“Nothing.” Trevor shrugged. “You?”
“Nothing,” Mark said, with the exact same gesture. “I understand you like to swim.”
“Yeah, and I’m good, too. I’m thinking of trying out for the swim team at school in the fall. I’d have to keep up my grades, get all As and Bs to be on a sport team because that’s the rule at school, but that’s no sweat. Thing is, you know, I’m not sure I’d like a coach telling me to swim so many laps and junk, instead of just doing what I want to in the pool like I am now. Get the drift?”
“Makes sense,” Mark said, nodding. “Maybe you could try out the theory and see how you feel about it.”
“Like how?”
“Well, I’m just hanging out. I’ve rented an SUV. I could go to the pool with you, pretend I’m your coach and put you through some tough practice sessions. You’d know pretty quick if you liked to be barked at by a coach type.”
“You’d do that for me?” Trevor asked, frowning slightly. “Why?”
Because you’re my son, Trevor, Mark thought, drinking in the very sight of the boy. I’m your father, and I already love you in a special place in my heart that I didn’t even know existed before now.
“Why not?” Mark said. “You game?”
“Game on,” Trevor said, punching one fist in the air. “This is way cool.” He paused. “But do you know, I mean really know about swimming stuff?”
“Yep,” Mark said. “I was on the swim team at Ventura High back in the ice ages.” Because when he swam he could blank his mind and not think about his drunken father. “Correct that. I was the star of the swim team. You can ask your mom about that.” Emily was always in the bleachers cheering him on. Always. “She’ll probably remember.”
Emily appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Dinner is on the table so…”
“Hey, Mom, guess what?” Trevor said, jumping to his feet and nearly toppling over as the toe of one tennis shoe caught on the toe of the other. “Mark is going to pretend he’s my swim coach so I can…”
As Emily listened to Trevor’s breathless and excited dissertation a chill swept through her. She wrapped her hands around her elbows. So, she thought, it’s begun. Mark was already taking steps to get to know his son, to establish a rapport, a bond, with Trevor. This whole scenario was suddenly frightening her for reasons that weren’t entirely clear in her jumbled mind.
Yes, she was worried about what Trevor’s reaction would be to the bombshell they would be dropping on him. But there was more than that now, causing a fist of fear to tighten painfully in her stomach.
Was she so possessive of Trevor, so selfish, that she wanted him all to herself? Was she afraid that her son might prefer his father’s company over hers?
Would Trevor realize that there would be no budget, no careful thought given to spending money of any great quantity if he lived with a doctor whose monthly paycheck was no doubt more than Emily made in six months? That could have great importance to an adolescent boy who wanted to dress in the newest fad clothes like his friends and have the latest videos and computer games. Once he was over the initial shock at their news, would Trevor announce that he wanted to go live with his dad?
Oh, Emily, stop it, she ordered herself. She was jumping much too far ahead, creating heartbreaking problems in her mind that were growing from her imagination, not from reality.
One step at a time here. The first thing on the agenda being that dinner was on the table and getting cold.
“That sounds great, Trevor,” Emily said, managing to produce a small smile as Trevor stopped speaking and took a much-needed breath. “Now, let’s eat before I have to rewarm everything I’ve already put on the table.”
A short time later Trevor and Mark had filled their plates with crispy chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and ears of fresh, locally grown corn.
Mark glanced at Emily’s plate and frowned as he saw one small piece of chicken, half an ear of corn and four slices of a peach. “That’s all you’re eating, Emily?”
“Mom’s on a diet,” Trevor said, then took a big bite of chicken. He chewed, swallowed and nodded in approval. “Good chick. Mom is doing super on her diet, Mark. She’s not nearly as fat as she used to be.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, smiling. “I think.”
“That’s not a diet,” Mark said, frowning as he looked at Emily’s plate again. “That’s starvation. You’ll lower your energy level, Emily, and your resistance to illness and… Look at that. You took a bite of corn without even putting any butter and salt on it. Who invented this so-called diet of yours?”
“My Aunt Kara. The doctor? Remember?”
