Chapter 9
Something was different about Manning.
Stan knew it the moment his son strolled into the kitchen the next morning, freshly showered and dressed in his favorite Atlanta Falcons T-shirt, black sweatpants and high-top sneakers.
“Morning, pops,” he greeted Stan, who was seated at the breakfast table sipping his second cup of coffee while reading The Denver Post.
“Good morning.” Peering over the top of the newspaper, Stan watched as Manning sauntered over to the microwave to heat up the plate of pancakes and bacon his mother had left for him. Even when Prissy was mad at the boy, she couldn’t suppress her maternal instinct to coddle and pamper him.
Stan took another sip of coffee. “Did you talk to your mother before she left for work?”
“Yeah,” Manning answered, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “We’re cool.”
Which meant he’d laid on the charm—draping an arm around Prissy’s shoulders, resting his head on top of hers and calling her “Mommy” until she melted, as she always did.
Stan chuckled inwardly. “Did she give you the list of chores you’re supposed to be doing?”
“Yup.” Manning patted his shorts pocket. “Got it right here.”
Stan nodded, setting down his mug. “As soon as you finish your breakfast, I expect you to get to work.”
“Yes, sir.”
Stan’s eyes narrowed. Manning looked and sounded way too chipper for a kid who was facing three days’ worth of grueling manual labor.
“How’s that eye?” At the blank look Manning gave him, Stan pointed to the shiner on his face.
“Oh.” The boy reached up and touched the discolored skin, then shrugged a shoulder. “Forgot all about it.”
Stan’s brows went up.
When the microwave beeped, Manning removed his plate and poured syrup over the stack of pancakes, then grabbed a fork from the cutlery drawer and scooped up his drink. Walking over to the table, he plopped down across from Stan and said a quick grace before attacking his food with even more gusto than usual.
Amused, Stan watched him for a few moments. “Looks like someone woke up with a huge appetite.”
Manning grunted, shoveling a syrupy forkful of pancake into his mouth.
“Just out of curiosity, why’d you take a shower?”
“Huh?”
“Why’d you bother to take a shower,” Stan elaborated, “when you’re gonna be doing chores all day and getting sweaty?”
Manning shrugged, not glancing up from his plate. “I forgot I wasn’t going to school.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Laying aside his newspaper, Stan stood and leaned across the table to sniff at Manning.
The boy eyed him quizzically. “What’re you doing, Dad?”
“You smell different.”
Manning looked wary. “Different how?”
“I don’t know.” Stan took another whiff. “But you do.”
Manning huffed a shaky laugh. “You be buggin’, pops. All you smell on me is soap and water.”
“Hmm.” As a firefighter, Stan had developed a keen sense of smell that enabled him to detect gas leaks and smoke with the precision of a bloodhound. So when he told Manning that he smelled different, he knew he wasn’t imagining things.
Slowly he returned to his chair, eyes narrowed speculatively as he searched his son’s face.
Manning resumed eating, but there was a new guardedness to him.
Picking up his coffee mug, Stan casually remarked, “I saw Caitlyn on my way back from walking your brothers to the bus stop.”
Manning bit into a slice of bacon. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. She was heating up her car in the driveway.” Stan sipped his coffee, watching his son over the rim of the mug. “She wanted me to tell you that she’s ready to give you another ride whenever you want.”
Manning choked on the bacon. Coughing and gasping, he grabbed his glass of orange juice and downed half the contents.
“You all right?” Stan drawled.
Manning quickly bobbed his head. “It just, uh, went down the, uh, wrong way,” he rasped, plunking down the glass.
“You should be more careful,” Stan warned mildly. “Eating, like anything else in life, should never be done in a hurry.”
Manning nodded and dropped his gaze to his plate, his lips twitching with amusement.
“I assume, of course, that Caitlyn was referring to giving you another ride to school.”
“Of course.” But Manning could barely keep the smirk off his face.
Stan grew still. “Look at me.”
Manning hesitated for a moment, then slowly lifted his head to meet Stan’s suspicious gaze.
“Something you wanna tell me?”
