Right Next Door

by Debbie Macomber

  “I’d have to marry Alex first, and I’m not sure that’s going to happen,” she said reproachfully. One challenging look defied him to contradict her.

  “Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it? If you marry him, naturally.” Peter took a huge bite of the apple. Juice dribbled down his chin, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “I haven’t heard from Dad’s family in years, and they wouldn’t even care if someone adopted me. That way we could all have the same last name. Peter Preston has a cool sound to it, don’t you think?”

  “Peter,” she groaned, frustrated and angered by the way he turned a deaf ear to everything she said. “If this is another tactic to manipulate me into marrying Alex so you can go fishing, then I want you to know right now that I don’t appreciate it.”

  She was under enough pressure—mainly from herself—and she didn’t need her son applying any more.

  “But, Mom, think about how good our lives would be if you married Mr. Preston. He’s rich—”

  “I’ve heard all of this conversation that I want to. Now sit down and eat your dinner.” She dished up the crispy fried pork chop and a serving of rice and broccoli, and set the plate on the table.

  “You’re not eating?” Peter asked, looking mildly disappointed. “This is the third night you’ve skipped dinner this week.”

  Carol’s appetite had been nil for the entire two weeks. “No time. I’ve got to get ready for class.”

  “When will these sessions be over?”

  “Two more weeks,” she said, walking into her bedroom. Two weeks seemed to be the magical time period of late. Alex had given her two weeks to decide if she’d accept his proposal. Two weeks that were up today. He’d granted her the breathing space she needed to come to a sensible decision. Only “sensible” was the last thing Carol felt. It shouldn’t be this difficult. She wondered why she had so many doubts if she loved Alex—which she did. But Carol knew the answer to that.

  Alex’s marriage had been wonderful.

  Hers had been a disaster.

  He was hoping to repeat what he’d shared with Gloria.

  She wanted to avoid the pain Bruce had brought into her life.

  “Mom…phone.”

  Carol froze. She’d been on tenterhooks waiting for Alex to contact her. All day she’d felt a growing sense of dread. She’d expected Alex to come strolling out from behind every closed door, to suddenly appear when she least expected him.

  The last thing she’d figured he’d do was phone.

  With one shoe on, she hobbled over to her nightstand and picked up the phone, wondering what she was going to say.

  “Hello.”

  “Carol, it’s your mother.”

  “Hello, Ma, what can I do for you?” Relief must have been evident in her voice.

  Angelina Pasquale said, “I was in church this morning, lighting a candle to St. Rita, when something happened to my heart.”

  “Did you see your doctor?” Carol’s own heart abruptly switched gears. Her greatest fear was losing her mother to heart disease the way she’d lost her father.

  “Why should I see a doctor?” her mother protested. “I was talking to God—in my heart—and God was telling me I should have a talk with my daughter Carol, who’s deciding if she’s going to marry this rich non-Italian or walk away from the best thing since the invention of padded insoles.”

  “Mama, I’ve got a class—I don’t have time to talk.”

  “You’ve seen Alex?”

  “Not…yet.”

  “What are you going to tell him?”

  Her mother was being as difficult as Peter. Everyone wanted to make up her mind for her. Everyone knew what she should do. Everyone except Carol.

  “You know he’s not Catholic, don’t you?” she told her mother, who had once considered that an all-important factor in choosing a husband. Religion and an equally vital question—whether her potential husband was allergic to tomatoes.

  Her mother snickered. “I know he’s not Catholic! But don’t worry, I’ve got that all worked out with God.”

  “Mama, I’m sorry, but I have to leave now or I’ll be late for my class.”

  “So be late for once in your life. Who’s it gonna hurt? All day I waited, all day I said to myself, my bambina’s going to call and tell me she’s going to marry again. I want to do the cooking myself, you tell him that.”

  “Mama, what are you talking about?”

  “At the wedding. No caterers, understand? I got the menu all planned. We’ll serve—”

  “Ma, please.”

  It took Carol another five minutes to extricate herself from the conversation. Glancing at her watch, she groaned. Rushing from room to room, she grabbed her purse, her other shoe and her briefcase. She paused on her way out the door to kiss Peter on the cheek and remind him to do his homework. Then she jumped in the car, still wearing only one shoe.

  Her breathing was labored by the time she raced through traffic and pulled into the parking lot at the community center where the birthing classes were held.

  She’d piled everything she needed in her arms, including her umbrella, when she realized she’d left her lecture notes at the house.

  “Damn,” she muttered. She took two steps before she remembered she was carrying her shoe.

  “It might help if you put that on instead of holding it in your arms.”

  Carol froze. She whirled around, angry and upset, directing all her emotion at Alex. “This is your fault,” she said, dropping her shoe to the ground and positioning it with her toe until she could slip her foot inside. “First, Peter’s on my case, and now my mother’s claiming she received a message directly from God and that He’s worked out a deal with her, since you’re not Catholic, and frankly, Alex—don’t you dare laugh.” She finished with a huge breath. “I swear, if you laugh I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last living male in the state of Oregon.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, holding up both hands.

  “I should hope so. You don’t know what I’ve been through this past week.”

