Beth joined her. “Did he manage to convince you right away?” she asked, knowing full well it was none of her business, but Mrs. Hammond didn’t seem remotely hesitant to share.
“Sure did. We got hitched the next week and within a year we had our son Raymond. I be only nineteen then and not ready to be a mama, but I tell you, girl, I don’t regret nothing.”
Beth took a long sip of iced tea, letting the coolness of the liquid sooth a heated reaction in her brain. Her mind’s question took her by surprise, and she felt it pour out of her. “But don’t you sometimes wish life would’ve run smoother? That as much as you loved your son when he was born, being a mother would’ve been easier if you’d been a bit older and had experienced more of life on your own?”
Mrs. Hammond laughed. “It ain’t never easy to be a mama, don’t matter what age.” She fiddled with a curl just above her ear and pressed her lips together. “No. Life just ain’t painless. There always be some problem to face. Either bein’ alone or bein’ with someone. Gettin’ a baby too soon. Havin’ a baby who’s sick or who’s got problems. Havin’ a baby and no good man. Makin’ too many babies or not bein’ able to make a baby. Always something.”
Too true. Beth nodded and finished her drink. Mrs. Hammond looked heavenward and blew a kiss to the cracked ceiling.
“So, girl, you learn to deal with what gets handed down t’you. To grow up means you be honest with y’self. Face what you done, what choices you made, what you couldn’t do. Be grateful for what you be given. Life don’t come smooth, but you make a path, even with all them rocks in your way, that you can walk on and be proud of.”
A few hours later Beth was still considering the elderly woman’s words. Had she created a life for herself and Charlie that she was proud of?
She drove to the university library and parked in the lot. Not entirely was the answer to the question. Or, at least, not yet. But there was still time to change that. She had to.
She pulled a photo from her purse, a snapshot of her parents holding Charlie when he was ten months old. And she was in it also. Her younger self stood just inside the frame, a step away from the three of them, and she stared off to the side at something unknown. Had she been grateful for the blessings she’d been given?
Sometimes. Maybe not as often as she should be. Her parents, though far away geographically, were still emotionally close. She was the one who’d insisted upon independence. Love shone in their eyes at both her and at Charlie. And many people in her Chicago “family” were full of kindness and compassion. Mrs. Moratti. Jane. Dan, Abby and Robby at work.
She wondered about Will. She reached for her notes on gender-role stereotypes. Her lists. Her scribbles about the handsome doctor. In her day planner, she’d blocked out the next few hours to work on her paper, to at least get a solid head start. It needed to be written soon and turned in to Professor O’Reilly. But it was difficult to compose. The Will Darcy she’d met didn’t fit neatly into a category. She was striving hard for objectivity, but he defied her expectations so far. Had she been honest with herself?
She couldn’t answer this one. Didn’t want to think about it. She forced herself to gather up her materials and pull the key out of the ignition, but she couldn’t make herself open the car door. If she wrote this paper falsely, if she painted Will in an unfair light, that would be the absolute worst way to end this project. It would be too much—and too darned wrong—to lie not only about herself to him but also about him to others.
She stared at the library for a full minute before putting the car into gear and driving away.
***
“Charlotte Lucas, this is my mother Angela Olinger.”
Beth swallowed her panic and extended her hand to Will’s mom, an attractive brunette in her mid-fifties. She wore her hair in Jackie-O chic, the top of her head barely brushing against her six-foot-one son’s shoulders as she reached for Beth’s palm.
“It’s actually Angela Kane Darcy Olinger,” she said, grinning. “But please, Charlotte, call me Angie.”
Beth almost winced at the “Charlotte,” but tried to not let it throw her too much. After all, what was in a name? She could be open and pleasant no matter what they called her.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Angie.” Beth released the lady’s warm fingers and looked around the cozy kitchen. This hadn’t been the midweek “date” she’d expected but, then again, Will’s unpredictability was, ironically, the most consistent thing about him.