Long pause. “Like what?”
Stan frowned. “Boy—”
Suddenly the phone rang.
Father and son stared at the ringing instrument, then at each other.
A second later, Manning jumped up from the table as if his chair had suddenly caught on fire. “I’d better get to work. Lots to do, you know?”
After dumping his empty plate in the sink, he beat a hasty retreat as Stan stood and crossed to the wall phone. He picked up on the last ring. “Hello?”
“Hello, Stan,” a warm female voice greeted him. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Hell, yeah!
“Um, sort of. Hold on.”
Quickly setting down the receiver, Stan crept to the kitchen doorway. After several moments, Manning jogged down the staircase and headed into the garage, bopping his head to the beat of whatever song was playing on his Walkman.
Heart thudding, Stan strode back to the phone. “Sorry about that.”
“No, I’m the one who should apologize. It’s after eight, so I just assumed you had the house all to yourself by now.”
“I would have,” Stan said with wry humor, “but my eldest had other plans.”
“Manning?”
“Yeah.”
“Is he sick?”
“Not quite.” Stan kept one eye on the doorway, lest the child in question sneak up on him again. “I’ll fill you in when I see you.”
“So we’re still on for Friday afternoon?”
Stan hesitated as his mind flashed on an image of Prissy, her face contorted with pain and fury as she hurled accusations at him. Her words, and the raw anguish behind them, had haunted him for the rest of the night. Long after she fell asleep, he’d stayed awake holding her, whispering promises he wished he could keep.
His stomach churned now, coating his throat with bile and guilt.
“Stan?” the woman prompted gently. “I’d really like to see you on Friday.”
“I know.” He closed his eyes, swallowing the bitter taste of his deception. “I’ll be there.”
After dinner that evening, Manning helped Prissy clear the table while Stan and the boys headed downstairs to the basement to set up a new video game system.
Prissy was in a better mood tonight, thanks in large part to a phone call she’d received at work. Rory Kerrigan’s mother had called to inform her that Rory’s nose wasn’t broken after all, but even if it had been, it would have served him right. She’d gone on to explain her shocked disappointment at learning from the principal that her son was a bully who regularly tormented other kids at school. She’d claimed complete ignorance, even though Rory had been suspended once before for bullying.
At the end of their conversation, Mrs. Kerrigan had assured Prissy that her son had learned his lesson, and there were no hard feelings between them.
When the rest of the day passed with no concerned phone calls from any of the school board members, Prissy had breathed a huge sigh of relief before grabbing her briefcase and heading home.
She’d just playfully flicked some sudsy water at Manning’s face when the doorbell rang. Leaving her laughing son to the dishes, she went to answer the door.
She was surprised to find Manning’s classmate, Taylor, standing on the porch. The girl wore a camouflage army jacket that was several sizes too big, bright orange bellbottoms and a pair of black-and-white Converse All-Stars that had seen better days.
She smiled nervously at Prissy. “Um, hi, Dr. Wolf. My name’s—”
“I know who you are, Taylor.” Prissy smiled warmly. “What brings you here this evening?”
The girl pushed her horn-rimmed glasses up on her nose. “Is, um, Manning here?”
“Yes, he is. Come in and I’ll get him for you.”
“Oh, I can just wait outside. I don’t want to impose—”
“You’re not imposing,” Prissy assured her, opening the door wider. “Please come inside, Taylor. I insist.”
The girl hesitated another moment, then tentatively stepped into the house and swept an admiring glance around. “You have a beautiful home,” she said.
“Why, thank you, baby.” As Prissy moved to close the door, she saw a boy’s old ten-speed bicycle lying at the end of the driveway behind the family minivan. “Is that your bike, Taylor?”
“Yes, ma’am. Well, technically, it’s my brother’s, but I’m using it while he’s away. Not that he’d be riding it if he were here anyway. Do you want me to move it from the driveway? The kickstand’s broken, otherwise I wouldn’t have laid—”
“The bike’s just fine where it is,” Prissy gently interrupted the girl’s breathless chatter.
