Kathy Altman - Staying at Joe's

A mixture of sweat and dust coated her face and the back of her neck. It trickled down her spine and soaked into the waistband of her panties. Her skin crawled and she wondered if Joe had another pair of coveralls because she couldn’t help fantasizing about burning the pair she was wearing. Hell, she might as well burn her entire outfit.

How did he do this all day? Her knees and lower back were killing her.

With a groan she sat back on her heels and surveyed the section of floor she’d uncovered. She’d never thought of herself as a complainer. But here, in a run-down motel, amidst cigarette butts and mouse droppings, she wanted nothing more than to indulge in a good cry. When her throat thickened in automatic response she pushed her mask up off her face and grabbed her water bottle. A few deep swigs and the tightness eased.

A mouse scurried across the floor, inches from her knees. Allison shrieked and jolted to her feet. The water bottle went flying and slammed against the wall with a sloshing thud. She was almost at the door when Joe appeared, a wrench in his hand and concern on his face. Sweat formed a dark V on the front of his T-shirt and slicked his muscled arms. All that moisture her body had been producing nonstop over the past hour? Apparently she’d used it all up, because her throat chose that particular moment to go bottom-of-the-well dry.

CHAPTER THREE

JOE’S GAZE WHISKED over her, as if checking for blood, then scanned the room. “What happened?”

“I um, saw a, um...mouse.”

His shoulders relaxed and he leaned against the doorjamb. She could see he was trying not to smile.

“It’s not funny. They’re...unhygienic.”

“Is that even a word?” She glared and he shrugged. “I’ve had an exterminator out here but the suckers are persistent.” He released the smile. “My guess is they’re all female.”

That smile took indecent liberties with her insides. When his mouth took on that playful curve, it reminded her of less-hostile times. Of blissful, sultry, between-the-sheets times.

Easy, Allie.

Her cell rang and she tugged off her gloves. Got a good look at what was left of her manicure and bit back a whimper. She plucked her phone from her pocket and peered at the incoming number.

“I should take this.”

Something flickered across his face and he jerked a nod. “I have to go, anyway. A friend of mine needs help. Why don’t you knock off for the day? Try the diner in town if you’re hungry, and I guess I’ll see you in the morning.” He glanced at the lopsided roll of carpet on the floor behind her, then at the phone in her hand. “Good job, Kincaid.”

She continued to stare at the doorway long after he’d left. He was as distant as he could be. Calling her by her last name, keeping himself busy with other projects so they wouldn’t have to work together. Exactly what she needed him to do, if they were going to make it through the next few weeks without any messy conversations, let alone power tool mishaps.

So why did she feel slighted?

It was almost as if the effort involved in yanking carpet and refitting pipes had chipped away at the bitterness they shared. Well, it had to stop. She needed her bitterness. She and her bitterness were BFFs.

When her cell started a second series of rings she closed her eyes and pressed the phone to her ear. “Hi, Mom.”

“You talked to Sammy.”

Fine, Mom, thanks. And how are you?

Allison exhaled. “You and I agreed you wouldn’t see him, and he and I agreed he wouldn’t loan you more money. But you did, and he did, and I got a threatening phone call. I had to do something.”

“He cut me off.” As usual, Beryl Kincaid’s words were muffled—she did most of her talking around a mouthful of butterscotch candies.

“Mom. We’ve been over this. What happens if you can’t pay your rent and Carlotta kicks you out?”

The moment she asked the question she’d have given anything to take it back. She’d already had to make it clear—more than once—that she wouldn’t sacrifice her privacy. Not on top of everything else.

“I’m working on that,” her mother said, and Allison sagged against the nearest wall. “I wouldn’t mind a roommate who’s a little more appreciative. I made the cleverest centerpiece for the dining room table and you know what Carlotta said? She said it was tacky.’”

A crinkling sound. Her mother had popped another candy into her mouth.

“Tacky. Can you imagine? I spent hours on that piece. I put a little stuffed bear in a doll’s chair with a curved back—you know, kind of like a throne?—gave him a jar and a honey dipper and drizzled wood glue all over him. I wish you could have seen him, he looked so adorably messy. Oh, and I glued a bee to his nose and put a tiara on his head.” She paused, and sucked on her candy. “Maybe I should say her head. Anyway, I think the tiara glows in the dark.”

“That sounds...creative.” Poor Carlotta.

Her mother gasped. “Next time I’ll paint hearts on the jar and I’ll have the perfect Valentine’s Day gift. I could make a fortune, don’t you think? And ruffles. I should add ruffles.” Allison could hear her mom scribbling on a piece of paper. “Anyway, after all the time I put into the centerpiece, Carlotta didn’t want it. So I gave it to Sammy. He was thrilled. Well, not at first, but when I told him to give it to his girlfriend he perked right up.”

Allison turned and rapped her forehead against the wall. “You need to stay away from Sammy. He’s not your friend, Mom.”

“He’s a better friend than Carlotta.”

Allison sighed. “Aren’t your craft projects and your job at the mall enough to keep you away from the tables?”

“I get bored easily. You know I do. And when money’s at stake, hours go by like seconds.”

“Money has been at stake for as long as I can remember. The tables are killing you, Mom. They’re killing me. I can’t stand by while you dig yourself in deeper and deeper with that creep. One way or another, you’re going to end up in the hospital.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous. Sammy would never hurt me.”

“We stop paying and that’s exactly what he’ll do.” She pushed away from the wall and surveyed the room. As messy as it was, it couldn’t compare to the wreckage that was her life. But she was a daughter, with a mother who’d once risked everything to protect her.

She had to ask. “You making your meetings okay?”

“Of course I am,” her mother snapped. “And I wish you wouldn’t feel the need to ask every time we talk.”

“I care about you. I want you to get better.”

“You mean you want me to stop being a burden.”

“Mom—”

“But I think I’ve found a way to fix that.”

Oh, God. Oh, no. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out. How long will you be away?”

“Two weeks.” Because Joe Gallahan was determined to be an ass. “Mom. No more gambling. Promise me.”

“It’s not a gamble when it’s a sure bet.”

“Mom?”

“Trust me, Allie girl.”

“Mom.”

She’d disconnected.

Allison gritted her teeth and glared down at the phone. She really should have chucked the damn thing into the lake.

* * *

AN HOUR LATER she was combing her damp hair and trying to convince her empty stomach it could survive until morning when she remembered the packet of M&M’s she’d stashed in the glove compartment. She might be too tired and achy to check out the diner Joe had mentioned, but she could certainly limp as far as her car. When there was chocolate at stake, she’d crawl if she had to.

She shimmied into a pair of jeans and a black, short-sleeved shirt, wishing she’d had the chance to wash her new clothes. But at least she didn’t have to climb back into those grime-encrusted coveralls. Not yet, anyway.