The thing was, Logan wasn’t like that at all. He did wear jeans with ragged knees or the outline of his wallet showing in the rear pocket even if the wallet wasn’t in it. His hair was shaggy and sometimes he had to shove it back so it didn’t fall in his eyes. Even though Emma liked his face—he had kind eyes, and the coolest smile—she had to admit he wasn’t really handsome. He looked like a football player, almost too beefy.
And he did sit. Once he found out it was okay, he’d put his feet up on the coffee table in the living room and coaxed Pirate onto his lap. He was really patient when Mom was finishing something and he was waiting for her. The other night, he’d played Scrabble with Emma, and Mom finally wandered away to work on laundry.
Emma didn’t think he’d rat on her if she told him how mad Mom was making her. So she did.
While she was talking, he’d parked and turned off the engine. But he didn’t move, just watched her face and nodded his understanding every time she said, “You know?”
When she finished by saying, “She should trust me!” Logan was quiet for a minute.
“She worries about you,” he said. Which she expected.
“I know she does. But I’m doing fine!”
He nodded. “It’s been a long time since you did fine. And from what she tells me, you lied a lot. Is that true?” He didn’t say it accusingly, just as if he wanted to know her side.
“I guess,” Emma admitted.
“How’s your mom supposed to know you aren’t lying now, too?”
“Look at me! I’m getting fat! Sharon—my therapist—told her how much I weigh this week, and I’d gained a pound. So how can I be lying?”
If Logan knew about the way she used to trick the scale by putting weights in her shoes and the hems of her jeans, he didn’t say. He just nodded thoughtfully.
“She promised she wouldn’t be like this,” Emma said passionately. “But she lied.”
“Maybe she did.”
Emma stared at him, shocked that he’d agree.
“Maybe she was lying to herself, too. Could be, she really thought she could back off on the eating, and she’s finding it harder than she thought.”
“But she keeps lying.” Emma looked through the windshield, blurred by the misty rain. Some old woman was walking her dog, who was little and fat and probably old, too. He peed on a tree, then tried to turn and go back, but the woman tugged on the leash and made him keep walking. They toddled toward the pickup. Emma went on, “She claims she’s not watching me or keeping track of how much I eat, but she is! And when I accuse her, she blushes. She always does when she lies. She’s not very good at it.”
A trace of amusement showed in his eyes. “I’ve noticed.”
“Does she lie to you, too?” Emma asked with interest.
“Oh.” He shrugged. “Little white lies. The kind everyone tells.”
“Why won’t she at least give me a chance?”
“Maybe,” he said, “she’s afraid to.”
“Like… She thinks I might die or something?” Emma asked incredulously.
“Is that so impossible?”
“Yes! Maybe I was a little too skinny. But I slipped when I hit my head that time. I did not faint, like she keeps insisting I did! She freaked for no reason!”
“You look mighty skinny to me now. Like a puff of wind would blow you away. Your mom tells me I should have seen you six weeks ago. She said you had to rest when you went up the stairs to your bedroom.”
“That’s not true!” Except, Emma realized guiltily, it was. There’d been a time she had exercised to make up for every bit of food she ate. The past six months, she’d been too tired to do much but some leg lifts when she was lying down.
Logan laughed, but nicely. “You know, you blush when you lie, too.”
Horrified, she pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Do I really?” They did feel warm.
“Yup.”
“Oh, gross!”
“Try being patient with your mom,” he advised. “Just remind yourself that she loves you, and that’s why she’s being irritating.”
Emma let out a huff of air. “I’ve tried and I’ve tried…” She saw his face. “Okay! I’ll try some more. But…would you talk to her?”
“I hate to get between you two.”
“Not between. Just…maybe tell her you’ve noticed her watching me at meals, or something like that?”
“You want me to lie?”
She grinned at him. “You don’t blush.”
Logan laughed. “No, I won’t lie. But I will talk to her. Is that good enough?”
“Yes!” She opened the door and started out, stopping to look back. “Thanks.”
“Thank you.” His hand was on the door handle, too.
“For what?” Emma asked, puzzled.
“For being nice to me. For not resenting me dating your mother.”
“But you’re cool,” she said in surprise. “Why would I resent you?”
“Your mom thought you might. She said you didn’t like it when she dated after the divorce.”
Emma made a face. “They were, like, creeps! You know. All smiley and insincere and just itching to get their hands all over her. But they didn’t like me at all.”
“Ah,” he said. “I thought it might be something like that.”
They both got out of the truck and she heard the locks snick closed. Rain dampened her face and clung in droplets to her lashes when they hurried toward the corner.
On impulse, Emma turned toward him. “Do you want to marry my mom?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said.
But she thought he blushed.
KATHLEEN LEANED AGAINST Logan and laid her head against his shoulder. “Mmm,” she murmured. “It’s so nice just to cuddle.”
His laugh was a rumble under her ear. “I don’t know if I’m flattered or not. Shouldn’t you be pining for passionate kisses?”
Eyes closed, she smiled and rubbed her cheek on his flannel shirt. “I do pine sometimes. You know I do. It’s just that…you’re so peaceful. Sometimes I need that.”
