Falling For Nick (23 page)

"Hi." Clea smiled, happy to see him. She needed him. Robert always managed to steady her, to boost her confidence.

"Did your mother make it home okay?"

"Yes, I did," Vivian called from the bedroom. "I'm in here if you'd care to say hello."

Robert exchanged a smile with Clea before heading to the bedroom. Clea followed.

"How're you feeling, Vivian?" Robert placed a kiss on her mother's cheek.

"Better, now that you're here." Vivian's mouth turned up at the corners. "Clea assures me that all of my plans for the wedding are being taken care of, but I'll feel so much better if you keep an eye on her."

"Of course I will." He winked at Clea.

The phone rang.

"Excuse me," Clea said. She went into the kitchen to grab the phone. "Hello."

"Is this Ms. Rose?" a voice asked.

"Yes, it is," Clea replied.

"This is Marilyn King. I'm the principal at Bradley Elementary."

Clea's grip tightened on the phone. "What's wrong? Is it John?"

"I'm afraid John's been in a fight. He's all right, but this is the second time this week he's been involved in an altercation with another student. We consider fighting a serious offense at Bradley Elementary. I'm afraid I'm recommending that John be suspended from school for one day. Are you available to meet with me this afternoon? There are some things I'd like to discuss with you."

"Of course." A million questions rioted in Clea's head. "I'm on my way."

"Fine. I'll see you soon."

"Yes." The line went dead.

"John's in trouble?" Robert asked. He'd come out of the bedroom mid-conversation.

"He's been in a fight," Clea said, her wits returning. "I have to go. Will you stay with my mother?"

"Of course I will, but I hate to say I told you so, Clea. Like father, like son. John hasn't been himself since Nick's come back to town. Maybe now you'll listen to me and take steps to keep Nick from John's life."

An anger unlike anything she'd felt before threatened to strangle Clea. She refused to dignify Robert's comments with a response. Going to the bedroom door, she said, "I'm going to pick up John, Mother. I'm sure Robert with fill you in."

Before Vivian could ask any questions, Clea grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

At that moment, she didn't care about anyone or anything other than her son - a little boy who didn't understand why his world had turned upside down.

*   *   *

Nick opened the door to The Coffee House and stepped inside. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee filled his senses. He walked over to the bar counter and sat down. Mitzi chatted with a customer at the far end. When she spied him, she called, "Hey, Nick. I'll be right there. Just let me finish up here."

"Take your time," Nick said. He'd come here, hoping to find Clea and John. When John hadn't shown at the garage that afternoon, he'd had no idea what to do, how to enforce the consequences he'd given the boy. He'd been so sure John would honor his part of their bargain. Nick felt like a fool for believing John would show. His parenting skills were worse than he thought. He needed an expert parent's advice. He needed Clea's advice. He hoped Mitzi would know where she was.

While he waited for Mitzi, Nick looked around the shop. The counter top was an emerald green marble, beautiful and classy. The barstools at the counter were done in a matching shade of green leather. All around the shop were framed photos. Clea's photos? Nick scanned the pictures. Yes, her business cards were placed in the corners of each frame.

There were traditional shots of the canal, of the blue herons, of Port Bliss. Nick slid off the barstool and cruised the room, taking his time at each piece. There were photos where the people in the café looked like ghosts, their images transparent and haunting. There was a photo of an old woman's face, but the image had been split, cut in half, so part of her face was seen in profile. Clea had then painted part of the photo, using bright colors. The picture was unusual and creative, like Clea. Some of the photos looked modern to him, abstract, with the pieces of the photo cut apart and rearranged. Clea had talent. There was no doubt in his mind. He could see why she'd won the internship.

Nick made his way back to the counter, and climbed onto the barstool. More photos lined the wall above the coffee bar. A photo of John at the beach caught his eye. John played in the sand, his head bent.

"It's great, isn't it?" Mitzi said, joining him. She glanced up at the photo.

"Is it for sale?" Nick wanted that picture, no matter the price.

"Yes." Mitzi took the framed picture from the wall and passed it to him. "She never sells photos of John, but you can't see his face in this one. He's anonymous."

"Not to me," Nick said. "I'll take it." He turned the picture over. The tag read thirty-five dollars. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket.

"All right," Mitzi said, a knowing smile on her face. "Can I get you a drink?"

"I'll have a cup of coffee, black."

"What? No flavor of the day? It's mocha hazelnut today." She smiled.

Nick smiled back. "Just regular coffee."

Mitzi poured him a steaming cup. "How come you haven't been by before now? I expected you sooner."

"I didn't want to bother Clea at work."

Mitzi took a large chocolate chip cookie from a jar on the counter and handed it to him. "Here, on the house."

"Thanks." Nick chuckled. "Do you still have your sweet tooth, Mitzi?" Nick remembered all the runs they'd made for chocolate for Mitzi when they'd been in high school.

