Mayday (18 page)

“Uh-oh,” Helen muttered.

“Hmm?” Wes glanced around, pulling her closer to his side. “Are you okay?”

“I am,” she said. “I don't think Con is.”

His glance backward was brief. “Bad for Con. Good for him. Because if he'd tried to come up here and flirt with you, I'd have whacked him upside his head with one of these branches.”

“Excuse me?” came a cool voice from Helen's side. “What was that, Mayor Ramirez?”

“With all due respect, Bea,” he said, “this particular conversation isn't really your concern.”

Helen stared at him in shock, and then turned to see Bea's response. Clearly, though, he knew the councilwoman and her reactions better than Helen. A slight smile had crossed Bea's face at the unruffled but firm answer.

“What do you think?” Bea asked Helen. “Do I look more beautiful because of the morning dew? Unlike your friend, I managed not to wash my face with poison ivy, which probably helps.”

Was that a threatening remark, meant to confirm that Bea knew about the difficulties of the morning? Or was it a simple teasing comment, like those exchanged among Helen's friends? Helen couldn't tell. And because she couldn't, she chose a neutral answer.

“I don't see an obvious change yet, but I'll let you know,” she said. “Remember, it was meant to be fortifying, too. Do you feel stronger?”

“Maybe. I'll wait and see. A lot of things can change by the end of the night.” With one last meaningful look directed at Wes, Bea allowed herself to drop back into the crowd.

Helen drew closer to Wes and spoke in a low whisper. “She reminds me of this nun I had as a teacher in elementary school. The one who gave us cryptic warnings of damnation right before she swatted our knuckles with a ruler.”

His hand squeezed hers again. “No need for post-traumatic flashbacks. She's not mean, just determined to see if I'm strong enough to save her city. If I end up in Clearport, I'll be coming into a tough situation under a great deal of unfriendly scrutiny. She's making sure I can handle it.”

“Better you than me,” Helen said. “Thank God I'm not more involved in politics. Serving as a library representative is about as far as I want to venture into that realm.”

For the first time since she'd seen him that morning, his brow furrowed in concern. He didn't say anything as they continued walking, though. And after another minute, singing began behind them. She thought she recognized the song. But surely it wasn't—

Then she heard a key word in the lyrics. Specifically, “sprung.”

“You realize we're singing in the May with ‘Baby Got Back,' right?” she asked. “Should we say something? I don't know how Bea will feel about that particular song choice.”

He shrugged. “I've always found Sir Mix-a-Lot very festive and spring-like. Plus, if we interfere, we'll only draw more attention to it.”

After that, he remained silent until they reached the square. As they turned the corner and the growing crowd there came into view, however, a low rumble sounded in his chest. His entire body stiffened, and the hand squeezing hers tightened almost painfully.

“What's wrong?” she asked in concern, following his gaze.

Two people of average height stood next to the Maypole, talking to a reporter. The woman wore jeans, her long blond hair caught in a high ponytail. The man next to her had short, black hair, tanned skin, and dark eyes.

No, Helen corrected herself, not entirely dark. As she and Wes neared the couple, the man turned to face them, and his irises caught the light.

Tiger's-eyes. Only one other person she knew had eyes like that. She glanced over to Wes, who was already looking at her.

“Wes?” she asked. “Is that . . .”

He nodded, his lips tight. “Looks like it's time for you to meet my parents, Helen.”

“Y
ou should see all the newspaper articles from when Miguel was playing football,” Wes's mother told Helen. “He was a star on the rise. Colleges around the country were scouting him. Until . . .”

“Me,” Wes finished Lisa's sentence, his face expressionless. “Until me.”

The four of them sat around a small table, wedged into a corner of Niceville Java and Intimate Emporium. The rest of the seats were filling quickly as locals and tourists traveled to the square for the May Day festivities. Outside the coffeehouse windows, Helen could see vendors setting up their booths for the day and the symphony unpacking instruments near the wooden platform. Volunteers scurried around the square, making sure everything ran smoothly.

She should be out there too, but hadn't felt like she could refuse Lisa's invitation for coffee without appearing rude. Plus, her curiosity about Wes and his parents knew no bounds. She wanted to know how he'd become the man he was. The man she . . . liked. A lot.

Helen glanced at her watch. Curiosity or no, time was running short. In about ten minutes, she and Wes were going to have to get back to work. She needed to coordinate the May basket craft activity at the library, and he had to set up for the crowning of the King and Queen of May.

“We have just as many articles clipped about Wes's swimming days. They're all over the house.” Lisa leaned toward Helen, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. “He always tells us to take down the photos and articles. Says he doesn't need a shrine to his swimming career. But his father and I don't want to forget. We were so proud.”

Were?
Helen's mouth opened before she could stop it. “You haven't replaced those photos and articles with ones from his term as mayor?”

