She nodded and he kissed her again. Someone in the parking lot wolf-whistled. And Beth knew Charlie and Mrs. Moratti were waiting for her return just a few miles away. And Jane would have a lecture to deliver if Beth’s whereabouts were known to her. And there was still that darned paper to write and a career ladder to hop on. And she could find a thousand other reasons to follow logic and not emotion.
She ignored every one of them.
When he finally released her, Will tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. “You’re a remarkable young woman, and a mysterious one. What do you have to say for yourself?”
She tried to catch her breath, but it’d run away from her somewhere between Wrigley Field and the Koffee Haus. She inhaled what air she could and said, “How about…Go, Cubbies?”
SIX
“What was my Daddy like?” Charlie asked again.
Beth had pretended not to hear him the first time. She’d flipped on the hot water tap in the kitchen and busied herself washing dishes. This time, with her son’s head at her elbow, she couldn’t ignore the question.
“Um, he was tall,” Beth began, fighting a sigh. “He had blond hair, a little lighter than yours. Hazel eyes. A goofy smile. He liked sports.” She paused, wondering if he’d let her stop now.
“And his name…” Charlie began.
Nope. No stopping.
“…was Pete, right?”
“Yes, sweetheart. Pete Wickham.”
“But our last name is Bennet. Everyone in Mikey’s family is called Rodrigo. His mom, his dad, his sister, his dog Rex—”
“Well, not every family is the same. In our case, you and I have a different last name than Pete.” Because I couldn’t stand to be a Wickham anymore after he’d abandoned us.
“Is Daddy dead?”
Beth clenched a newly rinsed dish, forcing herself to set it extra carefully in the drying rack. “No. No, he’s not.”
“So then why can’t I see him?”
She turned off the tap and dried her hands before kneeling down in front of her little boy. “Charlie, I don’t know where he is right now. I don’t think he knows where we are either. And there are a lot of people in the world. Sometimes it’s just too difficult to find someone again once they’ve moved someplace else.” Especially if a particular person doesn’t look because he doesn’t want the responsibility of being a father.
“What if we moved back to where we lived when I was a baby?”
Beth thought of the cramped studio apartment near the “El” train tracks, the subsidized housing they’d lived in for two years. It made this humble apartment seem like a penthouse suite by comparison. “That place is too small for us, and Mrs. Moratti lives here. We’d really miss her if we had to move.”
Her son’s forehead crinkled as he considered this. “Yeah.” He breathed in and out a time or two. “Maybe she could move in with us, though.”
She smiled and kissed one of his creamy cheeks. “I think she likes living in her own place, but it’s great having her just down the hall, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “I have a treat for you from my friend Abby at work. It’s in my jacket pocket. Can you find it?”
Charlie raced out of the room and Beth closed her eyes, grateful at having changed the subject. Still, she knew she couldn’t skirt the issue forever. More and more questions were coming up. More frequent and more detailed questions.
Someday she’d have to have that talk with him. The one she’d dreaded for six years already. The one that explained how she and Pete got married too young. How Pete’s fears made him run away. How unlikely it would be for Charlie to ever get to know his father.
She knew Charlie would either blame her for not convincing Pete to stay or, worse, blame himself for being a major reason why Pete left.
But she wasn’t going to make up stories about a dad who loved him and then died. Or a dad who went away because he needed to work to support the family and who’d someday come back. Or even a dad who’d married Charlie’s mom because he’d truly loved her but left before he knew there’d be a baby. Pete hadn’t truly loved her, and he knew Charlie was on the way.
About these things, Beth realized, she could never lie to her son, even if the truth really hurt. But he was still too young yet to hear the unvarnished version.
“Hey, fruit snacks.” Charlie called. “Yes!”
She smiled but a droplet of bittersweet life lodged itself in her throat. Such little things still made him so happy…and that wouldn’t last forever.
