Chapter Fourteen
“You got yourself a real fine roommate there, John,” Alfie Cofax said between bites of his third hot dog. Alfie was scrawny as a scarecrow with tufts of red hair standing up on end and a face full of freckles. He looked to be about fourteen but had a few years on John. He also had a wife and three kids.
John hmmed noncommittally.
“Yep. I wouldn’t mind chasing that around the corn fields,” Alfie whooped in appreciation as Phoebe strolled by, hips swaying, hair swinging, this time with someone’s distraught toddler in her arms.
“Isn’t that your kid?” Michael Cardona asked, elbowing Alfie in the gut and nodding at Phoebe.
“Ah, crap. I forgot I was supposed to be watchin’ him.” Alfie chased after Phoebe leaving John and Michael alone at the grill.
“He’s not wrong, you know,” Michael said, admiring Phoebe’s long legs.
“Don’t start, Cardona,” John growled a warning.
“I’m just stating a fact. She’s a good-looking woman. People are going to notice. Unless of course they’re brain dead.” Michael sent John a pointed look that he ignored. John slapped another row of burgers on the grill and pretended it was Michael’s face.
“You know what I think?” John picked up his beer.
“What?”
“I think I need a new beer,” he said, wiggling the empty can.
“Dude, seriously. Why aren’t you moving on that?” Michael asked, exasperated. “It’s like Hot Girl Heaven delivered an angel straight to you, and you’re too dumb to make a move.”
“I’m not too dumb to make a move. I’m not looking for a good time with no potential. End of summer comes, and she’s out of here. Or worse, things blow up mid-summer, and I’m left without the help I need around here. Besides, I’m starting to think about permanent.”
Michael looked at him as if he’d just announced he was going to grill up one or two of the smaller guests. “Permanent? Like marriage?” he scoffed.
John shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. Not now, but when I have this place up and running at capacity in a few years, why the hell not?”
Michael slapped a hand on his shoulder. “John, I’m fearing for your mental health.”
“Aren’t you sick of chasing women, yet? Don’t you wonder what it would be like to come home to the same face every day? Have kids, build a life? I’m too old for fucking around, and you should be too.”
Michael snorted. “If I ever get too old for fucking, run me over with your shitty tractor.”
“With pleasure. I could take care of it today,” John offered.
“You know, since you’re not interested in Phoebe, I think I’ll ask her out.”
“Why am I even friends with you?” John muttered, moving another group of hot dogs over to a plate and tossing a blackened one to Murdock who was cowering under the porch stairs.
“Who knows,” Michael shrugged. “You’d probably get more girls if you didn’t stand so close to me and all my prettiness.”
“You’re such a dick,” John muttered. “And if you don’t shut the fuck up about Phoebe—who is permanently off-limits as far as you’re concerned—I’m going to tell you what I’ve been avoiding mentioning since senior year.”
“Oh, really? And what’s that? What life-changing advice do you have for me, Pierce?” Michael prodded.
“I think you were really into Hazel Garfunkle, and her shutting you down in high school crushed you. So, you’ve spent the last ten years trying to look like a big shot.” He shoved the plate and his empty beer into Michael’s hands. “And until you man up and tell her how you really feel—without coming across like an asshole—and what you really want, you’re still going to be laying there at night thinking about her instead of whoever you talked into your bed that night. Now, go take these over to Phoebe without saying anything sexist or flirty to her and get me another beer.”
“I like you better when you stick to one-word answers,” Michael muttered.
“Yeah, well that makes two of us. This is what happens when I share a roof with a woman who talks a mile a minute about eighty-two different things.”
“You’re making me take these to Phoebe so you can avoid her, aren’t you? Man, she must scare the shit out of you.”
“Shut up and go away.”
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Phoebe’s plate of tabouli bean salad and tofu casserole slipped from her hands to the ground, landing facedown with a wet splat. Murdock scampered over, sniffed once, and decided he was better off waiting for another hot dog. She blinked, not trusting her eyes.
“Mom? Dad?”
“Surprise, sweetie!” Her mother’s Charlie-scented embrace was overwhelmingly familiar. The sleeveless navy dress with the starched Peter Pan collar was one of her mother’s favorites. And it too sent the sudden sting of homesickness through Phoebe.
“I can’t believe you’re here! What are you doing here? Oh, I’ve missed you guys. Dad! You’re on your feet!”
