Just Around the Corner

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Heat sliding up his body, he stepped back as far as he could without actually letting go of the screen door. “Unless you’d rather I came back later…” What a fool he was. No wonder she hadn’t answered her door.

  And it wasn’t as if she owed him any explanation or needed to inform him when she was entertaining.

  There was no reason for him to feel slighted by that, either.

  “The trash can wait until tomorrow,” she said, sounding weary.

  Matt was just about to release the door, go while the going was good. And then she sniffled.

  Leaning in, he got a closer look at her, the swollen eyes that suggested she hadn’t slept all night. Or that she’d been crying. Or both.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, forgetting it wasn’t any of his business.

  “Nothing. I just…” She might have been striving for an appearance of normalcy, but she failed miserably when she started to cry outright.

  Matt pushed gently against the door, joining her in the foyer. “The baby?” He forced the words through a tight throat.

  If anything had happened to that child…

  “No,” Phyllis said, looking up with the first sign of real life in her eyes. “The baby’s fine.”

  The baby might be, but she wasn’t. She looked terrible. Her hair was skewed as usual, but not fashionably. Today the waves were haphazardly pressed more to one side of her head than the other, she was wearing the same clothes she’d had on the day before, and her face was bare of makeup.

  His gut constricted.

  “So what’s up?” he asked her softly, a little alarmed by how easily she allowed him to lead her into the living room, seat her on the sofa and offer her the box of tissues from the end table.

  “Nothing, really. I’m…I’m just tired and being stupid.”

  “And wearing yesterday’s clothes.”

  “Oh!” She glanced down at herself. “I’d forgotten. Sorry.” And then, as if becoming aware of her appearance for the first time, she lifted a hand to her hair and then ran it along her wet cheek.

  “I’m a mess,” she said, obviously embarrassed as she stared down at the carpet.

  “You’re not a mess,” Matt assured her. “I’ve never met a woman who looked more beautiful without all the unnatural help of cosmetics.” He could’ve been saying the words to make her feel better, to be gentlemanly. But he wasn’t. He meant them.

  She gave him a thoroughly exhausted grin, looking at him from beneath lowered lids. “You don’t have to lie, Matt. It’s not like we have anything going here.”

  Seeing her like this, so vulnerable—more vulnerable, somehow, than she’d been that day in the hospital—was doing strange things to Matt’s equilibrium.

  “It wasn’t a lie,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the couch, close to her, half facing her. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong, or do I start guessing?”

  She shook her head. A tear landed on the hands folded in her lap. “You’d never guess.”

  “I’d guess you haven’t been to bed yet.”

  She wiped her face, then dropped her hand back into her lap. “Actually I have been. Tory called around three this morning. She’d gone into labor and Ben was out of town.”

  When he heard the explanation, Matt would have relaxed if she hadn’t seemed so sad, as well as exhausted. Had something gone wrong?

  “Tory was in hard labor for hours and we couldn’t reach Ben. The baby was breech and there were some other complications, and they ended up having to do a C-section.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  Phyllis nodded, but the breath she drew in wasn’t steady. “She had a little girl—named her after me.” She looked up long enough to give him a smile, then looked away again.

  Something was wrong. Something had changed her.

  “And Tory’s okay?”

  “Yep. Sore, of course, but Ben’s back in town, and mother and baby are both doing fine.”

  Phyllis was fiddling with the bottom of her sweater, pulling on a thread.

  If she didn’t stop, she was going to pull the thread all the way through and ruin the sweater.

  “You must be exhausted,” he said, trying to assimilate the things she’d told him—and whatever she hadn’t told him.

  She nodded, seemingly engrossed with that thread. He suspected she was avoiding his gaze. And he had no idea why. Why had their relationship suddenly become awkward again?

  He should probably just leave—let her get some rest. After the night she’d apparently had, she’d be risking the pregnancy for sure if she wasn’t really careful. Or maybe…

  “Are you bleeding again?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”

  He’d like to just believe that and go. Return to his television set. There was still a game and a half remaining, and his Internet friends would be wondering where he was. He hadn’t missed a Sunday-afternoon football bonanza in more than two years. They didn’t know his real name. Had no idea where he lived or anything personal about him, but they knew ms2456 could call a game like no other.

  Something he’d learned from his dad during the times the old man had been around. The elder Sheffield didn’t only steal. He also ran a hell of a gambling racket.

  “I told Tory about the baby.”

  He stiffened. “I guess your friends finding out at some point is kind of unavoidable.”

  She nodded again, the back of her neck looking fragile to him, exposed as it was below her bent head. “I told her to keep quiet about it for now, though. I still want to wait a little while and make sure I’m really going to have this baby before everyone starts making plans for me.”

  “You’re still worried about losing the baby?”

  Maybe the night she’d spent, fearing for Tory’s baby, had frightened her. Maybe that, coupled with exhaustion, was all that was wrong with her.

