Kids Is A 4-Letter Word

by Stephanie Bond

  But when his eyes flicked back to Jo, he was surprised to find her gaze upon him. Pamela and Alan were eyeing someone across the room and talking in low tones.

  “Hi,” he ventured. “Staying busy?”

  She nodded, her gaze dropping to the mixed drink in her hand. “Working on the Patterson project. How are the kids?”

  Nice, safe conversation. “Fine. My sister, Cleo, is coming down from Atlanta tomorrow to take Claire shopping.”

  Jo nodded. “I remember Claire talking about it.”

  “I need to pick up a few things for the boys, too.”

  “That’s nice,” she said, lifting her drink for another sip.

  She looking completely at ease, he noted. Did she often indulge in brief affairs? He didn’t think so, but obviously she hadn’t been quite as shaken by their encounter as he’d been.

  Their name was called and a young hostess showed them to a preferred table by the window. John strategically positioned himself opposite Alan, with Jo to his left and Pamela to his right.

  “So, John,” Alan said once they’d ordered appetizers, “who’s baby-sitting tonight?” The blond man’s smile was deceptively pleasant.

  John bit the inside of his cheek. “A baby-sitter.”

  Pamela laughed gaily, touching John’s arm. “I’ll bet your children are adorable,” she crooned.

  “Well, I’m a little biased,” John said, smiling.

  Alan gave John a watery smile. “Jo and I don’t plan to have children.”

  “Oh?” John asked. “I didn’t realize you were engaged.”

  Alan’s face remained impassive as he studied John. “We’re not, but someday we’ll be married.” He reached over and patted Jo’s hand possessively.

  “Well, some people are not cut out for the responsibility of parenthood,” John said agreeably.

  Alan frowned. “It’s not that we can’t handle it, we don’t want to handle it—there’s a big difference.”

  “It’s not for everyone,” John repeated, smiling. “Me? I wouldn’t trade it for the world. A lover can pass through your life,” he paused, hoping his point landed home, “but children—they’re forever.”

  “Yeah, forever,” Alan said, chuckling and trying to gain Jo and Pamela’s support with his sideways glances. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  John shook his head sadly. “You’re right, Alan—some people just can’t commit.”

  Alan blanched, but the arrival of their appetizers prevented his response.

  Everyone placed their order except Jo, who frowned at the menu while the waiter hovered. “I can’t decide,” she said, shaking her head.

  Alan and John spoke at once.

  “Try the chilled pasta.”

  “Try the grilled chicken.”

  Jo looked from man to man, shifting uncomfortably.

  Alan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke to John across the table. “You obviously don’t know Jo very well, because she doesn’t eat a lot of meat.”

  “No, I don’t know Jo very well,” John agreed slowly, “but I happen to know she does like chicken.” He smiled at the man, knowing from Alan’s quick, accusatory glance at Jo that he’d heard some version of their picnic in Forsythe Park.

  Jo cleared her throat and handed her menu to the waiter. “I’ll have the grilled chicken pasta,” she said, lifting her drink for another sip.

  Alan frowned, then his gaze bounced around the restaurant. “Pamela,” he asked suddenly. “Is that Charles Browden in the next room?”

  Pamela turned discreetly in her seat to look in the direction Alan indicated, then nodded. “He’s with his wife, Evelyn. I found a house for their oldest daughter a couple of months ago—a gift from Daddy, of course.”

  “Do you know them well enough to introduce me?” Alan pressed.

  “Sure,” Pamela agreed, curls bouncing. The California couple excused themselves and left John and Jo alone, much to John’s delight.

  “Well,” he said, lifting his glass in the air, “here’s to chicken.”

  She hesitated, unsmiling, then chinked her glass to his. “You’re determined to get me into trouble, aren’t you?”

  “If you didn’t tell him everything about our little picnic, I don’t suppose you got around to mentioning—”

  “John—”

  “Ms. Montgomery, I don’t believe it!” a female voice said behind him.

  From the look on Jo’s face, she didn’t believe it either. “M-Mrs. Patterson,” she said weakly.

