The Friends We Keep

Chapter Two

“I heard the news,” Cecelia said as she tidied the crayons scattered across the kid-sized table.

Nicole Lord held in a heavy sigh and faked a big smile. “Of course you did. Isn’t it fantastic? We’re all superexcited.”

Cecelia stepped closer and lowered her voice. “It’s okay. Tyler’s over there.”

Nicole glanced at her son who was across the room, playing with Hayley, then back at the nineteen-year-old babysitter. “Can you believe it? I can’t. Of all the luck. Or lack of luck. Tyler’s thrilled. He’s counting the days. If his math was good enough, he’d be counting the minutes.”

“And you?” Cecelia asked.

Nicole rolled her eyes. “I’m counting the minutes, too, but for different reasons.”

“You’re not going to attack him or anything, are you? I’d hate to read about you being arrested.”

The question, meant to be funny, offered a visual that Nicole found tempting. Not being arrested. Despite the guilty pleasure of the show Orange Is the New Black, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t do well in jail. Or prison. Either, really. But attacking Jairus Sterenberg was a different matter. She wouldn’t mind smacking him really hard. Or maybe just giving him a piece of her mind. The angry, annoyed part.

“I will not attack him, I promise. Tyler loves his Brad the Dragon books and I would never hurt my son.”

“What if he didn’t find out?” Cecelia teased. She held up one hand. “I’ll stop now. It’s just, you really hate the guy.”

“I don’t hate him,” Nicole said, hoping it was true. “How can I hate someone I’ve never met? It’s just...” She shook her head. “That whole empire of his. The article I read on him a while back said he was a pretty awful person, making money off of kids. Which means he’s little more than a weasel rat bastard who would merchandise air if he could figure out a way.”

Brad the Dragon had started life in picture books and was now also in chapter books. And the merchandising! There were stuffed animals and clothes and sheets and games. The man was wallowing in money, she thought bitterly. All at the expense of kids and parents everywhere.

Worse, so much worse, she’d just discovered he lived in the area. And in what some people would mistakenly claim was a generous offer, he’d held a contest through the parks’ summer programs. The same summer programs where Tyler spent his days.

Kids were invited to write a paper explaining why they loved B the D. The winning camper and his or her class got a personal visit from Jairus himself, along with an autographed book.

Tyler had been thrilled to find out about the contest and had spent two weeks perfecting his entry. Nicole would know—she’d helped him every step of the way. They’d come up with a B the D story line where Brad met Tyler. They had even included pictures.

“I know you don’t think he’s a bad guy,” Nicole said. “But come on. Kids having to write a paper before they can meet the guy? Couldn’t he just show up at the camp like a regular person? But noooo.”

Cecelia laughed. “You have so much energy about that poor man.”

“Trust me, he’s far from poor.”

“Still, what if he’s not evil?”

“Then I’ll feel really, really bad about trashing him.”

“Think that’s likely?” Cecelia asked.

Nicole grinned. “Not a chance.”

She confirmed the upcoming week’s schedule with Cecelia, then went to collect Tyler. She had to admit, if only to herself, that her loathing of B the D’s creator was a recent thing. That in her heart of hearts, she understood that she just might be projecting her feelings onto a man she’d never met.

Nearly two years ago, her then-husband had quit his job to write a screenplay. Something he hadn’t discussed with her or even mentioned until two days after the fact. There’d been no negotiation, no warning. Eric had simply up and quit, leaving her to support their household while he spent his days surfing to “clear his head” before he began writing.

It was right about that time when Nicole had started to find Brad the Dragon and all his merchandise the tiniest bit annoying. What was it about writers? Did they all have to be self-centered jerks? Or was it just the successful ones? Because Eric had gone on to sell his screenplay for the unbelievable amount of one million dollars. And then he’d left her.

“Ready to go?” she asked Tyler.

He stood with his thin arms wrapped around Hayley’s waist as he leaned against her. Hayley hugged him back. The two of them had always been close. Hayley was a kid person down to her bones.

“See you next time,” he told Hayley.

“I can’t wait,” the other woman said. “Have fun meeting Jairus.”

Tyler grinned so broadly, Nicole knew his face had to hurt. “It’s only five more days.”

