by Joan Kilby
Their food came, and Ida fell upon her dinner ravenously. “I’m getting an ultrasound next week,” she said between bites. “Two o’clock on Wednesday. Will you be able to make it?”
He pulled out his electronic pocket organizer and punched in the date. “I’ve got a meeting with a local supplier, but I can probably reschedule. I’ll just make a note of the time—” he tapped it in “—and confirm within the next few days. Maybe we should get married right away at the registry office, instead of waiting for the garden to get fixed up.”
“Can’t we wait?” Ida said, sounding disappointed. “I won’t start showing for a few months, and I’d love to have the reception on the lawn overlooking the bay.”
“All you want is a big party,” he teased. “What about the ceremony? I thought the vows were the most important part.”
Ida’s smile faded a little. “Let’s not forget why we’re doing this, Will. I’m overjoyed to be starting a family with you, but I’m not confusing our relationship with the real thing.”
Her clear-eyed honesty took his breath away. Here was a window of opportunity. He could respond by telling her of his misgivings. Then he remembered the baby.
“I like the idea of a party, though,” Ida added. “How about an engagement party?”
Will couldn’t think of a good reason why not, so Ida, as she worked her way through her moussaka, made enthusiastic plans to invite their friends and family to celebrate their engagement. Will listened, nodded and responded appropriately. The new status quo was firmly in place.
At last, Ida sat back, replete, and checked her watch. “I’d better go—I’ve got so much to do.” She pulled out her wallet and tossed some money on the table for her meal.
Will did the same, and together they walked back to the parking lot. The sun was low across the bay and cast a golden glow over the old buildings. “What are you working on that’s keeping you so busy?”
“The usual. Conveyancing, divorces… There seems to be a spurt of both at the moment.” They came to her car, and she turned to him, eyes luminous in the dusk. “Don’t forget the ultrasound. Just think, we’ll be able to see his tiny heart beating and count his fingers and toes.”
“How do you know it’s a he?” he teased. “Maybe it’s a she.”
Ida placed a hand lightly on her abdomen. “I don’t care what it is as long as he or she is healthy.”
“Make sure you get enough rest. And eat well.”
Ida laughed softly. “No worries there. Oh, hey, didn’t you want to talk to me about something?”
Will hesitated, then got out his pocket organizer again. “Shall we set a date for the wedding? How about the third Saturday in March? The twenty-fifth. It should still be warm enough for an outdoor wedding and will give Maeve time to get the garden in shape.” He felt guilty just speaking her name. “I’ll call my family tonight.”
Ida gave him a sheepish smile. “I already called mine. Mum’s thrilled.”
Will felt vaguely uncomfortable at the thought of facing Ida’s parents. “Did you tell her it’s a platonic marriage?”
“I did. I wouldn’t want everyone to know, but I think it’s only fair to be honest to our families. Mum’s just happy I’m not going to be a single mother, and doesn’t care about the rest.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. “Talk to you soon.”
Instead of driving directly home, Will went by his mother’s house, a modest bungalow in an older part of Mornington. He usually visited Phyllis once a week and performed some chore such as mowing the lawn or cleaning the gutters. But mostly he came to talk. She had a way of putting life in perspective.
He parked behind her Toyota and slowly got out of the car. On the short trip over here he’d imagined her being pleased, if somewhat surprised, to hear of his engagement to Ida. And thrilled at the prospect of another grandchild. Now, as he walked up the footpath to the sound of the TV blaring through the screened window, he was less sure of her reaction.
He knocked once and went in. “Hi. It’s me, Will.”
“Come through, darl’,” his mother called. “Sale of the Century is just finishing.”
Her eyes still focused on the TV screen, Phyllis leaned up from her recliner and pushed back her frizzy blond hair so he could peck her on the cheek. Will sprawled on the sofa, knowing it was no use trying to talk while her favorite program was on.
Finally she clicked the TV off with the remote control and set aside the book of crossword puzzles she’d held on her lap. Pushing her glasses higher on her nose, she smiled at Will. “How’s it going, darl’? Like a cuppa?”
