CHAPTER FOURTEEN
. . . . .
. . . .
All the things she should have done to 'nip this in the bud' were fairly simple; she could tick them off quite easily.
—Don't spend time alone with him.
—Don't text him at night or respond too quickly to his texts.
—Don't get up for coffee every time you see him head that way.
—Don't agree to meet him for coffee in the mornings before work.
—Don't always be home when he and Lilly come by.
—Just be a friend.
—Don't kiss him on the cheek under the moonlight again.
—And start finding other men to date.
Juliet stared at her scissors, which she was supposed to be using to wrap Lilly's birthday present.
So far, she sucked. Because instead of following any of those simple rules, she found herself getting ever closer to Carlton.
—Since her babysitting gig, they were texting longer each night, and sometimes, when a story got too complicated for keying, one would call the other and they'd talk for half an hour.
—There was practically a path worn in the floor between her desk and the coffee bar.
—The baristas at their coffee shop started greeting them by name.
—Wendy asked her to brunch Saturday and she turned her down, because she didn't want to miss her time with Carlton and Lilly.
—As for other men? Pah.
"This isn't good," she mumbled. "It certainly isn't smart."
Why was this happening to her now? Or... again, with greater intensity? And could she have picked a more complicated scenario than to fall for her boss?
Granted, he wasn't her direct supervisor, and there was certainly nothing anyone could say about their visible relationship at work except maybe they drank too much coffee at the same time.
You're not in a relationship, her logical brain hissed at her. You're just friends. Wrap the damned gift.
She wrapped the damned gift, a set of princess and fairy puzzles suitable for four-year-olds. She'd also bought a little tiara, and smiled as she imagined Lilly wearing it.
March was starting to show signs of spring, and the three blocks down to Carlton's house was a brisk and pleasant few minutes' walk. She was a little nervous about how it would go with Mona Lassiter, given what she knew of the woman.
She'd seemed pleasant-ish enough—or neutral-ish, anyway—at Carlton's wedding, but didn't mingle much with the others, and Juliet hadn't spent any time with her before the debacle of figuring out Shawn's big lie. Carlton had seemed proud to escort both Mona and Althea to their seats, but that was a pretty full day for him and he'd been bursting with hope and optimism, which was contagious.
Maybe she'd just contained her legendary nastiness for one afternoon. Miracles happened all the time.
Carlton had told her to let herself in, so she did, calling out his name and Lilly's when she stepped into his kitchen, setting the gift bag by the door.
Lilly ran in, pointing excitedly to the strawberry cake on the countertop. Juliet knew Carlton had baked it himself, and was proud for him. The icing featured Lilly's name and the number four, and Lilly jumped around exclaiming it was her birthday until Juliet scooped her up for a hug.
Lilly was still giggling when Carlton came in, and his smile at the sight of them made Juliet's heart do some funny skippy things. He was exceptionally attractive today, in a cobalt blue pullover and his dark jeans, and his eyes, as ever, seemed lit from within.
You have to look away now, warned her inner Sensible Girl.
"The cake looks wonderful," she said, and Lilly concurred.
"We're having ice cream too!" She wriggled out of Juliet's grasp just as the front doorbell chimed.
Juliet and Carlton exchanged a look, and he went to let in the guests.
Taking Lilly's hand, Juliet suggested they go say hello to her grandmother and Althea, and when they stepped into the living room, Mona was already settling into the overstuffed chair.
"Hello, Mrs. Lassiter."
Mona eyed her suspiciously.
Althea gave a light hug to Juliet and a bigger one to Lilly—who didn't seem to mind, but then it was impossible not to like Althea—praising her dark curly hair and big blue eyes. Lilly smiled up at her, shy but unafraid.
"Who are you?" Mona barked, otherwise ignoring son and granddaughter.
"Juliet O'Hara." She stepped forward to offer her hand, and Mona took it reluctantly. "I was partnered with Carlton for years before I moved up to San Francisco, but now I'm back at the SBPD."
"I don't remember you." She was still half-glaring at her, and beside Juliet, Carlton sighed.
"Well, it's been a while. We haven't met since Carlton's wedding."
"Wedding," she scoffed. "If you call that legit. No son of mine should have married a woman fresh out of prison."
Oh, you bitch, Juliet thought. Not even two minutes and you're already at him.
Carlton interrupted. "Mother, that's already enough."
She turned her glare to him. "Well, isn't it true? You married an ex-con and she abandoned you and ran off to God knows where. Now you've got this blondie around, and for all you know she's just another—"
"Stop it," he cut in sharply. "I thought you came here for your granddaughter's birthday."
"Mona, please." Althea fluttered nearby, glancing between Lilly—who was now clutching Carlton's leg—and Mona.
"Granddaughter." Disdain dripped from each syllable. "If she's even yours, you mean."