“Small potatoes,” Miguel stated in a deep rumble. “Local. Not like when he swam in meets around the country and set records.”

If you leap across the table and smack Wes's father upside his head, it'll probably make a bad impression
, she reminded herself.

“Don't get us wrong,” Lisa said. “It's great that he's mayor, especially since it looks like he might become better known. Regionally, at least. That's why I called the paper, even though Wes asked us not to. We had to share the news. After all, he's our one and only.”

“Mom couldn't have any more kids after me,” Wes told his mug of coffee.

Lisa patted his arm. “Not your fault, honey. Besides, it didn't matter if I had one or twelve. Either way, I wasn't leaving Niceville anytime soon.”

“Mom's dream was to get out of town any way she could.” Wes lifted his drink and took a big gulp.

“I thought about acting,” his mom said.

Helen could see that. With Lisa's blond good looks and slim frame, she looked like an aging model or actress. Like someone who belonged in a big city, not in a small community like Niceville.

“Another dream that died when I was born,” Wes noted.

Helen's gaze automatically swung to his parents, waiting for them to contradict their son's bitter statement. To reassure him that they didn't consider his birth the end of all their hopes for their futures.

Instead, Miguel gave a grunt of agreement.

With a nervous laugh, Lisa looked to Helen. “But then we made new dreams, once we realized how talented a swimmer our son was.”

“I see,” Helen said. And she did see. She really did.

Beneath the table, she nudged Wes's knee with her own. He didn't nudge back, but she hadn't expected him to. Right now, he was holding his body under such tight control she was surprised he wasn't vibrating with the strain.

“So tell me about your flower shop,” she said with a forced smile. “I love flowers. Obviously.” She pointed to the garland of blooms she'd made that morning in the library.

“Small potatoes,” Miguel repeated. “But it's a living.”

She struggled for a way to connect with Wes's parents. Even though she knew it was stupid—after all, Wes was leaving her behind in six months, max—she still wanted them to like her. Wanted to ease the tension at the table.

“It can be hard to find a good job,” Helen said. “I got laid off three years ago, and I haven't been able to find full-time work in my field since. Hopefully, that'll change soon.”

“What's your field?” Lisa asked.

“Anything involving books. I love 'em.” She smiled at Wes's mom. “Your poor son has heard me talk about so many sci-fi and fantasy novels, he probably wants to take away my library card.”

“Why didn't you look for work that didn't involve books?” Lisa asked, her blue eyes going sharp.

A stab of embarrassment made it hard for Helen to meet the older woman's eyes. “I thought about it, but my parents said it was worth waiting for the right job. One that would make me happy. They offered to help me out until that job came along.”

“Help you out,” Miguel echoed.

Helen spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “I moved in with them while I applied for full-time library and bookstore jobs. Maybe I shouldn't have. I don't know.”

Wes's dad leaned back in his chair. “Huh.”

“I pay rent,” she added quickly, fighting to keep her hands from trembling as her cheeks grew hot. “Every month.”

Miguel ignored her. He focused his gaze on Wes, his face stern. “Need to think hard about your future, son. Who's going to help you move forward, and who's going to hold you back. Second chances don't come around too often.”

Dead silence fell over the table.

After a long moment, Wes raised his head slowly. “Let me make sure I understand what's happening here.”

The sound of his voice almost made her gasp. It was quiet. Measured. But she could hear the rumble of forthcoming destruction, like the groan of a fault in the earth preparing to rip wide open. It was a tone she'd never heard coming out of Wes's lips before. And she hoped she'd never hear it again, especially directed her way.

Wes's steady fingers set down his mug very carefully. Then he pinned his father with a stare of stone. “You're warning me that having Helen in my life might hold me back. Is that what you just said?”

Miguel looked back at his son, silent and motionless.

She wanted to sink into the floor. To become the cause of conflict between Wes and his father; to know that Miguel considered her deadweight, something Wes should jettison to reach his true potential; to have to acknowledge the truth of his father's opinion . . .

It humiliated her. It burned like a brand marking her as defective.

Wes's hand found her knee under the table and squeezed gently. All the while, his gaze never left Miguel. “Let me tell you about Helen, Dad. She's supported me without question for months now. She's the reason for the success of this weekend, as much as I am. In fact, meeting her again last year spurred my last-ditch effort to get more funding from City Council. So if you feel like I've accomplished anything worthwhile as mayor in the past year, it's because of her.”

Her mouth fell open in shock. Their ill-fated night together last year had affected him that deeply? How? Why?

“Let's talk about something—” Lisa started to interject.

“No,” Wes spat out. “Let's talk about what Dad said. If you two are so proud of the Clearport job offer, you should thank Helen for that too. Because if I hadn't gotten my ass in gear and raised money for our downtown after seeing her last year, I never would have come to Bea's attention.”

