Twila's Tempest Page 4

  “Stop,” he ordered.

  Bent over with her ass in the air, she cranked a look at him.

  He couldn’t help but laugh, however he didn’t earn himself any brownie points because her fine brows pinned together.

  With both arms wrapped around the post, she paused. “Something wrong?”

  His brow wrinkled. “It’s heavy, you’re gonna strain your back.”

  “I can manage.”

  “Together, on three,” he said after curling his arms around the rough cement block. “Three.” Drake carried most of the weight, but she refused to let go until the lump of rock tumbled into the truck bed.

  Before he turned, she’d grabbed the end of the next post, digging in her heels and yarding it closer.

  Mr. Christian had gone inside, taking refuge from the heat. “Listen…” but she didn’t and continued to drag the cement block toward the pickup. He gripped the pole, gently pushed her hand away and heaved the cement into the truck.

  “We haven’t really met yet,” he said.

  “You’re Becka’s son, Drake.”

  She put her gaze on him and his nerve endings began to fire all at once. “And you’re the Twila I’ve heard so much about.”

  She cleared her throat and said, “I can do the rest. Thanks for your help.”

  “You’re gonna need a good masseuse to work the knots out of your back if you try to heave those posts.”

  She grinned and shook her head. Man, did she ever have a pretty smile. Instead of resting, she put her attention back on the work. There were six more posts to pull, and Twila swept up the shovel on her way to start digging. If you can’t beat her, join her.

  They attacked the sandy ground and pulled the posts together. For an hour and a half, their shovels bit into the earth. He didn’t try to engage her again, but his mind didn’t wander, it stayed on point. Stayed on her. With the last of the posts loaded, she jumped in the truck and drove away before it hit him she’d have to unload it by herself. “Wait,” he shouted, but she was already halfway down the street.

  Chapter Four

  It wasn’t the last time he saw her that day. After dinner, he coaxed his parents to walk off the big meal his mother had made. It was a good thing he’d burned some calories beforehand because his mom always tried to fatten him up when he came to visit.

  Two golf courses, one on either end of the park were rarely empty. Reaching the far end of hole nine, Drake noticed a large garden. A gravel walkway meandered throughout, but the plantings were distinctly separate. Palms, bushes and flowers bloomed within the eclectic design.

  “I don’t remember that here before,” Drake said.

  Two people were bent over weeding and the beautiful ass pointing in his direction belonged to Twila. He grinned with a thought. Twila’s rear had turned into a moving landmark he kept running into.

  “It’s our memory garden,” his mom explained.

  “What’s that?”

  “Some of the widows came up with the idea.” His mom offered a small smile. “Anyone who loses someone in the park can have a small plot and plant a garden in memory of their loved ones.”

  Drake watched Twila on her hands and knees, tugging out a clump of grass that grew in her patch. She worked at the base of a small palm surrounded by a colorful bed of blooming flowers. Gathering the weeds tossed to the side, she placed them into a bucket and then hilled up the dirt around the flowers. Sitting back on her haunches, she craned her neck and kneaded her fist into her back, stretching it. He smiled. She needed someone to rub those muscles out. They had to be screaming by now. “Should we say, hello?” he asked. When his mom said, no, it surprised him.

  “I don’t think we should interrupt.” His mother turned to him with a sad smile. “She’s still grieving. It’s only been three months. I suggested she should create a patch for her parents. In a way it’s therapeutic, especially for Twila.”

  “Why’s that?” he asked.

  “Kimberly was such a beautiful lady. She died far too young, and I think it was from a broken heart when Twila’s father passed. We became good friends soon after your father and I moved here, but only a few years later she was gone. Kimberly loved to garden. I think it’s good for Twila to be down in the dirt. It gives her a chance to ease the pain and remember her mother before she became sick.”

  Keeping his distance from Twila wasn’t an option. Something drew him to her, and he wanted to offer his condolences. He sauntered up the knoll.

