Public Displays Of Affection

Chapter Five

The sun tried its best to cut through the blustery air, but Charlotte's fingers still felt stiff and cold as she hunched over, trying to unravel the tangled pieces of string.

"Here, let me block the wind," Bonnie said, hovering over her.

"Mommy, hurry!" Hank called. "It's almost the time I was born!"

"Hang on. I've got it. There!" Charlotte straightened and held out three purple balloons to Hank, making sure her daughter held them securely.

Charlotte then gave the three yellow ones to Matt, the blue one to Bonnie, and kept the red one for herself.

She imagined that they made an odd picture out there on the knoll in the middle of the Minton Recreation Park, colorful balloons flapping in the wind. But it was Hank's birthday, and this was where she wanted to launch her messages to Kurt, and the Tasker family custom was that you got whatever you wanted-within reason-on your birthday.

Hank raised her face to her mother and grinned, her blue eyes sparkling. "Tell me again exactly what he said when I was born, Mama."

Charlotte was prepared for this part of the ritual, but being prepared didn't make it any easier.

"You came out screaming bloody murder," she answered, just the way she knew Hank wanted to hear it.

"A brat from the start," Matt mumbled.

"And your daddy took you from the doctor, tucked you close, and told you shake it off and get back in the game."

Hank's face blossomed. "Then what happened next?"

"You got very, very quiet. Then you punched Daddy in the nose with your fist."

Everyone laughed but Matt.

"Can we just do this now, please?" he said, rolling his eyes while the laughter continued.

"What time is it, Mama?" Hank jumped up and down in anticipation.

"It's eight after eleven, the exact time you were born.

"You ready, girly?"

"Yep!" Hank turned her face to the sky, the wind slapping her bright orange hair out behind her. "I love you infinity much, Daddy!" she yelled, releasing the first balloon.

They all watched it sail up, up, until it drifted over the trees.

She turned to Charlotte and frowned. "But I don't remember which note is in which balloon!"

Charlotte smiled at her daughter, recalling how the kids had written three notes each addressed to "Daddy in Heaven," and brought them to the party store. The nice lady had inserted the folded-up paper into their balloons before filling them with helium.

"It doesn't really matter, honey. Daddy doesn't mind what order they're in."

Hank nodded seriously, then wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "I'm pretty sure that was the one where I told him I got in the majors this year."

"Stop the presses," Matt said.

"Dweeb," Hank responded.

"Okay, gang." Charlotte put her hand on Mart's shoulder and squeezed. "Let's let Hank have her turn. Go ahead, birthday girl."

Hank raised her right hand and opened her stubby fingers, and the second balloon was off. "That was the one where I told him I missed him infinity much," she said with a nod of certainty.

Hank released the third purple balloon. "And that one said not to forget my ballet recital at two o'clock on June seventh."

Hank turned matter-of-factly toward her brother and offered him a gap-toothed grin. "Your turn, Matt."

Charlotte had to choke back her sob. One of the hardest lessons she'd learned in the last eighteen months was that the kids had their own way of grieving and it wasn't necessarily her way. It seemed these concrete, simple things let them express their loss the way talking never could.

Neither of them had ever wanted to talk much about their dad's death. Charlotte recalled each long hour she'd ever spent in the worn blue wing chair of Reverend Williams's office in the First Baptist Church of Minton, talking about Kurt. About her fears and hopes and emptiness. It had helped.

But the day the reverend came to the house to chat with the kids, they both ran away, crying.

Matt stepped forward then, causing Charlotte's hand to fall from his shoulder. He let the first yellow balloon fly without comment, waited for it to climb, then released the other two in the same silence.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and stood still for a moment, finally turning his head toward his mother. He nodded and said, "Your turn, ladies."

Charlotte was struck by how grown-up he seemed in that moment.

Bonnie stepped up and let her blue balloon take wing. She smiled and said, "Look out for all of us, Kurt."

Then it was Charlotte's turn. Knowing she was under the watchful gaze of her friend and children, she took a steadying breath and raised her hand. A sudden gust of wind snatched the balloon from her grasp, sending it flying before she was ready.

That struck her as somehow appropriate.

"I miss you," was all she could think to say.

