by Holly Jacobs
"I thought I'd try my hand at bobbing for apples," mentioned Harry.
The kids in the vicinity clapped and started to gather at the booth.
Samantha looked around. Michelle and Carly had quickly disappeared to where they were unloading more apples for the barrel, leaving her to help Harry. Carly looked up and grinned, giving Samantha a small thumbs-up sign.
Knowing there was nothing to do about it, Samantha said to Harry, "Well, you know what to do." She turned to the kids who'd gathered. "Do you want to see if Mr. Remington can get an apple?"
Some of the kids screamed, "Yes," some clapped, but all made it obvious that they'd be delighted to see their principal get soaked trying to catch one of the buoyant fruits.
He made a big flourished to-do, removing his jacket and cuffing his sleeves before he walked up to the plastic bucket. "You're enjoying this," he whispered to Samantha.
"Maybe just a little," she answered with a grin. Louder, she said, "Okay, Principal Remington. Why don't you show the kids how a pro does it."
He plunged his entire head into the bucket so far the collar of his shirt was soon soaked. Seconds ticked by as he moved his head about, apparently chasing after his apple. Soon, he popped up, apple secure in his teeth.
The kids all clapped, and formed a line behind him for their turn. Michelle and Carly reappeared, taking over the apple-booth duty. "Why don't you get Principal Remington a towel?" Carly asked with all the subtlety of a brick.
Samantha gave Carly a look that she frequently subdued her kids with, but it only made her irrepressible friend grin.
Shaking her head, she grabbed a towel for Harry and also grabbed his jacket for him as he toweled off.
"It's been a long time since I bobbed for an apple." His voice was muffled under the towel.
"Well, you'd never know it. You got one the first time."
"Remember Mr. Constantine and his unfortunate apple-bobbing incident?"
"I remember him, but not the apple-bobbing incident." He was the grandfather of Jossette Constantine, a girl who was three years older than Samantha, one year older than Harry.
"I was in maybe second or third grade when we had a Halloween party with apple bobbing. Mr. Constantine bobbed for an apple, and that's when we learned that he was bald."
"You didn't notice before?" she asked.
"No. And we wouldn't have noticed then, either, but his toupee fell off in the water. It seems he forgot that he had it on."
Samantha laughed at the mental image. "Oh, the poor man. He must have been so embarrassed."
"Not him. He took the wet toupee and placed it on one of the pumpkins to dry." Harry finished with the towel and reached for his jacket.
His fingers grazed hers. Just the slightest touch. And yet, Samantha felt a sense of breathlessness. "Glad you didn't have to worry about that." It sounded lame to her ears, but she was feeling so flustered, it was the best she could do. "I better go help Carly and Michelle."
"And I better get back to circulating." Before he left, he said, "How 'bout I buy you a hot chocolate when your shift is done."
"That would be lovely."
She watched as he moved through the gym, on to the next booth. He'd picked the apple up and took a large bite as he walked. She wasn't sure why, but the action was endearing. He turned and waved. She returned the wave before turning back to her friends.
"Samantha's got a boyfriend," Carly whispered, grinning from ear to ear.
"Carly, it's not nice to tease," Michelle admonished, though she was grinning, as well.
"Okay, grow up, you two." Samantha didn't bother offering a lengthy explanation about how she and Harry were not dating. Judging from the smiles her two friends were still sporting, it wouldn't do any good.
She continued to assist with the apple bobbing, feeling remarkably bubbly.
"Who's the lady eyeing you?" Carly whispered, nodding her head. "She looks a bit long-in-the-tooth to be a mom."
"She is a mom. . .Harry's."
"Oh." There was an ominous tone to Michelle's voice. It sounded like Seton's oh last week when she'd warned him to leave the cookies alone until after supper. It had caused her to look up and notice the chocolate already adhering to the corners of his mouth.
"What do you mean, oh?"
Michelle whispered again, "I mean, she's scoping you out."
