“Mark, I’m begging you, please don’t shatter Trevor’s world. Don’t do that to him. Think about him, what it will do to him if you just blurt out the truth. Can’t you find it in your heart to take this slowly and…forget how you feel about me. Put Trevor first.” Two tears slid down Emily’s face. “He’s just a baby who needs to be treated gently, kindly, with love. Oh, Mark, please.”
Mark planted his hands on his hips and stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, before looking at Emily again.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll do this your way…for now. For Trevor’s sake. Make certain you understand that, Emily. I’m doing this for my son. I don’t owe you a damn thing.”
Emily nodded jerkily.
“I’ll be here to have dinner with you and Trevor tomorrow night.”
“What?” she said.
“You heard me. You invited your old school chum, as you so quaintly put it, to share a meal with you and your son. There’s nothing unusual about that. Trevor and I can talk, chat while we eat, which will break the ice. What time?”
“I…”
“What time, Emily?”
“Six o’clock,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “We always have dinner at six.”
“Fine. I’ll be here,” he said, then started toward the door.
“Do you still like sun tea with honey, instead of sugar?”
Mark spun around. “Don’t go there, Emily. Don’t even think of trying that routine. Don’t attempt to soften me up with cute little trips down memory lane because it won’t work and…” He paused and frowned. “Why did you remember a dumb detail like that, my liking honey in my sun tea instead of sugar?”
Because I loved you, you dolt, Emily thought. You don’t like cloth napkins. You eat the seeds in watermelon because it’s too much trouble to pick them out. Your favorite color is pale pink like the inside of a seashell, but you thought that sounded too girly so you always said it was blue. You like French fries but detest hash brown potatoes. These aren’t dumb details, you idiot. They’re memories. Mine. To keep…forever.
“Forget it,” Mark said, continuing on to the door and opening it. “Good night, Emily. No, correct that. There hasn’t been one good thing about this night. I’ll see you at six tomorrow.”
Mark closed the door behind him with a quiet click as he left, but even so, Emily cringed, feeling as though she’d suffered a physical blow. Two more tears slithered down her cheeks, and she dashed them away. She returned to the chair and sank onto it, staring at the door.
In the next instant she got to her feet and went into the kitchen where she opened the refrigerator freezer and reached for some comfort, some food, her shaking hand gripping a carton of ice cream. She snatched her fingers back as though they had been burned, and slammed the freezer closed with more force than was necessary.
Nearly running, she hurried to her bedroom, opened the top drawer of her dresser and picked up an exquisite mother-of-pearl hand mirror, which she hugged to her breasts as she settled onto the edge of the bed.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to float back to the day in January when her grandfather had asked her to come to his study to receive the special gift he’d spoken of at Christmas. Each grandchild was to meet with Robert MacAllister privately and be given a present he’d selected just for them. Whether they told anyone what it was would be up to them.
Emily remembered, tracing one fingertip over the edge of the mirror that she had gasped in awe when she’d unwrapped the gift and seen the beautiful mirror.
It belonged to my mother, Robert MacAllister had told her. It always had a place of honor on her dressing table because my father had given it to her. Now? I want you to have it, Emily, for a very specific reason.
Emily looked at her grandfather questioningly.
My mother taught me, Robert went on, with that mirror, to see past the outer trappings of myself and understand, get to know who I was becoming within, to never lose track of the real Robert MacAllister.
Emily nodded.
That’s what I want you to do with the mirror, darling Emily. Gaze at your image in a private place when you’re alone. Discover who you really are behind that smile you keep so firmly in place and beneath those extra pounds you’ve put on to put distance between you and the world around you.
Oh, Grandpa, Emily had said, her eyes filling with tears, it’s…it’s safe being fat and unattractive and… I hide in here, just keep smiling as I’ve always done and say that I’m doing fine and… She shook her head as tears choked off her words.