“Oh,” Mark said, nodding. “Well, I guess it’s okay then.”
“Well, thank you ever so very much for your approval, Dr. Maxwell.” Emily glared at him. “I mean, gracious, if you had any lingering doubts about my being sensible enough to do this properly, I’d just fill my plate with all those mashed potatoes and dig in. In other words, mind your own business.”
“Wow.” Trevor swiveled his head back and forth as he looked at his mother, Mark, then back to Emily. “You two must have been really good friends in school. I mean, you know, like you’re still cool enough together to yell at each other and stuff.”
“Yes,” Mark said quietly, looking directly at Emily. “Your mother and I were very, very good friends back then. At least I think we were…friends.”
“Yes, of course, we were.” Emily averted her gaze from Mark’s as a swirl of heat settled low in her body.
“Did you know my dad, Mark?” Trevor asked, reaching for another ear of corn.
The piece of corn Emily held fell with a thud back onto her plate as she felt the color drain from her face.
“Trevor,” she said, aware that her voice was trembling, “we haven’t discussed your father in years. Why are you asking Mark if he knew…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at her son.
“Just because you didn’t want to talk about my dad,” Trevor said, his voice rising, “and wouldn’t even tell me his name, which is really stupid if you ask me, it doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about him.
“There’s stuff I’d like to know, but the whole family just zips it if I bring up the subject. I’m not a little kid anymore, Mom. What are you protecting me from anyway? Was the guy a total sleaze, or something? Was this bit about my dad being a wonderful man a bunch of bull?”
“Easy, buddy,” Mark said quietly. “Let’s exhibit some respect here, huh? Yelling at your mother doesn’t cut it, Trevor. Not in my book.”
“Sorry,” Trevor mumbled. “But, geez, I just want some answers and…hell, forget it.”
“Watch your mouth,” Mark said sternly.
“Yeah, okay,” Trevor said, then sighed. “Sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to swear like that. I shouldn’t have mentioned my father, either, because you get all sad when you talk about him, and so we don’t talk about him, and I can go with that program. It’s just that Mark is here, and you two were close friends and I figure he knows who you hung out with back then and… Never mind. What’s for dessert?”
“Chocolate brownies,” Emily said, her voice still unsteady. “I…I had no idea that you had questions about your father, Trevor. I thought it was a closed subject, that you were happy with the way things are. The two of us being a team, a…”
“Sure I am, Mom,” Trevor said quickly. “I’m cool about this. Really. It’s okay. Just forget I even brought it up. It was a dumb thing to do. Did you put frosting on the brownies?”
“Yes, I did, and chocolate sprinkles, too.”
“Which means we’d better clean our plates,” Mark said, “so we can dig into those brownies, Trevor. I, for one, am going to have another piece of that delicious chicken. How about you?”
“Sure,” Trevor said, smiling.
As Trevor put another large piece of chicken on his plate, Mark looked at Emily.
“‘The time has come, the Walrus said,’” Mark recited, “‘to talk of many
things.’”
“Yes,” Emily whispered. “I guess it has.”
“Huh?” Trevor said.
“Goggles,” Mark said. “Do you have regulation swim goggles, Trevor?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head.
“Well, as your new coach I insist you have a pair,” Mark said. “How about I pick you up about nine tomorrow morning and we’ll stop at the sporting goods store before we go to the pool and I’ll buy you some? If, of course, all this meets with your mother’s approval. Emily?”
“What? Oh, yes, it’s fine,” she said, nodding jerkily, “and extremely nice of you, Mark. What do you say to Mark, Trevor?”
“Oh,” Trevor said. “Thank you.”
“That’s settled then,” Mark said. “Emily, you’ve hardly touched your dinner, what there is of it.”
“I…”
“She leaves half of it a lot of times. She said her stomach shrunk, or something, since she went on this diet big-time.”
“I don’t think Kara would be thrilled with that news,” Mark said. “Eat, Emily, and don’t tell me to mind my own business. You’ll definitely pay the price if you don’t have sufficient nourishment. I’d hate for that to take place because…because I care about what happens to you and… Just eat your puny dinner, would you?”