  “Your two weeks are up, Carol.”

  “You don’t need to tell me that. I know.”

  “You’ve decided?”

  Her eyes shut, and she nodded slowly. “I have,” she whispered.

  Thirteen

  “Before you tell me what you’ve decided,” Alex said, moving toward Carol, his eyes a smoky gray, “let me hold you.”

  “Hold me?” she echoed meekly. Alex looked one-hundred-percent male, and the lazy smile he wore was potent enough to tear through her defenses.

  “I’m going to do much more than simply hold you, my love,” he whispered, inching his way toward her.

  “Here? In a parking lot?”

  Alex chuckled and slipped his arms around her waist, tugging her closer. Carol had no resistance left in her. She’d been so lonely, so lost, without him. So confused.

  His mouth brushed hers. Much too briefly. Much too lightly.

  Carol didn’t want him to be gentle. Not when she was this hungry for his touch. Her lips parted in a firm and wanting kiss. Alex sighed his pleasure and she clung to him, needing him.

  When they drew apart, she rested her forehead against his. “Okay,” Alex said, his breath warm and heavy. “Tell me. I’m ready now.”

  “Oh, Alex,” she murmured, and her throat constricted with ready tears. “I can’t decide. I’ve tried and tried and tried, and the only thing I really know is I need more time.”

  “Time,” he repeated. Briefly he closed his eyes. His shoulders sagged with defeat. “You need more time. How much? A week? A month? Six months? Would a year fit into your schedule?” He broke away from her and rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “If you haven’t made up your mind by now, my guess is you never will. I love you, Carol, but you’re driving me insane with this waiting.”

  “Can’t you see things from my point of view?” she protested.

  “No, I can’t,” he said. “I’m grateful for
this time we’ve had, because it’s taught me something I hadn’t been willing to recognize before. I’m lonely. I want someone in my life—someone permanent. I want you as my wife. I need you as my wife. But if you don’t want what I’m offering, then I should cut my losses and look elsewhere.”

  A strangled cry erupted from her lips. He was being so unfair, pressuring her like this. Everything had to be decided in his time frame, without any allowance for doubts or questions. Something broke in Carol. Control. It was all about control. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow another man to control her the way Bruce had.

  “I think you’re right, Alex,” she finally said. “Find yourself someone else.”

  The shock of her words hit him like a blow to the head. He actually flinched, but all the while his piercing eyes continued to hold hers. Carol saw the regret and the pain flash through his burning gaze. Then he buried his hands in his pockets, turned and marched away.

  It was all Carol could do not to run after him, but she knew that if she did she’d be giving up her self-respect.

  Janice Mandle stuck her head out the door and scanned the parking lot. She looked relieved when she saw Carol, and waved.

  Carol waved back. Although she wanted nothing more than to be alone, she didn’t have any choice but to teach her class.

  Janice called, mentioning the time.

  Still Carol couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from Alex, holding on to him for as long as she could. He made her feel things she’d never known she was capable of experiencing. When he kissed her, she felt hot and quivery, as though she’d just awakened from a long, deep sleep. Spending time with him was fun and exciting. There’d been adventures waiting to happen with this man. Whole new worlds in the making. Yet something was holding her back. Something powerful. She wanted everything Alex was offering, and at the same time her freedom was too precious, too important.

  Carol didn’t see Alex again until the end of the week, when the boys were participating in the district track meet. James was running in the four-hundred-and eight-hundred-meter races, and Peter was scheduled for the 1500-meter. On their own, the two friends had decided to choose events in which they weren’t competing together. Carol had been impressed with their insight into each other’s competitive personalities.

  Carol’s mother had decided to attend the meet with her. Angelina was as excited as a kid at the circus. They’d just settled themselves in the bleachers when out of the corner of her eye, Carol saw Alex. Since they both had sons involved in track, she knew avoiding him would be nearly impossible, but she hadn’t expected to see him quite so soon. Although, in retrospect, she should’ve realized he’d be attending this important meet.

  Preparing herself, she sat stiffly on the bleachers as Alex strolled past. Instantly her heart started to thunder. His friend was with him, the one she’d met briefly—Barney or Bernie…Barney, she decided. Her hands were tightly clenched in her lap, and she was prepared to exchange polite greetings.

  To her consternation, Alex didn’t so much as look in her direction. Carol knew it would’ve been nearly impossible for him to have missed seeing her. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he’d done so—easily.

  “So when does the man running with the torch come out?” Angelina asked.

  “That’s in the Olympics, Mama,” Carol answered, her voice weak.

  Her mother turned to look in Carol’s direction, and her frown deepened. “What’s the matter with you?” she demanded. “You look as white as bleached flour.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “What is it?” Angelina asked stubbornly.

  “Alex…just walked past us.”

  “Not the Alex?”

  Carol nodded. Before she could stop her mother, Angelina rose to her feet and reached for Carol’s binoculars. “Where is he? I want to get a good look at this man who broke my daughter’s heart.”

