Using Protection

Using Protection

"Adams Construction, Patrick Adams speaking."

"Hi, Pat. It's your stepmother on the line."

"Thanks, Sheila. Send her on through.

"Hey there, Nicole. How's it going?"

"Patrick?" Her voice was tense, and Pat sat up straight in his office chair. "I've got a problem. Can you come by the house tonight?"

"Sure. What time do you want me there?"

"How about you come over for supper? Say about six-thirty? Danny would love to see his big brother again. You don't visit often enough."

"No problem. I don't have to go out to the site this afternoon, so I should be able to be there. Do you need me to bring anything?"

"No," she replied with a tired laugh. "Just yourself. I'd rather not talk about it over the phone here at work, where anyone who walks by can hear me."

"All right then," he said, puzzled by her cautious tone. "I'll see you then. Love you."

"Love you back. Goodbye."

What could be going on?

Pat and Nicole had been close ever since his father had married her, eight years after the death of his first wife, Pat's mother, Amy. And they had grown even closer over the last two years, during his father's losing battle with cancer. A strong, intelligent woman, he had never heard her sound so...uncertain. So vulnerable.

Shrugging mentally, he put the thought aside and concentrated on his work. He had inherited his father's construction business when he died, but he was spending all his time trying to pack into ten months what his father had spent a lifetime learning. Permits and zoning laws; easements and building materials; water, sewer, electric, and telephone access. Sometimes he felt he was drowning in paperwork and contracts.

He ate a hurried lunch at his desk before heading into a meeting with his two head foremen.

"All right guys," he said, entering the conference room. "What seems to be the problem?"

Marco Patri looked up from his laptop. "This god-damned Swede thinks he's building an amusement park, not a subdivision," he griped, his lean, dark face frustrated. "None of the streets run in straight lines. I swear one does a figure-eight. He's got a

five-way

intersection planned two blocks away from the elementary school.

"Please, Pat, we need to restore some sanity to this project. Snow removal is dicey at the best of times up here. Between the ice and the curving streets and the crazy intersection, someone is going to get killed there next winter. You know how dumb little kids are. You are one."

"Nice," Pat murmured, his lips quirking in amusement.

"Or some idiotic soccer mom will blow through a yield sign on her way to yoga class because she is busy texting her Facebook, or whatever the hell they call it these days."

He bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. Marco and Lars had been with his father since he had founded the company back in the eighties, and he didn't want to insult them by drawing attention to their lack of knowledge about social media.

Plus, Marco was much taller than he was, and made out of baling wire, beef jerky, and rebar.

"Lars? Anything to contribute?"

The big, burly man looked down, slightly shame-faced. "OK. Maybe I did go a little overboard on the streets..."

"And the five-way?" Pat prompted.

"Sounds like my prom night," snickered Marco.

"Bite me, you oversexed baboon. But you can't put in a standard checkerboard grid in these subdivisions anymore, Pat. And you know it, Marco. The buyers will think it's boring, or there's something wrong, and they won't buy. And we'll be stuck with three hundred houses and an aggravated bank manager, wanting to know where the hell the loan money went."

"All right, then," sighed Pat. "Marco, bring up the grid," he said, lowering the screen from the ceiling. With a few keystrokes, he had the layout of the subdivision projected overhead. "Let's get it fixed."

Two hours later they had the streets aligned to everyone's satisfaction. Though Marco and Lars fought relentlessly for their vision of what the subdivision should look like, they finally compromised in the end.

"Lars?" Pat prompted.

The big man scratched his chin. "I still don't like that cul-de-sac off of Cambridge. Those houses on the west side are going to be backed up pretty close to Yorkshire. But they'll get a nice slice of backyard. Hopefully that will keep them from screaming too loud about the traffic noise.

"OK," he grunted. "I'm good."

"Marco?"

"This is a hell of an improvement. Good job, kid. Maybe, if you play your cards right, you'll make a half-decent engineer one day."

