by Shirley Jump
There was no need to ask who he meant. Or what he was talking about. Mack considered lying, then decided it wouldn’t do any good. If his mother did see his father while she was in Boston, the truth would come out eventually. “Yes, Dad, I do.”
“Think she’s back for good?” Roy reached for a few more tiles, acting like he didn’t care, but the tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw, said he did. Very much.
“I don’t know.” Working ahead of his father, Mack took the trowel and spread some adhesive in a semicircle.
“Well, if I see her, I suppose I’ll have some apologizing to do.”
Mack scooped up more mortar and smeared it against the floor. “Mom walked out on us, Dad. I don’t know why you keep on acting like she’s the injured party.”
Roy sat back on his heels and let out a long sigh. “Because I was a shitty husband. I would have walked out on me if I could have.”
Mack stopped troweling. He stared at his father, speechless.
“Don’t look at me like I’ve got two heads,” Roy said. “You lived in that house. I never treated her like I should have. Women deserve to be treated like gold, and your mother, hell, I never even gave her the bronze treatment. I took her for granted, acted like she was one of the guys when I was home. Forgot she was a lady. Let me tell you the secret to women, son, learned by a man who is too old to apply it.”
“You’re not too old, Dad.”
“Well, then a man who met the only great love of his life and was too much of an idiot to figure that out until she was gone.” Roy let out a gust filled with regret. “I’m never going to love another woman like I loved your mother. So I’m not even going to try. I had it great, and I didn’t realize it, so I screwed it up. She left me. Smartest thing she could have ever done.” He shook his head, his eyes glistening, then laid another tile, wiggling it into place with exact precision.
Mack had never considered the other side of the coin, he’d simply automatically taken his father’s side, because his father had been the one left behind. All this time, Mack’s judgment had been clouded, his perceptions skewed.
Roy stopped working and looked up. “What? You think she just walked out because she wanted to? I drove her out, Mack. I was a friggin’ moron. She didn’t want to go, and I could have stopped her with one word, but I had my pride.” He scoffed. “Yeah, that shit don’t keep your bed warm at night, now, does it?”
“But you two fought all the time. It was like World War Three in our house.”
Roy grinned. “Yeah, we did, but boy could we make up.”
Mack put up his hands. “Dad!”
“There’s fighting, Mack, and there’s fighting. Your mother and I…we had the first kind. We were like two roosters in the same henhouse, and half the time, we were both too pigheaded to back down. But when one of us got smart and apologized, oh, the making up…” His father smiled. “It was worth it all. It was worth it all.”
“You were…happy being married?”
“Well, hell, yes. Why do you think I stayed married so damn long? I’m miserable now. Can’t you tell?”
“Gee, with all the smiles and laughter, it never showed,” Mack deadpanned.
“You know, what people see through the windows of a house ain’t what’s really going on inside. You keep that in mind.” Roy emphasized the point with a tile. “Marriage is a hell of a lot better than you think it is. It’s also harder than it seems. I wish someone had told me that before I walked down the aisle. My father’s only bit of wisdom was, ‘Don’t go home with whiskey on your breath or your wife will think you’re running around.’”
“Grandpa Douglas wasn’t much of a talker.”
“Nope. Probably why he stayed married so long, too.” Roy grinned. “Now, let’s get these tiles in. I’m done yammering about what can’t be fixed. Let’s work on something that can.”
As Mack handed his father the squares that would finish off another room in Alex’s house, he wondered whether he could fix that part of himself. The part that had always been so afraid of settling down.
He knew one thing for sure: he didn’t want to repeat his father’s mistake of meeting the one great love of his life and not realizing it until she was gone.
But he was afraid he had already done that—and lost her before he ever really had her.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Marry me.”
The words rang in Alex’s ears like off-key chimes. “Marry you?”
Steve grinned. “I know it’s sudden, and I know we hardly know each other, but, Alex, I’ve fallen head over heels in love with you, and at my age, I simply don’t see the point in waiting forever.”
Alex’s pulse began to hammer in her chest. She sat in Steve’s Toyota, staring at the marquise cut diamond he held toward her. They’d had dinner at an intimate little restaurant in Boston earlier, then he’d brought her out to the car, saying he had something important to tell her. Now she felt the little car closing in on her. This was what she’d wanted, exactly what she’d told Mack she’d been hoping for, but now that the moment had arrived, it was as terrifying as a Wes Craven movie. “You’re only thirty, Steve.”
“Exactly. And it’s high time I started living the life I was meant to live. Buying a condo instead of renting one. We won’t need a house, since we won’t be having kids. We can start making a retirement plan, and settling on a coinvestment strategy.” He waved at the world at large, the one passing by them on bustling Tremont Street, people hurrying toward dinners and plays, loved ones and homes. “Traveling the world with my life partner.” He grinned. “You.”
“But…”
“I know, I know. But I feel something when I’m with you,” Steve went on, clasping Alex’s hand in his and pressing her palm to his chest, “and I know you feel it, too.”
“I want all those things, Steve,” she said, but as the words left her mouth and she thought about what Steve had proposed for their life ahead—a condo, a life of two people, working, traveling and then retiring in a tight little nest of just them—the sentence soured on her tongue. “Or, I used to.”
