Finding Home. Marie FerrarellaЧитать онлайн книгу.
Stacey blinked back the tears, calling herself an idiot. She was wasting time, feeling sorry for herself like this. Brad probably had something planned and she was going to feel like a fool for wallowing in self-pity like this.
The road opened up as she took the turn off. Stacey pressed down on the accelerator.
Ten more minutes found her home. In time to watch Jim pack the last of his belongings into the trunk of his car. Stacey suddenly realized that the loneliness that threatened to explode inside of her had only intensified.
Julie was already out on her own, living off campus in student housing that the UCLA Medical School helped subsidize. She didn’t want Jim to leave, too. Because that would leave her alone in the house. Alone, waiting for Brad to come home. And even when he would come home, somehow, having the kids gone would just make the growing separation between the two of them that much more prominent.
There was a time when she cherished being alone with Brad. But now, just thinking about that, thinking about coming face-to-face with the fact that they had nothing to say to each other, was filling her with a sense of dread.
Damn, where were all these negative feelings coming from?
She didn’t want to be one of those women who had to be medicated with three different colored pills just to face the day. She was made of stronger stuff than that. Stacey couldn’t shake the uneasiness. She tried denial. And didn’t get very far. Only as far as Jim’s car as she helped him carry a box of his things.
“You know, this isn’t really practical,” she told him, easing the box into the fold-down space he’d created in the rear of his vehicle. “You only have that part-time job of yours.” Dusting her hands off, she leaned against the side of the car. “How are you going to manage paying for everything?”
Jim gave her a mysterious look. “I can always sell my body.” And when he saw the horror on her face, he ran his hands up and down her arms, as if to reassure her. “I’m kidding, Mom. I’m kidding.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “I’m a musician. I’m supposed to starve.”
She laughed shortly. “Said the boy who has never lived more than fifty feet away from a fully stocked refrigerator.”
He took offense instantly. “Man, Mom. I’m a man.”
“Sorry.” She held her hands up in mute surrender. “Said the man who has never lived more than fifty feet—”
“I get it, Mom, I get it,” he said sharply, cutting her off. He tried again, lowering his voice and doing his best to sound civil. “Look, maybe a little deprivation will be good for me. Make me appreciate you more.” As if to drive his point home, Jim paused and kissed the top of her head.
She could feel a lump rising in her throat, but she refused to give in to it. If she cried, Jim would just think she was trying to manipulate him, which she wasn’t. She just wanted him to stay. Wanted time to stop moving ahead. To at least freeze in place if it couldn’t go back and retrieve the better moments of her life.
Stacey forced a smile to her lips. “You might even get to appreciate your father.”
“I might,” he agreed, nodding his head slowly. “Right after they outfit penguins with ice skates so they can skate over hell.”
Stacey opened her mouth and then shut it again. She wasn’t going to get sucked into another argument. Not on her son’s last day at home.
She tried again. “So, am I allowed to know where my son’s going to be living?” When he said nothing in response, she added, “Or is it a state secret?”
He paused, leaning his lanky body against the side of the vehicle, his eyes on hers. His expression was completely sober. “It’s on a need-to-know basis.”
She gave him that look that had him confessing pilfering candy from the supermarket when he was six. It could still put him on the straight and narrow if he let it. “I need to know.”
He let go of the pretense and laughed. “Just kidding, Mom. I’m going to be in L.A. Pete Michaels’s roommate moved out—”
The address brought a chill to her mother’s heart. There were places in the middle of a war zone that were safer. “Are you sure he moved out and he’s not some chalk outline on the sidewalk?”
Jim frowned, his expression telling her to back off. “This is a safe area, Mom.”
“Nothing is safe these days.” But she knew that there was no arguing him out of it, unless it were strictly his idea. Sometimes she wished she were versed in post-hypnotic suggestions. “By the way, I had a microchip implanted behind your ear while you were sleeping. It’s a tracking device.” And then she laughed, banking down the urge to tousle his hair the way she used to. “Don’t worry, I’m not that neurotic.”
He looked at her knowingly. “We both know that if you could have, you would have. You’ve got to stop worrying, Mom.” Jim made little effort to hide his irritation.
“You show me where it says that in the Mom’s Handbook, and I will.” She sighed. “Sorry, it’s a package deal. You give birth and you worry. Can’t have one without the other.”
Jim’s mouth curved. “I thought Sinatra said that was love and marriage.”
“That, too,” she agreed. She walked him to the front of the car and watched as he got in behind the steering wheel. “So, no fooling around until after you’re married.”
His grin was nothing short of wicked. “Too late.”
Stacey sighed. “I was afraid of that.” He started the car. She fought the urge to pull him out and throw her arms around him. “You’ll be careful?”
He nodded. “I won’t play in traffic unless I absolutely have to.”
“And you’ll come for dinner?”
“How about I meet you for lunch every so often?” he countered.
She took what she could get. “Deal—but I’m not giving up on dinners.”
He grinned, pulling out of the driveway. “You wouldn’t be Mom if you did.”
Stacey stood and watched until there was nothing left of the car to see. And then she stood there a little longer.
The walk back into the house was a long one.
CHAPTER 5
Stacey lifted the glass lid from the serving dish filled with the beef stroganoff she’d made earlier. Warmth wafted up, following the curved lid like a vaporous shadow. The condensation inside reminded her of tears. Or maybe it was just her mood.
With a sigh, she replaced the lid. At least something was working right. She’d bought the warming tray years ago in a naive effort to attempt to keep Brad’s dinners fresh when he didn’t get home in time. Back then, it had been the insane hours he’d kept as a resident that were responsible for his coming in hours after he was supposed to. Once he’d gotten his certification in his chosen field of neurology, she’d assumed that the tray could go into storage.
Really naive, Stace.
Although residency was long in the past, unfortunately, late evenings were not.
She fidgeted, debating whether or not to take off the long, dangling earrings she wore. The ones that went with the little black dress she also had on. Her black high-heeled pumps had come off more than half an hour ago. It seemed that every week, something unexpected would come up. Something that wound up keeping Brad from coming home. She knew his lateness was legitimate. But legitimate or not, that didn’t mean she still couldn’t be jealous. And she was. Jealous of his practice. Jealous of the patients who took him away from her during the hours when he should be hers.
Stacey closed her eyes and sighed, wishing that Brad had gotten a nine-to-five job like so many of the people who’d