Pat sighed, relieved. The day after the funeral, when he had walked through the door not as the boss' cute little boy; not as the boss' son, learning the business during summer vacation; not as the college student, interning between school years; not as the boss' spokesman, trying to hold things together between chemo treatments; but as the actual

boss

, owner of a company that employed nearly four hundred people and was worth tens of millions of dollars in property and equipment alone, he had been terrified. Lars and Marco could have cut him off at the knees and let him drown slowly, overwhelmed by the dozens of details that his father handled as a matter of course each day.

Instead, they had been twin pillars of support, smoothing over the rough edges while Pat struggled to come to grips with his vast new responsibilities. He had once timidly suggested they find an experienced manager to help run things. Marco had responded with a profane tirade that had humbled him with its loyalty to his father and himself.

Which was why any word of praise from either of them was treasured as a jewel beyond price.

"Thanks so much, Marco," he said sardonically. "By the way, I figured out a way to save some money on construction cost. I found out online that we can save two grand per house if we start using spackle instead of roofing nails. What do you think?" he asked, making his eyes wide and innocent.

A muscle in Marco's eye began to twitch rhythmically. Lars snorted laughter and leaned back against the wall, shoulders shaking in amusement.

"If I hadn't loved your father like a brother, I'd kill you right now," Marco said softly.

"Sure you would," Pat said cheerfully. He picked up his phone and laptop. "I'm cutting out early. Mom asked me to come by and have dinner with her and Danny. She wanted to talk about something."

Lars raised his eyes to the ceiling and whistled prayerfully.

"Stop it. That's my mother you're whistling at."

"Stepmother."

"Is there a difference?" he asked.

The big man considered for a moment and said, "No. Not with her. Tell Nicole hi for us, Pat. She's a heck of a lady."

****

He stopped at a toy store on the way to the house, and picked up a couple of things for his little brother. Nicole was right. He had been neglecting the two of them lately.

Twenty minutes later he pulled up at his old house on the southwest side of Des Moines. After he got out of the car, he paused a minute to look at it. Made of brick and quietly unpretentious, it sat on a tree-lined street, nestled quietly in the second subdivision Greg Adams had ever built, bought with the money he had made from the first. Not one of the grotesquely ostentatious "McMansions" that could be found in other areas, this house served one purpose. Not to impress, but to be a home.

Smiling, he pressed the doorbell. In only a few moments, Nicole stood in the doorway, smiling in welcome.

Barely ten years older than himself, Nicole Windhover Adams had obviously just returned home from her job at the bank. After his father had died, she had gone back into the workforce, despite the fact that a generous allowance from the construction company had been set aside for her and Danny as part of his father's will, and as long as the firm did well, she would probably never need to work again. She was dressed in the stylish black suit of an executive assistant, a position she had held for his father as well, before they fell in love and married when his father was forty-three, she was twenty-four, and Patrick only twelve.

"Patrick!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "Come in!" She held the door open for him, and he stepped into the cool foyer, his shoes clicking on the golden hardwood floor of the entrance. She raised her voice. "Danny! Your big brother is here! Come up and say hi!"

From the basement came a shout, then a thunder on the stairs. A dark-haired comet flew across the floor and crashed into his legs.

"Pat!" the little boy yelled, his arms wrapped tight around his knees.

"Hey there, skipper," he replied, pulling the boy up for a hug. "How are you doing?"

"Mommy got me a puppy!" his six year-old brother replied happily. "Come see. Come see!"

Squirming to be set down, Danny grabbed him by the hand and led him into the kitchen. Sitting in a basket near the stove was a black bundle of fur, looking at him with bright, intelligent eyes.

He smiled at Nicole. "Black lab?"

She nodded. "I've heard good things about them," she said, smiling as Danny picked the puppy up, burying his face in the soft fur, giggling as it licked his face. "And Danny needed something after...well, you know."

He took the dog away from Danny, smiling as it wriggled in his hands. "Is it a boy puppy or a girl puppy?" he asked his brother, as it chewed ferociously on his thumb.

"She's a girl," he replied. "Did you ever have a puppy?"

He nodded. "My mommy and your daddy got me a beagle when I was a little boy, just like you. Her name was Teacup." Behind him he heard a muffled giggle.

"That's a weird name," Danny said. "Hey! Maybe you can bring your puppy here, and they can be friends."

He smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, kiddo. Teacup died a few years ago. She's in heaven now."