I know, Robert said gently. You’re also hiding in your house by running your business from there. It’s time to step forward, Emily. The mirror will help give you the courage you need to accomplish what you must do. I love you, my sweet Emily. Come out of the shadows and walk in the sunshine.
You’re so wise, Grandpa. This is a wonderful gift that I’ll always cherish and I promise you that I’ll try to do what you’re asking of me. I will.
And she was, Emily thought, lifting the mirror so she could see her reflection. Right after the new year holidays, she’d gone to her Aunt Kara, who was a semi-retired physician, had a complete physical, then asked Kara to outline a healthy diet and regiment of exercise. Kara had agreed that Emily had fifty pounds to shed, a fact that Emily knew embarrassed her son when his fat mother was seen by his friends.
Slowly but surely the pounds had melted away, one after another. Thirty gone; twenty left to go.
“You still look like Porky Pig’s sister,” Emily said to her reflection. “Mark must have been thoroughly disgusted when he saw how you’ve let yourself become a blimp.” She paused and sighed. “No, forget that. Mark doesn’t give a rip about what I look like. He’s too busy hating me because I…”
Emily got to her feet and replaced the mirror in the drawer.
There was no purpose to be served by tormenting herself with the long list of Mark’s accusations. He believed that she had never loved him at all, which wasn’t true. It wasn’t.
She had never stopped loving the Mark Maxwell she had known when they were teenagers. She’d hidden in her cocoon of fat and inside her house, and when she became too lonely she’d reach within herself for that love, wrap it around her like a warm, fuzzy blanket as she relived the memories of what she’d shared with Mark.
But those days of hiding were over. She’d rented an office downtown two months ago and was a successful businesswoman who greeted the public with new confidence and self-worth.
And Trevor, her sweet, darling son, took his dessert to his room each night so Emily wouldn’t have to watch him eat it while she wasn’t having any of the calorie-laden treat. She was, indeed, stepping out of the gloomy shadows into the brilliant sunshine, just as her grandfather had wished her to do. If she didn’t feel like smiling, by golly, she didn’t smile.
Everything had been going so well, Emily thought, as she swept back the blankets on the bed. Until now. Until Mark had reappeared in her life and turned it upside down. An angry Mark. A handsome and self-assured Mark, who was so intimidating and made her feel fat and sloppy, vulnerable and…
It was as though, Emily mused, taking her nightie from beneath the pillow and starting toward the bathroom, Mark had somehow pricked her with an invisible pin, creating a tiny hole where the self-confidence and self-esteem that she’d struggled so terribly hard to achieve were slowly escaping, and she didn’t know how to keep it from happening.
Emily stopped at the bedroom door, then went to the dresser and took out the mirror again, staring at her frowning reflection.
“Get a grip, Emily MacAllister,” she ordered herself.
She would not, she vowed, allow Mark to destroy the Emily she had become. No. She’d square her shoulders, lift her…darn it, her double chin, and decide with him how best to reveal his identity to her…their son.
There would be no more begging, pleading, acting like the child she had been when she had loved him. She didn’t love h
im now, for heaven’s sake, so her emotions, her heart, would not get in the way of making the proper decisions for Trevor.
No, she had no feelings whatsoever for the Mark Maxwell who had returned to Ventura after so many years.
None at all.
Did she?
Three
Honey instead of sugar in his sun tea.
“Damn it, Maxwell,” Mark said to the dark room, “give it a rest.”
He glanced at the clock on the nightstand next to the bed in his hotel suite and groaned as he saw it was after two o’clock in the morning. He hadn’t even been able to doze since attempting to sleep hours before.
His mind, Mark thought angrily, was a jumbled maze of disturbing information he’d gathered while at Emily’s house earlier that night.
“Yeah, Emily,” he said, dragging both hands down his face, “I still like honey in my sun tea.”
Even though he’d lashed out at her when she’d asked him that, Mark thought, he’d known from the look on Emily’s face and from the way she’d flinched when he’d yelled at her, that she hadn’t been playing tricky games. Her asking him that question had been an honest reaction to her knowing he was coming to dinner.
