Meg and Jo

by Virginia Kantra

  I looked into his handsome, smiling face, his dark, anxious eyes searching for the response he wanted. All our history was naked in his face. “I can’t,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.” So, so sorry.

  He drew a sharp breath. “Really, Jo? Can’t you?”

  “Trey, I wish I could!”

  “Right.” His expression shuttered. “I’m outta here.”

  “Trey!”

  The car door slammed.

  “Well, that was fun,” Amy said into the silence a few moments later.

  I wiped my eyes. “So much fun.”

  “Vroom,” DJ said. Meg hugged me, and he kicked me in the stomach. Which felt about right.

  “Come on.” Amy gave me a quick hug. “Let’s go inside, and I’ll fix your hair.”

  * * *

  How long are you going to be in New York?” I asked when I was seated on a kitchen chair, a towel over my shoulders. Amy danced around me, waving a pair of scissors.

  She shrugged. “A week?”

  “So long?” Meg asked.

  “I’m only in the way here.”

  “No, you’re not,” Meg said.

  Amy snipped. “Momma doesn’t need me. And I need to get away for a while. I’ll come back when she’s out of rehab.”

  “Can they spare you at work that long?”

  “Nobody is there over the holidays. And since I basically work for free . . . Anyway, I told Monsieur I’d visit the Garment District. I want to see the Fashion Institute. And Mood!”

  I resisted the urge to point out that she could have seen all those things if she’d come to visit me at any time over the past few years. “Where are you staying?”

  Amy busied herself with the scissors. “With the band.”

  Meg and I exchanged glances.

  “At their hotel?” Meg asked.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking,” Amy said. “Vaughn and I are friends.”

  If anyone could get her friends to spring for a week in New York at the height of the holidays, it would be Amy. But still . . .

  Meg bit her lip. “Maybe . . .”

  “You could use my place,” I offered. “It’s not much, but it’s empty. And the location is great.”

  “Really?” Amy hugged me, nearly jabbing me with the scissors. “Oh, that would be so awesome!” She hugged Meg. “You are the best sister.”

  “Hey, it’s my apartment,” I said.

  Amy beamed. “You’re the best sister, too.”

  * * *

  And I was, I thought on Friday as I knuckled my mother’s truck through traffic. I really was.

  The departure lane at the airport was clogged with people leaving town for New Year’s Eve. Or maybe going home after the holidays—back to work, back to school, back to bases across the country. The curb in front of the terminal teemed with soldiers with duffel bags, students with backpacks, gray-haired seniors in wheelchairs.

  I found a spot behind a black SUV and parked. Amy pulled her suitcase from the backseat.

  “Got the key?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Text me when you get there.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll see you in a week.”

  “I might stay a little longer.”

  I sighed. “Just don’t be stupid, okay?”

  She smiled crookedly. “I love you, too.”

  She kissed me on both cheeks—very French—and strode away through the sliding doors, her boots tap-tapping on the sidewalk. The walkway teemed with suitcases and families saying good-bye. A woman in camouflage hugged a toddler tight, her cheek to the child’s hair. A mother reached up to hold her son. In the space ahead of me, the SUV’s doors swung open, and Eric got out.

  My heart lurched.

  He saw me, and the pleasure on his face slashed me like a razor. “Jo! You are on my flight? To New York?”

  “Uh . . . No.” Disappointment made me dumb. “I’m here to drop off my sister.” I waved vaguely toward the terminal. “Amy.”

  “Ah.” He turned to the two lanky teenagers standing by the curb. “My sons. This is Miss March.”

  I flushed. “Jo, please.”

  “Hey. Bryan.” The tall one in the red jersey, with the straggling chin patch, shook my hand.

  “Nice to meet you.” He had his father’s watchful eyes.

  He nudged his brother, who started forward. “Alec.”

  Dinosaur sandwiches, I remembered. The boy shot a startled look at Eric. Oh crap. I’d said it out loud. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Your dad mentioned when you were little, he used to cut your sandwiches into, um, dinosaur shapes.”

