by Holly Jacobs
His mom got that warm glow to her face. "Allen and I are different."
"What if Samantha and I are different, too?"
"Sweetheart, I know you're still missing Teresa and Lucas. You can't replace them with some ready-made family, especially not one with issues. And this one has issues. I saw how that oldest boy, Seton, was glaring at you."
"Stan." He'd seen Stan shoot him more than one dark look, so he didn't bother to deny his mother's assessment. "Stan's the oldest. And he has had problems with the fact his mother and father divorced. Problems that were there before Samantha and I became friends."
"Problems that are exacerbated by your friendship—if that's what you insist on calling it—with his mother."
"Friendship," Harry reiterated.
"Honey, calling what's going on between you and Samantha a friendship is like calling the Superbowl a mere football game. I saw how you looked at her at the Halloween party and I mentioned it to her."
Harry wasn't about to admit it, but what he was feeling for Samantha did go beyond a friendship. He had been avoiding analyzing how far beyond. "Maybe there is something more between Samantha and me, but the truth is, Mom, whatever it is, it is between us, and you had no right—"
His mother was normally a mellow person, rarely given to fits of anger. But as her cheeks flushed and her eyes narrowed, Harry realized he'd said the wrong thing because she was more than a little annoyed.
"Don't you give me the you-have-no-right speech, Harris Paul Remington. I have every right. Every right in the world. I am your mother. Don't you think it kills me to see how much pain you've gone through by losing Teresa and Lucas? Don't you think I know the only reason you ever tried building a family with her was to replace the one you lost when your dad and I divorced?"
"Mom, that had nothing to do—"
She was too incensed to listen to him. "Lie to yourself all you want to, but you can't lie to me. I know you've never forgiven me or your father for divorcing."
"Mom, nothing could be further from the truth. I might have been young, but I was old enough to know that you and Dad had been unhappy. Really unhappy. Just as I know you both found new relationships that were right. And I love you both enough to be glad of that."
"Then why wouldn't you move in with either of us?" There was no anger in her voice now. Only sadness and confusion. The rosy glow in her cheeks faded, as well. "I know it was years ago, but Harry, it killed me that you stayed with your grandparents. We both asked you to come with us. And both of us loved you enough to accept whatever parent you chose. But you stayed with my mom and dad, and just visited us. Just visited me. I missed you, Harry. I can't tell you how many nights I cried wanting you to be with me."
Hearing he'd made his mom cry bothered him. "Mom, it was years ago. I was young and confused. You built a new family with Al and the girls. I was part of your old family. I didn't feel as if I fit in."
"That's how you felt? As if I left both you and your father behind to build a new life for myself?"
Listening to her phrase it like that, he knew he'd been unfair. "Back then, I just couldn't figure out where I belonged."
"You belonged with me."
Hearing her say the words with such force and certainty made Harry realize how much his actions had hurt her.
"Mom, I never meant to hur—"
"It's okay, Harry," she interrupted. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me. You yourself were hurting. I should have forced you to move in with me. I should have fought to make you feel as if you belonged, even if the person I had to fight was you." She took his hand. "We can't change what happened. I might have caused you heartache then, but I can try to save you from some now. I'm willing to fight anyone, even you, to do that. That's why I spoke to Samantha, and I'm not going to apologize for interfering."
He sighed. "I'm not asking you to apologize. But I am asking you to let me live my own life."
"I did that when you were in high school, when I should have ordered you to move in with Al and me."
She'd never complained about his choice in all these years. Now, she couldn't seem to stop mentioning it. "Maybe you're right, Mom. Still, we ended up okay. I might not have felt as if I fit into your new family, but I always knew you loved me. Always."
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for that."
"And you're also right that Teresa and Lucas leaving tore at me. I don't know that the pain will ever truly go away. But it wasn't because I missed out on having another family, although that's part of it. I loved Teresa, although maybe not enough because I've recovered from that. However, there's no recovering from losing Lucas. I still love him. I miss him. That sort of pain doesn't stop."
