by Law, Kim
It had nothing to do with her personally. It had simply been a while.
And men had needs.
“How about we all make a bathroom run?” he suggested. He stood tall and swept his gaze over the children. “Line up.” He motioned with his arms, each drawing out a line the kids should step to. “Boys on one side, girls on the other.”
Cat entered the room.
She reached out a hand for Amy’s. “I’ll take the girls.”
“There’s no need,” Brody started. He grabbed Amy’s hand before Cat could. “I can handle it.”
Sculpted blonde eyebrows rose before him. “So can I.”
She stared at him, and it was as if nineteen years slipped away into nothing. Something had happened that summer that he’d never been able to replicate with another woman. Not even the one he’d been engaged to.
And it seemed to be happening again whether he liked it or not.
All of a sudden, he felt like the geeky teenager he’d once been. She’d been so out of his league. A Davenport. A year older. She’d had a license, for Christ’s sake.
Yet she’d been drawn to him, too. She’d become his best friend during those weeks. He would have followed her anywhere.
Fine. He silently relented. He narrowed his eyes at her as he released Amy’s hand. But I didn’t ask for your help.
Shocker.
He’d been proud even then. No father, a single, struggling mother. He’d needed to be on top of his game for the scholarships he sought.
Cat had needed to be pristine for her family’s reputation.
All of that had disappeared on their last day together.
Cat pasted on her fake, public smile now and proceeded to ignore him. She glowed down at the line of waiting girls. Each of them tittered in front of her as if in the presence of a princess. “Let’s make it a game,” she suggested in a secretive voice. “I’ll be the mama duck, and each of you are my ducklings. That means you have to hold on to your duckling sister in front of you.” She showed them how with one arm outstretched toward Amy’s shoulder. “And stay in a single-file line.”
The girls solemnly nodded and then assembled behind their leader, each with one hand on the girl in front of her. As they filed out of the room, the occasional soft quack could be heard coming from the hallway. Brody couldn’t help but smile.
When the last one disappeared out the door, he realized that he stood in the middle of five silent boys. All of them—including him—had fallen under Cat’s spell and were now staring awestruck in the direction she’d gone, tongues practically lolling out of their mouths.
Terrific. Nothing had changed. She had a way about her.
He looked down at Dylan, the oldest of the boys, who had lifted his head and was studying Brody intently. A quizzical expression was etched on the boy’s face.
“She’s pretty,” Dylan said innocently.
Brody nodded. “Yes, she is.” She had only gotten prettier since he’d last seen her.
“I like her,” the boy stated.
It didn’t take long to figure that out about Cat. Everyone liked her. Dread settled in Brody’s gut. He may have been only fifteen before, but she’d broken his heart in two.
I like her, too.
“And . . . action.”
Brody watched the scene act out on the stage in front of him while listening to Clyde Reynolds, the director, give suggestions and make adjustments as needed. At the same time, Brody took notes. Everything was coming together exactly as he’d envisioned. Only a couple of points to discuss with Clyde and they’d be good to go.
This year’s lead actress was the best they’d ever had.
He could almost feel success closing in on him. It would be the tenth year he’d written a play for the small theater, and though last year’s production had made a lot of noise in the press—all the way down to Boston—he’d still not managed to get attention from anyone in New York.
This year, though. This year, after many e-mails and calls, and still a few more e-mails, he’d finally gotten a commitment from a producer. The man would be up, himself, on opening night. Which was only two days away.
This could be it. Finally, he might see one of his plays adapted for Broadway. The thought was enough to bring him to his feet.
“Cut!” the director yelled.
The cast broke for a much-needed break, and Brody’s mother took the side steps, heading straight for him. She had a bit part, as she always did, and she loved it. She grinned from ear to ear. Though she still lived in the same New Hampshire town she’d grown up in, still taught political science at the community college there, she always made time for Brody’s plays. She tried out every year. She enjoyed being in them as much as he enjoyed seeing her there.
“This one is good,” she said as she reached his side. She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I can feel it. You’ll get it this year.”
His mom, his biggest supporter. Brody shot her a wry look. “You say that every year.”
“And I mean it every year. But this one . . .” She broke off, looking around the small, dimly lit space. Her pride shone bright. “This one is different, Brody. The humor is so much more sophisticated than before. And that lead actress is phenomenal. Maybe when they offer you a deal they’ll offer her one, as well.”
The humor had always been his sticking point. As a history professor, it wasn’t far-fetched to say he’d been called dry a time or two in his life. But that hadn’t stopped him. He’d wanted to write screenplays since he’d been a kid. And he wanted to write funny ones.
He actually had been writing them for as long as he could remember, only no one had known about them until ten years ago. Except for Cat. But he doubted she remembered the dog-eared copy of his first attempt.
