Kisses to Remember Read online

  KISSES TO REMEMBER

  by Christine DePetrillo

  Copyright 2012 Christine DePetrillo

  All Rights Reserved

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Author Contact:

  Website: christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

  Email: [email protected]

  FB: ChristineDePetrilloAuthor

  Twitter: @cdepetrillo

  Dedication

  To Mike, for listening

  To my parents, Dave and Rosie, for encouraging

  To Kathy and Janet, for reading

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Other Titles by Christine DePetrillo

  About the Author

  Coming Soon

  Chapter One

  “How much longer do we have to wait, Mom?”

  Johanna Ware did her best to contain the sigh threatening to shatter the quiet of the tidy waiting room.

  “Mom?”

  Her nine-year-old son, Kameron, wiggled beside her on one of the blue plastic chairs lining three of the room’s walls. His shoes were untied as usual, and a grass stain marked the knee of his jeans. How the boy managed to get dirty going from the house to the car was a mystery.

  “Shouldn’t be long now, Kam.” Johanna pointed to his shoes, and Kam pulled one of his feet up to rest on the edge of the chair. As he concentrated on tying his sneaker, Johanna smoothed his dark brown hair and gave his neck a little pinch. “Did you comb this?” She raked her fingers along the back of Kam’s head in an attempt to conquer the raised-by-wolves look.

  “Uh-huh, but the new style is to keep it messy.” Kam flashed her a smile, one like his father’s.

  “Is it? And where did you pick up this bit of fashion news?”

  “Christina Darren in my class. She said a boy with messy hair looks like he’s been places doing things.” Kam tied his other shoe then let his feet dangle.

  Johanna’s mind flashed forward to a time when her little boy’s feet would touch the floor. That time would be here before she knew it. She wasn’t ready.

  She glanced at the empty chair on her other side and pictured a girl with long, dark brown hair, the same color as Kam’s, probably gathered into a ponytail. Would she have been wearing a dress? If she was anything like Johanna, definitely not a dress. Jeans and a T-shirt instead, with a pair of comfortable sandals.

  “Christina said she likes my hair messy.”

  Kam’s voice made the girl’s image dissipate into the unmoving air of the waiting room, and Johanna blinked back the unshed tears before turning to face her son.

  “And so now we’re doing whatever Christina says?” Johanna caught Kam’s chin in her hand and squeezed until his cheeks squished in. The muscles in his face fought against her fingers as he laughed.

  “Chrithina ith pretty,” Kam said.

  Johanna released him and dropped a kiss on his nose, which he didn’t rub off. Bless him. “The pretty girls are the ones you have to watch out for. They’ll turn your world upside down.”

  “She makes my hands sweat.” Kam held out his hands as if checking them for perspiration.

  “Well, good thing you have the summer out of school so your hands can dry out.”

  Kam rubbed his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “Yeah.” He was quiet for a moment, then looked up at Johanna. “Can I invite Christina to my birthday party next week?”

  Yeah, Kameron was definitely going to grow up faster than Johanna wanted.

  “We’ll see, honey. Read your book.” She tapped the book on Kam’s lap, and he picked it up.

  Satisfied that Kam was really reading and not just looking at the little illustrations accompanying the text, Johanna dug her phone out of her purse. She checked her messages, most of which were clients interested in having her design their company’s logo. As owner of Ware Teez, Johanna used her graphic design skills to capture a company’s “essence” in an eye-catching symbol. She also made T-shirts, which companies paid her and a team of their own employees to wear out in public as advertisements. It was a new marketing strategy Johanna had jumped all over a few years ago, and she’d had nothing but success with it since. The best part was it allowed her to work from her farmhouse in Valentine, Nebraska.

  It also kept her well stocked with new T-shirts.

  After answering several messages and making notes on two new designs, Johanna shut off her phone and dropped it back into her purse. She made a study of her fingernails, stared at the industrial beige paint on the wall opposite her, picked lint off her current Pets Paradise “Where Paws Go to Play” T-shirt, made a mental note to get a haircut, and mined in her purse for a stick of gum. Only once every sixty seconds did she glance over at The Door.

  She absolutely hated The Door.

  She fixed her gaze on the doorknob as it turned. Shit, here we go. She sucked in a breath, unclamped her hand from the chair handle, and tightened her other hand on the straps of her purse. She’d been here many times before, but it didn’t get any easier. How could it? This was not the way things were supposed to have ended up. Nobody ever penciled this in for the future plans.

  Kam closed his book and slid to the end of his chair. “Finally.” He stood and reached down for Johanna’s hand. “C’mon, Mom. It’s time.”

  The Door was fully open now, and a burly guard dressed in a charcoal gray uniform filled the threshold. He didn’t look familiar. Must have been a new guy. “Mrs. Ware?”

  Somehow Johanna got to her feet. Kam’s fingers intertwined with hers, and he gave her a little tug forward.

  This is backwards. I should be helping him find the strength to go in.

  Squaring her shoulders, Johanna approached the guard. “Yes, I’m Mrs. Ware.”

  “Follow me.” The guard led Johanna and Kam to a small room off the main corridor beyond The Door. He motioned to the room and said, “Wait here.”

