Suddenly You

by Sarah Mayberry

  “I’m not taking this,” he said, thrusting it into her hand.

  “Well, that makes two of us,” she said, pulling her hand away before he could release the money.

  His scowl deepened. This close she could see that his skin was still damp. She could smell his deodorant, too, and see the veins in his arms where his muscles were pumped from his workout.

  “I can’t take money from you. Put it toward something else,” he said.

  “You put it toward something else.”

  Like maybe a pair of workout pants that didn’t seem as though they were in imminent danger of falling off his narrow hips.

  “You mentioned being a graceful receiver the other night. Here’s a newsflash for you—you could do with some lessons,” he said.

  “I am grateful. But I’m not a charity case. I don’t need you paying my way.”

  “Who said anything about you being a charity case?”

  An inch of what looked like black boxer-briefs showed at his waist. She felt a little dizzy, a little overwhelmed by all the raw masculinity on display.

  “If you don’t think I’m a charity case, let me pay for the parts,” she said, trying to stop her gaze from sliding down his body.

  “No. I wanted to help you and Alice. I did. End of story. I’m not taking your money.” He grabbed her hand, slapping the envelope into it. “Save it for when the car breaks down next time, which it will, because it’s a piece of yellow crap.”

  He was probably right, but her back went up anyway.

  “Just because it’s not some big macho muscle car from the days when dinosaurs roamed the planet doesn’t mean it’s a piece of crap.”

  “For the record, there weren’t many dinosaurs roaming Australia in the seventies. And that hatchback is a piece of crap, and we both know it.”

  “Fine. Whatever. The point is, it’s my piece of crap, and it’s my responsibility. What you did was fantastically generous, but you need to let me cover the parts, Harry.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “Harry.”

  He shook his head slowly, his jaw set. She glared at him.

  “I’m not letting this drop,” she warned.

  “Then I guess you’ve got a problem, because I’m not taking your money.”

  For a split second Pippa almost caved. Almost. But then she thought about how desperate she’d felt this week, and how relieved and pathetic she’d felt when Harry had shown up last night. She didn’t want to be a damsel in distress. She needed to be strong, for both her and Alice’s sake. That was what getting her Diploma of Education was all about. That was why it was so important that Harry let her pay her way.

  “You know what Mick Jagger says. You can’t always get what you want,” she said.

  Then she stuffed the envelope down the front of his shorts and swiveled on her heel, but not before she saw the shock on his face. She raced out the door. She figured she had the shortest of leads before he came after her. Sure enough, she was nearing the car when she heard him calling her name.

  She scrambled into the driver’s seat, jammed the keys into the ignition and hit the locks. Harry strode toward her, looking for all the world like an escapee from Gladiator.

  “Sorry,” she mouthed as she reversed out of the driveway.

  * * *

  HARRY STOPPED IN his tracks, hands on his hips, a pissed/resigned expression on his face. She hoped the resigned part signaled he would accept her money.

  She glanced in the rearview mirror to find that Alice was awake again, her blue eyes taking in the world. A smile crept onto Pippa’s face, quickly turning into a grin.

  She’d stuck a wad of cash down Harry’s pants. She probably needed to get out more, but it was the most outrageous thing she’d done in months. Possibly even years. And it felt good.

  You do need to get out more.

  She was still buzzing with triumph when she turned onto her own street. Then she realized that the butterflies-doing-a-lap feeling was still there and in a flash of insight understood it wasn’t nervousness. Not by a long shot.

  It was excitement—because she’d seen Harry.

  That quickly her goofy smile was gone, as was the feeling of triumph.

  Harry was Steve’s best friend. Furthermore, he was as feckless, as childish, as immature as her ex. Another overgrown teenager who viewed life as a big amusement park.

  She didn’t want to be excited about seeing him. God, no.

  She parked and got Alice out of the car. As it had the other night, holding her daughter’s warm, soft body grounded her. Alice was the ultimate invitation to live in the now, to experience only this present moment. Rubbing her cheek against her daughter’s, Pippa let whatever silliness had gripped her this afternoon slide away.

