As planned, she stopped at the drugstore on her way home from work to buy toothpaste, which was on sale. As always when she went to the drugstore, she looked around for bargain items or grooming products the supermarket didn’t stock. But when she placed her purchases on the counter to be checked, she was shocked by what she’d put into the cart on this particular visit: a pouch of the expensive hair conditioner that made her hair shiny when she took the time to use it, scented bath oil, mascara and lipstick.
The mascara was especially surprising. She’d been out of the cosmetic for weeks and hadn’t bothered to shop for it. She wore very little makeup to school. But tomorrow she was going to be seeing Richard Benson, and so today she was buying mascara—and lipstick that matched the cranberry scarf she always wore with her gray suit. She couldn’t possibly wear anything tomorrow except her gray suit. It was understated enough not to look conspicuous when she wore it to school; yet it was the most flattering thing in her closet.
Not that it mattered.
Barbara watched the clerk slide the purchases over the electronic scanner one by one and frowned. Who was she trying to kid, anyway? It mattered. It mattered a lot. Maybe because everything between Richard and her had ended so badly. Or, maybe, because it had ended in so much pain, and it had ended without resolution.
“I want you so much, Barbara.” This, breathlessly, as Barbara pushed his hand away from the zipper of her jeans.
“I know, Richard.” Just as breathless and desperate. “And I want to say yes. It’s just...I’m scared. I’m not ready yet.”
And then, with an ugly inflection of frustration, “Well, maybe I should find someone who is ready. Someone who’s grown up enough to please a man.”
The words had cut like a knife. Barbara had choked back tears and thrust her head high. “If that’s what you want, then go ahead. Find someone else.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Maybe you ought to.”
“Don’t you think I can?”
“Sure. If that’s what you want.”
A man. He’d been all of nineteen years old. With the perspective of hindsight and maturity, Barbara could almost see the ironic humor in his words. She might even have found the memory amusing—if it hadn’t held the power, still, to wound her so deeply.
Because Richard had found someone else. He’d found Christine, whom everyone knew was a very obliging girl to frustrated men. And he’d paraded her into the stadium for the homecoming football game.
The news had spread like wildfire. Richard had dumped Barbara for a tramp. Barbara, who’d gone to the game without a date, confident that Richard would show up and they would make up, and everything would be rosy again.
The next thing she’d heard about Richard was that he’d married Christine on his Christmas break to give their child a name. She’d heard later on that they’d had a baby girl, and that Richard had dropped out of the state university to work full time.
The next year Barbara had gone away to college, where she’d met Dennis. Dennis hadn’t been passionate like Richard. He couldn’t make Barbara feel the things Richard had made her feel. That had been the reason she’d felt safe dating him; eventually, it was the main reason she divorced him.
And now Richard was living in Orlando, too. Funny how things worked out.
* * *
UNSURE how she was going to react to the sight of him, Barbara arrived at her office early the next morning. She wanted to be in familiar surroundings and prepared when she saw him, not caught off guard on the sidewalk or in the hallway.
Shiny-haired, softened, moisturized, perfumed and mascaraed, too nervous to chance a cup of coffee and too wound up to keep from fidgeting, she sat behind her desk and pondered all the possibilities of the imminent meeting.
Seventeen years. He could be fat and bald.
Yeah. Sure.
What would he say? What should she say?
What if he didn’t recognize her? How would she handle that? Laugh gently and say, “Oh, by the way, my name used to be Simmons”? Not mention it and hope he didn’t notice?
Oh, God, what if she told him who she was and he didn’t even remember her? What if the two years they’d spent as sweethearts had meant nothing to him? What if he’d never even given her a thought in all the years since that horrible football game?
What if he recognized her, and everything was exactly as it had been seventeen years ago?
Barbara wasn’t sure which prospect terrified her the most.
When he arrived, five minutes early, she was glad she’d had the benefit of forewarning. He was not fat. He was not bald. He was simply Richard, older and unforgivably improved by age.
Laugh lines had given his face character, and his hair, no longer bleached by the sun, was darker. The twenty pounds he’d picked up had been much kinder to him than the ten pounds Barbara had acquired; they gave him a look of solidity and authority he hadn’t possessed as a skinny adolescent.
She would have known him anywhere.
And she knew the instant he recognized her. It was in the middle of saying her name, after he’d stepped tentatively into her office. “Ms. Wil—”
He froze, fought for equilibrium—then finished, “My, God. Barbara?”
“Hello, Richard.”
She had forgotten how he could look at a woman, as though he were taking in every detail of her. Or perhaps, as a seventeen-year-old, she’d been too innocent to fully appreciate the sensual quality of what he was doing. She’d just thought he had a neat way of looking at her and making her feel all warm inside.
Now, as a woman, she appreciated his gaze for what it was, and her insides still melted under the sizzle of it.
For a long moment—an eternity—they stared at each other. Remembering. Reacting. The small room filled with tension, until the very air seemed heavy as Barbara tried to breathe.