“Do you know how long that is in minutes?” Hayley asked, then slapped her hand over her mouth as Tyler turned to Nicole.

“Mommy?”

“I’m sorry,” Hayley whispered. “I just made it worse, huh?”

“We’ll survive.”

Tyler rushed over and danced in front of her. “We can know how many minutes?”

“Sure. We can do the math when we get home. We’ll need a calculator.”

Hayley winced. “Now I’m making you do math.”

Nicole hugged her friend. “I love you, even when you make me do math. But when I regrout my bathroom tile, you’ll be the first person I call.”

“It’s a deal.”

Nicole straightened. For a second she studied Hayley. As always, her skin was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. She looked as if she were in the middle of fighting some awful illness. Nicole knew the truth was slightly less desperate, but still painful. Hayley was recovering from yet another miscarriage.

Nicole took Tyler’s hand and led him out of the store. As she helped him into his booster seat, he chattered on about B the D and the upcoming visit by the prolific author.

Maybe it wasn’t Jairus’s fault, she told herself as she closed the rear passenger door. Maybe he was really a very nice man who loved children. She doubted it, but hoped she was wrong. Because she would hate for Tyler’s heart to be broken by meeting a flawed hero.

On the bright side, she’d volunteered to be there for the visit. So if Jairus turned out to be a complete ass, she would do everything she could to protect Tyler and the other kids. At the very least, she could accidentally trip the man. And call him names. Possibly beat him with a stuffed B the D doll.

That image made her smile. Perspective, she reminded herself. So much of life was all about perspective.

* * *

“‘And we’re learning how to trust. And we’re finally starting to live.’”

Hayley Batchelor tapped her fingers against her steering wheel as she sang along with the radio. The new Destiny Mills song had her swaying in her seat. When the light turned green, she drove through the intersection, and made a right.

At six-thirty on a Thursday night there was plenty of traffic—neighbors pulled into driveways, kids were out playing in front yards. The speed limit was only twenty-five, but no one went faster than that. It wasn’t that kind of neighborhood.

Hayley saw that the house on the corner now had a second story. For months it had been in disarray. It had been interesting to watch the demolition followed by the reconstruction. Once finished, the house would be stunning. Most of the neighborhood was going through a similar process—updating, sprucing. Hayley knew there was a term for it—gentrification, maybe.

She turned at the next corner and drove down her street. Here there were more signs of the revitalization. She liked the fresh paint, the new front doors. But when she pulled into her driveway, she wrinkled her nose. Talk about shabby, she thought as she stared at the overgrown yard and peeling paint around the windows. The pale gray stucco was still in good shape, but the house looked like what it was—a place that had been neglected for a while.

She knew all the reasons why and they made sense, but things had changed. It was time for their house to reflect those changes.

She collected her Supper’s in the Bag totes and made her way to the front door and went inside.

The house was small—just fifteen hundred square feet. When it was first built, the home had been only twelve hundred square feet, but the previous owners had added a master suite, complete with a small bathroom and walk-in closet. That brought them up to three bedrooms and two baths. The lot was a decent size and the location—just four blocks to the ocean—was prime.

The hardwood floors in the living room were original, as was the fireplace. Not that they ever used it much. Los Angeles wasn’t known for cold winters. But it was pretty and every now and then the temperature dipped enough to warrant burning a log or two.

Hayley stepped into the kitchen and put away the dinners. Two went into the refrigerator while the rest were stacked in the freezer. When she was done, she turned on the oven and pulled out what she would need to make a salad. She folded the bags and stored them in the small laundry room, then turned back to look at the kitchen with what she hoped was a critical eye.

The layout was good. The counters—fifties tile done in two-tone green—weren’t exactly contemporary, but they kind of suited the house. There was a lot of natural light and plenty of storage space. The cabinets were solid wood and beautiful, though they could use a good refinishing, along with updated hardware. She ran her hands across one and wondered what it would take to redo them. Was it something she and Rob could handle on their own?

The floor was a sad linoleum, but replacing it would be too expensive. The sink was on the newer side and when their old stove had died, they’d replaced it with a nicer model.

If they left the tile and focused on the cabinets... That would make a difference. Some fresh paint would make a big impact, too.