“No, thanks. I just came from dinner with Ida.” He paused, wondering how to continue. Ordinarily, he communicated easily with his mother, but tonight he couldn’t find the words. Luckily, Phyllis was never in short supply.
“I ran into her a couple of weeks ago in the supermarket,” Phyllis chatted on. “Looked a little tired, poor girl. I still can’t quite believe she’s a lawyer with her own practice. Pity she never married.”
The perfect opening. “Funny you should say that,” he replied. “She is getting married.”
“Really?” Phyllis stared. “She never said a word to me.”
“It’s…sudden.” He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Maybe I will have that cup of tea, after all.”
“Sure thing, darl’.” She pushed herself out of the recliner, tugged her sweat shirt down and padded to the kitchen in her sheepskin moccasins. “Who’s the lucky man?” she said, putting on the electric kettle. “That bloke from America?”
Will followed her into the kitchen. “No….” He peered through the curtains at the backyard. “Your grass is looking a bit long. I’ll come by with my mower soon.”
“Come on Sunday. I’ll put on a leg of lamb. Julie and her mob might be out, as well.” Phyllis emptied the remains of a package of assorted cream biscuits onto a plate, as Will got out the cups.
A few minutes later they were seated at the kitchen table with their cups of tea.
“So give me all the goss on Ida,” Phyllis said. She pushed the plate of biscuits toward Will and pulled a cigarette from the pack lying on the windowsill. “Do you know this fellow she’s marrying?”
“Er, yes. In fact, I know him very well.”
“Come on, then.” Phyllis lit up, her blue eyes avid behind the spiral of smoke.
“He is me. I mean, I. I am marrying Ida.” He took a swig of scalding black tea and burned his tongue.
She stared at him blankly. “You and Ida are getting married? Why? Don’t get me wrong. I love Ida like a daughter already. I just didn’t think you loved her like a woman.”
“I don’t.”
“So why are you doing this?”
“We both want a family and we’ve both given up on the notion of romantic love. That sounds negative, but it’s not. We’ve been good friends for a long time. We’ll make a go of it.”
Phyllis inhaled deeply of her cigarette, then blew out a long stream of smoke. “God knows, I want to see you settled. And a woman can never have too many grandchildren. But what happens if, down the track, you fall in love with someone else.”
Maeve. He brushed thoughts of her aside. What he felt for her was earthy and real, but he couldn’t call it love. Yet he shifted uncomfortably. “Some things are more important than romantic love.”
Deep inside, the hole he’d ignored for years suddenly revealed itself as a chasm. Who cared? he asked himself angrily. Ida and the baby would fill the gap. That was the whole point.
“What happened with Maree?” Phyllis asked. “I never did understand why you two split.”
There had been several reasons, but only one that mattered. “I wanted kids and she wasn’t ready. She was only twenty-five and had big career plans.”
“Does Ida know you don’t love her?”
He nodded. “She doesn’t love me, either. We’re going into this with our eyes open.”
Phyllis peered at him. “Mmm. Even so,
think carefully before you take this step. You’re very guarded about your emotions.” Thoughtfully, she knocked the ash off the tip of her cigarette into the ashtray. “It’s a pity your father died when you were so young. As the eldest, I think you took it hardest.”
Will had no answer to that.
Phyllis leaned over the table, fixing him with her sternest gaze. “Whatever happens, I want you to promise me two things.”
Will reached for his favorite biscuit. “Sure.”
“Don’t say it so casual, as if I were asking you to go to the milk bar for a loaf of bread,” she said sharply. “This is important. To you and to Ida.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“Promise me you won’t hurt Ida. Lifelong friendship is something to treasure. If you two screw this up, you could end up with nothing.”
“That’s easy to promise. I’d never do anything to hurt Ida. What’s the second thing?”
She stubbed out her cigarette. “Be true to yourself.”