Silence overtook the room, but blood was pounding in Juliet's ears, and everyone was lucky she didn't know the combination to Carlton's gun safe.
Carlton looked at Juliet, jaw clenched and blue eyes ablaze. "Would you please take Lilly back to the kitchen?"
Juliet tugged Lilly away from him, noting the little girl's unease. She knew Lilly couldn't really grasp the specifics of what was being said, but she certainly registered anger and upset.
"Come on, sweetie, let's go get the ice cream out."
Lilly stopped resisting, but once they were in the other room—where Juliet could still hear the other voices perfectly well—she did something a touch self-serving: she told Lilly, "Why don't you go upstairs and look for Mrs. Purpleface? She needs some birthday cake too."
Lilly went off like a shot, and Juliet returned to the doorway. She let herself be seen: Carlton might not want it, but she had an urge to show Mona that Carlton did not stand alone.
Mona had just snapped something about not letting him talk to her like that.
Carlton said coldly, "This is my house. You're no longer welcome in it."
"You can't throw me out. I'm your mother. I have—"
"You have nothing. Nothing but a cold heart and a sharp tongue." He was ice. "Lilly and Juliet and Marlowe are the most important people in my life." As if saying her name made him sense her, he turned and met Juliet's gaze briefly—and nodded.
She felt accepted, trusted... needed.
To his mother, with a gesture toward Juliet, he added, "If it weren't for her influence, I'd never have been able to turn into the kind of man Marlowe could love. I owe the three of them everything." Another glance at Juliet, and he finished quietly, "And I owe her most of all."
Juliet suppressed a shiver at his tone. Her heart was doing those funny skippy things again.
"Carlton, honey," Althea tried. "You know your mother—"
He shook his head. "You're too good for her, Althea. She's blessed to have you." He strode to the door and opened it wide. "But get out, Ma. I'm not going to say you can't see Lilly anymore, but I am going to stop you from seeing her until she's old enough to understand how awful you are. I'm not going to let that hate into her life, and I'll no longer tolerate it in mine."
Juliet heard Lilly coming down the stairs, and went to meet her. She didn't need to hear any more, and Lilly didn't need to hear it at all.
Still, the *smack* of the front door closing hard was impressive.
. . . . .
. . . .
Carlton took a moment to settle himself down, doing an internal survey of his state of mind.
Regrets? None.
None.
At least it had been quick. He glanced at his watch: under five minutes for the showdown of a frickin' lifetime.
He thought, when he went off on her during his marriage, that the warning would take. He'd hoped she'd be able to just come enjoy her grandchild and keep her own private misguided bitterness to herself. Just one time. Just once.
But when she started—all barrels loaded, all fired simultaneously—he knew there could be no real cease-fire in her world. And at this point in his life, Lilly's world was far and away more important to him than Mona Lassiter's.
Next month he would turn fifty. He'd given up on any kind of positive relationship with his mother decades ago, but he'd kept the connection alive because that's what adults were supposed to do, right? Preserve family connections?
Not anymore. Prune the bad to grow the healthy. So long, and thanks for all the fish.
He heard Lilly's laughter from the kitchen—thank God for Juliet. Heading into the kitchen, he stopped to watch the two of them; Juliet was scooping out ice cream and already had the candles in the cake, and Lilly was happy and excited again.
Juliet looked over her shoulder at him and smiled reassuringly. "Lilly invited Mrs. Purpleface to the party."
Indeed, the unicorn lady was positioned on the counter near the cake, and he understood Juliet was really telling him she'd sent Lilly out of earshot during the fracas.
"Very good," he managed. "We can't have any party without her."
He suddenly felt a little unsteady—he'd just thrown his mother out of his life, probably forever—and when he picked up the matchbook to light the candles, he needed several tries to make it work.
Juliet stood beside him and he felt her hand on his back, rubbing gently.
"It's okay," she whispered. "You did the right thing."
With that, he found his reserve, lit the candles, and resumed being both Lilly's protector and the luckiest man in the world to have Juliet as his protector.
. . . . .
. . . .
That night, Juliet texted Carlton to tell him again how good the cake was, and that the third of it he'd sent home with her would not go to waste. She did not text that the hug he'd given her when she left, one she was not expecting and wished she could have more of, was better than the cake and ice cream combined.
It was his way of thanking her, she knew, more than the audible thanks he murmured against her hair.
She tore her attention from the memory of that hug, and focused on her phone display.
What, no praise for the ice cream?
Only if you churned it yourself, slacker.
Picky.
Yes I am. Did Marlowe call?
He'd told her Marlowe never failed to call on Sunday evenings, and that today she'd planned a Skype session so Lilly could see her as a birthday present—a present for Marlowe too.
Yes. Lilly was thrilled. I had to give her some whiskey later to get her to go to bed.