Closing the door, she smiled at Taylor and had a sudden flashback to how nervous she’d been the very first time she visited Stan’s home and met his grandmother, who’d lovingly welcomed her into the fold.
On impulse, Prissy reached out and smoothed back Taylor’s windblown ponytail. When the girl gave her a winsome smile, Prissy felt a sharp pang of longing for the daughter she’d never had.
“Did you say your brother’s away?” she inquired curiously.
“Yes, ma’am,” Taylor answered. “He’s in the army, stationed in Iran.”
“Really?” Prissy couldn’t help thinking of the disastrous Iran hostage crisis that had sent shockwaves through the world earlier that year when the U.S. military’s failed rescue operation had resulted in the deaths of eight American soldiers and an Iranian civilian.
“This is my brother’s army jacket,” Taylor shyly explained, pointing to the T. CHASTAIN nameplate stamped across the front lapel. “He always called me his good luck charm, so I wear it every day to, um, bring him luck.”
Prissy’s heart melted. She smiled, gently clasping Taylor’s hands between hers. “We’ll pray for his safe return home.”
Taylor’s expression softened with gratitude. “Thank you.”
Prissy hugged her, then drew back to call over her shoulder, “Manny! There’s someone here to see you!”
Moments later Manning emerged from the kitchen wiping his hands on a dishtowel. His eyes widened with surprise when he saw who stood in the foyer. “Taylor?”
She smiled shyly. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.” Manning grinned, tossing the dishtowel over his shoulder as he came forward. “What’re you doing here?”
Removing a bookbag strapped to her back, Taylor explained, “I asked my friend who works as an aide in the main office to give me a copy of your class schedule, then I went to all your teachers and got your classwork and homework assignments so you won’t fall behind while you’re on, um, suspension.”
“Really?” Manning was clearly touched as he accepted the handouts from her. “Thank you, Taylor. I really appreciate this.”
“Yes,” Prissy added warmly, “it was very kind and thoughtful of you, Taylor.”
The girl waved off their gratitude, looking thoroughly embarrassed. “It was the least I could do, considering it was my fault that you got in trouble, Manning.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he and Prissy assured her.
As Taylor opened her mouth to argue, Stan emerged from the basement trailed by the boys.
“I thought I heard voices up here,” Stan said, smiling easily at their guest. “Hello. You must be Taylor.”
The girl’s eyes widened behind the thick lenses on her glasses. She looked from Stan to Manning to the rest of the boys, then blinked rapidly as if to clear her vision.
Prissy inwardly smiled. Taylor’s stunned reaction was the same one that most people had upon encountering the fellas, who were like those wooden Russian dolls of decreasing size that were stacked one inside the other.
Amused by his classmate’s dumbfounded silence, Manning smoothly interjected, “Taylor, I’d like you to meet my dad and my brothers Montana, Magnum, Maddox and Mason.”
Recovering her composure, Taylor smiled brightly and thrust her hand forward. “Nice to meet all of you,” she enthused, shaking their hands in turn. “I didn’t realize Manning had such a big family, not to mention five identical twins.”
Everyone laughed.
Everyone but Mason, who stared at Taylor as if she were an oddity his young mind couldn’t comprehend. Pointing at her, he leaned close to Montana and whispered loudly, “Look at her clothes. She looks like—”
Monty clapped a hand over his baby brother’s mouth.
Taylor blushed, uncomfortably shifting from one foot to another.
Prissy cleared her throat. “Manny, why don’t you take Taylor to the kitchen and offer her some of Mama Wolf’s pound cake?”
“Sure—”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Taylor quickly interjected. “I don’t want to impose—”
“You’re not imposing,” Prissy told her.
“Are you sure? I should probably go before it gets dark anyway.”
“Where do you live?” Prissy asked curiously.
Taylor hesitated, biting her full lower lip. “Cedar Creek.”
At the mention of the old subdivision populated by modest brick ramblers, Prissy exclaimed, “You mean you rode your bike from all the way over there?”
Taylor nodded. “It’s not that far.”
Prissy frowned. “It’s certainly too far for a young lady to be riding back and forth from there at this time of night.”