***
“I’d like to help you, Dr. Darcy,” Will heard Dan Noelen say over the phone, “but we’re very short-staffed right now. One of my most experienced social workers, Mimi Jeffries, resigned recently, and we’re still trying to cover her caseload. I’ve got someone lined up to step into her position next month, but that young woman is still being trained, and we’ll also need to hire someone new to take over the work she’s been doing for us.” He sighed. “As I told you the last time we spoke, it’s very tight.”
Will grimaced even though Noelen was only being truthful. The guy had merely promised to check into Will’s request for a consultative social worker from his department. He’d never made any promises to actually help.
“So, your saying that even by late summer, once the clinic is staffed and the supplies are in place, there’s still no guarantee someone under your direction could serve as our consultant?”
There was silence on the other end of the line. Will waited, holding his breath. He knew by now that Noelen wasn’t being rude, he was just thinking.
“We’re at the end of April, so there’s May, June, July, August,” Noelen said, almost to himself. “Four months really. It’s not impossible, Doc. Normally I wouldn’t even consider taking on a new project at a time like this, not knowing for sure who the staff’ll be come June or July. But I’ve got some good people in mind and, with a little luck, things’ll be running smooth by the time you need us. Besides, Dr. Emrick called yesterday and put in a good word for you.”
Thank heavens for Hans Emrick. Will started to feel air filling his lungs again. “Hans spoke highly of you, too, Mr. Noelen. You’ve worked with him before?”
“We’ve know each other for over a decade. He ran the ER back when my mom had her first stroke,” Noelen explained. “Good guy.”
Is he ever. Will agreed both silently and aloud.
“Why don’t we get together in person, Doc. Bring your proposal over to the agency sometime in the next week or two. We can sit down and figure a way to work this out. We should, at the very least, be able to be a resource for you and your clinic. How’s that sound?”
“Very hopeful,” Will said, understanding why Emrick liked this guy and feeling less hostile toward social workers than usual. Well, this particular social worker. Nothing could change the rats he’d known in the past.
“Great,” Noelen said. “Got your calendar out?”
***
Date number four, Will thought as he spotted Charlotte’s serviceable but ugly green Honda in front of the Starlight Cinema. After tonight it would be four dates down and one to go with a couple weeks to spare before Mother’s Day and Bingley’s birthday. Not that he’d necessarily stop seeing her once the bet’s deadline passed. Actually, if all went well tonight, he’d see her every day. He’d try to talk her into being the child psychologist for his clinic and maybe…eventually…even his wife.
He almost choked at the thought of proposing to someone, anyone, but Charlotte was a different breed than the usual women he’d dated. Other than her being a little secretive about her home life, he could find no major flaws.
She was bright, warm, considerate of others, fascinated by the psychology of children and an all-around lovely person. A woman like Charlotte must have attracted plenty of attention before, although she was only twenty-two. Men at that age sometimes overlooked the gems before their eyes. He wouldn’t make their mistake.
&nb
sp; “Over here,” he called as he stepped into her line of sight. She got out of the car and walked toward him, the dwindling light behind her giving her hair a halo effect.
She nibbled on her lower lip. “Am I late?” She checked her uncomplicated brown-strap wristwatch. “Does the film start at seven or seven-thirty?”
“Seven-thirty, so relax. We’ve got time to load up on popcorn and everything.” He took her hand in his. He pressed gently against her baby-soft skin, the rapid pulse like the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings underneath. She smiled up at him and his heart paused mid-beat.
“So, a romantic comedy,” she said. “Interesting choice, Will. Can I ask a question?”
He laughed. “Can I stop you?”
She smiled again. “Guess not. I was just wondering, did you choose this movie with me specifically in mind, because you thought I personally would love to see two people having a romantic misadventure in Athens, or because you figured this was the kind of film women stereotypically liked?”
“Neither.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. It reminded me a little of Roman Holiday, probably my favorite classic film. I hoped you’d like a movie in that style also. Why? Would you rather see something else?”
