All ONES: The Complete Collection Read online

  Sometimes ideals and reality don’t match.

  With Jase in bed, Sally and I talked about work over a bottle—or two—of wine. It was purely a slip of the tongue. I could probably blame it on Jase's obsession with Disney. Nevertheless, instead of DeVoe, de Vil came out—as in Cruella de Vil. Ever since, whenever I'm upset, I imagine Glenn Close and the animated character, and it makes me smile, well, other than the twinge over the puppy coat. That's easier to imagine in cartoon form.

  “Amanda.”

  My neck straightens as my name, accompanied by the click of Christine DeVoe's heels, reaches my ears.

  “Amanda, have you received my messages?”

  “I have,” all five hundred of them. I don’t say the last part. “I've contacted the purchasing department and Jim is supposed to get back to me. I was waiting until I had an answer. I’ve sent the emails about the withholdings—”

  She nods as her lips come together. As if she were expecting it to be my first priority, she asks, “And what about my plants?”

  “They're on my list.” Along with fifty other more important things. I don't say that part either.

  “Don't forget. Phil is looking a little limp.”

  It takes all of my self-restraint not to burst out laughing. Phil is a large philodendron in her office. However, after the conversation with Sally, a limp Phil has taken on a whole new meaning. “Let me get right on that. The spread sheet for Mr. Smithson can wait.”

  “Hmm,” she murmurs in agreement as she walks away because heaven knows that her plants are more important than the new distribution costs.

  Bitch!

  I smile as I walk toward her office to get the watering can. This time that title wasn't meant as a term of endearment. That plus the extra toothy smile on Cruella in my imagination adds to keeping my sanity.

  A few minutes later back at my desk, my phone rings.

  “Hello,” I say. “Amanda with Stevens Financial Planning.”

  “Mrs. Harrison?”

  My heart rate triples as I suck in a breath.

  When Jackson and I were first married, there was a mix-up with my name change. Someone at some government office checked the wrong box. Though I went by Harrison for two years, it wasn’t legal. It was the first year we filed taxes that we discovered the discrepancy. Though I was Harrison in my heart, on paper I wasn’t.

  At first we laughed about it, saying we knew we were married—that was never questioned—and other than on legal documents, it didn’t matter. Like many other plans we had for the future, we thought we would have time to get it all straightened out. With the military, nothing is easy. Jackson went away on deployment sooner than we planned. We figured it could wait. And then, after his death, my life and Jase’s were too mixed up. My legal name paled by comparison to other worries on my list of concerns.

  Of course, Jase was born with his father’s last name. Therefore, though my name was never legally Harrison, I'm only called Mrs. Harrison when it has to do with Jase or Jackson.

  “Mrs. Harrison?” the woman says again.

  “Yes?”

  “Ma'am, it’s Trisha from ABC Preschool. I’m sorry to bother you, but this is about your son Jason. There was an altercation...”

  Chapter Two

  Amanda

  My mother hands me a glass of wine as I collapse on the couch in my and Jase's apartment. My son is tucked safely in bed, hardly a scratch on him or the other boy. There may not be a scratch on me either, but I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds with a heavyweight champion, and I'm fighting a headache from hell.

  Looking at the glass of moscato, I debate my options. I could down it all in one swallow and then rub my temples, or I could place the glass on the table, rub my temples, and then drink it all.

  First-world problems.

  “He's a boy. It's all right,” Mom says, forcing me back to reality and more serious concerns.

  I continue staring into the glass and swirl the clear liquid. The aroma of fruit fills my senses as the coolness of the glass registers from my fingertips. I tell myself not to cry—to stay strong. It's the same mantra I've been repeating for nearly five years.

  “Amanda, your dad talked to Jase. He’s a good kid.”

  My eyes glass over as I look at my mom from under my lashes. “I know. I know he's a good kid, but Dad shouldn't have to be his father and neither should Alec.”