And then, at last, Richard broke the stalemate.
“You could have warned me,” he said.
2
BARBARA.
In all the dark, quiet moments haunted by the memories of her, Richard had never envisioned her any other way than the way she’d been the last time he’d seen her. Why hadn’t he realized she would grow older, too?
Her face was more mature, but still beautiful. Her hair was conservatively styled, but still shiny. It would be soft, too; he remembered the way it had felt when he’d touched it.
She was slightly heavier, but the weight filled out curves that had been mere promises in her youth. And her eyes—
They were exactly the same: large, green, expressive. He saw apprehension in their depths as she forced a smile.
“I wasn’t sure,” she said.
“That I would remember you?” he asked, bemused by that prospect.
“That you were the same Richard Benson.”
“Your name is different.”
Just for an instant, sadness veiled her eyes. “I was married.”
“Was?”
“It didn’t last.”
“I’m sorry.” He truly was. Lord, how could a man smart enough to marry Barbara be stupid enough to divorce her?
“It’s been over for years,” she said.
Silence crept between them until, finally, she indicated the chair facing her desk. “We need to talk about Missy.”
Richard nodded. “Of course.”
Of course. Oh, God, she knew about Missy. It was her job to know.
Richard’s jaw clenched. His lips compressed into a grim line. Why did it have to be Barbara of all people? What kind of father did she think he was? What kind of human being had she thought he was seventeen years ago when he’d jilted her for the town tramp because she wouldn’t sleep with him?
He felt naked suddenly, stripped of pretenses and dignity, like a knight caught by an enemy without mail or armor. And then he looked at Barbara, dwarfed by the sturdy wooden teacher’s desk, and wondered how he could equate her, even symbolically, with an enemy. He searched her eyes for
censure but found only concern.
She opened a file folder, glanced at it briefly, then looked at Richard’s face and smiled. “Missy’s a wonderful girl, Richard.”
Richard acknowledged the comment with an awkward shrug, wondering where the conversation was going. It would have been easier to talk to a stranger than to Barbara. She knew too much about him.
“I have her application for home study here,” Barbara said, crisply professional.
Richard nodded.
Barbara’s gaze met his levelly. “Can you tell me why you think home study is necessary?”
“Missy’s an excellent student,” Richard said. “I don’t want this...situation to jeopardize her graduating with her class.”
Barbara nodded.
It was a professional nod, Richard thought, like a doctor listening to a list of symptoms. “She wants to go to college,” he said a bit defensively.
“With her grades, she should do very well in college.”
Sensing her hesitation, Richard asked, “Is there a problem with the home study?”
“Not a problem, exactly. A concern. I’m not sure home study is the best option for Missy.”
Richard plunged his hand through his hair, then absently massaged his neck. “I don’t want her to lose a semester.”
“There’s no reason she would,” Barbara said. “Unless the baby’s early, there’s no reason she couldn’t finish out the school year in the classroom.”
“But she’s going to be—” He exhaled, frustrated. “You know what I mean. I don’t want her to be embarrassed.”
“Do you want her to be ashamed?”
“What’s your point?”
“Have you considered what kind of message you’re giving Missy by forcing her into hiding?”
“God,” Richard said in a prolonged rush of breath. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I want to protect her, but—”
“It’s impossible to protect children when they start turning into adults. Maybe you could focus on supporting her instead.”
“I seem to be muddling that, too,” he said miserably.
Barbara smiled encouragingly. “You’re probably doing a much better job than you think you are. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t concerned. And Missy wouldn’t be the person she is if you weren’t doing something right.”
And she wouldn’t be in the condition she’s in if I’d been a better father, Richard thought bitterly. “You think Missy should stay in school instead of having instruction at home?”
“Yes, I do. Missy will be undergoing a lot of change as her pregnancy progresses, emotionally as well as physically. There’ll be hormonal fluctuations, as well. Her self-esteem will be extremely fragile. If you force her into hiding, she’s going to feel that you’re ashamed of her.”
“But the kids—”
“Studies have shown that teenagers can provide a valuable support network to their pregnant peers. And the closer Missy stays to her normal routines when she’s pregnant, the easier it’ll be for her to return to those routines following the birth of the baby. I know it’s going to sound ludicrous, but however unfortunate Missy’s situation is, the timing of her due date couldn’t be more opportune in terms of not disrupting the school year.”
“You’re right,” he said bitterly. “It sounds ludicrous.”
“I talked to Missy, and I think she’d prefer to stay in the classroom.”
“How could Missy possibly imagine what it’s going to be like when she’s blown up like a blimp?”
Barbara chuckled at his naïveté. “I don’t think you’re giving her enough credit. Kids today know a lot more than we did at their age.” She leaned forward. “Look, Richard, if you let her stay in the classroom, she can change her mind at any point along the way. But until it’s her idea to leave, my advice would be to allow her to stay in school, where she’ll have daily contact with her friends.”