She wandered down the short hallway that led to the main bath and two bedrooms. She and Rob argued about the bathroom a lot. It, too, was original to the house, with two-toned blue tile and a huge tub. He wanted to gut it and put in something modern. She liked the character of what they had.

The secondary bedrooms were easy. Paint would improve them a lot and maybe some inexpensive window treatments. The back bedroom, the smaller of the two, was a home office. The other one, well, she didn’t go into that room. She knew what it looked like. Pale yellow walls and gleaming hardwood floors. A rocking chair sat in the corner. Otherwise the space was empty.

The master addition was on the other side of the house. Again, paint and maybe new bedding would make it look just fine. The house had good bones, was in a great neighborhood. They just needed to give it a little more TLC.

She heard the front door open and footsteps in the living room.

“I’m home,” Rob called.

Hayley went out to greet him. “Hi. I just got in myself. We’re having enchilada casserole for dinner.”

Rob was about five-ten, with light brown hair and blue eyes. He wore glasses and had an easy smile. He was the kind of guy people instinctively trusted and Hayley had liked him from the first moment they’d met.

Now she stepped into his embrace and hugged him. He kissed her cheek.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“Good. Busy. I went to Supper’s in the Bag.”

“I figured. You know I love those enchiladas.”

“I do.”

His gaze settled on her face. “You feeling okay?”

“I feel great. Strong.”

His expression was doubtful, but he smiled. “Good. It’s a nice evening. We could eat outside.”

Because while the rest of Los Angeles sweltered in the mid-July heat, Mischief Bay had the natural air-conditioning brought on by an onshore breeze.

“Great idea.”

They walked into the kitchen together. While Rob washed his hands, she put the casserole in the oven before setting the small timer in the corner. He got two beers from the refrigerator and two tall glasses from one of the cupboards. He poured and handed her a glass. They went outside to the shade of their east-facing backyard. Chairs dotted the brick patio.

Hayley sat in her usual spot, her feet up on an ottoman. Rob sat across from her.

“How about you?” she asked. “Good day?”

He nodded. “Nothing blew up.”

“There’s a plus.”

It was a comfortable joke, she thought. Six months ago Rob had taken the job of assistant manager of service at the local Mischief Bay BMW dealer. On his first day of work, there had been an explosion in one of the service bays. Something about compression and heat. No one had been hurt and no cars had been damaged but it had made for an exciting start.

The job had been a big step up for him—both career and money-wise. The hours were long, but he didn’t have to travel and she liked having him around. He had good benefits, also a big plus. Eventually there would even be paid vacation but that was a few months away. Still, it would be good for when she had a baby. He had a second job, helping a friend restore old cars on the weekend. Easy work for a guy who loved cars.

“You’re sure you’re feeling okay?” he asked.

His tone was light, but she heard the worry behind the words. She also knew the reason. She could see herself in the mirror and knew that she looked like someone who had been through medical tough times. The price she had to pay, she thought grimly. That she would keep paying, no matter what. Because the dream was too important.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. She lightly nudged his thigh with her foot. “You worry.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, and I’ve been thinking.”

He paused with his beer halfway to his mouth. “Am I going to like what you’ve been thinking about?”

“You are. When I was driving home tonight, I was looking at the neighborhood. We have the ugliest house on the block and we shouldn’t. This place is adorable. But with everything going on, we haven’t had time to fix it up. I’d like us to talk about making changes.”

Rob leaned toward her. “Yeah? That’s great. I agree. We’re an eyesore. I keep expecting the neighbors to start a petition. I have a lot of ideas.”

Which didn’t surprise her at all. She and Rob had always thought alike.

“The outside is an easy fix,” she said. “It just needs time.”

Rob looked doubtful. “Hayley, honey, you can’t do anything strenuous. One of the guys at work has a brother in the landscaping businesses. We can get the yard cleaned up cheap in a couple of days, then you and I can get some new plants. That part we could do ourselves.”

She hated the idea of wasting money on yard cleanup, but he had a point. She was still pretty weak and he worked two jobs. “I don’t want to spend too much,” she began.

“I agree. I’ll tell Ray to have his brother drive by and give us an estimate. We’ll just do the front.”