  “Not really,” she said. “No more than I was. But to tell you the truth, I’m enjoying this time alone with the knowledge. It’s all settling on me slowly, peacefully, rather than coming at me with hundreds of questions that don’t yet have answers.”

  Matt thought about that, impressed with Phyllis’s insight into something she’d never experienced before. “You want time to get some of those questions answered in your own mind before your friends start asking them.”

  “Yeah,” she said. She raised her head, holding his gaze a bit longer before looking down again. “I guess I do.”

  “I can understand how you feel.”

  “You’re good at that.” She sent him a sideways smile.

  “Good at what?”

  “Understanding.”

  Hmm. Maybe he was. He’d never thought about it before. He’d just learned at a very young age to put himself in other people’s shoes—the people around him—sometimes to predict behavior and get out of the way, sometimes to know when to head for protection somewhere, sometimes to find the love that was never apparent in his house.

  Besides, who was he to cast judgment on anyone?

  “So you going to tell me what has you so down this afternoon?” he asked. He’d been searching for a way to leave, but suddenly found himself needing to stay. To help her if he could.

  “You know—” she looked across at him “—I’d really like to tell you. You’re probably the only person who’d understand, but I’m afraid you’ll take it wrong, assume I want something that I absolutely do not want.”

  Matt held out both hands, palms up. “I promise, no assumptions.”

  “This has nothing to do with you.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re sure?” She was still watching him. That was good enough for Matt.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Today, when I saw Ben look at that baby…” Tears filled her eyes again and she glanced away, the room in front of her, out the window on the opposite wall, composing herself with obvious effort. “There was such a wealth of love and commitment in his eyes, you just knew that baby was
going to be safe for as long as he lived. And beyond, too, because he’ll have provided for her.”

  “And this makes you sad?” Matt wasn’t getting it. But he was trying. Were these maybe happy tears? He didn’t think he’d ever seen any, so he couldn’t be certain.

  “What makes me sad…” She looked back at him, took a deep, shuddering breath. “What makes me so incredibly sad is that my baby isn’t going to have that.”

  His chest constricted. Breathing became difficult. She’d slammed him and he hadn’t even seen it coming.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “YOU SAID YOU WOULDN’T think this was about you.”

  Her words were so soft it took a couple of seconds for them to register. He was staring at her, but hadn’t even been seeing her. Hadn’t noticed when her expression had changed from sad to compassionate.

  He didn’t need her damned pity.

  “How can it not be?” he asked more harshly than he’d intended. “I’m the only person on earth who can play that role for your child.”

  “Biologically, maybe, but I could always marry someone else, someone who’d adopt my baby.”

  He studied her expression, looking for some sign of insincerity. “You’re thinking of getting married?”

  What guy was she going to marry? Would he be good to the kid?

  “No, I’m not. And that’s just it,” she continued. “I’ve had a few relationships, even tried marriage once. I’m much happier alone. I know that about myself. And because of it, my baby’s being robbed of something elemental and precious right from the start.”

  Matt thought about that. What she said made sense. To a point. Especially when you thought about Ben Sanders and the hospital scene Phyllis had just described.

  Still…

  “Not necessarily,” he finally said. His elbows resting on his knees, he clasped his hands together, choosing his words carefully.

  “In an ideal world, all children would be born to parents like Ben and Tory Sanders, but that doesn’t happen as often as we’d like to think. You, of all people, should know that.”

  Her face cleared a bit. “You’re right, of course.”

  “The way I figure it, that baby of yours is starting out ahead of the game. He might only have one parent, but she’s going to be the best. That kid’s going to want for nothing.”

  She gave a half grin and cocked her head. “You think I’ll be a good mother?”

  “The best,” he said again. He’d have given both legs to have had a mother even half as responsible and capable and obviously caring as Phyllis was. “If I ever chose to have a kid, I couldn’t think of anyone who’d make a better mother.”

  She laughed. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m the one you used that faulty condom on, then, huh?”

  Her smile took his breath away. Her words hurt more then she’d ever know. And he wasn’t even sure why.

  Phyllis’s face sobered. “You know, Matt, if I ever chose to have a father for my child, I couldn’t imagine anyone I’d want in that position more than you.”

  No! This had to stop. They were standing at the edge of a deadly precipice. And the wind was blowing. Hard. He could hear it, feel it buffeting his body.

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice utterly devoid of warmth. Where he lived, it was rarely warm. And only when he was kidding himself.

  She gave him an odd, piercing look. “I do, you know,” she said quietly, “although you seem to feel differently.”

  “I know differently.”

  “So are you going to tell me why you’ve decided you’re rotten father material?”

  It was the soft sincerity of her words that got to him. Made him want things he’d never had.

  Made him angry about the wanting.

  “The only men in my family I ever knew growing up—my father, my uncle, my older brother—were criminals. Either in jail serving time or out of jail breaking the law.”

  He stopped, the familiar feeling of shame washing over him, shutting off the words.

  Matt stood. It was time to go. Football seemed so far away just then, absurd in its uselessness, yet it called to him. If he could just get home to the game, everything would be normal again—the normal he’d created these past few years.