But ten years ago, when he’d gone home after a long day at his Georgetown teaching position, determined to set a wedding date with his then-fiancée, his life had changed on the spot. Instead of looking forward to a wedding, he’d packed his bags and moved out. At the end of the semester he’d headed north for the last time. He hadn’t belonged in DC. Too many people in the town were only looking for an angle. How best to use each and every person they met. That’s a lesson he should have learned when he was sixteen.
The job here at St. Mary’s had practically been handed to him. Having graduated from the small, prestigious school at the top of his class, they’d eagerly welcomed him on board. Next thing he’d known, he’d swallowed his pride and had approached the head of the theater department. He’d wanted to know how much work he had ahead of him to become a viable playwright.
The following summer, he’d convinced the local playhouse to put on one of his plays. He’d wowed them with uniqueness and sophistication, while at the same time keeping it family friendly for the entire community to enjoy. Clyde had been coming back to him ever since.
They would love for him to write more than one play a year, but he didn’t want it as a career. Teaching was his career. But he did intend to fulfill his dream. He would someday see one of his plays on Broadway. There was no reason he couldn’t do both.
And his mother was right. All the pieces were lining up for this one to be it.
“So . . .” his mother said. She leaned back in the chair she’d settled into, going for nonchalant, but Brody knew her well. She had something on her mind. He lowered into the seat beside her.
He knew exactly what she was about to bring up. And he knew why.
Cat.
“About Catherine Carlton being back in town,” his mother finally finished.
“Drop it, Mom.” His tone was clear. This was not a topic she needed to worry about.
She gave him an unconcerned shrug. “I can’t.”
“You can. Just close your mouth and say nothing more.”
“Brody, you have to talk about it. You haven’t se
en her in years. And you were so crazy in love with that girl. You came home walking on air that summer.”
“I was a teenager. I’d just had sex for the first time in my life.” He tossed that bit of info out for shock value, hoping to back her off. “Of course I was crazy in love with her.”
The shock didn’t seem to work. Apparently his mother had figured that one out years ago.
“But you were so—”
“Mom.” He turned to her, taking in her graying hair and the lines that had begun appearing more defined around her eyes over the last few years. He loved his mother, but this was none of her business. “It was a long time ago. Yes, I was crazy about her. She was a bright light for a nerdy, awkward guy like me. She made my summer special. But we were kids. And we clearly weren’t right for each other. Hell, it was less than a month before she found someone else.”
He still remembered every word when her mother had answered the phone and told him that Cat didn’t wish to speak with him anymore. She’d moved on. He’d been informed it was time for him to do the same.
His mother’s green eyes, a couple of shades darker than his own, stared back at him. He didn’t waver from her look, certain she would break first. But as the two of them sat glaring at each other, he realized that what he was seeing wasn’t her simply trying to get her way and force him into talking about Cat. There was something else in there as well. And damned if it didn’t look suspiciously like guilt.
He blinked, breaking the connection.
“I have to tell you something, Brody.” She spoke quietly.
His jaw tightened. What had she done?
“Great play this year, Dr. Hollister,” one of the production crew said as he passed by. He carried replacement lamps for the two spotlights they’d been having trouble with.
“Thanks, Tom.”
“Should be a good one.”
Brody watched as Tom positioned a ladder beneath the lights. He very much hoped it would be a good one. He also found himself wishing Cat would come see it. Which was utter foolishness. He shouldn’t even be thinking about Cat.
But even though he hadn’t seen her out on her deck the last two mornings—or anywhere else, for that matter—he’d been doing pretty much nothing but thinking of her. First she’d butted her way into his classroom at the museum the other day, and then she’d burrowed herself into his mind.
And now he apparently wanted her to come to his play.
Ludicrous.
He turned back to his mother and crossed his arms over his chest. “Whatever it is you have to tell me, Mom . . .” He shook his head as his words died out. He didn’t want to know. But he couldn’t find the words to tell her not to say it.
Because when it came right down to it, he did want to know.
He and Cat had been friends. He hadn’t imagined that. They’d met his first week in town and had spent nearly every evening together. There had been a spot on the beach where locals liked to hang out. Somehow he’d gotten invited, and before he knew what was happening, he’d found himself in the middle of a gaggle of Davenports.
Of course, he hadn’t known at the time that he was Congressman Arthur Harrison’s illegitimate son. Had he known, he most certainly wouldn’t have told anyone.
But he also might have considered keeping his distance.
Because . . . a Harrison and a Davenport together? Not a good idea. The political rivalry between the two families had been well under way by that point. A tug-of-war that continued today.
But no one in Dyersport had known he was the bastard son of a Harrison—including him, until the following year—so he’d stayed a part of the group. He’d told Cat more about himself that summer than he’d ever told anyone.
He closed his eyes now and thought about the night they’d snuck away and gone skinny dipping. They’d both darn near frozen to death, but he would do it again in an instant. She’d had a life in her that brought something out in him. She’d made him want to be somebody.