  Harry was not someone to get excited about. Lovely and funny and generous as he was.

  It’s hardly going to be a problem. There’s no reason on earth for you to see him again now your car is fixed and the money sorted.

  She should have felt relieved, but she didn’t. She felt disappointed, which went to show that she really was an idiot.

  * * *

  HARRY RETURNED TO the garage. The envelope with Pippa’s money lay on the floor where he’d dropped it—after he’d pulled it out of his pants.

  Now, that was a move he hadn’t seen coming. In fact, he still couldn’t quite believe she’d done it.

  Briefly he toyed with the idea of going after her, letting her know in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t interested in her money. He imagined himself chasing her down, backing her into a corner until she was forced to take the envelope back. She’d protest, no doubt, but he’d look into those rich chocolate-brown eyes of hers and—

  He bent and collected the money, pushing it into his pocket and turning away from the thought that had been about to insinuate itself into his head.

  It wasn’t quite so easy to ignore he had the beginnings of a hard-on, however. All because of a schoolboy fantasy that involved Pippa and a hard wall.

  What is going on with you?

  It was a good question. He wasn’t sure what the answer was. Pippa wasn’t the sort of woman he usually went for. She was older, for starters. Smarter, too. Then there was the not-insignificant fact she was a mother.

  He gave himself a mental shake. It didn’t matter why he liked Pippa or how different she was from his usual type. The important thing was that she was Steve’s ex, and therefore officially off-limits.

  As if his thoughts had conjured him, he heard the distinctive, low rumble of Steve’s new truck pull into the drive. Guilt stabbed at him, but he rejected it instinctively. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Yet.

  And it was going to stay that way, because Steve was one of his oldest friends.

  He reached for his T-shirt and pulled it on as he exited the garage. Steve was sliding from the cab of his shiny red truck, a six-pack under his arm.

  “Yo. What’s up?” he called out. He was dressed in board shorts and a loose tank, his hair held back by a pair of sunglasses pushed high on his forehead.

  “You been out today?”

  “Hell, yeah. Suicide was going off,” Steve said, naming a brutal surf beach farther south on the peninsula. “You should have come, man.”

  Harry shrugged. He’d been through this with Steve during that morning’s phone call. “Mel needed my help with installing the rose arbors.”

  Steve tugged a can free from the plastic ring holding it to the six-pack, passing it to Harry. “Don’t know why Mr. Richy-Rich doesn’t hire a bunch of muscle to do it all for him. Not like he can’t afford it.”

  “Flynn likes getting his hands dirty,” Harry said, shrugging to let Steve know that he didn’t want to get into yet another conversation about what Steve would do if he had the Randall millions at his disposal. The truth was, Harry’s brother-in-law never flaunted his wealth and Harry had long ago stopped thinking of him as anything other than a good friend and the man who’d made h
is sister smile again.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. So, what are we up to tonight? The Pier? Or do you want to hit the Portsea pub for a change, crash at Nugga’s place?”

  Harry led the way inside. “Not fussed. Whatever tickles your fancy.”

  Steve sat on the couch and propped his legs on the table, crossing them at the ankles. “You think that little blonde chick will be working at the Pier tonight? The new girl?”

  “Who knows?”

  “If I had to give her ass a score out of ten, it’d be eleven.” Steve laughed and took a pull from his beer.

  Harry drank a mouthful of his own can, his head full of everything that had happened with Pippa. He wasn’t used to feeling guilty, and he didn’t like it.

  “So, did you call that girl from last week yet?” Steve asked.

  It took Harry a beat to drag his head out of his own thoughts. “Didn’t get around to it.”

  Steve made a disgusted sound. “Dude. What’s wrong with you?”

  “You want her number, it’s yours.”

  Steve paused with his beer halfway to his mouth. “Seriously? You’re not going to call her?”

