His, Unexpectedly

by Susan Fox

  I pulled back in the circle of his arms, keeping my own around his waist, and stared up at him. His eyes were bluer, fiercer, than the bright sky behind. “I ran away, fell for the wrong guy, didn’t have safe sex, didn’t have the sense to get medical attention when I should. I didn’t need a lecture. And,” I narrowed my eyes warningly, “I didn’t need pity.”

  He stroked my cheek gently. “How about caring? How about love? Did you need those?”

  The bright sun, the breeze … again my eyes teared up. “I knew my family loved me.”

  “You said that before. That it’s an I love you, but kind of thing. Like, I love you, but you should have known better than to run off with that boy?”

  “Yeah, like that.” And they’d have been right.

  “I love you, and I’m sorry for what happened to you. That’s what they should have said.”

  Those words, the kind of words I didn’t remember ever hearing from my parents or my sisters made the tears spill. I buried my face against his chest and said, trying for a jokey tone, “That might’ve been nice.”

  Mark stared down at her white-gold curls, blazing in the sun, and felt an ache in his chest around the region of his heart. He wanted to reach back into the past and change things, to fix it all up so Jenna hadn’t been hurt.

  Impossible, fanciful, not like him at all.

  In his adult life, the only woman he’d ever told “I love you” was his grandmother, and the words, while genuine, had felt awkward. But a minute ago, they’d flowed off his tongue. He’d been talking about what Jenna’s family should have said to her, and yet … The words had felt right.

  He couldn’t really be falling for Jenna, could he?

  Examine the hypothesis. Why couldn’t he? At first, he’d bought into the image she presented, of a free-spirited drifter who wouldn’t commit to anyone or anything. One who didn’t want kids. Now he knew better. She’d committed to being there for an amputee child for the last eight years. She’d loved a boy who had betrayed her.

  Her mom had told her not to cry over spilled milk, and Jenna had decided to just stop drinking milk. To pretend to herself that she didn’t want love, didn’t want children.

  Or at least, that was his current working theory.

  If he and Jenna did fall in love, they could have kids if they wanted them. There were so many children in the world who needed parents.

  He gazed over her shoulder at a vista of deep blue ocean studded with craggy rocks, white-capped waves foaming their way to shore. Was he getting ahead of himself or what? It had been a hell of an unsettling morning. Time to take a breath, literally and figuratively.

  He could see Jenna felt vulnerable after sharing such personal, sensitive information. She didn’t want pity and was trying to joke, so he accepted the tone she wanted to set, and said, “Parents. We sure don’t get to pick them, do we?”

  A soft laugh. “Nor they us.” A moment later, she lifted her head to gaze at him. “Thanks, Mark. Thanks for being here for me.”

  The word always stuck in his throat. It wanted to fly out, but he couldn’t make that promise. Who knew what would happen between them over the next couple of days of this journey? Instead, he said, “My pleasure.” Gazing into her damp-lashed eyes, eyes so much brighter and more beautiful than the dark ocean below them, he had that same sense of diving in and getting lost. Very happily lost.

  “And now we’re really behind schedule,” she said. A statement of fact—yes, they were a good three hours be-hind—but he was learning to read her. The twinkle in her eyes said she was teasing.

  “Guess I’ll have to learn to adapt.” He glanced down at the strip of sandy, wave-swept beach below. “D’you want to go down to the beach for a walk?”

  She eased out of his arms and gazed at the view, blond curls whipping around in the breeze. “Yes, but no. I really do need to be in Vancouver tomorrow night.”

  And then what would happen to the two of them? “Me too. Shouldn’t be a problem.” Yesterday, her car had broken down. Today, they’d been held up by an accident. Surely there’d be no other major delays.

  They walked to the camper and she said, “It’s lunchtime and I’m hungry. Want to eat while we drive?”

  “Sure.”

  She popped into the back to assemble a snack, and soon they were on the road again. An easy road, a lovely one that mostly hugged the ocean’s edge and offered stunning vistas, bright orange California poppies, very few towns, and the scent of ocean air coming through the open windows. Companionably they munched on bread and cheese, crackers, carrots, and finished up with a couple of rosy apples.