“Okay.” Their backyard wasn’t too bad. There was the patio and a few trees. The rest was lawn. If she started watering it more regularly, it would green up quickly.

“What did you think for the inside?” he asked. “We should remodel the kitchen.”

She did her best not to flinch. “How about we start with paint,” she said. “Maybe some new window coverings.”

She thought he might push back, but he surprised her by nodding. “You’re right. A kitchen redo is too much right now.”

Guilt flashed through her. Rob was worried about her being overwhelmed. Because he always worried. They’d been through so much and he’d been beside her every step of the way. Their repeated attempts to get pregnant had left her body weak and their bank account depleted. They were emotionally exhausted by the roller-coaster ride they’d been on.

But her reasons for not wanting to do the kitchen were different than his. Some would say selfish. She would tell them they couldn’t possibly understand what she was going through. What it was like to be denied the only thing she’d ever wanted.

She had a plan, she reminded herself. There was still hope. No way she was going to give up.

“The hardware store has the sale section in the back,” she said. “After dinner let’s go by and see if they have any paint we like. We only need a couple of gallons for the office and the master. I was thinking we’d do the kitchen, too.”

Rob frowned. “You mean those leftover paint cans no one wanted?”

“They’re not leftover, they’re mistakes. When people try to color match or don’t like what they bought. You can get a gallon of paint for like five dollars.”

“I know it makes you happy to hear every penny squeak, but I’m pretty sure we can spring for a paint color we like, even if that means paying full price.”

He was teasing. She could hear it in his voice, see it in his gentle smile. She forced herself to stay relaxed, to accept the comment in the spirit he meant it. To not shriek that they needed every possible dollar they could save. That babies cost money and in her case, getting pregnant costs even more.

But they’d fought enough about that. About everything. She was going to need Rob on her side to get through the next few months. They had to be a team. By this time next year, everything would be different. They would have a family. She was sure of it. Because this time, she knew there was going to be a miracle.

Chapter Three

“Mommy, can Boomer and Jasmine get married?” Kennedy asked from her car seat on Friday afternoon.

“No, they can’t.”

“Because they don’t like each other?” Kenzie asked.

“They like each other fine,” Gabby said as she pulled up and joined the line of cars waiting to pick up teens from the twelve-to-fifteen-year-olds’ summer camp. It was, of course, on the other side of the park, with the same start time as the one the twins attended. She sometimes wondered what the city planners were thinking when they decided schedules, start and finishing times, not to mention which streets went temporarily one way in the morning and evening. She wanted to believe they were doing what they thought was best to keep traffic flowing. That no one was secretly watching the mess everything became, giggling as mothers with kids in two different age groups scrambled to essentially be in two places at once.

“They can’t get married because Boomer is a dog and Jasmine is a cat and we don’t have pet marriages.”

“But what if they love each other?” Kenzie’s voice was dreamy as she asked the question. At five, “loving each other” was the ending to nearly every fairy tale. Well, and “they lived happily ever after,” which was practically the same thing.

Gabby briefly thought that if she were a better mother she would find more self-actualized stories to read her daughters. Stories where women ran corporations or started businesses or became doctors rather than were princesses who got engaged because they were beautiful and vapid.

A problem for another day, she told herself, then groaned as she glanced at the clock on the dashboard of her SUV.

She was five minutes late because the twins had refused to buckle up when she’d collected them. Those stupid car seats, again. They loomed larger every day.

She inched forward, one in a long line of cars, and reminded herself that she only had to get through the next hour or so before she could relax. She would get the kids their dinner, then go upstairs into the master and take a long bath while Andrew—

“Sugar!”

It was as close to a swearword as she allowed herself these days. Because there was no bath in her near future. She’d forgotten she and Andrew had an event that night. Something work-related, maybe. Or maybe political. She couldn’t remember. Double sugar. Were her black pants back from the dry cleaner?

The car behind her honked. Gabby realized she’d let precious space open up between her and the car in front. She eased forward, trying to figure out what she was going to wear, all the while listening to Kenzie and Kennedy discuss what Jasmine would wear if she and Boomer could get married. It wasn’t the dress that stumped them so much as the wedding bouquet. How would a cat carry it down the aisle?

