by Laura Abbot
Ms. Carver was talking in her chirpy voice about the dude who wrote “The Tell-Tale Heart.” He sounded like a screwball, but, man, could he write. When she finished, there was a kind of interesting discussion he pretended not to listen to about how Poe’s choice of words enhanced the dramatic impact. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed this one chick wearing jeans and a tight purple T-shirt. Her straight glossy black hair was tucked behind her ears. He could tell from the way she sat—straining forward eagerly—that she was a good student. Not to be confused with him. He had no intention of doing any more than necessary.
“…so for Friday, I want you to write a paragraph about a place that’s special to you. In it, try to use words that convey the sights, sounds and smells particular to the scene you’re describing.” Ms. Carver was a slave driver—for Friday they also had to read Poe’s “The Masque of the Red Death.” Andy snorted under his breath. This great writer dude couldn’t even spell “mask.”
When the bell rang, she flashed the class that big smile he’d noticed. It was like she really enjoyed teaching. Maybe even liked the students. Some of them. But he had to watch out. Just because her cat was okay didn’t mean he had to like her, because, bottom line, it was weird to see his dad with her. Maybe it was because he was living with them, but his father and…Pam…seemed sort of stiff.
God, he dreaded tomorrow. He’d feel like a freak when the whole school found out that his dad had married Ms. Carver. Prob’ly then old Chip would ask even more questions.
He picked up his books and sauntered toward the door, not looking to one side or the other. In the hall, waiting for him, was the dark-haired girl he’d eyeballed in class. “Andy?”
“Yeah?”
She grinned, and he noticed the bands on her teeth. A lotta kids wouldn’t smile for months after they got braces, but she didn’t seem to mind. “I’m Angela, and we have Algebra II together next period. Wanna walk with me?”
She wouldn’t try to talk him into playing basketball and she was kinda cute, so what could it hurt? “Okay.”
While she talked, she nodded and smiled to other kids passing in the halls. “You going to the football game Friday night?”
Right, like he was gonna get all hyped up about the Keystone Knights. “I don’t know.”
“Everyone goes. We’re supposed to be pretty good this year. See that guy standing at the water fountain?”
Andy took in the form of a solidly built kid about six-five who looked about twenty-three. “What about him?”
“That’s Beau Jasper. He’s a senior. Last year he broke the school scoring records in both football and basketball.”
Andy hated the worshipful look on her face. Girls. They were always after popular jocks. He doubted his tennis playing was in the same league with Beau Jasper’s accomplishments.
“Here we are.” Angela paused outside the math class, looking at him as if wanting him to say something. What?
“Maybe I’ll see you around.”
He found his desk, aware she was trailing after him. “Yeah, maybe.”
She sat down and started pulling her homework out of her notebook. He couldn’t figure it. For some reason, she’d seemed kinda sad. What could he possibly have done to upset her?
Heck, he upset everybody these days.
THURSDAY MORNING Pam had an even bigger case of stage fright than when she’d played Auntie Mame in a local little theater production. The assembly was between second and third periods. She didn’t know which would be worse—this awful anticipation or the aftermath when the reactions came. She and Grant had agreed to sit together, since it might look odd if they didn’t. After what seemed the longest second period class she’d ever endured, the bell rang and she made her way toward the auditorium, scarcely aware of the jostling students, banging locker doors or buzz of conversation. Near the back of the auditorium, she spotted Grant. He signaled her and she slipped into the seat beside him. “Ready?” he said under his breath.
“No, but do we have a choice?”
He didn’t answer her rhetorical question, but merely shrugged. Ralph Hagood calmed the crowd and then introduced Jim, who traditionally talked with the students at this first assembly of the year.
The tension in Grant’s body was almost palpable. But it was no match for hers. Once Jim shared their news, there would be absolutely no turning back.
Pam gripped the armrests and waited. How would she and Grant pull off the masquerade? They were still tiptoeing around each other at home, being excessively polite, each taking care to observe the other’s space and privacy. Even roommates weren’t so formal with each other. Fortunately Andy seemed lost in his own world, so perhaps he hadn’t noticed the strain. Lunch yesterday with Grant had helped some, but it was going to take more than a few meals to establish routine familiarity.
He could be very sweet. Although he clearly had no affinity for cats, she had found him yesterday, his face screwed in distaste, holding at arm’s length a pooper-scooper. When she’d asked him what in the world he was doing, he’d said, “I remember Jack Liddy complaining about having to empty their cat’s litter box while Darla’s pregnant. Something about a disease cats carry. I figured with all that’s on your mind, you didn’t need that worry.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at Grant. To all outward appearances, he would seem to have his attention glued to the headmaster. But what must he be thinking? Did he want to bolt and run? She wouldn’t blame him.
For a fleeting moment she thought of Steven. For the first time, she had a flare of anger. She wouldn’t be sitting here with a teeth-rattling set of nerves if only… She hugged herself against the chill of the air-conditioning. But there was no if only. Never had been. There was merely Jim Campbell’s voice, now moving from a serious to an upbeat tone. Then she heard the words “I have an announcement to make.” She found herself clutching Grant’s arm in the effort to still the pounding of her heart. “…so I ask all of you to join me in a congratulatory round of applause for the happy couple.”