“I… Yes, I will,” Emily said, meeting Mark’s gaze. She picked up the ear of corn. “I’ll clean my plate, but dessert is taboo.”
“Fair enough,” Mark said, smiling.
They continued to look directly into each other’s eyes for an amount of time neither would have been able to say had ticked by.
Trevor shifted his own gaze back and forth between his mother and Mark, raising his eyebrows as he nodded.
“Cool,” he said, smothering a burst of laughter with a forkful of potatoes.
Four
As dinner progressed, Mark asked for more details regarding the subject of Maggie and Alice MacAllister marrying into the royal family of the Island of Wilshire. Margaret had talked about it briefly the previous afternoon, he said, but she had been more interested in being brought up to date on his doings.
The island was a beautiful paradise, Emily told Mark, and the weddings had been like something out of a fairy tale. Trevor added his two cents by saying he was really glad he had got to stay put in Ventura with his best friend, Jacob, rather than go to weddings that were all gushy and mushy where everybody hugged and kissed and cried.
“Gushy and mushy?” Mark said, laughing. “I’ve never heard weddings described quite like that before, Trevor. Plus there’s hugging, kissing and crying, huh?”
“Majorly. I went to my Aunt Jessica’s wedding when she got hitched to the cop. Daniel. He’s my Uncle Daniel now and he is one very awesome guy. He’s a detective and carries a gun, the whole bit. Anyway, I’ve never seen so much hugging, kissing and crying in my entire life.
“I finally ended up toting Uncle Daniel’s kid around, that’s baby Tessa, so nobody would grab me and kiss me or something. Weddings are the worst.” Trevor glanced quickly at his mother, then Mark. “Well, I guess it might depend on who was getting married. Know what I mean?”
“Not really,” Emily said, then popped the last piece of peach into her mouth.
“Well, if you got married, Mom. I’d hug you and give you a kiss and junk, but don’t count on me crying ’cause it isn’t going to happen.”
Emily choked on the minuscule piece of peach and started to cough. Mark stood, reached across the table and whacked her on the back.
“Oh.” Emily patted her chest. “That’s better. Thank you.”
“Take a sip of your sun tea,” Mark said, sitting down again, “with honey.”
“Mine is plain,” Emily said absently, staring at Trevor. “There are too many calories in honey. For the record, Trevor, I am not getting married. Ever.”
Why not? Mark thought.
“Why not?” Trevor said.
“Because…because I like my life exactly the way it is,” Emily said, fiddling with the napkin spread across her lap. “It suits me just fine.”
“Don’t you ever get lonely?” Mark asked quietly.
“No,” she said, meeting his gaze. Yes. But when she did she wrapped her memories of their time together around her like a warm, comforting blanket until the chill of loneliness eased. “I’m much too busy to get lonely.”
“Give me a break,” Mark said, with a snort of disbelief. “I often work eighteen-hour days, but I still have time to be lonely.”
“You’re lonely?” Emily and Trevor said in unison as they stared at Mark.
“Well, I…” Mark said, then stopped speaking and cleared his throat. “Yeah, okay, yeah, sometimes I… Hey, I’m just chatting here, going with the flow of the conversation, that’s all.”
“You need a wife, Mark,” Trevor said decisively. “I never thought about whether grown-ups get lonely, but I guess they do sometimes. So, fix it.” He slid a glance at his mother. “Find a nice lady, who can cook good and laughs a lot, isn’t grumpy and stuff, then have a gushy, mushy wedding and you’d be all set. Right?”
“My, my, who is ready for chocolate brownies?” Emily said.
“It’s not all that easy, Trevor,” Mark said, totally ignoring the offer of dessert. “A man and woman should be deeply in love, plus have trust, honesty, compromise, a whole list of things as a solid foundation supporting their relationship before they get married. That takes a great deal of heartfelt dedication and work.”
Mark shifted his gaze slowly to Emily and frowned. “Some people just aren’t cut out to take all that on. Haven’t you found that to be true, Emily?”