“Mother, trust me. I’ve thought this through. I honestly believe marrying Ida will be the best thing for me. And her.”
Phyllis scrutinized him silently. “Fine, then,” she said at last. “Congratulations.”
Will brushed together some crumbs and pushed them under the plate. “There’s one other thing—Ida’s pregnant.”
“Jeez, Will.” Phyllis reached for another cigarette. “Is it your baby?”
“It is now.” Will placed his hand on hers to stop her from lighting up. “Do I still have your blessing?”
Seconds passed before acceptance came. Then she smiled, eyes moist. “For what it’s worth, yes.”
“It’s worth a lot.” He rose from his chair and pulled his mother into a hug. “Thanks.”
Her cheeks were wet when she drew back. “Be happy.”
“I will. Now, can you promise me something? Give up smoking. Do it for the baby, if not for yourself.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Will drove home with the warm breeze blowing through the open windows of the Mercedes. He was already happy. In spite of Maeve. In spite of the mess his business was in. Soon he and Ida would be a family. With a baby he would call his own. He topped the rise and glided into Sorrento, the bay spread out before him, pink and gold and blue in the setting sun. Life was good.
CHAPTER SIX
THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY Will rose early, pulled on a pair of swim trunks and padded downstairs to boot up his computer. When his Web browser’s home page filled the screen, he brought up the Web site for surfing information along the Victorian coast. His house overlooked the calm waters of Port Phillip Bay, but just a few miles across the narrow peninsula, Sorrento ocean beach was a favorite surfing spot. Photos of the breaking waves, updated every morning, showed Sorrento was looking good with waves four to six feet high.
When he got to the beach, a small cadre of surfers was riding the swells, waiting for the next big one. Will pulled off his shirt and felt the breeze on his bare chest. He tugged on his wet suit and reverently unwrapped his yellow Malibu. It had been a Christmas present to himself, custom shaped to his specifications.
He tucked the board under his arm and jogged into the surf. The water was cool, as always in Bass Strait because it was chilled by currents from the Antarctic. The breaking waves washed over him as he paddled out, sending chilly rivulets down the neck of his wet suit. But by the time he’d positioned himself beyond the breakers, he was warm with exertion. He nodded to the guy sitting on his board twenty feet away. Mouse. Bleached hair, tattoos down both arms, a ring through his eyebrow and a stud through his lower lip. Beyond Mouse were a couple of kids, probably not more than twelve or thirteen, locals who’d started out on body boards and had graduated to surfboards last summer. They reminded Will of himself at that age.
He waited out a couple of sets of waves, studying the break, and the height and the direction of the curl. The third wave of the next set he rode to shore, curving back on the curl when he got too close to one of the youngsters.
Will paddled out again, pleased with his new board, but sat out a few more waves, watching, waiting. He felt troubled, even here on the water. Maeve was occupying too many of his thoughts—thoughts that should be reserved for Ida and the baby. When Maeve was around, he found himself looking for her impish smile or anticipating one of her penetrating glances.
A spray of cold water whipping off the top of a wave caught him on the cheek, bringing him back to the present. His eyes narrowed as he judged the distance and speed of the approaching swell, estimating the height and the moment it would start to break. He swiveled his board in the water and, glancing over his shoulder, started paddling. Surfing, like business—and love—was all a matter of timing.
He rose to his feet, squinting into the bright sun, dazzled by the gleam of sunlight on water. The flat brilliant surface reminded him of a beam of photons on a solar panel—
Something clicked in his brain—images coalesced into ideas in a nanosecond of blazing insight. Elated, he slid down the slope of the crashing wave on a rush of speed and adrenaline. The answer to increasing the efficiency of the solar panel lay in creating a multiplier effect that would increase the rate of movement of electrons through the silicon layer. And he knew just how to accomplish that.
Creativity, as much as necessity, was the mother of invention. And what he’d just thought of was the mother of all inventions.
Maeve couldn’t help but be impressed.
