by Holly Jacobs
"So, call and see if she'll let him visit."
"You think?"
"I think."
He smiled. "Maybe I will." He stepped closer and pulled her into his arms. "You're a very special person, Samantha."
"You, too, Harry."
"So, since it's just the two of us very special people here, why don't we get some dinner and then. . ." He wiggled his eyebrows up and down.
She nodded. "And then. . ."
HARRY COULD TELL SAMANTHA was nervous. He totally understood. It might not be macho to admit it, but he was nervous, too. He knew what tonight's invitation meant, and it wasn't that he didn't want to be with Samantha, but he didn't want to mess up what they already had. He didn't want to hurt her when he left. And he was going back to his job and life in Columbus soon.
Why? a small voice inside him whispered. He could stay, and give himself more time with Samantha?
He ignored the voice. He cared about Samantha, and he cared about her kids. If he were honest about it, he knew he could easily fall for the lot of them, and he knew that if he let himself believe, and then lost them all. . . No, he wasn't going through that again. He and Samantha had set their ground-rules. Maybe he should call tonight off?
He probably should, but he wasn't sure he had that much willpower. He wanted her. There was something about her that touched him.
Samantha spilled her water at dinner, then thwacked her head getting into the car. By the time they reached her house, she'd gone from jittery to practically jumping out of her skin.
She opened the door and just stood in the foyer, as if unclear what to do next.
He took her hand and drew her into the living room. "Sami, it's me. No, it's us. It will work itself out, so relax." He led them to the couch, patted a cushion and sat down. He immediately jumped back up and pulled the Transformer from the crack in the cushions.
"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry. I should have taken more time to clean up. I mean—"
"Sam."
Her head jerked up and she was quiet.
"Samantha, it's okay. Whatever happens, or doesn't happen, it's okay. Really."
"Don't you see, I can't relax. The last time I did something like this for the first time, the first Bush was in office, or maybe Clinton had just started his presidency. Either way, I was in my teens and had a size-ten body that hadn't carried four kids. I don't know how to do this—"
Harry didn't know what to do, what to say, so he simply leaned forward and kissed her. Kissed her like he meant it. Minutes went by, before he pulled back. "It's been a long time for me, as well. Clinton was in his second term when Teresa and I got together," Harry teased her softly. "But I'm happy to report, it seems to be coming back to me. How about you? Still nervous?"
"I know I shouldn't be, but yes."
"Maybe you'd forget about nerves if I started. . ." He kissed her again, slowly. They had the house to themselves, so there was no rush. There would be no interruptions. He felt her tension ease as she moved closer to him, relaxing in his arms. He deepened the kiss, and his hands began to explore her body. She was all curves and soft invitation, as tantalizing as her kisses. He lost himself in the sensation of Samantha. Lost himself in the feel of her, the taste of her, the rhythm that they were finding together.
After a while, their shirts came off, and the feel of her pressed against him, skin to skin, was almost too much.
"What if we take this upstairs?" he asked.
Samantha realized that she felt whole. It wasn't just Harry, it was who she was when she was with Harry.
In Harry's arms, she felt completely herself.
She felt healed.
She felt beautiful.
"Yes, " she said, her nerves forgotten.
Chapter Eleven
"Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom. . ." came the litany somewhere near Samantha's right ear, pulling her from her dreams.
Dreams of last weekend. One entire uninterrupted weekend with Harry while the kids were with their father. She and Harry had stayed in her bedroom mostly. They'd ordered their meals in, watched old movies and a football game and made love. Suddenly, she felt herself slipping back into her dreams, but that persistent voice continued, "Mom, Mom, Mom. . ."
Slowly, she forced her eyelids open. It was slow work. "Huh?"
"Mom, come on, get up. It's Tuesday. The pageant's today, and you said you'd do my hair, and then you've got to come to school with me, and then we've got to get everyone in the classroom dressed in their costumes, and then—"
"Coffee," she interrupted, glancing at the clock, which read the obscene time of six fifty-six. "Mommy needs coffee before you tell me one more and then."