“Mmm.” He kissed the top of her head.
Kathleen felt herself drifting. She was almost asleep, but not quite, loving his heartbeat and scent and hard muscles and…oh, just his company. Having him here, and apparently content with the silence, too.
He’d cooked dinner tonight at his place, just for the two of them. Afterward they had wandered out to the living room, thinking about watching the news, but somehow never turning it on.
They might have sat for half an hour, or an hour and a half. Kathleen didn’t come sharply awake. Rather, she found herself worrying again, thinking, planning, and knew the peaceful interlude was over. With a sigh, she sat up, pushed her hair back from her face and tucked one foot under her.
“I needed that.”
“Why?” Logan asked simply.
He didn’t move. He lounged, feet on his coffee table, arm stretched across the back of the couch, and waited patiently.
“Work is the pits. I like my boss less by the day, and I’m starting to really resent doing more than my share of the work for less money than I deserve.” Kathleen grimaced. “Bet you’ve heard that one before, huh?”
“And you’ve been working hard on stockpiling soap, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but I enjoy that. I just hope…” She stopped. “Oh, I don’t know. That this isn’t a pie-in-the-sky dream. Helen has visions of us building this into a real business that at least pays the two of us a decent return. But what if it flops? Handmade soap is everywhere these days. For most soap-makers, it’s a cottage-industry. Part-time, brings in some extra cash.”
“Your product is better than most.”
“I’d like to think so.” Darn, she hated feeling so discouraged, so lacking in optimism. But everything had conspired lately—her jerk of a boss, the endless rain and gray sky, a frustrating lack of new orders for soap and, most of all, Emma’s snarls and slammed doors. “I guess this summer w
ill tell,” she said dispiritedly. “If summer ever comes. If it keeps raining, it’ll kill the craft fairs.”
“It’s still only May,” he said comfortably. “The tulips are blooming—”
“You mean, they’re getting battered down by rain.”
He smiled. “Maybe. Nonetheless, spring has sprung. It’s just a damp one. You know it’ll quit raining one of these days.”
“Uh-uh.”
Logan watched her, eyes perceptive. “Something else is bothering you.”
“Oh…” She let out another gusty sigh. “Emma, of course. Things were so great for all of a week. Now, I can’t do anything right. If I don’t talk to her, I’m spying on her. If I do, I’m conducting an inquisition. She’s being an incredible brat. No,” Kathleen corrected herself. “It’s worse than that. I think maybe, as she gains some confidence in herself, she’s rejecting me.”
“She loves you.”
“Does she?” Her mouth twisted. “I’m not so sure anymore. I’m not even sure I blame her if she doesn’t.”
Creases formed on his forehead. “You’re being too hard on yourself. You’re a perfectionist. Is that a bad quality to pass on to your kids?”
“It is if they take it to an extreme.”
“She’s the one who took it to the extreme, not you. You aren’t responsible for every one of her decisions.”
“So I can just let myself off the hook?” Acid etched her words, burned in her stomach.
“No, but…” He frowned now. “I think parents are like…uh, like Deists imagine God to be. Someone who gives His creations a gentle push and then sees what they become. You have influence, good and bad, but how the balance tips…” He shrugged. “That’s not up to you.”
“It’s easier to be philosophical when you’re not the parent,” Kathleen said, a little too sharply.
He raised his brows, but said nothing.
She gave a crooked smile. “I’m sorry. That was bitchy. You’re trying to help, and I’m telling you to butt out.”
“Is that what you’re telling me?”
Something in his tone made her wary. “What do you mean?”
“Emma asked me to talk to you.”
For some reason, the very idea filled her with outrage. She put both feet on the floor. “Emma what?”
He smiled wryly. “You heard me.”
“Emma actually asked you to intercede with me.”
“Why’s that so surprising?”
“She hardly knows you!”
“We’ve gotten to be pretty good friends,” he said mildly.
“Friends.”
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t sound very happy about it. Were you hoping she’d hate my guts?”
“No! I just…” Oh, she hardly understood herself why it upset her so much to think of her daughter and Logan talking behind her back. Of Emma talking to Logan when she wouldn’t to her own mother. “What were you supposed to talk to me about?” Kathleen asked.
“She thinks you haven’t kept your promise to back off on the food issues. She thinks you watch every bite she eats.”
Kathleen leaped to her feet. “That’s not true! Did you buy into this? Do you believe her?”
He still hadn’t moved, but tension radiated from him in waves. “Buy into it? All I’m doing is reporting what she said.”
Anger and hurt tightened her chest. “It sounds a lot more like an accusation.”
“It wasn’t,” he said shortly. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit paranoid?”
“No!” She paced away, swung back. “I think you don’t have any business interfering between Emma and me.”
He didn’t say anything for a long time. So long, she felt her cheeks flush, painfully hot. Logan’s expression never changed, but she felt his withdrawal nonetheless.
“I’ve been put in my place, haven’t I?” he said finally, voice quiet, devoid of emotion. “In case I had any doubt of it.”
“No!” she cried. “I didn’t mean…”
“Didn’t you?” He uncoiled from the couch. “I think we’ve both said enough tonight. Why don’t I run you home now?”
