Justin had always known that his mother had impeccable timing. He never failed to notice that she called whenever he was about to leave or just coming in. Regardless of the situation, she always managed to catch him when talking to his mother was the last thing on his mind.

He had barely shut the front door when the phone began to ring. He was thinking that he'd have a cold beer and catch a recap of the previous Sunday's race before turning in but knew that was a lost cause. It was his mother. He knew it as surely as he knew the day was long.

Except the days he spent with Heather…

With a pleased smile on his face he picked up the phone on the second ring. "Hi, Momma."

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

Right. Like he didn't know she'd seen him drive by her house after leaving Heather's. He switched on the TV and muted it quickly. "I just got in."

"Oh? Were you at Trace's?"

"Momma," he sighed as he found the channel he was looking for. They were showing a rerun of the race. Twenty laps in… Tossing the remote aside he headed into the kitchen. "You'd make a horrible detective."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know where I was. I saw you peeking out the front window when I drove by this afternoon."

"And you didn't even wave at me," she reminded him.

"So why are you acting all sly and asking if I was at Trace's?" he asked, wanting to keep her on the right topic.

"To give you the chance to lie, of course."

Justin rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "You've got to be the weirdest mother, I swear."

"How else am I supposed to catch you in a lie?"

"It's called entrapment."

"Whatever. Now, where did you take Heather and her little girl?"

"McDonald's." This time he had beaten Donna at the nugget eating contest. But she had rebounded and challenged him in hopscotch at the park. After falling five times he had forfeited and it was then he had learned that hopscotch was more important than eating nuggets.

"You've been seeing her for three weeks and the best you can do is take her to McDonald's for three hours?"

"We went to the park for a little while afterwards and then I showed them-How do you know that we were gone for three hours?"

"There's a lovely little invention called a clock, sweetheart."

"Momma, are you stalking me?" He laughed at the idea as he popped the top off a beer. Shaking his head in disbelief he headed back into the living room.

"Don't be so paranoid. What did you show them?"

"Why is it so important to you?"

"Because you're my son and I love you. And I adore them."

Trace's words came screaming into his mind. "Momma."

"What?"

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"We're just hanging out and having fun. So please stop planning a wedding."

"I'm doing no such thing."

"We're just friends. Her daughter is in my class."

"She doesn't get confused about that, does she? She's so young and seeing you so much outside of school…"

He had worried about that himself but he wasn't about to admit it to his mother. "Donna isn't confused. She doesn't sit on the carpet during the morning message and announce that Mr. Timberlake took her mother out to dinner."

"Good. I just don't want you to get into trouble."

"I'm not." God, was he sixteen again?

"And I don't want you to rush into something and get your heart broken." She didn't say it but he could hear the 'again' hanging at the end of her statement.

"Momma…"

"I saw Miranda this morning."

Fuck.

"Paul and I went to Fairview," she continued. "You know he's thinking about getting a new truck. I didn't know she was working at her father's dealership."

Of course she was. Fate had a sick sense of humor. "Uh-huh."

"She's engaged to Robert Jackson."

Justin wondered if it would be bad taste to send Robert a letter of sympathy. "Uh-huh."

"They're getting married in December. A Christmas wedding."

Where was his mother going with this? The brownies that he and Donna had made while Heather watched with amusement suddenly formed a tight knot in his stomach. "That's nice."

"A Christmas wedding, Justin."

"I heard you the first time." He hated the bite in his tone but couldn't help it.

"I'm sorry, Justin."

"I am too, Momma."

"She still looks like a slut."

"Momma--"

"Well, she does! Trying to sell cars in a miniskirt and a skintight top," she snorted.

"Please stop." He knew she was trying to make him feel better but it wasn't helping. The knot in his stomach twisted.

"Paul was wondering if you'd like to go fishing tomorrow."

"Yeah, that sounds good. Ask him to call and wake me up."

"He said to tell you that he promises not to ask you anything about Heather."

"Too bad he can't get you to promise the same," Justin mused. The knot was starting to loosen. It loosened further when she chuckled.

"Ain't gonna happen. I'll let you go. Remember sunblock tomorrow."

One sunburn five years ago and she still found it necessary to bring up the need to use sunblock. "I'll dig around and see if I still have my Scooby Doo lifejacket too."

"Good night, Justin," she said firmly. But she was smiling, he could tell. "I love you."

"Night, Momma. Love you too."

He tossed the phone aside and let his head drop back with a hard sigh. Staring up at the ceiling he reached blindly for the remote. His stepfather would give him a detailed recap of the race. And he was no longer in the mood to watch it. He welcomed the resulting darkness after he switched the TV off.

"I'm supposed to be over Miranda Fucking Palmer," he announced to the dark living room. "She's not supposed to fucking matter anymore!"

Great. Now he was talking to himself. Launching from the couch he snatched up his untouched beer and carried it with him to the bedroom. But when he reached the doorway he remembered who had helped him pick out the mattress. He remembered the delight they had taken in christening it after it was delivered.

Without sheets.

He turned back to the living room and wondered if it was wrong to hate his mother for mentioning his ex's name. But she hadn't been the first, he relented, sipping his beer as he leaned in the doorway to the kitchen. Trace had brought her up. He could hate his best friend, right?

"She doesn't fucking matter," he mumbled to himself.

Keep telling yourself that, you might believe it one day. He decided he hated that inner voice, too.

