Dr. Dad

by Judith Arnold

  “I told her you could do it,” Lindsey continued, apparently unaware of his hesitation. “You do all kinds of stuff around our house, and you’re strong. This mirror weighs like a ton, Daddy. So maybe you could do it tonight.”

  “Your father just got home from work,” Susannah pointed out. She must have noticed his reluctance.

  “Well, I meant, like later. I did my math homework sheets already, so we can have dinner right away, and then we can go back to Susannah’s and hang the mirror.”

  “The mirror can wait,” Susannah insisted, directing her words more to him than to Lindsey.

  “Of course I’ll do it,” he said, thinking her mouth might be even more beautiful than her eyes. Her lips were soft and pink, the lower lip slightly fuller than the upper. “But we do have to have dinner first. I could call you after we’re done—”

  “Or maybe she could eat with us,” Lindsey suggested.

  To his great relief, Susannah bailed him out. “I don’t think so, Lindsey. Why don’t you have dinner and visit with your dad. We can take care of the mirror another time.”

  He thanked her with a nod. “I’ll call you,” he promised.

  “Tonight.” Lindsey nudged him.

  He gave Lindsey a quelling look. “Susannah and I will work it out.”

  Lindsey wriggled through the hedge bordering the driveway. “‘Bye, Susannah. And don’t forget what I told you—the movie theater on Hauser Street is much better. They use real butter on the popcorn and the seats in the front rock. Forget the other movie theater. The popcorn sucks.”

  “Okay.” Susannah backed up a couple of steps.

  “Talk to you later,” she said to Toby, then waved, turned and headed back to her house.

  He forced his gaze away from her retreating form, her long legs and sleek curves and her glorious, silky-looking hair. He smiled down at Lindsey. “So, you had fun?” he asked.

  Indeed she had. He heard about it nonstop as they entered the house, as he tossed his blazer over a chair and flipped through the mail, as he seasoned the chicken breasts and Lindsey gathered the ingredients for a salad. He heard about how cool Susannah was, how big the waves were off the coast of California, where she used to live, and how tall the palm trees grew there. He heard about how everyone drove everywhere there, and lots of people had convertibles that they drove in January because it was always so warm, and about how all the coffee bars had outdoor tables year-round. He heard about how Susannah had turned Cathy’s bedroom into an office, and she was writing scripts or something, and Lindsey had wanted to do her homework at Susannah’s desk, but Susannah said no because she had all these papers laid out in a certain order and didn’t want them to get messed up, so Lindsey did her math at the kitchen table, instead. Susannah had a seriously cool kitchen table, according to Lindsey. It was varnished wood with ceramic tiles in the center of it, and she had a lamp with a stained-glass shade hanging from the ceiling directly above the table.

  Toby listened, perhaps more closely than he should have. What scripts was Susannah writing? Had she and Lindsey discussed her acting career at all? Had she explained to Lindsey why she didn’t want to talk about her work on the TV show—and if so, would Lindsey tell him? Not because he wanted to pry but because he wanted to know Susannah better.

  He couldn’t count on Lindsey to help him get to know Susannah. She’d done enough by inviting Susannah to dinner last Friday—and by offering his services as a mirror hanger. If he wanted to get to know Susannah better, he ought to thank Lindsey for creating an opening for him—and then walk through that opening himself.

  “I’m meeting with Ms. Hathaway tomorrow morning,” he reminded Lindsey. “Is there anything in particular you want me to talk about with her?”

  Lindsey let out a long, weary breath. “Tell her to give me higher grades,” she said. Then hastily added, “Joke, Dad.”

  “I figured.”

  “I don’t care what you talk to her about,” Lindsey said. “I told you I’d do better and I will. Susannah said I was a real math whiz. She was doing stuff in the kitchen while I did my homework. Rearranging cabinets, she said. She decided she didn’t like the way she set them up when she unpacked, so she was moving stuff around while I did my math, and she looked over my shoulder and thought I was doing a real good job with it….”

