Never Too Late

by Robyn Carr

  “Ma, I’m in a little trouble.”

  “What?” she asked, shaking her head.

  Sam just stood back by the door, his thumbs hooked into his gun belt. There was a part of him that wanted to laugh at this kid’s predicament, but he wasn’t about to crack a smile. He kept his expression stony, drawing his brows together.

  “Hey, Mom—could you lose the crowbar? Makes me a little nervous. When I tell you what I did, you might, you know, snap.”

  She took two steps closer to her son. She did not put down the crowbar. And she was wearing an expression that Sam had never seen on her face. Whoa, that was the mother-look if ever there was one. Very scary to be fifteen right now.

  “Me and Stan, we were going to pinch a six-pack of beer, but Sam caught us.”

  “What?” she said again. “Why would you do a stupid thing like that?”

  Jason took a breath. “Because we couldn’t buy it.” He shrugged. “I swear, it was Stan’s idea.”

  Now it became actually hard for Sam to keep a straight face. He looked down at his feet to regain composure. Oh, sucks to be Jason, he thought.

  “Is that it?” she asked. “Where were you going to drink this beer?”

  “We thought maybe Stan’s. His folks don’t get home till like after seven.”

  “Oh crap,” she said. “Sam? Is he going to be charged?”

  Sam shook his head. “I figured you could take it from—” Behind her, on the floor near the fireplace, he spied a rolled-up sleeping bag. It was wider than normal. He knew what it was—it was two sleeping bags zipped together. It was very doubtful that Clare was taking naps or spending the night in this old wreck of a house. He looked back at her eyes, but he knew his expression had changed. “You can take it from here,” he said. “You might want to call Stan’s parents. He got away from me.”

  “You bet I will.” She looked over her shoulder, more or less confirming that she had seen what he had seen. “Jason, go wait for me in the car. I want to talk to Sam.”

  Jason skulked out the door and Sam said, “I recommend you not let this slide, Clare. It’s just a dumb-shit fifteen-year-old boy stunt, not nearly as scary as some of the stuff I deal with every day. But, you don’t want this to be the beginning of a bad streak. Take a firm hand now and it might save some heartache later. Get his dad involved—let Jason know you have a united front.”

  “Sam,” she said, walking toward him. “I want to tell you something.”

  “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said.

  “You can give me a minute. I think it’s important. It’s important to me, anyway, that you know I never lied to you. When I went out with you, when I broke it off with you, there was no other man in my life.”

  “What could it possibly matter now?” he said, knowing he sounded sarcastic.

  “It matters a great deal to me. Sometime after the Homecoming game, I started dating Pete. After you and I—Well, I just want you to know I didn’t lie. That day in the park—Pete and I really were talking about Mike. His brother.”

  “Why worry about it? We’ve moved on. So?”

  “So? So the look on your face says that I just hurt you. Again.”

  “Let it go, Clare. You made yourself clear. And I haven’t bothered you.”

  “No. You haven’t.”

  “You and Pete,” he said, laughing hollowly. He shook his head. “You don’t have to be psychic to have seen that one coming.”

  “I didn’t,” she said. “We were like best friends in high school, Sam. When I was engaged to his brother. It somehow makes strange sense. And it’s kind of stranger that we didn’t discover each other sooner.” She tilted her head. “It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Course not,” he said. “So—you found what you wanted. Good for you. I gotta go. Take it easy,” he said. He turned back to her. “Don’t take it easy on Jason.”

  Sam left the house, then the neighborhood. He had some kind of an ache in the back of his throat that he couldn’t explain. They had moved on. So? If she was telling the truth, and he had no reason to think otherwise, he had found Sarah as quickly as she had found Pete.

  But there was something hurtful about the days and weeks and even months he’d invested in trying to woo her, unsuccessfully, only to have her go to Pete so easily. Is it just pride? he asked himself. Ego? Because that’s stupid. After all, as reluctant as Clare had been, Sarah had molded to him like soft clay in his arms—sweet, responsive and pliant. He’d never been more comfortable. Or fulfilled. Wasn’t this better? For everyone?

