Save The Date Part 35

Ryan shrugged and wiped the sweat from his dust-caked forehead. "Some detective came over to talk to Lillian, then went to see Cara. They've talked to the a.s.sistant too. And I guess they're checking p.a.w.n shops around town to see if it turns up."

"But the cops aren't gonna arrest the florist, right? I mean, they can't prove she stole the thing, like you said."

"For all we know, somebody took the d.a.m.n thing home from the wedding with 'em. You were there, everybody was blitzed. In the meantime, Lillian is bad-mouthing poor Cara all over town."

"Seems like a shame," Jack said. "Can't Torie do anything to calm Lillian down?"

"She's tried. In fact, they had a big fight over it last weekend. Now Lillian's not talking to Torie, which is fine by me."

"In-laws."

Jack turned the truck onto East Forty-sixth Street and pulled alongside the curb in front of his brother's Craftsman bungalow. "Porch railing looks good," he said, nodding toward the house.

"Yeah, it worked out okay," Ryan said. He gathered his tools and stepped out of the truck. "See you in the morning. Remember, I don't need you to pick me up."

As soon as he'd dropped his brother off, Jack headed north, toward downtown. He found himself smiling, and whistling. Mister Happy Face, Ryan had called him. Maybe he was. Maybe he had something to smile about these days.

He found himself cruising slowly past Bloom, on West Jones Street. It was nearly seven, but Cara hadn't brought in the garden cart full of plants she kept outside the shop. He halfway considered stopping and offering to help her bring it in, then, glancing down at himself, thought better of it. Maybe he'd go home, shower, then call and ask her out to dinner. Between all the weddings she always had on weekends, and his amped-up timetable for the Strayhorn project, they still hadn't had what he considered a real date.

He picked up his cell phone and tapped her number. It rang three times, and then went to voicemail. Jack frowned. She must be working on something. He knew she had a wedding over the weekend, and that her a.s.sistant was slacking off.

"Hey, it's me," he said. "I just rolled past your place and it looks like you're working. How about I take you out to dinner tonight? I'm headed home to shower. Call me, okay?"

Jack thought about the matter that had put a smile on his face earlier in the afternoon. He'd almost confided in Ryan. He and his brother were close, best friends, if you got right down to it. But then he'd decided it wouldn't be fair to Cara.

He hesitated, then tapped her number.

"Me again," he said ruefully. "Listen, I've got a proposition for you. Maybe we can talk about it over dinner."

When he got to his block of Macon Street, he pounded the steering wheel in frustration. A pair of bright yellow sawhorses were pulled across the street, and city work crews were busily tearing up the pavement.

"What the h.e.l.l?" he muttered, taking a left turn down the lane. He had a single narrow parking s.p.a.ce in back of his cottage, but he preferred parking on the well-lit street out front, since he still hadn't taken the time to install a motion-activated light in the backyard as a deterrent to thieves.

Grumbling, he shoehorned the truck into his allotted s.p.a.ce between two sets of garbage cans. He got out of the truck, locked it, then went around to fetch his heavy tool kit. No way he'd leave it in the truck for any pa.s.sing thugs to steal.

He had to set the toolbox down while he sorted through the keys on his ring to find the small one that fit the back-gate padlock. Finding it, he unlocked the gate, stepped into his ill-kempt back garden, and locked it again, tugging hard on the padlock to make sure it was secure. He wasn't taking any chances on Shaz making any more great escapes.

Although, come to think of it, the last time she'd gotten out, things had worked out okay.

"Shaz!" He looked around the yard, expecting to see the big white furball come bounding full-speed at him. He wasn't the only one at this address whose mood had improved lately.

Since he'd started taking her on regular walks, and even out to the job site some days, Shaz was a different dog. She was lively, playful, energetic, what you expected from a puppy.

But where the h.e.l.l was she? He'd put her out in the yard before leaving this morning, being careful to make sure she had fresh water in her bowl, food, and chew toys. He'd bought a dog door that would allow Shaz access to the kitchen when he was gone, but hadn't had time to install it yet.