  Squatting down beside her, he said, “I heard you lost your mother recently. My condolences.”

  “Thanks.”

  Her voice didn’t have the sweet ring he’d heard before. Twila swiped her arm across her cheek and the tears clung to her skin. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

  Her brisk nod meant she wasn’t. Seeing honest tears on her cheeks bothered him. He’d seen plenty from Heather. Big crocodile tears when he wouldn’t cave to her endless need to attend every party in Miami. Twila’s tears were different, they came from the heart. “Your garden is really beautiful, Twila. Mom mentioned your mother loved to garden too.”

  “She did.”

  “When I was in the Marines, I lost a few friends. Guys that didn’t make it back.” He bit his top lip and gazed at the brilliant yellow blooms of the Coreopsis she’d planted. “Something like this means so much more than a gravestone. It’s a place to nurture the memories as well as the flowers.”

  Twila swept her forearm across her cheek, and he placed his hand on her shoulder. “You worked your ass off today. The last thing you need is to stretch your legs, but why don’t you come for a walk with us?”

  Twila reached for the bucket and stood up, finally looking at him. Her whiskey-colored eyes sparkled with the tears she’d cried. “Thanks, but I think I need a hot bath. Unfortunately, you were right about the muscles.”

  He grinned, thinking about teasing her with an “I told you so”. His parents waited for him on the road. Dad had his arms wrapped around his mom as they talked. After all these years they were still in love. Comfortable and happy. He used to think they were a rarity, but every time he visited the park, he saw many aging couples who’d weathered the storms of marriage.

  “Thanks for your help today at Mr. Christian’s. I’d still be digging.”

  “I would have helped you unload if you hadn’t have made such a quick getaway.”

  She saw his parents and gave them a wave. “They miss you a lot, you know. It’s time to visit with them and time to put your feet up. You’re on vacation.” She clutched the bucket of weeds to her chest. “According to your mom, you work too hard.”

  “Maybe it’s something you should think about, considering the way you run around this park.”

  She shrugged off the comment and stepped onto the gravel path, offering him a sweet smile before walking toward a tall hedge that camouflaged the garden clippings.

  “Bye, Twila,” he said softly, so much so, she couldn’t hear him.

  That night he sat on his parent’s deck and enjoyed the evening. His dad had gone inside to refresh everyone’s drinks when his mother said, “You’re awfully quiet.”

  Actually, he’d been thinking about his business, but when he wasn’t, his mind led him back to this afternoon when he and Twila were tearing down the fence. They’d worked together in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it felt pretty good to do some labor in the dirt. Twila obviously wasn’t afraid of it either. His thoughts wandered to her in a tub with bubbles up to her chin and suppressed a grin. Not exactly how he should be envisioning the beautiful woman his mother had adopted into their family. “Just tired.”

  “Tired?” his mom queried.

  “Yeah, I saw Twila taking down a fence by herself for Mr. Christian, so I stopped and helped her.”

  “Really? You didn’t tell us that,” his mom said, but the ‘really’ meant, tell me more.

  He shrugged.

  His mom eyed him, unhappy with the response.

/>   He chuckled. “We tore down a fence, not a big deal.”

  “And?”

  “No… and. She doesn’t talk much, but she mentioned she was going to help you with your party.”

  “She’s a sweet girl.”

  His father set down their drinks. “That she is,” he said. “I can see your evil mind whirling away, Mother. Our son has a girlfriend. Don’t be giving Twila any wistful ideas.”

  “Don’t think she likes me, actually,” he said without thinking.

  His mom blinked and sat straight up in her chair. “Why would you say that?”

  “This afternoon we worked for a couple hours together, and she didn’t say a word to me. Don’t want to sound like an egomaniac, but women don’t normally ignore me.”

  His mother accepted the half glass of beer his father had poured for her. “You’re not used to a little silence with that outlandish woman you’re seeing. Twila is different. If you talked with her, I think you’d be surprised.”

