A Man for the Summer (3 page)

Yes, he’d given Maggie Goldman that black eye, but it was nothing compared to what she’d done to him. They’d known each other for every damn one of their eleven years and been at each other’s throats the entire time. When they couldn’t fight in person they just leaned over the fence separating their back yards and yelled.

She’d taunted him from the top of the jungle gym at school that afternoon, standing with her bare sunburned feet precariously set on the gray metal bars, swinging her skinny hips back and forth and calling his middle name for the whole damn world to hear.

“Maurice! Mauriiiiiice!” she shouted, delighted to have discovered his most closely-guarded secret. She’d learned it from Ruby, his family’s housekeeper, to add insult to injury, over a glass of lemonade that very morning. What could he expect—he’d long suspected that Ruby loved Maggie every bit as much as she loved him.

He went after Maggie, fueled by rage and embarrassment. He was up the monkey bars in about two seconds flat, but Maggie waited until he was at the top before she knelt down. Light as a cat, she kept her balance as she gave him a huge shove and sent him crashing to earth, bruising just about every bone in his body and opening up a four-inch gash on his shin.

Even then he wouldn’t have hit her, except as he was sitting there, rubbing his elbows, tasting blood where he bit his lip, she scrambled down and regarded him with hands fisted at her hips and challenge in her eyes.

“Dang, Griff, are you gonna cry?” she yelled.

So he’d had no choice.

That argument didn’t wash with Ruby, though.

As she jabbed him with an excruciating stream of Bactine and bandaged up his gash, she didn’t let him get a word in. Just let him know in no uncertain terms that she expected her boy to be a gentleman. And now he was facing the greatest humiliation of his life, sitting on Maggie’s front porch, trying to work up the apology he’d promised he’d make, and nearly choking on it.

It wasn’t fair. Anyone could see that. Even Maggie. He could tell from the way she waited with a half-smile on her face. Her eye was just going purple, and it wasn’t even swelling up all that bad. He’d seen worse. Way worse.

“Hey, Griff,” she finally said. “It’s okay. I know Ruby made you come here.”

Griff shrugged, but relief flooded him and his hatred of Maggie Gold lifted just like that. Just as it had a hundred times before. After all, it was kind of tough to hate your best friend. Not that he would ever, ever admit to anyone that’s what Maggie was.

“Thanks,” he said. “And, you know, I probably shouldn’t have hit you in the face and all.”

Maggie shrugged.

“It’s all right. I know you didn’t mean it. Friends, right?”

Relief made Griff feel magnanimous.

“Yeah Maggie. Friends.”

He held out his hand and when he took hers to shake, it was warm and soft.

A girl hand.

He gave it a shake anyway, gave her his best grin. She was all right.

Maggie didn’t give his hand back right away. She held on a second extra and then let go reluctantly.

“I was wondering, Griff. We known each other forever, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh huh. I thought, well, there’s something I want you to do.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

Maggie’s gaze dipped down, and her hands gripped each other in her lap.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

Griff was too stunned to speak.

It wasn’t like he’d never thought of kissing a girl. Only, it sure hadn’t been Maggie. More like Claudia Schiffer, wearing a bikini. But…
Maggie
?

The seconds ticked by, and Griff was frozen, trying to get his mind around the idea, when Maggie looked him full in the eye and sighed.

“Forget it, just forget it, Griff. I’m sorry I asked.”

She bounded to her feet and ran inside, letting the screen door slam behind her, while Griff slowly stood up and dusted off the seat of his jeans before making his way slowly home, his body aching from all his bruises.

And those were the last words she ever said to him, because the next day Maggie Gold was killed when a bread truck rounded the corner too fast right into the path of her bike.

Griff dropped the papers on the motel bed and pressed his palms to his ears, squeezing his eyes shut tight just as he had two decades earlier when he heard the news. Ruby had cried in the kitchen, wiping her eyes on the hem of her apron as she worked. Maggie’s mother cried for weeks. You could tell because she wore her sunglasses all day long, even if she was just walking down the sidewalk for the paper. Everyone at the funeral cried, hundreds of people, it seemed to Griff, as he held on to Ruby’s hand for dear life, not caring for once that he was almost twelve and too old.

But Griff hadn’t been able to cry. He just covered his ears, trying to drown out the sobs that wouldn’t come, and Maggie’s voice as she asked him, over and over in his mind, to kiss her.

And gradually, as the years went by, he didn’t forget exactly, but he put Maggie on a shelf in the deepest recesses in his mind, and moved on to other girls. Girls who didn’t have a mean left hook, girls whose knees weren’t permanently scabbed—girls who weren’t his best friend, and never would be.

Junior stood on the stack of phone books on the armchair, stretching as far as she could, and still she couldn’t quite reach the cobweb in the corner of the ceiling.

Rosie looked on, amused.

“You know, Dottie Johnson would just love to come clean this place up for you,” Rosie said. “She’s got an opening Thursdays. I saw her at the grocery.”

Junior took careful aim, and launched the feather duster through the air. It managed to entangle half the cobwebs before it fell into a pot of African violets.

“You know I don’t believe in paying people to do chores I can perfectly well do myself.”

Rosie snorted with laughter. “Yeah, right. First of all, there’s no indication that you are capable of doing it yourself, since I don’t believe you know the first thing about housekeeping. And second, the only time you ever even try is when you’re procrastinating.”

Junior leapt lightly down from her chair and replaced the phone books on the shelf.

“What makes you think I’m procrastinating?”

“Well, I saw that pile of overdue accounts on your desk. You hate those. You let them pile up all year, I know you. And, I might point out, that’s yet another task that there are perfectly competent professionals just waiting to do them.”