“I…” A huge lump clogged her throat. “Logan…”
“Let’s see. You have a coat, don’t you?” He left the living room and returned with it, holding it out for her to slip into.
He ushered her implacably to his pickup and drove her home without saying another word. Kathleen said nothing as she sat beside him, back straight, her eyes and nose burning with unshed tears. He was the best thing that had happened to her in years, and she’d blown it.
The pickup stopped on the street in front of her house. Two doors down, there had been an empty parking spot, but he’d made no effort to pull into it.
“Shall I walk you up?” he asked politely.
“No, I’ll be fine. Logan…”
“Good night, then,” he said with terrifying finality.
Kathleen nodded, clambered out, slammed the door and fled before he could see her in tears.
“WHAT’S WRONG?”
Kathleen started and wiped her wet cheeks. Thinking everyone else was asleep, she’d turned out most of the downstairs lights, grabbed an afghan and a box of tissues, and made herself comfortable on one end of the living room couch for a good cry. She couldn’t do it in bed, not unless she wanted to take a chance of Emma in the next room hearing her.
Bundled in a ratty pink chenille bathrobe that clashed with her disheveled fiery auburn hair, Helen moved into the small circle of light cast by the lamp.
“Nothing. Just…little things. Really.” Kathleen tried for a weak smile. “I’m fine.”
“Uh-uh.” Warm gray eyes surveyed her face. “You don’t look fine.”
Kathleen wiped at wet cheeks. “I don’t suppose I do. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Heavens, no!” Helen pulled the robe more snugly around her and came to sit on the couch as well. “I don’t sleep well. You know that.”
Distracted from her own troubles, Kathleen said, “I thought you were doing better.”
“Oh, I am! But still…I worry about Ginny, and the future, and the past, and…” She laughed softly. “I think I’ve forgotten how to sleep like a normal person.”
Kathleen scrubbed again at her tears. “And here I am feeling sorry for myself!”
Helen seemed to consider that. “Divorce is as hard as death, I think. Maybe harder.”
Remembering the shell-shocked woman and wraith of a child she had accepted as roommates less than a year ago, Kathleen shook her head. “No. How could anything be harder?”
A shadow crossed Helen’s face. “Regrets. Regrets might be.”
“My regrets go back further than my marriage. Way further.”
Now, why had she said that? She didn’t want to confess her petty sins of arrogance to one more person.
Helen surprised her by saying only, “It’s Emma, then.”
“And Logan. I was awful…” Damn it, she was crying again! Kathleen sniffed and groped for a tissue. At least she had prepared when she sat down to weep.
Helen watched her with those kind eyes. “Awful?”
“Emma asked him to intercede with me.”
“And?”
“I was jealous!” Kathleen blurted. “I am jealous! She hates me, but she talks to this guy I’m casually dating?”
Helen arched her brows. “Casually?”
“Yes! Casually!” She blew her nose and mopped her cheeks. “I’m not ready… I can’t…”
Her roommate took her hand and squeezed. “You are, and you can.”
Kathleen shook her head. “I don’t even know myself anymore. I don’t like who I was, and I don’t know who I can be.”
“Kathleen,” Helen said firmly, “you are a very nice woman. You’re a patient mother, a good friend and a hard worker. What’s not to like?”
“I alphabetize the soup cans!” she wailed.
At least Helen didn’t laugh at her. “That is a little weird,�
�� she admitted. “Yeah, you’re a neat freak, but that’s okay. Why wouldn’t it be?”
A stillness came over her. “Because I taught Emma that everybody has to be perfect all the time. She almost died trying, and it’s taken me this long to realize that it’s my fault.”
Helen wouldn’t let go of her hand, although she tugged to withdraw it. “You know it isn’t that simple.”
“Maybe not,” Kathleen admitted drearily. “But that’s what’s at the heart of her problems. Me.”
Troubled lines creased Helen’s brow. “She’s doing well.”
“Yes. I suppose she is. I think,” it tore at her to admit it, “she’d do better if she weren’t living with me. Haven’t you noticed? We fight all the time.”
“She’s just…feeling her oats.”
“I don’t know. She used to be so sweet.”
“She still is. With Ginny, especially.”
“I don’t know what to do. She can’t go to Ian, even if he was interested. And—aside from our relationship—you’re all family to her. She needs you.”
“And you.” Helen’s worried lines had deepened. “She does need you.”
Kathleen shook her head, more in bafflement than denial. Numbness seemed to be creeping over her. Perhaps she was cried out. “I think I’m the one who needs her, not the other way around. Isn’t that sad? I should be letting go—she’s sixteen years old!—but I’m hurt when she turns to someone else for advice.”
“Aren’t you glad she likes Logan?”
“I don’t know!” The spurt of anger seemed to come from nowhere, dying as quickly. “Yes. Of course I am. I just…didn’t expect her to take to him so quickly. So wholeheartedly.”
“Are you afraid she’ll get hurt if you break up with him?”
Kathleen was ashamed to realize that hadn’t even occurred to her. Just as a future without Logan hadn’t occurred to her, despite her doubts and confusion.
The Perfect Mom Page 16