  And on Lindsey went, through dinner, through dessert, during the time it took to clear the table and wrap the leftovers. Toby tried to recall the last time he’d seen her so pumped up about anything. It might have been at a soccer game last summer. Once she’d started fifth grade, she’d gone flat, all the fizz seeping out of her. Even at her birthday party—an outing with a group of her friends to see a movie, followed by take-out pizza from Luigi’s and a decorated cake from the bakery—Lindsey had been reserved and blasé.

  She wasn’t blasé now. Susannah Dawson had gotten her adrenaline flowing. Toby was delighted, but also wary. He knew that adrenaline highs didn’t last forever, and once they ended a person could crash hard.

  “So, are we going back to Susannah’s house to hang the mirror?” Lindsey asked as she draped the dish towel over the handle on the oven door.

  “You’re not,” he said. “You’ve been at her house all afternoon. Maybe she could use a break.”

  “She said she wanted the mirror hung.”

  “That doesn’t mean she wants it hung this minute.”

  “I bet she does. She’s so pretty—I bet she wants the mirror up so she can check herself out.”

  Toby laughed. “I’ll call her and we’ll set up a time.”

  “You could go tonight without me,” Lindsey pointed out. “She might be sick of me, but she hasn’t had a chance to get sick of you yet.”

  Lindsey’s perceptiveness surprised him. He was amazed that she would acknowledge the possibility that Susannah might be sick of her, but he was unnerved by her suggestion that he go to Susannah’s without her. Did Lindsey know he also considered Susannah pretty?

  “I’ll call her,” he repeated, then asked, “What would you do if I went over there tonight?”

  “Watch TV,” she said. “I’ve got Mercy Hospital on tape.”

  “All right.” He took a deep breath, surprised by the twinge of nervousness he felt. “I’ll call her.”

  Lindsey strode out of the kitchen. Her posture was straight, her shoulders square. Could one afternoon with Susannah Dawson have transformed her back into the Lindsey she used to be? Probably not permanently, but he appreciated the change. That was reason enough to call Susannah—to thank her for having boosted Lindsey’s spirits today.

  He dialed Susannah’s number and listened to the phone ring on the other end. She answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s Toby,” he said, his nervousness ebbing. Hearing her voice calmed him. “What did you do to my daughter this afternoon?” he asked.

  “Do to her?” Susannah sounded anxious now.

  “Nothing. We just hung some pictures and she did her homework—”

  “She’s in such a great mood. She wouldn’t shut up all through dinner, and she was hardly sarcastic at all. What did you do, give her a drug?”

  Susannah laughed. “Do you think I’d give drugs to a girl whose father’s a doctor?”

  “Well, whatever you did, it worked. Thank you. I’m in your debt.”

  “I didn’t do anything, really,” she insisted. Closing his eyes, he could picture her smile, her luminous eyes.

  “But I don’t mind having you in my debt.”

  “I was figuring I’d pay it off by hanging that mirror for you.”

  “Now?”

  Why not? “Sure, if you’d like.”

  “Okay. Come on over.”

  “Give me ten minutes,” he said.

  He hung up the phone and glanced at the wall clock. Ten minutes. He ought to change out of his work apparel. And brush his teeth and comb his hair. Not because this was a date, not because he wanted to make a good impression on Susannah
, but…hell, he did want to make a good impression. He might as well be honest about it.

  He raced up the stairs to his bedroom, exchanged his twill trousers for a clean pair of jeans and detoured into the bathroom to freshen up. Then back to his bedroom to grab his wallet and keys from the bureau, where he’d left them. He checked his watch: eight-fifteen. He’d be home in less than an hour and a half, in time to start nagging Lindsey about her bedtime.

  This wasn’t anything but a favor for a neighbor. He wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it.

  “Lindsey,” he called into the den, where she was sprawled out on the couch with the remote control clutched in one hand, “I’m going over to Susannah’s. I’ll be home before nine-thirty.”

  “Whatever,” Lindsey said, her attention on the screen.

