He swallowed a reluctant laugh. Even at the Daddy School, which ought to have nothing to do with Filomena, there she was, nudging her way back to the front his mind.
“Now, usually I teach Daddy School classes to fathers of newborns,” Allison said. “Or sometimes even fathers whose babies haven’t been born yet. These fathers are anxious. They feel ignorant or incompetent when it comes to child care. They believe their female partners know much more about child care than they do—and often, they’re right,” she added with an easy smile. “Then you guys take a class like this, and you learn to be complete experts in father-child relationships—” this brought rousing guffaws from the men “—and you forget that one of the most important jobs fathers have is to help your children relate better to the women in their lives. If you don’t nurture that relationship, you’re failing in your job as a father, just as the women who deal with your children would be failing in their jobs if they didn’t nurture the children’s relationships with you.”
Evan listened as Allison discussed some of the things men could do to support their children’s relationships with mothers and other female caregivers. He agreed with some of her suggestions and disagreed with others—for instance, her assertion that lots of men felt threatened by a strong mother-child relationship. He didn’t feel threatened by his kids’ affection for Filomena. Quite the opposite—he thought it was wonderful. The only downside to their relationship with her was that the more attached to her they grew, the harder it would be on them when she left.
He couldn’t bear to watch his kids lose Filomena. They’d lost the woman in their lives once, and he hated the possibility of their repeating that painful experience. Not that Filomena was their mother, not that she was in any way bound to them as Debbie had been, but…he just couldn’t let it happen.
On the other hand, Filomena had been in their lives for only a couple of weeks. She would be in their lives for only a few weeks more. Surely they could survive her departure. If he kept them busy enough, if he started coming home from work earlier—which he would once the holiday-sales season ended—they might not even notice that Filomena wasn’t around.
Kids were resilient. And his kids had him, and he was never, ever going to leave them.
“So you need to remember that just as you like to have special time with your kids, those women like to have special time with the kids, too. Men tend to think that because women spend so many hours with the children, they don’t need that special time. But if all a woman is doing with her children is feeding them and shopping for them and taking them to the dentist, that’s not the same thing as playing go-fish with them, or taking a walk with them, or going to see a special movie with them.”
Filomena was free take the kids to as many saccharine-sweet movies as she wanted without any interference from him, Evan thought generously.
“Men have to be unselfish when it comes to special time,” Allison lectured. “They have to contribute more to the not-special stuff. If you’re married and it’s your routine to go off and play with the kids after dinner while your wife cleans the kitchen, think about occasionally volunteering to clean the kitchen so she can play with the kids. That’s good fathering. Even though you’re not with the children, you’re being a good father to them. Do you see what I’m getting at?”
The men began speaking up. One was truly hostile toward his ex-wife; Evan was glad he didn’t fit into that category. Next to him, Murphy settled back in his chair, his legs stretched out before him and his arms folded across his chest. He’d had a reasonably amicable divorce, Evan recalled, and now he was happily remarried, raising his twins with his new wife. Not a bad outcome.
Evan had no idea what outcome awaited him and his children. Two years after their family had fallen apart, they were still in limbo. If Filomena left—damn, it hurt to consider that possibility, but he’d be a fool to pretend it didn’t exist—he was going to have to take steps to socialize more, to try to make his life complete. With or without her.
They weren’t in love, after all. Not yet, and maybe they never would be. But as Murphy had pointed out, it was time Evan started building a new life.
Filomena’s arrival had forced him to acknowledge that he was ready for a new life. Which alone was reason enough to love her, he thought with a wry smile.
FREDDY THE PIG just wasn’t doing it for her.
She’d been neglecting her studies terribly. She knew her graduate adviser would forgive her for falling a bit behind schedule in her thesis work. She’d lost her mother, after all. Her life was in turmoil. She’d be ready to teach a section of the Modern American Literature survey course next spring; the curriculum didn’t change much from year to year, and she’d taught the class before. This fall, she’d planned to dedicate the bulk of her time to compiling her research, organizing it and writing the damned thesis.