  Still, the ache. If not for Clare, then for the expectation that had been Clare, and had been wiped off the slate somewhat painfully. And maybe, just maybe, some concern that Sarah would tire of him.

  He drove to the art store almost out of habit. When he walked in, there was a customer, so he hid the flowers behind his back and pretended to poke around, looking at things. Sarah took the customer’s money, bagged the merchandise and said goodbye. He brought the flowers out from behind his back.

  “Isn’t this a sweet surprise,” she said. “I’ll get a vase.”

  He followed her into the studio. While she filled the vase with water, he embraced her from behind. He nuzzled her neck, drank in the sweet smell of soap and vanilla lotion.

  She put the flowers in the vase, the vase on the counter and turned in his arms. “Are you having a little coffee break?” she asked.

  “I’m having a crappy day. Let me hold you.”

  “Would you like me to go lock that door out front?” she asked.

  “No, I just want to hold you.”

  She laid her head on his chest. “What’s the matter, Sam? Is something wrong?”

  “Does something have to be wrong for me to want to hold you? Just be still a minute.” He inhaled her fragrance, felt her small frame inside his arms. Sometimes he thought she was so little she might break and other times she reminded him that she was actually very strong, very powerful. Powerful enough to bring him to his knees. He kissed her neck and she put her arms around him.

  He couldn’t feel her against him while he wore his vest. But what he felt inside surpassed that. The sight of those sleeping bags drifted further and further from his mind and he knew he was in the right place. Home. This was where he belonged; this woman wasn’t going anywhere. There was no ache in his throat. “Sarah,” he said against her neck. “I’m starting to have a better day already. Where will you be when I get off work?”

  “Wherever you want me to be.”

  When she got home, Clare called Roger and he immediately came over. When Clare let him in, she was rather surprised by the angry look on his face. Impressed, when it came down to it.

  “Where is he?” he asked.

  “In his room. Quaking.”

  “Jason!” Roger yelled. “Get down here!”

  Response was immediate. The door opened and he came down the stairs. As his father came into view, Clare noticed that Jason’s expression grew more fearful. He got a little paler.

  “Family room,” Roger snapped, letting Jason go first.

  Jason sat on the couch while Roger paced in front of him. Long seconds passed. Then Roger stopped pacing and bore down on Jason. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “It was stupid,” Jason said. “I told Stan it was stupid.”

  “Drinking at your age is bad enough—but stealing? Jason? Stealing?”

  “I said, it was stupid.”

  “I just can’t believe it. Not you. I never thought you would do that.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not as sorry as you’re going to be.” He turned to Clare, who was actually very pleased with this. “Have you called Stan’s parents?”

  “Uh-huh. They went straight home.”

  “Get your jacket,” Roger said.

  “Aw, Dad…”

  “Come on, we’re going over there.”

  It was a tense meeting that lasted about an hour. Jason had never looked more
miserable in his life. The adults decided that the boys were not allowed to hang out together for at least a couple of weeks. Stan, who had recently scored his driver’s license, was losing use of the car for the rest of the month. Jason, who was ready to take his test for his permit, was not going to get to do that for another month.

  On the drive back home Roger said, “Clare, do you think your dad would go along with Jason working at the store after school for a while?”

  “Probably.”

  “Aww, man,” came from the backseat.

  “You obviously can’t be trusted to stay out of trouble after school, so I want you to go to your grandpa’s store until your mom is either done at that old house or done at the store. For at least the rest of the month. Then we’ll reevaluate.”

  When they got home, Jason headed straight for the stairs. He was halfway up when Roger said, “Jason?” He turned around and looked at his dad. “Jason, I’m disappointed. I trusted you to at least never break the law. I hope you learned something from this. I hope you’re going to turn out better than that.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said meekly.

  Roger nodded. Jason fled.

  Clare put a hand on Roger’s arm. “Thank you. You handled that very well. I couldn’t have managed as well without you.”