"Just like my daddy," Danny said, eyes wide.

"Just like our daddy," he replied. He knelt to the floor and gathered his brother in a hug, taking comfort in his warmth as he closed his eyes against the pain of his father's loss.

"Hey," he said, his voice rough. "I got you something, too." He opened up the bag from the toystore and got out a wiffle bat and ball. "How about we go outside and play catch while your mom gets supper ready for us?"

"OK!" he said, and ran out the back door and across the deck to the lawn. Pat turned to Nicole.

"Man, if I had half the energy he does..."

"I know," she said, smiling fondly. Her face was cheerful, but Pat took note of dark circles under her eyes.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"We'll talk about it after Danny goes to bed," she said. "Can you stay that long?"

"Sure," he said, mystified. "Call us when supper is ready."

"Will do," she said. "Take the dog with you, too," she added as he was on his way out. "We're trying to housebreak her."

****

After a rousing game of catch in the backyard, which seemed to confuse the dog, the three of them sat down to a meal of baked chicken, broccoli-rice, and green beans. The mood was cheerful, with Danny telling them both about his day in school, while Nicole asked Pat about her old acquaintances at the firm.

"You know you're welcome to come back whenever you want," he teased. "All the construction foremen would love to see you around."

"I'm sure they would," she replied, an evil twinkle in her eyes. "But I put up with enough of their macho garbage when I first started. I don't need to deal with a bunch of caveman BS again, thank you.

"Besides," she said, her eyes full of old hurt. "The women were worse than the men. Once they found out your dad and I were seeing each other," she continued, with a warning glance towards Danny, "The talk started. I wasn't Nicole anymore. I was the gold-digger. And after that I was the trophy wife." She stabbed the green beans viciously with her fork.

Pat took her hand. "No one who saw you and Dad together would ever say that. You were the best thing that ever happened to him. I don't remember Mom much. So I don't know how he acted while she was around. But you made him come

alive,

Nicole." His hand tightened on hers. "I remember when you were first hired. He would come home and talk about you. A funny joke you had made. Or the brownies you brought in. And then you two started dating, and he was so happy.

"He was happy. All the way to the end."

Nicole blinked, her eyes misty. "Thank you, Pat. That means a lot. Especially coming from you. But I like my job. And I don't want to seem like I am trading in an old favor. The money from the firm is quite enough without trying to double-dip by pulling a salary as well."

Pat took a last swallow of his milk. "Well, thanks for a good meal. I'm trying to teach myself to cook, but I still have the training wheels on at this point." He looked at Danny, who was finishing up his chicken. "What do you say, skipper? Do you have time for your big brother to read you a story before you go to bed?"

Five minutes later, they were ensconced in the living room, devouring that literary classic,

Hop on Pop,

Danny giggling as Pat did the voices of the different characters. They were both unaware as Nicole looked on fondly.

He looks so much like his father,

she thought. The black hair, the bright green eyes, the tan skin, bronzed from a summer on construction sites, the clean profile. Twelve months widowed and fourteen months celibate, she had been dating, on and off, for a few months, but no one had ignited the raw fire of physical attraction she had felt for Greg. His son shared the same qualities that had initially drawn her to his father, before illness had drained him.

He must be beating the girls off with a stick.

And he's so good with Danny, too.

She watched them, snuggled together, his arm around her son, the puppy napping in their laps as he held the book between them, fingers tracing the words as he read. She pulled her cell phone out and snapped a series of pictures.

He'll make some girl very happy someday.

By the time Pat had finished

The Lorax,

Danny was yawning.

"Come on, buddy. Let's put your puppy to bed, then we can get you ready, too," he said. Pausing for a moment, he frowned. "Does the dog have a name yet?"

"We're still trying to figure that out," Nicole said, smiling as she took Danny's hand and led him upstairs. "Danny thinks of a new name three or four times a day. We're writing them down and will choose one on Friday.

"I'll be down in a few minutes, after I put this little guy to bed."

"I've got a racecar bed," came a drowsy voice down the stairs.

****

Nicole was down in less than twenty minutes.

"He was gone by the time his head hit the pillow," she said with a loving smile. "Having his big brother around is good for him. It's great that you two get along so well."