Angie had the usual copper skillets, decorative sugar jars and potted ivy plants typical of an affluent household, but it was the embroidered wall hangings that drew Beth’s attention. “This is beautiful,” she whispered, touching one creamy fabric corner and marveling at the precise stitches that made up the design: a basket of colorful spring flowers.
Will rested his hand on her shoulder. Her pulse raced in response. “Mom made that,” he said, with an affectionate glance at his mother. When he took his palm away, she felt a sudden loss.
“Well, I used to be a seamstress,” Angie explained. “I just made these for fun.”
“Really?” Beth said, admiring another, this one depicting a loaf of bread and some cheese on a cutting board. “They’re a work of art. Every stitch is perfect.”
Will laughed. “I’d never admit this at the hospital, Charlotte, but Mom can suture better than I can.”
Angie shook her head and grabbed Will’s chin, pulling his face down toward her. “But look at all you can do, my darling.” She planted a loud kiss on his nose, and Beth felt the love flowing between them. It was the same mother-son bond she shared with Charlie.
Will gave his mom an extra squeeze then turned his blue eyes on Beth. “Mom invited us over for high tea,” he said, pointing to the sliding door with a view of Angie’s backyard. Woven-lace placemats and napkins decorated the circular patio table, a paisley umbrella providing shade. A sprig of baby carnations graced each setting along with fine silverware and delicate bone china with a rose pattern.
“Don’t forget, there are scones, too,” his mother added. “With strawberry jam and clotted cream. I hope you like English Breakfast tea, Charlotte.”
Beth hadn’t been served tea since she was sixteen and her own mom had taken her out for a ladies-only birthday brunch. Splurging on treats like these nowadays was out of the question. She inhaled slowly and tried to rein in a sudden sentimentality. “I’m sure I’ll love it,” she said, keeping her voice even. “Thank you.”
“Good. Let’s go outside then.”
The day was sunny with a light breeze blowing off the Great Lake to their east. Beth was supposed to be in sociology class with Jane right now listening to a presentation on gender issues within foreign cultures.
Jane hadn’t missed a beat when Beth called her to cancel. Beth claimed she had an appointment to go to and hoped she could get the notes later. “Sure,” Jane said before hanging up. “As long as it’s not a doctor’s appointment.” Beth had laughed softly but didn’t answer or admit the truth. She blanched at the thought of having to fess up to her friend later.
“Is everything okay?” Will asked, pulling out one of the patio chairs for her.
“Um, yeah. Of course.” She smiled at him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Well, you had an odd expression—” he began.
“Will,” called his mother, who’d trailed them outside with the teapot and the platter of scones. “Take this for me, would you?” She handed him the silver plate filled with lightly browned pastries. A moment later she rushed back inside to get the last few items. Fresh butter, jam, clotted cream, plus milk and sugar for the tea.
Beth hadn’t eaten much for breakfast. Her stomach rumbled at the sweet aroma swirling around them. “This is lovely, Angie. Did you make the scones yourself?”
Will’s mom gave a little huff before grinning at her. “Well, dear, I tried. In this month’s Woman’s Day there was a recipe for gorgeous orange-cranberry scones. Oh, you should’ve seen th
e photo. They all looked so fluffy-light in the magazine, like any minute a butterfly might spirit one away.” She shook her head.
Will quirked a brow. “And yours?”
“Were like softballs. I don’t know what went wrong. Three batches I tried, and not one of them was remotely flaky.” She shrugged and passed Beth the platter. “These are from my favorite spot, dear, The British Bakery on Fourth and Clark. They’re cinnamon-raisin.”
“Well, Mom, this is pretty as a picture,” Will said ever-so-sweetly as he glanced around the table. “I think Woman’s Day should come here and photograph you.”
His mother laughed and reached for the teapot.
“In fact,” he said, jumping up, “I’ve got just the thing.” He raced into the house.
Beth stared after him for a second before turning to his mom. “What’s he going to do?”
“Oh, your guess is as good as mine.” She waved Beth’s question away with a flick of her wrist. “Please, let me pour you some hot tea.”