"I'm sure she isn't. It's not like Harry and I are an item." That had been her refrain so far and she was sticking to it.
Carly scoffed, and Michelle shot her a sympathetic look.
"Really. Harry and I are only friends," she told them for the umpteenth time.
"We're just friends," Carly pointed out, "but you don't call me half a dozen times a day, and spend almost every evening with me."
"I don't—"
"At our last meeting you took no less than three calls from him. And that was in under two hours. I think half a dozen is probably underestimating. You two are an item."
"We're not."
"Don't tell me," Carly said. "Tell her."
"Hi, Samantha." Harry's mom had stepped up to the booth, next to the line of children waiting their turns.
"Hi, again, Mrs. George."
"Call me Marilyn."
Using her first name felt awkward, so Samantha avoided it by not calling her anything. "Are you enjoying revisiting Erie Elementary?"
Rather than answer Samantha's questions, Harry's mom turned to Michelle and Carly. "I wonder if you two ladies would mind if I borrowed Samantha for a few minutes."
"No problem," Michelle said, shooting Samantha a helpless, what-else-could-I-say look.
"Sure, we can handle the kids," Carly added.
"Really, I should—" Samantha began.
"It will only take a minute," Mrs. George interrupted.
Samantha followed her as she wove through the throng. Mrs. George went to the first floor and let herself into Harry's office. "Ah, that's better. A bit of quiet." She sat down on the couch on one end of Harry's office and patted the seat next to her.
Samantha sat, not because she wanted to get all up close and cozy, but because she didn't have any other polite option. "Is there something that I can do for you, ma'am?"
"Marilyn."
"Marilyn," Samantha repeated, though the word felt sticky on her tongue.
"Harry says you're divorced and, as I saw, you have four kids?"
"Yes." She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but this wasn't it. "Yes. Stan's in eighth grade, Seton's in seventh, Shane's in sixth and Stella broke that every-year run and is only in third."
"And it's recent? The divorce, I mean," she clarified. "You've divorced recently?"
Samantha didn't appreciate the cross-examination, but she wasn't sure how to extricate herself from Harry's mother, so she answered slowly, "It's been a little more than a year now."
"I see." Mrs. George nodded and continued, "And Harry says you two are just friends? That you're not dating?"
"That's right."
"Listen, Samantha, I remember you as a little girl, but I realize I don't know much about you now. But I do know my son. Harry is still getting over his own breakup. Did he tell you that?"
"Yes. I know about Teresa."
"And Lucas," Mrs. George stressed.
"Yes, and him, too. Harry and I've talked."
"My son doesn't think I know him, but I know him better than he knows himself. And I'm not sure if he can handle another failed relationship, especially one where kids are involved."
"Mrs. George—"
"You see," Mrs. George interrupted, "for all intents and purposes, Lucas was his son. And you've never met a more devoted father. Lucas was only three when Harry and Teresa got together. He was there for all the ups and downs. He gave that little boy his heart, every bit as much as he gave it to Teresa. When she and Lucas left—"
"Ma'am." Samantha didn't know what to say. She sensed Marilyn George's pain on her son's behalf. "Harry and I are just friends."
; "Yes, well, that's what you both say, but I've watched him look at you when he was bobbing for apples at your booth. There's more than friendship there. You can try to fool yourselves, but I'm not buying it." She sounded almost angry. She visibly got herself under control, and added, more softly, "I know my son, and I know it's. . . I don't want to see him hurt again."
"I'm not sure what you want me to say. I like Harry. He makes me laugh. For the first time in a long time, I'm happy. And before you tell me my happiness can't rely on someone else, that's not it. I was working my way back to happy on my own and Harry was there, waiting on the other side." As she said the words she realized they were true.
"I don't want either of you hurt," Mrs. George repeated.
"I don't want either of us hurt. The fact is Harry's leaving after Thanksgiving. He's got a life back in Columbus with you. He's got friends and a job there. Our friendship has an expiration date in December. We're both aware of that. There's no worries."