"I'll go wake up the boys." Stella raced from her room.
Samantha closed her eyes again, just for a minute. She found the older she got the more time her body needed to ease itself from sleep to wakefulness. Today it was particularly hard to pull herself from her Harry-inspired dreams.
Slowly, she managed it, and her mind started to kick into gear, listing everything she had to get done before the eleven-o'clock pageant. The list was Energizer Bunny-ish because it kept going and going and going. She knew she had to get up and be going, too.
She pulled back the covers and was just about to sit up when Stella screamed, "Mommy, come on."
Samantha showered and dressed in record time. Feeling slightly more human, she stumbled down the stairs, dodged the tangle of gaming handset cords and stepped over a pile of pillows and blankets that Stella had used as a makeshift nest last night. She and Miss Ruby were pretending to be baby birds and were trying to get their mother, Marmalade, to feed them worms.
Samantha could smell the coffee as she walked into the kitchen and gave mental thanks to whoever thought of making programmable coffeemakers. She was just about to pour a cup, when Marmalade started with her I-need-to-go-out-this-minute bark.
Setting the coffee carafe down, Samantha went to the back door, let the dog out into her, thankfully, fenced-in backyard, and Grunge dashed out, as well.
She knew it was an omen. Today was not going to be a good day.
Unfortunately, there was no calling in sick or hiding out in her house. She had a Thanksgiving Pageant to put on.
"Kids, the cat got out."
Four sets of feet came thundering into the kitchen and ran out the back door. "Grunge, Grunge," they called. Marmalade, thinking it was a game, joined in, yapping happily, not caring it wasn't quite seven-thirty in the morning.
Her neighbors were going to love her.
Somehow, Samantha managed to get Grunge and Marmalade in the house, do Stella's hair and have everyone to school by eight minutes after eight. "Run. The late bell is at eight ten," she called, dropping them at the front door, then driving up and down the narrow street, looking for a parking place.
Parallel parking took a few minutes since it wasn't one of Samantha's most well-honed skills. And with the coffee she'd been longing for since waking up in hand, Samantha trudged into the school. How on earth was she going to get the stage set up, all the kids in costume and in place?
One step at a time, she told herself firmly.
She'd finished How to Be Happy Without Really Trying last night and the parting paragraph had read. . . Happiness is within our reach, it simply requires that we proceed one step at a time. Cultivate optimism. Accept your right to be happy. Reconcile your past—it brought you here. Pursue your dreams. One step at a time.
That's what this fall had been—a series of steps.
Finding friends in Michelle and Carly.
Finding Harry.
Even knowing that Harry was leaving, she'd found something in his arms. When he'd looked at her, he'd seen her. Not her stretch marks, or padding. He'd seen her. And he'd helped her see herself.
How many times had she told the kids that Phillip's leaving hadn't had anything to do with them? She believed that. But there was always a quiet whisper in the corner of her mind asking if his leaving were her fault. No. . .
Phillip had
n't left because of her.
She thought of Harry's descriptions of her. Lush, curvaceous, sensual, voluptuous, delightful, sexy as hell. . .
She was Samantha Burger Williams. A nurse. A mother. A friend. She was the organizer of Thanksgiving pageants. She was Harry's lover.
It would hurt when he left, but he'd given her a gift of finding herself.
She was going to be fine.
Feeling empowered, she hurried to the stage and started tugging the backdrop into place. The boys had done a great job painting a kitchen and dining-room scene. It was big though, and heavy. She dragged it, an inch at a time, across the stage.
"Hey, I can give you a hand with that," Carly called. "I still feel guilty you didn't let us help."
"I knew I could call you if I needed you, but we had everything under control. The kids made the scenery, and Harry was here, too." She smiled at the thought of him. Turning to Michelle, Samantha asked, "How are things with Brandon?"
