Driven to Distraction

by Olivia Dade

  Although he didn’t ask for further explanation, Joan offered it anyway. “What seems perfect at first can get…” She paused, her breathing faint on the line. “It can get hard.”

  He saw a simple solution to that particular problem. “Then why get married?”

  “It’s what you do,” she said with obvious confusion. “If you fall in love with someone, you marry that person. Living together in sin… That’s not how I was raised, Samuel.”

  Con’s words that awful afternoon came back to him. I would never agree to have a child as a gamble. Or against my better judgment, simply to make my partner happy or because people expect me to. And for the first time, he thought he was grasping something very important. About his mother, about Con, and about his own life.

  “You got married to Penny’s father young, didn’t you?”

  It was a question he’d never asked before. He’d never wanted to hear about her past. Never thought there was anything more to understand about her than her fecklessness and thoughtless cruelty.

  “I’d just turned sixteen when we met.” A trace of a smile entered her voice. “I was crazy about him, you know. And then I found out I was going to have Penelope, and my parents made sure we got married right away.”

  “But things changed. Got hard,” Sam guessed.

  “He was working all the time, and Penny needed so much from me. Too much.”

  “Then why didn’t you—” He cut himself off, realizing he couldn’t ask his mother about condoms or diaphragms or whatever she could have used to prevent her second pregnancy. About why she hadn’t made very, very sure not to conceive again when she found herself in an unhappy marriage and sleeping with another man.

  But she’d figured out what he was going to say. “Your grandparents didn’t approve of family planning. At the time, neither did Penny’s father. Or yours, for that matter. So it took me a few years to make my peace with that issue.”

  He pictured his mother at sixteen. Young and willful and beautiful. Itching to get out from under her parents’ thumb any way she could. Hungry for excitement and attention.

  Then pregnant. Married. Trapped.

  No wonder she’d run. And maybe he didn’t quite understand it, but he could see how she might still wander from husband to husband for decades to come, trying to rediscover the life she’d lost as a teenager.

  Constance had been cheated out of her own girlhood too, of course. But she’d taken a different path. Instead of frantically searching for what she’d missed through hasty marriages and unwanted children, she’d planted her booted feet and withstood the storm. Taken responsibility for her own life and the lives of so many others. Figured out what she really wanted—and what she really didn’t want—and stuck to her principles.

  “I know you don’t think much of me, Samuel,” his mother said. “But I do love you.”

  He couldn’t disagree with her first statement. Not without lying. But he could at least offer kindness to a woman constantly on the run. A woman who never seemed to grasp what she kept chasing. “I’m not a kid anymore, Mom. It’s okay. I hope you’re happy and healthy wherever you are. Whatever you’re doing.”

  “Thank you.” She paused. “Do you want children?”

  “Yes,” he said, the response automatic. “Definitely.”

  “Let me know when that happens, then. Goodness, I never pictured myself with grandkids.” A man’s voice rumbled in the background, and she sounded weary when she spoke again. “I need to go, Samuel. Victor likes to have his dinner as soon as he gets home. Take care, and good luck. Love you.”

  The call abruptly ended, and Sam set his phone down on the kitchen counter.

  He considered her final question again. Did he want children? If so, why? Because he loved them so much? Because their absence left a gaping hole in his life? Because he wanted to care for them unselfishly, without expecting anything in return?

  Gripping the counter with both hands, he dropped his head and thought hard. He needed to be honest with himself. Right now. Before he too went haring off to find something he didn’t quite want for reasons he didn’t understand.

  This time, when he asked himself what he really wanted, the answer came to him.

  What he wanted was assurance he wouldn’t find himself abandoned or alone again. That his life wouldn’t repeat itself. Three becoming two becoming one.

  One. Him. By himself.

  Having lots of kids would provide insurance against that fate. But he didn’t like to think of himself as someone who’d bring children into the world for selfish reasons. For his own needs, rather than theirs. Especially when his needs could be met a different way. A way that felt true to his life and his raw, lonely heart.