But the magic was gone.
She used to find excitement in the pages of Walter Brooks’s books, his tales of barnyard animals exemplifying the best and worst of humanity. She used to take joy in analyzing the interactions of Freddy and Jinx the cat, and Mrs. Wiggins the cow, and the befuddled but kindly Beans, the humans who foolishly believed they were actually in charge of the farm.
No more. Magic existed in Filomena’s life, but it didn’t lie in the pages of her books—or, for that matter, in the stack of cards wrapped in silk on her dresser.
The magic was in a house on the other side of the woods. The magic was in her imagination, drawing her to the Myerses, making her want what she most feared: becoming dependent on them.
Bad enough that she depended on them for company, for a purpose and a routine in her daily life, for the spark of energy that fueled her as she continued her room-by-room assault on her own house, preparing it for sale. Far worse was that she depended on Evan and his children for the magic in her life.
Tuesday was her day off. Evan had his poker game that night, and he arranged his workday so he could escape from the office early and pick up the kids himself. Given that she’d spent Monday evening with them so he could attend his Daddy School class, she deserved Tuesday off. She ought to appreciate the tranquillity of an evening without Billy and Gracie.
After finishing a meal of shrimp and herbed rice, a fresh spinach salad and a glass of wine, she lit candles around the living room and put Handel’s Water Music on her portable stereo, and tried to remember what her life had been like before that night, exactly two weeks ago, when she’d caught those two scamps snooping through her window.
Peaceful. Lonely. Dull.
She wanted to buy them Christmas presents. She probably ought to confer with Evan first, to make sure he wouldn’t mind—but she wanted to buy him a Christmas present, too. If she did, would he think she was presumptuous? Would it be embarrassing if she gave him something and he had nothing to give her?
Sitting in her living room, her candles glazing the air with whispers of golden light and Handel’s celebratory music embracing her, she took a sip from her refilled glass of wine and found courage in it. The hell with whether Evan considered her presumptuous. The hell with worrying about embarrassing herself. She had been many things in her life, but embarrassed wasn’t one of them. When, as a teenager, she’d capsized a kayak in water so shallow she’d actually bumped her head on the river bottom, she hadn’t been embarrassed. When she’d started her solo a measure early during the spring glee-club concert at her college, she hadn’t been embarrassed. Embarrassment had always seemed to her a waste of emotional energy.
If she gave Evan a gift and he didn’t have one for her, who cared? She would be giving him something because she wanted to, because he’d made these past few weeks easier to endure, because he’d made her laugh and smile and dream. As he’d said, this could be the start of a lifelong friendship. Filomena couldn’t imagine a time in her life when she wouldn’t want to drop in on Evan in Arlington, to see how he and the children were doing, to gaze into his glittering eyes and remember the sensatio
n of his fingers tangled in her hair.
She would definitely buy him a present.
DUDLEY ROAD was all dressed up for Christmas. Store windows had been taken over by elves, Santas and snowmen. Garlands of silver and red tinsel snaked around the displays; candy canes dangled from the showcase ceilings, and white foam shaped to resemble snowdrifts blanketed the showcase floors. In front of the Connecticut Bank and Trust, a fellow in a Santa suit rang a bell and asked for donations for a local homeless shelter.
Filomena stuffed a dollar into his kettle and smiled. She’d spent the entire morning upstairs in the dusty, dingy attic of her house, sorting through cartons of junk. She couldn’t begin to guess why her parents had thought it necessary to save plastic egg cups, old aprons, a cracked orange juicer and a percolator missing its basket, although she supposed they deserved a point or two for having assembled all those items in one carton and labeled it “kitchen.” The carton labeled “living room,” however, was filled with items that must have come from the garage: a hand spade and a gardening claw, a hose nozzle, an unopened plastic bottle of motor oil. Why had anyone carried motor oil upstairs to the attic and stored it in a cardboard box?