  “I wish we had a slice of Marianne’s pie,” Jenna said. “That was the best.”

  “Too bad we didn’t think to bring some with us.”

  “Planning’s not my strong suit.”

  “What is?” He had his own ideas, but wanted to hear hers.

  “Having fun. Living in the moment.”

  “Helping people. Abused women, disabled kids, autistic kids, a girl with no legs who doesn’t have a mom or dad, an old woman after a car accident. Helping falcons, doing park maintenance. I’m sure there’s more.”

  “I’ve had a few other jobs, done other volunteer work here and there. But it’s just … you know. I’m passing through. I’m one of many pairs of hands.”

  “Your mom’s just one lawyer, your sister’s just one sociologist.”

  A quick laugh. “And here I thought they’d like you.”

  “Well, am I right?”

  She shook her head. “You haven’t met them. Yeah, everyone in my family kind of pisses me off—except M, most of the time, because she’s too sweet to piss anyone off—but I’m actually proud of them.”

  “Tell me more about them.” He’d been getting a picture of her parents, seeing them as not unlike his grandma and grandpa. People who expected their child to be studious and structured. For him, that had worked perfectly because it fit his natural personality. But Jenna would have been a kid like Alicia. Outgoing and fun. When his grandparents had seen those qualities in Alicia, they’d tried to squash them, and she’d rebelled.

  “Ah,” she said, “more conversation, to make the miles fly by.”

  “Someone told me it was a good idea.” The longer he knew Jenna, the more interested he was in her. Besides, he had theories to check out. Was her footloose behavior her own rebellion? If her parents had understood her better, might they have fostered her particular talents rather than tried to squash them? Might they have helped her realize and achieve her true value instead of telling her she had little to invest?

  She took a long swallow of water, tilted her seat back a notch, and put bare feet up on the dashboard. “Okay, starting with my folks.”

  He glanced appreciatively at her long, tanned legs. Toned, shapely legs that made him think of naked limbs twining together, of her wrapping those legs around his hips as he pumped into her. Then he tore his gaze away and concentrated on the road and her words.

  “Dad graduated from Harvard and came to UBC to get his doctorate, studying under a top geneticist. Mom was doing pre-law when they met. They were both serious, disciplined, smart as blazes.” She flicked him a grin. “A lot like you. They got married the summer before she started law school. They had the whole plan worked out.”

  “I’m sure they did.” Yes, they were exactly as he’d theorized.

  She gave a mischievous giggle. “It didn’t include kids, not until they were both established in their fields. But nature had its own ideas. Mom was on the pill, but she got pregnant in second year law.”

  “Your sister Theresa? They didn’t consider abortion?”

  “I’d bet they did, not that they’d tell us. Instead, they reworked the whole plan. Mom thought one parent should stay home for the first year, and Dad, well … Typical absent-minded prof, you wouldn’t want him looking after a baby. They wanted two kids, a boy and a girl, and quickly, so Mom could get back to her career.”

  “M
akes sense. Except, all of you are girls, right?”

  “Nature foiled them again. Still wanting a boy, they gave it one more shot. Along came me. A big disappointment.”

  “I’m sure you weren’t.” Yet, in some ways she likely had been: a butterfly born into a family of worker bees. They wouldn’t have known what to do with her, except try to shape her into their image.

  She snorted. “Yeah, right.”

  He could only imagine how tough it had been for her, and realized that not only was he coming to understand Jenna but to have more sympathy for Alicia. Parents and kids; maybe it was always a tough relationship. If he had children, he wanted to do better.

  “Anyhow, then Mom went back to law school. You said she’s just one lawyer? Nope, she’s become one of the best class action lawyers in the country.”

  “Hmm. Tough parents to live up to.”

  “Not a problem for Tree, the genius kid. Went to Harvard and the New School for Social Research in New York, got a Ph.D. in sociology. She specializes in indigenous people. By the time she was twenty-two she was teaching in the native studies program at the University of Saskatchewan.”

  He whistled. Another tough act to follow.