  The confused look melted into a grin. “Cool. Yeah, that’s right.”

  Such lovely boys. They went to open the back of the SUV, leaving me standing with their father on the curb. So awkward.

  “Thanks for the book,” I said. “And . . . and everything.”

  “Thank you for the link,” Eric replied politely.

  “You’ve been here? All this time?” Without seeing me.

  “There is a soccer tournament. In Florida.” He gestured toward his older son. “We are back yesterday. And you? You return soon?”

  I risked a look at his expression. Did he want me to return? “No. No, I’m staying. To take care of my mother.”

  “How is she?”

  “She’s good. Better,” I amended. “Her surgery went well. She’ll be in rehab for a couple more weeks. I’m helping out until then.”

  Bryan dumped his father’s bag on the sidewalk, and they all did that one-armed hug thing men do, with lots of back patting. Their obvious affection for one another, their ease, brought a lump to my throat. I sidled toward my car, feeling like an intruder, trying to get out of the way.

  “Jo.” Eric’s voice tripped me up. I turned as the SUV pulled away, Bryan at the wheel. “Jo.” Eric took a step closer, his beautiful hazel eyes focused on me. Seeing me. “You look . . .”

  I ducked my head self-consciously. “Scalped?”

  “Ah, your hair.” He raised his hand. Just the touch of his hand on the ends of my hair electrified me. His smile started at the corner of his mouth and settled in his eyes. “No. You look . . . content. Your writing, your blog, it is going well?”

  I swallowed. “Thanks to you.” Content. Content? Was that a compliment? “Half the comments are about you.”

  He waved the acknowledgment away. “Nichts zu danken. You are a good writer. I saw Michael commented yesterday.”

  A car honked behind me. “Who?” I asked.

  “Michael Burdette. From Squeal.”

  My breath rushed out. Burdette owned three renowned restaurants in North Carolina, including the pork-themed Squeal in Wilmington. “Wow. McSqueal is Michael Burdette? I didn’t know.”

  “You should call him.”

  “I’m not looking for a job.”

  “About your cheese. He’s on the lookout for local suppliers.”

  “Oh. Right. I will. Thank you.”

  “Vivian, too.”

  A security guard in an orange traffic vest approached. “Ma’am, I’ve got to ask you to move your truck.”

  I ignored him. “Vivian Howard?”

  “The Chef and the Farmer.”

  “I know who she is. You want me to call Vivian Howard?”

  Eric raised an eyebrow. “Connections. They are important, yeah?”

  “Absolutely.” My eyes drank him in hungrily.

  He hesitated for a second and then said, “You have time for a coffee?”

  Yes. Anything. “I can’t leave the truck.”

  “Of course,” he said politely. “You must go.”

  “And you have a plane to catch,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  The guard was back.
“Ma’am . . . Your truck.”

  I clutched the keys in my hand. Eric was leaving. And I hadn’t said half of what I needed to say. “I’m sorry,” I blurted.

  “I am sorry, too. I lost my temper with you.”

  “I overreacted. I shouldn’t have run away.”

  His eyes crinkled in that appealing half smile, his gaze clear and a little sad. “Maybe you run to something, not away, yeah?”

  “I think so. I hope so.”

  He inclined his head. “Then I am happy you have found it.”

  I could feel him leaving, withdrawing from me, and there were no words, I couldn’t find the words in time to make him stay. “I’ll be back,” I babbled. “Sometime. I mean, I have to clear out my apartment, right?”

  “Ah. Yes. Maybe you will call me when you . . .” Another tiny hesitation. “Visit New York.”

  Like a booty call. My heart sank. “Yes. Of course.”

  He half turned away. Turned back. His arms wrapped around me, half lifting me off my feet. He hugged me hard, muttering something into my hair.

  “Ma’am.” The security guard sounded pained.

  Before I could react, before I could say anything, Eric released me and walked away without looking back.