  Johanna and Kam sat at the room’s only furniture—a simple metal table with two blue plastic chairs on one side and one identical chair on the other. Johanna focused on the chair across from her until her vision grew blurry. That chair was so close yet so far.

  “Dad!” Kam jumped up from his seat and rushed to the man who had been led into the room by the guard.

  Slowly, Johanna slid her gaze from the empty chair to the man wrapped around her son. Their son.

  “Hey, Kam. Hi, Johanna.” And there was that smile. The one that didn’t fit in this place. Smiles like that didn’t belong in jail.

  Johanna swallowed the knot in her throat. “Hey, Alex.”

  “You have thirty minutes.” The guard stepped outside and closed the door, his form visible through the door’s glass panel. He’d stand there during the entire visit.

  Kam sat back in his chair next to Johanna while Alex took the seat across from them.

  “So what’s been going on, Kam
?” Alex asked, although his dark, bottomless black-brown eyes were on Johanna.

  Kam launched into a rundown of all the major events in his exciting nine-year-old life, and Alex tore his gaze off Johanna every now and again to remark about something Kam had said.

  Johanna noted how Alex’s eyelids drooped lower than usual, how the corners of his eyes were bloodshot, how his skin had lost its golden tan. His black hair was a little messy. Maybe Christina Darren knew what she was talking about. Despite the fact Alex was wearing a navy Valentine Correctional Institute jumpsuit and was now her ex-husband, he still had something that held Johanna captive. Would she ever find someone else who could hook her like Alex had?

  She wanted to. Kam deserved a male role model in his life that didn’t come with prison guard supervision and the distant rattle of jail cell doors. He should have someone to toss a football with in the field back home. Someone to take him to the hardware store and show him which nails were good for building a barn and which ones were good for making furniture. Someone who could tell him how to handle Christina Darren when the time came.

  Alex’s father, Ted, lived in a cabin on the edge of Johanna’s property, and Kam saw him every day, but with a generation between them, it wasn’t the same as having a father around.

  Certainly not the same as having a husband around.

  Johanna had never pictured herself divorced and raising a son alone by the age of thirty-three, but here she was. Life was so unexpected. So unfair.

  “Johanna?” Alex’s voice pulled Johanna out of her thoughts.

  “Yes?”

  “I asked if you figured out a design for that weird weed-pulling business.” Alex ran his finger along a scratch in the table’s silvery surface. The glide of his finger along the gouge hypnotized her for a moment.

  “Um, yeah,” she said. “We settled on a dandelion with a noose around its neck.”

  Alex laughed. Another sound that didn’t belong in this cinderblock room in this awful place. “I knew you’d come up with something fantastic.”

  “Thanks.” Johanna managed a smile back.

  Kam jumped into another tale and before Johanna knew it, the guard opened the door. “Time’s up, folks.”

  As if there should be a time limit on family.

  “You’re going to come on his birthday next week, right?” Alex raised hopeful eyebrows to Johanna.

  “We’ll be here, Dad,” Kam answered.

  Johanna was always amazed at Kam’s ability to overlook the atmosphere. He made it appear as if they were visiting over hamburgers and fries at a homey little diner. How did the kid do it?

  “I’ll bring him by before his party.” Johanna ruffled Kam’s hair. Hey, it was already a mess.

  “Can’t believe you’re going to be ten.” Alex squinted at Kam, hurt deep in his eyes as he thought of his son getting older. Johanna could barely digest that notion, and she got to see Kam every single day. What must it be like for Alex who was relegated to these thirty-minute check-ins once a week?

  That familiar ache in Johanna’s chest made its regularly scheduled appearance.

  “He wants to invite a girl to his party,” Johanna said as she and Kam stood.

  Alex got to his feet as the guard edged closer. “Does he now?”

  Kam’s cheeks pinked, and he checked his hands before shoving them into his pockets. “We’re just friends.”

  “But apparently she’s pretty,” Johanna added.

  “Mom, please.”

  “Hey, if you’re going to grow up on us, Kam, we have the right to torture you along the way.” Alex gave Kam a hug, nodded to Johanna. “See you next week.”

  “Bye, Dad.” Kam took Johanna’s hand again and gave her a little push toward the door.

  “See you, Alex.”

  As Johanna left, she tried to think of something besides the image of Alex standing there with the guard so close, so watchful, as if her ex-husband was a criminal.

  Well, technically, he was.

  ****

  “So the tires finally came in?”

  Holden Lancaster bumped his head on the open hood of his rebuilt Camaro racecar at the sound of his best friend and co-pilot’s voice. For a guy well over six feet tall and built like a tank, Vaughn Bennett moved like a damn ninja.

  “Can’t you, for once in your life, knock? Jesus.” Holden rubbed at the crown of his head, just under his thick crop of rusty brown hair. His fingers came away with a few droplets of blood. “Shit. You’ve made me bleed. Again.”

  “Sorry.” Vaughn held up his hands as if he were surrendering. “Is it my fault you let yourself become consumed with rebuilding this thing?”