"I know that. I understand that. But I don't want you rebounding and feeling even worse."
"Mom, there's no worry about rebounding. Samantha and I are. . ." He paused, trying to fill in the blank. "We're friends."
Friends. Yes, they were friends. They were not-dating friends.
He'd thought that was enough, but with sudden clarity, he realized it wasn't.
Not-dating friends.
They were more than that.
He'd been working hard at not analyzing his feelings for Samantha. He had all kinds of excuses to avoid getting too close—the same excuses his mother had just used.
He was leaving to go back to Columbus. They were both just getting out of relationships. Her oldest didn't like him. They all sounded hollow now.
He needed time to sort it all out. Time to himself.
His mother didn't argue, but he could see that she didn't believe him. All she said was, "I love you, Harry."
"I love you, too. So, I hope you won't take it the wrong way when I ask, when are you and Al leaving for home?" He was teasing.
Well, mainly he was teasing.
He appreciated that she was concerned, but he needed to do things his own way.
"You shouldn't sound so enthusiastic," she said with a chuckle. "We're leaving as soon as Al comes back from his walk. I came, uninvited, because I'm worried about you. I want you home in Columbus."
"I'm fine, Mom. I'm just sorry that you're blaming yourself for all my problems. Teresa and my failed relationship. . . That's on us. It's not your fault. Not Dad's fault. I wanted more than Teresa was able to give. I'd known that for a long time, but just couldn't admit it to myself."
"And Samantha?" his mother asked gently.
"I'm not sure where we stand, but whatever happens, it's not your fault, either. I'm an adult."
"Harry, you'll always be my son. I'll try to not worry so much, if you'll promise to spend Thanksgiving with us."
"I'll be in Erie over Thanksgiving. How about if I promise to spend some time with you at Christmas?"
"Good enough." She kissed his cheek again. "I do love you. No matter what happened between your father and I, the two of us always have and always will."
Harry felt lighter than he had in years as he spent a while just talking to his mom. He waved goodbye to her and Al, and she called out assurances she'd see him soon. Part of him groaned at the thought, another part was pleased.
Listening to her, he realized that he'd hurt her by not moving in with her and becoming a part of her new family. To hurt her had never been his intent. He'd been young, confused and maybe just a little angry that he didn't have the "perfect family."
He'd loved Teresa. He didn't like his mother's accusation that he'd only used her and Lucas as a ready-made family. He'd fallen for Teresa long before he came to know and care for her son. Seven years they'd been together as a family. He'd even felt parental.
So, although Harry wasn't sure about much, he was positive he wasn't looking for another ready-made family. He wasn't stupid enough to want to go through the pain of losing a third family. So he was sure he wasn't using Samantha for that.
To be honest, the last thing he wanted was to date a woman with kids.
They were friends.
He cared about her.
They'd set ground rules to their friendship, and he'd planned to abide by them, but he really wanted something deeper. There were three problems that stood in the path of that.
One, he wasn't sure she did. Samantha seemed totally satisfied with their relationship on a totally platonic level.
Two, he was leaving Erie in a few weeks.
And finally, number three—Samantha had kids. And one of them, Stan, didn't care for Harry. The boy had made that abundantly clear.
That was a lot to overcome in a month.
Harry felt more confused than ever.
He tried calling Samantha again. This time he got her answering machine.
She was probably upset about his mom. He'd have to find a way to make it up to her.
TUESDAY MORNINGS SAMANTHA usually had off, but today, she was free all day since Dr. Jackson was teaching a class and not seeing patients. Rather than doing her grocery shopping or picking up her dry cleaning, Samantha found herself once again walking down the hall of Erie Elementary towards the principal's office.
She'd avoided Harry's calls Sunday, and had skipped out on the monthly PTA meeting last night. After all, what were they going to do to her? They'd already put her on the Social Planning Committee.