  Harry shook his head.

  “Bloody hell. Never thought I’d live to see the day. You losing it in your old age, mate? Having trouble getting it up?”

  “Thanks for the touching concern, asshole, but everything is in perfect working order.”

  Steve laughed and reached for the remote, flicking on the TV. “Did you catch any of the cricket today?”

  Harry paused before answering, unable to shake the sense of unease dogging him. He felt like he was holding back. And it was because of Pippa. Because of how she made him feel, and—more importantly—because of what she’d said about Steve.

  He grabbed the remote from Steve’s hand and killed the TV.

  “Hey. I was watching that.”

  “We need to talk. About Pippa.”

  The look of comic outrage on Steve’s face disappeared as he put on his poker face. “What about her?”

  “I told you about her car breaking down last week. Well, I wound up helping her out. Had her car towed to Dad’s and fixed the gasket head for her after hours.”

  Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Why’d you do that?”

  “Because she couldn’t afford to have her car fixed, and she needed to get around.”

  “Pity you’re not in the Scouts still. That’d earn you a merit badge for sure.” Steve lifted his beer in a mock-toast. “Here’s to Mr. Good Deeds.”

  “I told Pippa that if she wanted, I’d let you know what had happened on her behalf. See if you couldn’t help her out, since she’s struggling at the moment.”

  Steve leaned back in the chair and rested his right ankle across his left knee. “I bet she loved that.”

  There was no mistaking the resentment in his tone.

  “She told me not to. And when I kept pushing she told me you’d dodged paying child support for Alice, so she doubted you’d be helping with the car.” Harry didn’t say anything more, simply waited for Steve to set him straight.

  His friend gave him a derisive look. “What? Is this the bit where I’m supposed to step in and defend myself? Sorry, mate, but I’m not playing that game.”

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  “Yeah, it is. I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation, to be honest.” Steve’s gaze was hard with anger and suspicion.

  Harry could only think of one reason why his friend would come out swinging so hard: because it was true. Because he really was ignoring his obligation to help support his daughter.

  “She’s your kid, man,” he said quietly, hoping to cut through the bull. “Pippa’s doing it tough and Alice is your kid. You should be helping them out.”

  “Should I?” Steve’s tone was deceptively mild.

  “You know you should.”

  “I’ll tell you what I know. I told Pippa at the time that I wasn’t up for a kid. Even gave her the money to get rid of it. She knew that, and she decided to keep it anyway. Her decision, right? That’s what all the women’s libbers tell us. So she made her decision, and I made mine. And I’m not changing it.”

  Harry blinked at the unvarnished fury in his friend’s voice.

  “Mate, it wasn’t like she got pregnant on purpose.”

  “Yeah? How do you know that? How do you know she didn’t see me as the perfect meal ticket?”

  “Pippa wouldn’t do that. She’s not like that.” He knew that in his gut. Pippa had far too much integrity to trap a man like that.

  “So you’re an expert on her now, are you?” There was an ugly suggestion behind Steve’s words.

  Harry gave his friend a look. “Pull your head in. As if.”

  “So why am I getting the public service message, then?”

  “Because she needs help. And whether you like it or not, Alice is your kid.”

  “Like I said, Pippa wanted to keep the baby. I’m not wearing the consequences.”

  “The consequences is six months old, man. She looks like you. She’s your kid.”

  Steve stood. “This is getting old, fast.”

  “So, what? You’re going to pretend she doesn’t exist? That your kid isn’t walking around out there in the world without your protection?”

  “Man, she really did a number on you, didn’t she? What’d she do? Turn on the waterworks?” Steve’s posture was tense, his expression ugly.

  Harry pushed to his feet, not liking feeling at a disadvantage. “She didn’t say a word about you that I didn’t push out of her. She knows we’re mates. She respects that.”

  “So why are we even having this conversation?”

  Steve seemed genuinely puzzled, as though it was beyond him why Harry would take up the cudgels on behalf of Pippa and Alice without someone holding a gun to his head.

