“Me too. I like this old house. It certainly suits Ruppie. Solid old-school construction, built by craftsmen who stood behind their work, back when speed was less important than quality. Solid walls so you don’t hear a thing from the old lady on the other side of that wall.
” She pointed toward the stove. “Solid and dependable, just like him, even if a little slow, if you know what I mean.”
Pulling down the plates, I had zero clue where she was going, so I came back with, “I like the house too.” After setting out the plates, I went back for glasses.
“He may be slow, but I think he’s worth waiting for.
You can’t do any better than my Ruppert, so I wouldn’t go hitching your wagon to some other man too quickly.
” She had a peculiar way of bragging about her son, along with a misunderstanding of my relationship with him—or more correctly, lack thereof.
“I’m not of a mind to hitch my wagon to any man at this point in my life.”
“Of course.” She flipped the pancakes. “Still, don’t hesitate to lean on my Ruppert. He can help you with your problem.”
I didn’t acknowledge her suggestion.
“What do you do for a living, dear?”
“I’m a personal assistant.” It wasn’t as good as my previous career, but I couldn’t go back to that now.
“Is that a flexible job?”
“Yeah, more than most, I guess.”
“That’s great. It will make caring for children easier than if you had some other kinds of jobs.” Once again she was sizing me up for baby-maker duty.
“I’ll have to see where I end up later, when I’m ready for that stage of my life,” I told her. “But for now, I’m not ready for that kind of relationship.”
“I understand, dear. I was the same way when I first met Ruppert’s father. He courted me for a while, and I was…let’s just say I was less than enthusiastic. We were dating, and then one day he did something I didn’t expect.”
I brought the glasses over to the table and waited for the big reveal.
She scooped pancakes from the pan onto a plate. “He said he couldn’t court me anymore. You want to know why?”
“Why?”
“Because he’d made up his mind to join the police force, and he couldn’t put me through that—the worrying every day whether he would come back from work all in one piece.” She pointed at the table. “Big glasses of OJ for everybody—vitamin C, ya know.”
Nodding, I opened the fridge, looking for the orange juice I’d seen last night.
“That’s when I knew he was the one,” she said, her voice breaking.
“He cared more about my welfare than anything else. So I married him. Every night, I worried about him coming home, but it was still worth it. Ruppie is a lot like his old man, putting himself in danger to save others. It’s the same. ”
I brought the OJ over and poured us each a glass. It was a nice story. Until she’d showed up last night, I hadn’t heard a single tidbit about March’s family. “Where is his father now?”
She froze for a second. “The cancer got him. They tell you there’s a ninety-five-percent survival rate. What they don’t prepare you for is being in the other five-percent.” She sniffled.
“I’m so sorry.” The wife without a husband, and the boy without a father, it had to hurt terribly.
“Shit happens.” She lifted another three pancakes from the pan to her pile. “You need to make the most of today, because none of us is guaranteed tomorrow.”
Was I sacrificing my todays for a tomorrow that might not come? That was too heavy a concept for me to deal with.
After locating and setting out the silverware and napkins, I asked, “What do you think? Should I get your son up?”
“He’s already been up and gone out, dear. Ruppie went out for some work thing.” She looked at the clock on the wall. “He should be back soon.”
Suddenly, the room seemed colder than a minute ago. My eyes darted around.
He’d said I should feel safe here because he was around, and now he wasn’t.
I wrapped my arms around myself. “I thought he was staying.”
Karla flipped what I hoped was the last of the pancakes onto her pile, which was huge. “Who are you running from? An ex-boyfriend?”
I didn’t answer.
“Don’t be worried, dear.” She pointed out the window. “He wanted me to tell you he arranged for someone else to watch over you while he was gone, prince something or other.
“Duke?” I asked.
“That sounds right.” She pointed out the window. “He’s in that black car out there. Do you think he wants pancakes?”
“We could offer.” When I looked out again, I noticed March’s car drive up. “It looks like your son is home.”
She put a hand on her hip and studied me. “That’s the second time you’ve called him my son instead of using his name.”
Busted.
“I’ve been around the block a few million times, young lady, and I can see when a girl like yourself is trying to keep a young man at a distance. I just don’t understand why. My Ruppert is quite the catch, a decorated hero, smart as a whip, and considerate—”
“He’s all that and more,” I agreed. “He is tempting, and perfect for the right woman. It’s just that I’m not in the market right now.”
“I see.” The words said I had satisfied Karla, but her expression said something else. She turned at the sound of the door opening.
“Zane tells me you’re offering pancakes,” Duke said loudly as he followed March into the kitchen.
“You bet,” Karla said. “Best gluten-free pancakes this side of the Mississippi. You must be Prince.”
“Duke,” he corrected.
“I knew it was something like that.” Karla’s lip tipped up.
March sent a wink in my direction.
I guessed Karla’s name confusion was a part of her shtick.
Duke didn’t get the bear-hug routine I’d gotten last night. Maybe it was reserved for potential daughters-in-law.
Karla hobbled back to the stove and poured some more batter into the pan.
March switched his attention from me to his mother. “Mom, what happened to your leg?”
“It’s nothing,” she scoffed. “Planting fastest, the doc said. Whatever that is—some kind of old people’s problem, but at least I don’t have to pee every hour like Roger.”
“Who’s Roger?” March asked.
“Just a guy who’s worse than a pregnant woman,” she said. “He can barely last long enough to drive to Burger King.” Karla brought over the plate of pancakes. “Start on these. I’ll make some more.”
Duke and I sat down to start in on her pancakes.
“Who’s Roger?” March repeated, still standing. He wasn’t going to let this go.
My first bite was very tasty, even without syrup. “This is great.”
She waved her spatula. “Just one of the men I’m seeing.”
“Men?” March asked, incredulously.
“Karla, these are great,” Duke added.
“Mom, I’m not sure—”
“Sit and eat,” she commanded, cutting him off.
Reluctantly, March did.
“He’s one of my options,” she continued.
“Mom—”
“What?” she barked, turning and cooking her son with a stare. “I’m old, not dead. Do you think I can’t have a life?”
That put March on defense. “I didn’t say that.”
She leveled the cooking implement at him. “Some of the men in my age bracket have…let’s say technical difficulties, if you know what I mean.” She bent her other hand at the wrist before turning back to the stove.
“Not another word,” March insisted. He didn’t want to hear about his mother’s sex life, and who would blame him?
“And the pills aren’t always enough,” she added.
“Mom, we’re having breakfast,” March cautioned.
“What?” Karla asked. “You should learn about this and take care of yourself so it doesn’t happen to you when you get older.” She did the bent-wrist thing again.
A red-faced Duke looked down at his plate.
I swallowed a giggle.
March tried redirection. “I want to hear about your leg.”
“Men think it’s their problem,” she went on. “And their cross to bear, but what about the poor women who have to endure a limp noodle? Huh?”
“Leg,” March repeated.
Duke focused on his plate and chewed his food.
“I mean, who wants to waste good money on a vaginal-rejuvenation procedure if you’re not going to use it?”
Duke choked.
“Not another word, Mom.” March waved a finger at her.
She smiled back. “Ruppie, we’re all grown-ups here.”
I did my best not to laugh.
Karla wasn’t getting the message.
March’s fist clenched. “That’s enough. Now, what’s this Roger guy’s last name?”
“Why? So you can do a background check on him? Or were you thinking of waving your gun in his face?”
“I’m only looking out for you,” he argued.