He cocked his head. “What are you talking about?”
“I…” She met his gaze, and knew in that moment that no amount of fliers, doctor’s visits, conversations with social workers or anyone else was going to hold as much weight with her decision as the voice inside her heart. The one that now surged in volume, pressing to be heard above all others. “I’m going to have a baby.”
A smile covered her face, the kind of goofy smile she could feel all the way to her toes. She was going to have a baby.
A baby.
Right then, Alex knew. She was keeping this child. There’d be no giving up the child. Her hand strayed to her abdomen, pressing against the flat expanse of skin beneath her skirt. Soon it would round and grow, and she would feel life begin kicking there. The life of her baby.
Across from her, Steve wasn’t taking the news with the same joy. His eyes widened. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like a sixth-grader in a dunk tank. “But we…we never…”
“I know. It’s not yours, obviously.”
She watched him run some mental math, then start adding a few two and twos. “Mack. Is it his? You’ve been living with him. Has something else been going on? I knew he had feelings for you. He gets angry every time I talk to him. I thought it was just being overprotective, but—” Steve shook his head and spun away, his voice a low rumble of jealous thunder.
“It’s not Mack’s, either.”
“Wait a minute. You’re not seriously going to have this child, are you? Out of wedlock?”
She laughed. “You make it sound like the nineteenth century, Steve. Women have babies all the time, with and without husbands.”
He shook his head. “I thought we were agreed.”
“We didn’t agree on anything.” The traits Alex had once liked about Steve—his attention to detail, his insistence on making everything perfect, his quest for quiet and i
ntimate dates—now became major annoyances. So much quiet, there’d be no room for fun. The kind of fun she’d had with Mack when they were growing up, the kind of fun that was essential for bringing up a child. “Steve, I just don’t think we’d work out together. You’re a nice guy and all, but not my type.”
“Who is? Mack?” Again, the jealous thunder roared in his voice.
“I don’t know, I mean…” She put up her hands, vague.
“You do care about him.”
“He’s my best friend, of course I care about him.”
Silence ticked between them. Steve clicked the velvet box shut and shoved it into the Toyota’s center console. The anger drained from his face, dimming his features into something paler, filled with disappointment, as the reality of what she’d just said hit him, and he began to fit the pieces together in his mind. “You care about him…in a way you don’t care about me?”
“Steve…”
He moved closer, his hand touching her hair in a gesture so gentle, it was almost like a breeze. “I think I have made how I feel about you as clear as a 1090-EZ form, Alex. I want you. I want to marry you, be with you in every way.” His fingers ran through her hair and his eyes sought hers, reaching deep into her gaze. “But you don’t want any of that with me, do you?”
“I…” Then she sighed. Better to tell him the truth now than to tangle him deeper in a relationship built on a lie, one where she kept on forcing herself to feel something that wasn’t there. “I tried to love you, Steve. You’re a nice guy.”
His face fell, and she wanted to take it back, to repair the damage she had inflicted on him. “At least you were honest. Better to know now than after I’ve claimed you on my taxes.” Then he put the car in gear and drove her back to Mack’s.
Tony had been an idiot most of his life.
He played the part of the fool well. He’d been voted Class Clown. Could be counted on to be the cutup at everyone’s party, the one to provide the jokes, the gag gifts, the pranks. No one called on him to be the responsible driver, to be a witness to a will, or anything that even smacked at grown-up and reliable.
Not even his wife.
And that, he knew, had been half the problem in his marriage. But over the years, it had simply gotten easier to go on playing his role and letting Renee play hers than to step up to the plate and become something else. Now, his marriage was in a ditch, his wife was filing for divorce, and he was about to lose everything that mattered.
It was time for the court jester to become the king. Except he had no idea how.
He balanced three-year-old Anthony on one hip, and a basket of laundry on the other, while some half-Spanish, half-English show screamed in the background. Anthony chattered along with the TV, saying something about some girl named Dora and her boots. “Yeah, boots are good, Anthony,” Tony said. “They keep your feet dry.”
Anthony stared at him like he had three heads. “Daddy. Boots is Dora monkey.”
“Oh, the monkey has boots? Yeah, well, how’s he tie them?”
Anthony stared at his father some more, then went back to singing with the show. Now it was something about a map. What the hell were these kids watching? No wonder half of America failed the damn SAT.
“Let’s switch it to Big Bird,” Tony said. “You know, the Count? He’s at least got some math going for you.”
“I like Dora, Daddy. Dora!” Anthony bounced on Tony’s hip, nearly dislodging a bone. “Dora!”
“All right, all right. Dora it is.” How did Renee do this all day? He’d been at it only for an hour, and he already wanted to run away from home.
“Dad! Kylie took my MP3 player. She’s in my room! Get out, Kylie! Get out!”
The twelve-year-old. Again. Tony put the laundry basket on the couch, left Anthony there, too, then headed around the corner. “You guys share a room.”
“Not my problem,” Melanie said. “Get her to leave before I kill her. She’s always in my face.”