She’d lugged the cartons downstairs. Their contents would mostly end up in the trash, but she felt obligated to go through each carton and make sure it contained no treasures worth saving for nostalgia’s sake. Still, she deserved a reward for her hours in the attic, and that reward would be a shopping excursion to downtown Arlington.
The chilly air stung her cheeks and swirled under the hem of her skirt as she strolled down the street, pausing to admire each window display. She had to be careful not to spend money like a maniac—but she’d been budgeting her funds carefully ever since she’d begun graduate school five years ago, so frugality was a habit with her.
She’d already picked out presents for Gracie and Billy. Gracie would be getting Winnie-the-Pooh, one of the finest talking-animal books in the history of Western literature, and a Piglet doll to hold while someone—Filomena liked to imagine herself in this role—read chapters of the book to the little girl. For Billy, she’d bought a basic chess set, because he’d told her, one late afternoon last week when they’d been waiting for Evan to come home, that he didn’t have one. She also found a book that explained the game in language a third grader could understand. And she’d bought another talking-animal classic, Charlotte’s Web, for both children to share.
Books were her weakness.
The kids’ presents were crammed into her leather backpack, slung over one shoulder. She hadn’t yet figured out what to get for Evan. She’d considered a book for him, too, but she hadn’t found any that seemed right. Did he read adventure novels? Did he like history? She suspected that when he came home from his long, tiring days, all he wanted to do was be with his children. He didn’t really have the time to lose himself in the pages of a book.
If he had a wife or a partner, or even a full-time housekeeper, he’d probably read more. Maybe someday he would…and she decided not to think about that.
So. No book for Evan. She wanted to give him something wonderful, something that would make him smile, something perfect—if only she could figure out what.
Digging her hands into the pockets of her coat, she continued down the street. At a department store she paused. A sweater? A scarf? No, too predictable.
She paused again at a shop specializing in kitchenware. A Crock-Pot? If she gave him one, he wouldn’t have to serve broiled something for dinner every night.
But she couldn’t picture Evan preparing stews. More important, she couldn’t picture Gracie and Billy eating stews. They’d struggled with her stuffed peppers, which were really rather basic. In fact, she’d noticed they tended to avoid vegetables whenever possible.
Maybe she could give Evan something fun, like an ice-cream maker. But then she noticed the price tag attached to the electric ice-cream maker in the display window. Over one hundred dollars on sale.
Turning from the store, she closed her eyes and visualized Evan. She saw his perpetually tousled hair, the clean sharp lines of his face, the easy way in which he moved his body. She heard his quiet laugh, pictured his hesitant smile, observed the grace of his large, strong hands.
He needed time. More than anything, he needed time.
Grinning, she continued down the street, heading for a gift shop she remembered her mother favoring years ago. It was a boutique on Newcombe, off Dudley, and it specialized in one-of-a-kind items, handcrafted objects, some pieces utter kitsch and others works of art. She hoped the store still existed.
It did. Her grin expanding, she swept into the shop, hearing a bell jingle above the door as it closed behind her. She held herself motionless for a moment, settling her backpack on her shoulders so she wouldn’t accidentally swing it and knock some fragile knickknack off a shelf.
To her left stood a display of pottery—planters and plates resonant with a deep-burgundy glaze. One bowl was so beautiful her breath caught. She gingerly lifted it and looked at the price tag underneath. One hundred twenty dollars. She set the bowl down.
She wasn’t there to shop for herself, anyway. And somehow, she doubted Evan would be as taken by the magnificent craftsmanship of the wine-colored bowl. She had to focus on finding something he’d need and appreciate and love.
Time.
When a clerk approached her with a smile, Filomena said, “I’m looking for a clock. The most bizarre, wonderful clock you’ve got.”