  “Oh, you probably could have,” he said. “But I’m glad you called. I want to be in his life—in the good times and the rugged.” He took a deep breath. “I’m exhausted.”

  She smiled. “How about a beer?”

  Having a grounded fifteen-year-old and a boyfriend who kept his daughters almost every weekend would have had a definite negative impact on Clare’s love life, if it weren’t for Roger. God bless him, he was serious about mending his fences with Jason and wanted to spend more quality time with him, especially since the shoplifting episode.

  “I just can’t stop blaming myself for that,” he said. “I was absent too long.”

  Tempting as it was to let Roger wallow in guilt, she knew it was pretty likely not his fault. Jason was a good kid and had a very close and supportive family, and he’d begun to patch things up with his dad before getting in trouble. She’d had many long talks with Pete about it, and Pete was something of an expert on teenage boys. So she said, “Lighten up, Roger. Boys his age do lamebrain stuff like that. They also drive too fast, skip school and get into trouble with girls. Let’s just try to stay on top of it. He’s basically a real good kid. And with both of us paying attention, letting him know his parents aren’t going to let him get away with anything, we might be lucky.”

  But she convinced Roger that he should spend a couple of evenings during the week with Jason. Having a grounded teenager at home was such a ball and chain, she was afraid to leave the house in the evenings. Afraid he might plot something, maybe slip out, get himself in trouble again. So Roger agreed to pick him up after work at around six a couple of weeknights, take him out for a bite and back to his place to do homework. Home by ten, in bed by eleven.

  When that happened, Clare went to Pete’s house.

  On this particular night, she had called to say she was on her way, then let herself in with her own key. She found him in his family room at the wet bar, mixing two drinks. The room was dimly lit, the fire ablaze in the hearth, and Pete was wearing only his slacks. No shoes, no shirt. She stopped as she entered the room and just filled her eyes with him. That broad chest; the nice, neat mat of hair; the flat belly and broad shoulders. She especially liked his strong forearms, big hands.

  He passed her a drink. She took a sip, he took a sip, and then they tasted it on each other’s mouths. She ran her fingers through the hair at his temples. “You’re getting a little gray here,” she pointed out.

  “I can’t see how it’s possible. I feel like a teenager.”

  “Why aren’t you dressed? Getting a head start?”

  “I took a quick shower. How much time do we have?”

  “Three hours. Four.”

  “I can keep you out of trouble for that long.”

  He slipped an arm around her and she looked up into his eyes. “A year ago I was leaving my husband. Leaving my house. I was lonely, kind of scared and thoroughly pissed off. Now I have you, the deepest friendship I’ve ever known, not to mention the kind of love life I didn’t think existed. I really believed it was too late for me to have this in my life.”

  “It’s just the beginning, Clare.”

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you—when Sam brought Jason home to me after his little shoplifting adventure, he saw the sleeping bags. I don’t think Jason noticed, but Sam did.”

  Pete shrugged.

  “I felt like I had to explain to him—that we came together after. After I ended things with him.”

  “How’d he take it?”

  “He was a little snotty, but he said it didn’t matter.”

  Pete surprised her by laughing. He leaned down and put a soft kiss on her lips. “It’s a good thing it was Sam you had to end it with. I don’t think I’d have gone away quietly. I don’t think I could have.”

  “I’m in love with you, you know,” she told him.

  “I’ve been waiting for that,” he said with a smile. “And it feels just as good hearing it as I thought it would.” He took the drink from her hand and put it, with his, back on the bar. He lifted her into his arms and said, “I love you, too. Let’s get you out of these clothes so we can make love until curfew.”

  Fourteen

  Clare and Sarah had entered the new year rosy with love and drunk on fabulous sex. No one knew Sarah’s little secret, but if anyone had looked closely, they would have seen she had that same flush and glow that Clare was sporting.