The last week they’d been in Maine together had meant the most, though. She’d told him she loved him.
They were too young to fall in love. But damned if he hadn’t felt it, too. And then she’d given herself to him. That night remained one of the best of his life.
So yeah, he did want to know whatever his mother had to say. It wouldn’t change anything, but he was a sucker for being kicked in the nuts when it came to Cat.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, fine,” he growled out. “What is it?”
His mother opened her mouth, but then closed it as if unsure how to begin. The director yelled that they’d start again in five minutes. Brody shot her an impatient look.
She sighed. “You know that all I’ve ever wanted for you is to find someone to make you happy, right?”
He narrowed his eyes. Surely she didn’t think that Cat at sixteen had been the person he was supposed to end up with. “I’m aware of that, Mom. What does that have to do with Cat?”
She shrugged. “I’ve watched you over the years. You don’t let people in.”
No, he didn’t. They didn’t need to be in.
“And, well,” she continued. She licked her lips nervously. “She’s in the news occasionally. Sometimes just her family, but there might be a mention of her, specifically, in the papers. Maybe on the TV.”
“Where are you going with this?”
“You watch her. I’ve seen you watch her. Since you were a kid.”
He didn’t watch her that much. Plus, being in Maine, there wasn’t that much to see. “I like to stay up on current events,” he stated evenly. “It goes with my profession.”
“I know.” She nodded and patted him on the knee. “But I’ve often wondered if I shouldn’t have . . .” She trailed off and just looked at him, apology in her eyes.
“Shouldn’t have what, Mom?”
Another shrug. “Her mother called the house a few weeks after you got home.”
That surprised him, but somehow it didn’t shock him. “Her mother called you? Or was she calling me?”
“No.” She shook her head and glanced down at her hands. “She was calling me.”
After ten seconds of silence he prodded, “And?”
She let out a small breath, her shoulders sagging along with it. “She made it clear that you weren’t the boy for her daughter.”
“I could have told you that,” he mumbled. Anger lit inside him. Cat’s mother had had no business sticking her nose in their lives.
“She also knew who your father was.”
His mouth dropped open. No one knew that. Well, his ex had eventually found out, but that had been years later. “How?” he asked carefully.
“I met her once,” she said. “When I worked at the Capitol.” His mother had worked for his biological grandfather when he’d been a senator. That’s how she and Arthur had hooked up.
“And?” he prodded.
She shook her head, his same questions reflected back at him. “I have no idea. I don’t even know if she remembered me from back then. But Brody, she knew. And she was not happy at the thought of a Harrison courting her daughter.”
“I’m not a Harrison,” he growled in a low whisper.
“I know,” his mom soothed. “But . . .” She shrugged. “You are. And that made her furious. There was more than one veiled threat in the conversation.”
Brody stood, his chair tumbling over behind him. “What kind of threat?” His voice rose, and he saw several people stop what they were doing and look his way. He ignored them.
“Nothing physical.” His mother waved the words off and motioned for him to sit back down. He remained standing. “Just insinuating that she could make things difficult.” She lowered her voice. “Not getting into the right schools, that kind of thing. It seemed a bit much when you didn’t even know who your fath
er was—and I was the last person who would tell anyone—but given all she was saying, I tended to agree. You weren’t the person for her daughter.”
“So . . . what? You agreed that I wasn’t the boy for her princess?”
That wasn’t fair. The Davenports may be political royalty, but Cat had done nothing that summer to act as if she thought she deserved special treatment. If she’d felt that way, she would never have talked to him in the first place.
Instead, she’d been totally down-to-earth. The complete opposite of what he’d expected.
The complete opposite of what she was today. She was most definitely a full-fledged card-carrying member of her family now.
He began pacing across the concrete floor.
His mother peeked up at him as he passed in front of her. “I agreed that you weren’t the boy for her daughter. And then . . .” Her voice tightened. “When she called . . . I never told you about it.”
Brody went still. “When who called? Cat?” He stopped directly in front of her. “Cat called the house? After her mother told me she’d found somebody else?”
She nodded. “Twice. Once a few days after her mother called. She asked for you to call her back.” His mom swallowed. “The other time was months later. I . . .” She shook her head as she paused and wet her lips. “She asked again for you to call her. Said she just needed to talk to you one time. But I couldn’t figure why she’d be calling. Not after all that time. You’d moved on. I didn’t want you to get your hopes up again. And frankly, Brody, I couldn’t see you being involved with a Davenport as a good thing, either. Not given who your father is.”
“So you didn’t pass along the second message either.”
Unblinking eyes stared back at him. “And I told her not to call again.”
Brody took it all in. Cat’s mother had intervened, and then his mother had. While both he and Cat had been reaching out to each other.
His heart thudded so hard he could swear anyone could see it pounding through his shirt. He didn’t know why it mattered at this point, but to know Cat hadn’t just forgotten him, that she’d been thinking about him, too. That meant something.