When Charlotte turned around, Matt and Hank were already laughing and running toward the playground equipment and their friends.

"Have you tried the Internet?"

Charlotte nearly spit out her coffee.

Bonnie laughed a little and continued, leaning back on the park bench. "You know, I've read that Internet dating is the hottest way to meet people these days, and frankly, it sounds like the best thing to happen to male-female relations since the Pill."

Charlotte felt her eyes widen. It seemed that since she'd decided to confide in Bonnie about her once-in-a-lifetime fling, all her friend wanted to do was talk about men and sex.

She'd obviously opened up a big can of worms.

"Think about it." Bonnie took a sip from her thermos cup as she watched the kids on the monkey bars. 'The Internet lets you meet people anonymously and be totally upfront before appearance has any impact on anything! How freeing! It's got to be better than bars."

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "I don't go to bars, Bon."

"My point exactly."

"I don't need a man right now," she lied.

Bonnie tilted her head and studied Charlotte carefully, and the scrutiny made her uncomfortable. "What?"

"Maybe you feel that way now, but someday you're going to be ready for a man to come into your life again."

"Maybe."

"Mama! Can we go to the duck pond?"

Charlotte squinted in the sun, seeing a gaggle of kids running toward the old ice-skating pond on the other side of the park. Matt and Hank stayed behind, waiting for her okay. She smiled

"Go for it!" she said.

"Is it the kids, honey? Is that what's holding you back from dating again?"

Charlotte bunched her lips together and wondered exactly how to answer her friend. Her children's welfare had been her primary concern, of course, and she just couldn't picture the awkward moment when she had to introduce Hank and Mattto a boyfriend. She didn't want to do anything that would confuse them or threaten their fragile sense of safety. And okay-she had a few issues herself.

"I'm just not ready" was all she could manage to say.

"All right."

"I'm doing fine on my own."

"If you say so."

As she watched Bonnie's eyes scan her face, full of affection and challenge, Charlotte felt the knot loosen in her chest. Bonnie Preston had lived a lot longer than she had. She'd stayed married to the same man for thirty-five years, raised two boys to adulthood, and was now a grandmother. She was a hard woman to fool.

"Okay, Bon. I do fine most of the time. But it's been kind of rough lately. There. I said it"

Bonnie's hand patted her knee. "Are you ever going to say anything to him?"

"Him who?"

Bonnie tilted back her head and laughed. "I'm referring to Mr. Male Stripper, honey. Juicy Joe Mills. The man you've not been able to stop thinking about for thirteen years." She grinned. "You know. Your new neighbor."

Charlotte blew out a breath and pulled her fleece jacket close to her chest. Springtime in southern Ohio could be as unpredictable as life itself-bright and balmy one day, biting and gray the next.

"Crazy weather," Charlotte said, attempting to change the subject.

Bonnie shook her head, smiling. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Now that made Charlotte laugh. There were just so many bad outcomes from which to choose, and she'd already imagined them all in detail.

"Well, let's see…" She put down her coffee mug and began counting on the fingers of her left hand. "One, he doesn't remember me and I'm completely humiliated, standing there saying things like, "Oh, come on now! Me? Naked? In the weeds? June 1991?'"

"I see what you mean."

"Or two, he does remember me and then tries to avoid me the whole time he lives here because he's always considered what happened between us a huge mistake."

Bonnie frowned. "Honey, I'm not sure any man on the planet would consider what happened between you two a mistake. I think hours of hot, anonymous sex is something men generally approve of."

Charlotte kept right on going. "Or three, and this is the worst, Bonnie, let me tell you. He knows exactly who I am and expects me to do a repeat performance. You know, meet him three times a week for a roll in the pine needles."

Bonnie waggled her eyebrows.

"You know I'm not like that."

"I know, honey."

"I'm not a slut."

"No one ever said you were, Charlotte."

"But maybe I could go over and talk to him."

"You could "

"I could get a feel for the situation." That didn't come out right and Charlotte scowled when Bonnie laughed. "Oh, forget it What excuse would I possibly have to go over there?"

"Borrow a cup of sugar."

"We don't eat refined sugar."

"A cup of flaxseed, then?"

"I think it's best to just pretend he doesn't live there. So far, it's been a real easy thing to do because the man hasn't set foot outside the house in three days, except to go on his deck."