The buzzing in her head was replaced by a roar of approval, then by deafening applause. Grant reached for her hand and drew her to her feet. For a moment she wanted to believe in happy endings—all around them students and faculty were grinning delightedly as if each of them had personally been the matchmaker.
“Hey, Coach! Aren’t you gonna kiss her?” The suggestion spread like an August grass fire. “Kiss, kiss, kiss!” The chant reverberated throughout the auditorium.
Grant looked down at her, a shy grin creasing his mouth. He raised his eyebrows in question.
She took a deep breath. “Act 1, scene 2,” she whispered as his arms went around her and he bent his head. Then his mouth was on hers, his hands caressing her back. With a jolt, she realized that he was an accomplished actor. Her hands twined behind his neck as if they’d been choreographed to do so. The part of her not blushing with embarrassment at the spectacle they were making of themselves made an important, unexpected observation.
This didn’t feel like any stage kiss she’d ever experienced.
AFTER THE WAITER SET their lunches on the table, Grant bit into his burger. “Food. That’s better.”
Pam smiled. “Didn’t you eat breakfast?”
“I was too nervous.” That was the truth. The thought of the assembly had destroyed his appetite.
Forking up a bite of salad, Pam nodded appreciatively. “Soda crackers were all I had, but, wonder of wonders, I didn’t get sick.”
Grant studied her full lips closing over her fork. She had a wonderful mouth just made for kissing, as he had discovered this morning. He shifted against the leather booth back. She hadn’t fought him at all. If he didn’t know she was a fine actress, he could almost convince himself she’d enjoyed the kiss. The students had reacted with wild applause, crying out “More, more!” He wouldn’t have minded in the least indulging in an encore, but discretion had triumphed and he and Pam had shooed the kids off to class.
&nb
sp; “Now that the word is out, maybe you can make a doctor’s appointment.”
“I did. Yesterday. With Belinda Ellis, Darla’s doctor.” She set down her fork, her forehead furrowed. “The next hurdle will be when we reveal the rest of our news.”
“There’s no point in waiting too long.” He grinned wickedly. “We’ll just let everybody believe we worked fast.”
“Pretty sold on yourself, huh?”
The glow in his eyes faded. “Lady, it’s been so long since I’ve had any practice, at least let me nurture my illusions.” The illusion he was having right now was a full-blown fantasy that would make Pam blush if she could read his mind.
“Nurture away,” she said. Then she looked up as if she’d just thought of something. “I guess maybe I ought to give you, er, permission. Other women, I mean. You know, during this year, it’s not like I expect you to be a monk. So if—”
“Forget it. For one year I promised to make this marriage work. Look, I know it’s not like other marriages, but that doesn’t mean I want to set tongues wagging.”
“You’re sure?”
He hesitated, knowing full well the only woman he wanted to go to bed with was the one sitting across from him. Pam had no idea how tough it was going to be for him to remain a husband in name only. “Sure.” Before any other disturbing images came to his brain, he needed to change the subject. “Are you getting more comfortable with the idea of being pregnant?” He dipped a French fry in catsup and waited for her answer.
“It still seems odd. And sometimes for a few minutes, I even forget. My biggest fear is the risk involved in having my first child after age thirty-five.”
“The doctor should be on top of those things. That’s one reason I’m glad you’re seeing her soon.”
“There’s…one other thing.” Piece by piece, she gradually shredded the paper napkin she was holding. When she stopped, she gave a shuddering little sigh and said, “My mother died having me.”
He looked into Pam’s haunted eyes, desperate to reassure her. “God, I’m so sorry. But that doesn’t mean—”
“That I’ll have complications. I know.” She managed a halfhearted chuckle. “That was nearly forty years ago. Times have changed.”
Boy, that explained a lot about Barbara’s resentment and Pam’s hurt. He set his uneaten French fry on the rim of his plate. “I’m not a ‘real’ husband, Pam, but you don’t have to worry all by yourself.”
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Grant. No one could ask for a better friend.”
“It’s easy.” Darned if he wouldn’t be the best friend she’d ever had. Since he couldn’t be her husband.
THIS MIGHT POSSIBLY HAVE BEEN the next-to-worst day of his life. Andy sat at his desk staring out the bedroom window, an unopened pile of schoolbooks at his left elbow. A stiff breeze ruffled the leaves of the oak tree, and down the street he could see some guy in an undershirt mowing his lawn. Maybe this was the worst day, though, because he couldn’t actually remember much about the day his father had moved out. Except for crying himself to sleep.
But today had been pure hell. All these kids he’d never seen before treating him like a celebrity. Acting like they knew him. Asking him all these questions about how his dad had popped the question and what it was like to live with Ms. Carver.
He knocked the books on the floor. It wasn’t bad enough that he’d been exiled to Fort Worth. No. Now he had to hear from all these Keystone geeks about what a great guy his dad was, how lucky he was to have such a cool family. Family? He wondered what that might be like. Not that he’d ever know.
In the distance he heard the phone ring, but he didn’t pay any attention. No one would be calling him. Unless it was Mom. But today she and Harry were flying halfway around the world. It wouldn’t be her.
