“We need to keep things strictly professional. Which means no kissing. And no more cozy dinners either. I’m serious, Ben.”
That last part must have sunk in, because his expression went blank. Good.
Neither of them said anything on the walk back to the restaurant parking lot.
He waited with her while the valet brought up her car. “For what’s it worth, I’m sorry, Jenna.”
It was the second time tonight he’d apologized. Was he sorry for what happened thirteen years ago? Sorry for tonight? Sorry for whatever was going to happen in the future? She didn’t ask because she didn’t want to know.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said, trying to maintain some modicum of politeness between them.
He nodded curtly, then held the car door open for her.
Jenna’s hands shook a little as she put the key into the ignition. Obviously the walk along the beach had been a big mistake on her part. Ben was going to be in town for a month and Whispering Bay was small enough that she might run into him occasionally, but there was no reason for the two of them to ever be alone again. She’d just have to make certain of that.
Chapter Nine
Pat Harrison sat down on the living room couch as if she expected it to swallow her whole. “I hope you didn’t buy this place.”
Ben tried to tamp down his impatience, but by the look on his mother’s face, you’d think he’d brought her to a rat-infested slum instead of a multi-million-dollar house sitting on one of the country’s most beautiful beaches.
“This is a vacation home, Mom, so no, I didn’t buy it.”
But I could if I wanted to.
Compared to the luxury homes owned by the other partners at the firm, he lived in a relatively modest two-bedroom condo. The Mercedes and the designer suits were a must (old man Martinez insisted that the attorneys in the firm look the part), but other than that, Ben had been painfully frugal with his personal expenses.
Despite his mother’s protests, he paid all her bills and every three months he’d offer to buy her a new house which she would then promptly refuse. But with Rachel now permanently in the picture, she had to understand there was absolutely no way he’d allow his mother to continue living in the trailer where he’d grown up.
He pulled a brochure from his briefcase. “This is a planned community with brand new four- and five-bedroom homes just a twenty-minute drive from my office. You can pick any model you want. Top of the line appliances, hardwood floors, swimming pool, fenced in backyard. You name it.”
She studied the brochure with a mixture of fascination and horror. Mostly horror. “This is where you want us to live?” She squinted at the lines beneath one of the photos. “Oh my Lord. I could buy all of Hopalinka for what it costs to live here.”
“Where are your reading glasses, Mom?”
“Oh, phooey, I don’t need glasses to read.”
She’d needed reading glasses for the past ten years but she refused to wear them. She thought they made her look old. But Pat Harrison didn’t need glasses to make her look older than her fifty-two years. Decades of working double shifts and not taking care of herself had done that already.
He would give anything to reverse time for her. Back to when she was still young enough to make good choices. She’d gotten pregnant at sixteen, dropped out of high school and shacked up with his sperm-donor. Two months before Ben was born, she’d come home from her job at the convenience store to find their trailer stripped of anything that hadn’t been nailed to the floor. You’d think his mother would have learned her lesson, but a couple of years later, it was another loser. Then another and another.
Until she’d met Jake’s dad. Loser wasn’t a strong enough word for Curtis Dillon. Ben had only been nine when Curtis had moved in with them, but he’d grown up fast in those short four months. Curtis was a drunk. And not the kind that got nicer when he was boozed up.
Ben would lie awake at night listening to the sounds of Curtis slapping his mother around. Every night he’d go to bed praying that when he woke up, Curtis would be gone, but that little miracle never panned out. One day Ben came home from school to find his mom still in bed with two black eyes and a swollen lip. God didn’t help nine-year-old boys who hid under the covers while some drunk beat the shit of their mother, but maybe he’d help one who took matters into his own hands.
That night when Curtis stumbled into the trailer stinking of beer, Ben was waiting for him with a suitcase in his hand. “Here’s your stuff. Now get out of here.” His heart was pounding so fast he was sure that Curtis could hear it exploding out of his chest.
“Where’s your mom?” he slurred. “I’m horny, if you get my drift.”
The overwhelming stench of sweat and liquor, combined with fear of what this grown man could do to him, nearly made Ben vomit, but he managed to stand his ground. “I said, get. Nobody wants you here anymore.”
“Who’s gonna make me?” Curtis laughed. “You?”
With a shaky hand, Ben showed him the kitchen knife he’d been hiding behind his back. “Yeah, me.” Up till now he hadn’t known whether or not he’d have the courage to actually use it, but if this man laid a hand on his mother again, then yes, he could use it.
“Tell Pat to get her skinny ass out here now before I toss you all around this trailer.”
“Don’t you dare lay a hand on my son.” There was an edge of steel in his mother’s voice Ben had never heard before.