  However, Maggie’s perfect life began unraveling. The first thing to go terribly wrong was when thirteen-year-old Hillary’s best friend, Lucy, was diagnosed with juvenile cancer. The prognosis for Lucy was very optimistic—the doctors gave her a ninety percent chance of a full recovery, but poor little Hillary was terrified and constantly plummeted into hysterical tears. She began to show real fear and signs of depression.

  As for Lucy, she was instantly admitted for chemotherapy and by the second week of January had started losing her hair. This further upset Hillary and keeping her spirits up was a constant challenge for Maggie.

  Hillary began to devote all her time to her best friend, studying her disease on the Internet, obsessed with her treatment. And Maggie was devoting all her mothering to Hillary, possibly failing to notice anything different about Lindsey.

  Then, when Maggie came home from work one evening in the third week of January, Lindsey uttered those words mothers never like to hear. “Mom, I have to talk to you. In my room,” she said gravely.

  Oh, how Maggie hated this. She didn’t even take off her coat. Her mind went wild on the way to Lindsey’s room. She couldn’t be flunking anything—the girl was a perpetual honor student, shattered by an A-minus. Was it a fight with a girlfriend, had she skipped school, shoplifted a belly ring, got caught smoking…? Or, please God, let her be breaking up with Christopher.

  “I’m not a virgin anymore.”

  Maggie actually grabbed her heart. “You’re fifteen!”

  “I know this,” Lindsey said.

  “Was it Christopher?” she asked angrily.

  “Well, of course it was Christopher! He’s my boyfriend!”

  “Don’t you dare yell at me,” Maggie said. Because I’m practically a virgin again, she thought. “Could you be pregnant? Did you use anything?”

  “We used a condom. Once.”

  “Once? You mean you’ve done it more than once?” Maggie sat on the bed beside Lindsey.

  “Well,” Lindsey said. “Yeah. More than once.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Mommm,” she whined.

  “Well? How long?”

  “It’s been a couple of months. Since about October.”

  “October?”

  “Or September,” she said in a quiete
r voice. “But I always got my period. And most of the time he’d remember to, you know, pull out.”

  “Oh, God! Are you late now?”

  “I might be a day or two late,” she said.

  That’s why she’s telling me, Maggie thought. This could have been worked out much more neatly if she’d mentioned she needed birth control before she and that boy had started messing around, as they’d discussed ad nauseam. She glared at her daughter. Her beautiful, brilliant, fifteen-year-old daughter who was about to plunge herself into disaster via the vagina. “I should never have let you out after dark!” She stood up. “I’ll take tomorrow morning off. We’re going straight to the doctor. I’d take you now if the office wasn’t closed. And in the meantime, pray. Pray very, very hard!” She stomped toward the door.

  “Mom?”

  Maggie turned back toward her. Lindsey finally had a contrite look on her face, tears in her eyes. “Do you have to tell Dad?”

  Maggie wanted to be understanding and helpful—girls Lindsey’s age had raging hormones and those of boys Christopher’s age raged even hotter. But this pissed her off to her very core. They had talked this to death. She told her daughters that there was no excuse for getting into this kind of trouble. If they were afraid to ask for birth control, they should insist on condoms. They talked about STDs and she stressed that condoms should always be used anyway, even if there was other birth control in place. During these discussions Hillary said, “Eww,” and Lindsey looked completely bored.

  She wanted to be sympathetic, but she just wasn’t there yet. “Of course I have to tell Dad,” she said. “And then I’m going to have to tie him up to keep him from going straight to Christopher’s house and killing him!”

  “It wasn’t his fault, Mom. He didn’t make me.”

  “Well, did you make him?”

  “Of course not,” she said, a large tear running down her cheek.

  “Start praying,” Maggie said, leaving the room.

  She went to her bedroom and sat in the big chair by the window, in front of the fireplace. How could this have happened? They were so strict, and Lindsey was so smart. They always knew everywhere she was. She couldn’t go to Christopher’s house if his parents weren’t home; they were only allowed to double date; Lindsey never went to anyone’s party unless supervision was assured. They checked everything.