IDA STARED at the telephone as if it were a hanging judge and she the guilty party. There was no reason to be so scared, she told herself. It was only a phone call. “Hi, Rick,” she would say. “How’s the weather? By the way, I’m having a baby and you’re the father.”
She’d told Will she’d already called Rick, but that had been a lie. The part about Rick not being ready for children was true, though. He’d mentioned it in casual conversation early in their acquaintanceship. So she hadn’t needed to call him to know what he’d say to her being pregnant. He would probably offer child support—he was a decent guy, after all—but he wouldn’t ask her to marry him.
Okay, so she’d told him a time or two that she regarded their relationship as a fling, but he should have been able to see past that. If he’d really loved her he wouldn’t have been put off so easily.
Ida picked up the receiver and quickly dialed Rick’s number in San Diego before she could lose her nerve. Will was right: Rick deserved to know he was going to be a father.
“Hello?” Rick’s voice sounded in her ear. Then, after a silence, he said, “Anybody there?”
Dry-mouthed, Ida couldn’t answer. She dropped the receiver gently back in the cradle. What was the point in setting herself up for rejection?
“YOU’RE SURE Maeve won’t mind my taking the panel to work on?” Will asked Art through the driver’s window of his Merc. Knowing perfectly well she would.
“I’m positive. This thing has driven her mad,” Art replied. He gave a last tug on the cord lashing the solar panel into the boot and stepped away from the car. “She shouldn’t be too much longer. Have a beer and wait. You can ask her yourself.”
And ruin his strategic timing? “Thanks, I’ve got to go.”
He put the car in reverse and stuck his head out the window, as Art guided him back through the narrow gateway in the sage-green picket fence.
Half an hour later, Will approached his own house, his gaze drawn to the big stone urns flanking the front steps. They’d been stripped of dead stalks and replanted with masses of brightly colored flowers. Maeve had been here.
When he pulled to a stop in front of the garage and spotted her dark-green utility truck, the breath stuck in his lungs.
Maeve was still here.
Because he wanted to, he didn’t go looking for her. Instead, he untied the cord around the solar panel, lifted it carefully out of the trunk and carried it into his workshop. Sunlight fell on the white-and-silver panel as he laid it on the bench, and glan
cing up, he realized that as well as removing the gum tree, she’d cut back the ivy growing over the windows.
“Will?” he heard her call.
She stood framed by the open door, wearing khaki cargo pants and her black crop top. Tiny silver hoops threaded with a single turquoise bead looped through her ears, and green-handled pruning shears peeked from one of the many pockets on her pants.
“Hi,” he said, walking over. The smudge of dirt on her cheek only added to her aura of strength and earthiness. The woman was an Amazon.
“I need you to make a decision about the papaya tree,” she said, pushing back long wisps of dark hair from her forehead with the back of her gloved hand.
“I didn’t even know I had a papaya tree,” he replied, rocking back on his heels, hands in his pockets.
“It’s in the northeast corner, behind the lilacs. Come, I’ll show you.”
Will followed her across the lawn and around the clump of lilac bushes. Hidden next to the brick wall that separated his property from his neighbor’s stood a small tree with a spindly trunk and a cluster of palmate leaves at the top.
“I don’t know why anyone would plant a papaya tree in such a shady spot,” Maeve said, forced to stand close to him in the confined space. “It doesn’t look as though it’s ever borne fruit, but if I move it, you might get lucky.”
“Fine, put it anywhere you like.” Her scent filled his nostrils. After the easy camaraderie of their last session, he felt awkward. He was aware of Maeve as a woman and unable to do anything about it.
“The sunny area between the Monterey Bay fig and the pool would be perfect,” she said. “I should warn you, though. The move could prove too much. The tree might die.”
“Is this the right time of year for moving trees?” He avoided looking at her, for to turn his head would mean gazing into her eyes, which were just inches away.
“No, but I have plans for this corner.” She, too, held herself perfectly still. Crickets thrummed in the undergrowth.
“Such as?”
She shook her head. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