"Oh, really?"

"No mail delivery. No garbage set out for pickup. His lights are on late every night And I don't know when the hell he goes grocery shopping, unless it's at three in the morning."

Bonnie stared.

"So it'll be easy to ignore him. As far as I know, the man doesn't exist. Maybe it's all still my imagination, that I'm still making up everything about Joe Mills and his incredible-"

Charlotte stopped herself, realizing that Bonnie was still laughing.

"Go on," Bonnie managed. "His incredible what?"

Charlotte felt her face go scarlet. "Anyway, I did try the Internet once, Bonnie,"

"Really? So how did it go?"

Charlotte watched Hank and Matt sprint back from the pond to the swing set, Hank edging out her brother with a final push, then laughing loudly in triumph. The girl never let her brother win, and Charlotte had never asked her to. She hoped that was the right approach.

"Charlotte?"

Oh, hell She'd just avoided one pothole by stepping into another.

"I've never signed up for a dating service or anything, but one night, I went into a chat room." She picked up her-coffee cup, happy for the warmth that spread to her hands. "It was about six months after Kurt died. I was feeling sorry for myself. It was a disaster."

Bonnie's eyebrows popped up in a question. "Do tell."

"First of all, they're all psychos or people just as desperate as I am. Pretty slim pickings."

"I see."

"I started chatting with a man who seemed perfectly normal for the first fifteen minutes. Nice, even. But then-" Bonnie seemed to be hanging on her every word, and as embarrassed as she was, Charlotte supposed there was no harm in sharing4his with her best friend-she'd shared everything else. "He said he wanted to… uh…" This was harder than she expected.

"Ahhh. Cybersex " Bonnie nodded. "Did you do it?"

"What? Are you nuts?" Charlotte's voice was so loud she saw the kids look her way. She waved and smiled at them and they went back to playing. "He told me to go gather a bunch of supplies and come back to the computer."

"Supplies?" Bonnie's laughter sailed on the wind.

"Office supplies, mostly." Charlotte dared to look at her friend's amused face.

"Oh, dear," Bonnie said.

"Paper clips, rubber bands, clothespins, Scotch tape, and an empty beer bottle."

"And this would be for-?"

"You think I stuck around to find out?" Charlotte took a sip of her coffee, which was rapidly losing its heat

"And that was your big Internet experience?"

"That was it"

"Huh." Bonnie frowned, looking out at the rolling hills of the park. Then she sighed. "Look, Charlotte. Just go over there, knock on the man's door, and introduce yourself. Feign ignorance. Pretend you don't recognize him. See what happens."

Now that was an approach she hadn't considered. "You think I could pull that off? It sounds like something that would require advanced acting skills"

Bonnie thought for a moment, then put her arm around Charlotte's shoulder. "Well, I can always watch the kids if you want to hit the bars."

Joe knew that spending most of the day spying on Charlotte Tasker and her family was the last thing in the world he should be doing, but he couldn't stop himself. He was damn bored. He was dying of curiosity. Hell-he was just plain dying.

He'd spent the morning packing up his belongings, and everything was back in cardboard boxes except for a couple changes of clothes and the punching bags and computer, his main sources of amusement. He'd called Roger at home last night, only to be told to be patient again, that they were looking for somewhere else safe to move him. Patience, however, had never been Joe's strong suit. He was ready to leave. Now. Ready to get out of this town, this neighborhood. Ready to say good-bye to Charlotte Tasker before he broke down and said hello.

The woman was busy; that much he could say for her. Even on a Saturday, she seemed to be in perpetual motion. She was out pulling weeds by seven that morning, wearing what he noticed was a rather appealing pair of old jeans with holes in the knees. With just the right light, he could see a peek of adorable pink flesh under the shredded denim.

Then, about two hours later, her big oaf of a dog-who looked like some canine genetic experiment gone wrong-wandered out of the yard. Joe watched with a mixture of amusement and pity as she and her kids walked up and down the sidewalk yelling for the dog, eventually getting in the mini van and cruising the streets, calling out what sounded like, "Hoover!"

Bizarre name for a dog, if you asked him.

As luck would have it, Hoover suddenly appeared right on the sidewalk in front of Joe's own house, and he couldn't help but laugh watching how Charlotte lured the beast to the minivan.