Beth held her cup and saucer steady while Angie poured. She wondered if the coffee-loving doctor was trying to avoid his mother’s specialty tea. “Thanks,” she said just as Will returned carrying a full-sized Polaroid camera. She squinted up at him.
“It’s really old and more than a little dusty,” he explained. “But we still had an extra roll of film in the camera drawer, so it’s loaded and ready to shoot.” He tossed a triumphant grin in his mother’s direction. “This is fun to use. Let’s get one of you first, Mom.”
Will snapped the photo and then asked Angie to take a couple of the two of them. He draped his arm over Beth’s shoulders, drawing her closer to him. He smiled in his relaxed and easy way, but there was an energy in the air Beth couldn’t quite identify. He watched the images develop with an intense, directed focus, as a child might.
A thought of Charlie crossed her mind. How was he doing right now? Was he feeling happy? Safe? Did he miss anything by never having had a fun Polaroid picture taken of him? She just had an ancient 35mm at home that her parents had given her as a teen. She didn’t have even a cheap digital camera. Or a cell phone, so no camera app either. There were so many experiences she’d never given her little boy. Did he ever feel deprived?
Will held the pictures up for her to view more clearly. “They turned out well,” he said, admiring them. “Especially considering how old this camera is. We each get to keep one.” He passed the closest one over to her and stuffed his in his shirt pocket, patting it thoughtfully. “But now we’d better get to the tea or we’re gonna be late.”
“Of course, dear,” Angie said. “What are you and Charlotte planning on doing?”
His mother glanced at them with kindly interest, but Beth’s heart was doing an aerobic dance in her chest. Yeah, what were they going to do?
“Well,” he said, shooting Beth a sly look, “Charlotte doesn’t know it yet, but I got her a surprise.” He pulled two small tickets out of his wallet. “Cubs and Cardinals play at Wrigley Field in an hour and a half.” He waved the tickets at her and looked pleased. His expression told her he expected nothing less from her than sheer delight.
“Wow…we’re going to a baseball game?” Beth managed, trying to keep the trepidation from her voice. “That is a surprise.”
“I knew you’d like it,” Will said, nodding. “Hey, Mom, can I borrow the camera for the rest of the day? It’ll be fun to snap a few more photos.”
***
Will felt like Eddie Albert’s character in Roman Holiday, secretly taking a bunch of pictures of Audrey’s Hepburn’s runaway princess so his newspaper buddy Gregory Peck could write that exclusive story. It was underhanded, deceitful but, in his case, absolutely necessary.
Well, there was nothing too covert about a clunky, outdated Polaroid camera, but he liked handling it better than the digital one on his smart phone. It’s just that Charlotte had no idea he’d be using the photos as tangible proof to give Bingley. Anger at his cousin’s game playing rose in his chest like heat off a grill. He tried to force it back down.
The only thing he’d told her about his cousin so far was that he and Bingley once fought off a jittery lizard when they were camping. Looking down at the Camera of Deception in his hands, Will figured he and the lizard should have bonded together to fight off Bingley instead.
He had already gotten a picture of Charlotte standing by the ballpark’s entrance. He bought her a “Go, Cubbies!” jersey and snapped her photo wearing that. Now it was time to capture her with some food. Most apropos would be a hotdog, but he didn’t see a vendor anywhere near them.
“What’s everyone doing?” she asked, glancing around Wrigley and tugging on her sleeve cuffs as if they were biting her. Spectators all around them were standing up.
“Seventh inning stretch,” he said, surprised she didn’t remember. He pulled her to her feet.
“Oh, that’s right,” she said quietly. She shot another uneasy look around the stadium.
“Don’t worry. I’ll bet you’re a good singer.”
“What?” She sounded alarmed. “We’re singing?”
Just then the announcer introduced the guy who’d lead them all in “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.” Will shook his head. For a ball fan, she sure didn’t know much.