  “But, poor Tree, though she had an off-the-chart IQ, her experience with boys was zero. She fell for a senior prof, got married, and the asshole ripped off her research.”

  “Shit.”

  “It put her off men.”

  Interesting that Theresa’s response to betrayal was avoidance, and Jenna had gone in the opposite direction: the more, the merrier, so long as she never fell in love. Coping mechanisms in both cases, neither of them particularly healthy. In his humble opinion. What the hell did he know about relationships anyhow?

  “She’s been in Sydney for a long time now,” she was saying. “A tenured prof. She gives papers at all those international symposiums, same as you.”

  “Specializing in Aboriginal Australians?”

  “Yeah. And Torres Strait Islanders.”

  “Aboriginal people have a tough go, no matter what country you’re in. I’ve seen that wherever I’ve traveled.”

  “Tree’d enjoy talking to you.” There was a hint of something negative—jealousy?—in her tone.

  “I’d enjoy talking to her too,” he said cautiously.

  “You smart folks talk the same language.”

  She was subtly putting herself down, the way she’d done a time or two before. Echoing her parents’ opinions, he’d bet.

  “Intellectuals tend to talk the same language,” he corrected, “though to a large extent the language is specific to each discipline. I’m sure you’ve seen that with your dad and your sister. Both academics, but in very different fields.”

  “True. I guess everyone in the family has learned some of each other’s language over the years.”

  “Like you.”

  “Me?” she scoffed. “I’m sure no academic intellectual.”

  When he’d first met her, she’d been so effervescent and confident, but now he realized there were cracks in that bubbly exterior. Vulnerabilities. They made her even more appealing. “Maybe not, but most people would just say Aborigines and be done with it.”

  “Tree’d kill me.” She shrugged. “Yeah, I’ve picked up some of the lingo. And I don’t want to be an intellectual. They can be awfully dull.”

  “Sorry, I lecture too much,” he said guiltily.

  She chuckled and when he glanced over, her eyes were twinkling. “Actually, you’re pretty interesting. I may not be into academic stuff, but I do like to learn.”

  Suddenly, she pointed out the window. “Hey, have you ever gone there?”

  He glanced at a roadside sign announcing an upcoming tourist attraction called Prehistoric Gardens. “Sounds hokey.”

  “Yeah, totally, and it’s a hoot. Educational, too,” she taunted. “Too bad we don’t have time to stop.”

  Prehistoric Gardens? Seriously? Still, if she liked the place … “We made up time by not stopping for a lunch break, and traffic’s light. Besides, it’s good to stretch every now and then.”

  Her face lit. “Really?”

  It occurred to him that he’d do pretty much anything to put that sparkle in her eyes. “Why not?” He turned off the highway and followed the signs.

  They were in rain forest now, a small valley sheltered by hills, and had left the sun behind them. When he pulled into the parking lot at Prehistoric Gardens, the blanket of pale gray clouds suited the almost jungle atmosphere.

  They climbed out and Jenna slipped her hand into his. “Thanks, Mark. This’ll be fun. It’ll bring out the kid in you.”

  Was there a kid in him? His grandparents had taken him to museums and science centers but not to places like Disneyland. As for the action figures and video games other kids played with, he’d been raised to believe they were a waste of time. Play was a waste of time.

  And now here he was, going into a hokey Jurassic Park kind of tourist spot where garishly painted models of prehistoric creatures lurked amid jungle foliage.

  “Look at the baby Triceratops,” Jenna cried, tugging him over to see admittedly cute little creatures supposedly emerging from broken egg shells.

  “They look a bit like an Australian frilled lizard, though much stockier,” he said.

  A little boy, maybe four years old, came running up, yelling, “Look, look!” The kid miscalculated his stop time and was about to crash into Mark’s legs, so he bent and quickly caught the boy by his shoulders, steadying him. “Hey, there, big guy, you trying to knock me over?”

  “Dinosaurs?” the kid said uncertainly, pointing past Mark, then looking up at Jenna.

  In the boy’s family, Mom must be the font of all wisdom.

  Jenna smiled back. “They’re baby dinosaurs. Aren’t they cute? They’re called Triceratops.”