Stan gave her a warning look, recognizing that she was about to launch into overprotective-mother-lioness mode. “Pris—”
“Where are your parents?” she fussed.
Taylor looked discomfited. “My parents are divorced,” she explained. “I live with my dad, but he had to go out of town this week. My aunt’s staying with me and my younger brother until Dad gets back.”
“I see,” Prissy murmured, trying not to pass judgment on the woman who’d left her children to be raised by their father. Like Celeste.
“Well,” Prissy said decisively, draping an arm around Taylor’s shoulders, “if you call and ask your aunt, I’m sure she won’t mind if you stay a while longer and have some pound cake. Manning’s great-grandmother mails us care packages every month, and her cakes are to die for. She always sends two, so there’s plenty to share. After you eat, Manning and I will take you back home.”
Lips twitching with humor, Stan graciously volunteered, “I can drive her.”
“Thank you, honey,” Prissy said warmly. She smiled at Taylor. “So what do you say, little missy?”
“Well, um, I’m not, um—” Faltering, Taylor looked askance at Manning, who grinned ruefully and shook his head at her.
“She’s not gonna leave you alone,” he warned, the amused voice of experience. “So you might as well say yes.”
Taylor smiled sheepishly. “Well…I could use some help with our precalculus homework.”
Manning’s grin broadened. “Say no more. I’m your man.”
Taylor beamed at him.
Bored with the entire transaction between their eldest brother and Taylor, the boys raced back downstairs to the basement to resume playing their new video games.
As Prissy watched Manning and Taylor head off to the kitchen, Stan curved an arm around her waist, affectionately nuzzling her earlobe. “What’re you up to, woman?”
“What?” Prissy asked innocently.
Stan chuckled. “You know what I’m talking about. You practically kidnapped that girl.”
Prissy smiled, shivering at the soft rasp of his goatee against her cheek. “I really like her.”
“Gee, I couldn’t tell.”
Prissy laughed. “Don’t make fun of me. Taylor’s a sweetheart. Not only did she defend Manny to Principal Henderson, but then she came all the way out here tonight just to bring Manny his schoolwork so he wouldn’t fall behind while he’s suspended.”
“Well, considering that he got suspended over her—” Stan broke off with a laugh as Prissy poked him in the ribs. “I’m just kidding, babe. You’re right. It was very considerate of Taylor to bring our son his schoolwork. I can see why you’ve taken such a shine to her.”
“I really have.” Prissy sighed, savoring the warmth and solidity of Stan’s body as she rested her head against his shoulder. “It’s nice to have another woman in the house.”
Stan raised a brow at her. “You say that as if you intend to make Taylor a regular fixture around here.”
Prissy smiled. “That’s not such a bad idea.”
Just then a girlish peal of laughter wafted from the kitchen, followed by Manning’s rumbling chuckle.
Stan and Prissy exchanged amused looks.
“Do they remind you of anyone?” she asked knowingly.
He smiled into her eyes. “Now that you mention it, they do remind me of a certain young couple from another time. But that doesn’t mean we should start planning their wedding.”
“Of course not. They’re only fourteen. We were eighteen when we got married.”
“And we were in love,” Stan pointed out humorously. “Manny and Taylor barely know each other, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“I’m not,” Prissy insisted.
“Umm-hmm.” Stan gave her a look that told her he knew better.
She grinned sheepishly. “Just because I— Hey!” she exclaimed as Stan suddenly bent and swept her easily into his arms. As he strode purposefully from the foyer, she eyed him in disbelief. “What’re you doing?”
Kissing her softly, he murmured, “I’m taking you to bed, woman.”
“Now?” Prissy protested, even as her body heated at the prospect of reconnecting intimately with him after the emotionally trying night they’d had. “But you’re supposed to be driving Taylor home when she and Manny finish their math homework.”
“It’ll take them at least an hour,” Stan reasoned, carrying her into their darkened bedroom. “So that means we can start with an appetizer, and finish with the main course later.”
“In that case,” Prissy purred as he kicked the door shut behind them, “bon appétit….”