  He wasn’t going to say it, but he wanted another chance to see her and share more than a couple sentences. He’d never seen a woman work as hard as she did. It was like she was trying to bury herself in it. Before his mother leaped to conclusions, he said, “She seems like a nice enough gal. If you want to adopt her and give me a little sister, I’m good with that.” He pushed to his feet. “I’m going to hit the hay. Night.”

  He lay awake staring at the ceiling and listened to his parents move around as they readied themselves for bed. Weren’t they bored of routine? The same sounds, in the same order, every night like a ritual. He groaned when he heard their bed frame squeaking and rolled the pillow over his head. If he ever wondered whether a couple still fooled around in their senior years, the mystery was over. Maybe he needed to call Heather. Her streams of endless texts with little hearts and lips arrived daily.

  While Heather wanted to get closer, he kept stepping back. Hooking up with Heather for a hot and sweaty romp was fine, but pillow talk and breakfast wasn’t his thing. More than once she’d shown up at his door, but he’d tempt her out with dinner and took her back to her place for a couple hours of meaningless sex. The last thing he needed was Heather making him coffee in the morning and finding her clothes and toothbrush next to his.

  * * * *

  Morning came and Drake pulled on his jogging shorts and threw a shirt over his head. The smell of coffee filtered through the house. Rounding into the kitchen, he caught his parents cuddling. They were both smiling and he knew why. “Morning.”

  “Morning, honey, did you sleep well?” his mom asked.

  He nodded. “I’m going to head out for a run.”

  He downed a glass of orange juice and hit the pavement. He didn’t get very far before he saw Twila pushing a wheelchair at a good clip.

  “Morning. You’ve got an early start.”

  Twila gave him a brief smile. “Morning, Drake.”

  The old girl in the wheelchair offered a broad smile. “Is this your boyfriend, Twila?” she asked.

  “No, Mrs. Whittaker. He’s Gordon and Becka’s son.”

  “He should be your boyfriend,” she chattered. “Every girl your age needs to be married. How old are you dear?”

  “Twenty-nine,” she said, pushing the chair a little faster.

  Mrs. Whittaker turned to look straight forward, but kept on talking. “I was married at twenty-three, and that was old in my day. But we had our first son a year later. Do you know I had eight children?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Twila said, and surprisingly winked at him. “They’re all very nice.”

  “Did you meet them?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Whittaker, remember you had a reunion here six months ago. They all came and brought their families.”

  “Oh, yes,” she said wistfully. “All but my handsome boy Allan. He died in Vietnam in ’68.”

  “He was an honorable man. Anyone who serves in the forces has my deep respect.”

  Drake shot a glance at Twila and wondered if she was talking about him too. Did she know he’d been a Marine? Of course she did, he’d told her last night and his mother had a picture of him and his brother Layton on every spare surface. “Was he Army?” he asked.

  “My son was a Marine.”

  “So was I. Do you know what Marine Division he belonged to?”

  “The First. He was posted to Camp Pendleton before heading to Southeast Asia. He was so proud to serve his country. I had six boys and only he fought for his country like his father did.”

  Drake waited to see if Twila would ask, but she concentrated on the road ahead as she pushed the wheelchair. “I was in the third, stationed out of Japan.”

  “Allan was a beautiful boy. I still miss him,” Mrs. Whittaker said wistfully. “Twila, can we go home now?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You can push faster if you want.”

  Twila chuckled. “Sure.”

  She stepped up her pace to a slow run and instead of breaking off, he escorted them. They turned down Pelican Circle and he took over the wheelchair, pushing it up the ramp while Twila held the door open. He settled Mrs. Whittaker while Twila made her some tea.

  “Over on my TV.” Mrs. Wittaker pointed a bony finger. “That’s Allan.”

  Drake retrieved the picture for Mrs. Whittaker.

