The Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society Part 23

"He's with a patient. Do you have an appointment?"

"He's expecting me," Ava lies. When the receptionist gives her a skeptical once-over, Ava adds, "We spoke earlier today. He told me about you-Tina, right?"

The receptionist looks doubtful but gets up and heads to the back. There are a few customers reading magazines in the waiting area. Ava remembers how she used to love coming to work, used to love walking through these same doors. It's strange standing here now, as if nothing has changed.

"Ava?" Randall Strombauer opens the door from the examination rooms and steps into the reception area. He's dressed in scrubs with protective eye goggles resting atop his head. He has more gray hairs but he's just as fit and trim as she remembers. The expression on his face is guarded. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to follow up on our conversation, Dr. Strombauer," she says, lifting her chin. "About Dr. Marks calling for a recommendation?"

There's a flicker of surprise and then a slick grin. "Don't worry. I took care of that."

Ava clenches the strap of her purse. "You lied to him."

"I gave him my honest impressions, that's all." His eyes flicker up and down her body, making her cringe. He drops his voice as he leans toward her. "Look at you. Motherhood sure does take a toll on a woman. If Bill could see you now, he'd probably be a bit disappointed, don't you think?"

Ava is speechless, her cheeks red hot.

He glances around before grasping her hand as if to give it a shake, pulling her close to him. He whispers, "Be nice, Ava. I'm a fair man-you play nice with me, I'll play nice with you. Give you that recommendation you've been wanting. Think about it." He releases her hand and claps her on the shoulder like she's an old friend.

It takes her a moment before she looks around to see if anyone heard him, but no one seems to have noticed their conversation. When she turns back, Randall Strombauer is gone, the door to the back closing with a soft click.

"Excuse me, but you can't go back there . . ." the receptionist protests as Ava throws open the door and storms down the hallway. She recognizes one of the dental hygienists, Sally Gillespie, but continues until she reaches the examination room at the end of the hall.

Randall Strombauer is already inside, a dental mask covering his nose and mouth, a spoon excavator in hand. A patient is stretched out in the chair and a dental a.s.sistant is taking notes.

"Who do you think you are?" Ava demands, her voice taking on a slightly hysterical peal. "You can't treat people this way, Dr. Strombauer! You can't make up lies about them or try to ruin their chances at a better life."

He doesn't even bother to look up. "Get her out of here," he says to the woman standing next to him, holding the patient's chart.

"Sorry, but you're not supposed to be in here . . ." the dental a.s.sistant begins.

Ava ignores her. "You can bully me all you want, Dr. Strombauer, but I know the truth. I know what kind of a man you are."

There's a stir as the patient spits out a roll of cotton. "Ava?" the elderly woman says. "I declare, is that you?"

Ava feels her cheeks pink as she recognizes the woman in the chair. "Oh, hi, Mrs. Weber. Got, um, another cavity?"

"You know me and sweets. I do try, though. Gum lines are receding, too."

"Sorry about this, Mrs. Weber," Dr. Strombauer says briskly, pulling down his mask. "Miss Catalina was leaving."

"No," Ava says, crossing her arms. "I don't think so. I'm not finished talking yet."

"Look," he says. His voice is cool, patient, but there's a dangerous glint in his eye. "I'm sorry you're down on your luck, but you made your bed. With Dr. Kidd, to be specific. I'm not about to bail you out of whatever mess you've gotten yourself into." He grits his teeth and Ava can see that he wants to say more, but he glances down at Mrs. Weber and knows he can't. Ava knows she might never get a chance like this again.

Her voice shaking, Ava says, "On my last day here, you cornered me in the break room. You knocked a box out of my hands. You tried to kiss me. I bit you so I could escape."

It's a huge relief to say the words aloud. She's aware that Mrs. Weber and the dental a.s.sistant are looking at her in shock, but Ava doesn't care anymore. It's the truth.

She continues, her voice louder. "And what you just said to me in the waiting room, about playing nice with you so you'll be nice to me, is disgusting. I want you to know that I haven't forgotten what you did, and that you don't intimidate me anymore. I won't bother asking you for a job recommendation in the future, but I'm not going to pretend what happened didn't happen. I'll tell the truth to anyone who wants to know."

"Lies," he says, but Ava sees him hesitate, unsure.

She taps her nose. She nods toward him. "Did you need st.i.tches?"

His gloved fingers automatically rise to touch the bridge of his nose where there's a faint scar from where Ava bit him.

There's a stunned silence as the other women turn to look at Dr. Strombauer. Ava suddenly feels lighter, freer. There's nothing more to say so she simply turns and leaves, her head held high as she walks past the other patients and staff of the dental office.

In the parking lot the sun is s.h.i.+ning, and Ava stops to take a deep breath, giddy with disbelief. Even though it doesn't change anything, Ava feels different. She stood up to Randall Strombauer and said what needed to be said. She did it.

Ava climbs into her Jeep, triumphant. Maybe she'll splurge and take Max out for dinner. Something simple and inexpensive, but a treat nonetheless. She slips the key into the ignition and gives it a turn.