So, she called Michelle, gave her apologies and a lame excuse about a headache and spent the night at home waiting for the phone to ring, even as she dreaded it.
It hadn't rung.
No, it had caught her this morning as she prepared for a mile-long list of errands.
It wasn't that she didn't want to talk to Harry, she simply didn't know what to say to him. That's what it all came down to. Harry's mother's comments had knocked her legs out from under her, and she didn't know how to get back up.
It hadn't been Harry on the phone. It had been the school secretary. And she'd had pure business in her tone as she said, "Mrs. Williams, you need to come in. It's about an incident."
"I'll be right there," Samantha had promised.
When she walked into the office, Mrs. Vioni didn't smile a greeting. She merely nodded toward the principal's door and said, "They're waiting for you."
They're.
Not just Harry. Harry and one of her kids.
Or maybe more.
Maybe all three boys?
Samantha suppressed a groan as she knocked on the office door.
Harry called, "Come in."
Harry was behind his desk looking stern, and Stan sat in a chair across from him, looking belligerent. But underneath the tough-guy facade, Samantha saw confusion and nervousness.
This was not going to be good.
"Mom," Stan began, but Samantha gave him a look—a mom-look that had taken her years to perfect—and he snapped his mouth shut.
She took the empty chair next to her son and asked Harry, "So, what happened this time?"
"Stan was caught writing graffiti in the restroom, he—"
Samantha swung around so she was facing Stan, who was studiously staring at his knees. "Stan." Her voice sharp to her own ears. He looked up slowly, a deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes. She purposefully forced herself to speak calmly and slowly. "I thought after last year's incident, we were done with that kind of thing?"
"Mom, I—"
"I don't want excuses, and I don't want to hear any more from your principal. I want you to pony up and tell me why we're here again, and more importantly tell me why. You know defacing someone else's property isn't permitted. So explain it to me."
Stan jumped out of his chair, as if he couldn't remain seated another moment as his anger bubbled over. Samantha could see him working to get the words out, forcing them past that fury. "He—" Stan gave an angry jerk in Harry's direction "—comes into our lives and thinks he can play dad." He lowered his voice and said, "Here, kids, I'll put up a swing for you. I'll play with you. I'll take you out for pizza, or come to Sunday dinner."
Stan took a deep breath, but there was no calmness in his voice as he continued. "Well, I have a dad, I don't need him, and you don't need him. Nobody needs him. I guess that's why his girlfriend left and took that other boy with her, 'cause they didn't need him, either."
Samantha winced at the ugliness in Stan's words and she turned to look at Harry, who had visibly paled. She knew Stan had hit his mark.
"Stanford Robert Williams, apologize to Mr. Remington for those hateful, hurtful words."
For a moment she didn't think he was going to obey, but he muttered, "Sorry," though he didn't look in Harry's direction.
"Sit back down and pay attention to me." She waited as slowly he sat back in the chair. "Stan, we've been over this and over this."
"I know that. But he. . ." He jerked his head in Harry's direction again. "He doesn't. I was walking through the hall today and he says, 'Hey, Stan, tell your mom to call me tonight, okay?' Like I'm his answering machine, or something. He said it in front of all my friends. They all started talking about you, about how you were dating the principal. I told 'em you weren't and Marcus kept at it. I wanted to punch him, but I didn't. But when I went into the bathroom, no one was there, and I wrote Principal Remington sucks on the wall. I'm not sure why. I didn't mean to. It just happened."
Samantha had heard the it-just-happened excuse before, and had frequently called it into question; however, seeing the frustration and anger on Stan's face, she understood. "Stan, I can believe that having your friends all tease you—"
"They were singing that stupid kids' rhyme about you and Mr. Remington sitting in a tree."
She reached over and put her hand on his shoulder, sensing he needed the contact. "Stan, that's got to be embarrassing, and I'm so sorry it happened. Yet I still can't condone graffiti. You promised after last year that it wouldn't happen again."