A tap on his door startled him. “Yeah?”
“For you,” his dad said.
“Okay.” He walked to the bedside table, picked up the extension, then flopped on his bed, wondering who the heck wanted to talk to him. “Uh, hello?”
“Andy?” It was a girl. He struggled to sit up. “It’s Angela. Remember? From English and math?”
He couldn’t believe it. The rah-rah-football girl. Phoning him? “I remember.”
“I, uh, wondered if you got the answer to problem number four in algebra?”
She sounded breathless. “No. I haven’t started my homework.”
“Even English?”
“I guess you think since Ms. Carver’s my stepmom that I hurry right home and dig in.”
“Well, yeah. If it was me—”
“It isn’t. But you may have a point. I don’t need to volunteer for any more trouble than I’ve already got.”
“Especially if you’re going to be driving soon. You’ll need a B grade average to get the car insurance break. My folks said I’d have to pay my own premiums if I didn’t make the grades.”
He hadn’t thought about that. He did want to get his license. And he wanted his father to buy him a car. Ticking the old man off about his studies might not be the greatest idea. “I didn’t realize, about the grades and all. Guess I’d better look at problem four after all.”
“Have you written your paper for English yet?”
She didn’t seem to get it. He hadn’t turned a tap except for reading Poe. “I’ll whip it out tonight.”
“I’ve heard she’s a tough grader.”
How much more bad news could Angela lay on him? “I’m good in English.”
She didn’t answer. It was like neither of them had anything to say. He couldn’t figure out why she’d called him in the first place, unless…
“About tomorrow night?”
Tomorrow night? What did she mean? “What about it?”
“I thought if you were coming to the game, well, maybe you’d like to sit with me.”
He’d had no intention of going to the stupid game, but Angela was kinda cute. “Sounds good. I’ll see you there.”
“Okay.” Her voice lifted on the “kay.” Then after a long pause she said, “I’ve gotta go finish my math. Bye, now.”
He hung up, but continued staring at the receiver. Had she sorta asked him for a date? He could halfway get excited except for the fact now his dad and Pam would know everything about his life.
He reached across the bed and scooped his English notebook off the floor. He supposed he had to make at least a halfhearted effort to write the stupid paper about his favorite place.
Just where the hell would that be? He glanced around the room. Not here, that was for sure.
He hunched up against the headboard and opened the notebook. He picked up the pen that fell out of it and stared at the blank page. Nothing was coming to him.
A special place? One with good memories? He couldn’t think of a thing to say.
CHAPTER SIX
THE KEYSTONE COACHES traditionally met to play poker following home football games. On Friday night the odors of cigar smoke, stale beer and lukewarm barbecued ribs greeted Grant along with ribald comments. “Hey, Gilbert, surely a newlywed has better things to do on a Friday night than hang out with us” and “Pam worn you out already?”
Amid the knowing grins, he could hardly confess he and his new bride slept in separate rooms.
He endured the card game but was relieved when Jack Liddy called it an evening, pleading the need to start early in the morning reviewing game films. The two men left together. The football coach paused before getting into his SUV. “You know, it’s about time you settled down. Pam’s a great gal. I’m happy for you both.”
“I appreciate that.”
“By the way, how’s your son getting along?”
Grant leaned against the hood, arms folded across his chest. “It’s hard to say.”
“How’d he take the news?”
Grant thought about the question, unsure how to answer. “He was surprised, but at least he’s not taking it out on Pam. So far. I’m the one he’s m
ad at. Told me point-blank he hates basketball.”
“Weren’t you counting on him coming out for the team?”
Grant shrugged helplessly. “I thought he liked basketball. He did as a little kid. Things change, I guess.”
“That’s gotta be disappointing.”
Uh, yeah. “He’s going out for tennis in the spring.”
“That’s something.” Jack raised a finger in farewell. “Hang in there, man.”
Grant stood quietly, trying to ease the tension in his gut before heading for home where his pregnant wife and surly teenage son awaited him. Andy seemed determined not to let him get close, holing up in his room except for meals. The two of them had exchanged only the most cursory of words in the past few days. It was anybody’s guess what the kid was thinking, but, as Pam reminded him often, Andy needed time to adjust.
Grant knew he should stop tiptoeing around his son. Discipline and love, as he well knew from teaching, were the keys. But, jeez, it was a precarious balancing act.
At least things were going okay with Pam. The lunches had been a good idea. He’d been able to tell her about his father being in Vietnam when he himself was a kid. About how he couldn’t remember his father approving of anything he did or his mother ever going against her husband’s orders. He’d confessed how, as a kid, he had never felt he measured up. He probably should have resented Brian, but his brother had been his advocate, his idol. When Brian joined the army, following in their dad’s footsteps, Grant had felt as if he’d lost part of himself, and since Brian’s death, Grant had maintained only a tenuous connection to his family.
He’d admitted to Pam how, even as an adult, he’d been a disappointment to his father. “Teaching? What kind of life is that for a man?” Those few words summed up his distant relationship with Lieutenant Colonel Jarvis J. Gilbert.