And Emily had remembered after all these years that he liked honey in his sun tea.
And for reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom, that fact warmed him to the very depths of his soul.
“Ah, I’m losing it,” Mark said, dropping his arms heavily onto the bed.
He was on mental overload, that was for damn sure. He had nowhere to put all that he’d discovered since returning to Ventura less than twenty-four hours ago.
He had a son.
Trevor MacAllister, who from the moment he was born should have been Trevor Maxwell.
It was time, it was long overdue, for Trevor to know the truth.
Yeah, okay, he could see Emily’s point that a news flash like that shouldn’t be dropped like a bomb on a kid of that age. But the existence of Trevor, plus the package of lies that Emily had told her family wasn’t all that was keeping him from getting the sleep he so desperately needed.
No, it was more than that.
It was Emily, herself.
Mark sighed.
Emily, his mind echoed. She was still so beautiful, so…her. In all his travels he’d never seen brown eyes as enchanting as Emily’s. He’d never seen lips so perfectly shaped, so kissable. He’d never seen hands so delicate that they fluttered gracefully in the air like exquisite butterfly wings when she became animated. He’d never seen—
“You have three seconds to knock it off, Maxwell,” Mark said aloud, anger and frustration making his voice gritty. “Or I’ll strangle you with my bare hands.”
Mark rolled onto his stomach, punched his pillow with far more force than necessary, then total exhaustion finally claimed him and he fell into a restless, dream-filled sleep.
“Why are you putting flowers in a vase on the table, Mom?” Trevor said. “I don’t think you’re supposed to do that when a guy comes to dinner. It’s lame. Girl stuff, you know what I mean?”
“Company is company,” Emily said, peering into the oven. “I’m simply setting an attractive table because we have a guest sharing our meal.” She straightened and looked at Trevor. “You, sir, need to go take a shower and put on clean clothes before Mark gets here. Shoo. And shampoo your hair, too. If you don’t get the chlorine from the pool out of it, it’s going to turn green.”
“Really? Cool.”
“Trevor!”
“I’m going, I’m going,” he said, stomping across the room. “Sure is a bunch of big deal about some old guy you used to go to school with. Geez. You’d think he was somebody important, for crying out loud.”
As Trevor disappeared from view, Emily leaned back against the counter and sighed.
Important? Mark Maxwell? she thought. No way, Trevor. The man is only your father, who you believe is dead, an angel in heaven. The man who intends to inform you of his true identity in the very near future.
“Oh, what a mess,” Emily said, pressing her fingertips to her temples as she felt a painful headache beginning to throb.
She glanced down at the pretty border print of bright flowers around the bottom of the white summer dress she wore, then smoothed the full skirt over what she knew were her much-too-broad hips.
She’d considered wearing a long-sleeved dress but that would have been uncomfortably warm for a July evening, she mused. So there she was in a square-cut neckline and no sleeves, chubby arms displayed for all to see. For Mark to see.
“So?” she said, pushing away from the counter. “There’s just more of me to hug, that’s all. Not that there’s a long line of admirers panting to hug me but…oh, Emily, just put a cork in it.”
She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall and saw at the same moment that the doorbell rang that it was exactly six o’clock.
Typical Mark, she thought, leaving the kitchen. He had a thing about being punctual. She’d learned to be ready to go when he arrived at her house to pick her up for a date because if she kept him sitting in the living room he got antsy and out of sorts.
He’d once stood in the rain on her front porch, getting soaked to the skin, because he thought it would be as rude to be early as it would to be late.
At the door, Emily hesitated, drew a steadying breath, then opened the door.
Oh, cripe, she thought dismally, Mark was just so gorgeous, so blatantly masculine…. Black slacks, a trendy gray shirt with no collar and— Why didn’t he have a cowlick anymore? A person was born with a cowlick, and it was there for life. You couldn’t just decide not to have a cowlick anymore, so…
“What happened to your cowlick?” Emily said, cocking her head slightly to one side.