“I thought that’s what I’m paying you for.”

Rosie laughed again. “Honey, I’d have those taken care of in ten minutes. You just keep ‘em to yourself because you’re afraid I’d actually make some poor soul pay their bill. Remember I keep the books, sugar. I know all about who you’re floating around here.”

Junior shot her a look of reproof.

“A lot of those families are struggling to make ends meet, Rosie, you know that.”

Rosie held up her hands in mock defeat. “Last I checked, you were more or less struggling to make ends meet yourself.”

The door swung open before Junior could think of a response.

It was Griff Ross, and he was wearing a grin that stretched from one side of his dangerous face to another.

“What are you looking so happy about?” Junior demanded with a scowl.

She liked him better in pain, she decided. He was a lot easier to resist that way. His hair was wet from the shower and combed, but it was still too long, and he was wearing shorts that gave her a full view of his tanned, muscular legs.

“Hush that mouth!” Rosie chided. “Don’t go taking your nasty mood out on the customers.”

Griff’s grin only widened.

“Hey, I’m a very satisfied customer. Just came by to thank the medical team.” He slouched against the door frame, folding his arms. “I’m taking you all to lunch.”

“Oh, we’d love to!” Rosie answered quickly.

Junior rolled her eyes. Rosie sounded like a girl being asked on her first date.

“Well, thank you very much, Mr. Ross, but I can’t. Y’all go on and have yourselves a good time.”

“You don’t have anything until two,” Rosie protested. “And I’ll make those calls for you later. The ones we were discussing. Come on, genius, have a little fun.

“She works too hard,” she added in a confidential tone to Griff. “Work work work. Can’t pull her away. She’s very dedicated.”

“That’s enough, Rosie,” Junior protested, but it was tough to work up much indignation. She was on to Rosie—she’d seen her in action before. Rosie wasn’t one to hide her feelings, and once she made up her mind about someone, it was impossible to talk her out of it.

And Rosie was doing her best to usher Griff Ross right into Junior’s bed. No doubt she was already planning the booties she would be knitting their baby.

“Well, you have to eat,” Griff said, reasonably. “And there’s got to be somewhere decent around here, right? I’ll tell you what, I could go for some country-fried steak.”

Junior raised her eyebrows. “You don’t look like the country-fried type.”

Griff laughed, unfazed. “You’re right. I’d never touched the stuff until a couple months ago. But I’ve been doing research all over Missouri for a book. The
Highways and Byways
series—you heard of ‘em?”

Yeah, she’d more than just heard of them. They made her blood boil, in fact. Overpriced glossy travel books full of pictures of old gas stations, right along side of snooty restaurant reviews. The people who bought them were the same type that came through town in their glossy SUV’s looking for chain coffee shops that charged five bucks for a latte.

But there was no need to give him the satisfaction. Something about his tone, his refusal to let her get to him, annoyed her further.

“I don’t believe I have,” she lied rather primly.

“Well,
I
have,” Rosie interjected. “I’ve read dozens! Or at least a few. Let’s see. Arkansas, I have a cousin down there, and Indiana—”

“I didn’t write those, I’m afraid,” Griff said. “This is my first for this series.”

“Well, that’s great. I bet if you do a good job, they’ll let you do a few more. How many states have they got left?”

Griff smiled indulgently, and Junior could read condescension coming off him in waves.

“Sorry, I wouldn’t know. I’m actually just doing this book as a favor to my editor. I do the
Get Set/Jet Set
series. I’ve done L.A., Miami, Tokyo—”

“Uh huh,” Junior interjected. That fit, of course. It explained the shiny shirt that probably cost more than she pulled down in a week, and the dorky shoulder bag he was carrying around. Somebody in G.Q. had no doubt decided the look was fashionable.

“Well, that’s great. Good for you. Nice of you to come visit Missouri, but I bet you can’t wait to get back home to New York.”

Griff faced her, unruffled, smiling a little. “Chicago, actually.”

“Whatever.”

“It’s been a good trip.”

“No kidding.” That was obviously was a stretch. She’d bet he’d been hitting every Corn Queen festival and county fair and country speedway and decide that was what rural life was all about.

His loss, then.

“At least I guess you haven’t starved, if you’ve developed a taste for the food.”

“Green Bean Café’s great,” Rosie said, stepping between the two, and gathering up not only her purse but Junior’s too. Junior shrugged, realizing it was pointless to resist, and took her crocheted bag from her aunt.

“Yeah, I guess they could country-fry just about anything,” Junior said. Thinking of their menu, she relented a little. “They
do
have a pretty good blackberry cobbler.”

Griff held the door open, smiling to himself as Junior swept imperiously past, as though she were entering the Academy Awards instead of a diner.

Though it wasn’t just any diner. True to its name, the Green Bean Café was… very green. The exterior was painted in three different shades, and inside he could see that the floor was covered in green linoleum and the seats in green vinyl.

It was a popular place. The lunchtime crowd filled every available table. All eyes lifted as the bell on the door jangled, and a chorus of greetings rang out.

“Hey there, Junior.”

“Hi, sweetie!”

“Catch the Cubs last night, Junior?”

With a pang Griff remembered the dozens of diners he’d entered to open curiosity followed by silence, silence that had always seemed mildly disapproving.

Guess it paid to know people, even in a backwards place like this.

“We can wait outside,” he offered.

“There’s tons of spaces,” Junior said.

And sure enough the patrons began waving eagerly, taking purses and parcels off chairs.

“Come on over here, sweetheart, and let’s catch up.” A large woman with an imposing hairdo patted the chair next to her. Her companion nodded and grinned encouragingly.