  He went downstairs to the basement to grab a couple of screwdrivers, in case Susannah didn’t have any, and then left the house, locking the front door behind him. The sky was a rich blue, just barely dark enough to make the first few stars of the night visible. The grass had a fresh, dewy scent. Down the street he saw Don Goldman walking his chocolate Lab. Had Don met Susannah yet? Did he know she was a former TV star? Had he noticed that she was gorgeous?

  Well, he wasn’t blind, so if he’d seen her he’d noticed. But Don was married. Toby wasn’t.

  And he shouldn’t be thinking about Susannah in the context of his marital status. He wasn’t going to get involved with her, especially now, when her friendship had made such a difference in Lindsey’s mood. Let them develop a relationship. Lindsey needed a woman in her life more than Toby did. He wouldn’t do anything to complicate matters.

  He spotted the hanging pot of flowers on her porch as he climbed the steps, a pretty, feminine touch. Should he have flowers around the house for Lindsey? He really didn’t know much about plants.

  At least he knew how to hang a mirror.

  He rang the bell. Susannah swung the door wide and amber light spilled from the entry hall, making him aware of the slight nip in the night air. Her house looked warm. Her smile looked warm, too. “Hi,” she said, gesturing him inside. “Are you sure you don’t mind doing this?”

  “If I minded, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Well, you didn’t have to rush over and do it tonight,” she said, ushering him down the hall to the stairs. “I bet Lindsey badgered you into doing it.”

  “Not really. Although I think she wanted me out of the house. When I’m not home, she pigs out on ice cream in front of the TV.”

  “When you’re home you don’t let her do that?”

  “I tell her to take less ice cream,” he explained.

  “Ice cream is nature’s perfect food,” Susannah declared. “Telling someone to take less is a crime against nature. In fact, if you decided to hang the mirror tomorrow, I could have gone out to the store and stocked up on ice cream, so I could reward you with a bowl of it afterward. A huge bowl of it. A pig-out bowl.”

  “I’d put half of it back,” he admitted. Ice cream didn’t mean as much to him as it did to Lindsey or, apparently, Susannah.

  He’d been in the Robinson house a few times, but never upstairs. Following Susannah up, he tried not to focus on the sway of her hips, the fall of her hair, the tangy fragrance she wore. She glanced over her shoulder at him, and he wondered if she knew he’d been admiring her from behind. “In any case,” he said, “I couldn’t hang the mirror tomorrow night. I’ve got a class to go to.”

  “Really? What kind of class?”

  He almost regretted having opened his mouth. Admitting that he needed to take a class in how to be a father would make her think he was inept. Which would be a good way for him to keep anything remotely romantic from stirring to life between them, but still…He didn’t like announcing to the world that he felt inadequate when it came to raising his daughter.

  Susannah glanced over her shoulder again, obviously awaiting his reply. “Daddy School,” he told her, suppressing the urge to cringe.

  She halted and turned to him. “Daddy School?”

  He really wished he hadn’t mentioned it. He gave a slight nod, then asked, “Where’s the mirror?”

  She accepted his change of subject. “Right here,” she said, pushing open a door and leading him into a room. A bedroom. Her bedroom.

  The bed was broad and inviting, with a simple brass headboard. The mattress was covered in teal-colored sheets and a puffy beige comforter, and teal and beige pillows of various shapes lay scattered against the arch of brass. It was a bed big enough for two, a bed big enough for sex.

  Annoyed that the idea had even occurred to him, he turned away. A low teak dresser occupied one wall, and a small brass-trimmed vanity table stood near the window, its mirrored surface covered with crystal bottles filled with colored fluids. Perfumes? Body oils?

  He felt a curse take shape on his tongue. Why the hell did the mirror have to be in her bedroom? Why did he have to be in this room with her?

  Not that anything would happen. She already knew he was incompetent enough to need a class in fathering skills. If anything could turn off a woman, that was it.

  “I was thinking it should go on the back of the closet door,” she said, sauntering to the closet as if his presence in her bedroom signified nothing.

  He trailed her across the room. She opened a door and flicked on an interior light, exposing a spacious walk-in closet less than half-filled with clothes. Didn’t showbiz stars maintain huge wardrobes? Susannah had clearly left showbiz behind.