  Alec is my brother. Even though he lives in a nearby town, he’s always willing to help out with Jase. He was the one who gave him his first baseball glove. He’s the one Jase wants to emulate. While I’m not sure how I feel about that, I know there could be worse role models for my son.

  “Your dad isn't being his father. He's Jase’s grandpa and happy to be.”

  “And being a boy doesn’t mean it’s all right to fight.”

  “Of course not,” Mom agrees. “Given the situation, I’d hope a girl would do the same thing. I know one who would have.”

  I take a deep breath. “Times have changed. Fighting is taken more seriously than it used to be. I think the school handled it well, but Jase and the other little boy were wrestling. I didn’t wrestle.”

  “No, but heaven help whomever you were standing up to. You would have knocked them down with your words.”

  “Jase starts kindergarten in less than a week. I don't want him to be a troublemaker. They aren’t as familiar with him at the new school. And there are rules...”

  “He isn't a troublemaker. He stood up for what he believes in, just like Jackson did, just like you. You should be proud.”

  I hate to admit it—to admit that Jase fighting for what he thinks is right makes me proud, but in a way, it does. I remind my mom what I was told when I arrived to the preschool. “The teacher said it started with a talk about the flag. With Labor Day coming up and things, they were talking about patriotism. The other little boy said it was stupid and so are our soldiers. Miss Timmons said she's never seen Jase turn so fast. In a second he was on the other boy.”

  My mom shrugs. “Your dad told him it was wrong to fight. He also told him it was acceptable to be proud of his daddy.”

  I nod, swallowing the wine laced with the salt from my tears. Jase, proud of his daddy. That is the same dad who Jase only knows from pictures and stories, the same one who only held his son during a brief furlough before going back to Iraq, before not coming home...

  “Besides,” my mom says, saving me from my melancholy thoughts, “if Jase is anything like your brother, he and the other little boy are probably best friends again. That's the way boys are.”

  I fill my lungs, expanding my chest and trying for a cleansing breath.

  Mom reaches out and holds my knee. “Honey, Sally called me.”

  “Shit,” I mumble. “I forgot all about her invitation. I don't have time—”

  “No, you don't,” Mom agrees, interrupting my refusal. “You don't have time to let life pass you by. Jase is a good boy who can stick up for himself. He showed you that today. Now the best thing you can do for him is to work on balance.”

  I shake my head. “I-I don't want to. Sally said something about me being the right one for this guy. I don’t want to find...”

  The tears I've been holding back since the call from the preschool spill over my lids. I tilt my face down and once again move the glass to my lips, hoping my mom won't see.

  “You're not trying to find forever. You're not trying to find Mr. Right. However, there is someone who I'd like you to find.”

  “Who?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  “I want you to find Mandy Wells.”

  My eyes dart her direction. I haven't heard my nickname in conjunction with my maiden name in years, not since Jackson passed away. Mandy was the girl I used to be, the one who loved surprises, believed in forever and happily ever after, and knew that Jackson was my everything and we’d grow old together. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me. I remember her.” Mom pours more moscato in her glass and tops
mine off. “She was a handful, a real pain in the ass.” Mom's eyes sparkle. “When you're pregnant, they warn you about boys. Everyone says they get in fights and wrestle, but no one warns you about girls. Sneaky and conniving little things—that's what girls are. That's what Mandy Wells was.”

  Instead of making me feel worse, her description makes me smile.

  “Oh,” Mom goes on. “There were days her dad and I thought we'd pull our hair out. One time, more than once actually, she snuck out of her room at night.”

  “You knew?” I ask in both surprise and embarrassment.

  With a knowing grin, she continues, “And when she was with that no-good influence of a friend named Sally...”

  Yes, Sally and I have been friends since nearly the beginning of time. It isn't that Sally is or has been a bad influence; it’s that we both were. What one of us wouldn't think of, the other would. And despite what my mom is saying, she loves my best friend. She always has.

  “...kicked out of a Walmart. I mean, who gets kicked out of Walmart?”

  I can't stop my laugh. The ringing tone helps to nudge my headache away. “We weren't doing anything wrong. It wasn't like we were robbing a bank or selling ourselves. We were camping.”