It confused him but, if he was honest with himself, she’d been acting more than a little strange all day. She seemed nervous when he picked her up at the Koffee Haus earlier. She wasn’t too talkative at his mom’s place. She fidgeted in the car ride to Wrigley. And she barely commented on any of the Cubs’ plays or players. It was as if she knew something was going on behind her back. The whole ruse made him feel like a Grade-A slimeball.
Everyone started singing.
He snuck a glance at her during the “buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks” line. She barely mouthed the words. He felt his heart sink to his feet, and he sighed. He’d have to cheer her out of this mood, turn things around somehow. Maybe she was hungry. He reached for her hand and she jumped.
“Hey,” he yelled over the loud vocals of the crowd. “Wanna hotdog?”
She nodded but pulled her hand away. He swallowed and let her retreat from him. With the hand she’d rejected, he finally managed to flag down a vendor.
This day was turning into one long punishment. He could look at her, he could snap pictures of her, but he couldn’t touch her or allow himself to get emotionally attached to her.
And, man, once she found out what he was doing with these photos, she’d probably never let him talk to her either.
***
They were back at the Koffee Haus again. Beth surveyed the parking lot and located her car. After riding around for most of the day in Will’s Ferrari, her boxy eight-year-old Honda seemed uncomplicated and uninteresting.
What a day. First meeting his mom, whom she’d liked a great deal, but was he really getting this serious about her? Or was it some kind of personality test she had to pass?
And then watching three hours of baseball. Could he tell she was hopelessly lost during the game? The Cubs beat the Cardinals five to two, so the crowd went home happy. She went home with a bunch of new questions. What the heck was an RBI? Is batting “four hundred” good…or not? She’d never been a fan of the sport, so there was a ton she didn’t know. She’d have to ask her work colleagues to explain. She knew Robby, at least, was pretty big into baseball.
Will walked her to where she’d parked. Gentlemanly of him, although it was still late afternoon and perfectly safe. She reached for the car-door handle then turned to face him, wanting him to kiss her but not wanting to appear too eager about it. He took a step forward and set his hand lightly on her left hip. Her whole side warmed to his touch.
“I’m not a stalker, you know,” he said.
“What?”
“You can give me your address and phone number, Charlotte. We’ve known each other for long enough, don’t you think? I’m not going to sneak around your place without your permission, peek into y
our windows or call every half hour between midnight and six to ask indecent questions.”
He paused, then added with a grin, “Not that I’m not curious about you. But you have nothing to worry about. I mean, I gave you my word we’d take things slow, and I’ve even introduced you to my mother. I’m hoping you’ve guessed by now that I’m not a psycho, and I’m not going to do anything irresponsible.”
“I—I guess I do know that,” she admitted, her pulse hammering in her ears. “But the circumstances are a little complicated where I live. It really has nothing to do with you, Will. Honestly.” And that was true, she realized. The problem was hers and hers alone. “I’d feel better if we kept in touch through email only for just a while longer. Please, can we do that?”
He gave her a long scrutinizing look. “Charlotte?” he said. She held her breath, afraid to move or even blink. “Please tell me the truth on this.” He took a cautious step forward and leaned in.
Her heart thudded in her chest so fast she couldn’t count the beats. “Of course,” she whispered.
He clenched his jaw, bit his lower lip, squinted. “Are you married or engaged to someone?”
“No. No, I’m not,” she answered honestly. “I’m neither married nor engaged.” She almost added, Not anymore, but she saw the immediate effect of her words on his face. Relief rushed out of him like a wave breaking and she couldn’t stand the thought of bringing back that tension.
He lifted one brow and half-grinned. “Secret boyfriend—besides me, that is?”
“No.”
“Okay. In that case, I guess I’ll just have to trust you until you’re ready to share.” He took another step forward and her racing heart stopped.
Then he kissed her softly. The kind of kiss that made her feel as though she were floating with her eyes closed, or on some chocolate high, or both. A kiss she could step into. One that embraced her as tightly as she embraced Will. She didn’t want to let go.
“Up for a movie this weekend?” he said, drawing away from her only far enough to speak.
Pride, Prejudice and the Perfect Match Page 6