“It’s my room!” Kylie screamed. “Dad, tell her to leave me alone. I hate sharing a room. This place is too small!”
“It wouldn’t be so small if you left,” Melanie threw back.
“Dad! Do something!” Before he could, Kylie stomped off to the bathroom and slammed the door.
Tony walked out of the girls’ bedroom, leaned against the wall and let out a sigh. Sixty-two minutes into this parenting-alone thing and he already had a raging headache. This was why Renee so rarely left him in charge. He missed his wife. Where the hell was she?
Oh, yeah. Off on a girls’ thing. Getting her nails done or something.
Staying away from him, in other words.
He supposed he deserved this, for all the nights he’d left her alone to go out with the guys. All the weekends he’d gone on hunting and fishing trips. All these years he’d avoided being the husband and father he should have.
Leaving them crammed in a too-small apartment with a mountain of bills and short tempers. No wonder Renee was stressed. No wonder she hated his guts. No wonder she wanted to run away from him and their marriage. Because he sure as hell did now, too.
He dug in his back pocket for his cell phone and flipped it open, just as the two girls started their verbal sniping again from behind closed doors. Tony plugged his free ear and prayed that Mack would answer. “Mack? Thank God you’re there. I need a favor. I need you to rescue me.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The door swung open and the blonde on the other side stared at Mack, her mouth open in a wide, surprised O. “Mack.”
“Hi, Samantha.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
The O pressed into a thin line, but nevertheless, she stepped back and opened her front door, letting Mack enter the spacious Colonial. Mack had seen the wedding announcement in the Globe last month, telling him that Samantha had moved on—and found a doctor with a booming Chestnut Hill practice.
Samantha led Mack into the front parlor, and gestured to him to take a seat on a rose-patterned loveseat that looked about as comfortable as a box of rocks. He lowered his large frame gingerly onto the delicate piece of furniture.
“Can I get you anything to drink?”
A glass of bourbon would be good, but considering the clock had yet to hit noon, Mack kept that to himself. He shifted his weight, and knew he couldn’t put this off. It was a conversation long overdue. Still, he hesitated. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
Samantha perched in a matching armchair, crossing her legs primly at the ankles. She laid her hands on the arms of the chair, then in her lap. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Us.” He put up his hands, warding off the shock in Samantha’s features. Way to get to the point, Douglas. “No, not getting back together or anything like that. I meant, what went wrong. I, well, I wanted to apologize.”
“Apologize? For what?”
“For…” He was already regretting not asking for the bourbon. “For being a horrible husband.”
“You? You were a great husband.”
He let out a gust. “Samantha, you don’t need to stroke my ego, trust me. I want to know what went wrong. So I don’t do it again.”
She leaned forward, resting her temples on her fists. For a long time, Samantha didn’t say anything. When she looked up, her green eyes were misty with unshed tears. “It wasn’t you, Mack, it was me. I never loved you like I should have. I thought I did, I really did, but…I got all wrapped up in the…well, the fantasy of being rescued.”
“Rescued? How did I rescue you?” Alex had accused him of the same thing. What was he, some kind of Coast Guard swimmer? For God’s sake, all he did was try to help his friends.
Samantha let out a little laugh. “Mack, that’s what you do. You take care of people. Your friends. Your father. Your dog, for Pete’s sake. And me. I was a mess when I met you, and you rescued me from myself, took me out of that dive of a bar in Vegas, convinced me I could be something bett
er than a glorified stripper.” She waved a hand around the fancy room. “Now look at me. Married to a doctor. Living in the suburbs.”
He shook his head. She gave him too much credit. “All I did was talk to you, Samantha, you did all the rest.”
“Oh, Mack,” she said, a generous smile taking over her face, “you did so much more than that. You do this stuff, and you don’t even realize it when you do. It was so easy for me to just sit back and let you make all the decisions, to take the reins. To lead me through all those changes I needed to make and hold my hand while I did it.”
“I helped you because I cared about you. How could that be wrong?”
“It wasn’t.” She let out a breath. “Every woman dreams of being rescued. It’s that Rapunzel-in-the-castle, Snow White-in-the-bed fantasy. But sometimes, we fall in love with the idea of the hero, and not the man himself. That’s what happened with us. I thought I should automatically love the prince who took me out of the dungeon. That we would live happily ever after.”
“That this frog would turn into a prince?” He grinned. Had that been what he’d been doing, too, with Samantha? Thinking that he could save her and then creating a fantasy that didn’t really exist? Or creating the fantasy he couldn’t have?
He’d met Samantha a week after Alex had moved in with Edward. He’d been hurting. And he’d gone looking for something to fill that hole. He’d thought he could manufacture the happy ending he wanted. Clearly, it didn’t work that way.
Samantha straightened a picture on the end table. “You were already a prince, Mack. But the problem was”—she exhaled, and her eyes deepened with sorrow—“I was never in love with you. Only the idea of what I thought love should be.”
“You were never in love with me?” The surprise hit him hard, like a punch to the chest.
“I should have told you, should have said something right in the beginning. I should have been more honest about a lot of things.” Samantha rose and crossed to the window, staring out at the manicured expanse of lawn. “Instead I cheated.”