A Christmas wedding. No doubt it would take place in the big church she had attended all her life in Fairview. The bridesmaids would probably wear red and the flowers would be red roses. Instead of piano or organ she would have classical music pumped through the sound system. Her cousin's youngest daughter would be the flower girl. Her best friend's son would be the ring bearer. Her aunt would sing a solo.

Inside Your Heaven, of course.

He knew. Because he still remembered every detail she had rattled off as they had planned their wedding.

Their wedding. A week before Christmas. In the church she had attended in Fairview with bridesmaids wearing red and red roses. And instead of traditional piano or organ music she had prepared a CD of classical music. Her cousin's daughter would have been her flower girl and her best friend's son would have been the ring bearer. And her aunt was going to sing a solo after they had said their vows.

Wasn't there some sort of etiquette rule that said it was wrong to just switch out grooms? Wasn't it improper to keep every other little detail the same?

Of course, she had never worried about being improper. She wasn't the type to care about little things like that. Once she set her mind on something she got it.

The two carat diamond ring. The king-sized bed. The house on the edge of town instead of the old farmhouse Paul had given them.

The house he still lived in and was still paying for. The house he hated. The house that haunted him with memories of what he thought of as happier times. The bedroom he never slept in that still had their engagement photo on the dresser.

The living room with the couch she had told him to buy that still had the blanket she had picked out tossed over the back. The blanket he had felt under his hands when he and Heather had kissed on that couch. The blanket that had made it impossible for him to do anything more and had made him murmur those words that he had always hated hearing.

Take things slow, he thought with a snort.

He didn't realize he was sliding down until he felt the floor under his backside. Dragging a hand over his face he shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't do this anymore. He hated himself whenever he remembered her and what they had done together.

He hated her for leaving him so screwed up that after a conversation about her with his mother he sat in the corner in the darkness with a beer and a knot the size of Texas in his stomach.

He hated himself more for letting her get under his skin so much that he could hate her.

- - -

"Mommy, somebody's here," Donna announced as she skipped into the kitchen. Her pink Disney Princess slippers scuffed across the floor and she giggled at the sound.

Heather turned from the sink and reached for a dishtowel. "You didn't open the door did you?"

"No. I was watching the birds and a truck pulled up." Donna turned on one foot and headed for the living room.

Heather bit her lip to quell the thudding in her chest as she followed. Together they peered through the blinds at the man pulling a small toolbox from the back of the truck. Squinting, she knew she recognized him but for the life of her she couldn't remember where she had seen him. He wore a faded Jefferson High School t-shirt and the lettering on the side of his truck announced that he was a plumber.

Had Mr. Parker finally called a plumber about the bathroom sink? If so, he hadn't seen fit to let her know… With a sigh Heather moved to open the door when the man knocked. She gave him a wary smile. "Can I help you?"

"Heard you might have a problem with the bathroom sink," he answered. His face was pleasant and he held out his hand. "Paul Harless. We met at my wife's cookout on Labor Day?"

"Oh, right." She remembered how nice he had been. How much Donna had enjoyed being carried around the yard on his shoulders. She shook his hand and opened the door wider so he could enter. "Did Mr. Parker call you?"

"Mr. Paul!" Donna suddenly cried, bounding forward to greet him with a grin.

"How's the sweetest little girl in town doing today?" he asked, playfully tousling her hair.

"Fine. Are you gonna fix the sink?"

"I'm sure going to try. Why don't you show me where it is so I can get to work?"

It was on the tip of Heather's tongue to ask if he usually worked on Sunday afternoons but Donna was already leading him down the hall. After shutting the door she followed. "Did Mr. Parker call you?" she asked again when she reached the bathroom. Donna was opening the doors of the cabinet beneath the sink.

"It pees all over if we don't put a bucket under it," she informed Paul.

"You mean it leaks," he corrected with a chuckle. He set his toolbox on the floor and knelt down to have a better look. "John didn't call me, Ms. Lucas."

"Then who…" Heather sighed when she realized. Of course. Justin. The man had found it necessary to empty the bucket and warn her about mold and mildew if the pipe wasn't fixed soon. "Mr. Harless--"

"It's Paul. And Justin told me about it this morning."

"Is he coming, too?" Donna asked hopefully.

"I don't know about that. I told him I'd swing by and see what I could do." Paul glanced up. "Won't take long. Just need to replace the joint."

"How much is that going to cost?" Heather dreaded the sudden expense.

"It's been taken care of. Donna, you think you can hold this flashlight for me?"

Eager to help, Donna took the flashlight and carefully aimed it into the cabinet. "Where's Mr. Timberlake?"

"Donna…"

Paul chuckled. "When I dropped him off after fishing he mentioned coming up with work for you to do in school this week."

"Did you catch a lot of fish?"

"Some."

"Do you use gross worms?"

"You know, I could never get the hang of using worms. I use lures."

"What are they?"

"I think I have one…" Paul set down his wrench and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small plastic bag that had a vivid neon green fishing lure inside. "This is a lure. I attach a hook to it and when the fish see it in the water they think it's food."

"Wow…" The flashlight wobbled as Donna stared at the bag. "Mommy can we go fishing?"

Heather didn't have the heart to tell her daughter she knew nothing about the sport. "We'll see."

Unfortunately that answer never satisfied Donna. "Can you take us, Mr. Paul?"