  “You set up camp in the middle of the camping section.”

  I recall the scene. “Technically, it was already set up. We just moved in. We were both excited to go camping and then it rained and rained. You, Daddy, and Sally's parents said we couldn't go. You said we'd get sick. Walmart had this cool setup and it was all inside.” I lift my glass. “Rather resourceful if you ask me.

  “It even had a fake fire made out of orange and yellow crepe paper.”

  “And you tried to roast marshmallows!”

  “Not on the crepe paper,” I protest. “They obviously wouldn’t have cooked. That's why we used the blowtorch.” I take another drink and grin. “It was from their hardware section. They really do have everything there.”

  Mom shakes her head with a wide smile. “I think the blowtorch may have been your downfall.”

  “You’re probably right. A portable gas grill would have worked better, but we didn’t know. Everyone is used to making s’mores on an open flame.”

  Mom laughs. “When the manager called—”

  “We paid for everything first, the marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars. Even the blowtorch and lighter. We weren't stealing. Who knew a few marshmallows would set off the sprinklers in the entire store? I mean, if the marshmallows hadn't gotten all sticky and gooey and landed on the blowtorch... Really, I think the downfall was the roasting fork. The whole thing was metal and got hot. If you ask me, they should have had better roasting forks. If they had, the entire fire brigade thing could have been avoided.”

  Mom leans back against the couch and sighs. “I miss her.”

  “Who?” I ask. “Sally? Because, apparently, you two still talk.”

  “No, Mandy Wells. I love you, Amanda Jane Wells. I do, but you're twenty-five. You're a great mom, hard worker, wonderful daughter and sister, and a good friend. You deserve to have some fun.”

  Before I can protest, she goes on, “Don't go out Friday night with Sally and Brian and Brian's friend looking for Mr. Right. Go out with them to have fun, and if you're looking for anyone, look for Mandy Wells.”

  “I-I can't. Jase starts school...”

  “And you're ready. You've been to the school and shown him around. He’s met Mrs. Williams, his teacher. He's ecstatic! He has new shoes and clothes. He has a new book bag, pencils, crayons, tablets, pencil case...goodness, that boy has more in that book bag than I do in my desk. It’s a wonder he can lift it.”

  “But he goes to bed—”

  “School doesn't start until Tuesday. Friday night, he can stay with us.”

  “Mom, if I go, I'm not going to be out all night.”

  “I wasn't suggesting you were. I'm suggesting you might want to stay out past eight.” Her brows lift and fall. “The Mandy Wells I knew had trouble with curfews.”

  I sigh, letting out an exaggerated breath. “Sally said there's something wrong with him.”

  “The man they want you to meet?” she asks. “Did he murder someone? Is he sick? Is he wanted by the police?”

  “Yes, him, but no...” I say, “...nothing like that.”

  “Again, it's not about him; it's about you.”

  “Fine. I give up. I can't deal with life while fighting both you and Sally.”

  My mom's face lights up as small lines form around her eyes. “Do you want to call Sally and tell her, or should I?”

  Chapter Three

  Amanda

  “Mom said you’re going on a date,” Alec says with a cocky grin.

  I quickly turn toward Jase. Thankfully, his attention is focused on our father as they work together to pick the last of Dad’s tomatoes. The small garden near the back of the yard is almost done for the season. Many of the earlier producing plants have been harvested and removed.

  Jase loves coming over to my parents’ and getting dirty with Grandpa. He’s always excited when the plants start to grow. My dad starts all of them from seed late in the winter. Then together he and Jase plant them in the tiled ground when the weather starts to warm. It’s surprising how much Jase knows about plants at only five years old.

  “Shh,” I hiss at my brother. “First, she shouldn’t have told you, and second, I don’t want Jase to hear you.”

  “What? Jase can’t know his mom is a woman?” My brother’s eyes open wide. “I mean, I know you don’t have much of a rack, but I didn’t think that the fact that you’re a girl—as in the whole world is either girls or boys—was a secret.”

