Janet Evanovich - The Grand Finale

“Since now. It’s a new rule I just made up.”

New rule he just made up? What a lot of nerve. Now he was making up rules for her business. She sat up in bed. “Listen here, Sawyer…”

“Yes?”

Suddenly she didn’t feel well at all. The little men in pointy hats were doing strange things in her stomach. She covered her mouth with one hand and threw the covers off with the other. “I’m going to be sick!”

She slammed the bathroom door and sank down onto the tile floor, resting her head against the porcelain tub. Ah, that was much better, she decided. Nice and cool. Now if she could just get rid of the little men in her stomach.

Jake knocked on the door. “Berry, open the door.”

“I’d sooner die.”

“Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. I’m being sick.”

“Can I help?”

“Throwing up is not a group activity.”

Several minutes later she draped a wet washcloth across her forehead and opened the door. “I’m going back to bed to die, now. No deliveries on Sunday sounds like a good rule to me.”

Jake helped her into bed and tucked the covers around her. “I’ll be back as soon as I get rid of Mrs. Dugan.”

“Don’t rush. I’m just going to stay here and feel sorry for myself.”

Berry poured herself a glass of cranberry juice and stood absolutely still for a moment, enjoying the quiet solitude of the kitchen. Mrs. Fitz and Miss Gaspich were at the Pizza Place, and Jake hadn’t returned from the boat. Berry had slept the morning away, and then had stayed in bed for a while thinking about plans.

Plans were only guidelines, she’d decided. They were preliminary blueprints for the real project, and sometimes even well thought-out plans didn’t work right. For instance, she was miles deep in love with Jake Sawyer years ahead of time. Why should she be so upset about that? If it turned out she could graduate several years ahead of schedule she’d be ecstatic. Why was falling in love so different?

Berry, Berry, Berry, she warned, you’re rationalizing. There is a difference.

Oh, yeah? she answered her more practical self. Shut up.

And then there was this business about butterscotch pudding and Mrs. Dugan. She didn’t want to become a Mrs. Dugan. Now that she thought about it, she realized pudding really didn’t take all that long to make. Surely she could find ten minutes a week for pudding. Probably she could squeeze a little romance into her schedule, too. Of course, it would be with you-know-who… Mr. Yum.

Being miserably sick had at least given her the opportunity to analyze her problems. In the calm aftermath of her first and last hangover, Berry soberly concluded that you could get carried away with deprivation and timetables.

“Down with deprivation,” Berry shouted, brandishing a wooden spoon. She finished her cranberry juice and hummed happily as she hunted through the cabinets for pudding ingredients. Cornstarch, brown sugar, vanilla. She took butter and milk and eggs from the refrigerator.

Boy, she thought, life is wonderful. Here I am, happy as a clam, making pudding in Jake’s cozy kitchen. She stirred the mixture with a wire whisk while she waited for it to boil. She separated the eggs and measured the butter. Pudding from a box was okay, but it wasn’t like scratch pudding. Scratch pudding was buckled shoes and Monopoly.

She was so intrigued with the thickening pudding that she almost missed the sound of the car pulling into the garage. Jake! Her heart skipped a beat. Stop that, she commanded her heart. It’s only Jake. He lives here, remember? But she couldn’t stop smiling. She loved him totally, truly, passionately, ridiculously. And she wanted him.

She took the pudding off the stove and added the butter and vanilla. Yes sir, this was a much better plan. First, make the pudding. Second, get Jake Sawyer into the sack. Third, have her head examined. She had to be crazy. Most likely it was the alcohol. It had pickled her brain. She’d heard it could do such things.

In the absence of sherbet glasses, Berry poured the pudding into coffee cups. She heard Jake move to the kitchen and knew he was leaning his hip against the counter, his arms loosely crossed over his chest, watching her. She kept her eyes glued to the coffee cups, but she felt him assessing what he saw: Lingonberry Knudsen braless in a skimpy T-shirt and silky little running shorts. She wriggled her bare toes against the tile floor and gnawed on her lower lip. She had a new plan and she was determined to see it through to the end. Now if she could stop hyperventilating and get her blood pressure under control she’d be just dandy.

Jake crossed to where she was working and looked over her shoulder. “Smells great. What is it?”

“Butterscotch pudding.” Was that her? All husky-voiced and inviting?

