Get a grip, Maxine. You vowed never to let a man ruin your life again, remember? So put Harry out of your mind and get on with your life.
Harry felt as if he were living at Motoring Munchkins. For the fourth time in a single week, he walked with Sadie into the huge room. His head ached, and his stomach churned. The place smelled like a dog kennel. The high-decibel sound level felt as if he were inside a kettledrum. But he kept coming because he kept hoping Maxine would be here.
So far he’d struck out, just as he’d struck out trying to locate Ricky Shwartz. In the past two weeks he’d called in favors with policemen, asked for tips from detectives, and used every search engine on the Internet with no results. Finding Shwartz was fast becoming an obsession; it was the single thing he could think of to do that might help Maxine.
“I’m gonna go make pictures, Daddy,” declared Sadie, heading off to the easels under the window.
“Okay." Harry’s eyes were scanning the room like radar detectors, desperately searching for Maxine.
“Harry, thank goodness you’re here. I need a big, strong man to help me move the gym equipment when this session is over. They’re putting in new mats for us.”
Rosalie’s lilting voice and heaving breasts finally registered, and he gave her a lackluster glance.
“You will help me out, won’t you, Harry?”
He wanted to refuse, but she was the Campanatos’ daughter, and he owed them for being good neighbors and helping out with Sadie.
“Sure. Do you know if Graham and his mom are coming today, Rosalie?"
“Gosh, I doubt it.” Rosalie looked anything but sorry. She did manage not to smile, but it was a close thing. “They’ve missed . . . what, about six or eight sessions now. I guess I should call and see if Graham’s sick or something." She didn’t seem at all eager.
“Yeah, could you do that for me?” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, punched in Maxine’s private number, and handed it to Rosalie. He’d gone way beyond caring what anyone might think. He needed to know if there was the slightest possibility Maxine might be coming here, and when.
Rosalie’s round spaniel eyes looked as if he'd just kicked her, but she waited obediently while the phone rang.
“Hi, this is Rosalie from Motoring Munchkins; can I speak to Ms. Bleckner, please? Oh, hi, Ms. Bleckner. .
It was agony knowing Maxine was on the other end of the line. Harry longed to snatch the phone and beg her to talk to him, but he’d done that numerous times and she’d hung up. He waited, anxiety gnawing at his stomach.
“Okay, sorry about that. I see. Okay, we’ll miss Graham. Bye.”
“What? What’d she say?” It was all he could do not to reach out and shake the answer out of Rosalie.
“She says she’s lost her job, and until she finds another one, Graham won’t be coming back.” Rosalie gave him an injured look and flounced off.
Shocked and worried sick, Harry cursed at length and received a reproving look from a tiny, birdlike mother whose son resembled a miniature Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Polly. He’d talk to Polly, she’d know what was going on. Trouble was, he didn’t have the number at her office. Making certain Sadie was still occupied with the poster paints, he hurried outside to a booth that actually had a telephone book hanging from a chain.
Polly propped her foot on a stool and rested the phone against her shoulder. “Maxine, Harry’s a gentleman. And you’re being a stubborn idiot. I know because it takes one to know one.”
She listened and rolled her eyes heavenward, praying for patience. “He’s been trying to find Shwartz, and when he heard you weren’t working, he called me and suggested, get this, that I pretend I’d located flyboy, and he—Harry, no less—would cough up the amount Shwartz owes you. Talk about putting your money where your mouth is.”
She listened again and blew out an exasperated breath. "So it's not entirely honest; it is chivalrous, for God’s sweet sake. And sweet and touching and rare as an honest politician. Anyway, I told him I wouldn’t lie to you, which is the only reason I’m telling you all this right now. But I think you oughta stop being such a bonehead and at least talk to the guy.”
She listened again and scowled. Maxine was using diversionary tactics, and Polly didn’t want to talk about Turner; she didn’t want to think about him; she certainly didn’t want to dream about him the way she did most nights. And she really didn’t want to explain to her friends that she still hadn’t made one iota of headway with the seduction thing. It was humiliating.
"No,” she snapped in answer to Maxine’s question. “I haven't heard more than two sentences from him for three days. He's busy delivering babies, people must have been screwing like rabbits last November. Anyway, to hell with him. I’m not wasting any more time waiting, I'm not getting any younger. There’s a new attorney over at Morgan and Jones. He asked me for a drink after work, and I’m gonna go.”
Polly listened again and fumbled among the scraps of paper on her desk. "I don’t know what his name is, I must have it written down here somewhere. I’ll just call him ‘sweetie’ if I can’t remember."
Shirley poked her head in and made significant faces, and Polly nodded at her and said to Maxine, “Gotta go, my three-o’clock appointment’s here. And take the advice of your attorney, okay? Call Harry."
Slowly Maxine hung up. As she’d just told Polly, Harry Watson was not an honest man. But it was impossible to stop the warm and tender feelings that had come over her when Polly told her this latest evidence of his generosity and concern.
It was also impossible not to remember that he was a fantastic and imaginative lover, a wonderful, caring father.
Kind, her rebellious brain added to the list; don’t forget kind. Attractive, she admitted reluctantly. Even handsome, when he remembered to shave.