  “They came out of eggs! Like baby chickens.”

  “They did.” She plunked down on the ground beside him. “But they won’t be able to fly like the chickens will.” She glanced around. “Where are your parents?”

  “Mommy!” the kid yelled at the top of his lungs. Then, to Jenna, “I don’t know.”

  “They probably heard you,” she said dryly. “They’ll be here soon. Here, let me read you what it says about this baby Triceratops.”

  Mark stood, charmed by the pair as Jenna paraphrased the information on the descriptive sign, and the boy listened intently. She might say she didn’t want kids, but she was a natural. Had she considered adoption?

  For a moment, he pictured family outings like this: him, Jenna, and a couple of children. Kids from Asia or Africa, their dark skin a contrast to her bright blond hair. He’d always figured he wanted kids, but for the first time yearning tugged at his heart.

  A frazzled looking woman and man rushed up, then stopped, smiling when they realized their son was all right.

  Jenna rose and dusted off her butt, chatting to the parents and the boy in her friendly way. When the family headed off to another exhibit, Mark took her hand. “Okay, what next?”

  They followed a path lined with wooden fencing, and studied the Stegosaurus. A monster with a huge body and tiny head, it had hard, spiky protrusions sticking out of his spine. “Look, racing stripes,” Jenna joked, pointing to the almost fluorescent blue and yellow stripes decorating his side.

  On they went. “Bradysaurus looks kind of friendly and curious,” Mark said, “as if he’d like a pat on the head. And even if he decides to attack me, I’ll outrun him.” The sign said the creature’s name meant “slow lizard.”

  “They all look pretty slow to me,” she said. “They’re built like elephants.”

  “Once an elephant gets going, it can run twenty-five miles an hour.”

  She nudged her elbow into his side. “I stand corrected, Science Guy.”

  They toured the whole park, and he forgot to worry about their schedule. He was learning something and having fun. Jenna was easy company, and it was nice seeing families
with kids having a good time together on a Saturday afternoon. Again, he felt that tug of longing. Was there a possibility he and Jenna might one day be like them?

  “I never did this kind of thing with my grandparents,” he said as they gazed up at the Brachiosaurus, as tall as many of the trees.

  “I did. Gran used to take all us girls out on Sundays. ‘Ex-potitions,’ we called them, like in Winnie-the-Pooh. Parks, the beach, Science World, the aquarium, movies, something fun and different each time.” She’d been grinning, but the smile faded to wistfulness. “She’d have loved it here.”

  “Has she passed away now?” They moved on to another dinosaur, a winged Pteranodon.

  “No. But she has Alzheimer’s. She’s in a care facility and most of the time she’s pretty out of it. It’s so sad to see her like that.”

  “It must be. I’m lucky; my grandparents are as sharp as ever.” He shook his head. “I think the worst thing they could imagine would be an Alzheimer’s diagnosis.”

  “Gran coped well when she was diagnosed. She was brave, kept her sense of humor. Granddad had died quite a while before, so he didn’t have to see her slipping.”

  “Your mom’s parents or your dad’s?” he asked as they wandered down the path.

  “Mom’s. Dad’s were in Maryland. They passed away quite a few years ago. We didn’t see a lot of them.”

  “Tough on your mom, watching her mother like that. Tough on all of you.”

  “Yeah. But here’s what I think.” She pulled him into a jungly alcove off the path and stepped in front of him. Looking up at him, she held his gaze. “I think Gran’s going to come out of it for Merilee’s wedding. I think she has enough … whatever still left inside her, she’s going to see M&M get married.”

  Her expression was challenging, like she was daring him to disagree. She had to know there was no scientific reason to believe it would happen.

  “I’m an optimist,” she said, almost defiantly. “The universe has a way of providing what’s right at the time.”

  There was no science behind that theory. And yet, the universe had sent him into Marianne’s Diner and sent Jenna in on his heels. The universe had put them on the highway this morning at just the right time to save Mr. Watkins’s life. Slowly, he said, “I guess sometimes it does. I hope you’re right about your gran. She sounds like quite the woman.”