Nothing.

She tries again, but to no avail. The engine doesn't give any sign of life.

On any other day, this would be what it's always been in the past-a reminder that Ava's life is far from perfect, that she will always be scrambling to do the things that seem to come so easily for other people. But Ava doesn't feel that way, not anymore. She takes a breath, settling in her seat as she figures out what to do next. Call a tow truck, yes, and then . . .

Sunlight bounces off a s.h.i.+ny black car, making Ava squint. She raises a hand to s.h.i.+eld her eyes as she looks across the parking lot at a sleek sports car. It's waxed and buffed to a s.h.i.+ne, completely out of place in a town like Avalon. She knows it's his car without even reading the license plate: STROM1.

Ava feels good now, she does. But she can think of something that will make her feel even better.

She's grinning as she goes to grab the trash bag from the trunk of her car.

"Hugh!" Yvonne is standing outside of his house. She picks up a handful of gravel and throws it at his window. "Hubert Hill, get down here now!"

The front door opens and Hugh's mother, Joan, stares incredulously at Yvonne.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" she demands.

"Getting your coward son to come down and talk to me," Yvonne says. She wipes her hands on her jeans and strides forward, her hand outstretched. "We've never formally met. I'm Yvonne Tate, of Tate Plumbing. But wait, you probably know that already, don't you?" She withdraws her hand.

Joan Hill purses her lips, her mouth a thin, hard line. Yvonne can see the family resemblance in the nose and chin and wonders if Hugh's brothers share the same features. It turns out he has an older and a younger brother. Yvonne can't help but wonder what else Hugh has that she doesn't know about.

Looking back, Yvonne now sees what she missed-the odd behavior, the strange timing of their get-togethers, his insistence that they play everything by ear. She didn't think twice about the fact that they'd meet at her house and never his. They never talked about his mother or the way she treated Yvonne that day they met. Still, she had no reason to be suspicious or think that anything was wrong.

But there was always a sense that Hugh was trying to make up for something. He wore a look of sheepish apology whenever he was late or if he started to say something and then stopped. She thought he was being considerate but now knows it was nothing more than guilt, plain and simple.

When Yvonne had come home after the Cut and Curl, she'd gone straight to her computer. She did a search for Hills.h.i.+re Plumbing in Avalon, Illinois, and it came up immediately. It wasn't much of a website, but on the ABOUT US page there was a picture of Hugh, surrounded by his family and a motley crew of Hills.h.i.+re employees. It was a small comfort to see that some of the details he'd told her were true-where he went to school, what he studied-but there was no mistaking the fact that he'd chosen to leave out the most important detail of all, that he was at the helm of his family's plumbing business.

Yvonne had tossed and turned all night, working herself into a state. How could they have been seeing each other for almost five weeks without a hint of this? Of course, Yvonne hadn't pressed him about his family's business or what he did for them, and he never brought it up. She a.s.sumed he set his own hours and wasn't accountable to anyone other than himself. Besides, the conversation was usually about Yvonne, about her work or what job she was on, and she was more than happy to talk about clevis straps, dual sewage systems, and inline water filters. She was showing off a little, yes, but Hugh seemed genuinely intrigued. She'd been flattered that he was so interested in her and her work.

How foolish she'd been. She found herself repeating the same mantra when Sam had left.

How could she not have known?

The moment daylight broke on the horizon, Yvonne jumped out of bed and dialed Hugh's number. When he answered she told him that they needed to talk, but he told her he had a busy morning and promised they'd talk later, that night at her place. Yvonne tried to protest, but finally Hugh cut her off, saying that he had to go. He hung up before she could say anything else.

Yvonne saw red.

Her next call had been to Isabel, who was on her way to work. Yvonne spoke quickly, the words tumbling out of her, and Isabel never once said I told you so or made Yvonne feel foolish. She didn't have to-Yvonne was doing a fine job on her own.

"Don't do anything crazy," Isabel warned her. The minute Isabel said that, Yvonne knew exactly what she was going to do.

"Hugh!" she hollers again now. She hears a bark and Toby comes tumbling out of the house, tail wagging. He bounds past Mrs. Hill and skids to a stop right in front of Yvonne.

Okay, so Toby's not so bad. Yvonne drops to her knees and rubs his ears, thinking, Hugh doesn't deserve a dog like Toby. A pot-bellied pig, maybe. Or a snake. Maybe a rat.

"Hey, boy," she says. He licks her face, happy to see her.

"You need to leave right now," Joan Hill tells her, crossing her arms. "Or I'm calling the police."

"Be my guest," Yvonne says, standing up. "Because I've been meaning to tell them about some of the anonymous notes I've been receiving lately. Maybe I could gather up some other plumbers, say, Fred Mackie or Hank Carter. What about the Woodsen brothers? We could all do lunch."

Toby lets out a delighted bark and Yvonne nods. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea, too. We should definitely invite Sergeant Overby from the police department, too."

To say Hugh's mother looks furious would be an understatement. Yvonne expects her to erupt like Vesuvius at any moment.