Gabby looked at the few kids still standing on the edge of the park and spotted Makayla. Her stepdaughter was tall with impossibly long legs. Her naturally blond hair hung halfway down her back. She wore a loose, flowy sleeveless shirt over shorts. She was pretty and still a little gangly, but in a couple of years she was going to have that easy beauty women everywhere envied.

Makayla looked a lot like her stunning mother. Around both of them, Gabby felt short and bottom-heavy, neither of which was Makayla’s fault.

Gabby pulled up to the curb and watched the teen approach. Her stomach tensed as she tried to judge her mood. It was Friday on a visitation weekend, which meant things could go either way.

“Hi,” Gabby said brightly as Makayla opened the passenger front door.

“Hi.” Makayla slid onto the seat and fastened the belt before turning toward the twins. “Hey, munchkins.”

“Makayla!” Both girls greeted her happily.

“We think Boomer and Jasmine should get married,” Kennedy added. “In a white dress.”

“Huh. I don’t think Boomer would look good in a white dress, do you?”

The twins laughed. Gabby smiled, imagining their basset hound draped in white tulle.

“Not Boomer,” Kenzie corrected. “Jasmine.”

“Oh, that’s different.”

The knot in Gabby’s stomach loosened. Makayla was okay. There wouldn’t be shouting or door slamming this week. No sullen silences. She would get herself ready to visit her mother and then she would be gone for forty-eight hours. Odds were Sunday night would be awful—it usually was—but that was for then.

The highs and lows that came with being a fifteen-year-old were amplified by Makayla’s relationship with her mother. It was erratic at best. Sometimes Candace wanted to be all in and other times she saw her daughter as little more than an inconvenience. Sadly, she didn’t mind sharing that factoid with Makayla.

Gabby tried to understand that the resulting fits of rage and depression weren’t about her. Makayla needed to blame someone and Gabby was a safe target. When things got tough, there was always chocolate, and the knowledge that whatever else was going on, Makayla loved her half sisters.

Gabby drove through Friday-afternoon traffic. The three blocks on Pacific Coast Highway took nearly fifteen minutes, but once they made it into their neighborhood, the number of cars lessened.

Gabby had grown up not five blocks from here. She and her siblings had gone to the same elementary school as Kenzie and Kennedy. She’d attended the same high school as Makayla. She knew where the kids liked to hang out, the exact amount of time it took to walk home and the quickest way to get from their house to the beach.

Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to have moved here from somewhere else. To discover Mischief Bay as an adult. For her there was only complete familiarity.

She pulled into their driveway. Makayla got out of the SUV, then opened the back door to help the twins. Gabby went to unlock the front door. She could already hear Boomer baying his greeting and scratching to get out. The only thing preventing him from going through the door was the metal plate Andrew had screwed into place.

As soon as she opened the door, Boomer raced past her to get to his girls. Because while Boomer loved his whole pack, Makayla and the twins were his girls. He followed them around, did his best to keep them in line and when they disobeyed his list of rules, he ratted on them.

Now he ran in circles, looping around all three kids, baying his pleasure at seeing them again, as if it had been weeks instead of a few hours. Gabby thought about pointing out that she’d been home much of the afternoon, but doubted that information would impress Boomer.

Makayla and the twins stopped to pet him before heading toward the house. Once they were moving, Boomer wiggled his way to the front and darted through the open door. The girls followed. Gabby made sure that Jasmine hadn’t bolted for freedom, then stepped into the foyer and pushed the door closed behind her.

It was nearly four. By her calculations she had less than two hours to get the twins settled in for the evening, dinner started, the pets fed and herself turned from frumpy mom to glamorous, charming wife to successful Andrew Schaefer. It was going to be a push.

She went directly to the kitchen and dropped her handbag on the built-in desk that was her catchall for crap. Next she looked at the calendar posted on the wall, the one with all their activities color coded by person. Makayla’s mom was picking her up at six, Gabby and Andrew were due to leave at six-fifteen and Cecelia, their go-to sitter, was due at five forty-five.

“Mommy, can I wear my purple hat to dinner tonight?” Kenzie asked as she ran into the kitchen. “Kennedy wants to wear her green one. I like my purple one better. It has feathers and lace.”