  Con would never leave him. Not as long as she was still drawing breath. Penny had said it, and Sam agreed. Once Constance Marie Chen allowed someone into her heart, that person remained ensconced there for all eternity. She’d do anything for the people she loved, and she never abandoned her responsibilities.

  She wasn’t his mother. Among a million other clues, Con’s refusal to have children she didn’t want should have told him that.

  He didn’t need insurance against her desertion in the form of babies. And once their friends started having kids, he figured he’d get as much time with children as he could possibly want. From everything he’d heard, parents always needed babysitters. If it turned out he actually did like kids, he could serve as an honorary uncle.

  In the meantime, he’d still have a big, noisy family full of people who loved him.

  More importantly, he’d have Con.

  Before he approached her again, though, he needed to be absolutely sure of what he wanted and the future he envisioned for himself. So with a few swipes of his finger, he found his sister’s number in his cell and dialed.

  Penny answered her phone on the second ring. “Missed me already, huh? Or are you contemplating the impalement possibilities of your steak knives again?”

  He cut to the chase. “Mom called. Because of your text a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Okay.” Penny let out an audible breath. “How’d that go?”

  “I think I get now why you aren’t angry at her. Not like I’ve been.” His chest seemed lighter, the air cleaner, without that festering bitterness in his heart. “It was a talk we needed to have. One that helped me figure out a few things.”

  “I’m glad,” his sister said with clear sincerity.

  “But I need to answer one more question before I make any decisions. So I have a favor to ask: Could I babysit Casey this upcoming weekend? It would give you and Jack a little extra honeymoon time, and I could see how I really feel about kids when they’re up close and personal.”

  She answered almost before he finished speaking. “Yes. Oh, yes. She already adores you, and she’d love to sleep over at your house. When do you want her? Do you want her now? Because I could bring her now.”

  Startled by his sister’s intense enthusiasm, he stared at his phone.

  “She’s wonderful, don’t get me wrong.” Penny dialed it back a notch, her voice earnest. “I love her dearly. But she wakes us up between five and six every morning, Sam. Usually by shrieking that her stuffed turtle is misbehaving and needs a timeout. If you let me sleep late two weekend mornings in a row, I’ll build a small shrine in your honor.”

  He laughed. “It’s a deal. As long as you light several votives per day.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “We’ll talk more about our plans tomorrow. I know you have a busy evening ahead of you, and I need to start childproofing my house.” Not to mention napping in preparation for the upcoming weekend. “But Pen?”

  His sister let loose with an uncharacteristic giggle. And in the background, Sam could hear the sound of a smacking kiss. Courtesy of Jack, no doubt.

  “Yeah?” She was still giggling.

  “I wanted you to know,” he said. “I looked again.”
r />   * * * *

  Late that Sunday afternoon, Sam packed up the toys, crayons, clothes, hair fasteners, and other debris associated with his weekend guest. He made pancakes for Casey, setting a place at the kitchen table for her beloved Squishy Turtle too. He gave his niece a kiss on top of her head and a tight hug when Penny arrived to pick her up. He waved as his sister backed out of his driveway and disappeared down the street.

  And then he flopped onto his couch and stared into space for several minutes, his ears ringing from the ceaseless noise of the previous forty-eight hours. When he finally levered himself up from the couch cushions and stood, he groaned like an old man.

  It took him almost an hour to clean up after the tiny tornado who’d visited him. He’d just about finished when his cell phone rang.

  “Well?” Penny asked. “Are you ready to be a dad?”

  He headed toward his bedroom, intent on a brief shower and a blissfully long, quiet night’s sleep. One uninterrupted by announcements concerning full bladders or dry throats. One he desperately needed after the longest weekend of his fucking life. One he planned to enjoy like never before.

  “Casey is a great kid. But let me put it this way,” he said. “At one point this morning, I was eyeing her craft scissors and contemplating an at-home, impromptu vasectomy.”