  “What did your brother do?” Her question came as he’d known it would. What he hadn’t expected was that she’d remain sitting calmly on the couch. Not threatening him with her presence. Or worse, her touch.

  “He raped my baby-sitter.”

  His words fell harshly into the quiet Sunday-afternoon peace of Phyllis’s home.

  Shit. Where had they come from? He hadn’t thought of that day since it had happened. Hadn’t seen his brother since the cops had come to the door and put handcuffs on him, just as they’d done so many times before with their dad.

  Brian had been his hero. The one who’d protected him whenever their father was out of jail and came home drunk. He’d never let the old man tease Matt or bully him into doing things Matt didn’t want to do.

  Like trying to force him to look at the smut magazines all the guys were poring over. Or making fun of his mother or sister when his cruelty made them cry.

  He’d cut Brian out of his life that day. Why had he suddenly entered Matt’s thoughts again?

  “Being related to criminals doesn’t make you one.”

  There was so much noise inside his head Matt was ready to explode. “No?” He turned, pinned her with a harsh glare—reminding himself of his father. “Then perhaps it was my years in jail that did.”

  He’d never spoken so nastily to another human being in his life. Never allowed himself to be condescendingly cruel as his father had been cruel. It wasn’t the words that mattered. It was the way they were said.

  Matt had learned that lesson before he’d even learned to talk.

  Glancing over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Phyllis, sitting in the same position, her weary face still wearing kindness, he knew he had to get out of there.

  HER HEART WAS POUNDING a little harder than it should from the climb up the stairs to the lighting booth but Sophie decided that was because of the man she was going to see, not the exertion being asked of her body. So what if she was ten pounds under her so-called ideal weight? She was finally starting to look the way she wanted to.

  It had to be Matt. There couldn’t be any other explanation, because she wasn’t going to stop losing weight. Not when she felt as great about herself as she did right now. She’d done so well yesterday. A granola bar in the morning to keep her metabolism going. Three-quarters of a cup of dry raisin bran in the afternoon for the fiber, a health bar for vitamins and then a tossed salad, no dressing, at dinnertime so she had her beta carotene. And this morning she’d been down a pound from the day before.

  Her size-two pants were a little loose and her waist tiny enough to draw attention to her breasts. She felt almost good enough to face Matt Sheffield. She had no idea why he liked her so much, why he’d liked her even before she got herself together. And now, well now, she really had something to offer him.

  “Hey, Mr. Sheffield,” she said as she entered the sound booth. She’d wanted to stand there and watch him work—loved the concentration on his face, the intensity in his eyes when he was creating new illusions with the lights. But she’d been afraid he’d catch her looking and think she was stupid. Or worse yet, young.

  He turned just enough to give her a quick smile. “Hey, Sophie,” he said.

  “You working on the new gobos for the dance show?” She moved over to stand behind him, checking out the images he was manipulating on the computer screen built into the lighting-board table.

  Matt jerked kind of nervously when she brushed against his shoulder. “Yeah,” he said. “Just let me finish this and I’ll be right with you.”

  “Take your time.” She continued to stand there, glad she made him nervous. It showed he cared.

  But she’d known that for a while. There were
days she felt certain that Matt was the only person in the world who really cared about her.

  She didn’t mind, though, not as long as she had him. When you had the best, who needed anyone else?

  Planning ahead, Sophie went over and sat on the old green couch. If she stayed by the board, Matt would review the schedule she’d brought him just sitting down at the table. But if she was on the couch, he’d have to join her there. They’d have an excuse to sit close, enjoy each other’s body heat, scents. Touch a bit—if only at the shoulders and hips.

  She really appreciated that Matt was taking a long time to bring her along, to tutor her in the ways of older men before he made his big move on her. Not that they were all that far apart in age. Only ten years. Hell, of the five husbands her mom had had, four of them were more than ten years older. The fifth one had been eight years younger.

  “Almost done,” Matt said, his hands moving around the computer keyboard and lighting board with a swiftness and a confidence that Sophie loved.

  “No problem,” she said, wishing he’d take a little longer. She loved just sitting here in the same room with him.

  Couldn’t wait until she wouldn’t have to use school as an excuse to be close to him.

  Taking advantage of the time he’d just given her, Sophie studied Matt, the man who was going to be her next—and last—lover. His hair was black, a little long, and full enough to make her want to run her fingers through it. That was one of the first things she’d do when she finally had the chance to really touch him.

  His shoulders were broad, his arms strong enough to easily carry her up those stairs she’d just climbed. She’d seen him without his shirt once, last year when the electricity had gone out due to a storm and it had been hotter than hell in the theater. They’d had a show that night and shows must always go on, so they’d worked right through the heat, getting sets ready, booms hung and the cyclorama put up. All the technical stuff they could do without electricity.

  His chest had been covered with crisp dark hair, his nipples taut on a set of pecs that were rock-solid and beautiful. His back was smooth, the muscles individually delineated, tanned.