She held a mostly melted vanilla ice-cream cone out the open door, continually cooing the phrase. "Creamy Whip, Hoover! Creamy Whip!"

The dog trotted merrily to the van, hopped inside, and devoured the cone before the kids could even get the side door shut.

The Taskers weren't home more than ten minutes before they all piled into the car again-this time with Charlotte's neighbor Bonnie Preston, the pleasant-looking older woman he'd seen with Charlotte that first day. According to the files Roger had sent him, Bonnie was a retired high school art teacher married to the town's former police chief, a guy named Ned Preston. The files said Preston was a former marine MP with two tours in Nam to his credit. Joe had yet to lay eyes on the fellow.

While the Taskers were but, Joe did about an hour and a half on the bags, made himself a roast beef on rye, watched something on Nickelodeon called SpongeBob SquarePants-which turned out to be damned funny, actually-then took a nap. He couldn't remember the last time he'd taken a nap. Maybe he'd never taken a nap. Maybe this marked the beginning of the end for him, a sign that it was only a matter of time before he could be found asleep in the Lay-Z-Boy like his dad, a thin line of spittle escaping out of the corner of his mouth, the evening newspaper ruffling in the wake of his snores.

Thank God the Taskers returned home about two, looking windblown and chilly. At least resuming his stakeout would get his mind off whether he was morphing into his father. Just because he might retire from casework didn't mean his life was over. Hell, he wasn't even forty!

Joe brought his desk chair to the upstairs window and used his government-issue, top-of-the-line Bushnell binoculars to watch Charlotte and the kids pull more weeds. The boy did wheelbarrow duty, hauling loads to a pile behind the shed right on the property line, which gave Joe got his first close look at the kid. He was thin and serious, with intelligent gray eyes. He had straight brown hair cut close to his head, except for a little tuft that stood straight up over his forehead, like he'd just stuck his finger in a light socket. Seemed the kid never met a tube of hair gel he didn't like.

A little later, Joe moved to the downstairs living room window to watch Charlotte toss baseballs with the kids and marveled at the arm that little girl had-she could smoke 'em! Then Matt pitched to his sister, and she'd smacked the stitching off the ball, sending it flying out into the street.

The highlight of the day came late in the afternoon, when a man came to the Taskers' front door. He was a balding blond guy with a bit of a paunch and a loud, everyone-look-at-me voice. Charlotte didn't invite him in. She didn't hide the fact that she wasn't thrilled with his visit She stayed stiff, her arms crossed in front of her, shaking her head. Joe watched the man continue to smile at her to no avail.

It was then that Joe had to fight the instinct to march over there and toss the guy into the street. He laughed at himself-exactly when had he signed up to be Charlotte Tasker's bodyguard?

He couldn't leave this town soon enough.

But he watched Charlotte send the guy packing without anyone's help. Good for her. She had good instincts. It was plain to see that doofus didn't deserve her.

But now it was nearly dark, and Joe knew it was time to put away the binoculars and head home. He'd done enough surveillance for one day. Besides, he'd managed to slip under the radar of the dog sleeping on a rug just inside the double doors and figured he shouldn't press his luck.

Joe made one last sweep. From his vantage point behind the Taskers' pine trees he had a good view into what was probably the family room, which opened into a big kitchen. Plaid furniture was arranged around a fireplace and entertainment center and the room looked lived in- kids' backpacks hanging on the doorknobs, art projects taped up on the cabinets, dog toys and sneakers on the rug.

Charlotte moved into range. Then the kids. Then the little family of three was sitting at the round oak kitchen table. They made a cozy picture, illuminated by the hanging lamp as they bowed their heads and said grace.

He watched them eat some kind of rice casserole and a fruit salad. He could see them laughing but caught only the barest hint of their voices from inside the house. He longed to hear every word, but that would require either a dinner invitation or a wiretap. Equally ridiculous ideas.

Joe lowered the binoculars and stretched. Oh, well. He was as good as gone, and he'd be content with taking this mental picture with him: Charlotte in those battered jeans, her silky pale red hair pulled back in a ponytail, laughing as she ate dinner with her kids, perfectly capable and perfectly happy without him.