“No, but…” She squinted at him, and he could tell she wasn’t buying it. She let go of his hand, and he felt a stab of disappointment.
“But nothing. It’s true. Nobody was cooler than Gregory Peck,” he said, stuffing his fists in his pockets. “I don’t know about the actor in this flick, but if he’s half as good, it’ll be worth it.”
“You’d seriously choose a modern romance over some macho action-adventure film?”
Why did she look so shocked? Couldn’t a guy enjoy a bantering, humorous love story without suspicion? “Yes, in this case, I would,” he said.
“Hmm.” She laced her fingers together and concentrated on something he couldn’t see on the sidewalk in front of her. “But you like sports. And camping. And very masculine things.”
“What are you afraid of, Charlotte? Think I’m a wimp because I’d sometimes rather see a guy fight back with his wit than with a weapon?”
“No, just surprised, I guess. You hadn’t mentioned liking romantic comedies in your Love Match profile.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, that. Well, shoot me now if you’re gonna hold versatility against me, sweetheart. I’m a doctor. I love my work, but I also love the Cubs, my mother, good movies of any genre and dancing at weddings.”
“No! Dancing? At weddings?” Now she looked horrified, but there was a tiny quirk in the corners of her lips that gave her away. “I’ll only believe that when I see it.”
He stopped and grinned at her. “Stick around long enough, Charlotte, and just maybe you will.”
She seemed to shiver beside him, a flash of disbelief—or was it worry?—in her eyes. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders to warm her up then led her into the movie theater lobby. He liked Charlotte. He wasn’t going to let her pull away from him so easily this time.
And he vowed right then and there that, despite his less-than-sincere Love Match motives, he’d prove his worthiness to her. Because he wanted her to like him back. A whole lot.
***
It was as though a dam had broken between them, Beth thought. She didn’t understand it, but they couldn’t stop holding hands. Or hugging. Or giving each other light kisses. Or smiling at each other like teenagers on their first date.
As they sat in the back row of the movie theater, the lights dimming and the previews rolling, Will whispered, “Popcorn?” He rubbed a buttery nugget along her bottom lip, which left a tantalizing, salty trail.
“Mmm.” She opened her mouth and crunched. His fingers stayed clear of her teeth but didn’t leave her face. He gently ran his thumb along the length of her jaw before planting feathery kiss on her cheek. She giggled. He laughed in response.
An older lady in the row ahead of them turned around and said, “Shhh. The movie’s starting.”
They broke apart. The popcorn tub tipped and buttery kernels scattered all over them.
“Oops, sorry,” Will said, but the twinkle in his eye told her he wasn’t the least bit repentant.
The opening credits to the movie started, but Beth couldn’t concentrate on the screen. Her heart drummed as if keeping time with a jungle beat. What had happened to her ability to distance herself emotionally from this man? Where was her logic? She was supposed to be studying him, for goodness sake, not falling in love with him.
The characters on the screen proved to be of little interest to her for the first half hour. Who cared what “Quentin and Irene” were saying when Will’s breath flowed so close to her ear? When his gentle fingers warmed hers? But, finally, one of their voices broke through Beth’s haze.
“It was a complicated story!” Irene, the film’s heroine, cried, posing with the Parthenon behind her silky blond head and looking distraught. Beth refocused her eyes and stared up at the woman’s larger-than-life image. Irene gasped for air and let a well-rehearsed tear flow down her cheek. “I’m sorry, Quentin, but I didn’t know how to explain what happened back in Boston.”
Quentin, the equally monolithic hero, paused before sweeping his hand across the screen to indicate the sprawl of modern-day Athens below them. “So you chose to hide the truth from me? Waiting until we were in this Old World city to admit to me your New World lies?” he said with his best method-actor sneer. “You didn’t trust me with who you really were. Now, Irene, I don’t trust you.” Beth’s heart skipped a beat, wondering what would happen next, recognizing all the parallels.
The movie-star hero stormed off, and Beth stole a sideways glance at Will. He was nodding. She tensed and Will caught her gaze.