"I know, and I'm sorry."
"Why don't you excuse Mr. Remington and I while we discuss your punishment, but be assured at the very least you'll be staying after and cleaning off or painting over that graffiti." She turned to Harry. "Is that all right with you?"
"Yes. Why don't you return to class, Stan, and report here before lunch."
Stan glared at Harry and said, "Fine," before stomping toward the door.
"And, Stan," Harry called, stopping him in his tracks. "I'm sorry I embarrassed you in front of your friends. That wasn't my intent."
Stan didn't respond. He simply continued out the door, slamming it behind him.
"Samantha, I'm sorry."
He'd found some of his color, but she could tell that he was still smarting from Stan's outburst.
"Me, too, Harry. He must have overheard something we said. . . ."
Harry waved his hand. "It doesn't matter."
But it did matter.
"What else do you think you need to do to him, in addition to having him remove the graffiti?"
"I think that will be sufficient. It sounds like he's already had quite a time of it with his friends because of me."
"Because of us. Stan's having more problems with our—" she hesitated "—our friendship than I imagined. He came to me again this weekend, and sounded so much like a little boy as he told me he wanted me and his dad to get back together. I told him that as much as Phillip and I both loved him—love all the kids—it wasn't going to happen. I'm afraid today's incident has something to do with that conversation."
"And of course, my huge blunder didn't help. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry about my mother. I tried calling—"
"My first instinct is to tell you that I was busy with the kids yesterday, especially Stan. Frankly, there's also what your mom said. It was comfortable having you around, thinking of you as a friend, but Harry, I'm sure that right now isn't the time for anything more than that. I know that's all we are, but if other people are seeing it as something more than it is? And given that Stan's going through something, maybe it's better if we saw a little less of each other. After all, you're leaving soon."
"Geri just called today and says she
has a hot prospect she's interviewing for the principal's job, so I might finish at Erie Elementary sooner than I thought. I'd promised Geri I'd stay until my classes finished in December. I've got to get back to my job in Columbus the second week in December."
She wanted to ask, "That soon?" But she didn't. "Do you miss it? Miss your friends and family?"
"Sometimes. I miss my Saturday morning basketball league with a group of teachers from school. I miss my mother dropping in and basically making me crazy. I miss the kids I worked with there. But so much of my life there was tied up with Teresa and Lucas. . ." He shrugged. "Well, you know how it is."
Samantha did. She used to be part of a couple, and so many of the things she did were as part of that twosome. Learning to do things solo, to build a life on her own was hard. But having Michelle and Carly in her corner was helping. So was having Harry. She didn't want to lose that. She wanted to be sure he understood that. "Yes, I know how it is. And I'm glad you're here in Erie. Glad you and I reconnected. And, Harry, we'll still be friends, but I have to put the kids—Stan—first."
"Samantha, I wanted to talk to you about that. You see, my mother might not be wrong. I don't think our not-dating dates are working because I think, maybe it's more than friendship on my end."
"It can't be." Samantha stood, wanting—no, needing—to get out of the room. Despite her urge, she held her ground. "We can't let it be. Either of us. We're neither of us ready for anything more."
Rather than respond, Harry got up, as well, and walked around the desk. He took her into his arms, and gently—oh, so tenderly—kissed her. It was a soft kiss of introduction. Tentative, growing bolder and more decisive with every second—or was it every minute?—that it went on.
A small voice in Samantha's head said, Pull away. Stop this now.
She didn't listen as she took control of the kiss, deepening it as she pressed herself into Harry's chest. She needed to be closer.
When they finally broke apart, Samantha took an immediate step back, wanting to put some distance between them as much as she'd wanted to be closer a moment ago.
"I think we have to admit what we've been developing over the last few weeks runs deeper than just friendship." Harry's voice sounded rather raspy. "There's friendship there, but there's more, Sami. At least there is for me."
