CrissCross (Crossroads Book 1) Page 15

  Jimi chimed in. “She seems superficial . . . only talking about hair and makeup and clothes. Plus she has the modeling aspirations. Maybe if she went to New York and saw how hard it is . . . how she’s not just going to fall into being a supermodel, it might humble her.” She shrugged. “Oh well . . . it’s their lives and their decisions to make. I’d just hate to see Shane hurt or mistreated.”

  “Me too,” Isla agreed.

  Jimi stood up and stretched her back. “That’s the last bit,” she nodded toward the threads in Isla’s hands. “You ready to sley the reed or do you want to take a break?”

  “No, let’s keep going,” Isla answered.

  Jimi attached a strange looking board with vertical slots cut into it to the loom and they began doing what she had called sleying the reed—threading strands through each of the slots and tying the threads into smaller bundles—again each starting at different ends and working toward the middle.

  The three women continued to chat and, before long, the messy bundles of warp had been placed into a striped pattern of blue, green, narrow black, and even narrower white stripes that were ready for the weft yarns to be woven into them. It was very complicated, but it was clear that the two women had done it many times before.

  After putting more wooden pieces into their spots at the front of the loom and adjusting white cords here and there, they tied the thread bundles to a board at the front of the loom and pulled the threads through tautly. The three women stood and stared down at the loom readied with blue, green, black and white threads.

  “What will it be?” Suzanne asked.

  “It’ll be a wall hanging of the Alexander clan tartan for my father. I’m going to give it to him for Christmas,” Jimi informed her.

  “That’s really nice,” Suzanne murmured.

  She realized Jimi was really nice and decided she liked her for her son. Not that she had any say about it or anything. But it was good to know he was with a young woman she liked.

  As if she’d conjured him up, Suzanne heard Chance’s voice call out. He’d apparently entered the apartment and was calling for Jimi.

  “Back here,” she called back.

  When he got to the door, he seemed surprised to see his mother. “Mom. I was just going to ask Jimi if she knew where you’d disappeared to.” He stepped over to give Jimi a brush of his lips over her cheek. “Hey, peaches,” he murmured.

  Suzanne’s heart squeezed at the realization that he rarely greeted her with any kind of affection. She only had herself to blame, though.

  “Jimi let me intrude on her this afternoon,” Suzanne said. “I was watching her and Isla thread the loom. It was very fascinating.”

  Chance’s lips twitched. “Jimi is very fascinating,” he declared.

  Suzanne gave a tiny smile. “Yes, she is,” she agreed.

  This seemed to take Jimi by surprise, but her bestie stole everyone’s attention when she stepped up to Chance and stuck out her hand. “Hello. I’m Isla, Jimi’s best friend. I think you might do, but I’ll keep an eye out to be sure.”

  “I’d expect no less from her best friend since seventh grade,” he smiled.

  Isla nodded. “How do you feel about gumbo?”

  Jimi groaned. Suzanne burst out laughing. And Chance just looked confused.

  CHAPTER 11

  After Chance found his mother in Jimi’s apartment on Monday, he and Jimi hadn’t seen much of each other. They mostly only crossed paths a couple of times. He’d had to give all of his attention to Suzanne, so he only saw Jimi coming home from work Tuesday and leaving again on Wednesday morning. They had sent short texts a few times, but he didn’t feel the texts gave him enough of her.

  While they were still in Jimi’s apartment on Monday, Suzanne received a call setting up an appointment for that evening to look at a couple of condos, so she and Chance left almost right away. She decided to make an offer on the first one they saw. She informed the colleague that set up the showings that time was of the essence and she wanted the deal settled quickly. By bedtime that night the negotiating was done.

  Tuesday was spent signing papers and wheedling and begging (by Suzanne and her agent) the seller to let Suzanne take possession of the condo the very next day. Since it was new construction they didn’t have to worry about previous owners having to move out. Suzanne was friendly enough with the developer—through their connections in the local real estate industry—that he agreed to let her move in before the closing date set for two weeks later.