He peered around the yard, checking to see if she was nestled in the shade beneath the garden's only tree, a large water oak that desperately needed limbing up. No Shaz.

"Shaz!" Jack was starting to worry. Had she somehow managed to get out some other way? He scanned the fence line, but there was no sign that she'd managed to burrow beneath it, and there was no way she could have jumped the six-foot-high stockade fence.

His pulse raced as he considered the alternatives. Could somebody have broken in and taken the dog? How? The gate had been locked. He hurried to the back porch and tried the door. Locked. He turned the key and stepped into the kitchen, hoping, against logic, that Shaz had magically figured out a way to get inside.

"Shaz!"

"Wowf!" The dog raced into the kitchen and planted her paws on his chest, her tail wagging a mile a minute.

"d.a.m.n, girl, you scared me. How the h.e.l.l did you get in here?"

"Jack?"

For a moment, he could have sworn his heart nearly stopped from a combination of shock and fright.

A woman's voice. Faint, but distinct, and it was coming from the front of the house.

"Jack, is that you?"

46.

She was curled up on the sofa, dressed only in a bra and panties, drinking one of his Dos Equis beers. Her blond hair was lank and she wore no makeup, and there were dark circles under her eyes. A pair of battered Mexican leather sandals sat on the floor, along with her oversized pocketbook.

"Surprise!"

Shaz jumped up on the sofa and laid across her mistress's lap. Reunited at last.

Jack just stared.

"Zoey? What are you doing here?"

She offered him a weak smile. "I came back."

"So I see. Why?"

Zoey put the beer down on the floor. "What do you mean, why? I came back because I missed you." She kissed the top of Shaz's head, and the adoring puppy rewarded her with a lavish lick on the chin.

"What about Jiminy Cricket? Won't you be missing him?"

Her lips were dried and cracked, but she still managed to form her signature Zoey Ackerman pout.

"Jesus H. Christ, Jack. For the millionth time, his name is Jamey. Jamey b.u.t.tons. And for your information, that's all over."

"I thought you were on a cruise ship. For like six weeks. What'd you do? Swim back to sh.o.r.e?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I happen to be pretty d.a.m.n sick. Ever hear of a thing called norovirus?"

"What? That's the name of your boyfriend's new band?"

"Ha ha. Don't you ever watch the news? Norovirus is a highly contagious virus that's like, the scourge of cruise ships. We were just off Raritan on our last trip when people started getting sick. I was teaching a Pilates cla.s.s on the sunset deck when all of a sudden, I just, well, I barely made it to the bathroom. And the next thing I know, everybody else in my cla.s.s is barfing and ... you know."

"Diarrhea?"

She shuddered. "I barely made it back to my cabin in time. Ten minutes later, here comes Jamey-and now he's sick!"

"Too bad," Jack said.

"Have you ever seen one of the bathrooms on those cruise ships? They're like the size of a telephone booth. And we had to share it!"

"Poor you."

She narrowed her eyes. "You think it's funny, don't you? I thought I was dying. For two whole days, I couldn't leave our cabin. And neither could he. It was beyond disgusting. And there was like, n.o.body to help us. Almost everybody on the whole ship was sick. I kept ringing for the steward, but he was sick too. Finally, somebody brought some Gatorade and some saltines, but I couldn't keep anything down. I lost six pounds in three days."

"But you lived," Jack said.

"No thanks to that jerk Jamey." She sighed dramatically. "We are so over, it's not even real. I guess you never really know somebody till you're locked up in a s...o...b..x-sized room with them with raging diarrhea and nausea, huh?"

"Words of wisdom," Jack said. "Very sage. But you still haven't told me how you ended up back here."