"I feed it every chance I get." She helped herself to a cookie. "Are you looking for Clea, or did you drop by to see me?"

"I'm looking for her. Any idea if she's home? I didn't want to knock on the door with Boomer's car parked out front."

"I think she's there. She brought her mother home from the hospital today. Vivian's upstairs, too."

Nick suppressed a groan. Boomer and Vivian. Is that why John hadn't shown today? Maybe he couldn't get away.

"Do you want me to call her? I can ask her to come down to the shop." Mitzi's eyebrows rose slightly as if to encourage him to say yes.

"Would you? It's important. I need to talk to Clea and I'd rather not upset everybody else in the process."

Mitzi smiled as she reached for the phone. She punched in Clea's number. "Robert? It's Mitzi. Is Clea there?"

She paused while Robert spoke. The conspiratorial smile slipped from her face. "Is he all right?" she asked.

Nick set his cookie down. His heart sped up. Something was wrong.

"Well, tell her to call me when she has a chance," Mitzi said. "Bye for now." She hung up.

"What's wrong?" Nick asked, afraid to hear the answer.

"John was in a fight at school. Clea had to go into Bradley to meet with the principal."

"Is John all right?" Nick asked.

"Robert didn't know. Apparently Clea didn't say much before she left."

"Damn it." Nick glanced down at the photo of John on the beach. The kid was drowning and Nick had no idea how to save him. "Ring me up, Mitzi."

"Okay, Nick."

Nick paid his tab.

"Do you want me to tell Clea you came by?" Mitzi asked her eyes filled with worry.

"No." Nick stood, replacing his wallet in his pocket. He picked up the picture. "I'll call her myself. Thanks for the coffee, the cookie, and the conversation."

"Anytime, Nick," Mitzi said, her tone warm. "Take care."

Nick walked from The Coffee House. He had no idea what to do next. Most likely Clea was already on her way back to town. He couldn't do anything until she got home, and even then it wouldn't be wise to contact her tonight, not with her mother and Robert at her place.

He was tired of being an outsider when it came to his own kid. He wanted to be there with Clea, to help her and John through this. He wanted Clea and John to know they could count on him.

But how did he make them believe in him the way he believed in them? The question drove Nick crazy.

Clea turned the television off and stood up, stretching. She'd hoped watching a show would help put her to sleep, but she felt more keyed up than ever. Seeing John at school in the principal's office had thrown all her own doubts into overdrive. She no longer knew what was best for John. The little boy had so much anger. One good thing had come from his fight today. They'd had the opportunity to speak with the school counselor, Mrs. Wilson.

Mrs. Wilson had suggested John might like to attend her anger management group. John had balked at first, but had finally agreed with some pressure
from the principal. Mrs. Wilson had also suggested private family counseling for all of them, including Nick and Robert, pointing out that all of their lives had been changed by Nick's return. Everyone needed help adjusting, including and especially, Nick.

Clea sighed, walking over to the window. Nick's place was dark. She wanted to call him, share the details of today with him, details she'd withheld from Robert. She didn't want to ask herself why she hadn't told Robert about the family counseling. She'd intended to, but he'd had an "I told you so" look in his eyes when she'd returned from the school that had stopped her cold.

Clea turned away from the window. She wouldn't find any answers staring out into the darkness. Somewhere she had to find the strength to make the right choices for John. After today she wasn't sure about anything, not about leaving town, or about marrying Robert. It terrified her to think that she might make the wrong choice, the choice that would send John even farther away from her.

And she couldn't even begin to think about where Nick fit into her life.

Clea walked down the hall to do one last check on her mother and John before bedding down on the couch for the night. She peeked into her room. The sound of Vivian's deep, even breathing reassured her all was right with her mother. A smile on her lips, Clea closed the door and moved on to John's room. She opened the door and went to the bed. He looked lumpy and small under the blankets. She pulled the quilt away from his head, wanting to see his sweet face, but found herself looking at a pillow. Clea jerked the blankets back. The bed was empty.

Frantic, she searched the room. His coat was gone. His boots were missing.

"Mother!" she cried, running down the hall. "Mother."

"What is it?" Vivian asked, her voice groggy with sleep.

"John's missing. I need your help."

*   *   *

Nick's eyes opened in the darkness.

For a minute he thought he was back in his cell, but the dead quiet brought him back to reality with a snap. In prison the combination of concrete and steel caused a roar that never died. The constant clamor: the voices, the moaning, the screaming, bounced around, circling into a never-ending echo. Over time he'd learned to live with the noise. Once home, he'd had to learn all over again how to live with the silence.

But something had woken him. What?

A loud banging sounded at the door. "Nick, are you in there?"

Clea. The urgency in her voice shook the last remains of sleep from his mind and he bolted to the door, yanking it open.