  Chance also took his mother shopping for new bedroom furniture and a washer and dryer. When she had married Donald she had stored what furniture she didn’t move to his house. They spent part of the day going through her storage unit to see what she could use in her new place. Chance hadn’t understood why she’d kept those things, but now that she needed some of it, he was glad she had. Maybe she had a premonition that things might not work out with Donald after all. She had two full sets of living room/family room furniture and she showed him which one she wanted at the condo. There was also a dining room set that he doubted would fit in the new space. She told him they could leave the credenza and huge china hutch if it was going to be too much. He hoped that would be the case because—although he hadn’t been around to move them into storage and didn’t know from experience—both pieces looked bulky and heavy and like a nightmare to move.

  Chance, River, and a couple of the members of River’s Edge were up early Wednesday morning to move her things in. The credenza made the cut. The hutch stayed in storage. After they got the living room and dining room stuff moved in and the bedroom furniture and washer/dryer had been delivered and set up, they all went back to the storage unit and shuffled boxes around to find some old kitchen and miscellaneous household items. When her sons had gone to the house on Monday to strong-arm the things on her list away from Donald, they had brought back a few small appliances . . . like her stand mixer, blender and toaster oven.

  After everything was moved in, River and his friends headed off and Chance took Suzanne to a big box house wares store a couple of towns over so she could get towels and washcloths (for both the bathrooms and the kitchen), bed linens, a microwave, a few decorative items (some of hers in storage had gotten too dusty to salvage), and other odds and ends. She looked longingly over a set of dishes, but she decided the ones they’d found in her unit would do for now.

  She decided she would do whatever grocery shopping she needed on her own.

  Chance took her to her new home and helped her in with her purchases. He stayed to assist her in organizing things and making sure the furniture was placed where she wanted it. By late that afternoon she chased him out, insisting she had imposed on him for far too long.

  As he started to turn his car toward home, he steered the other direction and went back to the house wares store. He bought the dishes she had denied herself, went back to the condo and rang her bell.

  “Chance!” she exclaimed in surprise when she answered the door. She looked down at the large, heavy box in his hands. “What did you do?”

  “Housewarming gift,” he said gruffly, stepping through the door and past her. He set the box on a countertop in the kitchen feeling foolish.

  She had followed him in and stood, her hand at her throat staring at the box. Her eyes moved up to his and he saw they were flooding with tears. “Ch-Chance, I-I don—”

  “Don’t do that, Mom. It’s not that big a deal,” he mumbled—embarrassed.

  “It is,” she choked. “It’s a very big deal. You’ve been so wonderful. And I don’t deserve any of—”

  Chance stepped over to her and wrapped her in his arms. “You do. I want you to be content, Mom,” he said. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” The problem was, he had never felt that she truly was.

  Suzanne sniffled against his t-shirt. “I’ve been a terrible mother, but somehow you turned out to be so great. In spite of me and your father.”

  “Let’s not do this.”

  �
��We should talk about it. With River too.”

  “You have enough to deal with.” He drew back and looked into her eyes. “But how ‘bout not hunting for a new man right away. Just be you for awhile.”

  She huffed out a laugh. “I may be off men for life after this.”

  Humor glinted in his eye. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” he teased.

  Later, as he drove away, he was surprised at how good it had felt to hug his mother. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that.

  Suzanne was feeling the residual warmth of his hug and the glow from his teasing. She was realizing how much she had missed out on with her boys . . . her boys that were now both two good men. None of the men she’d chosen to spend her life with had turned out to be men she could count on. Now she understood that her sons were. And she had nothing to do with that. They had learned that from each other.

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  It was cool that evening, but Chance was sitting outside on the Crosswinds Apartments doorstep anyway. He had his hands wrapped around an insulated cup of coffee as he listened to what he believed to be squirrel chirps in the bushes at the edge of the property. They were working on their acorn collections late that day, feeling cold weather coming on that first week of October.