  John turned around to see a well-preserved blond woman smiling at both of them.

  “Savannah is small, but I seem to be running into you everywhere!”

  Jo smiled woodenly, her complexion ashen.

  “This must be John, he looks so much like Jamie.”

  John rose and shook the woman’s hand. “John Sterling.”

  “Mr. Sterling, I’m Melissa Patterson.”

  He smiled. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  “You must be so proud of your new wife.”

  John blinked. “My new wife?” He glanced at Jo and found her staring at him with pleading eyes. Pleading for what?

  “My husband and I both are so impressed with her operation, and by the fact that she has taken on three stepchildren, as well.”

  John looked back to Mrs. Patterson and nodded noncommittally. What the heck was this woman talking about?

  The woman laughed merrily. “In fact, when we first saw Jo herding those kids through the door of her office, we knew we’d found the right person to handle our account.”

  He was completely baffled. “Is that right?”

  “Oh, yes.” Her smile was blinding. “We told her up front the fact that she had children gave her a definite edge in vying for our account.”

  John’s fingertips tingled as realization began to dawn on him. “Really?” He gave the woman a tight smile, then glanced back to Jo. She held her fingers to her lips and her cheeks ballooned as if she might heave any second.

  “Oh, yes, it’s important that our designer be in tune with the needs of small children.”

  He pressed his lips together and nodded as anger began to well within him. Jo had pretended his children were hers in order to get the Patterson account.

  “And I’m sure Jo expressed how concerned my husband and I were about your son’s little mishap earlier this week.”

  “Yes,” he said through clenched teeth. “My new wife is good about telling me everything.”

  “She assured me the two of you understood it was simply an unfortunate accident—our workers are typically very diligent.”

  Fury boiled through his veins, but he remained calm. “No, I don’t hold the day-care center or the workers responsible for the, um, mishap. I know my son’s tendencies.”

  “Well,” she said brightly, tilting her head, “it was so nice to meet you. And might I say you make a very handsome couple.”

  “Thank you,” John said tightly. She waved goodbye, then walked away. John turned his head ever so slowly to look down at Jo. Her eyes were closed, her napkin covering her mouth.

  He sat down heavily, his eyes flicking over her gray complexion. Hurt, anger and betrayal washed over him with such force he, too, felt physically ill. “The least you can do,” he said in a low, deadly voice, “is look at me.”

  Jo’s shoulders rose as she inhaled deeply, then she opened her eyes. They swam with unshed tears.

  Incidents flashed in his mind with a new perspective—Jo watching his children and taking them on “errands,” her picking them up from day care, the voice message from Carolyn Hook referring to his “wife,” Billy’s confusing reference to her the last couple of days as “Jo-mommy.” His heart shivered in disappointment.

  “You’ve been using me and my children to position yourself with the Pattersons.” Was that his voice? He sounded like a wounded animal.

  Jo lowered the napkin slowly. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

&n
bsp; John laughed harshly. “Well, I guess you can nominate me for fool of the decade. I had actually convinced myself that you had grown fond of us. Although I can’t imagine why,” he added sarcastically, picturing them grappling naked on the rug.

  “John,” she said, her voice scratchy. “I’m sorry. I—I’ll understand if you want to cancel our contract.”

  Business…she was all business. There wasn’t a maternal cell, muscle or bone in her great body. He stared at her. “Well, at least now I understand why I qualified for such a deep discount.”

  She blinked rapidly. “John—”

  Alan and Pamela chose that precise moment to return to the table. Alan was so pleased with the outcome of the conversation with Charles Browden, he failed to notice the change in Jo’s demeanor. But John saw Pamela glance between them suspiciously before asking, “Jo, are you feeling all right?”

  Jo coughed into her napkin, then straightened and said, “A bit of an upset stomach, that’s all.”

  Pamela squinted at John. “You don’t look so swell, either.”

  John shifted miserably in his seat. “Unfortunately, Jo and I shared a bitter morsel while you two were gone.” Jo suddenly jumped up from her seat and sprinted toward the ladies’ room.