  “Ma, please, let’s not get into that again.” The way her mother had defended her had touched Carol’s heart, although Angelina hadn’t wasted any time berating her daughter’s foolishness, either. She’d spent most of Sunday muttering at Carol in Italian. Carol wasn’t fluent enough to understand everything, but she got the gist of it. Angelina thought Carol was a first-class fool to let a man like Alex slip through her fingers.

  “I want one look at this Alex,” Angelina insisted. She raised the binoculars to her face and twisted the dials until she had them focused correctly. “I’m gonna give this man the eye. Now tell me where he’s sitting.”

  Carol knew it would be easier to bend a tire iron than persuade her mother to remove the binoculars and sit down before she made a scene.

  “He’s on your left, about halfway up the bleachers. He’s wearing a pale blue sweater,” she muttered. If he glanced in her direction, she’d be mortified. Heaven only knew what interpretation he’d put on her mother glaring at him through a set of field glasses, giving him what she so quaintly called “the eye.”

  Her mother had apparently found him, because she started speaking in Italian. Only this time her comments were perfectly understandable. She was using succulent, suggestive phrases about Alex’s sexual talents and how he’d bring Carol pleasure in bed.

  “Ma, please,” Carol wailed. “You’re embarrassing me.”

  Angelina sat down and put the glasses on her lap. She began muttering in Italian again, leaning her head close to Carol.

  “Ma!” she cried, distressed by the vivid language her mother was using. “You should have your mouth washed out with soap.”

  Angelina folded her hands and stared at the sky. “Such beautiful bambinos you’d have with this man.”

  Carol closed her eyes at the image of more children—hers and Alex’s. Emotion rocked through her.

  Her mother took the opportunity to make a few more succinct remarks, but Carol did her best to ignore them. It seemed as if the track meet wasn’t ever going to begin. Carol was convinced she’d have to spend the afternoon listening to her mother whispering in her ear. Just when she couldn’t endure it any longer, the kids involved in the hurdle events walked over to the starting line. They shook their arms at their sides and did a couple of stretching exercises. Carol was so grateful to have her mother’s attention on the field that it was all she could do not to rush out and kiss the coach.

  The four-hundred-meter race followed several hurdle events. Carol watched James through the binoculars as he approached the starting line. He looked confident and eager. As they were taking their positions, he glanced into the stands and cocked his head just slightly, acknowledging his father’s presence. When his gaze slid to Carol, his eyes sobered before he smiled.

  At the gun, the eight boys leapt forward. Carol immediately vaulted to her feet and began shouting at the top of her lungs.

  James crossed the finish line and placed second. Carol’s heart felt as though it would burst with pride. Without conscious thought her gaze flew to Alex, and she saw that he looked equally pleased by his son’s performance. He must have sensed her watching him because he turned his head slightly and their eyes met. He held on to hers for just a moment, and then with obvious reluctance looked away.

  Carol sagged onto her seat.

  “So who is this boy you scream for like a son?” her mother demanded.

  “James Preston—the boy who finished second.”

  “So that was Alex’s son?” Angelina asked slowly, as she took the binoculars and lifted them to her eyes once more. She was apparently satisfied with what she saw, because she grinned. “He’s a fine-looking boy, but he’s a little on the thin side. He needs my spaghetti to put some meat on those bones.”

  Carol didn’t comment. She did love James like a son. That realization forced a lump into her throat. And her heart—her poor, unsuspecting heart—was fluttering hard enough to take flight and leave her body behind.

  Feeling someone’s eyes on her, she glanced over her shoulder. Instantly Alex turned away. Carol’s hands began to tremble, and all he’d done was
look in her direction….

  James raced again shortly afterward, placing third in the eight-hundred-meter. For a high school sophomore, he was showing a lot of potential, Carol mused, feeling very proud of him.

  When her own son approached the starting line for his race, Carol felt as nervous as she ever had in her life….

  Since the 1500-meter meant almost four long turns around the track, it didn’t have the immediacy of the previous races. By the time Peter was entering the final lap, Carol and her mother were on their feet, shouting their encouragement. Carol in English. Angelina in Italian. From a distance, Carol heard a loud male voice joining theirs. Alex.

  When Peter crossed the finish line in a solid third position, Carol heaved a sigh of pride and relief. Tears dampened her lashes, and she raised her hands to her mouth. Both the first-and second-place winners were seniors. As a sophomore, Peter had done exceptionally well.

  Again, without any conscious decision on her part, Carol found herself turning to look at Alex. This time he was waiting for her, and they exchanged the faintest of smiles. Sad smiles. Lonely smiles. Proud smiles.

  Carol’s shoulders drooped with defeat. It was as if the worlds of two fools were about to collide.

  He was pushy. She was stubborn.

  He wanted a wife. She wanted time.

  He refused to wait. She refused to give in.

  Still their eyes held, each unwilling to pull away. So many concerns weighed on Carol’s heart. But memories, too—good memories. She remembered how they’d strolled through the lush green foliage of the Washington rain forest. Alex had linked his fingers with hers, and nothing had ever felt more right. That same night they’d sat by the campfire and sung with the boys, and fed each other roasted marshmallows.

  The memories glided straight to Carol’s heart.

  “Carol?”

  Dragging her gaze away from Alex, Carol turned to her mother.