  She snickered. “So you’ve answered all your burning questions?”

  “Yes.” He sighed in happiness as he turned on the shower in his clean, neat bathroom. “Which means it’s time to start asking Con a question or two instead. Wish me luck, sis.”

  “Good luck!” she shouted over sudden high-pitched shrieks in the background. “And enjoy the rest of your evening!”

  Already stripping off his syrup-stained tee, he grinned. “Oh, I plan to. Believe me.”

  “Want to take Casey for a weekend later this month?” Penny sounded hopeful.

  “Maybe I’ll feel differently after a good night’s sleep. But right now, I have two words for you, Pen,” he said. “Hell, no.”

  26

  Three weeks after her final departure from Sam’s house, the most enormous fucking basket Con had ever seen appeared on her desk.

  No note attached. But then, she didn’t need a writing sample to recognize his handiwork. In all the world, only one person knew her this well and would go to this much trouble on her behalf without a single goddamn reason for doing so. Especially since the two of them weren’t even engaged anymore. They weren’t dating. Hell, they weren’t talking.

  Which raised a pertinent question: What the fuck was he thinking?

  But that question could wait until she’d plumbed the basket’s depths and discovered what goodies lay in store for her. Goodies that would have to be returned to Sam, of course, as soon as humanly possible. Unless they were perishable. Or unless she needed them immediately, before she’d have the opportunity to give them back.

  A huge, heavy box took up most of the basket. A shoebox, from the looks of it. But Sam knew her too well to offer spindly heels or rhinestone bows. So what had he picked for her?

  Seconds later, she uncovered a pair of steel-toed boots that seemed very, very familiar. Probably because they were the exact same brand, style, and size as her current, beloved boots. The ones she used pretty much every day. The ones rapidly wearing out. The ones she kept meaning to replace, but hadn’t gotten around to reordering yet.

  She gazed up at the ceiling and blinked hard. Goddammit. Why did the man have to be so fucking attentive and generous?

  Once she could see clearly again, she noticed a little package of pencils, like the ones he’d given her before. This time, however, they were printed with the phrase I ♥ Being Inside Con’s Buns.

  They were filthy and juvenile and nothing she should ever, ever display at work. But right this very second, her bun was sliding down over her ear, jostled out of place by her laughter. So…whatever. She’d classify two of the pencils as items she needed immediately.

  Her bun secured, she kept exploring. Nestled beside the pencils was a giant French dip sandwich au jus, surrounded by ice packs. Eating the sandwich only made sense. She didn’t want it to go bad, did she? Beef could spoil so quickly. As could the pickle and fries, probably.

  Oops. The container of guacamole and bag of tortilla chips were open now. As was one of the Cokes. Which meant someone—and she was the lone person nearby—should consume them. Doing anything else would just be wasteful.

  The gardening gloves would have to go back, unfortunately. Even though she’d been eyeing the durable, comfortable set for years, tempted but unwilling to pay a premium for the company’s deerskin, nylon, and Lycra design. No doubt Sam had caught her lusting over the gloves online at some point.

  Beneath the gloves she found a packet of seeds, which she didn’t understand. At all. They’d already allocated every square inch of her raised beds, as he surely remembered. She didn’t have room for another plant, not even the gorgeous-looking bell peppers on the front of the packet.

  Then she saw the variety. Sweet California Wonder.

  The man…Jesus. He had no mercy. She knew what she’d lost. Why was he reminding her? Was he hoping to change her mind about adopting children? Trying to tell her he was thinking about her, even if they couldn’t be together?

  Either way, it was cruel. Beneath him.

  One more, smallish box remained. A jewelry box. Not ring-shaped, which Con told herself was a good thing. Still, she opened it carefully, as if it might explode if she handled it the wrong way.