He scraped some pudding off the side of the pot with his finger and took a taste. “It’s good!”

“Yup,” Berry said. “And I’ve got something even better… soap.”

“Soap?”

“Yes sir, soap. I feel like taking a shower with lots of soap.”

“Have you been drinking again?”

“Nope. Been there, done that, didn’t like it, not doing it again.” She put the pudding pot in the sink and ran water into it so it could soak. “Moving on to bigger and better stuff,” she said.

She crossed the kitchen, turned when she got to the stairs, and stripped off her shirt. She smiled at Jake and made her way to the landing, halfway to the second floor. She paused long enough for her running shorts to hit the carpet. When she didn’t hear footsteps behind her, she turned and placed her hands on her hips. “Aren’t you coming?”

“No, but I’m very close,” Jake said, unbuttoning his shirt as he followed her up the stairs. By the time he reached the bathroom she was already in the shower. He dropped his jeans at the bathroom door, removed the rest of his clothing, and joined her.

“I finally get to see all of you,” Berry said, smiling.

Jake returned the smile and took the soap from Berry’s hands. “More than a couple inches,” he said with pride.

Hours later Jake drowsily opened his eyes and pulled Berry on top of him. “Mmmm,” he murmured, kissing her neck, running his hand along the smooth curve of her back. “Holy cow,” he exclaimed, looking at his watch, “do you know what time it is?” He moved out from under her and reached for his jeans. “Poor Mrs. Fitz and Miss Gaspich have been stranded at the Pizza Place all day. I should have picked them up an hour ago.”

Berry slumped deeper into the couch and furiously zapped stations with the remote control. “Twelve forty-two,” she muttered, glaring at her watch. The ladies were upstairs, asleep. Everyone was asleep but her and Jake. She’d thought it was cute when he’d had a sudden burst of inventive inspiration during supper and gone charging off down the cellar stairs. It had stopped being cute at about eleven-thirty. Now it was downright infuriating. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, knowing that she was being unreasonable. For the past two weeks, Jake had given up all his spare time to work in the Pizza Place. He deserved this night to himself. He was a chemist. An inventor. He needed to work at his profession. But why tonight? How could he leave her alone like this after they’d shared such a beautiful afternoon? It was the first time she’d ever really made love with a man, and her world felt tilted. She’d expected his world would be equally tilted.

“It’s tilted, all right,” she said aloud to herself. “Tilted in the opposite direction from mine. He could hardly wait to get away from me.” She gave herself a shot to the forehead with the heel of her hand. “Ugh, men!”

That was a bunch of garbage, she thought. She was letting all her old insecurities come back to haunt her. She shut the television off and crept up the stairs, telling herself that men simply looked at these things differently. They took life in stride. That was the basic difference between men and women. Women were women. And men were thoughtless beasts! Berry wrenched the bedroom door open and closed it with a thunderous slam. She stripped off her clothes and flung herself into bed, covering her head with the pillow. This is just temporary insanity from too much sex, she groaned. I should have started out slowly. And I certainly shouldn’t have done it the same day I made pudding. It overloaded my system. I’ll feel better tomorrow.

Three hours later Berry thrashed side to side in bed. She squinted at her clock and muttered an oath. She punched the pillow and viciously kicked at the confining tangle of sheets. You were supposed to be relaxed after you made love, she fumed. You were supposed to go to sleep with a smile on your face. What was wrong with her? She’d made love all afternoon. Why wasn’t she tired? Why wasn’t she smiling?

Another three hours later Berry half opened one eye and caught Jake tiptoeing around the room, gathering his clothes. “Jake?”

“Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep,” he whispered.

“What are you doing? Why don’t you come to bed,” she said.

He stood over her with a tie dangling from his hand and a blue shirt thrown over his shoulder. “I can’t. I have to get to school early today. If I could just find my damn shoes…” He looked under the bed and grunted with satisfaction. “Found them.” A quick kiss on the top of her head and he was gone.

Berry stared at the closed door and sighed. She didn’t want to be an alarmist, but this was beginning to feel a heck of a lot like her marriage. She slipped into a pair of jeans and a soft flannel shirt and went in search of breakfast.

Mrs. Fitz was already at the round oak table, sipping tea. “Holy cow, Lingonberry, you look awful.”

Berry got the coffee brewing. She banged a coffee mug onto the kitchen counter and stared at it.