There's the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs and a second later Hugh appears in the doorway, a towel around his waist, his hair wet. He's barefoot and there's water on his shoulders and torso. Yvonne can tell that he's just stepped out from the shower.

"Hubert!" Joan Hill looks appalled. "Go inside and get some clothes on!"

"What's going on?" Hugh demands, stepping onto the porch. "Yvonne, what are you doing here?" His eyes dart toward his mother and then back at her, indicating that it's not okay that she's standing there.

Yvonne doesn't budge. "Getting ready for your busy morning, Hugh? Got a full plate over at Hills.h.i.+re Plumbing? Family board meeting, maybe?" She glares at him.

"Oh." Hugh stops as he realizes what's going on. His face is tight and he lets out a deep breath. "Mother, go inside, please."

His mother shakes her head. "I told you it was a mistake to get involved," she mutters.

"Not now," he says. "I need to talk to Yvonne."

Joan Hill lifts her chin but walks back into the house, closing the door with a slam.

Hugh grips his towel as he steps forward. "I was going to tell you," he begins.

Yvonne crosses her arms in front of her chest. "When?"

"Soon. We were having such a great time and I didn't want to ruin it." There's a short pause and then he amends, "For you. I didn't want to ruin it for you."

Yvonne turns and heads back to her truck, disgusted. Why do guys do that? Toby follows her, his tongue hanging out, thinking they're about to go for a ride.

Hugh catches up to her. "Look, I came back a few months ago to help my mother. The company's been struggling . . ."

"Yeah, I heard about how you've been 'helping.' What are you planning to do next, throw a rock through my window?"

Hugh's face reddens, telling Yvonne that he knew all along. "I'm trying to change all of that. But it's not easy . . ."

"Says the CEO."

"In t.i.tle. I mean, yes, I was given the t.i.tle when my father died three years ago but it's strictly a public relations thing. I never wanted to be involved with the family business but I didn't have a choice. My mom thought I could offer a fresh perspective, and my brothers said I needed to pull my weight with the company . . ." His voice trails off and he looks frustrated, at a loss. He runs a hand through his hair, which only serves to make him look even more s.e.xy. "I was going to tell you, Yvonne. Really. It was never the right time."

"That's a convenient excuse. Next you'll be telling me you're married. Or gay."

"No and no," Hugh says, then he frowns, straightening up. "Wait. Seriously? Gay?"

Yvonne doesn't answer, glowering at him instead. "What was I, Hugh? Research?"

Hugh looks so pained, it's almost comical. "You know that's not true," he protests. "I mean, maybe at first, but certainly not now."

"What about the day we met? When you called me for your plumbing 'emergency'? Was that some kind of test?"

Hugh shakes his head. "No. Our own guys couldn't get out until the end of the day and you know I'm hopeless with this stuff. My mother thought it might be a good opportunity to check out the compet.i.tion."

"A good opportunity." Yvonne shakes her head. "I can't believe I didn't see this coming." She reaches for her toolbox and pushes past him. She heads back toward the house.

"Wait, where are you going?" Hugh asks in alarm.

"I'm going to get back that flapper I installed for you," she calls over her shoulder.

"What? You can't do that! Besides, we paid you for that service."

"I'll give you a refund."

She's almost at the door when Hugh catches up with her. "Yvonne, stop this! You're acting like a child!" He grabs her toolbox.

Yvonne tries to wrench it from him, but Hugh is stronger than she realizes. After a fruitless struggle, she gives up and is horrified to feel her eyes wet with tears. "I really liked you, you know," she finally says.

"I liked you, too. It's just . . . my family . . ." He gives a helpless shrug.

Yvonne waits for him to say more, but he doesn't. "You're an adult, Hugh," she says. "You can make your own choices about your life. You don't have to prove anything to anyone."

Hugh looks scornful. "You don't understand."

They hold the toolbox between them. Yvonne takes a step toward him. "I understand more than you realize," she begins, but Hugh looks away.

"Yvonne, you're a plumber," he says. "And a d.a.m.n good one. We'd be lucky to have someone like you in our company. But I lead a different kind of life than the one you lead." He has his CEO voice on now, one that Yvonne hasn't heard before. He looks at her almost pityingly. "My life's not as simple as yours. I wish it was, but it's not."

It's a thinly veiled insult. Yvonne can't believe she's hearing this.

"Given what's happened, I don't think we should see each other anymore," he continues, as if he's doing her some kind of favor. "I didn't mean for it to get this complicated. I'm thinking we should end it now."

"Don't give yourself too much credit, Hugh," Yvonne retorts. "I have a feeling thinking isn't exactly high on your list of to-do items."

He glares at her, abruptly letting go of the toolbox. The unexpected weight causes the handle to slip from Yvonne's fingers, and the toolbox crashes onto the porch, bursting open and scattering wrenches and nuts and bolts everywhere. Hugh jumps back as a copper pipe cutter lands dangerously close to his bare feet.

"Hey!" he yells, as if she'd done it on purpose. For a second Yvonne almost wishes she had. Jerk.