  I shake my head. “Jerk,” I say lovingly. “The secret is that I’m going out. And it’s only one date for one night. It’s a blind date. I’m doing it to shut Mom and Sally up.”

  Alec’s laughter roars through our parents’ backyard. “Good luck with that. Mom, you might have a chance. But Sally? Nope. She’ll never shut up.”

  That makes me smile. “Point taken.”

  “I want to hear all about it. You know I need to approve.”

  My smile fades as heaviness settles on my chest. “Alec, I can’t.”

  My brother reaches out and grabs my hand. His smile wanes a bit as he nods. We’re not quite two years apart in age. He’s older and was a grade ahead of me in school. He was in the same class as Jackson. That’s how Jackson and I became a thing. He was one of Alec’s best friends and always around. Jackson went from being a pesky big-brother type to becoming the love of my life. The transition happened so slowly that I can’t recall when one ended and the other began. Forever it seemed like we were together, until we weren’t.

  “I get it,” Alec says. “You think that I don’t think about him. When the other guys and I are playing softball, or hanging out at Wayne’s Place after a game, sometimes I think of him and how none of it is fair. Jackson should be there with us. Hell, we lost the game the other night because Stivey couldn’t catch a fly ball that sailed all the way back to the fence. My first thought was that Jackson should have been playing left field.”

  Swallowing back my tears, I smile. “He liked outfield, especially left, so he could show off his arm.”

  “Shit! He had an arm. I can still feel the burn through my glove when he’d put some speed behind it.”

  “This is different.”

  Alec turns to make sure Dad and Jase are still occupied. When he turns back, he shrugs. “It is, but it isn’t. I wasn’t married to the guy, but I loved him.” He softly punches my arm. “Don’t make me get all sentimental. The thing is that Jackson knew the risk for his service. I knew the risk. We all did when we were there. He died loving what he was doing. He was so happy about Jase and being a dad. And he was proud to be a soldier. He was living. He wouldn’t want you to stop.”

  A lone tear leaks from the corner of my eye. “I hate you.”

  Alec smiles. “Yeah, sis, I hate you to
o. Have fun.”

  “Why did Mom even tell you?”

  “Because Dad’s bringing Jase to my softball game Friday night.”

  “He is—”

  “Mom!” Jase yells as he comes running toward us with a big red tomato in his grasp. “Look at this giant to-mado.”

  “It’s big,” I agree.

  “As big as a softball,” Alec says as he kneels down to Jase’s height.

  “Uncle Alec, Grandpa said we’re going to see you play ball Friday night.” Jase then turns to me and his blue eyes open wide. “Mom, are you coming too?”

  That familiar ache settles in my chest. I don’t like to be away from him.

  “No way,” Alec answers before I can. “It’s a guy thing. Just you, Grandpa, and me.”

  “Really? A guy thing!” My son is practically bouncing with each word. No. Jase is bouncing as his grip on the tomato tightens.

  “Hey buddy,” I say. “Why don’t you give me that tomato before you squeeze it and it busts wide open?”

  He hands me the tomato and tilts his head. “Am I strong enough to break it?”

  “You are.”

  “Like Uncle Alec,” Jase says as he flexes his tiny arm, seeing a muscle that’s barely there. Then his smile dims. “Mom, is it okay if I do a guy night? Will you miss me?”

  “I will, but I’ll be okay, but what about Grandma?”

  “Oh, she’s meeting us for ice cream after,” Alec volunteers. “At Roy’s.”

  As he completes the word cream, Jase is off running toward the house and shouting for his grandma. All I can catch is that they’re going to Roy’s and not the concession stand.

  “See, Jase is going to have fun Friday night. You should too.”

  I let out a deep breath. “What about you? When are you going to settle down with one lucky lady?”

  My brother puffs out his chest. “That’s the thing. There’s no way to keep all this man with just one lady. It would obviously be too much for one woman to handle.”

  I laugh. “Yes, that is the rumor on the street.”