  He hunched his shoulders and leaned forward when he heard a car engine coming up the block. It passed by and kept going. He was waiting for Jimi to get back from her usual Wednesday night church activities. At least he assumed that was where she was.

  Hearing another car turn the corner half a block up, he watched her car approach and pull in with a smile. Staying seated, he watched her moving up the walk and into the glowing circle cast from the lights over the doors.

  She stopped in front of him. “Little chilly out here,” she commented casually.

  “I had my thoughts to keep me warm,” he answered.

  “Yeah? What thoughts are those?”

  “Thoughts of my girlfriend showing up any minute,” he grinned.

  She grinned back. “Well, your girlfriend forgot her jacket, so do you mind if we take this inside? I’ve been obsessing about the hot cocoa mix sitting on my kitchen countertop ever since I stepped out the church doors a little while ago.”

  Chance stood up and laughed. “Wow. I’m obsessing about you and you’re fixated on cocoa. Should I be worried?”

  “No. I just figured you’d still be with Suzanne. I didn’t think I’d see you . . . but I knew for certain I’d see that cocoa mix.” She lifted up on her toes to give him a hello kiss. Pulling away, she whispered, “There. Does that make it better?”

  “Does that make what better?” he asked in feigned discombobulation.

  “Come on. I’ll share my cocoa and you can tell me how the move went. I also want to hear about your meeting at the police station on Monday. The suspense has been killing me.”

  They turned to go inside, but paused at the sound of footsteps stomping up the sidewalk toward them. Shad was stalking their way.

  “Hey, Shad,” Chance greeted the kid.

  Shad didn’t answer . . . just kept walking toward them, all the while glaring at Jimi. He bumped her, knocking her into Chance, as he stepped around them.

  “Hey!” Chance called out angrily.

  Shad disappeared inside without acknowledging them. When Chance moved to start after the kid, Jimi caught him by the arm.

  “Leave it alone,” she said wearily.

  “No! That was rude an—”

  “I figured he’d be mad at me, and I guess I figured right,” she said. She turned to the door and he fell into step behind her.

  “Something happen I don’t know about?” He craned his neck to look down the hall but Shad had already disappeared inside his apartment at the end of the hallway.

  They started up the stairs. “He overheard something I said to a girl at church tonight.”

  “He was at your church tonight?” Chance asked in surprise.

  “Yeah. He’s been at youth group the last two Wednesdays and I guess he was in the high school Sunday school class this past weekend. Remember that girl at my apartment the night after we met who recognized Shad in the hallway and invited him to stay for the youth small group?”

  “Yes. The dark haired girl.”

  “Bethany. Well, I guess she’s been inviting him to church activities ever since.”

  “That’s good, I guess?” he said more as a question than a statement of fact.

  Unlocking her door, Jimi sighed. They entered her apartment. “I ran into Bethany in the hallway outside the youth room after my class and stopped to warn her that he was hanging out with some pretty wild kids . . . that she should be careful of him. About that time he came out the door and I figured he must have heard what I said to her.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “No. He just glared like he did outside a minute ago.” She bit her lip. “Do you think I owe him an apology?”

  “No,” Chance scoffed. He took her by the shoulders and stared down into her eyes. “Promise you’ll tell me if he does or says anything that upsets you.”

  “Okay, I will.”

  His eyes went even more serious—if that were possible. “Now,” he said sternly, “where is this cocoa I’ve been hearing about?”

  Jimi laughed. “In here.” Leading him to the galley kitchen, she asked, “Before we get into the details of the move and the CPD meeting, I need to know what your plans are this weekend.”

  “No plans. What do you have in mind?”

  She winced as she pulled a partial gallon of milk out of her ‘fridge. “Don’t panic, but . . .”

  “You can’t say ‘don’t panic’ and expect me not to panic.”