Frowning, Richard pondered the advice. Of course he would do whatever she recommended. She was the expert in the field, and he—
He released a sigh. God knew, he was no expert. If he were an expert, he wouldn’t be sitting here discussing options for Missy’s schooling while she was pregnant.
Barbara was sitting behind her desk, giving him an understanding look. Despite the age, the different hairstyle, she was the same as always. Gentle. Caring. It was not surprising that she had chosen a job that surrounded her with people. He was curious, suddenly, about her life since he’d seen her, all those intervening years. She’d spoken authoritatively about parenting and protecting and supporting, but she couldn’t have a child anywhere near Missy’s age.
“Do you have children?” he asked.
“No. We tried, but—” If he hadn’t known her so well, if he hadn’t been looking at her face with such rapt attention, he might have missed the sadness that veiled her eyes as she gently shrugged her shoulders.
“That’s too bad,” he said.
She smiled. “I’ve got all the kids I need right here in this building.”
Richard nodded. She probably took in troubled students the way some people took in stray puppies.
She referred to the file folder again, skimming the information before returning her attention to Richard. “According to Missy’s personal information card, her mother is deceased.”
Richard’s gaze fell to his hands. “She was killed in an automobile accident when Missy was seven.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Missy hadn’t seen her mother in over a year, but she took it quite hard.” He paused, swallowed. “I think she’d always believed that Christine would do some kind of magical turnaround and behave like a real mother. When Christine was killed, she had to give up all hope of that happening.”
“You and Christine—”
“Christine didn’t care much for motherhood. She cared even less about being a wife.”
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you.”
Richard chortled bitterly. “That’s generous of you, considering.”
Barbara squared her shoulders. “That was a long time ago, Richard. We were just kids.”
An uncomfortable silence descended between them. Finally, Barbara said softly, “I never wished you any unhappiness, Richard.”
“No,” he said. “You wouldn’t do that. But then, you didn’t have to. I rushed off in pursuit of unhappiness without needing anybody’s wishes.”
Her smile was gentle. “But you have Missy.”
“Yes.” And he’d done his best. But his best hadn’t been good enough to keep him from bungling parenthood the same way he’d bungled marriage.
“Does Missy have a woman she’s close to? Someone she confides in?”
Richard shook his head. “No. Not since—” He drew in a steeling breath. “My mother lived with us until last year. She more or less raised Missy after Christine took off. But even if she were still here, I’m not sure Missy would feel comfortable confiding in her. My mother—”
Barbara grinned. “From what I can remember about your mother, she wasn’t exactly liberal-minded.”
“Then you see the problem.”
“It’s not unusual for teens to pull away from their parents. When there’s a gap of two generations instead of one, sometimes the rift is more pronounced.”
She paused briefly. She was in her counselor mode again, Richard noticed.
“Missy needs someone she feels comfortable talking to now. Since there’s no other woman in your home, I think you should consider some professional counseling.”
“I’ll talk to her about it,” Richard said.
“Good,” Barbara said and, sighing, let her shoulders relax against the back of her chair. “You know, I’m always hesitant to suggest counseling. Some people are resistant to the idea. I’m glad you’re not.”
“I want what’s best for Missy.”
“That’s obvious.” So much was obvious to her as she looked at him: his desperation and parental guilt over Missy’s
condition, his love and concern for his daughter, and his frustration over not being able to take away all her problems. She saw parents every day with smaller problems and larger problems. But none of them were Richard Benson. And very few of them seemed as isolated with their problems as Richard seemed to her.
She fought for a professional objectivity and detachment she did not feel. “I have a list of counselors if Missy wants to see one. Or you could ask your family doctor or minister for a referral.”
“I’d trust your recommendations. You specialize in teenagers.”
Barbara nodded, opened a drawer and flipped through hanging files until she found the right folder and slid a sheet of paper across her desk. “Let me know what you decide in any event. And if there’s any way I can help you, please don’t hesitate—”
She stopped and gave Richard a strange look. He was grinning. “Did I miss something?”
“I just can’t get over the fact that it’s you behind that desk.”
She smiled. “One of those strange coincidences. I think it falls under the heading of ‘small world.’”
His intense gaze settled on her face. “You should be out in the hall taking your books out of locker two-two-four instead of sitting behind a counselor’s desk.”
“Locker number two-two-four. How did you ever remember that?”
“I had two-two-six, remember?”
“Until you graduated and left me at the mercy of that nerd who got it after you.”
They passed a moment in silence, remembering. Finally, Richard shook his head. “Did either of us really think we’d ever grow up and become adults?”
“We didn’t have a lot of choice,” Barbara reflected sadly. “Peter Pan is a myth.”
“Barbara.” Her name. His voice. The sound of it tickled over her senses and stirred memories. Dangerous memories. Memories that didn’t belong in her office when she was counseling the parent of a student.
Taking the coward’s way out, she glanced at her watch. “I have another parent coming in,” she said. “If there’s nothing else—”
He picked up on the cue and rose. Automatically he extended his hand. “Thank you for your interest in Missy.”
What Might Have Been Page 2