"I'm a mother, worrying is what I do best." She offered Samantha a smile, one that said she knew Samantha understood.
"I really should get back to the booth and help my friends." She glanced at her watch.
Mrs. George nodded. "I'm sorry, dear. I liked you when you were young, and I'm sure I'd like you as much now, if we had more time to spend together. It wasn't my place to say anything, but Harry's my son, and I don't want him to make the same mistakes."
"I promise I'll do everything I can to see to it that he doesn't get hurt."
"If you mean that, break it off with him now, while you're both still able to say it's just a friendship."
Samantha didn't know what to say to that, so she simply said, "I really need to go."
Harry's mom remained silent. She didn't make any move to follow Samantha as she practically sprinted from the office toward the gym.
She was in such a hurry she didn't even notice Harry until she'd practically run him down.
"What's the rush?" he asked.
"I've got to get back to my booth."
"Okay. See you in a bit."
"Yeah. See you."
Earlier, Carly had sing-songed, Samantha's got a boyfriend.
Now, Harry's mother was accusing her of looking at Harry in a certain smitten way. She was going to have to be careful not to give them any more ideas. It was a shame that women in the new millennium were unable to understand that a man and a woman could be friends. Just friends.
She was all business when she returned to the apple-bobbing kids.
"Everything all right?" Michelle asked.
"Sure. Why wouldn't it be?"
Her two friends' expressions said they weren't really buying her assurances, but she didn't have the energy to try and explain. She was still too busy mulling over Mrs. George's words.
Maybe she was walking a dangerous path with Harry. If she were honest, there'd been moments that were more than friendly and possibly right next to flirting.
Samantha was no closer to resolving things when Harry dropped her and the children at home. Thankfully, in the car, the kids had kept the conversation light. Stella especially was babbling about the party, and last night's trick-or-treating with her father and Lois.
"Call you later," Harry said, more than asked.
"Okay. But if you're busy with your mom and stepdad, don't worry about it."
He gave her a quizzical look, but she just offered him her best smile and herded the kids into the house.
Stan was quiet. Too quiet. As the children all ran to their rooms to add today's treats to the myriad of candy they'd brought home this morning from their father's, Samantha called after her eldest. "Hey, Stan, give me a minute, would you?"
He turned and headed toward her. "What?"
"Is something wrong? You haven't been the same ever since Harry picked us up."
Instead of answering, he countered her question with, "Why'd we have to go with him?"
Samantha resisted the urge to sigh. She'd hoped their last conversation had helped Stan realize that Harry wasn't a threat, but obviously, it hadn't. So she tried again. "Because Harry's a friend and he asked us. We'd planned to go out to dinner afterward, except his parents showed up and he felt he should spend time with them."
"They're not his parents. It's his mom and her husband."
"Mr. Remington's stepfather." Stan looked as if there was definitely something more than a dislike of Harry.
"Yeah, but the guy's not Mr. Rem's father, and Mr. Rem's not my father."
"Stan, I know that. We've been through this. Harry knows that—"
"No, you don't. We all went to that stupid Halloween party together, walking in like some big happy family, but we're not, and we're never gonna be."
"Harry's just a friend," she said weakly, not sure what to do in the face of all Stan's anger.
"And Lois is just Dad's friend. You know us kids didn't ask for this. We didn't want to have you two get a divorce."
No one asked me, either, Samantha wanted to cry. Your father didn't ask as he packed his bags and left. There was no discussion. No huge disagreement—a moment I can point to and say that's what broke us. He just left, saying I'm not happy. Well, I'm not happy he's gone, Stan. I'm not happy that the life I thought I had was merely a sham.
Oh, yes, that's what a part of her wanted to shout. To spew all the pain and confusion, letting it flow like lava, hot and bubbling, disgorging itself until all that pain was gone.
But this was her son—her very confused son. He didn't need her hurt on top of his own. He needed her to explain why his world had shifted.