  At first glance, she thought he’d given her—for whatever reason—a basic silver or white gold chain. But according to the little printed jeweler’s card inside, he’d instead bought her a platinum necklace. Stronger and more durable than gold. Simple, elegant, and sturdy-looking.

  She lifted a loop of the chain with her fingertip, even though she shouldn’t touch it. Shouldn’t even look at it. Should simply shut the box and wait for an opportunity to return it to Sam.

  That necklace had to go back. Because they weren’t dating or engaged anymore. Because it was too expensive a present for an estranged ex. And because, despite the chain’s loveliness, she didn’t wear jewelry. Which he’d known from the beginning, so why had he purchased such a costly, useless gift?

  Was this an ill-conceived gesture of friendship? Hell if she knew.

  She couldn’t fathom any of it—until she spotted the scrawled note that had fallen beneath the jewelry box. A note that told her just enough to frighten the ever-loving shit out of her.

  I know, I know. You don’t wear jewelry. I’ll explain tonight.

  Love, Sam

  P.S. I’m coming for you, Constance Marie. Get ready.

  * * * *

  Con had never considered herself a coward. When problems arose, she tackled them head-on instead of hiding in bed and hoping they’d disappear. As she pulled into the Downtown parking lot that night, however, she was very tempted to change her ways.

  To her wholehearted dismay, Sam was obviously attending the Niceville Library Spring Spectacular too. And he was coming for her.

  In the hours since she’d seen the note, she’d considered what that phrase might mean. At the moment, she was leaning toward the Sexual Stopgap Theory. Her best guess: He wanted to revisit the casual but epic fuckery of their early weeks together, using her as sort of an orgasm way-station—lay-station?—as he searched for his eventual baby mama.

  If so, his evening would end in disappointment. She’d gone beyond casual sex with him, and she couldn’t return to that state of mind again. Not without inflicting further pain on herself.

  Con wasn’t a foolish woman. She wasn’t inviting trouble she couldn’t handle.

  But he wasn’t the only reason she’d prefer to crawl beneath her covers and call it a night. Sam or no Sam, the Spring Spectacular—the library’s annual fancy-dress party, where the staff mingled with administrators, donors, and other people who made way mo
re money than librarians—sucked. She knew what would happen over the course of the evening. None of it would prove enjoyable. Most of it would make her want to kick someone.

  The local symphony would play depressing music for the guests’ “entertainment.”

  A cash bar would serve everyone either prissy wine or beer that tasted like anteater piss.

  To avoid collapsing from starvation, she would need to eat dozens of tiny, under-salted hors d’oeuvres with very little meat and no fried potatoes in them.

  And finally, she would have to tolerate wearing a dress and non-boot foot attire for an entire night, due to the stupid-ass dress code. Which Tina had reiterated just that morning, so Con couldn’t pretend ignorance.

  Other people might describe the event more charitably, but she wasn’t in the mood to sugarcoat matters. The Spectacular blew, as far as she was concerned. The only reason to attend: At the end of the gathering, the Board would hand out the Department of the Year award and specify the amount of money received by the winning group.

  She wanted her damn all-weather SUV. Maybe even more than that, she wanted to watch Marsha go down. Sure, Con couldn’t actually tell Marsha to suck it when the children’s department lost, but sending the message telepathically would feel almost as satisfying. Maybe she could mouth the words when both Marsha and Tina weren’t looking.

  So here she was, parking in the library lot and attending the Spectacular despite her better judgment. She’d even donned her purple jersey dress for the occasion, although the outfit sparked painful memories of the last time she’d worn it. At Penny’s wedding. The first night she’d gotten naked with Sam.

  Don’t think about it. You’ll break if you do.

  She’d put on that goddamn dress. Her lone pair of dangly earrings was swinging from her lobes, and her stupid hair kept getting in her face. She’d shoved her feet into leather slippers that seemed way too flimsy to protect her toes from overzealous partygoers. Overall, she looked as classy as she was ever going to look, so the Board needed to get a move on, announce the winning department, and hand her the fucking check already.