  Rubbing her thumb slowly across the top of the frame, she said, “He was one week shy of his twenty-third birthday. Their daughter, Angela, had just been born. I don’t see them very often. Paula, his wife, met a man in the Navy, and they had to move to the West Coast, but she sends me pictures, and I see a lot of Allan in Angela, especially her eyes.”

  He smiled at Mrs. Whittaker. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

  Twila set the tea down and covered Mrs. Whittaker with a soft blanket.

  “I think I’ll have a nap,” she said, taking the fine china cup Twila handed to her. “Thank you for helping me get some fresh air.”

  Twila rested a hand on her shoulder. “Any time, Mrs. Whittaker.”

  “What’s your boyfriend’s name?” she asked again.

  “Um,” Twila paused and instead of correcting her, she said, “This is Drake.”

  “He’s very handsome, dear. You’ll have beautiful children. Life is always better as a couple. It’s easier to weather the storms. When he asks you to marry him, you should say yes.”

  She tucked the blanket around the old girl. “I’ll do that. Call me if you need anything.”

  Twila stood on the driveway while he closed the front door. “She’s a sweet lady,” he said.

  “She is. I don’t know how much longer she can stay here by herself. I worry about her.”

  They walked down the driveway together and within a few more steps he knew she was going to bolt. “You worry about everyone in this park, don’t you?”

  Twila clasped her hands together, but her kind eyes surveyed him for more than a second. “I have another appointment. I better go.”

  “Pulling out an engine with your bare hands?” he teased, trying to convince himself he wasn’t attempting to stall her departure.

  She gave him a ‘very funny’ look. “Don’t worry about the boyfriend thing.” Her forehead wrinkled with apology. “The gossip mill in the park is pretty intense, but she won’t remember what she said in a few minutes.”

  “Not worried.” And he wasn’t.

  “I just mean your girlfriend won’t find out.”

  He wanted to blurt out he didn’t have one, but explaining would just make him sound like a man-whore, and that wasn’t appealing either. “I’m not concerned.”

  She gave him a relieved smile. “See ya.”

  “Mom said she wanted to talk to you today. She, ah, thought you should come over for lunch.”

  Twila turned a look over her shoulder as she walked away. “Okay, I’ll pop by around noon.”

  “Great, I’ll let her know,” and watched her put it into a jog. Holy shit! His mom hadn’t asked that, but thank God h
e knew his mother and her incessant need to fill everyone’s belly.

  After his jog, he showered then found his mom folding some towels in the extra-large closet she called a laundry room. He leaned on the doorframe. “I ran into Twila, she was asking about your party.”

  “Oh, that dear girl. I should invite her over for lunch so we can plan a few things today. I’ll call her.”

  “Um, well, she mentioned dropping by around noon.”

  His mom placed the towel on the stack she’d already folded. “She is?” his mother asked, eyeing him.

  “I thought you’d want to go over your battle plan for tomorrow.”

  She pulled another towel from the dryer. “Good idea, dear.”

  Okay, so he’d got away with it. Opening the cabinet for a mug, he intended on draining the coffee pot. Obviously, he was getting better at subversive manoeuvres when it came to her.

  Mom whisked through the kitchen. “Lame attempt at covering up you invited Twila for lunch, darling.”

  He sighed. Or maybe he wasn’t. “Just thinkin’ ahead, Mom,” he lied.

  His mother marched across the kitchen, stood on her toes, gripped his shoulder and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Course, I wouldn’t have to adopt her if she became my daughter-in-law,” and then she practically ran from the kitchen.

  “I’m—” he squinted but said it anyway, “involved, old girl.”

  An hour of trying to keep busy and he was climbing the walls. About to offer help in the kitchen because he needed to do something, the phone rang, and he ripped it off the cradle.

  “Hello, Drake, it’s Twila Carlisle calling.”

  As if he couldn’t recognize her voice through a wind storm already. “Hey.” Suddenly the antsy feeling in his guts receded.