Introducing Daddy. Alaina Hawthorne
new with all the bells and whistles. Adam always did drive the best. She felt a momentary twinge about plopping her soaking wet bottom down on his plush seats, but there were so many other things to be miserable about, damp upholstery hardly rated a second thought.
For a moment she considered taking off the slicker and dropping it on the floorboard, but then he’d be sure to notice how much weight she’d lost. Instead, she just yanked the hood back. Her hair, freed at last, rose around her face like a curly, black sunburst. The bun wadded at the back of her neck immediately began to tickle in a really irritating way.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
So composed, she thought, so smooth—just like this is the most natural thing in the world. “The name of the shop is Something Different. It’s on—”
“Westheimer. I’ve seen it.” He turned the key, and the engine roused with a smug purr. Evie huddled against the door. Here she was, not two feet away from him. After all these months. After…everything else. She felt as if time had telescoped, as if the months had evaporated and they hadn’t been separated at all.
You’d better tell him before we get to the shop. You know he’s going to come in—if not today, someday soon. At the thought of it her stomach closed on itself and she clamped her arms over her middle.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
They ascended the ramp, and a sheet of rain smacked the windshield as the car emerged into the gray afternoon. Evie became aware of music on the stereo and recognized the song. “Desperate Men Do Desperate Things.” She reached forward and snapped it off.
“I thought you liked Jimmy LaFave.”
“I—I do. I just don’t feel like listening to music right now. Do you mind?”
“No, of course not.”
Well, aren’t we Mr. Accommodating.
Although she kept her face turned away she felt him watching her—studying her. He shifted slightly in his seat. “Jimmy’s in town this weekend. At McGonigel’s.”
“Mmm,” she said.
“Have you been there lately?”
“No. I don’t go out much.”
“I went by and talked to Rusty a couple of days ago. Teresa’s pregnant. Twins.”
She gasped. Could he possibly…? No. No way.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah.” She turned toward him. “But you’ve got to admit, Adam. This is pretty awkward. It’s ridiculous to act like things are normal between us.”
“I know. I’m just glad to see you, to be with you. But you seem, I don’t know, really jumpy.”
But she looks the same, he thought. Well, almost the same. Thinner. Pale. And he knew she’d been crying. All night long, judging by the way her eyes were puffed up. It had to be that stupid item in the paper. She’d taken off her wedding rings, too. That hurt. Again, he’d bet it was that thing in the paper. Better not to ask about it right now, he thought.
More than anything he wanted to pull the car over, cup her perfect, heart-shaped face in his hands and kiss her silly. He was completely certain if he tried to, she’d slap his face.
He wasn’t about to give up, though. They belonged together. Damn it, he loved her, and he knew she still loved him. He’d made a serious miscalculation about how she’d felt about going overseas, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t go on like before. He was back now. For a little while. He knew he could convince her to join him. After all, they’d been together for years. They were soul mates. He’d never been as close to anyone as he had been to Evie Beauchamp. He knew she felt the same way.
He remembered the day he met her at the Alexanders’ house. He’d been at Evansville High School for less than a month, and Louis Alexander had already become a good friend. Still, Adam always hated going to someone’s home for the first time—especially the home of someone like Louis Alexander. His father was a doctor and his mother was principal of the elementary school. They were the aristocracy of the small town, and Adam’s family was very far removed from those circles.
When they’d walked in through the kitchen, the first thing Adam had seen was the enormous pot of gumbo bubbling on the stove. His spirits had risen considerably. Right next to the stove, a steaming bowl of white fluffy rice sat on an iron trivet. Loaves of crusty French bread were set out along with slabs of real butter, and there were napkins stacked next to a mountain of bowls and plates. The napkins were cloth—blue-and-white checkered. He remembered vividly everything he saw that day.
When the two of them walked through to the family room, Adam saw at least fifteen people sprawled on comfortable-looking furniture, spilling onto the floor and piled together on beat-up beanbag chairs. Everyone was watching The Wizard of Oz on Dr. Alexander’s new big-screen TV. Adam was introduced around, and though he was able to remember a few of the names—there were five other Alexander children—there were so many neighborhood kids, he couldn’t possibly remember who was who. Evie stood out, though.
She was nearly fourteen then, but could have passed for twelve. Or ten. She sat folded up on the divan like a grasshopper, wedged between Mary Margaret and little Hughie Alexander. Her hair was an untamed, ebony corkscrew mane, and she had enormous, jade green eyes. She was stick thin, and Adam’s first impression was a black-haired Little Orphan Annie.
Louis stood next to Adam; dutifully intoning names.
“…and Heather, and this is my brother Hughie, and this is Evie Beauchamp—she lives next door—and my sister Mary Margaret—”
“Hey,” some fat kid chortled from one of the beanbags. “Adam and Evie. Ha ha ha. Somebody get Evie an apple. Now you’ll finally have a boyfriend. Adam and Ee-vie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I—”
The kid might have continued ragging her for a while before the others shushed him, but that didn’t happen. Without a second’s hesitation, Evie launched herself from the couch and flew through the air, bony arms and legs outstretched like a spider monkey flinging itself from tree to tree. She hit the boy squarely in the gut—a flailing whirlwind of skinny limbs—and had to be pulled away. Adam liked her immediately. He admired a fighter.
Later, after the movie, and replete with several bowls of Mrs. Alexander’s spicy seafood gumbo, Adam rose and thanked his hosts. He liked them and he could tell that they liked him, too. They eventually became his surrogate parents, and he lived with them his senior year of high school. But that first night Evie stood up to leave at the same time he did. He knew she’d been watching him during the evening, and had timed her exit to coincide with his. He had smiled inwardly, wondering what had piqued her interest.
He wasn’t amused; he was charmed.
“Well,” she said, standing and stretching her whippet-thin arms, “I’ve got to go feed Snoopy.”
“You’re coming back, aren’t you, dear?” Mrs. Alexander asked. Adam heard the protectiveness in the older woman’s voice and wondered at it.
“Sure,” Evie said. “I gotta go get my stuff.”
“Is Snoopy your dog?” Adam asked.
Evie met his gaze, and he realized her eyes looked more emerald close up. “No, Snoopy’s my pony. I wish I had a dog, though. That’s what I really wanted.”
“Boy was she surprised Christmas Day,” Hughie said. “She named him Snoopy, anyway, ‘cause she’d already picked the name.”
“Wow,” Adam said. “A pony! Your folks must be really generous to give you a pony when you asked for a dog.”
“Not really,” she said evenly. “They’d do just about anything to keep me outside.”
Adam