  Smiling she admitted, “Point taken. Anyway . . . the Vagabonds are having a birthday celebration for one of the brothers’ birthdays at Huckleberry’s Saloon on Friday night. They want me to bring you so they can all look you over. May I apologize in advance?” she cringed.

  Chance simply chuckled.

  “Then,” she continued, “the Cassels want us for lunch after church on Sunday. I think we may have dodged the gumbo bullet, though . . . so that’s good.”

  Chance’s chuckled morphed into a full-blown laugh. Jimi and Isla had explained the gumbo reference on Monday.

  “What? No plans for me on Saturday?” he cracked.

  “Saturday is yours to do whatever you like,” she announced magnanimously.

  “If I go through the MC gauntlet on Friday and tolerate the honorary father/brother inquisition on Sunday, I think it’s only fair you come fishing with me on Saturday.”

  She bit her lip in thought as she poured milk into a saucepan and set it on a burner. “Would I be required to fish?”

  “No. You told me you don’t fish, but you do sit on a blanket under a tree and read.”

  “That’s good enough for you?”

  “As long as I can look at you and you’ll talk to me between chapters, I think it’ll work out fine.”

  “Alright. Maybe I’ll macramé instead of reading and chatter your ear off all day,” she quipped. “I’ll even bring a picnic lunch.”

  He smiled. “Perfect.”

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  Sure enough, Chance was standing on what was left of a small dock before midday on Saturday. It was really just six broken boards jutting slightly over a low bluff on the Mississippi River. Over the years the weeds, grasses and brambles had almost swallowed up the dock ruins.

  Jimi sat behind him on an old blanket under a nearby tree. Her fingers were busily knotting macramé cord, but her eyes were trained on him. “Are you sure those boards are safe?” she called out. “They look pretty rotted.”

  Chance jumped up and down hard on them. “I think they’ll hold . . . at least for today,” he cracked over his shoulder, chuckling at her sharp intake of breath.

  “Geez . . . don’t
do that,” she scolded. “If you fall in I’m not jumping in to fish you out.”

  His chuckle turned to loud full-blown laughter. “Don’t worry, peaches. I survived hours and hours fighting ice cold ocean waves in BUD/S. I’m sure I could make it five feet to the bank here.”

  He studied her as she sat cross-legged in a black Vagabonds hoodie and jeans with one knee ripped out and her long curls gathered in a crazy pile on her head. She looked beautiful among the leaves that were just beginning to turn that early October weekend.

  After parking his car, they had hiked in loaded down with the lunch she had packed into a huge tote bag along with her macramé stuff; his cooler containing iced down water, sodas, and beer; his fishing gear; the blanket; and her old-school boombox. Way out in the boonies as they were, the radio had only been able to pick up one station that played oldies.

  Chance reluctantly turned his attention to what he was doing as he cast the line again. He liked that she was willing to dress down and hang out by the river even though she had no interest in fishing. All evidence pointed to the fact that she would most likely never bore him.

  The night before they had attended the birthday party at a dicey bar downtown. He’d been in plenty of rough bars in his life, but it felt wrong walking her into one. As soon as they’d gotten through the doors though, it was like the MC’s long lost princess had returned to the fold. Chance watched with interest as the bikers—from the grizzled elder statesmen to the brash young upstarts—passed her around for hugs and teasing. She introduced Chance to everyone as best she could in the midst of the rowdiness of the party. At first the brotherhood treated him with suspicion, but when her pops and Axel seemed to be accepting of him, the tension eased a bit. He endured being pulled aside and challenged several times, but he must have passed whatever tests they put him through because he got out with his life . . . and with Jimi sitting in his passenger seat.

  She had been quiet on the way home, which concerned him. When they went inside she gave him a kiss goodnight after telling him she wanted to get a good night’s rest for their picnic and fishing plans the next day. He’d been a bit concerned that she was turning cold and wondered why. Had he messed up somehow at the party?