She laughed and sent back: Liar. Where's M this week?
South Dakota, rambling through Deadwood country.
She knew he and Marlowe didn't talk on their own for more than a few minutes each Sunday; she let him know where she was, and then he turned the phone over to Lilly and later translated her happy repetitions into some sense of what Marlowe was doing and seeing.
She was typing out a comment about wanting to travel that area herself when he sent another text.
I meant what I said to Ma about you, you know. Thanks for being there today, and here right now, and for all the years leading up to this.
Juliet's breath caught, and her fingers were shaking a little.
I would not do anything differently.
:-)
BFFs. Never doubt that.
I never will.
. . . . .
. . . .
Carlton looked at Lilly.
She looked back at him, her big blue eyes solemn.
"Well, Lilly-cat, it was only a matter of time."
She nodded, whether it made any sense to her or not, and promptly threw up again.
One of the ways he'd been lucky since the divorce was that she hadn't been sick on a weekday, and even her weekend upsets had been short-lived.
This was a big one. The daycare ladies had warned him when he picked her up Tuesday night that a bug seemed to be working its way through their clientele, and voila, it was certainly working its way through Lilly.
He cleaned her up and put her back to bed clutching Mrs. Purpleface, called the station, texted Brannigan and then out of a habit he was getting much too comfortable with, texted Juliet.
More coffee for you today. Lilly's sick so I'm out.
She was probably already on her way to work. But she answered quickly: Is it that bug you heard about?
Seems like. Fever, the big V, you name it.
:-( Do you need anything?
He did a mental inventory of his household supplies.
Just the will to go on.
LOL. I'll come by at lunch and check on you both, OK?
You don't have to, he sent, but knew she would even before she sent back a frowny-face.
It was odd to have a quiet morning like this. Lilly slept fitfully, and when she was awake and not hurling, she wanted to be held, which was fine by him. He checked in with the station once or twice, but honestly, stats could wait and meetings could be rescheduled and reports could be read later. It was all nothing in comparison to his sick little girl.
He himself was dozing, Lilly cradled against his chest, when Juliet came in. She had slipped into the house without him hearing her, and put her warm hand on his forehead as he was fully registering her presence.
Holy gentlest of touches, Batman... he was awake, yes.
"Hey there, Dad," she said with a smile. "Just checking that you're not sick too. I've never seen you nap when you weren't on a stakeout."
He rubbed his eyes and collected himself while she sat next to him and brushed Lilly's hair back. "Didn't you tell me I slept sitting up at Jim's retirement party?"
"Jim who?" She cooed at Lilly, who blinked sleepily and then turned to climb into Juliet's embrace. "Hi, sweetie; are you feeling better?"
Lilly mumbled no, snuggling against her, and Carlton had trouble finding words for a minute at the sight of Juliet holding his daughter so lovingly.
God, please don't let me just melt at this woman's feet. Please.
"So." He cleared his throat. "How's the station?"
"Station-y. Buzz is inviting everyone to Francie's baby shower. You have to go, you know."
"If I do, you do. When is it?"
"April 1." She grinned. "No joke. He said he hoped you could come, and when I said you might need a sitter he promised me there'd be other kids."
So we can both go, he thought but didn't say aloud. "Okay. She'll like that. What... are they registered anywhere, and why does it bother me that I know enough to ask that question?"
Juliet only laughed. "It means you're a real boy now, that's all. Yes, they're registered; I'll send you a list later. I brought some chicken soup, by the way, from Dino's. Figured you might eat it even if she doesn't." She was rocking Lilly gently, seemingly perfectly at ease, and he was about to lose it.
He got to his feet with effort—he'd better not be getting sick—and some sort of words came out of his mouth indicating he was going to check it out, and once he was in the kitchen he chastised himself thoroughly for being a moron.
We had this talk already, idiot. You cannot be feeling this way about her. Get it under control.
Or, you know, try to fake it.
She stayed for lunch; Lilly had a little soup and kept it down and a little more medicine and kept that down too, and he and Juliet also had soup and some quiet conversation, and she kissed Lilly's forehead when she left, and touched Carlton's face one more time to tease him about checking for a fever.
Touch me again and I'll burn up completely, he thought, locking the door behind her.
. . . . .
. . . .
On her way back to the station, Juliet kept reliving the sensations...
His warm skin under her fingertips.
The startled, pleased blue of his eyes when he realized who was touching him.
How it felt to have Lilly cuddle up to her at a time when she was sick and miserable: to have the girl's complete trust, along with Carlton's.
How it felt then to hold Lilly while looking at her father, feeling so completely as if she belonged with them—that they were hers, and she was theirs.
How she could not resist touching his face before she left; how she could not resist.
And wondering when he was going to catch on that she was a goner for him.
...and whether he would think that was good or bad.
. . . . .
. . . .