  “Because she needs your help,” Harry repeated.

  “Not gonna happen.” Steve headed for the door. “And you might want to think about whose side you’re on in this, mate.”

  The door slammed as Steve exited the house. Harry stared after his oldest friend, trying to reconcile the man he knew—the guy who could make him laugh till his sides ached, who he trusted to have his back through thick and thin—with what he’d just heard.

  And couldn’t.

  Not a single excuse sprang to mind for Steve’s refusal to step up and take responsibility for his own child. Being angry wasn’t enough. Feeling trapped also didn’t cut it. No doubt Pippa must have felt all those things when she first found out she was pregnant, yet she had taken on motherhood with an open heart and mind.

  Harry walked to the kitchen and dumped what was left of his beer down the sink. He watched the amber fluid circle the drain, going over Steve’s words, wondering if there was anything he could have said that might have made a difference. It was so obvious to him that Steve was in the wrong, however, that he simply couldn’t conceive of the mind-set that allowed Steve to carry on with his life as though things hadn’t changed six months ago when Alice was born. Harry might prefer to live his life a certain way—no strings, no heavy responsibilities or burdens to get in the way of having a good time—but if he’d found himself in Steve’s shoes he would do the right thing, no questions asked.

  And not only because it was the right thing, either. If he’d helped make a new life, he’d want to get to know him or her, to pass on what skills or knowledge or advice he might have. He’d want to be a part of his child’s life.

  Steve clearly didn’t feel the same compulsion or curiosity, however. Again, a mind-set that was so far beyond Harry’s comprehension it baffled him.

  He tossed the empty can in the trash and walked to the bathroom. He left his sweaty workout gear on the floor and stepped beneath the shower spray. Steve’s angry departure had left him with an evening to fill. Which was just as well. He didn’t particularly want to spend time with Steve right now.

  An uncomfortable thought. When they were
younger, he and Steve had fought over stupid stuff all the time. Once, Steve had even broken Harry’s nose with a badly aimed punch. As adults, however, they pretty much saw eye to eye on everything.

  Until now.

  Harry scrubbed his face with his hands and dropped his head forward, letting the water pour down his back and shoulders.

  He wasn’t a grudge keeper, and he didn’t consider himself any more or less stubborn than the next guy, but there was a heavy feeling in his gut that told him he would have a hard time forgetting what had gone down with Steve today. Which would be a problem, because he knew that Steve sure as hell wasn’t going to be changing his position anytime soon. Harry knew his friend too well to even pretend that that would happen.

  Now he was in the unenviable position of having a bone-deep moral objection to his best mate’s actions.

  The thought was so foreign to him he made a spluttering sound, half appalled, half bemused by the workings of his own mind. As his sisters were only too keen to point out, he wasn’t exactly a choirboy. He’d never set himself up to judge anyone in his life. And yet here he was.

  He dressed in jeans and a fresh T-shirt before returning to the living room. Habit told him to call Bluey or Macca, but the thought of spending the night at the pub had lost its appeal. Plus the odds were good Steve had called them as his backup plan once he’d blown Harry off.

  Sitting on the edge of the couch, Harry stared down the barrel of a Saturday night home alone. Not something he’d done for a long time.

  He turned on the TV and flipped through the stations, searching for something—anything—to grab his attention. If he found something decent to watch, he could grab a pizza and chill for the evening. Might even be good for a change.

  He scrolled through all the likely channels without finding anything that hooked him and started all over again. When the second trawl still didn’t produce fruit, he went in search of his car keys. Maybe he’d go over to Mel and Flynn’s place, see what they were up to.

  He found his keys in the pocket of his workout shorts—along with Pippa’s wad of cash.

  He stared at the creased and battered envelope, key scenes from this afternoon playing in his head. Pippa standing tall and proud, telling him she wasn’t a charity case, that she could pay her own way. Steve, denying he had a duty to support his own flesh and blood.