Devious, she reminded herself.
Fluent at lying.
And impossible to forget, she confessed sadly. The bond between her and Harry had gone deeper than just sexual pleasure. He’d wormed his way into her heart and soul, and try as she might, she couldn’t displace him.
She’d had a lot of time to think lately, too much, in fact. Polly had moved back to her apartment, and Edna had received her settlement. Maxine was deeply touched when the older woman offered to go on working until Maxine could find and train someone new.
Maxine refused, of course. There was no point. The simple truth was that the business had died a natural death.
After a week with no calls, she'd canceled the 900 number. Soon, very soon, she was going to have to find day care for Graham and search for a job. She kept putting it off, unable to summon the energy necessary to make the effort.
Edna offered both money and free day care, but again, Maxine gently and gratefully refused, except for the two nights a week she attended night school.
She had enough money in her savings account to last two months, and she was going to take a little break, a sort of holiday, she lied to Edna.
The truth was, she couldn’t dredge up enough energy to even think about what to do next. She spent the days caring for Graham, taking him for long walks, planting a late garden in the backyard, and trying not to think about either Harry or her aimless life.
Trouble was, there wasn’t a whole lot else to do these days but think. Maxine kept the house tidy, worried over bills, made a lot of soup, weeded the sad excuse for a garden, and cared for Graham, who was napping at the moment.
Caring for a year-old baby, although physically challenging at times, wasn’t exactly brain surgery. It left a great deal of time for contemplation.
Thinking about Harry had forced her to consider a lot of other things, such as how she’d come to fall in love with Ricky Shwartz in the first place, and what demon kept her from accepting the profuse apologies Harry had gone to such lengths to make.
Once she'd gone beyond blaming Ricky, and Harry, and everyone else she could think of for her misfortunes, there was no one left to consider except her
self and her own deep lack of self-esteem.
Why had she made such a mess of her relationships with men? The question invariably led her back to the first man in her life: Zacharias Bleckner, her father.
She thought of the little girl she’d been, and her heart hurt at the painful memory of how hard she’d tried to please Zacharias, all to no avail.
She’d watched Harry with Sadie. He’d given her a picture of how a father could be with his daughter. It wasn’t at all the way her father had been with her.
She couldn't remember Zacharias ever complimenting her. She didn't remember a single spontaneous embrace, or a time when she’d wanted to run toward him in greeting.
She'd heard Harry tell Sadie countless times how pretty she looked.
Zacharias had only criticized.
She’d heard Harry tell Sadie how much he loved her.
Zacharias had never once let Maxine know he cared.
The specter of her father was a roadblock to every relationship she would ever have with a man, Maxine concluded. And now she had a son to consider. Would her own insecurities rub off on him unless she did something radical about them?
There wasn’t any detour around the problem. She was going to have to meet it head-on, and try to dismantle it.
She swallowed hard as the truth she'd done her best to avoid smacked her between the eyes.
She was going to have to see her father again, and try to make peace with him. There was no other way, and the very thought terrified her so much, she kept shying away from it.
Zacharias had no idea he had a grandson. She could predict what he’d say when he found out she was a single parent. God, it was so much easier just to let things stay the way they were, with no contact.
But easier wasn’t always better. It was going to have to be done, and there was no time like right now to do it.
She reached for the phone three times before she could make herself dial the number that had always been there in the hidden recesses of her mind.
She heard the ringing begin and she prayed passionately that he wouldn’t be home.
“Hello?” The familiar gruff voice made Maxine jump, and she almost dropped the phone. Her throat closed and she couldn’t speak.
“Hello, who is this?” There was a note of impatience in Zacharias's voice that she was all too familiar with.
She closed her eyes and cleared her throat, gulped twice, and then said the hardest words she’d ever had to say.
“Hello, Papa. It’s me. It’s Maxine."
Chapter Twenty-One
Two days later, when he came walking toward her at the airport, Maxine's first thought was how old he’d become.
She remembered him as a tall, muscular man. He was still tall, but now his wide shoulders were stooped, and under the worn black suit and stiffly starched white shirt, his body was stringy.
“Hello, daughter.” His deep, distinctive voice, as always, was portentous and stem, but Zacharias’s faded blue gaze wasn’t on her. Graham, heavy in her trembling arms, had been squirming to get down. Now he was still. He was staring, eyes round and curious, straight back at his grandfather.
“Hello, Papa. This is my son, Graham.”
Zacharias’s hand rose slowly, seemingly of its own accord, and one finger gently touched Graham’s cheek.
“Hello there, boy.” The words were choked. Could there be a trace of moisture in her father’s eyes?
She had to be mistaken. “How was the flight, Papa?” She was finding it hard to talk. Her throat felt constricted, and her entire body was shaking. She hoped he wouldn’t notice. She didn’t want him to know how terrified she felt. She’d vowed to be totally honest with him, radically honest, but she’d also promised herself she wouldn’t be apologetic for a single thing. Her life was her life, and it was up to him to accept it.
But it was easier to make vows alone in the middle of the night than to live up to them in the light of day, she admitted now.