Her father, dapper in an indigo golf shirt and checkered shorts, leaned heavily on his cane and beamed at her behind his thick sunglasses. Phoebe gave him a peck on the check. “Can’t keep an old guy like me down. How’s my little girl?” he asked with so much affection that Phoebe felt like holding on to him forever. He smelled like Old Spice.
“They aren’t working you too hard, are they, my girl? Because you can always come home if you want to. I sure miss seeing your pretty smile at the dinner table. We’d be happy to keep you forever.” Her father, the overprotective father figure, took his role so seriously that Phoebe and Rose had found themselves periodically grounded for their friends’ offenses. A deterrent, Denny Allen had insisted. His little girls were going to stay his little girls forever.
“Oh, Dad. I missed you, too!”
“Now, don’t let me hog you all to myself. We brought reinforcements,” he announced, waving with his free arm toward two others.
“Rose?” Her sister, hair freshly permed, was staring adoringly up at the man next to her. He was thin and lanky. His nose was too big for his face, and his hair was already going wispy, but his smile was wide and friendly.
“Missed you, sis,” Rose said, tearing her gaze away from her beau so she could embrace her sister.
“Oh, I missed you so much,” Phoebe sighed.
“Sorry, I didn’t have time to give you a warning,” Rose whispered in her ear. “We went out for breakfast today after church, and Dad got it in his head that we should drive up here and surprise his little girl.”
Warning. Danger! Oh, shit. Phoebe was supposed to be living on a family farm with a family. Not under the roof of a sexy single farmer who made her feel like a volcano about to erupt.
“Oh, crap,” Phoebe gasped.
“Think fast.” Rose squeezed her arms before pulling back. “And this is Melvin, the man I was telling you about,” she said in a louder voice.
The way her sister said Melvin’s name was reverential as if Pink Floyd had wandered into the picnic looking to use the bathroom, and Phoebe snuck a peek to see what her father’s reaction was to Rose’s lovesick puppy routine. She caught him, pointing his fingers at his own eyes and then back at Melvin. “I’m watching you,” he mouthed.
Melvin swallowed hard.
Phoebe greeted the terrified man and hoped all the right pleasantries were spilling out of her mouth while her brain worked on the problem at hand.
She needed a family willing to lie for her and she needed one fast.
“I hope we’re not interrupting anything,” her mother said, taking in the colorful crowd with a rather dazed look. Phoebe knew it well. It was the “introduction to Blue Moon” look when the mind tried to reconcile the past living in the present.
Clayton ambled past them in a brown fringed vest with two plates overflowing with hot dogs and potato salad. The circumference of his dark, full hair parted the crowd. He winked at her mother. “Better get some grub while it’s hot,” he said in his smooth-as-bourbon baritone.
“The Pierces are having a picnic,” Phoebe lied brightly, the lie tightening her throat like an invisible noose.
“What kind of place is this?” her dad asked, staring blankly at Rainbow and Gordon who were making out against the door of a VW Bug painted like a smiley face.
“Mom, Dad, you guys stay right here. Grab a plate and stay right here. I’m going to go find the Pierces.”
She dashed off before anyone could stop her.
Phoebe found John flipping burgers on the grill, surrounded by a loose circle of friends. She paused just long enough to take in the view, a vision of masculine sex appeal in faded denim and comfortable plaid. This might be her last look at him if her parents found out about her scheming, and she was determined to make it count. She may be an adult, but her father wouldn’t hesitate to throw her in the trunk of the family car and drive her all the way home, lecturing her on common decency. Master’s degree be damned.
“John, I need you.”
The look he leveled on her said far more than words. She knew exactly what he thought she wanted. And given the way her pulse leapt, he wasn’t off base. But there were more urgent conversations to have. She slapped him in the shoulder and then turned to make sure her family hadn’t witnessed the exchanged. “Now is not the time for that!” she hissed.
He leaned in, keeping his voice low. “Word of warning, don’t start conversations with ‘John, I need you,’ unless that’s exactly what you mean.”
She flushed scarlet and began again, this time through gritted teeth. “I need you to pretend to be married.”
“Married?”
She didn’t even give him a chance to hand over the tongs. Phoebe was already dragging him back into the crowd. She had a farmer. Now, she needed a wife. Someone close to John’s age… Perfect.
Elvira was restocking the coolers with ice and drinks along the side of the house. Phoebe hauled John with her.