"He seems to have stopped trying to find his father. He's accepted my offer—we'll look for him when Bran's eighteen." She looked around the stage. "So what can we do?"
"Let's finish setting up the stage, then we can get the kids into their costumes."
The work went faster with Michelle and Carly's assistance. It was almost nine when Harry arrived. Samantha was nearby, putting out the costumes, while Michelle and Carly were organizing the chairs around the dining-room table. She glanced up and smiled.
"I would have gotten here sooner, but all hell broke loose in the office. I'm here now, what do you need?"
"Well, there is one thing I could use."
"Oh, what's that?"
"This."
One step at a time, that's what the book said. Right now she was accepting that she deserved happiness, and the next step to getting it was to kiss Harry. As her lips touched his, she discovered she was right. . .it made her very happy.
"Ahem," came the very distinct sound of someone clearing their throat.
Samantha turned around and found her two friends looking at her and Harry and smiling in a totally knowing way.
Samantha decided to ignore what they'd seen. "Hi, guys. Ready for your next job?"
Samantha saw Harry eyeing her two friends. She was pretty sure he'd decided retreat was the best choice because he said, "Sounds like you have everything under control. I'll finish dousing the fires in my office," then hurried away.
"Fires?" Carly asked, eyeing Samantha. "That's an apt description of the two of you."
"It wasn't a fire. . .just a nice friendly warmth. It's embarrassing to be caught fawning all over him like some schoolgirl with a crush."
"That wasn't embarrassing. It was cute," Michelle said, a hint of wistfulness in her voice.
"Cute?" Carly countered. "It was hot."
A sound that was equivalent to that of a herd of elephants drowned out the rest of Michelle and Carly's teasing.
"I think the kids are here," Samantha said loudly.
It was a whirlwind of activity, and nerves prompted a last minute run-through of lines.
The parents arrived.
"Mommy, is Daddy and Lois out there?" Stella asked in what was supposed to be a stage whisper and ended up sounding like a bullhorn.
"Yes. They're over by the street side of the gym. Now, go get in your place before the curtain opens."
Samantha had the script in hand, ready to prompt as needed, and the entire class was in place.
"Can I have your attention?" Harry spoke into the microphone at the front of the gym.
Samantha could hear the fourth-graders start to sing their Thanksgiving song, standing in front of the stage. The third-graders were in their places on the stage itself, hidden from the audience by the still-closed curtain.
Samantha felt as jittery as if she were the one going on the stage. "Okay, everyone," she called. "Here we go." She ducked behind the backdrop.
The last song ended and the audience grew quiet. Harry continued, "Now, for the main event, I'd like to introduce our third grade as they present Thanksgiving at the Table."
Slowly, the curtain drew back.
"As Halloween and October ends,
Thoughts of some dinners with turkey begin.
Samantha knew that Michelle and Carly were doing their part as children showed up on stage right on cue.
All the practice was paying off as the kids moved flawlessly through the production.
"She's stuffing the turkey
And kneading the rolls.
She's mashing the potatoes
And filling the bowls.
The oven is heating and so are the pots
To fill all the family, her husband and tots."
Stella was supposed to run across the stage carrying a big metal roasting pan, and put it in the cardboard oven. Instead of going behind the table to the oven, like they'd practiced, Stella went in front. Samantha wanted to call out a warning that Stella was awfully close to the edge of the stage, but before she could, Harry darted out from somewhere on the gym floor and said, "Behind the table, Stella," and hurried back to the shadows.
Stella laughed, turned around and went behind the table, the kids never missed a beat with their reciting.
". . .in the oven, all warm and glowing.
Samantha released a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding.
Harry had saved the day, but the day was coming when he'd no longer be around to help with plays or forestall mishaps.
He was leaving.
At first there had been a sort of comfort, knowing that what she had with Harry was going to be short-lived.
That it had an expiration date.
Now, thinking about him leaving brought no comfort, only a decidedly uncomfortable pain somewhere in the vicinity of her heart. It wasn't that she couldn't get by without Harry. She knew she could.