"They had to turn the ship around and go back to port in Lauderdale two days early," Zoey said. "They gave all the pa.s.sengers discount vouchers for another trip and stuff, and the cruise line wanted me to stay on, and work on another of their ships, because now they have to completely sanitize the one we were on, but I was like, no effin' way. I hope I never see another cruise ship as long as I live. Or Jamey. I got off the boat Wednesday, but I was too sick and weak to travel, so I got a room near the port. Then, this morning, I drove straight here."

"To my place."

It took a moment for that to sink in. "Our place. I live here, Jack."

He squatted on the floor beside the sofa so that he could be at eye level. "Zoey, you left me. You said you were in love with another guy, so you packed up your clothes, and you left."

Huge tears welled up in Zoey's blue eyes. "It was a mistake," she whispered. "I, I can't explain it. That thing they say about women, going for musicians? It's true! He had like a spell on me. But it wasn't real. I figured that out. The whole time I was sick, I just kept thinking, if I get off this boat alive, I'm going back to Jack, and I'll never leave him again."

She grabbed his hand and clutched it to her chest. "I missed you so much, Jackie."

His cell phone rang. He stood, awkwardly, and pulled it from his pocket, checking the caller ID. It was Cara.

"Jackie?" Zoey looked up at him expectantly.

"I gotta take this call," he said, his voice brusque. He turned and strode back into the kitchen.

"Hey, you," Cara said. "I just heard your message. I'd love some dinner, if it's not too late."

He paused and glanced back over his shoulder. Zoey now stood in the doorway from the living room, glaring at him. Her skin was deeply tanned, but she looked gaunt.

"Uh," he stammered. "I just got in myself, and I haven't even showered yet."

"I can wait," Cara said. "What, thirty minutes?"

"The thing is, there's been kind of an unexpected development here."

"Shaz didn't run off again, did she?"

"No, nothing like that," Jack said. "I've got some out-of-town company, is all. Sort of out of the blue."

Zoey frowned. "Since when am I company? Who are you talking to? Is that a woman?"

"Jack?" Cara said. "What kind of company?"

Shaz trotted into the kitchen and rubbed up against his legs. He looked helplessly from Zoey to the dog to the back door. If he left right now, he could make it over to Cara's house, explain everything in person. And maybe Zoey would dematerialize.

"Hey!" Zoey called loudly. "Whoever is on the phone? Jack can't talk right now. Because his girlfriend is back. And he needs to take care of her. So just hang up, okay?"

He covered the phone with his hand. "Shut the f.u.c.k up," he said hoa.r.s.ely, slamming the kitchen door in Zoey's face.

"Cara?"

There was a long pause.

"Oh," Cara said. "Was that really Zoey?"

"Yeah," he said slowly. "When I got home from work a little while ago, she was here. That cruise ship she was on? Everybody got some kind of stomach virus. She said they got back to port yesterday, and she drove here today. Out of the clear blue."

"Siren of the Seas? I heard about that on the news. That's the ship she was on?"

"I don't know and I don't care," Jack said, wearily rubbing his hand across his face, staring at his own grubby reflection in the kitchen window. "You gotta believe me, Cara. I had no idea she was coming back. I don't want her here. We're through. I was just trying to tell her that when you called."

"What's she want from you? What happened to the Jimmy Buffett impersonator?"

"She says they broke up. I guess she thinks she can just show up here and I'll take her back. But she's dead wrong."

"What'll you do?"

"Tell her to leave," Jack said. "She sure as h.e.l.l can't stay here with me."

"Is she still sick?"

"Zoey? She's fine! Okay, it looks like she lost a little weight. But she was well enough to drive seven hours straight from Fort Lauderdale, so as far as I'm concerned, she can just keep driving."

"That seems awfully mean," Cara said. "The people on that ship were really sick. Some of them are still in the hospital."

He snorted. "You don't know Zoey. She's like a c.o.c.kroach. No matter how many times you stomp on her, she just gets up and keeps going. Look. Are we still on for dinner? Let me grab a shower and I'll be over there in fifteen."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. What do you feel like for dinner?"

"Doesn't matter. After the day I've had, I'll just be happy to see a friendly face."