“Did you pick up my dark-wash jeans from the dry cleaner?” Makayla asked as she, too, entered the kitchen. “I’m going to need them for this weekend. Mom’s taking me to the movies and out to dinner and you know that means we’ll be going somewhere nice.”

“I did. They’re in your room.”

Which you would know if you’d bothered to go look. But she didn’t say that. Nor did she mention she thought it was ridiculous that a fifteen-year-old was allowed to send her jeans to the dry cleaner. Couldn’t she wash them with the rest of her clothes? But Makayla had deemed it critical and Andrew had agreed. Gabby felt that if she was going to have to die on some hill when it came to her stepdaughter, it wasn’t going to be the one about dry cleaning.

Makayla sat on one of the stools by the island. “Mom said she’s going to take me to her stylist and get my hair cut. Maybe I’ll get bangs. There’s enough time to grow them out before school starts. You know, if I don’t like them.”

As she spoke, she stretched her long arms out across the granite countertop. Her hands were laced together as she stretched. Kenzie watched closely and Gabby knew that in the morning, she would see the same pose at breakfast. Because there was nothing the twins liked more than to imitate their older sister.

“We might do some school shopping. She can get me in to see all the fall clothes that aren’t out yet. We went through the look books already and I chose some things.”

Candace was a buyer for an upscale department store and had access to a lot of things, including styles and brands not yet available for sale to the public. Gabby told herself it was nice that Makayla got to feel special with her mom. That was how it was supposed to be. Most of time she nearly believed herself, as well.

Makayla raised one shoulder dramatically. “It’s because I have an eye for trends.”

“You do.”

Makayla eyed Gabby’s baggy, knee-length shorts and oversize T-shirt, the blue one with a stain on the front and a small but growing hole near the hem.

“You want me to talk to Dad about giving you a make-over?”

“Thanks. Sweet, but no.”

She told herself that she didn’t have it so bad. Makayla was a pretty good kid. She had her moods, but most of those were either hormone or mother-induced. She loved her baby sisters and looked out for them.

What made things difficult was the nagging sense that Makayla wasn’t treated like a member of the family. Her place was more revered guest, with everyone circling around her illustrious orbit. Like the dry cleaning. Seriously? For jeans? Or that Makayla didn’t mind looking after the twins if Gabby needed her to. But only for an hour. Never for an afternoon or evening. And even the few minutes of watching was always a favor—never something Gabby could depend on. Giving Makayla orders wasn’t allowed.

Second-wife syndrome, Gabby told herself firmly. Every now and then she got a twinge from having to deal with Andrew’s past. The most he’d had to suffer through was an old boyfriend flirting with her at her ten-year high school reunion. And that was hardly the same thing.

“Mommy, I think Jasmine’s gonna throw up.”

Kennedy shouted the announcement from somewhere upstairs. Makayla and Kenzie took off running. Gabby paused long enough to grab a few paper towels. As she headed for the stairs she wondered if it was wrong to hope Boomer got there first and took care of things for her. The big guy could always been counted on to clean up messes.

By five o’clock, the household was in that delicate transition from chaos to calm. At least that was what Gabby told herself. Dinner was in the oven, Makayla was packing for her weekend and the twins were in their playroom, deciding on what to do that evening with Cecelia.

“Dress up,” Kennedy said firmly, a small green hat perched on her head. “And Legos.”

“Legos for sure,” Kenzie agreed. Her hat was all feathers and lace. They were both adorable. Stubborn, but adorable.

Gabby found evenings with the sitter went easier if everyone went in with the right expectations. To that end she always provided a plate of snacks for both her kids and the sitter. She also made sure that toys, books and movies were chosen in advance.

The toys were picked out and put on the small, five-year-old-sized table. Next to it were three books Cecelia would read to them at bedtime, along with several DVD choices. Jasmine, recovered from her fur-ball attack, strolled in. She walked over to Gabby and gave her delicate girlie meow—the one that indicated all was right in her feline world. Boomer followed, his nose pressed into the carpet as he searched for fallen crumbs and who knew what else.

The twins pulled their pets close. Gabby used the distraction to escape to her room. She still had to shower—because she hadn’t had time that morning—and do something with her hair.