“I wish to hell Coke would have just left well enough alone,” Elvira muttered, dumping a six-pack of New Coke into the cooler.
“El, I’ve got a huge favor to ask. I need you to be married to John and living here.”
Elvira looked up from the beverages. “For how long?”
“That’s your first question?” John asked. “How about why?”
But Phoebe was busy building a family. “Hang on. You guys need a kid or two…”
“Phoebe!” John didn’t sound amused.
“Stay!” she ordered and took off again.
Then she spotted the boy. He was skinny and squinty and wore glasses bigger than his own face. His parents were heaping brownies and mac and cheese on his plate. “There you go, Billy,” his mother said cheerfully as she ladled another scoop on to the already dangerous peak of pasta.
“Excuse me,” Phoebe cut in. “Do you mind if I borrow your son for a minute?”
“You’re not going to do any weird mind experiments on him are you?” His father, rocking a sleeveless turtleneck and bellbottoms, laid a protective hand on Billy’s shoulder.
“No, of course not. But I am going to ask him to pretend to be someone else’s kid for a little while.” She winced, waiting for the no that any parent in their right mind would give.
“Oh, that’s fine. He does that on his own sometimes,” the mother announced. She had the kind of friendly, vacant expression that reminded Phoebe of a happy-go-lucky coma patient. “Billy, you go with this nice lady and pretend someone else is your mom, okay?”
Phoebe felt a twinge of guilt and hoped she wasn’t scarring the poor kid for life.
“Billy, there’s chocolate cake in this for you if you pretend John’s your dad and Elvira’s your mom.”
The kid nodded solemnly and then let out an ear-piercing scream.
“Oh, my God! Are you okay? Did you get stung by a bee?”
He shook his head. “Sometimes the screams just hafta come out,” he announced.
Well, it was too late to find a non-screamer now, Phoebe thought.
“Do you still want cake?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. One wife, one kid. I think we need another kid. What do you think?”
She flinched reflexively when Billy opened his mouth and then relaxed when words, not screams, came out.
“How about that one?” He pointed in the direction of the oak tree.
“Where did you get a baby?” John demanded when she returned, two children in tow.
“The kid was sitting unattended in a playpen under a tree. Maybe this will teach the parents to keep a closer eye on their children,” Phoebe snapped. She shoved the baby into John’s arms.
“Have you lost your damn mind?” John asked, bouncing the baby when she… or he started to fuss.
“Maybe. I’m not sure. My parents just showed up on your lawn. They think I’m staying on a family farm with a family, not living in sin with a sexy bachelor.”
“Sexy bachelor?” John asked.
“Don’t you actually have to be ‘doing it’ for it to be considered living in sin?” Elvira asked.
Phoebe covered the baby’s ears. “Not in front of… John Jr.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s Millie Karlinski,” Elvira corrected her.
“Fine. Look, please do this for me. My parents are old-fashioned. They would not approve of me staying here and I need this. They need this,” she pleaded.
“You owe me big time, you little liar,” John said, pointing his finger in her direction. The baby grabbed it and shoved it in her mouth.
“Watch out there. Some of those Karlinski kids are biters,” Elvira warned him.
“Huddle up, everyone. You are John and Elvira Pierce, and these are your kids Billy and Millie Pierce. One big happy family.”
Elvira ruffled Billy’s hair. “How’s it going, son?”
Billy let out a bellow and then grinned. “Fine, Mommy!”
“Maybe we should get this one something to eat so he can’t say anything,” Elvira suggested.
Michael Cardona sauntered up, enjoying a piece of chocolate cake. “Hey Blue Jeans,” he said with a long, slow wink at Phoebe.
“Perfect!” She yanked the plate out of his grip and handed it over to Billy. “Stuff your face, don’t scream. Got it?”
Billy shoveled a forkful into his mouth and nodded in delight.
“Hey, that’s my cake,” Michael argued.
“I’ll get you another piece, but for now, I need you to go someplace else.” She shoved him toward the barn.
“Hazel’s over by the horseshoe pits,” John said with a cocky grin.
Phoebe grabbed him by the wrist and wrangled the newly formed family in the direction of her parents.
“Mom, Dad, I’d like you to meet the Pierces,” she said, breathlessly. John squeezed her hand hard, and it reminded her that she was still holding it. She dropped it like it was on fire. “This is John, his wife Elvira, and their son Billy and daughter Millie.” Shit. She should have renamed the baby.