  9

  SIXTYEIGHT and a half. According to her digital clock, the blades of the ceiling fan in her bedroom turned exactly sixtyeight and a half times every minute. Jo lay staring at the movement, wishing the monotony would lull her to sleep. From the floor, Victor snored happily, his conscience obviously less burdened than Jo’s.

  She had hoped the staggering feeling of deceit might ease as the evening wore on, but every time she looked at John’s face, shame washed over her anew. He had been coolly cordial, turning his attention to Pamela, leaving Jo to converse with Alan, who was already plotting his strategy to obtain Charles Browden’s account. And all she had to do was look across the table to be reminded of her betrayal to Alan.

  A tiny voice rationalized that Melissa Patterson’s revelation was for the best. Her feelings for John Sterling were ridiculous, considering where they might logically lead. Marriage and motherhood? She laughed out loud, the sound startling her in the dark emptiness of her bedroom. She was no Carol Brady, and John’s children deserved a mother who…well, a mother who knew how the heck to be a mother. Not a clueless, shoot-from-the-hip, career-minded woman with an aversion to grubby fingerprints on her silk suits.

  Toward dawn she dozed fitfully, her dreams a mishmash of chasing hellion kids and growing old alone. Her eyes snapped open when her telephone broke the silence of the late morning. She sat up and glanced at her clock as she reached for the handset. Ten-thirty.

  “Hello?”

  “Jo?” Claire sounded breathless.

  Immediately, Jo tensed. “Claire? Is something wrong?”

  The little girl started to cry. “Aunt Cleo can’t come to take me shopping and I need c-clothes for school Monday. Can you take me? Daddy doesn’t know how to buy g-girl things.” She sniffled, waiting for Jo’s answer.

  Jo bit her bottom lip. “Claire, does your daddy know you called me?”

  “No,” Claire said miserably. “I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

  Jo smiled. “That’s nice, but maybe you’d better put him on the phone.”

  Sniffing mightily, Claire relented. “Okay, hang on.”

  Steeling herself, Jo ran her fingers through her hair and encountered a nest of tangles from her night of tossing and turning.

  “Hello,” John said abruptly.

  “John, it’s Jo,” she said quickly.

  “I’m sorry Claire bothered you.” His tone was clipped. “I’ll let you get back to…whatever you were doing.”

  “It’s okay,” Jo said hurriedly. “She said your sister couldn’t make the trip from Atlanta.”

  “Emergency at work.”

  “Claire was so looking forward to shopping for school clothes.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said evenly.

  Jo gripped the handset so tight her fingernails hurt. “John, I’m glad Claire called—I needed to talk to you anyway.”

  “If it’s about the house, just use your key—”

  “It’s not about the house,” she cut in nervously. “It’s about the situation with the Pattersons.” She sighed. “Please believe that I didn’t fabricate an elaborate lie to convince them I was your w-wife and the children’s m-mother.” The words were extremely hard to get out. “They simply assumed the children were mine. At the time, I thought I had a good reason not to correct them—I really needed their account—but now…” She inhaled a shaky breath. “But now, I realize it was thoughtless and hurtful and embarrassing for you. I’m very sorry.”

  After a few seconds of silence, John asked, “Is this where I’m supposed to say all is forgiven?”

  “No,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t ask that of you—I just wanted you to know how I feel about what I’ve done.” When he didn’t respond, she hurried on. “And I’d be happy to take Claire shopping—you know, just us girls.”

  John sighed heavily into the phone. “Jo, I don’t think you realize how attached to you my children have become. I don’t want them hurt any more than they already will be.”

  Jo swallowed the lump in her throat. “I understand how you feel, but it means so much to Claire that she have the right clothes for her new school—you know how girls are at that age.”

  His laugh was hollow. “Actually, Jo, no, I don’t, but I’m muddling through.”

  “Well, I know,” she said, “because I was just like Claire. Let me do this for her.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “It’s the least I can do under the circumstances,” she offered. He hesitated, so she pressed on. “I’ll shower and meet you at the front entrance of the mall in…thirty minutes?”