They'd had this discussion previously, and Samantha would simply continue to say the words over and over again until they sank in. When he was little she'd repeated rules like look-both-ways-before-you-cross-the-street, don't-talk-to-strangers and eat-your-vegetables. To the best of her knowledge, he did look both ways, didn't talk to strangers and most of the time managed to eat his vegetables. She'd keep hammering this new point home as often as he needed to hear it.
"Stan, I love you. Your dad loves you. But the truth is, we didn't love each other anymore."
"How do you just stop loving someone?"
She hugged him. For a moment, he squirmed. He'd long since decided he was too old for such sympathetic displays from his mom. Most of the time she honored his wishes, but she knew he needed her touch. He needed to feel connected to her. She willed him to feel her love wrapping him as snugly as her arms were.
She repeated another variation of what she'd said the last time. "Stan, I wish I could explain it to you, because maybe then I'd understand it myself. Your dad and I were both so young when we married. People change and grow. And rather than growing together, we grew apart. Neither of us planned it. Neither of us wanted to hurt the other. I do love your dad, like a friend. I'm not sure exactly what's in store for either of us. Heck, I'm not even sure what I'm going to make for dinner tonight. But for all that I'm not sure about, for all I don't know, I can absolutely guarantee you that I'm positive about one thing—your dad and I will never stop loving you. Not ever."
"But I want us to be a family again." For all that Stan was thirteen—going on fourteen—there was still a little boy's longing in his words.
It tore at Samantha.
"Honey, we are a family. We'll always be a family, albeit a different kind of family."
"You're just saying that 'cause you love Mr. Rem and you want me to, too. But I won't. Not ever." And with that, Stan stormed from the room.
Samantha had vowed when Phillip left that nothing would ever come before her kids—not herself, not another relationship.
Was that what she was doing now?
Chapter Seven
Samantha was ignoring him.
Harry knew it. He'd called last night, after the Halloween party, but she hadn't answered.
He'd called today, as well. She hadn't been available then, either, according to Seton, followed by Shane.
Harry's mom had made a S
unday meal for them, and since he had her across the table, he figured this was as good a time as any to have it out with her. "So, Mom, when are you going to tell me what you said to Samantha?"
His mom wore her best innocent look. The same one she'd worn when he was five and asked if there really was a Santa. "I don't know what you're talking about, Harry, dear. Al, would you please pass me the butter?"
"No." Allen stood. "I think right now I'm going to excuse myself and take a long walk. We've never visited Erie before, but you've talked about it so often, that maybe it's time I make its acquaintance. So, you two sit here and talk. I'll be gone for a while."
Allen George walked to the front door of Harry's place. "A very long walk," he shouted back over his shoulder.
Harry had always liked Allen. He might have lived with his grandparents, but he'd spent time at the home his mother had built with Al, and Harry's two stepsisters, Karen and Barb. His stepfather had always gone out of his way to make Harry feel welcome.
"He's a good guy," Harry said to his mother.
"Yes, he is. Would you please pass me the butter?"
Harry slid the container over to his mom. "And it's nice that he left us to this discussion."
"What discussion is that, Harry dear?" She spread butter on her bread, studiously avoiding looking at him.
"Oh, Mom, whenever you use the word dear, I know you've done something. What now? What did you say to Samantha?"
His mother forgot about buttering her bread, and let the knife fall, butter-ladened, to the plate. "Now, Harry, I don't want you to be mad— I told her that neither of you are in a good place to start a relationship. You're coming home to Columbus in just about a month, and both you and Samantha are still getting over long-term relationships. The best this could be is a rebound relationship, and we all know how those end. I said as much to her." His mother picked up the knife and began spreading the butter on her bread, with all the care of someone painting a landscape.
"Mom," Harry said gently. He knew she meant well, but he was thirty-five, and able to handle his own affairs. "Mom, the first man you dated after you and Dad divorced was Al, and that seems to have held up well for a rebound relationship."