In the next instant, as she realized she’d spoken her thought aloud, she felt a warm flush of embarrassment stain her cheeks.
“Never mind,” she said quickly. “Come in, Mark. You’re right on time, of course. I mean, you’re…right…on time and— Oh, just come in.”
Mark entered the house and chuckled as he moved past Emily. A funny little frisson of heat slithered down her spine as she heard the sexy, male sound. She gave the door a push and cringed as it slammed too loudly.
“You still blush a pretty pink,” Mark said, turning to look at Emily. “I didn’t think women our age did that. It’s cute.”
“That’s me.” Emily rolled her eyes heavenward. “Just-too-cute-for-words Emily. Cute, Mark, is not used to describe women who weigh what I do. However, I don’t wish to supply you with adjectives that would apply, thank you very much.”
“I think that you look lovely, Emily. I think that that’s a very nice dress and that you’re lovely.”
“Thank…” Emily started, then completely forgot the rest of it as her gaze met Mark’s.
She was lovely, Emily thought dreamily, and Mark was so ruggedly handsome and— Oh, my.
Emily was so beautiful, Mark’s mind hummed. And she still blushed, causing her cheeks to glow like dewy peaches and…
The buzzer on the stove shrilled, and Emily jerked in surprise at the intrusive noise.
“Dinner is ready,” she said, hearing the thread of breathlessness in her voice. “Have a seat on the sofa or something while I get it on the table.
“Trevor will be out in a second. He didn’t think he needed to shower because he was swimming most of the day. I signed him up for the summer program at the community center so I’d know where he was while I’m working, and he’s too old for a baby-sitter, but I wasn’t about to just let him roam around on his own and…I’m babbling, aren’t I?”
Mark nodded. “Just a tad. Yes.”
“Well, I’m nervous, Mark,” she said, throwing up her hands. “If you slip up and say the wrong thing to Trevor and he puts two and two together before we feel he’s ready to know that you’re…”
“I won’t slip up,” Mark interrupted quietly. “I don’t intend to do anything to hurt him
, Emily.”
“Oh. Well, good. That’s good.” Emily started toward the kitchen. “Sit.”
“Emily?”
She stopped and turned halfway to look back at Mark questioningly.
“In answer to your question regarding my cowlick,” he said. “As I’m sure you’ve realized by now I was a late bloomer physically. I grew several inches and added pounds after I left Ventura. My hair became thicker, too, and the increased weight of it makes the cowlick lie flat. I believe that Trevor is going to be a late bloomer, too, from the looks of him.”
Emily smiled and patted her ample hips. “I bloomed rather late myself, but I’m in the process of unblooming, or some such thing.” She paused and frowned. “Why am I telling you this? I have no idea.” She shook her head as she spun around and went on into the kitchen.
Mark sank onto the sofa and stared at the doorway Emily had disappeared through.
He’d felt it, he thought. The heat of desire that had coiled low in his body when he’d looked directly into Emily’s enchanting brown eyes, familiar brown eyes, had been hot, burning with a bright flame of want and need.
He’d remembered in that moment that had lasted an eternity what it had been like to make love with Emily, with the woman he’d given his heart to for all time.
Damn. She could still turn him inside out and hang him out to dry. And she wasn’t even trying to do it, he was convinced of that. She envisioned herself as fat and frumpy, or some such ridiculous thing, and sure wasn’t attempting to seduce him so she could gain control of the situation.
No, Emily wasn’t playing coy, womanly games. She was just being Emily. But what he’d better not forget, not even for one second, was that she had never really loved him, not as he had loved her.
Trevor entered the living room wearing baggy yellow shorts that came to the middle of his bony knees and an oversized brown T-shirt. His hair was beginning to dry and the cowlick was inching upward in a curl.
“Hey,” Trevor said, slouching onto an easy chair.
“Hey,” Mark said. “What’s doin’?”
Plain Jane MacAllister Page 3