  Holden let out a grumble and reached for the paper towel on the workbench in his garage. He blotted at the fresh wound, winced at the sting, then threw out the paper towel when the blood flow didn’t appear traumatic.

  “You’ll live,” Vaughn said.

  “This time.” Holden washed his hands at the shop sink and turned his attention back to the Camaro’s engine. He’d spent the week fine-tuning and now with the American Racing wheels, the car was almost ready for the track. The thought sent ripples of excitement through Holden. He’d had the body of the car custom painted solid black with deep, metallic red made to look like blood streaming along the hood and sides. Racecar meets vampire.

  “This is definitely your sickest design yet, Hold. It kicks ass.” Whistling, Vaughn ran his hand along the glossy black paint until Holden slapped it away.

  “Paws to yourself.”

  Ignoring Holden, Vaughn opened the driver side door and sat behind the wheel. He rolled his eyes up and opened his mouth feigning an orgasm as he stroked the steering wheel. “Almost don’t need a chick with a car like this, cowboy. Almost.”

  Holden closed the hood and wiped his fingerprints off with a soft chamois. He came around to the driver side to make sure Vaughn wasn’t touching anything he shouldn’t.

  “Never thought I’d hear you say that. Isn’t a chick required for every hobby of yours?”

  “Not required, just preferred.” Vaughn grinned and got out of the Camaro. “Seriously, dude, nice work. Hope you don’t crumple it your first time out on the track.”

  That was always a possibility, but this Camaro was the fifth racecar Holden had rebuilt, and he hadn’t had the misfortune of crashing any of them. He’d raced them, sold them, then bought another to do the same, and he’d keep on doing it until he wasn’t fit to drive anymore. Probably when he was like eighty or so.

  “So what are you doing here anyway?” Holden put his tools back into their assigned cases, boxes, or drawers in the garage, while Vaughn sat on the wooden stool Holden kept by his workbench.

  “I don’t know. Bored, I guess. Wanna get some lunch?”

  At the mention of the word “lunch,” Holden’s stomach growled. “Yeah, sure. What time is it?”

  “Two o’clock.”

  “Shit, already?”

  “You have a pressing appointment?” Vaughn pushed to his feet and picked up a broom to sweep Holden’s workspace.

  Holden held a dustpan to the pile Vaughn had swept and discarded the debris in a large, metal garbage can. “No appointment. I just didn’t realize I had chewed up so much of the day out here.”

  “You’re like a mad scientist caught up in an evil plan.” Vaughn rubbed his hands together and darted his eyes around the garage.

  “No, I’m not. I just want to get this car finished.”

  “Yeah, and you’ll lose sleep over it, turn down social invites, forget to eat, never get laid, yadda, yadda, ya. See? Mad scientist with evil plan.”

  Holden gave Vaughn a shove. “At least my hobbies don’t involve an unlimited supply of condoms.”

  “Hey, sometimes it’s okay for your wanker to be in charge, Hold. You should try it some time.” Vaughn leaned against his pickup truck in Holden’s driveway. “Go change out of those grease-covered jeans and let’s get some grub.”

  Ten minutes la
ter, after a quick scrubbing off of grime trapped under his fingernails and changing into a fresh pair of jeans, Holden hopped into Vaughn’s truck. They drove the short distance to The Sweet Hut, Fort Worth, Texas’s home of truly superb muffins and other assorted confections, sandwiches, and coffees. Holden and Vaughn were regulars, often stopping in for a quick bite before a scheduled flight for Donovan Electronics, the company that employed them both as corporate pilots.

  Vaughn opened the door, and Mara, The Sweet Hut’s owner and today’s resident chick behind the counter, smiled broadly when he walked in.

  “Hiya, Vaughn. Nice to see you.” Her eyelids fluttered as she gazed at Vaughn.

  “Howdy, Mara,” Vaughn drawled, slipping into a Clint Eastwood-esque persona.

  “Holden.” Mara offered him a curt nod.

  Oh, so I haven’t suddenly gone invisible. “Hey, Mara,” he said, but her gaze was glued back onto Vaughn. This was why Holden preferred to hang around with racecars. Sure, he wanted to find someone nice, but he couldn’t figure women out, especially one that got all drooly over a guy who pretended she didn’t exist.

  “You want a banana-nut muffin minus the nut?” Mara asked Vaughn.

  “You know me so well, Mara.” Vaughn leaned against the counter closer to Mara, and Holden wondered if there was an assigned section of Hell for men who played with women the way Vaughn did.

  “I make them special, just for you.” Mara smiled seductively, and Holden wanted to shake some sense into her. All that wasted energy on Vaughn who would never see her as anything besides the chick behind the counter.

  “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  Mara blushed, then looked at Holden, the love-struck glitter in her eyes completely dripping away. “What can I get you?”

  “Grilled cheese and a Sprite.” Same thing I always order when I come in here. Holden shook his head and turned his attention to the rest of The Sweet Hut. He plunked down a few dollars and said, “I’ll go get us a table. Standing here is affecting my appetite.”

  Vaughn shot him a snarl, but Mara was already back, lovingly packaging the special banana-nut muffins minus the nut and gazing at Vaughn with dreamy eyes while she worked.