Wes leaned toward his father, lowering his voice to a harsh rasp. “I trust Helen implicitly. Without question. As opposed to my parents, who chose to sabotage my chances at a future outside Niceville by going to the press.”

“Your mother was proud,” Miguel said, folding his arms across his broad chest.

“That's not pride,” Wes said. “I don't know what it is, but it's nothing as loving as that. If anyone at this table is holding me back, it's not Helen. It's you and Mom.”

Lisa's breath hitched, and she reached out to place a hand over his. “We do love you.”

“You played games with my future to feed your own ego. Dad just insulted a beautiful, intelligent, warm woman. One who's done nothing but support me.” Wes slid his hand out from under his mom's. “You may love me. But if that's how your love makes you act, you can keep it. I want none of it.”

Wes stood, digging in his wallet until he found a twenty to throw on the table. Not knowing what else to do, Helen rose too.

“Spoke my mind.” Miguel didn't move, just looked up at his son. “Won't apologize for it.”

“Well, that's a goddamn shock,” Wes said.

When he put his arm around her shoulders and began to steer her toward the door, she took one last look back at his parents. Tears streamed down Lisa's face. The older woman made an abortive effort to rise from the table, but Miguel laid a hand on her arm. She sank back down, an apology in her eyes directed at Helen and Wes. Miguel leaned back in his chair, watching them leave.

Wes's father caught Helen's eye and gave her a nod. It wasn't an apology. It was an acknowledgment of her departure. A reminder of his words.

She turned to face forward.
Miguel may be a terrible father, but he's not wrong. I'd hold Wes back. He hasn't realized it yet, but he will.

 

“Wes's father said
what?
” Constance shouted. “If I ever see that goddamn piece of sh—”

“
Ms. Chen
.” Tina poked her head into the library break room. “I can hear you out in the hall, even with the door closed.”

Con waved a hand in the air. “Sorry. Extenuating circumstances.”

With one last warning look, Tina removed herself from the break room. Con waited a few seconds before continuing at a lower volume.

“Please tell me Wes stood up for you,” she said. “Because if he didn't, you need to dump his ass like he's a worn-out sofa with grape juice stains on it.”

Helen sighed. “He did, for better or worse. I'm not sure he's actually speaking to his parents at the moment. And he kept apologizing until I had to leave for the library, even though I told him he wasn't responsible for their actions.”

“Good,” Con declared.

“I don't know,” Helen said. “When I'm out of his life, his parents will still be there. I don't want to be a cause of conflict in their family.”

“So you're still thinking this is a temporary thing with the mayor.”

“We have six months before he leaves. And who knows?” Helen shrugged. “He might decide before then that he needs someone better suited to him and his life. Our relationship might end tomorrow or next week or next month. I just have to make sure my heart doesn't break whenever it does end.”

“So your plan hasn't changed? You'll enjoy him while you can, but not get too involved?” Con slanted her a skeptical look.

“Pretty much.” Sure, it sounded stupid and hopeless when Constance put it that way. But she could do it. Right?

The break-room door opened again, and she looked up to see a familiar face in the doorway. One that sent a bolt of electricity between her legs and got her heart racing.

“Tina told me where you were,” Wes said. As he came into the room, he kept one hand behind his back. Then he smiled at her and brought it forward, showing a small wicker basket filled with pansies.

“Happy May Day, Helen. I made you a May basket. There's some candy beneath the flowers, and I . . .” He squirmed a little bit, his tanned cheeks darkening. “I wrote you a poem, since you said that was traditional.”

Her breath caught at the piercing sweetness of the gesture. So much effort. He'd gone to so much effort to make her happy, in a way no man had ever done before. In a way she suspected no man would ever do again. It didn't matter that the pansies looked a little squashed, and that the candy probably had dirt in it. She'd never seen anything more beautiful in her life, except maybe the tree and heart he'd left at her parents' doorstep last night.

She looked up at him with bewildered astonishment. “I didn't see you at the craft event. When in the world did you have time to do this?”

“Someone snuck me the supplies yesterday. I can't reveal my sources.”

With an innocent whistle, Constance stood to wash her plate at the sink.

“I don't know what to say,” Helen whispered, fighting tears. “Thank you. I love it.”

He set the basket in front of her, and she opened the folded note attached to it.

The gray plastic surface of the table blurred as she blinked hard. She had to clear her throat before she got the words out. “That wasn't lame. It was beautiful, Wes.”

An unwelcome voice echoed in her head.
I'm not worth all this effort. A man like Wes deserves the world. He deserves to see it alongside a sophisticated woman who wants the same sort of life he does. Not a woman who lives in her books and has small dreams and a big ass.

“I know I was supposed to leave it at your doorstep, ring the bell, and run away.” He dropped into the seat next to hers. “But I saw two problems with that. First of all, you won't be home all day. More importantly, you said if the person receiving the basket caught the giver, the giver might get a kiss. So . . .”