  “Ma’am, you can’t stay here. You have to move on.”

  Stupid phrase. Move on. Moving on. I watched Eric’s broad back all the way into the terminal.

  * * *

  Are you sure you’re all right staying home with the twins?” Meg asked. She and John were leaving for a New Year’s Eve party at Belle Gardiner’s. My sister looked fantastic.

  “Absolutely.” I waved them away. “You kids have fun.”

  John smiled, one hand at the small of her back. “Thanks.”

  “You, too,” Meg said.

  And I did. Daisy and DJ were at their most adorable, popping in and out of a giant carton that doubled as a fort/cave/spaceship, snuggling with me on the couch to read Where the Wild Things Are before bed. We paraded like monsters up the stairs, all of us in our pajamas.

  “Yum, yum, yum,” I growled as I tucked them in, nuzzling their sweet necks. “Must. Eat. Children.” And they squealed and hugged me with their chubby arms. DJ gave me his slow, wide smile and a kiss.

  “I love you, Auntie Jo,” Daisy said.

  My heart filled. “Love you, little monsters. So much.”

  One day, I thought, turning out the lights.

  But, God, I was exhausted. Lately I seemed to be tired all the time. There was a bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Salted Caramel Core in the freezer. I got the ice cream and a spoon and sat down with the dog to watch When Harry Met Sally almost to the bitter end, when Billy Crystal ran through the streets of New York to find Meg Ryan. Their eyes met, caught, and held across the crowded room as the party counted down around them. Not because he was lonely. Not because it was New Year’s Eve. But because he saw her. Because he loved her.

  Crap. I checked my phone for messages. Zilch. Zip. No voice mail. No e-mail. No new comments on the blog.

  He was working, I told myself. Everyone in the restaurant world worked on New Year’s Eve. There would be two seatings and a special menu. The kitchen would be hot and crowded and intense, crackling with energy. At midnight, there would be a special champagne toast, and Eric would circulate through the dining room, making every guest feel welcome.

  “Maybe you will call me when you visit New York.” His long-distance booty call. But, oh, that look in his eyes when I told him I wasn’t coming back . . .

  I grabbed my phone. Not calling. Come see me, I texted.

  Not that I was counting on an answer. I’d broken up with him. Or he’d broken up with me. Besides, he was in the middle of service. The kitchen would stay open as long as people were there and ordering. He probably wouldn’t even check his messages until morning.

  I switched to the ball drop in Times Square. Nothing like watching puking hordes of tourists in the Hellmouth to make me feel better about missing New Year’s Eve in New York. I wondered how Amy was faring with her friends. I hoped she was happy. Or at least warm.

  The dog put her head on my knee, fixing me with Disney dog eyes.

  “Happy New Year,” I said, and let her lick the spoon.

  My phone pinged. I lurched for it, rousing a bark from Lady.

  A single word. When?

  A grin started on my insides and spread to my face. He was coming! He was coming? He’d just been down here to visit his boys. He rarely left the restaurant. I couldn’t hope . . . I didn’t expect . . .

  NC is beautiful in the spring, I typed, and held my breath.

  I’ll be there. Happy New Year, beautiful Jo.

  My whole body suffused with smiles. Happy New Year.

  I fell asleep on the couch, covered with a blanket, breathing in the good Christmas-tree smell. Sometime during the night, the dog crawled up on the couch with me, a heavy, comforting presence.

  In the morning, the dog slunk down, and Daisy and DJ took her place. “Auntie Jo!”

  “Oof,” I said as DJ’s knee found my stomach.

  “Sorry.” Meg, flushed and pretty, appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “I told them to let you sleep.”

  I cuddled them close, ignoring my queasiness at the faint whiff of diaper. “It’s okay.”

  Meg frowned. “Are you all right?”

  I reached for my phone under the blanket. Smiled. “Too much ice cream last night.”

  Meg nodded. “I’ll make coffee.”

  “Coffee would be great,” I said fervently. “Thanks.”