“Chocolate brownies with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles.” Emily glared at Mark as she got to her feet. “What is true, Dr. Maxwell, is that this is an insane topic to be discussing with a twelve-year-old boy who—”
“I’m almost thirteen.”
“Who,” Emily repeated, “won’t even be entertaining the concept of falling in love, working at a relationship, then having a gushy, mushy wedding, for many years yet.”
She picked up her plate, marched to the counter, plunked it down, then spun around to face the table again.
“Therefore,” she yelled, “change the subject.”
Emily’s eyes widened as she saw Mark’s and Trevor’s mouths drop open at the exact same moment due to her outburst, and then, in perfect synchronization, each of them swept a hand over the crown of his head.
She braced one hand on the counter and pressed the other against her forehead.
“I can’t handle this,” she mumbled.
“Whew,” Mark said, shaking his head slightly. “You sure learned how to speak…holler…your mind in the dozen or so years since I’ve seen you, Emily. You used to just sort of smile and nod a lot.”
“That was then, buster,” Emily said, straightening and pointing one finger at him. “And this is now. I…am…woman.” She burst into laughter. “Hear me roar!”
“Trust me, Mark,” Trevor said, rolling his eyes heavenward. “My mom can roar with the best of ’em. You should hear her when I leave a wet bathing suit and towel on my bedroom floor.”
Mark laughed in delight. “She cracks the plaster in the ceiling, huh?”
“Close, very close.”
“All right, you two,” Emily said, smiling as she brought the brownies to the table, “now you’re ganging up on me. Do note that I haven’t released my hold on this plate. These brownies can disappear before you get your paws on them, you know.”
“Oh, sweet mommy,” Trevor said, clasping his hands beneath his chin, “who never speaks above a whisper no matter how rotten I am, may I please have a chocolate brownie with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles?”
“Will this get it done, Trevor?” Mark duplicated Trevor’s pose. “At what point do we really beg?”
“Now is good,” Trevor said, out of the corner of his mouth.
“Please, please, please,”
Mark and Trevor chanted.
“Here,” Emily said, laughing as she shoved the plate at Mark who grabbed it with both hands. “You two are crazy, a real pair to draw to.”
And she loved them both so much.
Emily snatched Mark’s dinner plate from in front of him, picked up the now-empty platter that had held the chicken and went back to the counter.
She hadn’t meant that the way it had suddenly popped into her head, Emily told herself frantically. Yes, of course, she loved her son more than life itself. But she did not love, was not in love, with the Mark Maxwell who was sitting there being fun and funny as he interacted with her…their…son.
It was the Mark of years before who she had loved, maybe still did, not that it mattered one way or another, because this Mark had nothing to do with that Mark, so—
“Great brownies, Mom,” Trevor said, then reached for his second one.
“Very delicious,” Mark said.
“Can I ride my bike over to Jacob’s? I want to tell him about Mark acting like a swimming coach for me.”
“May I ride my bike over to Jacob’s,” Emily automatically corrected.
“You don’t have a bike,” Trevor said, grinning. “Just kidding. Okay… May I?”
“After you clear the table, which is your job as you well know, and you head home the second the streetlights come on.”
“’Kay.” Trevor said, then took a big bite of brownie. “Mmm. Can…may…I take a brownie to Jacob?”
“If there are any left.” Emily glanced over at the plate and the rapidly diminishing number of brownie squares remaining.
“I’ll do your kitchen duty for you tonight, Trevor,” Mark said.
“Cool. Thanks,” the boy said, pushing back his chair. He took a clean napkin from the ceramic holder on the end of the table, wrapped up a brownie and stuck it in his shirt pocket. “I’m gone.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.”
“I’ll be ready.” Trevor nodded. “Bye.”
Trevor dashed out the back door and silence fell over the room. Emily rinsed the platter, put it in the dishwasher, then returned to the table for more dishes. As she reached for the bowl containing a small portion of potatoes, Mark caught her hand in one of his.
Plain Jane MacAllister Page 4