“Takes longer for me to drive to the airport than to get here on the plane,” he grumbled in answer to her question. "Now where’s the suitcase I gave them?"
Maxine indicated which way to go to the luggage carousel, wondering if she’d made a terrible mistake by inviting him to visit. But she hadn’t felt there was a choice; there were too many important things to be said for a telephone call. And she’d wanted him to see Graham. She was proud of her baby. There was a part of her that desperately wanted her father to acknowledge how beautiful her child was.
“Can’t that boy walk?” Zacharias was striding along, and Maxine was having a hard time keeping up. Graham was heavy.
“Yes, he can walk." Instantly defensive, Maxine hugged Graham closer to her and glared at her father. “But not in a place like this, he learned how only a little while ago, and he's still a bit unsteady.”
“Give him to me, then.”
It was the last thing Maxine wanted to do. It felt like handing her baby over to the enemy. “He’ll make a fuss,” she protested.
“No, he won’t.” Zacharias made a dismissive noise in his throat that she remembered very well. It had always made her feel as if her opinions were trivial. "I’m his grandfather. Give him here, Maxine.”
Short of making a scene, there was nothing she could do. Reluctantly she handed Graham over, hoping he’d scream bloody murder.
He stiffened, and for a long, considering moment, he studied Zacharias’s face. Then he looked for Maxine and gave her a tentative smile and waved his fist at her before sticking a curious finger into Zacharias’s ear.
Maxine felt totally betrayed.
They reached the parking garage and the Toyota.
“Don’t you lock the car doors?” Zacharias gave the battered vehicle a frowning once-over and gingerly climbed in.
“The lock on the driver’s side is broken. I figure nobody will steal it if there’s something better around."
"Hmmmph.” The sound indicated exactly what Zacharias thought of the car, and of her reasoning.
At home she fed Graham and put him down for his nap, and then served the lunch she'd sweated over earlier that morning.
“Can’t eat green onions,” Zacharias immediately declared, picking them out of the egg salad. “Soup could use a dash of salt.” He emptied most of the shaker into it.
Maxine held her tongue.
“You own this house, daughter?”
“No, Papa. I rent it.”
“How much?"
She told him, muscles tensed for the inevitable critical reply.
“Blessed heaven.” He swiveled his head around, taking stock. "That much, for this tumbledown place?” That throat sound again, making her cringe. “And what are the utilities?”
She told him, adding: "You want some tea, Papa? I usually drink herbal, but I’ve got regular." She thought longingly of the brandy. She could use a shot.
"Never drink tea. Coffee either. Bothers my stomach. Only Postum. You got any Postum?"
She didn’t.
"Piece of apple pie, Papa?” She'd slaved over the damned pie most of last evening.
He accepted, and after the first bite announced that it was too tart for his liking. He liked his pie sweet.
She sweetly wondered which blunt object might be best to use on his head. At least now she was beyond nervous and well into outraged. She gulped chamomile tea and tried not to think about the four endless days and one eternity of an afternoon that remained of his visit.
“And who’s the boy’s father?”
She’d known it was coming. She took a deep breath and explained, without apology, about Ricky. She’d made a vow about honesty, so she went into detail about the money she’d loaned him, and about Polly’s efforts to get it back, and when she was finished she felt proud of herself.
"Hmmmph."
That noise again, but for some reason it didn’t bother her as much as it always had. And to her amazement, he didn’t lecture or even comment on what she’d revealed.
�
��I think I’ll go for a walk,” he announced instead. “Always walk after lunch, and then have a little lie-down. Not as young as I once was.”
With profound gratitude for the respite, Maxine saw him out the door and told him where the nearby park was. He disappeared down the street and she took two aspirin for the headache pounding at her temples and decided she needed a little lie-down herself. She hadn’t slept more than an hour last night, contemplating this visit.
She glanced in Graham’s room, thankful that he was sound asleep, padded bottom in the air and thumb firmly plugged in his rosy mouth.
She went into her bedroom and collapsed on the bed.
Zacharias could get lost wandering around Burnaby alone, she thought drowsily. Her last thought before she fell deeply asleep was that she should be so lucky.
The house was silent when she swam up to drowsy consciousness. Graham and her father must still be asleep.
She rolled over and looked at the clock, and then sprang up so fast the room tilted and whirled.
Twenty to six. She’d been asleep almost four hours. Graham never slept this long. She raced along the hall, into his bedroom.
The crib was empty.
So was the rest of the house. Zacharias’s bed was mussed, as if he’d lain there, but he was gone.
In the kitchen, two empty jars of baby food, spilled milk, and clumps of bread on the floor by the high chair told her that, incredibly, her father must have fed Graham. A sodden diaper in the bathtub showed that he’d also changed him.
The stroller was missing from the front porch.
Unbelievable as it seemed, Zacharias had taken Graham for a walk. Dazed, Maxine sloshed water on her face and brushed her hair. She put on a fresh tee and a pair of clean shorts and cut up the chicken and prepared the vegetables for dinner, pausing every few minutes to peer anxiously through the window.
The chicken was baked and the vegetables ready by the time she heard them coming up the front walk.
She flew to the door.
ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT? (Running Wild) Page 18