“Don’t worry,” he said with a grin, softly squeezing her hand. “I have every confidence that they’ll get back together within the next hour.”
She gave him a thin smile. If only real life could be as predictable.
An hour later, with the film’s happy couple safely on their Aegean Sea honeymoon cruise, Beth and Will strolled out of the cinema and onto the suburban-neighborhood sidewalk.
“Did you like it?” he asked, still holding her hand.
“Uh…yeah. Definitely. It was great. How about you?”
“I’d give it a thumbs up.”
She took a deep breath. “So, Will, I have a question.”
He looked heavenward and cringed. “Should I be worried?”
“Well, maybe, but—”
He laughed. “Just ask it.”
“Okay. You know how Irene and Quentin had their one big argument up on the Acropolis? When he accused her of lying to him?”
“Yeah. Only he didn’t just accuse her. She did lie.”
“Well, right,” she said. “She had her reasons, but she obviously lied. Quentin forgave her, though. He didn’t hold her lie against her permanently. If you were him, would you have been able to overlook a bad start like that, given the way Irene truly cared about him, or would you have thought, as his best friend did, that Quentin should ditch her?”
“If it were real life and not a romantic comedy?” he said.
She nodded, her pulse galloping.
Will inhaled slowly and seemed to hold his breath. Then the air whooshed out of him like a gust of Arctic wind. “Hard to say,” he said. “I mean, we’ve all lied about something, sometime. And I guess we can usually think of ways to justify the lies.”
He shot her an odd look, and Beth squirmed in her sneakers. Did he suspect the depth of her dishonesty?
“But some lies people tell are worse than others,” he added. “No doubt about it. If a person is protecting someone or trying to achieve a greater good like Irene was doing, the lie might still be wrong, but it’s not as wrong—I don’t think—as if someone lied about his or her essential self. That’s the kind of lie Quentin thought Irene was telling at first, so his reaction in breaking things of
f was realistic. At least until he learned the truth. Uh, why do you ask?”
“Oh, just curious.” She studied the cracks in the pavement, the new buds on the bushes next to them, the brick on the building walls. “So, you believe there are levels to lies?”
“Yeah, don’t you?”
She shook her head. “No, not really. Because that implies we have the power to decide what’s a good lie and what’s a bad one. That we can then appoint ourselves as judge. It’s dangerous.”
Another odd expression crossed Will’s face. “So, you’re saying the penalty for lying should be the same, whether a person is telling a white lie or a whopper?” He raised his palms. “Fibbing to save someone’s feelings or to help a larger cause is pretty different from lying for less honorable reasons.”
“The situations are different, Will, and the consequences are likely to be much more severe with the whopper than with the fib, but a lie is still not the truth. Degrees don’t exist. Just like someone can’t be a little pregnant. Either you are or you’re not. Either you lied or you didn’t. But the question I asked was whether or not you’d forgive Irene. You’re saying that because she lied for a higher goal, you probably would, right?”
“Right. But what? You don’t think I should? You think I should’ve held it against her?”
“No,” she said. “I think you, or Quentin really, should have forgiven her regardless, without waiting for proof later, because that’s what love is. He claimed to love her, didn’t he? He knew she loved him and wouldn’t purposely hurt him. It wasn’t her love of him that he questioned. It was his lack of knowledge about something outside of them.”
Will stopped and stared at her. “But it was also about trust, Charlotte. How could he trust her if she’d kept the whole story a secret for so long? You either trust someone or you don’t.”
“So you believe there are degrees of truth but not degrees of trust? That’s inconsistent. It’s like saying some lies inspire trust while others don’t. Lies do not inspire trust, period. But if you trust someone, you’re trusting in how that person perceives the world, which may or may not be your way. You’re trusting in the other person’s vision of truth, and trusting her reasons for lying or for withholding information, even if those reasons don’t match yours.”
Pride, Prejudice and the Perfect Match Page 7