  The mirror was propped up against a wall inside the closet. “It’s really heavy,” she warned, stepping deeper into the closet so Toby could reach the mirror.

  The closet had a pleasant scent, fresh laundry blended with Susannah’s spicy fragrance. The walls felt close, the rack of her clothes hanging along one side, the empty shelves and as yet unpacked cartons shoved against the other and the single overhead light illuminating her as she stood in the tiny room. It would take so little effort to shut the door, enclosing them both in the snug space.

  Swallowing, he turned from her and hoisted the mirror away from the wall. When he swung it toward the door, her reflection flashed across the glass. Her poise and stance were elegant. As an actor, she’d had to use her body as a creative instrument of her craft, and it showed.

  He heaved the mirror up against the door to get an idea of how it would fit. “Like this?”

  “That would be perfect.”

  He lowered it back to the floor. “Have you got a tape measure? And a pencil. I need to get it centered and mark where the screws are going in.”

  “Sure.” She brushed past him while exiting the closet. He felt her warmth against his back, a tickle where a strand of her hair floated against the side of his neck as she moved back into the bedroom.

  He took a deep, calming breath. He felt like a teenager, as hormonal and erratic as Lindsey sometimes behaved. Susannah seemed utterly unaffected by his nearness, however. To her, apparently, hanging a mirror was the only thing going on.

  She returned to his side carrying a pencil, a tape measure and a straight ruler. “Now, tell me about this Daddy School,” she said as he measured the length of the door. “What is it? A school for daddies?”

  All right. He had doomed himself, and it was just as well. As long as she thought of him as a blundering father in need of tutoring, hanging a mirror would define the limits of the evening. He should be glad. He’d already decided that getting involved with her would be a mistake.

  “Yes,” he said as he marked the door with small pencil dots where the brackets would be screwed into place. “It’s a school for daddies.”

  “What do they teach you?”

  “How to be better daddies, I hope.”

  He felt her smile before he saw its reflection in the mirror. “I don’t think you need this school, Toby. You’re a wonderful daddy.”

  “I wish,” he muttered, hunkering down to mark the bottom of the door. At least he didn’t have to
look at her while he confessed his failings.

  “Of course you are. Look at what a sweetheart Lindsey is. A bad father couldn’t raise such a fine daughter.”

  “Lindsey idolizes you,” he told her, measuring the width a second time. “If you told her to stand on her head and blow bubbles out her ears, she’d do it. With me, it’s a whole different situation.”

  “I doubt that. Mac, go away—we’re busy here.” She turned to shoo her cat out of the bedroom, then returned to Toby’s side, settling onto the carpeted floor next to him, crossing her legs and resting her elbows on her knees. “I don’t think Lindsey idolizes me. I hope she doesn’t, anyway. I don’t want to be idolized.”

  “It’s not just because you’re a famous actress,” he said. He wasn’t sure that was true, but he thought it would make Susannah feel better. “It’s because you’re a woman. And you’re not her father. Those are two big pluses.”

  “I bet she idolizes you, too. You’re a doctor. You save people’s lives.”

  “Not always.” He fussed with the tape measure, unable to look at her. This conversation had grown too intimate too quickly. And intimate in the wrong way. He’d barely confessed his shortcomings as a father and she had deftly located his even worse failing.

  “Well, of course you can’t save every life,” she said gently.

  “My wife died of cancer.” He didn’t want to talk about this, but he couldn’t see a way out of it. He was kneeling on Susannah’s bedroom floor, pretending to be absorbed in the screws and brackets stored in an envelope taped to the mirror, and somehow he and she had ventured into treacherous waters. He couldn’t see a way back to safety other than sticking his oars in the water and rowing hard.

  He peeled the envelope from the mirror and set it carefully on the floor, then turned to Susannah. “My wife had ovarian cancer. From the day they diagnosed her to the day she died was less than six months. I’m a doctor. I work with other doctors. I’m affiliated with a hospital. And all this brainpower, all this medical expertise, all the years of research and study—none of it saved her life. Lindsey knows this. She was there. She lost her mother. She knows doctors aren’t worth idolizing.”