TWELVE NOON had to be the worst hour to get any shopping done, but Evan didn’t have much choice. He’d spent the morning smoothing out distribution problems, as usual, and getting tallies on what merchandise was moving well and what was stagnating on the shelves in each outlet. He’d also spent a few minutes trying to talk to Jennifer, but she seemed to have transformed into a blithering goofball overnight. “What exactly is going on between you and Tank Moody?” he demanded to know.
“Rapport,” she said with a dreamy smile.
“I don’t want you falling in love with him. He plays for New England. Their stadium is outside Boston. Our headquarters are here in Arlington. Do you see the problem?”
“Don’t worry,” she replied. “There isn’t going to be a problem.”
“As long as you don’t do anything stupid and run off with him,” Evan muttered, not sure exactly what most unnerved him. The possibility of losing his indispensable vice president? The possibility of losing her to a glamorous professional athlete?
Or the strangely nettlesome notion that she was pursuing her heart’s desire, while he was debating with himself about how aggressive he ought to be with Filomena, how resolutely he ought to pursue her, how much he ought to hope for.
Over the weekend, he’d convinced himself he had plenty of grounds for hope. After the Daddy School, he’d backed off from that conclusion, convinced that he could jeopardize his children’s happiness by becoming involved with Filomena when he knew she was planning to vanish from Arlington in a few short weeks. Tuesday night, as he’d listened to his poker pals trading mild gripes about their significant others, he’d wondered whether he might be better off exactly as he was.
Alone.
He’d been alone too long. That was his problem. The few women he’d dated in the years since Debbie had left had never posed any threat to his heart or his emotional well-being. They hadn’t counted.
Filomena did. Day and night, in his thoughts and in his dreams, she was there. Enticing him. Enchanting him. Bewitching him into believing she was the only woman in his life who had ever truly mattered.
If not for Billy and Gracie, he’d go after Filomena without a moment’s pause. Why not? All he’d have to lose was his pride, which was replaceable, and his heart, which he knew from experience would heal. But his kids…he couldn’t risk their hearts, could he?
He’d put together a decent shopping list with some useful input from Murphy and from his marketing guy at Champion. Stuart had suggested candy, but
he’d also suggested a freestanding two-person dome tent, an item selling surprisingly strongly in all the outlets this season. Evan would bet Gracie and Billy would love camping out in the backyard. The dome tent would be easy to pitch and take down. Maybe next summer, he and the kids would go camping.
He didn’t want to get all their Christmas gifts from Champion Sports, though. That would be cheating.
He had a few articles of clothing on his list—also cheating, in a way, but they were items the kids needed, and if he wrapped them up and put them under the tree, they would seem more special and make the piles of gifts look bigger. He was also planning on some major toy purchases: a civilization-building computer game for Billy, a computer arithmetic game for Gracie, a couple of heavily advertised board games that the kids had been screeching for, a race-car set with twisting tracks. And a few videos. For their stockings, barrettes and cheap jewelry doodads for Gracie, a few Matchbox cars for Billy, trading cards for both.
Evan was going to have to buy all of it during brief breaks from work. His life would have been easier if he’d been able to slip out of his office at any time other than noon, when Hauser Boulevard and Dudley Road filled to the point of gridlock with shoppers using their lunch hours to shop. But today, this was how his schedule had worked out.
He would buy the toys another day. The discount toy store was a mile down Hauser, and he’d need his car to transport all the stuff he bought. Today, since he had only a midday break, he’d check out the department stores and try to pick up some of the apparel items on his list. Clothing was light; he didn’t need his car to carry it.
He wanted this Christmas to be good for the kids. Last year they—and he—had been in kind of a daze, not quite sure how to go about celebrating the holiday without Debbie present. The year before last was the year Debbie had left, and the entire holiday season had been hellish. He’d relinquished all responsibility for the occasion to his parents, who had bought the kids some lovely presents, put up a tree in their house and had Evan bring Billy and Gracie down to New Haven for a few days, just to be away from their sad, sorry home.
’Tis the Season Page 18