  She laughed and corralled her herd, driving them toward the kitchen. I sat a minute, taking slow, deep breaths. Checked my phone. No text from Eric.

  That’s okay, I told myself. At least I wasn’t running away anymore. I was moving forward. Even if I couldn’t quite see my destination yet.

  I staggered into the kitchen. The smell of coffee, rich as chocolate, earthy as soil, hit me like a slap.

  “Here you go,” Meg said. “Half-and-half?”

  I gripped the carton, the sides wet with condensation. Added a dollop to my mug. The cream swirled and sank, dark and light in an acid brew.

  Nausea rolled in my gut. I forced it down. Took one sip, and bolted for the bathroom.

  Humiliating minutes later, Meg stood in the bathroom door, pity in her eyes. “Oh, Jo.”

  I spat into the toilet. “I’m fine,” I said weakly. “It’s just something I ate.”

  “Or didn’t eat.” She disappeared. Came back a minute later with a juice glass full of—ginger ale?—and some saltines. “Here.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not hungry.”

  She set the glass by the sink and handed me the crackers. “Try it.”

  Clearly, she wasn’t going to budge. To please her, I took a sip of ginger ale. Took a bite of saltine and let it dissolve in my mouth.

  “Better. Thanks.” I smiled, but my sister’s worried expression didn’t go away. “Really, I feel better. It’s probably just a stomach bug or something. I hope the kids don’t catch it.”

  “Are you sure it’s a bug?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Meg bit her lip. “Jo . . . When was your last period?”

  Oh. “I don’t know. Right after Thanksgiving?”

  “You don’t keep track?”

  No. “It’s not like I have sex all the time,” I said. Until recently. Until Eric.

  My sister was diplomatically silent.

  Oh. My stomach lurched again. Not the ice cream. Not a stomach bug. Oh no.

  CHAPTER 26

  Meg

  The cashier at the drugstore glanced at the pregnancy test before putting it in the bag. “Good luck, dear,” she said, her tone nicely balanced between congratu
lations (in case I wanted to be pregnant) and sympathy (in case I didn’t).

  “Thank you. Happy New Year,” I said, and hurried to the car.

  I’d wanted to spare my sister the awkwardness of running into anybody we knew. Jo was waiting for me at home. Getting started on dinner, she had explained to John when he invited her to go with him and the twins to the park. I’d bought a spiral-cut ham, figuring it would be no work. But Jo was determined to prepare the traditional New Year’s Day dinner. For luck. “Rice for riches, peas for pennies, collards for dollars, corn bread for gold,” our mother would say. Jo had promised to bring a plate to her tomorrow.

  Along with the news that she was going to be a grandmother again?

  I went in the kitchen door. Jo was stirring a big pot of greens on the stove. “Just like Momma’s,” I said.

  “I made collards and corn bread for staff dinner once,” Jo said. “For Eric.”

  I nodded. I didn’t know what to say.

  Jo’s chin raised. “Right.” She wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Let’s do this thing.”

  I pulled the pregnancy test from the bag. “It’s supposed to be most accurate first thing in the morning.”

  She ripped the box open. “I have to know now.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  Jo smiled crookedly. “I can pee by myself,” she said in a fair imitation of Daisy. She grabbed a wrapped stick and marched with it into the downstairs powder room.

  I remembered taking my pregnancy test, getting up extra early so John would be home to share the results. The anticipation. Our joy when those two little lines appeared.

  My poor sister. She’d been in the bathroom a long time. I glanced at the clock. Longer than three minutes.

  The back door opened and John walked in, bringing the twins and the cold air with him. And the dog. And . . .

  “Trey!” I said, dismayed.

  “Hey, Meg. Happy New Year.” He bent to kiss my cheek, smelling of the outdoors and deodorant and rather pleasantly of sweat.

  I looked over his shoulder at John, who had the grace to look a little shame-faced. “He was running in the park. I asked him back for a beer. Not for dinner,” he added.