"He's a sweet kid," Pat replied. He turned away from the counter, where he had uncorked a bottle of wine, and handed Nicole a glass.

"Thanks," she said, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Though you're making pretty free with

my

wine, Patrick."

He ignored the jibe. "Cheers," he said, lifting his beer bottle. She clinked her glass against it.

"So what's the problem?" he asked, looking at her worriedly. She had changed out of her work clothes, and was now dressed simply in a pair of sweatpants and a heavy t-shirt. Her chestnut hair fell in a dark wave over her shoulder, curling around the curve of her breast. If he hadn't known better, he would have taken her for a woman no more than a couple of years older than himself, just out of college, not a widow with a six year-old son.

She took a sip of wine. Now that he had a chance to look at her closely, it was clear she was exhausted. The dark circles he had seen under her eyes were more pronounced, and there was a faint trembling in her fingers where they held the wine glass.

She took a deep breath, then released it, meeting his eyes squarely.

"I'm being stalked," she said. "And I'm terrified."

*****

"What? When did this start.?"

"About six weeks ago," she said. She sat at the table and rested her head in her hands. Pat joined her, looking on worriedly.

"I loved your father, Pat," she said. "But I'm..." Her voice trailed off, and she blushed, her fair skin turning a delicate pink.

"You're still a young woman, and you have needs?" he suggested softly.

"Yes. Thank you for not making it difficult," she said. "My girlfriends were encouraging me to date again. And I was ready to put myself back out there, too. It had been a long time, Pat, since your father was strong enough for us to be intimate. And I..."

"You don't have to defend your choices to me," he said, his hand reaching out to hold hers. "I understand. Dad told me to expect it, and not to think you were betraying him."

Thirteen months ago...

"

Take care of her, Pat," his father said. His voice was hoarse and raspy, as devastated by the cancer and the chemo as the rest of his body. "She's a strong, smart woman. But there are going to be people who will think she is weak and stupid, just because she is beautiful. Be there for her. Whenever she needs you."

"I will, Dad," he said, his voice tight.

"And sooner or later, she's going to be looking for another boyfriend or husband." He paused, coughing, his breath coming in sharp gasps. "If she does, that's her business, not yours. You can't expect her to live out the next fifty years as my widow. Just make sure that the man is worthy of her."

"I will."

He blinked, returning to the present.

"I went on a few dates, but nothing happened. They were nice enough guys, but no one that I wanted to see again. Not compared to your father."

"Well, if you compare every man to Dad, most are going to come up short," he said.

"Not you," she replied.

"Me? Maybe in another thirty years or so. But not now. Anyway, you were talking about your efforts to find a boy-toy."

She mimed throwing a punch at him, but continued.

"So about six weeks ago a couple of my girlfriends and I went out to eat after work. Hit up a nice Mexican place downtown. And there was this guy at the bar.

"He bought us drinks, flirted, you know how it is. He seemed charming. And he had a nice body on him. So when he asked me for my number, I gave it to him.

"We went out three times after that. He's a trust-fund baby and works at his daddy's law firm." Her lips curled in a sneer. The daughter of working-class parents in southern Illinois, Nicole had no respect for anyone who had not earned what they had in life.

Except, perhaps, himself.

"The second date, he was...pushy. Sexually," she said, biting her lip and looking anywhere but at him. "The third time, he asked me straight out if we were going to...going to fuck.

"When I said that I thought we were still getting to know each other, he said that he wasn't going to waste his time with anyone who didn't put out by the third date.

"So I showed him the door and locked it behind him.

"But he's been stalking me ever since. Nearly a month now. I've changed the home phone number twice, but he finds out what it is. I had to unplug it tonight, just to make sure we could have a nice meal together. And I haven't had my cell on for more than five minutes at a time in weeks. He'll call and call, fifteen, twenty times a night. Sometimes he just breathes into the phone. Other times, he makes threats. Against me, against Danny.

"He's shown up at my work. He only had the guts to do that twice. The second time security shoved him out before he had gotten ten steps into the building.

"But lately, he's been parking outside. For hours. Just sits there in his goddamned Porsche and stares at the house.