  He sighed. “Better make it forty-five. Billy and I are tackling the potty again this morning.”

  She laughed and agreed, relief flooding her. When she replaced the handset, Jo’s heart lifted a little. Perhaps she could repair a fraction of the damage she’d wrought.

  The phone was ringing again when she stepped out of the shower. “Hello,” she said, wrapping a towel around her hair.

  “Hey, beautiful.” Alan’s voice rumbled low.

  “Hi,” she said, swallowing guiltily.

  “I was hoping I’d catch you before you left for the day. Are you feeling better?”

  “Much,” she said truthfully.

  “Good. How about dinner on Tybee Island tonight?”

  “Uh, sure,” she said breathlessly.

  “Pick you up at six?”

  “Six is fine,” she said, then hung up slowly. Victor stared at her sorrowfully as she jumped up to finish dressing.

  NOT SURPRISINGLY, the Sterlings were late, their noisy entry to the mall causing Jo to smile. Jamie ran up to her, looking naked without his black cape.

  “Taking a break from flying today?” she asked.

  His lower lip protruded. “Daddy wouldn’t let me wear it—it’s too new.”

  “Nuisance,” John clarifed, walking up. “Too much of a nuisance.”

  Jo smiled tentatively, her heart tripping at the sight of him. “Hi.”

  He nodded, his expression neither friendly nor adversarial. “Hi.”

  “Jo-mommy!” Billy exclaimed happily, sharing a toothy grin.

  She avoided John’s gaze and smiled at the toddler. “Just plain Jo, okay, Billy?”

  “Just Plain Jo,” he mimicked.

  “Hi, Jo,” Claire said, slipping her small hand into Jo’s. She pushed up her glasses and smiled shyly.

  Jo felt a tug at her heart. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. “Are you ready to spend some money?”

  Claire nodded, her white-blond hair swinging around her face. “Daddy gave me his credit card.”

  Jo grinned. “Terrific.” She looked at John. “Is there anything special we should look for?”
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br />   “I’m leaving it up to you,” he said, his voice and expression showing his reluctance.

  She nodded, and dealt with the flash of pain in her chest She couldn’t blame him for being angry with her.

  He looked at his watch. “It’s eleven-thirty now, let’s meet back in the food court for lunch around two, okay?”

  She and Claire went in one direction, John and the boys went in another. As they passed other shoppers, Jo studied the clothing girls Claire’s age were wearing. They walked into the girls’ section of Jo’s favorite department store and Claire became more shy than ever. She chewed on her lip and poked at her glasses every few seconds, and only nodded or shrugged when Jo held up outfits. After thirty minutes, they’d gotten nowhere. “Tell you what,” Jo said. “You tell me your three favorite colors and go into the dressing room. Then I’ll round up several outfits and you can try everything on at once.” Claire nodded happily and Jo left her in the hands of a dressing-room clerk. She returned a few minutes later with an armload of bright-colored clothing, thrilled to watch the transformation as Claire pulled on the pretty clothes.

  The little girl grinned and laughed easily, her cheeks glowing. After buttoning a particularly becoming pink polka-dotted blouse, Claire looked at herself in the mirror, enchanted with the way she looked. “I’m almost pretty,” she breathed. “Do you like it, Mommy?” Her eyes cut to Jo in the mirror, then she realized her slip. Her eyebrows crumpled and she pressed her lips together, trying her best to still her quivering chin while unbuttoning the blouse as fast as she could.

  “Hey,” Jo said softly, leaning down to squeeze Claire’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

  “I forgot,” Claire whispered, her eyes full of tears.

  “Shh,” Jo said, holding her tight. “It’s okay, really.” She pulled back and smiled sadly at Claire. “Did your mommy take you shopping?”

  The little girl nodded.

  “I wish she could see how smart and how pretty you are, Claire. I know she’d be so proud of you.”

  “Daddy says I look like her.”

  “I’m sure she was a very beautiful woman.”