The fact was, she didn't want to.
The play was proceeding without any further incidents.
". . .then Mother sat down at her holiday chair,
And looked at the meal she made with such care.
She realized Thanksgiving wasn't the rolls,
The turkey, the stuffing or heaping bowls.
She looked at the faces of Joe, Bob and Ann,
She looked at her husband, she looked at her friends.
Thanksgiving's a day to remember to start
Saying thanks for the things that are near to our heart."
Near and dear to her heart. That described Harry to a tee.
She cared for him.
A lot.
The third-graders stayed in place on the stage, as the first- and second-grade classes walked onto the floor in front of the stage and sang their closing Thanksgiving song.
"We are thankful for everyone here, and those who are far away.
We are thankful for those who must go, and thankful for those who will stay."
Thankful, Samantha rolled the word on her tongue. She was thankful for the time she'd had with Harry. She wished it could last longer, still she'd simply accept it and be thankful for the time they had left.
THE CLASSES ALL LINED up and took a group bow. Well, the group was divided into about three different parts, all bowing a little off from where they should have been. But it was actually an endearing attempt, and the audience showed its appreciation with thundering applause.
When the noise quieted down, Jeb stepped center stage with a huge bundle of roses in his hands. "The third grade wants ta thank Mrs. Williams. She worked really hard on the play. Come on out, Mrs. Williams," he called as he wiped his perpetually runny nose on his sleeve.
Samantha didn't move for a minute, then as more and more kids started calling, "Mrs. Williams," she forced her leaden feet forward, and took the flowers from Jeb.
"Thank you," she said to the class, then hurried offstage, as the curtain closed. She set the flowers on a table, then spoke to the kids. "Wow, you were fantastic! Mrs. Tarbot is going to be so proud of you when s
he hears how brilliantly you did. Now, let's everyone get in line and be ready for Ms. Hahn to come and get you. If you're wearing a costume and need help getting it off, you can see me, or Mrs. Lewis or Ms. Hamilton."
Bedlam was the kindest description of the chaos of thirty kids trying to line up, take off costumes while chattering about their fun performance.
"Mommy, Mommy, did you see me?" Stella danced from foot to foot, too filled with excitement to stand still.
"I did, Stella, my bella."
"I was wonderful." Stella hugged herself and twirled happily. "I didn't make any mistakes or nothin'."
Samantha didn't mention her near fall off the stage. "You were perfectly wonderful."
"Can I stay here with you?"
"No. Remember, Daddy and Lois are going to take you for the rest of the afternoon to celebrate?" The end of the pageant marked the beginning of Thanksgiving vacation.
"Oh, yeah," Stella said brightly. "I bet they thought I was wonderful, too, don't you?"
"I'm sure they did."
"Tomorrow we're baking for Thanksgiving?"
Samantha nodded. "Yes. I'll need my helper."
"That's me."
"You're right, that's you." She leaned down and kissed her daughter.
She felt a moment of complete and absolute mother's love. She watched Stella run off and join her class. Samantha was lucky. She might lose Harry soon, but she had her kids. She had herself. That would be enough.
The third grade marched back to their classroom to retrieve their coats and bookbags.
Samantha was heading toward Michelle and Carly, to thank them for taking the afternoon off to help, when Harry came up to her.
"Mrs. Williams, can I see you for a minute?" Harry asked in his most principalish tone.
She followed him to the least noisy corner of the stage, hidden behind the curtains. "I wondered if you'd let me take you to a celebratory late lunch?"
"I'd love it. And I suspect I have you to thank for the flowers."
"Given all you've done the last few weeks, it's the least I could do. It was a great production, Sami."
She could see that he was going to kiss her, and she realized that soon he'd be gone and there would be no more kisses. Once, she'd have been tempted to pull back, but at this moment, she wanted to savor every last instant with Harry, so she kissed him full on for all she was worth.
